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"Alternative Directions: Options "Written By: Karina Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the lovely
boys and their girls in the series. Wish I did. Please don't sue me.
I haven't even got a brass razoo to give you. Rating: Deffinately PG in Australia, at the moment,
but probably safer to say R for later chapters. Not sure about international
ratings Warnings: It will be 6x2, even though it does
not start out that way. After all, Zechs and Duo never met in Gundam
Wing and only spoke briefly over a com line in Endless Waltz. I've
tried to keep them in character as I saw them in the series. A bit
of language creeping in under stressful conditions. Pairings: eventual 6x2, past 2xH, 2+H,6x9, 1+R
Summary: Directions is set post Endless Waltz
and roughly 2 years have passed. Zechs and Noin are on Mars and Duo,
after spending some time with Hilde in a relationship leaves L2 to
join Preventers. Hilde was not happy about his decision. I guess enough
said. Here t'is, and I hope you like it. This is also AU for the standard
setting, as well as the series and Endless Waltz. Spoilers: Gundam Wing Series and Endless Waltz Many thanks to ShenLong for volunteering to beta this. //... // thoughts
"Alternative Directions: Options"
Mars Colony Base Dome 2nd March AC 198 Time: 04:35 [approx Sanc time 02:26] Polnar He told himself repeatedly that circumventing Levels 2 and 3 to make their way directly to level 4 was the smart thing to do. He did not have the luxury of time to entertain the game of second guessing his own decisions. That game led to hesitation and hesitation inevitably led to disaster. Delay of any kind was not the way to make up ground and affect a speedy resolution to the mission. He did not particularly want to think as the effort seemed to take energy away from his feet, and he was certain each step was a microsecond slower. It was stupid, he understood that at some deep level of his psyche, but he could feel Marquise breathing down his neck. It was as though the man hovered at his back with a hand was poised just a fraction of a millimetre off his skin. Any second now he would feel that hand between his shoulder blades, pushing him, urging him on to greater speed. Was it possible for the man to be riding his back? Invisible, somehow lurking on the psychic plane; pushing him, reminding him with his lurking presence that speed was of the essence? It was insane but, whacked as it sounded, he could not discount the possibility. Experience had shown him that with the Gifted anything was possible, but that did not change the fact that he could not run faster. It was simply impossible for him to get his feet to move faster; impossible to drag more air into labouring lungs to feed his body the necessary oxygen to move more quickly. If there was a Sleeper lurking in their vicinity he would either have the worlds easiest kill as they shot towards him, or the killer would be left wondering what the hell the triple blur was that zoomed past. They had to be setting some sort of land speed record. The need for speed beat at him, but he had to be careful. It was not just the possibility of a killer lurking nearby to take them down that was of concern, though it was surely a viable possibility. They had to have enough energy for their return run to the Medical Centre, not that they would be able to maintain this degree of speed with two women and the infants in their midst. Once they acquired the first child and nurse their chances of speed being a factor in their safe return ended. They needed to be as fast as humanly possible now, while they were unencumbered. They were all tired, on the edge, riding the adrenaline surge and when that adrenaline ran out they would all be in for a fall. But it would not be over, even then. Once they returned the children to their father it would not be over. They would still be in danger; still need to be on the lookout for killers disguised as friends. Would the nightmare ever end? And why the hell did the accommodations blocks in this crappy arsed base have to be so fardling big?! The lighting was not helping any either; the garish alarm lights gave the hallway the appearance of being bathed in blood. He was tired of the illusion of blood emulated by the lights all over the base; tired of it, but he could not escape it. None of them could. Blood red coloured everything, reminding him of the men and women he had known, who lay dead in the dome above them. So many people were already dead; friends and acquaintances… too many of them dead, and it was not over. It was far from over. If they did not regain control of the dome, then those who lingered outside the dome would die. There was so much to do and no time in which to do it. There was no hope of drawing a breath and taking a break. No hope this was all just a nightmare and he would wake from it, trembling and frightened, but knowing it had not been real. Jesus, he was sure someone was on his arse, looming over him… reaching out to him… //Get a grip! Can’t fall apart now. Can’t afford to fall apart.// This had to be done and he was the team leader. It was his job to get this mission accomplished as speedily as possible and get everyone safely back to the Medical Centre. The letter, a small folded piece of paper that rested in his pocket, along with the piece holding the security codes, seemed to burn, warning him of the rising danger. Reminding him, by generating heat he could feel through his clothing, that he must not lose them. God, Marquise had given him a time bomb! He could not afford for anyone to realize he had a set of master codes to the base. That information, the codes, was information Marquise certainly was not supposed to possess; in fact no single person at the terra forming base was supposed to have the complete set of codes. But he had them… he and Marquise. They could not afford for anyone to discover that innocuous little scrap of paper and question how the codes had been attained… why it was that Marquise of all people, the prisoner confined to the base, had the codes that would have permitted him to walk away at any time. He could not help but wonder how long Marquise had known these codes? No, maybe it was better, safer, not to ask that particular question. If he pondered it he might get some idea of how long Marquise had known everything on Mars would go to hell in a hand basket. Of course if he knew that he would demand to know why the arsehole had done nothing to fix the problem before it started. Maybe one day he would ask… but not now. No one needed to know he had the master codes and that was the way he had to keep it. The other bomb he held was the note to the nurses caring for the children. Anyone who had that note, if the nurses believed and heeded Marquises’ message, could get their hands on the twins. He had to ensure no one but he held that piece of paper. Everything would be alright if he could just get his butt down to level 4, then back up to level 3 and finally, blessedly, out of the accommodations sector and deliver the kids to their father. He had not realized, in his blissful ignorance, just how many flights of stairs there actually were in the accommodation sectors. When you did not have to run up and down them at break neck speed one step just blended into another and you didn’t notice how many there were. Elevators made far more sense; they were easier on the body, but then you had less chance of surviving if caught in an elevator in a precarious hunt or be hunted scenario. No, the stairs were far safer in this instance; at least you had a chance to see where you were going with stairs and what might be coming at you. There would be a set of stairs, a deep set leading down a level, just ahead. He would need something to roll down them to make certain no traps had been set for the unwary. Fire extinguishers were good for that and there should be fire extinguishers placed at regular intervals, including near the access points to each level for safety reasons. If they all grabbed an extinguisher… no, that would be too much weight and would slow them down… but it would mean they could just toss two or three down the stairs and stand back in case of an explosion. God, what a delightful thought. They could have a ten second break while gravity did its thing. No, this was too much, it would not do. He had to start thinking instead of reacting. There came a time where you had to draw a line between reacting and planning and this was it. They were only human and they would pass out if they did not stop and take a much needed breather. It was his responsibility to keep the group active and alert, and that meant calling a halt to this all out run. Somewhere behind them the other teams would be moving through the first complex of rooms and he wanted to avoid contact with them. They needed to stay well ahead of the search teams on this downward leg, and on the return trip he wanted to just zip through them, though his preference would be to avoid them entirely. That would be harder though, and he did not plan to stop and exchange chatter on the décor of the suites. He would have to keep his group moving no matter what. “Hold up… at the stairs… down… to level 4.” The panted instruction went unacknowledged by his companions, and he could only hope they had been able to make out his words. He was not sure if they could understand him through their joint heaving breaths and the pounding of running feet. He had experienced a stitch in his side a while ago that had passed the point of pain. He had refused to stop, working through the pain like any good sprinter performing a marathon, he could drop dead later; there had to be a reason why he wasn’t lying dead from exhaustion on the floor minutes ago. Some time soon he would realize what that reason was. Oh yes. Of course. Marquise would raise him from the dead so he could kill him again, slowly, if he dared to die. It just didn’t bear thinking about. “Christ Almighty, Polnar… tell me… tell me we… we don’t have to set this pace… climbing the bloody stairs… coming… coming back.” Carter panted, going down to his knees as they reached the blast door. He made it to the wall and collapsed, his legs refusing to support his weight any longer, his back sliding down the blessedly cold metal of the wall, gasping air into tortured lungs and somehow he managed a snort. It was all the acknowledgement he could muster for the comment. At the rate they were going the babies would have to carry their rescuers to safe ground. Mighty Joe Lee was on hands and knees, peering back along the corridor at the way they had come, and his chest was bellowing, his sides heaving with the effort to breathe. No, it was too much. They could not keep up this pace. They had already pushed their luck too far and for too long with their breakneck pace, but he had chosen speed over checking every room in case they had company they did not want. Now, with the home stretch before them, they had to slow the pace down, gain control of themselves and pick their way with care. It was time to maintain a smart, but sustainable, pace to ensure they made the return. The nurses certainly would not be able to maintain this kind of pace with infants to attend. Room 12 on level 4, that was his destination. It was in the second section of rooms carved out of the natural Martian Rock and lined with metal sheeting to ensure an airtight seal in the event of a natural disaster impacting on the life support systems of the base. That was relatively close to this stairwell beyond the blast doors and airlock. From here it would take only a few minutes to collect the baby and nurse, and then they could be on their way back to the stairwell. Once they returned to level 3, it was only a short distance to reach room 48 and then it would be a straight run back to the Medical Centre. Easy, if nerve wracking, and all he really needed to do was keep anyone from joining their group, or following closely behind them and move smartly to their final destination. Groaning as he hauled himself to his feet he fumbled with the extinguisher mounted on the wall and passed it to Carter, before taking advantage of the water fountain standing near the blast door. Oh yes, a drink was what they all needed and why had he failed to notice this god send before now? He half filled a paper cup and took a mouthful, swirling the deliciously cold liquid around his mouth before swallowing it. He knew better than to drink until he sated his thirst, that would bring about disaster. Setting the cup to the side he poured a half cup each for his companions, handing them around and he was pleased neither Carter nor Lee guzzled the liquid, each of them taking the time needed to avoid stomach cramps and vomiting. “Ready?” He wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest his aching body, but the sense of urgency was pounding at him and he would not allow himself, or his team, any longer than was absolutely necessary. At their responding nods he worked the controls for the blast doors, daring to believe that he would not need the codes he had been given. This was the last of the major doors, the last airlock in the complex. Once they processed this airlock and released the doors for the lower level they could reach the stairs and he could relax and forget he had the codes. Once he was sure he would not need them he could relax a little, knowing he need not come up with an explanation for having in his possession an impossible set of numbers. ————————————— Medical Centre Zechs Inactivity was driving him steadily insane, punishing him with his inability to control the situation. He alone knew the horror that might yet befall the terra formers. He alone had witnessed it. Haydon Giles might have heard his words, but he had not witnessed with his eyes the carnage that might come with a ship emblazoned with the ESUN logo. In the light of harsh reality though, he had to ask himself if he could do anything to change the outcome. It was a question he had to face given the vision of the Wellington was only new; something recently added to the horrors of his nightmares. Really he needed the Epyon to process the multitude of possibilities he had glimpsed in the past months. The vision of the ship had to have been somewhere amidst the myriad of visions, and fragments of vision, he had witnessed before; he might have had more notice to plan a counter if he could simply catalogue and process the sequences of events to their eventual conclusions. That was what Epyon had permitted him to do, catalogue, dissect and examine in the minutest detail, the twists and turns of possibility. Epyon would have been an aide, but in truth the entire mess was the fault of the machine. If the AI had not interfered, if it had permitted him to perish in the final cataclysmic explosion of the Libra, then none of this would have happened. He knew these events would not have been a possibility, because this scenario came about only because he still drew breath. He had planned for his own demise, to remove the contamination of himself from the time lines… and after all that heartache, after bastardizing himself and his family name, the Epyon had taken independent action. It was Treize, of course. The meddling, manipulating fingers of the man he had called both brother and friend could be found at the root of the AI’s actions. Some latent command from its creator would have factored into the mechanics of the decisions taken. Certainly something had caused the machine to cast his projections to the winds of space and dump him, and these people, in the mess they now endured. Had Epyon not interfered he would not have survived. He would not, therefore, have come to Mars and Noin with him. They would not have produced the twins, who would forever be cursed with their father’s blood. Noin would not be dying or dead now. These people would be working to shape a viable settlement on this barren rock of a dead world, and they would not be dying at the hands of pre-programmed assassins from the very government that was supposed to protect them. And he was helpless to do more than he had. It was not a feeling he liked, now or in the past, and it had driven him always to try to do something. It had driven him to activate the Epyon, to trigger the visions deliberately and go after a way to ensure peace for his sister and her children’s world. The Wellington was out there, drawing closer to Mars with each passing second. He was certain of it, though it was not a vision he had been able to pursue. He knew it was a threat, and because it was a threat he could not affect by pre planning, he was afraid. Afraid that here everyone would die, despite their very best attempts to stay alive. Already too high a cost in human life had been paid and, if they could not pull things together soon, more people would die. The terra formers caught outside had to be saved, and for that to happen they had to get the dome open. They had to bring them inside and get them out of those suits and into the sealed environment of the domes, be it this one or the Beta dome, it did not matter which. So long as it was good, healthy breathable air and heat that awaited them, it simply did not matter which dome became their salvation. And he so desperately wanted to know his babies were safe. He needed to get out of the bed and go after his children; bring them to safety and be assured no one would take them to a fate of captivity and mind numbing programming. Cursed by the simple fact he was their father, they would be forever the tools of men who played dangerous games. They were Peacecrafts, and Peacecrafts were doomed to be used and abused generation after generation. It was too much responsibility, with too high a price to be paid, and it might have ended with him. It might have, as he had planned, but it had not. Relena’s children might have been safe. The archives hidden in Sanc had shown him the curse of world shaking event seemed to follow the direct line males. The men, with a couple of notable exceptions, seemed to be the one’s doomed to be key players in world politics and in the private deadly games of those who lived in the shadows. Treize had known who those shadowed individuals were; what they were. He was sure Treize had known and the man had refused to answer his questions when ever he had asked. References in the Peacecraft archives hidden in Sanc had ultimately led him to that course of enquiry, and Treize had masterfully steered him to another track of conversation. Time and again it was the same. Treize went to great lengths to distract him, confused him, confound him and lead him in the direction that ultimately led him to the cockpit of Epyon. He needed to make certain his children were safe. Safe and protected from the harsh reality that was the Peacecraft bloodline. His hope, and he did have a hope of ensuring them some kind of life free of manipulation, lay not on Earth but in the darkness of space. If he could just convince Raydon to take in the twins, to give them a new identity, a chance to live beyond the reach of the shadows and the families who were deep into the ruthless games steeped in political ambition. Raydon and Station One might be the salvation of his twins… if he could get them safely there. If he could convince Raydon to take them in. If he could convince Noin to leave them there. He needed to get out of the bed and get into the heart of the complex and collect his twins. If he could get them safely into the medical centre he could charge Giles and Polnar with delivering them to Raydon. He would have no qualms about handing himself over to the ESUN, provided he knew the twins were safely on Station One and beneath the protection of Raydon. If he was already a prisoner of the ESUN he did not doubt the man, who both fascinated him and terrified him, would take the children in. He ached. Body and mind screamed at him to rest, to collapse into a boneless heap and just sleep… or die. He wanted nothing more than to allow the darkness that hovered just at the edge of his perceptions to take him, but he could not. There was no release while his twins were endangered. The children were not here where he could see them; they were not protected, and damn the bastards who told him he could not go for them. Who could he trust? He could not really trust anyone but himself… and perhaps he could not even trust himself. “Stop that.” The quiet admonishment startled him from his introspection. Giles sat on the side of the bed, hunched over the arm wrapped protectively around his ribs, and the man was glaring at him with tired resignation. “Stop what?” “Stop being an absolute arsehole and blaming yourself for every wrong ever committed to and by man. Stop thinking about going after the kids yourself. It just ain’t going to happen, believe me. I’d knock you out before I’d allow you out of the room and, given your present condition, I could do it too.” Perhaps, perhaps not, but did he really want to find out? Giles had been there, at his back throughout the night, and as much as he could he thought he might be able to trust him. He had been thinking of giving the twins to him to take to safety… “You probably could.” But to trust someone he really did not know…and just what did he know about the man for certain? He knew only what Giles had told him. He did not even have the small comfort of having that face familiar to him through vision. Giles, and Polnar too, were unknown elements in his visions turned reality, and it terrified him, the reliance he had had to place on them. “I think I could just about manage it before I passed out beside you. Do you have any faith in Raydon at all? Think about it, because if you do, then you need to show it. Chris and I are here by his express instruction, so he trusted us to handle whatever might come up. Can’t you trust in his confidence in us?” There it was again, the assumption he was on close terms with the Pirate King. “You know I don’t actually know the man all that well.” Giles snorted and winced at the protest from his ribs. “Do any of us? I don’t think anyone person really does know him. The man’s an enigma, but then what else can you think of someone who lives by acting on his dreams? The only other man I know who does that is sitting beside me in this very bed. So tell me, Zechs, do you trust yourself and your visions? If you do, then trust his.” Zechs winced, resting his head back against the pillows and eased his weight a little. If Giles knew how much he distrusted his own abilities after everything that had gone so horribly wrong… Everything hurt; every bone and muscle, sinew and tendon. Moving to ease one source of pain only served to aggravate another injury. He was no stranger to pain though, and while he chose to acknowledge its existence, he also chose not to dwell on it; there were other, more important, matters demanding his attention. “How much do you know about Raydon?” He glanced at his companion, eyes narrowed, determined to get some answers. “You have met him; that much is obvious.” “If you are one of the Gifted on Station One, then you will inevitably meet Raydon. He takes a personal interest in all of us, ensuring we are comfortable, physically and mentally, with our training. He does not personally train us, but he monitors our instruction and keeps in contact with our trainers. While I was training he met with me at least once a week, depending on my training schedules, and any concerns I had he dealt with. If any of the Gifted had problems, he did his best to sort them out expediently.” Ah, so Giles knew little of the man himself. He had hoped for more information on Raydon’s origins, but he could see that was not going to be forthcoming and assist him in making up his mind about trusting the man with his most precious possessions. He would likely have to make that choice on what he himself knew of the man, which was not much. Raydon had not wanted to talk about himself in the short time they had kept company. “So you do not know him well.” “I know him about as well as anyone on the station, except for the trainers themselves. They seem to have known him for years; at least that is the impression I received. I can tell you that he is by far the most talented Clairvoyant talent on the station, though he’s not the only one. He has a wicked sense of humour and his temper you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of. He’s not quick to anger, but when he snaps you don’t want to be the cause of his ire.” “Do you feel you know the man well enough to surmise what his actions would be, should the message we dispatched reach him?” They had to remember there was no guarantee the message they had sent would have been received by the Station. If it had not and there was no aid on the way… then what? What the hell would they do? Yet another thing more they had to make plans for that might, or not, happen. Giles straightened slowly, mindful of the sharp pain in his ribs for his effort and, after a long drawn out moment in which he appeared to be seriously considering the question, he shook his head slowly. It was a big ask of a man who already had confessed he did not know the other man well. “I… can only hope the message, basic as it was, reached the Station. If it did…” Zechs watched his companion, wondering yet again why he had such trouble seeing the effects, the repercussions and flow on effects, of the actions of these two men. It had been the same with Raydon when they had been together; he could see very little in his brief interludes of what he now suspected were visions stirred by his overstressed mind. He had thought himself head blind then, finally free of the visions, merely haunted by his nightmares. The man had appeared out of nowhere in time to pluck him from the wreckage of Epyon and forced him to remain amongst the land of the living. He would have died, as he should have, as he had planned, had Raydon and his ships not arrived when they had. Had Epyon not lied to him and, even as the future he had worked so hard for been birthed, altered what he had worked to set in motion… Had Epyon lied to him? That darkness he had seen, avoided, sought to investigate as the various futures had been revealed… Was that darkness not the darkness of death as he had assumed, but the appearance of the gentleman rogue and his Station One cohorts? Where in all the possible futures did they now stand? What effect did this chain of events have on the path he had sought to chart through the chaos? Surely Epyon had not destroyed it all just to keep him alive? He had chosen the one path that had promised peace and the least loss of life over a course of centuries, pushing out to the extent of the period his vision could reach… but in none of those visions, not in a single one, had Raydon and the Station’s featured. To be certain there had been grey areas; places and times into which he had experienced limited and, in one or two places, no vision; were these the places that had featured Raydon? If so, why was it he could not see the man’s face? After all that work, after all those lost lives paying a blood price for peace, could he still guarantee, even to himself, that he had chosen the right course? Had he destroyed so much to birth a peace that would last and, in truth, created nothing? Was it all going to go down into smoking ruin, snowballing from this butchery on Mars, because he could not stretch this cursed ability far enough, or wide enough, to see clearly? “If the message reached Station One and Raydon then… he would take action to aid the colony. As speedily as he could manage it.” “Do you honestly think so? Do you think you know him well enough to believe he would place the security of the Stations at risk?” Giles hesitated and after a moment lowered his head into a small, barely perceptible nod. When he glanced at Zechs a subtle smile was tugging at his lips and he looked confident enough to be convincing. “While he never said he had a vision, he did say he had a ‘feeling’ that something might be going to happen on, or in the vicinity of, Mars. He’s not one to sit idle. Why else did he assign me here if he did not intend to take some form of action if, and when, the shit hit the fan? He dispatched me to investigate, and when I found you here I sent word back. His response was to send Chris. Let me assure you that Raydon does not assign Chris to babysitting duty. If he sent Chris of all the available Gifted here, then he was worried about trouble erupting, and he would have made contingency plans.” Zechs sighed softly and shook his head, eyes closed. “He should not risk the lives of those on the Station with so little information to hand… but he will. Because of his… ability… to see something of the future. He places such trust in his ‘sight’?” “Yes. Yes, he does. Not only in his Sight but in the Sight of others. You would be of benefit to the Stations, Zechs, and Raydon knows it. He must have known your talent was not too dissimilar to his own. He would come for you for that reason alone, but I think I know him well enough to know that he would not approve of what has been done here. He would come to stop a massacre, even were you not involved.” “Giles, there would be no massacre to stop were I not here.” It was the plain and simple truth, but no doubt no other person would see it quite in the same light as he. How could they, when they could not ‘see’ as he did. Giles snorted. “I suppose I have to acknowledge there is some truth in that, but Raydon would not abandon anyone who needed help. He is a strange man really; made strange by the talents he is graced with. One thing we all learn is that no two of us have the same abilities. We have similarities in what we do, in the abilities themselves, but how we use them, how we interpret them; that sets each of us apart and marks us as unique. We number in our ranks telepaths, clairvoyants, clairaudients, kinetics… Our skills are a mixed bag, but they were enough to make us all outcasts. Some of us have more than one talent, some have a greater depth and others greater sensitivity. We are a group of individuals, with individual idiosyncrasies peculiar to ourselves. Radon brought us together and he makes use of those abilities, and our differences, as much as he makes use of his own skills. I’ve learned a lot since going to the Station.” Zechs sighed softly and his eyes drifted back to the clock. How much longer would it be? How much longer would it take for Polnar to reach his children and bring them to the Medical Centre? He needed a distraction, something to keep his mind off the time. He needed to plan for every contingency he could imagine; and he could unfortunately imagine a wealth of possibilities. A hand lightly touched his bandaged wrist and Giles met his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t clock watch. It only makes the time go slower.” A valid point, but he could not just lie here either. The waiting, the uncertainty of success or failure, was guaranteed to stretch him to the point of breaking. “Knowing as much as you do of Raydon and I presume to some extent, his methods, what do you think he would be inclined to do on receiving the message?” Giles hesitated, frowning as he rubbed absently at the pain in his chest. “I… don’t rightly know. I’m not in a command position at the station, but… It is possible he might have a ship somewhere near Mars. He has ships scattered all over, but the area is so vast…It is possible there could be a ship a few hours away from Mars orbit, or it could take days or weeks for one to reach us. I’m not up on flight schedules and I hardly am privy to the workings of the Station. You were a Commander. While to my knowledge Raydon has never been in the military, he certainly knows how to command, and he has strategists aplenty on Station One. What would you do if you had the resources Raydon has available to him and you received a cryptic message out of nowhere, claiming there was massacre and mayhem afoot on Mars?” Raydon was not military but he had trained military personnel in staff positions on the Stations. It was not just the rank and file at his disposal, but ranking officers including military strategists, who had chosen to sign up with the Station’s when they had found no place for themselves in the current world order that was the ESUN. To be honest Zechs could not understand the mentality of the pacifists. They had made no provision before disbanding the military of the varied factions surviving the war, and that failing would surely bite the pacifists spreading backsides as they sat and congratulated each other on a job well done. If someone did not see the way the wind was blowing, and act decisively, it was likely his hope for peace, all the sacrifices made, would be for naught. “Normally… but there is nothing normal about this situation is there?” Nothing normal, simply the designs of selfish men who determined things would be done their way. “I would send in a scout, briefing them to approach the situation with extreme caution; and with instructions to ascertain exactly what is happening before revealing their presence. However, what we have to remember is that what you call the Gift must have an effect on any decisions made at any point in the proceedings. If Raydon trusts such abilities as thoroughly as you claim, and his advisers share that trust, then, if he should ‘see’ something… if he should send in someone who is Gifted and they could detect something no one else does… and if their report is taken seriously, or are themselves in a command position… There are so many possibilities, depending on the skills and the type of ability that might be involved that would affect the outcome…” “Jesus, Zechs! You do see everything in multiple possibilities, don’t you? How you function is beyond me.” Giles was staring at him, wide eyed and looking as though he had a bad taste in his mouth. “The logistics and variables for a situation the like of this attack on the terra formers is a nightmare. Working to unravel the knot of possibility adds a multiplication factor somewhere in the six digit range. I… Giles, since the Epyon… since Libra… I can’t NOT think in potential variables and probabilities. I don’t see one action in anything that happens around me any more. It is more than a little disconcerting, but when I was head blind… that was terrifying.” Giles sighed softly. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it would have been more than a little unsettling if you were used to seeing… well… everything. And I guess we can’t really make a snap decision on what Raydon’s initial, or long term, response might be to this situation. Not to worry, we’ll manage and we will survive, and we will be out of here and on our way to Station One as expediently as a solution presents itself. I have learned through experience to have faith in Raydon and in his abilities; and in the abilities of the other Gifted.” “So who is this Raydon, who the hell are the Gifted, and what the fuck message are you talking about being sent? And while we are at it, you can tell me just what and where this Station One is.” Zechs' stifled a moan. Barker stood in the doorway, brow furrowed and glaring daggers at them. Wonderful. t.b.c.
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