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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 Dulin for volunteering to beta this. //... // thoughts
"Alternative Directions: Options"
Chapter 42
Mars Colony Base Dome Date: 1st March AC 198 Time: 16:44 MST [Mars Standard Time] Zechs Pain. His shoulder was on fire. The treatment he had received from Sharnice seemed long ago, now seeming to have no effect in reducing pain levels from the exertion of the climb. Each slow reach up for the next rung, each tensing of the muscles to pull up, each flexing of the muscle to release his grip for the next reach up, blended into one long, agonizing movement. His hand was another source of distracting pain. The blood soaked bandaging threatening to cause stiff, reluctant fingers, barely capable of grasping the metal rungs, to slip. It was so hard to maintain his grip on the rungs. His body hugged the ladder, scraping over the rungs. He was exhausted, but he must go on. He dared not lose physical contact with the ladder. If his injured hand lost the grip in the darkness he might not be able to find a grip with his good hand in time to save himself from a long fall into darkness. He needed the orientation of the cold metal sliding over chest and belly. He doubted that he might have made the climb had he made it on Earth. His only aid here was the lighter gravity of Mars. Only a couple more rungs. Grip, forcing abused fingers closed. Only a few more rungs. Gritting teeth as he pulled himself up, sweat running down face and back. Grip. Pull. //Never ending. I'll be in the dark forever. Never find my way out.// Grip. Tense. Pull up. //Ignore the pain. It does not exist. Only a little further. Just another few steps.// Grip. Pull. Reach. Grip. Pull. Reach. Grip. Pull. Reach. Reach. Hand flailing for solid, cold metal. Reach. Somewhere.. Some...where... It took him a few seconds to realize he had reached the narrow metal landing fronting the door, and that the red before his eyes was not the red of exhaustion, but the lights of the landing. So clouded in pain had his mind become that he stared blankly at the landing level with his head, taking in the metal mesh of the flooring, the railings above his head and the steady red glow that originated above the metal hatch in the wall. He finally shook his head, attempting to wake himself out of the daze, forcing trembling fingers to grip the side rails and haul his body over the edge, onto the landing. He lay there panting, knowing this space was too small for him to remain here. One injudicious movement would have him plummeting into the darkness. He crawled to the wall, dragging himself slowly up its cold, smooth length to front the hatch controls, forcing abused muscles to the bar on the door and push his good shoulder up under the latch, lifting and pushing with his body weight. The heavy steel portal opened, swinging inward, taking him with it. He more fell through the door than stepped, crumpling to lie with his back resting against the side wall and he stared at the door, ordering his body to close it. Order as he might, it did no good. His body refused to obey until it could garner sufficient strength to crawl to his knees and drag the thing shut. Another few minutes passed before he could get up the strength to lock the bar down. That done he could only sink down to his knees and pant, hugging his abused arm to his chest. How long? How long had it taken him to climb that distance? It felt like days and was probably hours, but most likely minutes. "Please God, let it not have been hours." a whisper. "God, I hurt." Had he hurt this much before? Of course, yes, of course he had. Libra. The aftermath of the Libra had hurt more than this, but that was lost in time gone by and this was here and now. Fresh. Real, not faded memory. The only blessing was that the shoulder and hand injury were on the same arm. Restricted to an isolated place. After Libra his entire body had been a battle field of pain. Of course this was not as bad. Get past it. Get beyond it. //Just a couple of minutes. Just a couple of minutes to rest. I'm no use to Noin or anyone if I can't stand up, let alone fight. I don't give a shit about the consequences. Next time I take the elevator. I don't care who could be waiting for me. Its got to be better than this.// With fumbling, shaking fingers he dug a ration bar out of a pocket, needing the calories. Knowing he had so much work ahead of him he had to replace calories lost to the climb. Had his children and the children of his friends not been in the dome he would be sorely tempted to release gas into the oxygen supply here, as he had had done in the Alpha Dome. He had no idea what dose would be damaging, or lethal to the twins or the other babies of the colony. Certainly a lot less than it would have taken to knock out a man. Therefore, it was not an option, easy though it would have been. That had worked down at Alpha dome, but not here. //I am running out of options. I wish my stomach would settle. Why didn't I see the domes exploding before? Why? What else have I missed? Epyon. Damn. Damn, I need you now. I can't do this. I can't see all of it. I'm probably following the wrong course.//
Her gleaming hull bristled with missile pods and laser turrets. She was a war machine and she existed in an era when there was no war. Her designated purpose was as a patrol vessel designed to go against the raiders who prowled on the weak mining ships and the vessels that cruised the private shipping lanes. Huge though she was, and fast too, still she was at a disadvantage against the Raiders. Space was so vast. Even this mammoth vessel could not be everywhere. She would still not make much of a difference to the abuses caused by the Raiders, but she would not be alone for long. Others were being constructed and she would have help patrolling the shipping lanes. Distant sunlight reflected off the dark hull, illuminating the registration numbers and the name painted on her hull. ESUN 3051C Wellington. She hung in fixed orbit over the slowly revolving planet. A small, insignificant dot. A spec less than the spec of dust that was nothing to the majesty of the world revolving before her, ignoring her as insignificant to its needs. Mars ignored the predator who had come and hung above her, silently threatening. Waiting. Her lower bay doors stood open to space, the tiny shapes descending from her dark depths . They were small, even less significant to the rusty coloured planet and their dark hulls were lost against the rust red of the dust below. Small single man assault ships. One after the other emerging from the transport bay, descending to the planets surface. Her guts spewed forth three larger, clumsier vessels that descended more slowly than the nimble quick fighters. Even so, the predator was as a dust mote against the vibrant colour of the Red Planet. **
The big man stood at the view port, face carefully blank, displaying no emotion as he watched the red world revolve slowly, majestically, beneath the ship. Behind his chosen position the bridge crew were at their stations, the chatter of computers loud in the normally quiet area. The low murmur of voices stilled at the request for Osprey Leader to respond with the needed report. He glared, almost accusingly, at the planets surface. This was not something he had ever envisioned himself doing. He had been an Alliance captain ten years before this day. His military career had seen him promoted steadily through the ranks, gaining position and prestige and no little respect from his peers and superiors alike. In that time he had carried out his fair share of distasteful duties, but he had thought those days were behind him. Distasteful, yes, but never so disturbing as this. It was time, and he only wished he had made the decision sooner. He was certain, now that it was time he retired. He did not have the stomach for this. When he had been given the Captaincy of the Wellington he had thought he could enjoy an active career spiced with the occasional skirmish with Raiders along the shipping lanes and trading insults with the captains of other ships. Until he felt himself ready for the forced idleness of retirement. So he had thought. The ESUN was at peace. No need for war ships. Just regular patrols and a minor skirmish or two to keep his interest going. "Osprey Leader to Blue Whale. The packages are in the post. Repeat. The packages are in the post. Mail van is en route to Post Office." "Captain? Instructions for Osprey Leader?" the com officer twisted in her chair to face him, expectant. He did not want to give this instruction. He had thought those days of the abuse of human dignity to be long gone. He did not want to do this, but he had his orders. He had even, to his surprise, been given an explanation for the necessity of this extreme action. No help for it. He was just the messenger boy. The one who passed on the orders and carried the blood stains by default. He signaled for the com line to be extended to the bridge area he occupied, activating the wall control and, with a deep breath to fortify himself, obeyed his given instructions. He was a ships captain, not the President of the ESUN. "Acknowledged, Osprey Leader. When the van is clear of the post box, you may close for the holidays. Repeat. When the van is clear of the post box, you may close for the holidays." A long moment of silence followed. The captain closed his eyes, praying. Willing the fighter's pilot to refuse the order. Praying that someone else would have a conscience and the courage that he lacked. That they would have the strength to listen to their conscience. Unlike he. "Roger that, Blue Whale. Osprey Leader, out." He felt ill. He might not like his orders, but he had his duty to perform. He was a ships captain and it was his duty to preserve the peace in the Earth Sphere. Much as he disliked this duty it was necessary to the preservation of that peace. If he told himself that often enough, he just might believe it. One day. Fighting down sudden rage that he was placed in charge of this shameful duty he drew a deep breath and straightened his spine. He was an officer of the Fleet. He must maintain decorum at all times. He must be the example for his soldiers to follow. He might personally disagree with the contents of his instructions, but it was not his place to judge. It was his place to do. It was his duty to the people of the Earth Sphere. One day, he prayed, those bastards in their air conditioned offices would face the business end of their decisions. One day. He signaled to the com officer, "Notify Doctor Sampson that his patients will be arriving shortly. Status of the gravity generators?" "Gravity generators are on line and all indicators are in the green. Gravity is currently maintained in the med section at one third of that of Earth standard. Pod revolution is stable." The med bay would be ready to deal with the delicate cargo soon to arrive. He had to ensure that that cargo was delivered to Earth in prime condition. "Have extra security in the Brig. I don't want our guest getting loose." "If he does get loose, I hope I am the first he takes down. I deserve it for this." a low whisper, meant only for his own hearing." **
It had never felt so bad before.
The shuttle bay doors had been hit by missiles and shattered and the fighter crews had pulled away, allowing the three troop carrying shuttles to land in the shattered bay, speeding their entrance to the complex. The security forces under his command, garbed in unmarked fatigues and body armor, had exited the shuttles, their environment suits stripped of all insignia and labeling. Black, the colour of the Raiders who hunted the shipping lanes. Beyond the dome he could make out the unmarked fighters that patrolled the skies above. Both domes had been holed. The fires carefully and quickly extinguished. The troops on the ground were professional, specially trained for this type of work. They knew their work well and were quick and thorough in their bloody duty. As per their instructions there would be no survivors other than those who were considered secure. There were to be no survivors who could reveal what really happened here. There would be, according to his instructions, only ten survivors who would tell the story of the raid. He already had positively identified three bodies, days dead, from that tally of ten. The final count would be interesting. Perhaps there would be only the one survivor of the Raiders massacre of Mars. "Osprey Leader to Raider One. The merchandise is in transit." "Raider One to Osprey Leader. Message acknowledged. The merchandise is now in transit. The shopping list is being filled. Repeat, the shopping list is now being filled." "Raider One from Osprey Leader. Acknowledged. You have thirty minutes to complete the business transaction." "Raider One to Osprey Leader. Acknowledged. Thirty minutes to transactions end. Out." Raider One, a small, hard jawed man with cold brown eyes and gingery brown hair looked at the bodies arrayed around the engineering bay. Seven dead here. Six men and a woman who had not stood a chance against the attack. Quick, hard and ruthless. That was the way they were trained to make their kills. Seven people. That was more than he had been led to believe would be in the bay at this time. Still, they had carried out the extermination of witnesses with out loss of life amid his men. That was acceptable, and he could not expect every piece of their intelligence to be correct. People moved about when they panicked and he had no doubt people were panicking when the first of the missile strikes had hit the base. It had not taken a lot of time to kill the terra formers. Not really, considering they had had Marquise helping them put up a defense. He might still be engaged in action were it not for the Sleeper agent who had not revealed himself until the fire fight. Marquise had not known what hit him and the defense of the base had fallen apart after he went down. His team now went about the task of relieving the base of every piece of equipment that Raiders would feel would be worth the effort of the raid. Spare parts for their ships and their hidden bases were not so easy to come by. In truth the Mars Colony was a prime target for the likes of the Raiders and why they had not attacked the colony over the last few years was an intriguing thought, but it was a thought that would have to wait. There were better things to do than think of that. "Jackal to Raider One. Charges set for erasure of target den." "Raider One to Jackal. Erase den. Repeat, erase den." "Jackal to Raider One, acknowledged." It was only seconds later that he felt the explosion. Satisfied he surveyed the engineering bay, now emptying of spare parts and tools quickly. Nodded. All evidence removed. **
Gone. The rooms where they had lived and fought over his constant evasion of reality. Gone. The rooms where she had taught him what making love was. The rooms where he had held his children. Gone. Everything gone. The explosives designed to ignite chemical fires that would cleanse everything that might possibly identify the owners of the quarters in a quick fiery burst and then burn themselves out just as quickly. All gone. The truly horrible thing was, that he had not once thought of it as Home. Not even now.
It was done then. Almost over. He would not sleep well with the weight of their souls on his for a long time. "Recall the teams from Base Dome. The Alpha Dome teams?" "All hostile witnesses have been reported to be eliminated. Computer specialists are now working on the computers to eradicate all information pertaining to the targets." came the carefully neutral tones of the com officer. "Notify Commander Simpson that his mission is complete. What is the status of ships in the area?" "We have a window of eighty seven minutes before the Winner Corporation's Ore Carrier, Fatima, enters detector range of Mars. Our scouts report she is on full burn and that an unsecured transmission was made from Mars on a scrambled frequency. We are attempting to confirm the destination of the transmission." So someone on Mars had likely gotten off a distress call about the attack. Damn. Complications. Could he take the chance on the information containing positive identity on the Raiders being transmitted to that incoming ship? Scrambled. Likely a code it would take days to decipher. Marquise? Or had the Winners had an agent on Mars? The incoming ship would receive that transmission in minutes and could pass it on. There was also the matter the ship might be close enough to detect something that might be enough to positively identify the Wellington. Might. Could. Possibly. Maybe. He had specific instruction about that, too. "Launch squadron two. Eliminate the Fatima." //There can be no witnesses.// "Ensure all communications lines are jammed. I want no more loose ends." **
Everyone. More than two thousand dead just to get him and his children off Mars. The entire population of the Mars Colony accept for the Sleeper Agents of the ESUN, would be slaughtered. Even the ship responding to a distress call. How many people manned the ore carrier? Eliminated. He could not allow it. Why had he not seen this before? What had he missed? What clues and decisions had he missed that brought about this undeserved fate on the people who had become his friends? What else was waiting, hidden in ignored visions of possibilities? He could not see everything. He had been tried and tested and he had been found wanting. He was incompetent. He could not process all of the information that he had already garnered from the visions. He was so useless. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He so needed Epyon to sort and focus and process the possibilities. He needed Epyon to glean the most likely turn of events to avoid a conclusion that was the least desirable. Or to attain the most desired result. Epyon could sort the wheat from the chaff. He was useless. Hopeless. "I can't do it." a sob. "God. I can't do this. I don't know what I need to do to stop this." It took precious minutes for his rebellious stomach to settle. He desperately needed water. He tended to dehydrate quickly when he experienced dreams. Waking visions were worse. He had to find water. Tears streaming down his face he fumbled for the spray somewhere in a pocket, intending to spray his shoulder. He had to ease the pain. He could not think. His body was in too much pain for him to think. If he could only ease the pain in his shoulder he might be able to think, to process information. He had to find water and to do that he had to move. To move he had to ease the pain. Slowly, stage by stage. Find the god damned spray. Step two, regain some movement in his shoulder. Step three, get off the bloody floor. Crawl if he had to, but he had to get moving. If he was to have any chance of influencing events he had to be able to defend himself, his children, Noin and the base personal from the horrors that might come.
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