Thick clouds of acrid smoke fogged in the ground. Wufei dropped from his Gundam's cockpit, coughing already. He crawled forward on all fours, obedient to a half-remembered drill. The air would be clearer near the ground. He wouldn't have exited Nataku except that the heat sensors (one of the few systems still working) had shown the fires caused by the flaming wreckage of the Aries had all gone out. The forest was cool. The smoke, though, and the silence, were overpowering.
Beneath Wufei's choked half-coughs and gasps for purer air he heard noise. Stilling himself, breathing as shallowly as he dared, Wufei listened. To his left, branches snapped and dry pine needles crunched beneath boots. He coughed again, sleeve over his mouth to try to muffle the sound, and looked up.
An indistinct form moved through the smoke. On its forehead blazed a kanji, the same golden orange as a sunrise. It was the character for "justice."
Wufei's blood ran cold. "Nataku," he whispered hoarsely.
Reality Storm: Chapter 8
by K.Stonham
released 13th March 2004
Heero did not believe in magic. Magic armor, in fact, was so far out of the sphere of what he did believe in as to be laughable.
He wasn't laughing when Touma easily hefted what had to be half of an Aries over one shoulder and toted it to the clearing that had been designated as a scrapyard. Duo had already begun cannibalizing the Aries' usable parts, hooting with excitement whenever he found something one of the Gundams particularly needed. Everyone was practically in the ex-Sweeper's employ now. It irked Heero to have to admit that Duo's salvage facility was greater than his own.
Softly, that night, they talked of war, ten faces gathered around coffee tables, sprawling on sofas, leaning against walls, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Words of wars fought and wars that were still being fought in times yet to come. Shadows flickered across faces more quickly than the candle flames summoned by Ryou could account for. Horror, too, was there, at their own actions and at the actions of others.
"To fight against humans..." Shuu said softly, his hands knotted. Yet in his face there was no condemnation, only sympathetic pain.
Heero frowned. "It's either war or slavery."
"My grandfather is American," Seiji said softly. "It was once like that there. The American colonists fought for their freedom against a king who did not grant them their rights."
Duo smiled a little, but there was a savage edge to his expression. "Rights is one thing, but unlike America, the colonies can't survive if we're cut off. We can't win for trying."
"So you kill."
"We kill those who kill our people," Quatre rebutted Touma. "Is the difference between a swift death in battle and the slow death of starvation so great?"
"On L2... we don't have water, we don't have heat. You Earthlings don't know what you take for granted."
Shin barked a laugh. "You've never felt the oceans pulse in your veins, never felt them choking on poison and human waste. We all have ashes in our mouths."
"Shin..." Ryou said, reaching for his friend. Shin flinched away. "Naaza didn't know what he was doing."
"He knew. He didn't care."
"The United Earth Government knows what they're doing to the colonies. They don't care either."
Duo looked at Trowa. "I thought you didn't care as much?"
Trowa's shrug was minimal.
"It is the right of the repressed to rise up against their masters and throw off the foot on their necks," Wufei said, "acting to have their voices heard. Each person has the right to be heard, even if their needs are not met. Yet the Earth government has a stranglehold on the media; they deny the colonies even voices."
Eyes met in a circle around the room, five hearts slowing to beat as one, a sure, calm pulse with one voice.
"That's not right," said Ryou, spokesman.
Duo lay on his back, examining the ceiling. Thoughts ran through his head, a touch of wonder at the existence of magic in the world, pain at the pain unburdened to new allies, futile wishes for the way things might have been, a burning ache to know what was happening back in his own world, impatience at not being able to work fast enough, not having enough hands or advanced enough parts for the Gundams even with the parts the Aries had so kindly donated....
"Do you think their armors still exist in our time?" Heero asked suddenly. Duo blinked and turned his head to look at his roommate, who he'd thought was asleep. Instead Wing's pilot looked up at the ceiling.
"Dunno. Can't see why they'd've been destroyed," he answered.
"I wonder if they have wearers then, or if they've been forgotten."
Duo blinked. That almost sounded like Heero being philosophical. "You thinking of trying to find them?"
Heero remained silent for a moment, then replied in the same soft tone he'd been using all along, "No."
Duo waited for more, but didn't get any. Sighing, he rolled his head and stared up at the ceiling again. "I hate being in limbo like this. I mean, it's nice, they're great guys and all, but... this isn't where I belong. This isn't what I need to be doing, you know?"
"Yeah," Heero answered softly.
Wufei sat on the porch's railing, one foot stretched out before him, his back against one of the support posts. In his arms was held his sword and before his eyes the sun rose. The fires of the day before caught glory in the air, transformed symphony and wove poetry into a light that stole his breath.
How many sunrises did Earth people miss, complacent in the resources they had, never knowing lack or oppression?
How would Meiran have acted, seeing the day begin like this with her own eyes?
Wufei's eyes blurred and he closed them for a moment.
When he opened them again, five figures in armor stood in the yard before him, watching the sunrise in what seemed to be a reverent silence.
When the lower edge of the sun cleared the mountains, they turned to one another and began to battle, moving in eerie grace like a dance, like a pattern, like a kata long known and perfected, each move expected beforehand, each blow's force avoided with ease, each attack delivered in an affirmation of love, of care. This was a fight for the sake of mutual bonds, of faith heart-deep and just action leading to righteous result.
It was a dance of reassurance, and Wufei felt his heart lift as he watched the ancient warriors move.
Quatre stepped off the porch and shaded his eyes against the bright sun. He hadn't found Seiji inside the house so outside was the next place to look. The sun was hot, but compared to the arid death of a desert, it was a mild day. He looked up into the shifting shade of a tree and found Touma comfortably perched on a branch, paused in his reading to look down upon Quatre.
"Have you seen Seiji?" he asked.
Touma's cyan eyes took on an unfocused look for a few seconds, as if looking into a distance or resharpening their focus to peer into a world Quatre could only barely sense. "He's in the forest." Touma jerked his head to the right in an indication of direction. "Follow the flute music."
"Thank you." Smiling harmlessly, an expression so often practiced that it came more naturally than allowing his true feelings to cross his face, Quatre stepped forward.
He wasn't far into the woods when he heard the first note, a shrill, piercing sound that cleaved the silence and then died abruptly, leaving a hollowing emptiness in its wake. Another note followed after a moment, wavering gently in the air. It was the music of a shakuhachi, a traditional Japanese flute, and a sound that Quatre had only heard once or twice in his life. The playing was very different from the symphonies he was used to, or even the livelier Arabic music that time with the Maguanacs had taught him to love. But somehow this haunting sound, too, called to his soul. He followed the music, longing for its beauty and balance.
When he finally came to the small clearing where Seiji sat on a boulder, playing, he paused. The musician's eyes were closed, his body relaxed, and in the air around him blazed the light of a thousand candles, glowing as he breathed and played. A shift up to a higher note caused one to be born before Quatre's eyes, a spark emerging into being where before in the air there had been nothing. He reached out his hand toward that light, cupped it in his palm. It was heatless and washed away shadows.
"Beautiful," he whispered, looking back at Seiji, who had stopped playing and regarded him, eyes now open. Wordlessly the other warrior nodded, lowering his flute. The hovering lights did not fade away. "You created all this?"
Seiji nodded. He raised a hand, an elegant gesture, and a few of the lights came as if called, kissing his fingertips, hovering about him like fond little birds. "It's good to remember that beauty can come of an armor created for war." He looked at Quatre again. "Touma said you wanted to speak with me?"
Duo twirled a knife in his hand, idly watching the light shine and waver on its surface. He flipped it high, caught it harmlessly by the blade between thumb and forefinger, spun it under his wrist and over, caught it with his other hand, kept it moving, never once cutting himself on its honed edges.
"Wow," Nasuti said as she came into the living room carrying a tray. "I've never seen anything like that. It's like you're playing with a yo-yo."
Duo caught the knife one last time and slipped it into its sheath. "You should see Trowa sometimes. He juggles them."
She set the tray down on the table, sat beside Duo on the sofa, handed him a glass of lemonade. "Even with the boys around... well, swords are a bit big to just toss like that. You make it seem like a toy."
Duo laughed and took a sip of the lemonade. It was good, as much sour as sweet. He placed a guess that it was real homemade stuff. "To me, this is a toy. You don't exactly get wood blocks on the streets."
Nasuti froze, her eyes widening. "You grew up on the streets?"
Duo nodded. "Sure. Survive a plague and your orphanage getting blown up, and really, after that, piloting a Gundam's the natural career path, right?" He laughed, but she didn't laugh with him.
"I'm sorry," the red-haired Earth woman murmured.
Duo's eyes narrowed. He didn't like pity. "It happens," he told her flatly. "No matter how much I cried, it wouldn't bring Solo or Father Maxwell or Sister Helen back, so I don't cry. I survived, and that's what matters. Sob stories are only good for tabloids and broken heart cases." He tried to smile at her a little. "I'm guessing you've had a pretty good life?"
She nodded, her face still troubled.
"And your friends?"
Nasuti nodded again. "Touma's parents are divorced... Ryou and Shin have each lost a parent... and I think Seiji might have gotten some grief for being part American... but really, nothing that compares to what you've been through."
Duo set his glass on the table. "For our side? Trowa's a war orphan like me. He says he was raised as a mercenary as far back as he can remember. Quatre's from a rich family but his father doesn't approve of what he's doing for the war. Wufei's family are still behind him... don't know much about Heero, though. He doesn't talk about it, which means there's probably something really wrong there."
"As opposed to some people who never shut up," Heero said, walking into the room, "and are still screwed up."
"Heero!" said Nasuti, surprised.
"You wanted to work on Deathscythe this afternoon," Heero told Duo, ignoring her. "Ready to start?"
"Yeah." Duo drained his lemonade and set the cup back down, standing. "Thanks for the lemonade, Nasuti!"
Ryou randomly twisted the Rubix Cube in as many directions as he could until the colors were all a muddle. He took a good look at it, examining all six sides, before nodding and stalking out of his bedroom. He stopped at the next room down the hall, where Touma lay on his bed, book held above his head, reading glasses on his nose. Ryou leaned against the frame and knocked on the open door. Touma lowered the book, looking at him.
"Here." Ryou tossed the cube at him. Touma caught it easily and examined it. "Thanks," he said with a smile.
"Let me know what your time is," Ryou asked.
"Sure." Touma set the cube down on the bedside table, next to his armor sphere, and sat up, slipping a bookmark into his reading material. Ryou took the change in posture as an invitation and entered the room, going to sit on Seiji's bed. Momentarily wondering where its owner was, he checked inwardly, getting an impression of deep meditation, a green clearing, and another budding empath with the master of Kourin-ken.
Touma waited for him to finish his search, taking off his glasses and setting them atop the book--physics, and well beyond Ryou's comprehension level, most likely--before asking "What do you think of them now?"
It felt almost like the type of conversation Ryou should be having with Shin, but finding out that their new friends were killers had shaken all of them deeply.
"It's what war is. Most wars," Ryou amended. "Just because our war wasn't against other humans doesn't mean that others aren't." He crooked a smile at Touma. "That said, I'm not sure it's something I could ever do."
Touma nodded. "I thought you'd say as much."
"What's your take on it?"
Touma sighed. "I can't deny that the majority of wars, or at least ones we know about, have been concerned with man killing man, not man defending himself from demons as in our case. That said, I find it morally reprehensible. Yet they do have the right to seek their own freedom, a right which has been denied them." He sighed again, looking up at Ryou. "I think our cultural background binds us too tightly to ever fully see their point of view, Ryou, but that doesn't mean theirs is the wrong one. In war, frequently, both sides are right and both are wrong at the same time. I'm... just not convinced that war can ever be the answer to anything."
"Wisdom is the forte of Tenkuu," Ryou said, smiling faintly.
Touma nodded absently. "I think we can't make judgements on them, Ryou. I think all we can justly do is succor them and assist them to get back to their own time. They're none of them fools, and we have no right to interfere in the course of their war."
Ryou fell backward onto the bed and stared at the sloped ceiling above him. "I just wish things didn't have to be the way they are for them. But Rekka agrees with Tenkuu--if we can't help, then at least we shouldn't hinder."
Out in the hall, Trowa silently stepped away from the wall he was leaning against and walked away.
Author's Notes:
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In this chapter I've borrowed philosophy from N-chan's Sakura and Snow, light from Shi-chan's Shadowfall, and music from the movie Onmyouji. War is a touchy subject, especially in modern times where at times it seems that war is a political tool used more for the sake of re-election than a weapon wielded from a strongly held moral stance. In both series this story deals with, war is a hotly contested subject... in YST it's the Troopers' horror at discovering they are weapons and their enemies are humans like themselves... in Gundam Wing it's the nature of war itself and how it has become distanced from humanity. I personally don't believe war is ever the right answer, but acknowledge that humanity as a whole often has no other method to try to get a point across to itself. Debating with myself what course the story was to take, I had to listen to all the characters, what they wanted, and why. It's now nearly fifteen months since I posted the last chapter of Reality Storm, but I hope this chapter meets its readers' expectations.