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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 Peacemission H65193P Sanc Registry Date: 2nd March AC 198 Time: 13:50 [Ship time is as for Sanc] Howard There was a lot to be said for a decent bit of shut eye to give an old man a boost when the shit was hovering mid air just off the blades of a working fan. At any second contact between excrement and fan blades would be made and he was never keen on being in close proximity to explosive predicaments, but sometimes that was just how things were. There was nothing much he could do about it, not if he wanted to avoid watching renewed conflict tear apart the hard won peace. He had found himself prominently placed to witness and take part in events that shook civilisation all too often; necessary due payment on his part, given his foolish youth. He owed it to everyone caught up in the aftermath of his youthful follies to witness, and to act, if and when circumstances permitted. He would pay this price until his death released him and hope, in the doing, to even the balance sheet… and find peace. He had a great many mistakes and no small ocean of blood to atone for. The Wellington was merely a few hours from the outer edges of the debris field and, from the readouts on her speed and position, she was beginning mandatory deceleration procedures preparatory to entering the designated lane for entering Mars orbit. According to the readings she was carrying far too much speed at present to safely traverse the debris field, and Howard was beginning to wonder if he had underestimated the Captain of the ship. “Military design advance drone detected, Howard.” Ah, that much at least. He had wondered how long it would be before the Wellington located them. Unless her Captain was a fool he would have every drone unit the Wellington possessed in advance of the ship looking for a way through the debris field and for the Sweeper ship that had sent out the alert. If the Peacemission’s own drones had detected the military units then it was pretty much a certainty the Wellington would know where they were, and contact them, within a few minutes. “Smile nicely for the cameras, people. We are supposed to be charting the field, ladies and gentlemen, I suggest you take a ranging scan. I want it noted we are attending to business. Full spectrum analysis of the debris field and be sure to catch the drone in a sweep. Let them see we are doing exactly what we should be doing.” He needed to slow that ship down. In order to make some kind of difference he had put two of his fellow Sweeper ships at risk, and he intended to keep the Wellington well clear of them. The Dark Side and her escort, the Miss Conception, were not to be placed at any more risk than they had to be, and Howard had little doubt his choice of actions would be called before a Sweeper tribunal. That was a Family Ship out there and he was sending it into a risky situation. That was NOT done. Not generally, and it was done now because he had convinced her Captain it was the humanitarian thing to do, to protect those people on Mars. He would be called to face a tribunal and answer to his critics, of which he did not lack, and he was confident he would survive it, but it would not help his standing with the Council of Sweepers. Not that he particularly cared how his standing with them stood… he had been out of favour with the Council many times in the past and survived. But he had not, previously, put a Family Ship at risk. He could not say how desperate certain people back on Earth were, or how the Captain of the Wellington stood with his orders. There was always the chance he was wrong and the blood drying on his hands would run fresh again. There was that chance and he would have more deaths, more heartache, more lives ruined to atone for. “Time remaining to the radio check in with the Miss Conception and Dark Side?” He inclined his head to the Com Officer, never taking his eyes off the display readout for the Wellington’s position. “Check in listed for nine minutes and seven seconds.” It would be tight to see who contacted him first, the Sweeper ships or the Wellington’s Captain. “The Wellington’s speed?” “The Wellington is decreasing her speed, but indications are the reduction is only in accordance with the orbital path lane’s requirements. She is still running hot to enter the debris field.” His helm officer never lifted his head from the control board in front of him. “Time to contact with the debris field?” “At her current rate of speed for her course… Sixty nine minutes, twenty three seconds.” He had to get that ship to slow down. There was no way she would pass unscathed through the debris field and he did not fancy her chances, even if the Captain chose to go in with all guns blazing. There was simply too much debris for them to pass unscathed and it was possible micro meteors would be of more concern than the bigger pieces. The smaller the object the harder it was to pick up and target and if it chanced to hit a vulnerable part of the ship… No, he had to get the Captain to slow her down at the very least. “Incoming communication from the ESUN Wellington, Howard.” The com officer glanced over her shoulder. “Standard military demand for identification.” It was a start and as opening gambits went it was better than the Wellington’s Captain opening fire on them… not that they had any reason to… yet. “Then respond with our official registration and tag on a note asking… politely… what the hell they are doing charging into an uncharted debris field at that speed.” That should get their attention he mused. Given their current position they would not have detected any trace of any other Sweeper in the area, certainly not the Dark Side or Miss Conception. Those ships had to be approaching their positions and in doing so they were now in close enough proximity to Mars and the oncoming debris field that they could not easily be withdrawn should the Wellington go in with all guns blazing. “What is the delay time on the communications?” “Com registers the delay time as… two minutes and ten seconds.” Almost real time communications, that was a bonus. They were creeping ever closer to Mars, and ever closer to each other, and communications had to improve with each passing second. It would get a little crowded, in truth, between the Sweeper ships and the Wellington, not to mention all that debris. So many witnesses in this situation, with so much distance between them was good, it would keep the military honest. There were, after all, only so many ships they could blow away without it becoming very public very quickly and the ships were not in close enough proximity at this time for the Wellington to have a hope in hell of achieving a quiet massacre. While Marquise’s survival was known to what Howard expected would be a great many people in influential positions, the general public believed Milliardo Peacecraft dead. That was the way the government would want it to stay and some people were more circumspect about how they went about achieving that goal than others. The secret was all well and good, and undoubtedly there were some members of the government who would think the cost of destroying ships justifiable, particularly if one could pass the blame on to Raiders. But in this instance, thankfully, there were getting to be too many witnesses in the vicinity of Mars for the cover up to be viable. That was the heart of his plan, not the debris field, but the amount of witnesses already in the vicinity. The debris field was to slow down the ships arrival, but the witnesses were the deterrent for massacre before it happened. The Wellington’s Captain, if he was an astute judge of a situation involving political ramifications, would be only too conscious of the results of tweaking the wrong noses. The Sweepers were an integral part of trade in the ESUN and one always had to watch out for the smooth running of one’s trade. Trade between the Earth and the colonies would be crippled if the Sweepers withdrew for any appreciable length of time. If the Captain of this so called Raider hunter would just have a conscience, then this massacre could be stopped before it began. Painlessly, bloodlessly… and Howard might get to sleep that little bit easier. //Though I rather think events on the planet have gotten well out of hand.// Marquise would not take what was happening sitting down and certainly that firebrand who was infatuated with him would bite, and hard, on the hands trying to pull their strings. Two minutes and ten seconds for a message to pass between the Wellington and the Peacemission. On a reducing count admittedly, but it would be shaving fractions of a second for a while yet. How long would it take for the Captain to consider his reply and then to have it formatted and dispatched? It was sure to be a basic message, probably rather blunt and to the point. Something along the lines of ‘What the hell is this pile of shit in front of me and how long will it take you to clear it?’ //Well, perhaps a little more flowery than that. If he has a good Com Officer it will even be polite.// However the message was presented the Captain was surely not going to be happy with the answer, but the truth was, while it had taken only a few hours to create this delightful mess, it would take months to clean it up. Certainly it would take far longer to clean up than the Wellington had allocated time to complete its mission. //And the clean up bill will be astronomical. I’ll give them a good price, considering I made the mess in the first place, but those bastards incited this situation and they never compensated me adequately for the Peacemillion. Tight fisted bastards would have been in all sorts of shit if I hadn’t shoved her down the Libra’s arse and they were not at all interested in reimbursing me in full. Still, I will give them a discount. Maybe just a little one.// If, that was, he succeeded in getting out of this with no one the wiser to his part in the inundating debris now beginning to choke the space lanes. Did he feel the least bit guilty for making this mess and charging the ESUN for clean up costs? No… well, yes… but no. And it was not really for their tight fiscal policy either, though that did factor in to the equation. Yes, he did make the mess but it was an action, an inhumane action, by the ruling body for the Earth Sphere that had necessitated his decision to take this action. Had they not made the decisions leading to this situation then he would not have acted as he had, so no, he was not inclined to beat himself up over charging the ESUN the cost of the clean up. Additional funds in the Sweeper coffers might keep the politicians from building another ship that could too easily be used as a war ship. The trend out of engineering mobile suits and into the construction of space ships with heavy armour and bristling with weapons had not gone unnoticed. So many ships with a certain amount of fire-power needed to be constructed, yes, there were dangers out in space that had to be pursued and dealt with. There were real Raiders who decimated mining colonies and pirated goods and services and they needed to be stopped. He did not refute that, but he had witnessed enough in his life to know how easily the patrol ships were growing in size and weapons power. The Wellington was only the first of ten such ships now under construction and Howard, through his many contacts, knew there were plans for a new series of ships. Ships that were bigger, stronger, faster… more heavily armed and armoured. Where did it stop? At this point he could see how the future was shaping up. It would be the mobile suit wars all over again only this time the weapons would be larger, the fire-power more deadly, and more people would be killed if it was not controlled. The pacifist faction in the ESUN Council of Representatives was naïve, too untried to spot the currents moving so slowly beneath the surface. Three years was a lifetime in politics and there was a new round of elections coming up and Howard could see the pacifists would lose a few more people. Within six years he could see conflict brewing if something was not done to contain the rot. And sometimes those who professed to be pacifists were anything but. “Incoming communication from the Wellington.” His eyes flicked to the clock, noting the time it had taken. “Audio or video?” “Audio, Howard.” “Lets hear it then.” “Peacemission, H65193P from ESUN 3051C Wellington. Captain Samson extends his greetings and requests information on the course, density, speed and source of the debris field.” Howard arched an eyebrow, musing that the Captain appeared to be the polite sort. The Captain ‘requests’, not demands, he mused. He knew enough of com officers to know a good one would take the measure of his or her Captain and couch all communications in the verbal style of that Captain. So when in a good mood Sampson would be the polite sort and that might make him easier to deal with. He would extend every courtesy to the man and hope he would respond accordingly. “Dispatch ‘packet three’ with the following message… and be sure to pretty it up for the polite Captain of the Wellington, Com. Message is as follows… Captain Sampson, be advised the extent of the debris field is unknown at this time and the source of the field is as yet unconfirmed. The suspected origin is near Earth orbit, debris from the battle with Libra. And do stress the ‘suspected’, Com. Advise the Wellington reduce speed and await further information.” Packet three contained the relevant information on the debris field, incomplete data at this time but sufficient to make it clear to the reader that the field was extensive and contained some larger pieces. If the man had a care for his ship and her crew then Howard expected to see the Wellington reduce her speed significantly in the next few minutes. It would not take long for the Captain to look over the information, combine it with the data his own crew would had gathered since entering drone range, and make his decision. “Message has been dispatched to the Wellington.” Howard glanced at the clock again and grunted softly. It all came down to timing. He dared do nothing else other than give the man time to crunch the numbers. Very shortly now there would be another component in the making of the coffin for this mission to massacre the terra formers. He knew enough about military protocol to know the ships Com Officer would be monitoring all radio frequencies and with the kind of equipment the Wellington could boast she would pick up on the soon to be incoming message from the Dark Side. The Sweeper ships would be monitoring the situation, watching and evaluating proceedings. There would shortly be an incoming communication from either the Dark Side or the Miss Conception and the Wellington would hear it. He had earlier designated the radio frequencies and degree of security the ships were to use while the Wellington was in the vicinity. He couldn’t make it too easy for them, of course, but he would not make it exactly hard either. After all, he wanted them to eavesdrop on the conversation. “Incoming message from the Dark Side. Video content.” Ah. Showtime. “On main screen.” “Howard, the trajectory of the debris field is forcing us to get closer to Mars than we would like. I’ve discussed the latest scan results with Bryce and we are in agreement it would be of benefit to both of us to enter an orbital trajectory for the far side of the planet. The scans from here suggest we have some big pieces of garbage heading our way. Additional to the danger to the Dark Side and the Miss Conception the latest projections for the pull of the planet’s gravity suggest the terra forming stations on the planet will be within the fallout zone. We are aware of the alert that was issued regarding Mars at this time, but our drones detect no ships are in orbit over the Domes. We believe the danger is past; although to date our hails to the Terra Forming Base have not been answered. There will not be sufficient time to send a shuttle down to the bases before the first wave of the debris field comes through, so we will take up geosynchronous orbit over the terra forming domes and use our guns to take down as much of the big stuff as we can. We estimate that most of the debris should burn up in the atmosphere, but the bigger pieces are questionable at best. We should be able to decrease the size of the pieces, if not outright destroy them, reducing the danger of the domes being penetrated. As soon as a reasonable gap in the debris field can be detected I’ll risk sending a shuttle down to the planet to check on the situation; if we have not heard from them in the meantime with an all clear and report of the situation. Our expected E.T.A into geosynchronous orbit is two hours and seven minutes. I’m forwarding the results of the survey of this flank of the debris field for you to correlate to your flanks information. Dark Side out.” And nicely done, Howard mused. He nodded his head slowly, considering the message critically. It all sounded pleasingly plausible and that was what they had to do to make this mission a success. Making it all plausible was their key. The question now was what would the Wellington’s Captain decide to do? For forms sake, as a courtesy between one Captain and another, he needed to contact the Wellington and advise her of the latest development. If the man was a decent sort he would slow the ship given the new evidence of the extent and content of the debris field.
2nd March AC 198 Wellington ESUN 3051C Time: 08:30 Sampson “… Captain Sampson, be advised that at this time the full extent of the debris field is unknown. Preliminary investigations suggest the source of origin of the field may be near Earth orbit; namely debris from the battle with the Space Fortress Libra. I suggest at this time the Wellington reduce speed and await further information as it becomes available. Information packet included contains the known data on the field to date. Peacemission out.” Carefully neutral expression, do not so much as twitch to suggest a reaction to the missive. While he could not say he was exactly a happy man he could not, in all honesty, allow himself to express reaction to the contents of the Peacemission’s communiqué. Somehow, out of nowhere, a miracle had been gifted to him. A miracle had given him the perfect out to save his crew and his suffering conscience. He was not a religious man, nor was he the superstitious sort, nor was he prone to ignoring a gift horse when one was presented to him at a lean time. The packet that had been encoded into the message was now being decoded, running through the computers and just now beginning to be displayed on the main screen as information they could readily interpret. His navigation and engineering Commanders were focused on that wealth of numbers and letters, lines and flickering blobs of light, studying the data to confirm or refute the debris field presented an unreasonable danger to the ship. Any obstacle that presented itself as an unacceptable risk to the safety of his ship and crew would be acceptable cause for him to back away from the mission. If they would just confirm it; if they came back to him with the verdict that field could and would damage the ship, and potentially endanger the lives of his crew, then and only then would he have a viable reason to abandon the mission. Only then did he need not trouble his crew with the barbarity of their orders. He resisted the shaking deep within him that threatened to rise up and make his hands tremble. He was the Captain, the man who held responsibility for the lives and well being of his crew, and he could not be seen to falter in the face of adversity. What God who lurked out here in the dark of space had been watching over them and decided to take a hand? He was not really a religious man, but regardless he had been praying for a miracle. Not believing for a second that he might get one, but he had prayed for it, regardless. Here it was, the perfect miracle. “Captain, the Peacemission is receiving an encoded communication from another ship.” Turning his attention from the data streaming across the screen he approached the com officer. “Helm, do we have any additional ships within range of the drones?” “Negative Captain, nothing registers large enough to be a ship on any of the drone’s sensors.” Glancing once more up at the streaming data Sampson sucked on his lower lip unconsciously, considering the new information. “You can decode it, Com?” “Working on it, Captain. It’s a short pulse transmission… intensely packed, high speed communications. Our own equipment could do no better. Computers are accessing the data stream now.” He waited in silence, leaning his hip against the console as he looked between the flickering lights on the communications board to the huge screen displaying information of their obstructed flight trajectory. It took time for the mechanics, both human and machinery, to chew over the information and he was normally patient with the elapsed time required for decoding such data, but this was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a normal day. The com officer’s fingers flew efficiently over the keys, refining the data, adjusting minute details until she leaned back in her seat, glancing up at him. “Transmission decoded, Sir. It’s embedded video stream with an inserted data package.” “Show me the video.” “Aye, Sir.” Deft fingers flew over the keys and a small screen to the right of the woman flickered to life and he leaned forward slightly, focusing on the screen. He was an older man, not unhandsome… distinguished, Sampson supposed, and he looked worried. “Howard, the trajectory of the debris field is forcing us to get closer to Mars than we would like. I’ve discussed the latest scan results with Bryce and we are in agreement it would be of benefit to both of us to enter an orbital trajectory for the far side of the planet. The scans from here suggest we have some big pieces of garbage heading our way. Additional to the danger to the Dark Side and the Miss Conception, the latest projections for the pull of the planet’s gravity suggest the terra forming stations on the planet will be within the fallout zone. We are aware of the alert that was issued regarding Mars at this time, but our drones detect no ships are in orbit over the Domes. We believe the danger is past; although to date our hails to the Terra Forming Base have not been answered. There will not be sufficient time to send a shuttle down to the bases before the first wave of the debris field comes through, so we will take up geosynchronous orbit over the terra forming domes and use our guns to take down as much of the big stuff as we can. We estimate that most of the debris should burn up in the atmosphere, but the bigger pieces are questionable at best. We should be able to decrease the size of the pieces, if not outright destroy them, reducing the danger of the domes being penetrated. As soon as a reasonable gap in the debris field can be detected I’ll risk sending a shuttle down to the planet to check on the situation; if we have not heard from them in the meantime with an all clear and report of the situation. Our expected E.T.A into geosynchronous orbit is two hours and seven minutes. I’m forwarding the results of the survey of this flank of the debris field for you to correlate to your flanks information. Dark Side out.” The sounds of the working bridge seemed loud to him as he considered the frozen image on the screen. He fought to keep his hands and voice steady, to remain the consummate professional in the sight of his crew. “Get me information on the Dark Side and the Miss Conception.” There were ships just two hours from Mars orbit? Two hours! On the far side of the planet, so not within range of even the most outer of the Wellington’s drones as yet. Two hours… there was no way, even with a miracle of the kind he certainly did NOT want, that he could get the Wellington into Mars orbit to head off those ships. The mission, to all intent and purpose, was now dead. Not even the politicians back on Earth who were backing the mission would be able to deny the Wellington was not at fault for failing to comply with the mission parameters. There was a God. There really was a God… and he must not shake, sag with relief or, unthinkably, burst into tears of relief. There was a God. He would bow to the evidence and become a believer in a higher Being of benevolent nature. By the book. No time yet to collapse and be relieved. He had to make certain of the facts first. He could not afford not to do it all by the book. “Decode the data package and pass it on to Navigation and Engineering.” “Aye, Sir.” All the hours of sleeplessness he had endured since being assigned the mission. All the hours, the days he had lived with the fear of what he had been ordered to do. All of the heartache, the soul searching… Could he do it? Could he massacre thousands to cover up an operation doomed to failure before it had begun? They would have failed, he was sure. Marquise, Peacecraft, what ever you wanted to call the man, he had not earned his reputation for no reason. And Noin, she was no slouch from her record. The fact the alarm had gone out on Raiders attacking Mars could not be denied and was the proof of his fears. It was… over. He felt numb inside. The relief was simply too great for him to process and he fought to keep himself steady, not moving from where he leaned against the computer console. He just needed to make certain those few officers who knew the details of the mission were aware of the impossibility of completing it. By the book until it could not be doubted by anyone on board and then… He would call in those officers and apprise them of the situation and when he could think straight again he would further advise them to give thought to their new situation. But he had time to work out the complexities of that. The crew should be safe in their ignorance and there were only half a dozen or so officers on the ship who might be considered a danger to those who had instigated the mission. There would be time enough for them to decide how best to preserve their individual hides. He wanted a stiff whisky desperately, but not now. He would permit himself to indulge in just one dram when the situation allowed. Just one, to celebrate that he need not lose human decency and become something he had despised during the war. A tool that obeyed without question, that gave no thought to right or wrong, just obeyed orders and perpetrated atrocities. That was what he had been in danger of becoming. He had a bottle, twenty years old of Scotland’s finest in his cabin. He had been saving it for a special occasion and this… this miracle warranted that designation. He could celebrate the successful termination of a mission before he needed to open it to drown his sorrows over abject butchery. Would he, in the end, have given in to the pressures of his position and obeyed those instructions? Would he have abandoned all sense of decency and humanity? He could only hope not. “Captain! Incoming message from the Peacemission. Video content.” Jerked out of his thoughts he straightened his spine, glancing down at the officer. “On the main screen, com.” In deference to the information scrolling across the main screen the com officer split the screen display, allowing the Navigation and Engineering Officers to continue their evaluation of the data. The thin face with its heavy sunglasses and pointed goatee that filled the remaining half of the screen was instantly memorable. Sampson could see in the deep craggy lines of this old man’s face that he had lived a full life and, whatever his age might be, he was sharp of whit. “Name’s Howard and I Captain the Peacemission. I’m forwarding you the latest information on the debris field. Given the information it contains I suggest you change your course, Wellington, and reduce your speed. The gravity field of Mars is beginning to have an effect, displacing and dispersing the debris and causing collisions amongst the larger fragments. It’s becoming harder to chart the largest pieces’ course and speed, and their effects on the general make up of the field. As it approaches Mars we expect the effects to be magnified. There are two Sweeper registered ships in the path of the field making for the far side of Mars. They will attempt to destroy, at the least deflect, the larger pieces of debris in an effort to preserve the Mars Terra Forming Station. We are aware of the mayday call sent from Mars, but the ships have detected no space ships in orbit around the planet. We are assuming the Raiders have left ahead of the field. There is insufficient time for the ships to despatch a shuttle to either of the two domes to determine the condition of the station. A shuttle will be dispatched when conditions improve enough to safely descend to the planet. Peacemission H65193P, out.” Well then, the Captain of the Peacemission had put in an appearance. A curious old bird, one who had lived an interesting life from the ingrained lines marking his face. The glasses hid the eyes but he was fairly sure of what he would find there if he could see beneath the glasses. The fiery gaze of a bird of prey that would make little mistake in sizing up its prey. Howard? It would pay to find out what he could of the man, that would give him a better idea of what he faced in the immediate future, but for now… “What can you tell me, Mr. Darish?” His First Officer had been consulting with the Engineering Chief and Navigations Officer, pouring over the readouts, evaluating the data. The man stiffened and following a final moment’s consultation, Darish straightened and snapped a smart salute to his Captain. The hand dropped from the salute to sweep over the navigation computer. “The data appears to be accurate with our own findings at this time, Captain. The Wellington is likely to sustain considerable damage given prolonged exposure to the debris field.” “Considerable damage, Mr. Darish? Would there be danger to the integrity of the hull and the ships ability to sustain the crew’s life support requirements?” Now that was putting his officer on the spot but he had to be certain. He could not leave it to doubt, too many people knew he was not en armoured of the mission’s parameters. With ships only two hours out from Mars orbit the Wellington might as well be dead in the water, the mission was dead there alone. But idiot politicians needed things spelt out four ways to Sunday before they understood they could not have their way. “Heavy damage is likely to be sustained and there is a sixty percent probability the Wellington might sustain a direct hit to the engines, which could impede full function and leave us exposed to further damage.” So be it. Justification. But wait, just a few seconds more. Try to look stoic, the cameras don’t miss a thing and they will be pouring over the video record before they clear us of blame for a failed mission. Just a few seconds, evaluate the pros and cons… “Bring the propulsion engines down to idle. Stop us one thousand kilometres from the defined designated edge of the debris field and stand alert for stray refuse. I want all the information your people can give me on that debris field. Extend every effort to identifying the source of the field beyond doubt. I want to know where it came from and what its primary makeup is. If it is from the battle three years ago there may be unexploded ordinance to contend with. Com, relay a message to the Peacemission. Thanks for the information and request updates regularly.” t.b.c.
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