Note: Obviously, I've been out of commission for a few months, so no updates on anything for awhile has been the norm. Fortunately, I'm back up with my own broadband connection again, so I should be getting back into my stories again. Or not, depending on how much free time I have from here on out, since I now go to college full time and have a part-time job.
I've had time to write a book about
the way you act and look
I haven't got a paragraph
Words are always getting in my way
anyway, I love you
That's all I have to tell you
That's all I've got to say.
--- That's All I Have To Say
Moon rising, disguising, lonely streets in gay displays
The stars fade, the nightshade, falls and makes the world afraid
It waits in silence for the sky, to explode
Here I am... on man's road... walking man's road...
--- Man's Road
Requiem for the Sinners Part 35
Exodus
The screams were all encompassing, echoing even after the men who called them out were already dead.
He would hear them in his dreams.
Duo laid his head against the cool, wet tile of the shower, his ears filled with the rush of his own heartbeat and the drumming white noise of the cold water around him. Even over the water, he could still hear the screams of the doomed soldiers in the makeshift infirmary in his head, mixing with the screams of those he had known before, dead for much longer. Even though their deaths weren't new, they were still raw, like a wound that had never been allowed to heal.
He would never allow himself to forget them. Never. But he wished these new ghosts in his head would go to their rest and leave him alone.
How many more people have to die? ...How many?
He didn't know. Killing was what he knew. And he was good at it.
"Asleep over there?"
Duo jerked at the sound of the soft voice behind him, turning. Heero stood in the doorway of the showers, an off-white towel slung low across his hips. He locked the door behind him and walked into the room with the same familiar predator's stalk Duo felt he had known forever, turning on the showerhead beside Duo's.
Sighing, Duo closed his eyes again as he rested his arms wearily against the wall. "Not quite." He turned back to the wall, resting his cheek against his shoulder. He struggled for something to say. The silence felt like it would smother him. "You and Wufei...you guys were great out there."
Heero let out a soft snort from where he stood, and Duo could feel the 01 pilot's eyes burning a brand into him.
"We didn't do anything. We just stood there and looked imposing while you gave your speech. It doesn't take a lot of skill."
"Yeah, well... you're good at it."
He glanced over at Heero as the 01 pilot dropped his towel and stepped under the spray, tilting his head back to let the water sluice down his neck and chest. Duo let his eyes take in the details of his old partner's body. It was like touching a worn, creased, well-loved map. He had seen Heero so often in his dreams, he knew the Wing pilot by heart.
A thick white scar wrapped itself across Heero's shoulder and around to his back. The newer ones were still pink and healing. Heero's piloting scan and serial number were tattooed at the nape of his neck in dark green ink, and more small numbers trailed down the middle of his back.
Duo could remember wanting to kiss his way down that list, whispering the names of each killing spree like a prayer. Operation Phantom. Operation Defender. Cain, Abel, Aura, Minotaur, Angel Star, Apocalypse. And at the end of the list, what was to be the last mission, in sharp, simple block letters as stark as the text on a tombstone. METEOR.
Each number was a part of Heero that Duo could never touch. Each scar was a hurt that he could do nothing to take back. But in a way, Duo was glad for the scars and the tattoos. They were part of what made Heero beautiful to him.
It should show, Duo thought fiercely, watching Heero's hair plaster to his skull as he ducked his head under the water. All our suffering. Let them see exactly what made us. Let them see the price we paid for them. He looked down at his own scars, and anger bit through him like a blade. We're hurt. So let them see it.
Heero finally looked up at him uncertainly, and the silence fell between them like a blow. There was nothing but the sound of the water. For once, Duo couldn't think of a single thing to say to him. A thousand words got in the way.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, lamely.
Heero just looked at him, so still he could have been a statue. Or dead. The 01 pilot sighed silently, then turned off the faucet he was standing under, moving towards Duo. Duo felt a shudder quake through him as Heero's callused hands held his shoulder; he told himself it was the cold water, but they both knew better.
"You already said that."
Something in the tone of Heero's voice made Duo's heart hurt. He felt his eyes sting, and had to turn away from that fathomless cobalt gaze. Boys don't cry. Dammit, they don't cry! But he couldn't help it. It felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and he didn't want to carry it anymore. It wasn't fair for anyone to ask him to.
Tears welled up in his eyes, unbidden and bitter as poison. He closed them, and felt warmth streak down his face, even under the freezing water.
Duo didn't feel Heero pull him forward, didn't hear soft Japanese in his ear. All he knew was that he was suddenly cradled against Heero's chest, his cheek against Heero's collarbone. Heero's arms were wrapped around his shoulderblades, as strong as steel bands. They were arms that could kill without effort, could crush the life out of him.
It was the most gentle embrace anyone had ever given him.
"I'm sorry, Heero. I'm so sorry," he whispered, his lips moving against Heero's skin as the water beat down on both of them, washing his tears away. "And I'm so afraid."
He felt Heero's answer as much as he heard it, feeling it rumble up from the Wing pilot's chest, as quiet as a sigh. "... Me too."
Duo laughed brokenly. "I didn't think you were afraid of anything."
One of Heero's arms left his back, and an insistent hand lifted his chin, forcing him to meet Heero's eyes. They were so close, their noses almost touched. Heero's answer was a whisper. "When I thought I would be killed by Noventa without even knowing why you did it, without ever seeing you again, I've never been more scared in my life."
Heero's face moved toward his, slowly, giving Duo time to step back or turn away.
He didn't.
They kissed, a soft, long kiss, and Duo felt Heero's hand come up to rest against the nape of his neck. Even in the freezing water, it was warm, burning his skin like a brand. When Heero pulled away, his eyes were still closed, as if he wanted to savor the touch. Duo's fingertips came up to touch Heero's lips cautiously, and the Wing pilot's mouth opened slightly in a breathless sigh.
Duo leaned up and kissed Heero's throat, his partner's pulse fluttering under his lips like a trapped bird. He could remember the first time he had ever done it.
"Duo..." Heero gently pushed him against the wall, moved until they were pressed cheekbone to cheekbone, eyes closed, held completely still until he could hear both of their heartbeats, until they inhaled and exhaled in unison. Duo didn't dare move; he was afraid the man in his arms, the only person he had ever loved in his entire life, would disappear like a wisp of smoke.
Heero's voice was barely a whisper. "... I love you, too. I don't... I don't think I ever told you that. ...I should have."
Duo pushed him back gently until he could look into the Wing pilot's face. There were still tears in his eyes, but he grinned, brushing the wet bangs back from Heero's face.
"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear it."
A small, faint smile touched Heero's lips, and he leaned forward to kiss Duo again, but was startled back by a loud, pounding knock on the door. He jerked as if he had been shocked, unwilling to be caught in a moment of intimacy or weakness, even now.
Old habits die hard, Duo thought ironically, turning to the door.
"Yuy? Maxwell? Are you two in there?" Wufei's voice rose up from the other side of the locked door, querulous and exasperated. But even through the door, Duo could urge a sense of urgency in his voice. "Get the hell out here! We have a call!"
Call? Duo glanced at Heero, who shrugged back at him, pulling away reluctantly to turn the showerhead off and grab a towel.
"Who is it, Wuffers?!" Duo called back, grumbling under his breath as he reached for his own towel.
"Winner and Barton!"
Duo froze as he was tying his towel around his waist, looking over at Heero.
The two former Gundam pilots regarded each other silently.
~*~
Nomads again? I hope the young master knows what he's doing. But still, Abdul Khafajy hesitated, looking at the lever behind the glass box on the wall.
He looked up at Rashid, who stood over him in the dark office. The switchboards for the entire colony lay spread before him in a wall-wide panel of computer monitors and blinking green and red lights, like an insane Christmas tree.
"Is Quatre sure about this?" he asked, almost timidly. "If we don't have enough ships...and Septem..."
Rashid was silent for a few moments, far away in his own thoughts, a scowl across his broad, tanned face. Finally, he brought his gaze back to Abdul, smiling a little. "The young master knows what he's doing. We'll have to trust his judgement now, more than ever. We are Maguanacs. We trust him in all things. You know that."
"Yeah, but..." But I have family here, Rashid. This is my home. The young Maguanac couldn't bring himself to finish the words aloud. But even if they could get the women and children out, he knew that there wouldn't be anywhere for the rest of them to go. "Do we have enough of the oxygen suits?"
Rashid's answer was a flat, Arabic-accented growl. "We'll have enough. Just start it off."
Sighing, Abdul turned back towards the evac-panel, then unlocked the glass, and pulled down the lever. There was a great mechanical whooshing noise from underneath his feet, and the synthetic sky of the colony darkened into a pulsing red. A low siren warbled across the colony from the control center, echoing in a sound that was like the dying calls of some great electronic whale. Over that, the emergency broadcast system began to bellow orders in the firm, no-bullshit voice.
Abdul could imagine people leaving their houses, walking into the streets in confusion to see the sky, which had been a fiercely bright desert blue, throb like a diseased heartbeat. The alarm system was deafening. There was no way not to hear it. It was loud enough to wake the dead.
"THERE IS NO DANGER! REPEAT, THERE IS NO DANGER! THE COLONY L4-2738 IS UNDER SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE! PLEASE PROCEED TO THE DOCKS NEAREST YOUR STATION! REPEAT, THERE IS NO DANGER! PROCEED IMMEDIATELY TO THE DOCKS NEAREST YOUR STATION!"
"So it's done," Rashid said from behind him. Abdul felt his words, more than he heard them. "Aisha and Lakia are already at the docks. Your family is safe and ready. You know this. The rest of the stations already have orders to evacuate. We'll go to the docks and make sure the ships are ready. Let's go."
"ENERGY SYNTHESIS SYSTEMS IN SHUTDOWN SEQUENCE, OXYGEN GENERATORS IN OPERATION! COMPLETE SHUTDOWN IN T-MINUS TWO HOURS AND FIFTEEN MINUTES! PLEASE PROCEED TO THE DOCKS!" The message began to repeat itself in Arabic and Colonial Esperanto.
So it's done then. Abdul prayed silently, then stood up, watching the lights on the central console of the colony as they slowly began to blink out, one by one. First, he knew, would go the environmental factors, energy and climate control and gravity. Then the water and electricity systems. Finally, at the end, he knew, the oxygen generators themselves would shut down. And the colony would be dead.
He looked at Rashid, who put a steadying hand on his shoulder. The towering older man smiled down at him.
"We've done our part. We'll let Allah and Quatre do the rest."
~*~
The first thing Duo noticed when he sat down to the vidphone was Quatre. The L4 manager had traded in his Armani suits and diamond cufflinks for a matte black spacesuit, and Trowa sat beside him in the same getup. Camouflage. Duo knew the suit was designed for military stealth in spacial combat. A black helmet was lying across Quatre's lap, and dark lampblack was streaked across his cheekbones, warpaint like a black bruise on either side. His eyes were dark and distrustful. And Trowa...well, Duo could never tell what Trowa was thinking. The L3 pilot sat as silent and inscrutable as ever.
Some warbling, horrible background noise distorted the call, and the picture flickered with each rise of the siren. Duo resisted the urge to wince.
"Heero, Duo. Wufei." Quatre's greeting was prefunctory and clipped.
"What's up, Quatre?" Heero spoke first, leaning in to see the vidphone screen. His eyes narrowed slightly. "That's an emergency beacon. What's your situation?"
Trowa gazed back at him, and then spoke. Neither Duo nor Quatre seemed willing. "We're about to engage Septem's forces in battle. We're evacuating the civilians. We called because we need L2's forces to protect the convoy and take in the refugees at the L1 and L3 stations."
"You're asking for our help?" Duo asked in disbelief, unable to help himself.
Heero gave Duo a warning look, and Quatre's eyes moved to meet Duo's, scathing even over a hundred miles of space. "Don't read into it. We're only asking because we're desperate. If you help us, we'll owe you a debt of gratitude." Quatre made it sound as if owing Duo anything was the last thing he wanted. "We have no choice."
Wufei glanced at Duo briefly, then turned back to the vidscreen and answered, standing behind Duo's chair. "We will help you in any way we can, Winner. Same as we always would have. Now you see who your enemy is. It isn't us, Winner. That much I can swear."
Suddenly, the lights on Quatre's side of the connection went out, and the screen went dark. There were sounds of fumbling in the darkness before Duo saw them again, holding flashlights. The sirens still screamed in the background, and he touched his temple briefly with his fingertips. He was starting to get a headache.
"It's almost done," Trowa said quietly. "We need your ships to guide the convoy to safety, in case Septem attacks them. I don't think he will, but we're not prepared to take that chance. Give us this, Duo, and we'll do as you ask. But we have to go now. They'll be coming soon."
Duo nodded. "Fair enough." He looked at Quatre, only able to look at the Arabian pilot for a few moments before turning away. "I'm sorry, Quatre. I mean it."
Quatre was silent for a minute; Heero could see a sheen of sweat across the young man's face, and heard the deep, drawing breaths the two of them were taking. The oxygen generators. They turned off the generators. Shit.
Quatre pulled the helmet over his head, and Trowa did the same. His voice was muffled but unmistakable beneath it. "I hear you, Duo. I'm not sure I understand, but I hear you."
"Godspeed, gentlemen," Trowa added, laughing softly. Wufei could see the gleam of a sniper rifle across his lap, and the Heavyarms pilot turned off his flashlight. Quatre did the same, throwing the room into red shadows again, but Heero knew they were still there.
They mean to die there, Wufei thought, scowling.
Heero's judgement was simpler. Kamikaze, he thought.
"Don't you go dying on me, Quatre. You either, Tro," Duo said softly. Even in the darkness, he knew they were still listening, listening even over the sound of the sirens and the rumble of approaching warships, the low dying groans as the inner workings of the colony shut down.
Duo heard Quatre's voice, laughing softly in the shadows, the light from the vidscreen shining off his helmet in the dark. "I can't die yet, Duo. I have to kill you first."
Before Duo could figure out whether Quatre was joking or not, the screen cut to static.
~*~
"It's all right, sweetheart. You go on. I'll stay awhile." Abdul waved his wife into the cargo bay of a huge commercial cruiser with a Coca-Cola emblem stamped across the side. He blew her a kiss through his helmet, then waved to his little daughter with one heavily gloved hand. The girl burst into fresh tears, burying her face in her mother's burqa.
"I'll see you later." One of the other Maguanacs was passing a young boy over his head. The boy was wailing his head off. Other children were passed to the front in a similar fashion. Kisses were exchanged. Long looks. The civilian men were waiting; they would be the last to board any of the ships. The Maguanacs, they knew, would not be boarding at all.
Rashid stood in the middle of the masses of evacuating civilians, all confusion and crying. He shouted through a megaphone at them, herding them like cattle, it felt. "You must obey orders. Women and children to the ships first. There are enough ships for everyone. No one will be left behind. Take only what you must."
Some of the women refused to leave their husbands, but most of them entered the ships, younger children gripping their skirts in terror. Older children linked hands with their siblings, in order to keep from getting separated. Above all of it was the terrible sound of the sirens.
Maguanacs walked from ship bay to ship bay, automatic rifles cradled in their arms, shouting as they urged the women and children to hurry. "Ladies, you must get in at once. There is not a moment to lose! You cannot pick and choose your ship. Don't hesitate! Get in! Get in!"
Rashid had good reason to be exasperated. He thought that he had never seen women more unpredictable. One young girl waiting to board one of the ship bays suddenly cried out, "I've forgotten his picture! I have to get it!" She started to push back out of the crowds and had to be forcibly shoved into the ship bay screaming and crying.
The climate control had been out for over fifteen minutes, and already the chilling freeze of outer space was creeping into the docks. Maguanacs passed through the crowds, moving them efficiently and effectively into the ships. One of the girls waiting to board the cargo bay of Ship 5 was shivering so hard her mother wrapped her in a bedsheet as they shuffled into the ship.
"My son!" one woman called, crying. She waved a photograph over her head futilely, facing the crowd, even as one of the men took her gently by the arm and led her into the ship. "Have you seen my son?!"
"We'll find him for you and make sure he gets aboard," the man said softly, taking the photograph and patting the woman's hand before turning away. He tucked the picture in his pocket. Within five minutes of shouting pandemonium, he had forgotten it.
Abdul pushed in the last few civilians that could fit in Ship 3, then made a circling gesture with his wrist, signaling for the ship's crew to close the ship up and prepare for liftoff. He stepped back and surveyed the docks. Almost a single hour left until complete shutdown, and only a little more than half of the civilians boarded.
Twenty-three ships. He was sure it would be enough.
It has to be, he thought. He gazed out past the walls of Colony at the shooting stars. Since all the lights had gone out besides the red emergency lights, turning the docks into a strobe of flashlights and cries, the darkness behind the walls of the station had never looked so thick, like black velvet.
He had never seen so many shooting stars...or perhaps had never noticed them, not in all his years of living on L4, after transferring from Saudi Arabia, where he had been in the service of Quatre's grandfather.
Let us save it, he wished, watching the stars streak across the sky. Dying meteors. Please...just let us hold them back.
"Abdul! Come on!"
He gazed at them for one more long moment, then turned to walk towards Ship 16 to finish boarding civilians. They were almost to the men now.
Save it.
TBC...
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