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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"
2nd March AC 198 Rosemount Station, Asteroid belt Isolation Suite Time 14:32 [time is as for Sanc ] Treize He was heartily tired of the continual abuse to his dignity. There was a time, admittedly, when he had had not a thought for dignity. It had really been a time where there had been no conscious thought at all. Nothing had existed for him but the awareness of pain. Every breath was a breath filled with a thousand slivers of molten metal drawn through already burned lungs. Every breath was exhaled through burned nostrils and sucked into screaming lungs through a tube inserted in a raw, burned pharynx. In that time he had had no thoughts of dignity or pride. During that time of nightmare there had only been pain. It had been his entire-his only-existence for an eternity. There was no concept of time passing, merely of pain in all its burning, cleansing glory. In essence, it had been his rebirth. He should have died. It had been the greater percentage chance that he would not survive the battle that would cleanse so much and give rebirth, allowing their civilisation the chance to break from the past and move forward, free at last from the perpetual cycle. Or so he, and others willing to sacrifice as he had, had dreamt. He should have died, and would have, had They not been there, waiting for him. Waiting, watching, understanding as most others could not, what it was they were intent on achieving. They had understood, they had waited, they had aided and abetted the grand design… and they had gathered him in when his part in the play was done. They. Rosemount. Still, it had been a close thing. He had almost died, despite their prompt action. He had known the risks, that he might not survive the destruction of the Tallgeese II and that if he did, he might not survive the aftermath as they healed him… if his injuries, however bad they might have been, could be healed. It had been a risk but a risk he was willing to take, and it had drawn positive results. He was alive, though he should have died, and he was continuing to heal. Their genetic sciences used to base their healing techniques were well advanced on those available to the rest of humanity. If not for their skills with genetic regeneration and grafting techniques he would be quite dead and have no interest in the future… his own or Rosemount's. Still, alive or not, thankful to them for his rescue and healing or not– and he was appreciative of their efforts- he was also heartily weary of their total disregard for his dignity and pride. After three years he was no longer a slab of burned flesh and bone. He was no longer the screaming mindless mess of healing flesh he had become during the second year of his supposed death. In this third year, heading now toward the magical fourth year since the wars, he was very much aware of who he was, what he was, and the need to claim back his identity. He was not a patient with no name, no intelligence and no sense of self. He was not merely a number or a piece of flesh to be healed. He was a living breathing human being. Sentient. Well aware of the eyes that monitored his every movement every minute of every day. Machines monitored his vital statistics and humans watched his physical and mental gymnastics as the thought processes had stirred from mindless pain to intelligent thought. He was watched, evaluated, his medications adjusted; the very air he breathed was modified to assist his healing. He was well aware of the `taste' of the air he breathed and the medications included in it, to be absorbed by his skin and drawn into his lungs as he breathed. He was in a sealed, carefully controlled series of rooms. He ate a carefully prescribed diet designed to give his body energy, the exact amount of calories required to permit him to heal and adjust to the modifications the periodic gene treatments produced. He felt like an experiment. But… This experiment had reached the stage that it wanted to spread its wings and fly, not continue to crawl on stunted legs in the caterpillar stage of existence. They appeared to think of him as still being an invalid and that had to change. It was true that he had next to no immune system at the present time. That complex function of his physiology was the hardest to heal of his bodily functions, but it was steadily improving. He would be able to leave these sealed quarters and he understood he needed patience, or risk undoing the progress made to date. Physically there was more to heal but there was nothing wrong with his mind and he was bored, stretching himself more than they said was good for him. The recovery had been stressful, yes, he admitted that, and he endured his psyche sessions with the ships psychological team twice a week. Even they had to admit he was no raving madman or had any closet suicidal tendencies. With the exception of his weakened immune system he was as healthy as any other person on board Rosemount; potentially healthier than most, given the adjustments made to his genetics during his incapacitation. And he had spent all morning, yet again, under their microscope as they evaluated his progress. He was heartily tired of being poked and prodded, of being bled by mosquito bite fine needles as they took their required samples for testing. He was tired of suffering the indignity of a swathe of saliva, urine and faeces tests for detailed evaluation. The day had largely been taken up with the medical droid filling his room, running test after test on his physical recovery… and he was hungry. It was mid afternoon and he had not eaten or drunk anything other than water and their indigestible liquids required to assist them in their medical scans and samples. In general, he was of the opinion he had been pulled, punched and kicked, then squeezed through a set of very small rollers over red hot coals. In short, he was not amused. Had he complained that he was bored with the monotony of routine? Why yes, more fool him, he had, but this barrage of tests had best bear the desired fruits or he would be something other than bored and hungry while they looked over their preliminary results. They could at least have the decency to send someone in wearing an envirosuit to protect his immune system yet give him a human element to the barrage of tests. He was fed up with mechanicals as his only physical companion. What he craved was human company. Real honest to God human company. Warm flesh, sweaty smell, bad breath… the whole human physical deal, not the robotic medical apparatus intent on bleeding him dry and sticking him with needles and probes in every orifice the human body claimed for the amusement of others. My, my, he was out of sorts. A touch tetchy to be certain. They no doubt would measure that too, somehow. Overall the discomfort and the abuse to his dignity would be worth it should the general consensus, once the tests were evaluated, fall in his favour. If they determined he now had sufficient strength to progress to the next stage of his rehabilitation and integration with Rosemount… That was his goal, to move on. For too long his life had consisted of pain. All consuming fire initially, then progressing all too slowly to tolerable, permitting thought processes to once again begin. Then thinking, and no small amount of stubborn fortitude, permitted him to ignore the pain until it became too great to ignore… and his carefully structured and ordered thoughts would fall apart into confusion and inaccuracy. That too had improved to this point in time where he could manage the pain and considered it to be little more than a persistent nuisance. He wanted more than what they gave him to do. The problem was that his greatest talent lay in thinking. It was what he excelled at. Strategic planning covering long periods of time was his forte. The more data he acquired the more complex and accurate his predictions were proven to be. They had understood the benefits of his analytical talent early, before they had first approached him, and he had incorporated the Rosemount variable into the details of the plan he formulated to open the eyes of humanity to their greatest weakness. His attention now focused on the needs of Rosemount and the requirements needed to complete the complex, massive project that was Rosemount itself. He enjoyed thinking. The purity to be found in the thought process appealed to him, and he found its intricacies enthralling as a general rule. Pure thought appealed to him, but even he needed something more. It was entertaining enough thinking and providing them with exactly what they wanted of him, the means by which to secure their freedom from the reaching fingers of the hidden power of Romefeller. He knew more than they suspected, he was sure, and he would no doubt find it even more informative and interesting as he gleaned more of the information they kept secret from him. He was making steady progress breaking into their secure systems. He knew they were aware of his activities within their computer systems, though he was also quite sure they did not know just how extensive his infiltration of their operating system was. Still, deep as he had penetrated, he was quite aware that he had barely scratched the surface. Once his physical pain had reduced to the level that he had been capable of entertaining coherent thought, he had considered the existence of Rosemount, their stated ideal, their possible hidden agendas and the needs of those he cared about. Daily he added to his information and revised his calculations, all in the interests of knowing he was not being played for a fool and he could provide a haven for the few who, like he, were different and needed sanctuary. He found the work intriguing and informative… and inspiring. One thing he was sure of was that he had not erred in throwing his lot in with these people who had dared to approach him and seduce him to join their efforts to enhance the future. It had been their future they sought to enhance, offering him a place within Rosemount in return for his services. He had listened, he had gone through their material and he had made his own plans, incorporating their ideal into the plans he had refused to abandon. His future, their future, the future of his friends and the future of human civilisation. They were all inexorably interlinked and to gain his support he had required them to wait out the outcome of his grand design. Teaching the human race a lesson that could not be ignored, at great cost to those of like vision with the guts and heart to go the full distance. They had been so few and so many of them were dead, paying the price as he had been willing to do. He owed it to the few who had survived to give them a better future… if they chose to step into his design once more. As always he would not order those who followed him. He would offer; he would give them the information they needed and then step back, accepting whatever it was they chose to do once they had all the facts. Then, when they made their decision, if they chose to follow him, he would do his utmost to give them all that he had offered. Rosemount's future was fast approaching. He found it entertaining, if exhausting, to run the evaluations, the projections for success or failure. Daily corrections were required upon the acquisition of new or refined data. It was enthralling stuff. Pure thinking was, in all honesty, where he was happiest, though he missed the freedom to be found in flying a mobile suit. He needed physical activity and something different to the pure thought aimed to move Rosemount, else his thinking would stagnate and sour and he would not, could not, advance their designs. Thanks to the advanced healing capabilities of Rosemount Station he had been assured he might, once again, enjoy the freedom of flying. Rosemount's surgeons, with their skills steeped in genetic technology, had even managed to repair the damage done to his leg from the explosion years ago that periodically pained him and consigned him to a desk. Not that he had not planned to claim that particular desk job as his own; he had just not expected the constraints of an injury to be felt for life. That was, perhaps, the best thing to have come from his alliance with Rosemount. They claimed exemplary medical facilities and they had spared no expense to repair him, physically and mentally. Those facilities would be available to all who joined them. Thought of the pain that had speared through his leg brought Leia to mind. He had met her during that time of purely physical pain-which was little more than a shadow of what he had endured after the explosion of his Tallgeese II- and he could not say he regretted the time he had spent with her, brief as it had been. He did have a regret from that time, that she had not informed him she was pregnant or, later, the birth of their daughter. No doubt her manipulative father had ensured there had been no further communications between them when he had returned to Earth and his duty. Would he have done the honourable thing and married her? Would he have factored her and their child into his design for bringing peace to mankind? If he had known… He had not even considered factoring her into the equations he had been formulating, but had he known…? Well, looking back was nice but it would not give him any answers in that regard. She was long dead and he, on Earth, was dead too. He might have been able to love her… maybe? The fire and passion had cooled as the need to return had grown with his health and she had not contacted him after his return… nor had he thought to contact her. But it had not been exactly casual… He had liked Leia, genuinely liked her, something he could not say for her father. Dekim Barton. If the man were not already dead Treize knew he would take the greatest delight in formulating a means of killing in which that man would suffer a thousand deaths before he shrugged off the mortal coil. He tried not to hold grudges, to stay above that base level too many of his fellow man wallowed in, but Barton made it very hard indeed not to indulge in a little honest hate. At least the surge of honest disgust and loathing reassured him he was human, not some biological calculation device created by Romefeller's hidden geneticists. He squashed the surge of irritation at the thought. Romefeller and their complex games with humanity. They felt they had the right to play with mankind and shape him to their ideal. Was there a single human left on Earth, and in the colonies, who had not been touched by their infernal breeding regime? He had his own thoughts, his own ideals. He had feelings, emotions that tore through him, much as the weather affected the planet with a gentle summer breeze; or the raging destruction of a hurricane. He felt every success and failure of his designs, the deaths of those who worked for those designs and the hope that it was all for something. The hurricane within was never still, though sometimes it eased only to rise again and beat mercilessly at him. Failure was not an option, not if those he cared about, and those who had earned his respect, were to be given a fresh start. His genetics might have been on some chart in a Romefeller laboratory before his conception, but he was entirely his own man. He could only do the best he could to bring low the hidden organisation and, if not totally destroy them, at least set them back on their heels and whimpering. He could, already, see the beginnings of what he had hoped for. The results of the war were creeping into the day to day activities of the citizens of the Earth Sphere, and it gave him hope that humanity could pull itself out of the primal sludge. One thing he knew for certain was that they, humanity, were not alone in this universe and that one day their neighbours would come knocking. For that day humanity had to be standing firmly on two feet, not crawling like infants or doddering on a cane like an old man. After all, he smiled, they had already come. "Treize. Are you with us?" Ah, his attention snapped back to the moment. Perhaps the initial results of their plethora of tests were in and he might learn if he could entertain himself with something other than his own thoughts… and his own company. Pulling on the gloves, his primary means of communication, he turned his attention to the vidscreen mounted on the robot squatting before his desk. His surgeon, or rather, the head of the team of surgeons who had given him back a healthy body, waited for his attention. I am here and hopeful you have reached some conclusions in the time since your testing concluded. "There are still some results we require time to study, but the general consensus is that your physical abilities have reached a critical stage. We have carefully considered the results and a number of options available to us, and decided to upgrade the level of your physical activity. We will formulate a program designed to increase your stamina and physical strength. The first part of this upgrade will be the increase of gravity in your suite. Initially we will bring you up to one sixth of Earth standard gravity and see how well you cope. We will begin advanced procedures in enhancing your physical responses to sensation, muting the nerves which have tested to be at standard and above so that they do not continue to advance beyond acceptable sensitivity levels." Meaning his fingers would soon no longer pain him to write his responses. That would be an advantage he would not bemoan. It would be good to touch something and not have pain flair in his fingertips. "We will, additionally, be introducing a strict program to supervise the recovery of your voice. Tests suggest the vocal cords are healed sufficiently to permit us to formulate a routine to get you talking again, so voice therapy will also be included and closely monitored." Ah, so he would, once again, have the wonderful connotations available to him to be found only in the use of the human voice. One could not express oneself adequately using the medium of the written word. He had always found the response to the spoken word to be more pure, more immediate and more impressionable. So, a voice would once again be his and he would be able to touch things… touch? Reduce and control the sensitivity of his nerves…? His fingers fairly flew over the touch pad, the script flowing fast to his direction. I shall once more be graced with clothing? Ah. Wonderful. One's modesty might, once again, mean something to more than oneself. The elderly woman on the screen grinned at him, bright and wicked. "Such a disappointment to those of us who have been enjoying the scenery, my dear. Be assured, I promise I shall have you stripped naked every Friday night for a full physical." Wonderful! I can not wait, my dear lady. There, the written words just could not carry over the disdain he wished to drip from each word. It was next to impossible to convey sarcasm, or any other emotion for that matter. He would not include the descriptive in brackets either, that would simply be uncouth, but that was alright, the time was coming when he would be able to strip the hide from one who displeased him with a few quietly spoken words, or drip honey to charm those he addressed. Voice played such an important role in who and what he was… or who he had been. "If you two are quite finished…?" The irritated voice came from off screen `behind' the woman Treize rather liked, and he knew the sour natured doctor who was brilliant in his field but was hardly a sterling advertisement for the niceties to be engaged in conversation between individuals. The man would be scowling fiercely at them, a no nonsense individual who always had something more important to do… or so he would have one believe. "Sod off, Harold, there's a dear.' She did not even look over her shoulder but winked at Treize instead, "I don't find many handsome young bucks who will flirt with me at my age and you are not interrupting before we really get going. Now Treize, I know you would love to leave the suite, but unfortunately your immunity count is still quite low." Dangerously so? "Yes, dangerously low, but there is improvement. We have another batch of genetic soup brewing for you, so it will only be a few weeks before we can boost your system again. I expect there to be an improvement after that infusion, however it is doubtful the improvement will be sufficient for you to be self reliant. More boosters will be required in the near future. The progress marked to date leads me to be quite hopeful your immune system will make a full recovery." Ah, and one was hopeful one could take a walk on more than a treadmill. He had not, in all honestly, expected to be able to leave the suite any time soon. He was quite aware of the realities of his situation, and that they were willing to giving him even one sixth of Earth's gravity was enough of a testament to his progress. He had to have patience and this was just another indication of how far he had come in his recovery. Trying to rush his body was not necessary and would do more harm than good. To be honest, at this point in time, there was nowhere for him to go. Rosemount Station was his entire world and at this time that world was limited to the three rooms of his suite. He had no doubt at all that he would, one day, walk out of the door and be free to roam the station. He would come face to face with her citizens and he would become a part of her crew, physically interacting with the individuals instead of a select few. One day. It simply was not this day. "Now, it has been proposed that you might benefit physically from being integrated with a crystal segment. To that end we incorporated preliminary testing for compatibility. Our reading of the test results suggest you should be able to cope with the symbiotic relationship the segment initiates with the host. Now I need to stress this, Treize. You need to understand that not everyone is compatible. We can attempt to establish the ideal conditions for the symbiotic synapses to begin, but certain safeguards are required to be set in place before we make the attempt. If you are not ready for the crystal I want to be able to separate you from the segment without delay." You expect there to be difficulties? "There have been instances of some people not reacting overly well to the initial links being established. Their test results suggested they were compatible but… it is not always a success and whilst no one has ever been killed, it can be rather a violent reaction, much like a severe reaction to an exposed allergy. We do not know why, certainly we have not found, to date, a reason for the link to be painful, but it has been known to happen. Certainly there is usually a reaction, be it some discomfort or a sensation which some people equate to pain, but really there is nothing in the data or the process itself that should induce a physically painful reaction. It is hypothesised that the likely explanation is that it is a psychological reaction. A responsive reaction to the recipient expecting the process to hurt and, therefore, it hurts, just as they expected." Well, it was not as though he did not know how to deal with pain. To him pain had become something that was to be endured. It would, eventually, pass. Have there been reactions to the links being set other than pain? "There have been instances where recipients have collapsed into an unconscious state for anywhere from an hour to a week. On recovery they have been unable to tell us anything which might explain why they collapsed. Indeed, most are not aware they have had a physical reaction at all. They have insisted they were enthralled by the contact and merely did not notice anything else. To them at most only a few minutes appeared to have passed." One forked eyebrow arched magnificently and the surgeon on the screen smiled at him. "Yes, it rather raised my eyebrow the first time I witnessed it. The subjects generally had no memory of a break in their perceptions; they insist only seconds or minutes passed. Whilst the integration took place they reported no pain, only a moment of discomfort. As I said, the pain reaction is most likely to be the result of a psychological reaction to what the recipient has convinced themselves they should feel. Given this, you need to consider your perceptions on the entire symbiotic relationship integrating you with a segment of the crystal will result in. You need to determine your thoughts before we consider undergoing the procedure. To this end I will have all the data I have on the integration process forwarded to your terminal. I suggest you study it and give it thought before we arrange the procedure and, given your particular health needs, we will need to use the medical robot as our contact with you throughout the procedure. Not even for the integration can we afford to have you exposed to possible contamination with your immune system so low." I understand. I will read through your information package carefully. "Good. I have been informed that you have been looking forward to initiating contact with the Crystal, but such things must, of necessity, take place in small steps. I want you to read through the information I forward to you, gain a through grounding in what the procedure actually entails, as well as read through the documented possible reactions thus far displayed to the integration." My dear lady, I have never entered into anything without first undergoing extensive research. I assure you, this will be no different. "I find your reputation suggests to me that you will have quite an interesting reaction to the symbiosis and you and I will talk later. We will need to discuss the procedures when you have had the opportunity to review the files. However, that is for later and I have further test evaluations to study. I have, to date, noted no difficulties which might necessitate a delay of the merge. Romefeller's files list you as a KPsi series, and your parents as K series. Much as we of Rosemount find it disagreeable to breed for specific traits as our parent body does, it is a factor that can only be considered to be a bonus for your merging with a fragment. For now, I suggest you rest and read the information sent through to you. I will contact you in a few hours and we will discuss the matter of the merge. I have just been informed that your gravity will be increased at 1800 hours. For that I will be monitoring your reactions." Understood, Madam. "And tonight we will also begin the round of injections which will steady your nerves' sensitivity. I suggest you rest whilst you can." He sighed softly as the screen blanked and watched as the robot turned on its axis, upper third turning first, followed by the middle segment and finally the lower third engaged its drive system, reversing the machine, though now, Treize mused, he supposed the machine was going forward from its perspective. The airlock door opened and the robot entered the space, shutting down as the door closed and it was only the matter of a few seconds before he heard the decontamination showers activate. With a mental sigh he closed his eyes for a long moment and calmed himself. Progress. At long last, progress. He could have done without the reminder of Romefeller and their dynastic breeding program, but he had been aware of the facts of his birth for years. He was the product of a long line of genetic experiments and nothing could change that. He was, physically, what he was made to be, but whilst they might have fashioned his physical form, his mind, and the will that drove it, was entirely his own. //KPsi. K. Key series genetics. Genetically coded to accept specific selected spliced genes by which to produce a new generation. My parents were both Key generations and Romefeller determined I would be a Key generation capable of passing on to any issue I might have the Psi enhancement genetic codex.// Any issue he might have had? Well, they would have made certain he had children, one way or the other… if he had waited for them to make their move. Slipping his hands carefully from the gloves Treize rose from his desk and pushed off from the floor, floating into what he thought of as his bedroom, though as yet there was no real bed for him to enjoy. He had a little time before he gained some additional gravity and he settled himself to float, closing his eyes and enjoying the lack of sensation he found in zero gravity. It annoyed him most days, but for now, for this brief time, it might give him the time to think. He had learned much from his discussions with the Rosemount representatives while he was still a very young man on Earth. From them he had learned why he was capable of doing what he did…why he enjoyed a particularly healthy body and a mind that was uncommonly active and capable of advanced perceptions… and he had learned why he was so uneasy in certain company. He had never come totally under Romefeller's thumb, not that those decrepit old men and women who ruled the public face had been the true Romefeller. They were, however, a gateway for that more secret organisation to insert its manipulative fingers into enquiring young minds and, once they grasp a firm hold, they would never let go. Not that Romefeller was their only outlet to manipulate the future of mankind. Those old men, the supposed leaders of the Romefeller Foundation, deceived themselves with their own sense of self importance. They thought they ruled, that it was their divine right to rule, and a matter of destiny for them to guide humanity to the parameters they set. He had, after meeting with Rosemount's representatives, made it his business to hold a number of seemingly innocuous discussions with Dermail. The Duke had scoffed at the notion of there being such a thing as the Inner Circle. Fairytales, he had laughed, left over legends from an unenlightened time. Dermail had determined to make his mark on history, secure in his belief that he had the right to rule. Too many of the Romefeller patriarchs, and matriarchs too, had discounted the influence of the Inner Circle. It troubled Treize, not that he could do more about what was to come other than what he had already. There was a fall coming, he could feel it. He had projected it to take place within the next three year period and his recent calculations only strengthened his conviction. The Inner Circle, the Council of Romefeller, they who were the true Romefeller, would decide enough was enough. He saw the evidence of it throughout history, repeating itself again and again. The Inner Circle would bring down the established order, bringing chaos and destruction and then rebuild from the ashes, shaping the world to their designs. The Romefeller the world knew would undergo a shake up that might, literally, shake the world in its wake. The political landscape of the Earth Sphere would certainly change, and not all of it subtly. Before that time came he wanted certain people safely removed from the influence of the Earth Sphere. Rosemount's command structure now knew where Zechs was to be found, and they needed him brought to Rosemount as expediently as possible. Only on Rosemount would his friend be freed from Romefeller's machinations and Rosemount needed Zechs. The unique nature of the enhanced genetics contained within his friend would have Romefeller pursue him the length and breadth of the Earth Sphere. He would be a much desired commodity and Romefeller would, once they put their hands on him, never let him go. While he had been thought to be dead Zechs had been safe enough, but now, with practically the entire ESUN aware of his existence… Who on the Council of Representatives, Romefeller allied or not, would not know the Terror of Earth still breathed? Even Mars could not keep him safe and free from politics. Rosemount could. Treize tilted his head back, stretching tight neck muscles, careful not to send himself floating toward one of the walls… or floor, or ceiling for that matter. Zero gravity had its prickly points. //Zechs is rather unique, though only Romefeller, of those on Earth, know how unique he is. But he is not the only one with a selective combination of genes, and I have to wonder about this cousin I did not know survived. What selection of genetics did they use for him? Or perhaps he was not one they artificially engineered? Might he have a gene sequence as unique as Milliardo's? As my own? What had they intended for him? I must check the station's Romefeller files and see if there is an entry for my cousin; compare them to my own and perhaps to Milliardo's. I am KPsi. Milliardo is W series with KPsi sequencing. There had to be a generation or two of selective sequencing before they introduced the W series sequencing.// Something shifted. A train of thought shifted alignment and he allowed it, eyes closed, concentrating on the divergent path, adding possibilities, projecting more variables… It was why Rosemount had sought him out, this ability to hypothesise, to follow seemingly random thoughts to definitive conclusions. Rosemount's clairvoyants had not found Milliardo. In three years they had found no trace of him and it seemed feasible that somehow Romefeller had bred some kind of resistance within his gene sequences which might, hypothetically, disrupt clairvoyant talent. There had been no indication, from what he had been told, of this supposedly dead cousin still being alive. No incidents of clairvoyant talent picking up the appearance of the Station Alliance to which he was affiliated. There had been no indication of this trouble on Mars, where Milliardo was resident. Was it possible that something in their genetics, some mutual variable or planned design, might protect them from the eyes of those who could look through time. Milliardo was listed W series and was it that select genetic sequence that gave him that questionable protection from being located by those with the precognitive talent to call on? Might Kristian Khushrenada likewise be equipped to keep his activities unobserved? //Resistance to clairvoyance? Is it really possible?// But he had not known Rosemount to be lax and there was Romefeller's failure as well to be considered in evidence. Unfortunately he did not know enough about the psi sciences and psionic abilities themselves to understand how, or what, could block the `sight' of one who could catch glimpses of the future. He knew that Milliardo's abilities were somewhat out of the ordinary, else he would not have been able to work with Epyon as well as he had. Milliardo was the one he suspected would give Rosemount freedom, but was it possible for Kristian Khushrenada to be a W series too? An earlier model, so to speak? A deeper breath was carefully drawn, expanding his lungs as much as he could before being exhaled slowly and carefully. Room for thought, he decided. It never paid to dismiss theories too early and Treize had no doubt Milliardo, Zechs if his friend preferred, had worked with the unique nature of the Epyon operating system to craft a future that they all now lived. It would not have been easy, he knew that from personal experience. He had merged with Epyon, but he had been unable to go the full distance. His own abilities differed too much from what Epyon had been designed for for Epyon to work with easily. The machine and its operating system were both unique, far from most operating systems to be found throughout the Earth Sphere. Quite unique. Full lips curved into a knowing smile and Treize resisted the flinch as, despite himself, he laughed. A warped sound, rasping from a throat that had done nothing but scream for nearly two years. Did they think him a total idiot? Did they at least suspect he knew what powered the mind merge capabilities of the Epyon? There was a reason he was confident he would have little difficulty, if any, in merging with the fragment of the Crystal. Though the contact would not be physically direct, he was certain he had touched his mind, his awareness, to the like before. In fact, on a number of occasions. Epyon had to have contained at least one crystal fragment. Was he right to suppose it… or was he wrong? He would know soon enough. t.b.c.
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