Arabian Nights Part 2
Memories of Sand
"Master Quatre, you've certainly picked a conspicuous way of coming to this country," Rashid scolded, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he watched the Gundam pilots climb out of their mecha and pull light-colored camouflage nets over the pits they had landed them in.
"It couldn't be helped, Rashid," Quatre called, jumping down from the tarped chest of Sandrock to walk towards the large Arab man, who had come out from the camp to greet them. The other pilots followed suit. "Besides," Quatre added, almost sheepishly, "we weren't seen."
"Well, I'm sure you're all tired. Let's get back into camp, and we'll outline our plans in the morning." Rashid walked back in the direction he'd came in, and Quatre ran up to walk beside him. The rest trailed behind, trying to walk the stiffness out of their legs from sitting in their Gundams for six hours.
They approached the camp, which was cold and without fires. In the gloom of the desert twilight, the nomadic settlement seemed almost ominous. There was vague noises in some of the tents, and snoring in many more.
"Where's the fire in this damned place?! I'm freeeeeeez--" Quatre heard Duo's loud voice cut off from behind him, supposedly caused by the hand of Heero Yuy clamped over his mouth.
Rashid led them through the camp and to the outer edge of the circle it formed, to a large tent that seemed to have been prepared for the five of them.
"You will sleep here," Rashid said, gruffly. He did not entirely trust these companions of his young Master's. He had a grudging fondness for Master Quatre's green-eyed friend, a fondness for his beautiful music and quiet ways. But he did not trust the others. In fact, the blue-eyed Japanese hybrid he did not trust at all.
The Japanese was dangerous, the Chinese was arrogant, and the American was downright obnoxious, though Quatre had often spoken of them all to Rashid in emails with obvious affection. Still... he did not trust the blue-eyed one.
That one was silent and deadly as a panther. He was, for certain, a lethal killer, and Rashid most definitely did not approve of Quatre associating with such rough types, especially when they were so blatantly compared to the blond's own graceful manner and compassionate spirit. It was only after months of cautious and wary observance that he had deemed the other four Gundam pilots trustworthy enough to enter the Maguanac camp. But he would tolerate them. For now.
The boys, needing no other invitation, proceeded to make their way into their tent. Quatre started to follow them, but Rashid stopped him with a gentle touch to the shoulder. "Master, if I may have a few words with you...?"
"Of course, Rashid," Quatre replied, looking up at him, as guileless and naive as a young child. Rashid led him farther out from camp, until the dark forms of the tents were barely anything but vague shapes in the distance. Rashid stopped, facing the horizon in the direction of As Sulayyil.
Quatre stood slightly behind him, feeling a bit like the child in the huge shadow of Rashid's broad form. A stray memory of childhood flickered through his mind, of holding his father's hand as they walked along the edge of an oasis back on his desert colony, the beautiful L4.
Then the surge of anger, frustration, and sorrow. He would probably never walk with his father again. Or his sisters. His father had practically disowned him, and the fact that Rashid had been sent to watch over him was the only sign he had seen that his mothers and father still loved him at all.
Rashid chuckled despite his suspicious thoughts, a sound like the rumble of a freight train, then spoke in Arabic. "You certainly picked an interesting crew of pilots to associate with, Master."
Quatre continued to stare with a determined gaze in the direction of the OZ base. He switched easily back to his native tongue. "They are my friends, Rashid. And they would die for me. I would die for them."
"Are you sure?"
Quatre looked up at him. "Of course. Is something wrong, Rashid?" A look of concern came into his turquoise eyes, turned a deeper blue by the darkness.
Rashid looked down at him, then shook his head decisively. "I am only concerned about your safety, Quatre."
"Mine? Rashid, you are following me with over three dozen young soldiers, putting yourself in mortal danger just by remaining at my side. It is your safety you should be concerned about."
Rashid laughed, a loud booming sound that was like a peal of thunder. "That is quite like you, young Master, to be concerned about everyone but yourself." Sobering himself, he looked meaningfully down into Quatre's face. "You've made no secret with the men what your objective is, this time. You are attempting to find Riyadh Sanaa?"
Quatre's posture became stiff with anger, though his fury only flashed in his eyes, leaving his face calm and serene. "He killed my grandparents in the occupation of Arabia, Rashid. You were here. And he killed a couple dozen thousand other people, as well."
"So you want to kill him?" Rashid asked. He was disturbed and slightly shocked by the expression in those clear blue eyes, an expression so clear and sharp it was like an electric streak of blue lightning. There was sorrow in that expression, but even that was frightening to the giant Arab; it struck him as an adult sort of sorrow, and thinking of young Quatre as an adult in any way caused Rashid to feel slightly uneasy.
This was how he felt when he wondered what would happen to him if Quatre was killed in the war. // Where is my place in the world if he is not here? // he would think, and shudder. // And for Allah's sake, what would I say to his father? //
"Damned straight," Quatre replied almost immediately. Then, seeing the expression on Rashid's face, he attempted to smooth his turbulent emotions. He could almost feel his aura pulsating with fury and grief for his kind and pacific grandparents, who had done nothing to be murdered but to exist in a nation that the Alliance and OZ wanted to control. He sighed, allowing some of his stormy feelings out on a long exhalation, then spoke again.
"I'm willing to turn him over to the World Court for sentencing, if I can. But I want him, Rashid. Dead or alive. I don't care which."
"This is a very dangerous hobby you have now, Quatre," Rashid said quietly, gazing back out at the horizon, a chill desert breeze ruffling his dark bangs. "Stalking generals in the Order of the Zodiac."
Quatre smiled, a slightly crooked grin that was reminiscent of Duo, and crossed his slender arms over his chest as he too looked back over the dunes.
"You have given up your inheritance, your family, your father's respect, used your family's money and influence to begin the Maguanac Corps..."
"And I've hired spies, informers, scientists, and engineers to help me," Quatre added. He looked back at the large Arab. "I'm serious, Rashid. I'm not doing this to rebel against my father's wishes, or because I enjoy killing. I'm doing this because I'm trying to protect the family I have left."
Rashid bowed his head respectfully. "Then we will back you until the end, Master Quatre. With or without your father's approval."
"I thank you, Rashid, from the bottom of my heart," Quatre replied sincerely, placing his hand lightly on Rashid's shoulder before turning back to camp, choosing to walk the distance alone. Sensing this, Rashid remained behind, watching his young charge fade into the shadows.
Quatre walked silently, his feet sinking slightly into the soft white desert sand as he remembered his thoughts when he first received the mission. He was aware that this mission would shape the lives of the proud people living in his homeland for years to come, beginning with his actions in the hours immediately ahead of him, but at the time, he had not been about to clearly see what he should do. Accept or abort?
At the core of his confusion was a conflict of mind and heart, reason and faith, but also a battle between desire and duty. Until he was able to reconcile these opposed forces, he had been paralyzed by indecision. He delayed acceptance of the mission for three days, not telling the others about it at all. He fasted and meditated and prayed to Allah for guidance. And in the end, he had accepted.
He walked now studying his hands, so pale in the darkness of the desolate night. Eventually, as he slowly walked back to the closest friends he had ever known, he discovered in himself all the light he needed to find his way through the crucial days ahead. He knew at last what he must do, but he wasn't certain he had the strength or courage to do it.
His hands were slender, long-fingered, graceful. They were the hands of a violinist, a pianist, an artist, a musician. They were not powerful hands. They didn't have the hidden, deadly strength of Duo's hands, which could snap a soldier's neck like a twig, or Heero's hands, callused and scarred from his hard and lonely life.
Quatre thought of himself as a dutiful person, a capable and efficient, gentle and compassionate person, but he had never thought of himself as a strong person. But he knew he would need great strength of mind and body and heart and even greater courage for the tasks that lay ahead.
He pushed aside the flap of the tent, stepping gingerly over the prone forms of his comrades. Wufei slept alone, his sword at his side and his arms crossed behind his head. Duo had obviously cozied up to Heero for comfort and warmth, and Heero, unwilling to waste the energy trying to dissuade him, had resigned himself to throwing an arm over the American's shivering shoulders. Both were snoring, Heero somehow managing to snore louder than Duo.
Trowa was asleep sitting up, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms crossed over them, his head resting on top, his long bangs concealing his face. Quatre could tell by his deep steady breathing that he was asleep, though. He had obviously tried to stay awake, waiting for Quatre, but hadn't quite managed. He was too exhausted.
Quatre gently pushed his friend over, helping a half-awake Trowa to switch to a lying-down position. Trowa made no protest, but quickly fell back asleep. After he was sure the Heavyarms pilot was slightly more comfortable, Quatre laid next to him, but didn't sleep for many hours afterwards.
TBC...
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