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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: Definately 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" Chapter 201 2nd March AC 198 Aphrodite Time: 17:50 [time as for Station One / Approx Mars time = 10:22 / Approx Sanc time = 08:17] Raydon He was already becoming accustomed to the low rumble of the engines and the vibration felt through the deck plating. Within a matter of a few hours the powerful engines driving the ship through the vacuum of space were reduced in his consciousness to the level of white noise; a constant that was associated with `safe' and `normal'. By the next day he would barely register the engine's presence in his conscious awareness, though should the beat and timbre of the mechanics change for any reason he, like every other person on board, would instantly be alert to it. Prior to his departure from Station One there had been no visions, no warning of trouble or danger during the flight to their fated rendezvous with history. He had faith in his people's abilities and he knew there should be no trouble, but in space, a most hostile environment, one could never be assured that something would not go wrong. All too often minor occurrences could be overlooked and in the long term could prove to be life threatening. He was never one to play fast and loose with his life or the lives of those who relied on him. There was still a few minutes before the next delegation of officers and officials arrived to force his descent into discussions of the politics through which they must traverse. He was only too aware of the need to be alert to the vagaries of the political game and to keep his attention focused on the tasks at hand. So many people relied on the successful outcome of these discussions and he could not fail them. Important as it was in this quiet interlude, he could not keep his thoughts from wandering to the events taking place on distant planets. Mars was bad enough; people were undoubtedly dying on the Red Planet. People he was unable to help who might have been spared had he forewarning of the disaster. Mars was bad, but what idiocy was being plotted out on Earth to further compound the situation? Romefeller had always been a factional organisation. The figurative left hand fought a constant battle against the right hand. In Romefeller there were always sub plots in the offing; personal agendas and plots that were far from domestically oriented. Often one could discount the players who plotted to gain position and prestige for their kith and kin, but not always. Not always was it so easy. There were the grander schemes, schemes that caught up unrelated plotters and swept them along in the current. Plots that were supremely dangerous to life, limb and country; plots involving politics and/or business deals designed to shift the balance of power on a local scale. Those were dangerous enough to be caught up in, but periodically there were the truly grand schemes. The grand designs that affected not merely the local areas of one or two countries, but the world as a whole and the colonies that orbited it. These grand designs were orchestrated and backed by the greater Romefeller organisation. The inner core of noble bloodlines of ancient breeding and dreamers of glorious schemes that intended to rule their fellow man in the glorious light of day. Lurking in the shadows was all very well for these schemers, until success brought them out of their shadowy shelters to show their faces to the conquered so that they might stand above them. They were bad enough, but they were not the greatest danger. It was the hidden Romefeller, the true heart of the organisation, that which had become legend even to most of the Romefeller families. It was that hidden core which was the greatest danger and which paradoxically, had many times in the past proven to be the greatest asset to mankind's survival. They who were as much a blessing as they were a curse, a blight on the future aspirations of true freedom The hidden Inner Circle, the true Romefeller. These were the ones who schemed and plotted on the grandest of scales. Where others plotted to place themselves in power, this Inner Circle planned not for the one generation in their design but for two, five, ten generations… and longer. It was they who throughout history had ruled from the shadows. It was always the one's who lurked in shadows that one needed to watch. Those who walked openly in the light of day were easily seen, easily monitored, most easily countered. Those who walked in the deepest darkness, who crept through shadow and used the night and ignorance to their advantage… They were the real danger one might suspect but never see, never be able to prove existed in the public eye. They, Romefeller, the Inner Circle, were moving again. It would not have been at the behest of the Inner Circle that the current peace was threatened by disruption. Even they knew mankind had to rest from war. No, it would not have been the Inner Circle hunting Milliardo and going so far as to order wholesale slaughter on Mars. To be certain they were capable of perpetrating such a massacre, and had done worse in the past without a moments regret for lost lives. But this time… This time it was not them. The Inner Circle were precise, exact. They did everything with a purpose to relentlessly follow a grand design, and they were meticulous in their planning. Ruthless, yes, but reckless… No. And never sloppy in their execution. They would never have made the mistakes that had marked this endeavour to snare the Prince of Sanc. Had the massacre been at the behest of the Inner Circle who, undoubtedly, dearly desired to get their hands on the Peacecraft, then Milliardo would have been quietly and efficiently whisked from Mars without the need for military destroyers and wholesale slaughter. It would have been quick, surgically clean, and no one would have been the wiser. He had learned to have a great deal of respect for both the complexities and simplicities of the Inner Circle's machinations. If the capture and detainment of Milliardo was one of their operations the most glaring mistake would never have been considered. The Dakkar system would not have been disabled and thousands of lives would not have been placed at risk because of it. Romefeller's Inner Circle did not make those kinds of errors, but they were certainly not above using the mistakes of others to their best advantage. It would be a golden opportunity for them. //Odds on by now they know where Milliardo is and exactly what is happening. With that knowledge they will have moved fast to secure him for their own purpose. In this fiasco the sheer distance involved is Milliardo's greatest safety.// They would be taking a hand in the mess and would milk the mistakes of others for every advantage they could wring from the situation. Not just one of their runaway children had resurfaced. Two thought to be dead and both proven to be hale and healthy. They wanted that blonde, Raydon knew. The Inner Circle wanted Milliardo as badly as they wanted him now that they knew he still lived and breathed and was intending to take a part on the very public stage. They would want Milliardo more than they wanted him because the blonde could be made to disappear far more easily than a President of the very public Station Alliance. The whole thing could turn ugly very quickly. There had been no warnings, no visions of catastrophic disaster from his Gifted co-workers on Station One. He had set his clairvoyants the task to be alert for any ripple effects, even the smallest ripple, which might be pertinent to the future of the Stations. He had included in his brief an alert for anything even remotely related to Mars, including an additional alert for the Princess of Sanc and the future meeting he was now en route to. It was all a tightly woven and complex knot and one event, no matter how small or innocent seeming, could be catastrophic. He had taken the time to check through the forwarded reports prior to the first round of discussions so recently concluded and, thus far, nothing that concerned him greatly had been forwarded. The instances contained in the reports from three of his people, his best clairvoyants besides his own talent, had all shown themselves to be minor, low key events with few repercussions. Noting major had triggered his own talent either and he had learned long ago to have faith in his peculiar `gift'. But this was Romefeller they were dealing with. He could not afford to forget that for an instant. They could be glaringly obvious in their machinations, but they could do subtle too. They could start a single, finer than silk thread that would weave delicately into a complex tapestry that could take a dozen generations to produce a visible result. None of the psychics on Station One could see that far into the future to be of any possible help to them now. Nor could he. Of course the events taking place on Mars were a major disaster and his people were coming up blank. There had been no hint of the trouble before its advent. That omission, the absence of warning for what was a large event, was more than worrying. There had to be a reason for that omission and, uncomfortably, it brought to mind his earlier musings of why none of his psychics, not even himself, could get a firm fix on Milliardo and his future thread of fate. Fate. Horrible word. Horrible, deceptive word. Fate implied that they had no choice in how they lived their lives. He had already proven he could, and would, thumb his nose at what had been considered to be his fate. Milliardo was like a blank spot in the grand design of the tapestry that was the future of mankind. Everyone, no matter how small they might think they were had a thread running through the tapestry that was the development of the human race and the civilisation they fashioned. Anyone, no matter how prominent their birth or how humble, affected the ebb and flow of the race. A clairvoyant, if he was sensitive enough, might see that influence and trace it and gain some foresight of a telling event. Milliardo was different. He was much like a void into which anyone and anything in near proximity to him was inexorably sucked into becoming, in turn, unreadable. The closest analogy that he could come up with was, frighteningly, a Black Hole. Anything that hit the event horizon of a Black Hole would be inexorably sucked in and through it, becoming a singularity within its yawning depths. He had been informed on countless occasions by his companion Gifted that he was hard to read on the psychic plain. Milliardo, however, was more `Black Hole' like than himself who, while he was hard to read was far less a mystery than Milliardo to the psychic eye. Why should they have this `blindness' in common and why should Milliardo be so much more `invisible' than he? He was uncomfortably certain it had everything to do with Romefeller and its genetic manipulations. They both bore unique genetic markers. They were both of the same genetic series though years apart in genetic refinement, but still... Well, there was room for doubt, he supposed, but it was definitely worth investigation. Was it possible for even Romefeller to create a genetic imprint, a complete gene set that was impossible for a psychic to predict events in their life? One who, impossibly, could shield the future threads of those in close proximity to him; none of the clairvoyants could read any future glimpse of Polnar or Giles. It was as though they did not exist and even using a personal article steeped in each man's individual `emanations', none of the team could produce a result. It was, if a single word had to be used to describe the possibility, frightening. //Ah… Surely not possible. A gene set that is impossible to predict? Impossible to `see' along a projected timeline. Impossible? If it was possible…// The implications, given Raydon had some knowledge of the schemes of Romefeller in the past, was staggering. //What would they want it for? Why would you want someone, or an entire family line if it proved to be a passable gene, who could hide from your own `eye'? Romefeller uses psychics. Why would they block their own vision? Perhaps… Protection? Protection against the abilities they themselves breed into their `children'?// That idea might well be plausible and would require additional consideration. To this day, even after all the years on the run from Romefeller, he was trying to determine what exactly it was Romefeller were so painstakingly breeding for. They were so meticulous about their bloodlines and since the days of direct genetic engineering they had plotted and planned the genetics of their families up to three generations in advance, subtly altering the desired gene sets until they attained exactly what they sought. Why? There had been a lot of fuss over the artefact. He could not forget to include that in his consideration of the reasons that drove the organisation. There had been whispering in dark corners. Whispers that reflected fear. Fear that had made his time there worse as it had seemed, somehow, to be something to do with him. `It' was dying. It. Whatever `It' really was. Was it possible for a hulking great lump of crystal to actually be alive? They had said it was alive, sentient, intelligent… important. During the days when he had been under their control, hidden away from the world and his family, they had spoken as though it was a living, thinking being, but… One thing he had sensed, whether its origin had been the crystal or from those who governed his life at that time, was that they really did not know what `it' was. What was so important about that particular piece of crystal to them that they obsessed the way they did over it's fate? There was, taking the thought further, the question of whether it was the crystal, or was it something else that they pursued and the crystal was merely a stepping stone. A way-point to something different, more important still and far beyond his understanding… and apparently well beyond his imagination even now? He had thought he could claim a healthy and rather broad imagination, but for the life of him he could not come up with anything he could reasonably term `credible' when it came to the crystal. He could think up quite a few outlandish scenarios, but to place the words credible, reasonable and possible…? No, those words did not apply to the vast majority of possibilities. The crystal and its possible uses required research and he had neither the means nor the time to so entertain himself. Its internal light had noticeably dimmed during his years beneath the Inner Circle's control. He had been taken to `familiarise' himself with the crystal often in those days. Two or three times a week after his first three years. The glow, somewhere between deep amber and golden, had dimmed during those years and the more light that faded from its matrix like structure the more his supervisors had obsessed with `making him ready'. Before it was too late. Was it now too late? It had been a long time since he had walked those hidden hallways. Had the crystal, whatever it had actually been, succumbed to time and decay? Was it dead-if it had ever actually been alive? What exactly, he often found himself wondering, defined life? What defined intelligence? //I think therefore I am?// Pinching the bridge of his nose he stifled a sigh. So much for a few minutes to rest and gather his thoughts for the next session. There was simply no time to pursue that thought. Not at the moment. He needed more time and considerably more sleep before he delved into that mystery with serious intent to find resolution. In the present situation there was too much happening for him to spare the time and resources to pursue the thought. He could only hope that somewhere in the future, tragedy would not strike. The neglect of those questions now might prove, in the longer term, to be a rather large and serious mistake. Given the events taking shape around him in the here and now, there was nothing he could do about it. He was not gifted with super human abilities. He was not omnipotent. He could only deal with two or three crisis' at a time and have a reasonable hope of retaining control of the situation. The Aphrodite was en route to a rendezvous that would, if they were successful, force progress on the ESUN and on the Station Alliance. This voyage was not, in the long term, about Milliardo Peacecraft and those who pursued him, but about the thousands of people who lived beyond the control of the ESUN who purported to have a sufficiently long arm to demand their loyalty and allegiance. It was not even about those poor souls who had died, and would die, on Mars because of the play of politics and personal gain. How much territory did those who currently held the power in the ESUN want? Space was vast and there were more than sufficient resources for everyone to share and entertain prosperity and a bright future. No, it was not about Milliardo, but it was about the future. The ESUN's future, the Station Alliance's future, the future's of those who even now were seeking beyond the Asteroid Belt, reaching out to Jupiter and Saturn and beyond. They had to start somewhere and this was it. He had chosen to place his trust in Howard for more than merely solving the dilemma of what to do with an oncoming ESUN patrol vessel with instruction to incite massacre. He had requested the old Sweeper announce the location of the rendezvous within the next two days, leaving the exact release time up to the old man. It would take longer for the Station Alliance's representatives to reach the chosen coordinates than it would a delegation from the Earth's government. Each additional hour the Aphrodite travelled between now and the release of that information brought them that little bit closer to their meeting with destiny, and gave the Station's themselves a stronger degree of protection by hiding their locations. The chance of the individual Station's locations being detected was miniscule and further reduced with each hour they travelled. The locations of the Stations would have to become public knowledge. It was inevitable as the whole meeting was about recognition and trade. To survive the Stations would need to trade; people, produce, goods and services. That was what surviving in the depths of space was all about, but for now obscurity amidst the debris of a failed planet was their greatest safety should events take a turn for the worst. It gave him hope of wholly successful negotiations given there had been no warning of disaster from the psychics without whom the stations would not exist as they did. Station One and the other Stations in the alliance were havens for the outcasts of the ESUN and no one wished to lose what they had so painstakingly built. That, from the moment they had aired the broadcast, had to be his priority. He would have loved nothing more than to order the Aphrodite onto a corrected course that would put them on line for a rendezvous with Mars but, space being the vast field it was, such would be a waste of time and resources. By the time the Aphrodite would arrived in Mars orbit the crisis would be months over. If there was one thing space had in vast quantities it was distance. He needed to place his trust in the men who worked for him and the plans, sketchy at best as they were, he had made. If those plans came to fruition then Milliardo would be long gone from Mars before they could have been close enough to sight the red planet. The amusing curiosity about the vastness of space was that by travelling away from Mars now he would actually meet the Prince of Sanc sooner rather than later. He winced at a resounding clang from the door, catching himself hunching in an effort to get away from the interruption when all he wanted to do was rest and think. There was nothing subtle about that knock announcing the next round of meetings, but a quick look up revealed it was not the ship's officers or his newly appointed Cabinet officials who disturbed him. The tall, stick thin man with the neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard inclined his head, settling his lanky frame down in a chair across from Raydon with a profound sigh. "We need to talk." An understatement, there was a hell of a lot for them to talk about, but there was a time and a place for such discussions and this was neither of those prerequisites. He did not need to say it, Hendricks knew it as well as he did, but the man was one of the few who could get him to listen and change his mind. Given all that must be prepared for their meeting with the ESUN representatives in a few months time, for matters pertaining to the Gifted he knew they needed to pick the time and place for such discussions as best they could… and he had the horrible feeling the Training Master had determined that now was `it'. Hendricks would have issued instructions they were not to be disturbed and his reputation alone would have warned everyone if they interrupted the meeting they might wish they had never been born. So much for Maurice scheduling the meeting at an `appropriate' time. "I have given instruction for a light meal and energy drink to be delivered to you in thirty minutes. That should give us sufficient time to have a little talk. You will eat and drink even if you do so in the middle of the next round of discussions now slated to begin in twenty eight minutes. How Maurice puts up with you I do not know. The man is a saint." Well he knew that! Disturbing as the thought was he was only too aware that he would be lost without the man. He would not admit to it though. Initially he had thought to regain his independent habits on this trip until the man had bulled his way onboard and calmly resumed his position as his… well… Gentleman's Gentleman, he supposed best described what Maurice was to him. That was how Maurice described himself, and who was he to argue? He could not deny that everything in his personal vicinity functioned smoother when the man was around. "Time is wasting, Kristian." "Has there been word from Haydon Giles… or `of' him?" The dark, greying hair was cut close to his skull and the beard was neat and closely trimmed to his strong jaw. His eyes were like onyx chips, slightly slanted denoting Asian ancestry somewhere in his pedigree. As always his fingernails were immaculately manicured, spotlessly clean and those strong fingers were settled on the table before him, relaxed, never betraying his thoughts or emotions through unnecessary movement. "None of the Seer's or the Clairvoyants have had an alert, though that is hardly surprising if the man is with Peacecraft. Polnar too is untagged at this time. All that the team assigned to this case report at present is a general sense of unease. What of your own perceptions?" He leaned back a little from the table, pressing his back into the reassuring solidity of the well cushioned seat. Shaking his head he dared to close his eyes and focus his perceptions… But there it was, that unmistakable `impression' of a receding darkness, a gravity well seeking to suck him in… and, as he had every other time he had encountered it, he fled from it. "Nothing." "There can be little doubt, given the past attempts and what I just shared of your perceptions. It's the Peacecrafts influence." He wished he did not agree with the assessment but he did. How could he not given his recent thoughts? It had always been like this when it came to anything involving Milliardo. Even the disaster at Libra had been `sensed' as little more than an awareness of unease; of something straining, about to happen. Something that would generate change throughout the tapestry weave every Seer and Clairvoyant of any significant ability had sensed in the past. Not one of the registered talents at the stations or resident within the ESUN's sphere of influence could tag the actual event. "We don't `know' that, it has not been investigated, but it does appear likely there is something about Milliardo that… blanks or blocks… clairvoyance." Hendricks shifted slightly in his seat, settling deeper, getting comfortable. The dark eyes were bright, observing him, his unique `abilities' focused on Raydon as only a Training Master could. "Have you heard the old fairytales and legends that speak of people who shape the world through the course of their natural lives with every decision they make?" Raydon arched an expressive eyebrow, not attempting to hide his surprise at the comment. "Fated heroes? Oh please." He dismissed the notion with the wave of a hand. "Old wives tales and fairytales are not what we need." "No? Perhaps it is exactly what we need. In this business of psychic development we can not afford to dismiss any information, even if it appears to be a flight of fancy or a fairytale. Without investigation how are we to know? The facts are undeniable as they stand. Milliardo Peacecraft has been involved in world shaping events on more than one occasion… and he has survived. Those instances where he was personally involved remained shielded from our psychics with the ability to `see' and `read' future event." "I know. It is… uncommon." "You amongst others tagged his `gift' as being that of a clairvoyant when he was on Station One, I believe?" "Yes." "In your opinion is his talent `clairvoyant' as your own clairvoyant ability presents, or did it present as another variant? We have mentioned the possibility of these variants before, but I believe it is time to go deeper and be less `general' about designations." He wanted to say Milliardo was talented in the same narrow designation as his own rare psychic talent manifested, but it would be a lie. He would not lie to a Training Master. To do so could invite disaster from mismanagement of a talent and he wanted to be painstakingly careful of the Prince. When Milliardo had been incapacitated during their flight to Station One, following the Libra incident, he had discussed with Hendricks and the other training masters what he knew of the man. When Milliardo had been resident and healing on Station One, the Training Masters and he had had lengthy discussions of how best to handle the training of what they had all sensed was a dangerous and dynamic talent. The man's sheer presence had caused a ripple effect with each and every Seer on the station, and even the most minute clairvoyant talent had reacted to him. In this disturbing event all clairvoyant activity, always an ongoing occurrence on the station, had ceased. Even keeping the man in shielded quarters had had little effect and only as he had departed, travelling further and further away from Station One had the abilities of the others emerged, no longer subjugated beneath the stronger, unknown talent that had come into their midst. To call it disturbing simply did not describe the effect on those with Gifts. They had all felt the disturbance, the nullifying effect… and to the best of their limited testing Milliardo had actually NOT been in a working mode, his talent appearing to be blocked and barricaded by what ever had happened on Libra. His condition physically had been bad enough, but mentally… the man had been a bomb waiting to be triggered and all they could do at the time was to handle him with the greatest of care. Had he reached a crisis point on Mars? Had he lost all control? Following Libra, Milliardo had been without the use of his psychic ability. He had described a darkness claiming there was nothing in that darkness for him to work with, to `see'. At the time Raydon had not exactly understood, nor did he now, and the Training Masters were equally uncertain of how to interpret the description. Milliardo had not been lying, he had described how he had felt, his relief that he could no longer `do' what he had done. That he would be free of it. Raydon and the Training Masters had been more inclined to think it the results of a stressed ability shutting down in the interests of self preservation. Raydon was inclined to think it might have had something to do with the Operating System for the Epyon mobile suit. Milliardo had talked of it in his sleep, restless, both seeking to find it and seeking to escape from it on a nightly basis. But this speculation would get him no where with Hendricks sitting across from him waiting in silence, allowing him to gather his thoughts and impressions. Patience was personified in a Training Master, in Raydon's vaunted opinion. "I would judge it to be another variant and it is possible there might be a second talent within his ability. Potentially not as strong, but certainly not a minor talent in comparison to that of others at Station One." "We thought as much. We have studied the information our agents have gathered on Zechs Marquise, both in his formative years and as the Oz officer. It has not been easy to get our hands on all of the classified material and we are still attempting to gain access to the Romefeller data base. It would be interesting to read Romefeller's files on him, both as a genetic possibility and after the manipulation and inception of the embryo." "Romefeller do not lightly give up information and they instigated the formation of the Oz Specials within the Order of the Zodiac. I would not have thought it would have been easy to access his files, particularly as I would have expected Treize Khushrenada to have in place tight security against such a breach." "And we all know it is `next to' impossible to hack into the Inner Circle's database, but it is not `impossible'. Merely difficult. What we have learned to date suggests that a part of his talent may be to specifically `block' another psychic's ability to read him on a personal level. How does he `feel' when you reach out to him?" So they, the Training Masters, working independently to him had come up with the same idea? He was not so far off base then. How was this to work? Bringing Milliardo to Station One would interfere with all other psychics if their past attempt was any indication. Of course if he had grown past the after effects of Libra… "His genetic make-up would be far more specialised than my own was designed to be. They would have had a number of years in which to refine the make up of his genes, making him considerably more `advanced' than my own genes. I was gone from Romefeller long before Milliardo was born and I can not recall ever seeing a file that might have been a map of what they wished for in one to succeed my generation of similar genetic coding. I never saw my own file, though I did see the code they applied to me." "At present I am less interested in the Inner Circles files than I am in knowing how this young man `feels' when touched by your perceptions. Forget the genetic gospel according to Romefeller and provide me with the information I actually asked for." "I don't… I can't actually…" Frustration closed his mouth for him, his every attempt seemed so inadequate to provide substance to his thought and after a moment a soft sigh broke the silence. How did he describe what it was he felt when he reached out with the intent to contact Milliardo Peacecraft? Where did he even begin to describe what it was like? But he had survived enough of these interviews with the Trainers in the past to know it could be a hard struggle ahead of him. Saying what they actually wanted to hear from you was all too often as comfortable as getting teeth pulled. What he thought they were asking was rarely what they really wanted to hear from him. His inadequacy in understanding the actual question being asked was the trouble. Sometimes language simply was not up to the complexities of the psychic world. The best he could do would be to talk and think until he came out with what they wanted to hear to further their data and find resolution. "How does he `feel'? I… It's like… like being faced with a…" Again that brief moment of feeling as though he was being sucked into a yawning black chasm filled his awareness. "Like… looking…falling… into a… hole." He waited, watching as Hendricks pressed his palms together, bringing them to rest with his fingertips beneath his chin. His dark eyes were centred squarely on the younger man's face, eyes narrowing as he considered every nuance of expression he had noted in Raydon's voice and body language. "A hole? Falling into a hole. Curious that you should express it so. How is it a hole? Is it a bona fide hole or perhaps a precipice, the edge of a cliff, perhaps?" "It's… dark." Inadequate, it was not simply dark but an absence of light on a grand scale. "Like… a void? A… It's like… like a `not there' kind of feeling. Falling… toward… a point, a place. Confined by… unseen but `felt' walls. A `hole' fits better than a cliff." " `Not there?' A hole. And yet some `thing' must be there for you to get a reading. For you to have the sensation of falling there must be something to provide you with that impression." Raydon ran a hand through his hair well aware of the contradictions involved in attempting to describe what he felt when he sought out the one he would dearly have loved to make his lover. He could not help the vagaries though, was pushed for words to describe what it was he sensed when he reached out for the Prince. It was, indeed, a `there' but `not there' feeling. "I know but… sometimes it feels like… like there is…" The words were all wrong. What was it he had thought earlier? What was it he had likened that feeling to? Something that was there and yet not there, that you fell into and if you ventured too far, too deep, there would be no escaping it. The single most terrifying event in the universe best described the feeling. "A Black Hole." The words fell from his lips in a whisper. "It's like… how you see a graphic representation of a Black Hole. You can match the graphic with the theory of what is a Black Hole; of being sucked closer and closer to it until you are at the edge of the event horizon." It was coming easier now, describing what he had felt in his past contacts, and Hendricks was watching him, waiting, not urging him to better define his description. Giving him time to understand what he sought to explain or simply to put together words that might offer some insight if no actual explanation. "It is like how you expect a Black Hole to work. You are irresistibly drawn to it, attracted by the gravitational field until you can not escape it. You reach the edge and despite how you struggle you are sucked in, only with Milliardo… It's different but similar. When it is Milliardo I don't ever… reach… him. But that's not really accurate either. Perhaps a veil might explain that? A force shield existing between us that I can't penetrate; but I know he is there, somewhere. Just out of the reach of my hand. He's there, on the other side.' No, he had failed to adequately describe what it was like, but Hendricks was nodding slowly, seemingly to somehow understand. Perhaps he had managed sufficiently well to give the Training Master some idea of what it was he experienced? "In our absence I requested my colleagues on Station One to question the other clairvoyants. I find it particularly meaningful that their descriptions of what they feel as they reach out to touch him are much as yours are, which I find at least consistent. It offers us the potential for understanding with more investigation." The others, individuals gifted in manners similar to his ability had described basically the Black Hole theory that he had chosen? He felt the dull muted throbbing at his temples and wished the budding headache gone. He did not have time for it. "There are a number of questions we must ask ourselves before we can begin to understand the unique phenomena that surrounds Peacecraft. Without having worked with the man to any level, given his condition when last he was on Station One, we are at a decided disadvantage. We can, however, amuse ourselves with hypothesising." "Such as?" He was to be let off so easily? How close had his description been to the attempts of others to describe the impossible? Hendricks inclined his head to one side, dark eyes narrowing with thought. The man might have been sitting alone, lost in his own thoughts, but Raydon knew the Training Masters, particularly this one, were always aware of everything around them. "He has rather a unique history. To begin with there is the ramifications of a protracted bloodline beneath the auspice of Romefeller and their penchant for genetic meddling. Initial selective breeding later enhanced by modified genetic enhancement. These things all factor into the finished equation, but for the moment let us ignore the man's genes and give some thought to his occupation as a young adult. Perhaps the greatest unknown factor in his psychological make up is the effect of the Epyon Operating System. It is an unknown system reportedly requiring direct communication between a human brain and an artificial intelligence. We are having a singularly difficult time finding any material on the design and development of the system." "Treize had much to do with its construction." Hendricks inclined his head, acknowledging Raydon's input. "It is annoying that we know so little of the Epyon. The suit was manufactured by the Order of the Zodiac, however our information suggests its construction was undertaken without the knowledge of the Federation or Romefeller. The mobile suit was designed by Treize Khushrenada and that is all the information we have found. We have good cause to believe that your cousin knew of the psychic ability of the Peacecraft line, Milliardo Peacecraft in particular. I believe it a foregone conclusion that your cousin had some form of psychic talent himself. We can not see Romefeller's Breeding Master not modifying a Khushrenada's genetic code. Perhaps he also was a clairvoyant variant?" "It is possible." He could not say, one way or the other, just what Romefeller might have written into his cousin's genetics. Had they continued working for what ever purpose they had designed him to fulfil, or had they, after his defection, shifted their focus and sought something else from his cousin? "It is feasible to assume we may never know what Romefeller had intended for him. The man died and took his secrets with him to the grave. Without an understanding of the effects of the O.S. on a functioning `psychic enhanced' human brain we can only speculate on possible after effects. It may have had something similar to a narcotic effect from which the human brain might suffer withdrawal symptoms. This could be the `darkness' the Peacecraft spoke of whilst he was on Station One. Prolonged contact with the system may have subtly altered the man's brain structure, or chemistry, in a myriad of possible ways. Or it might be that the suit and its OS. could have had nothing to do with the events that took place and how he reacted to them." Should he mention his belief that his cousin was alive? He had no evidence and he could not say that he had had any visions featuring the man, but… eh? Narcotic effects? It was possible. What exactly had Hendricks said? He reconstructed the man's words from his memory, piecing the bits together that he remembered and hoping the Training Master would think him preoccupied with considering Milliardo and the Epyon instead of recovering from exploring a tangent. For now, until he had proof, he would not mention his cousin. "I would think it is more likely to be a repercussion from something the Inner Circle was working on rather than a mobile suit and experimental Operations System. Something new they were designing. Something, perhaps, that they had not quite perfected." "Yes. That too is a viable notion. We need to begin listing possibilities, no matter how outlandish one might initially appear at first. Everything will need to be listed, categorised, documented and thoroughly investigated on multiple levels before we can dare to presume we have an idea of where this young man might take our understanding of the psychic capabilities of the human race. When he is safely placed in protective custody we can begin to strike the possibilities from the list and better help the man come to terms with his ability." "Has there been any luck in understanding what we did learn of his talent when he was at Station One?" "Perhaps there has been some small progress, but again the question rears its head of outside influence. Namely the operating system he was exposed to. The readings that were taken whilst he was recovering on Station One were, to say the least, off the scale. If that OS could interact directly with the nerve centre in the brain that governs a psychics abilities, then I have to wonder what it was your cousin knew that we do not. We have no idea how, let alone the technology, to directly stimulate the core of a psychic's talent at the cellular level of the brain, without condemning the subject to insanity or a vegetative state." "Milliardo often wondered if he was sane," Raydon sighed. Hendricks snorted, waving a hand to emphasise his words. "He was quite sane and I have little doubt that he still is. The man did not strike me as a blithering idiot or a psychotic on a rampage. No, Kristian, Milliardo Peacecraft was quite aware of everything around him, even though he could not `see' at the time he was on station. I find myself looking forward to having a lengthy discussion with the man himself, and particularly, when this is all over, with Haydon Giles." "Haydon? Why?" "Giles is a rather clever man. He has exemplary sensitivity and he would place himself instinctively as close to Peacecraft as is humanly possible given the circumstances. He would have observed a great deal during their interaction and his feedback will be vital to understanding how best we can help. He might just be the key to unlocking and controlling Peacecraft's abilities." Haydon Giles was not a fool, never had been, though he had been haunted by his talent before coming to Station One; like so many other psychics who found a future on the stations. His intelligence and ability to react quickly and correctly was why he had chosen the man to go to Mars initially and modified his instructions to guard the Prince when they had learned of his presence. Hendricks was correct, Giles would have noticed far more of Milliardo's talent than he might realise, but that was what the Training Masters were for, to draw out what you did not realise you knew or could do. Raydon inclined his head slightly, accepting the Training Master's reasoning. "At this juncture there is nothing more we can do concerning the development of the incident now happening on Mars. All we can do is have faith in the measures we have already instigated. Until we hear from Mars we have no idea what has actually happened there. Howard is playing his own game and I trust him to keep the casualties down to a minimum. We can only hope the measures he has taken work." Hendricks inclined his head, agreeing with the simple truth. There was nothing more they could do to affect events taking place on Mars. "Given the potential for an unstable psychic on Mars, namely Peacecraft, I have instructed a ship equipped with a Psi training unit and experienced restraint staff be redirected to Mars. I have been advised the course corrections have been calculated and the ship is now in transit. Any further course adjustments will be calculated when we have further feedback from the planet." Raydon met the dark eyes. "How far from Mars is it at this time?" "Near to three weeks, I believe, but it is the closest vessel we have with facilities capable of containing a high talent psi if he is near to crisis." Three weeks. It would not arrive until long after the crisis now taking place would be finished, but it was closer than the Aphrodite and any other ship capable of dealing with an unstable psychic. Not that an unstable clairvoyant was as dangerous to a ship as a kinetic on a rampage would have been. They had that blessing at least. "Milliardo is not one to panic needlessly. I doubt that man has panicked since he was a child and witnessed Sanc burn around him." Hendricks dismissed the comment with a small shake of his head. "You above all should know Crisis has nothing to do with something as simple or mundane as mere panic. I have reviewed the files of the personnel staffing the psi containment unit on the ship and they are skilled at their work. We can hope the facilities will not be needed. If Libra and the Epyon did not break him then this business on Mars should not, but there is always the possibility. We can only do the best we can." //And wish that we could do more.// t.b.c.
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