Thanks to: All the reviewers and readers, and the War Room. ^_^
Dedication: To Merith and especially Porcelain, who drew my last fanart (though they both collaborated on it. ^_^) I really appreciate it, guys.
Note: For those getting antsy about Duo and Heero, they're going to be in the next chapter. After that, it switches off to Quatre and Trowa and all associated personnel. I try to give everybody equal screen-time. ^_~
"From the distant cabins in the sky where no man hears the sound
Of death on earth from his own bombs, six pilots were shot down
Next day six hulking bandaged men were dazzled by a room
Of newsmen. Sally, keep the faith, let's hope this war ends soon.
They said the war was done, but where are you now my son?"
--- Joan Baez
"Oh I am a maid of constant sorrow, I've seen troubles all my days..."
--- Sarah Gunning
Requiem for the Sinners Part 34
Maids of Constant Sorrow
/Funny. He doesn't look like a rebel at all./
Noin sat across the table from the leader of the mob who had kept her military convoy from crossing L3 by putting their lives beneath a halftrack.
But as strong and resolved and frightened as he had looked out there, in a small room surrounded by armed Preventers, sitting beneath a bright fluorescent light across from one of the most infamous OZ soldiers in history, he looked like anything but a leader. Light reflected from the sheen of sweat on his balding head, and he had his hands clasped on the table in front of him as if he was clinging to himself for dear life.
"Would you like some coffee?"
The man didn't dare to raise his eyes. He was silent.
Noin sighed, shivering a little in the chill of the pre-dawn room. She studied the middle-aged man critically. Probably has two kids in high-school, and never had the discipline to punish either of them, but he didn't need to anyway. A man to love, but not respect. What in the hell are you doing mixing up in all this?
"You know, I'm not sure how things work in the colonies, but in most Earth countries, it's considered extremely rude not to answer when someone asks you a decent, polite question."
She wasn't even satisfied when the man flushed, and he muttered a reply.
"Sorry?"
"I said please, ma'am."
She nodded to herself, then nodded over one of the guards who was standing over by the door, his eyes fixed on her like a well-trained collie. "You. Bring a pot of coffee, two cups, sugar and creamer. The real stuff, please, none of that powdered shit."
"Yes sir."
There was a period of silence after the guard left, in which Noin only calmly watched the man across the table, taking in the small details. Soft hands, with no calluses. Wedding ring, but a class ring for a university too, which surprised her. He didn't strike her as the most intelligent man. But then again, most rebels didn't. She thought that to have the courage to go against one's government, one had to be either a little bit stupid, or a little bit crazy.
/But what about Zechs?/ She shook the thought away.
"But why do you have to go? Zechs...""Because Mars and the terraform project is about as closely as I can tolerate working with Caleb and those civilian bureaucrats. Keep me posted, Noin. I have a bad feeling about all of it. You could come with me, you know."
"... My work is here."
"Ah, Noin. My faithful little instructor. Don't you get tired of it all?"
"Yes. But we can't give up."
"No, we can't. But space is where I belong. And as far as those who remember me as I can possibly get. But I will miss you."
"Zechs..."
She doubted even if anyone had thought to contact him, he would never get back to Earth in time to prevent further tragedy. She had brought herself once to try and contact him once since Relena's death, to tell him about his younger sister, but she could never reach him. She didn't dare try again, and she was sure that he already knew.
Looking at her "enemy", a white collar from the suburbs of one of the most peaceful colonial clusters in space, she had never wished to see him more.
To see his cold ice blue eyes, to hear the contempt for Noventa in his voice. Even with his background, he had always trusted an average man on the street more than the politicians. She tried to convince herself that she longed for his leadership, but she knew that wasn't the only thing that sometimes made her cry for no reason in the middle of the night, or pick up the vidphone without remembering who she had meant to call.
She was jarred out of her thoughts when the guard came back in, balancing a pot of coffee, two mugs, and a basket of dressings. He sat it all on the table, then moved back to the corner. He acknowledged her thanks with a single nod, going still and silent as if he had never moved at all.
She pushed one of the mugs across the table, like a bartender sliding a drink, and the man caught it deftly. The movement made her smile faintly, and she gestured to the pot in the center of the table. "There. Coffee. May I get your name, sir?"
He answered this time, softly but without hesitation. "George Merrick."
"Merrick?" The name struck her oddly as she was pouring her coffee. It sounded familiar. Before she could ask, though, he confirmed her suspicions. "My son is in one of your units. His name is John."
For a moment, she didn't know what to say. She remembered the face that went with that name. Always laughing, always with practical jokes. He was one of the many young soldiers she never thought she'd see as a killer. A priest, maybe. Or a middle-school teacher, one of the ones the girls would always have a crush on, year after year.
Ignoring her own questions, she moved to take the sugar bowl, adding a few spoonfuls into her cup before putting the bowl back and grabbing the liquid creamer, adding it until her coffee until it was almost beige. Girl's coffee, Zechs had always said, smiling, and she'd always slapped his shoulder playfully.
The man only added a few spoons of sugar, then sipped at his own mug, drinking it black to drive away the chill that permeated the concrete room.
"What does your wife think about all this, sir?"
"My wife is dead. She worked for the Red Cross, and she was on a business trip on L2 during the riots. Some young man called me when he found her lying in the street. He used her wallet to find the number. I thanked him for using one of his own creds to let me know. It was a decent thing to do."
Noin felt as if she'd been struck in the chest with something large and heavy. The man's expression and tone never changed; he said it the same as if he was saying it was going to rain tomorrow. /How accustomed to war and death do you have to be?/ she thought.
Even though she had said the words over and over during the years she had been an OZ soldier and an instructor, she always despised them.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
He gave her a short look then, one that struck her as an extremely L2 expression. It was a flash of steel in his eyes, a kind of resentment that had started the riots and the rebellion in the first place. "Ma'am, pardon my French, you don't know shit about my loss."
"... You're right. I apologize. I was only trying to comfort you. I realize how hard something like that must be."
"Well, for future reference, that phrase isn't a comfort to anyone. It's right up there with 'At least she didn't suffer' and 'She's with the angels now.'"
"... I'll keep that in mind." Noin leaned across the table, resting her head on her hand. "How can we come to some kind of an agreement, Mr.Merrick? You obviously have a lot of influence with the people in this community. We didn't come to hurt anyone."
"That's what the Alliance said," Merrick replied softly.
There was silence for a few moments, and both of them drank their coffee. Noin was the one who broke it.
"We're not like them. We're not soldiers."
The rebel laughed, a harsh, bright, wounded sound that made her wince.
"Ma'am, I've lived during two wars. My boy is one of you. You think I don't know what you're all about?" He leaned forward, looking into her eyes. "Tell me, miss, when a peacekeeper is armed to the teeth and just as willing to kill a man as a soldier, what in the hell is the difference?"
Noin tried to answer, tried to say something in defense of her men to this man who had lost so much in the war already, but there wasn't anything she thought to say that would make any kind of difference to him, and she knew it.
He nodded, as if her silence satisfied him. "With all due respect, General Noin, I will do my damned best to make sure that if you and your men try to take over this colony, you'll have a miserable time of it. I'm the chairman of the Board of Commerce. If it comes up to me, I'll make sure a soldier can't even get a damned cup of coffee or a hotel room on L3-2839. Do you understand me, miss?"
Noin sighed. She expected as much. "That's fine. We won't force a billet."
He smiled, but it wasn't a good smile. It was a grim, knowing smile. "You say that now, but wait until your superiors find out your boys are sleeping in halftracks and eating rations in the middle of a city. You say you don't come to hurt anybody, but people will get hurt regardless, won't they? Civilian casualties and all that."
She looked up at him. "I hope, sir, that it does not come to that."
"So do I, but I'm not holding my breath."
There was another long silence. Noin's cup of coffee sat in front of her, but suddenly she wasn't thirsty anymore, and the cold she felt didn't have anything to do with the temperature of the room.
"If you'd like, Mr. Merrick, I can arrange for John to receive an honorary discharge, or at least an extended furlough. A death in the immediate family qualifies for that."
The man shook his head. "No ma'am. John doesn't want to come home. Not now. He wants to kill the kind of people that murdered his mother." When he looked up, his eyes shone overly bright beneath the fluorescent lighting. "Don't you understand, General? It's people like my boy that are gonna make sure somebody dies here."
"I'm sorry," Noin replied, softly. "I hope that you won't make this any more difficult than it has to be. We don't want to be here any more than you want us here."
She didn't know how else to answer.
But Zechs, she realized, would have known exactly what to say.
~*~
"Oh God, it hurts! Jesus!"
Sally moved quickly, unbuckling her leather belt and pulling it loose, doubling it before putting it in front of the mouth of the soldier in front of her.
She tried to ignore the smell of smoke and fried circuits, and above that the overwhelming, metallic tang of blood. She was standing in a spreading puddle of it. But most of all, she tried to ignore the fact that the young man she was trying to help would most likely lose his leg. It was pinned between a control console and a mangled metal wreck that might have been a holographic map cart.
"Bite down on this."
The pilot did, a low moan vibrating from deep in his throat, a sound of agony she could almost feel herself. Tears rolled down the sides of his face, mixing with the sweat there. He couldn't have been even eighteen yet. Barely old enough to drive.
A voice came from behind her suddenly, somehow managing to be briskly professional and serious at the same time. "We've brought the jaws of life, sir. The docs should get a chance to take a look at him momentarily."
She turned on the young man behind her, and she found herself inexplicably furious. She knew she didn't have any right to feel that way; the soldier was just doing his job. But that tone...
"Well tell them they better hurry the hell up or he's going to bleed to death right on the floor of this damned ship."
"Yes sir."
Sally sighed in exhaustion. Forty-two dead young men and women. Dozens more injured, or crippled like the unfortunate young man with her belt in his mouth. Forty-two phone calls to make, and if time permitted, she'd make them all personally. A mountain of paperwork. Maybe even a court-martial.
But she'd go to court a thousand times to take it back.
She wasn't worried so much for the soldier with the caught leg. Bionics had made great strides in the last couple of decades, and she knew that it was less costly and more practical for him to simply lose the leg and get a new one than to try and save it.
He'd probably be outfitted with a metallic marvel of science that was stronger and a hell of a lot more durable than the one he was born with... but that didn't change the look on his face when she told him that yes... yes, he'd probably lose it, that she was sorry. She was sorry, but when dozens of people died because you listened to people who weren't worth a shit instead of doing what you knew was right, how much more sorry could you be?
~ "That's just the kind of thing a woman would think of. But I follow my own path!" ~
/Wufei.../
"Ma'am?"
She jerked, startled, but quickly composed herself when one of the med-techs put a gentle hand on her shoulder. The med-tech was young, cool, tranquil, and utterly groomed for such emergencies. "Ma'am, you need to rest. You don't look very well at all. Would you like a shot to calm your nerves?"
Sally laughed weakly. "Yes. How some tequila?"
The med-tech gave her a wan smile, not sure if she should be laughing at the joke.
"No thank you," Sally said, clarifying. She walked away before the med-tech could politely insist, heading towards the washrooms of the L3 port. She needed to clean up, then find a pilot's lounge and crash for at least four hours.
She pushed into the deserted washroom, then walked up to the sink, passing a hand beneath the motion sensor to start the water running. When she caught a glance of herself in the mirror, she realized how terrible she looked, and wasn't surprised that she was getting such strange looks. Her face was flecked with blood, and her hair was coming down. Some strands had dragged through it. Her eyes looked wide and shell-shocked, and her face was too pale.
She scrubbed the blood off her hands, watching the running water from the faucet turn pink as it drained into the sink. She tried to get it out from beneath her fingernails, but it was a hopeless case. She'd have to go at it with a nail file later.
After splashing a few handfuls of water on her face, wetting her hair and brushing it back with her hands, she thought she looked a little more civilized, and a little less like a dazed surviving heroine of a slasher flick.
When she left the washroom, she almost ran into a young female soldier, waiting patiently for her to get out. A courier, she could tell, just by the girl's age and the sleek style of her dove-white Preventer's uniform.
"Sir, General Septem is on the line. He wants to speak with you."
Damn. Deciding quickly that sleep was more important than pseudo-diplomatic military bullshit, she turned away, walking down the corridor towards what she hoped was a pilot's lounge. It looked like one from the hall, with the wide glass windows, large long couches, vending machines, and swinging doors. A TV was off in the corner.
"Please tell Septem that I'm indisposed at the moment." She heard the click-clack of heels behind her as the courier fought to keep up with her brisk, wide strides.
"Sir? I don't think I understand you."
Sally stopped, and turned to face the courier.
"Tell him that Sally says to fuck off, and that she needs to sack out for awhile before she makes death calls for the boys she lost today. Do you understand that?"
The courier's face paled.
"I'll tell him you'll call him back, sir."
"I'd appreciate it."
~*~
Blessed silence. Sally pushed her way into the pilot's lounge, relieved that there was no one else in there except for her. She collapsed on the couch, more than sat down, and wearily tried to unlace her boots. It was difficult. Tears blurred her vision.
Once she had them off, she laid down on the couch, feeling the ache of spent adrenaline throbbing in her muscles, settling heavy in her bones like lead.
She closed her eyes, knowing that the best thing for her to do would be to sleep. But after considering the dreams that may come, she wasn't sure if she wanted to risk it. Instead of dropping off immediately, she grabbed the remote from the coffee table, flicking through the channels on the television.
Commercial. Nature documentary. Commercial. Music videos. Talk show. News broadcast. Breaking story.
/Wufei?/
Sally could tell immediately that it was a Telnet broadcast. There was a grainy, somehow detached look to the camera-work, as if it was being done by amateurs. But she easily recognized the three men standing on the makeshift podium on-screen. The one in front and center was Duo Maxwell, decked out in his sweeping black cape and suit, with silver trimming. He looked vibrant and resolved as he spoke, one hand gesturing angrily in the air. To either side of him stood Wufei Chang and Heero Yuy, silent and still as statues.
In the black uniforms of L2 soldiers.
:::"--We are an American colony. A famous American once said that we hold these truths to be self-evident, and that all men are created equal. We, as the descendents of those Americans, no matter what race, religion, or creed, still have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I am here to say that L2 does not have these rights, and has not had them for a very long time. But if they will not be given to us, then we will take them for ourselves. By force, if force is necessary.":::
A resounding cheer roared through the crowd, and the camera broadcasting the speech, panned out over the people in the hangar. It seemed like a sea of people, black uniforms mixed in with the white ones of nurses, the indescript gray jumpers worn by techs, the mixed, ragged clothing of civilians. So many people.
:::"We have asked for aid, and been denied, while Earth governments enjoy all the benefits of the Restoration Bill . We have been burdened with soldiers in a supposed time of peace, soldiers that kill our civilians without punishment and enforce impromptu martial law. But I say never again!":::
But Sally barely heard Duo's words, or the crowd's chant. Never again! Never again! Never again!
All she see was Wufei's face as he stood at Duo's side, arms crossed over his chest. It was stern, and resolved, but she thought she could see a spark of pride there, and contentment. It was a look she hadn't seen in him since the end of the Mariemeia Incident, when he had come into the Preventers as a lost, mislead rebel, with no place to turn. Being a Preventer had eventually driven that ferocious, passionate light out of his eyes. But she saw it again now.
~ "I will be true to my own sense of justice." ~
/You believe in this, Wufei? Even after what happened with Mariemeia, you believe in this?/ It seemed impossible, but there he stood. And no matter what anyone said about him, Sally would never believe he would be there without a damned good reason.
/Noventa lied./ The knowledge was burned into her like a brand, and it made her furious. /What else isn't he telling us?/
Exhausted, she flicked the TV off and laid the remote down on the table. She pressed a button on the wall, dimming the lights, then threw an arm over her face.
/I've got to talk to Noin./
Chased by a doubt and indecision, she drifted into sleep. She dreamed that a great beast was chasing her under a sky split with thunder, but no matter how quickly she ran from it, it kept gaining on her.
Her boots were unlaced.
And the field was full of blood.
TBC...
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