Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Restless Peace ❯ Oversight at the Senate ( Chapter 7 )

Disclaimer: See previous parts. Again, there is some swearing.

Pairings: 1xRP, 2xHS, 3xMU, 4xDC, 6x9

Period: March 8, 197 to March 19, 197

 

 

Restless Peace: Oversight at the Senate

 

“Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”—Theodore Roosevelt

“Wait until it is night before saying that it has been a fine day.”—French Proverb

 

8 March AC 197—Preventers' Headquarters, Paris, former France

Relena grumbled as the sign, alit from the blazing noon sun, hit her eyes. It burned her eyes, but that was not what started her bad mood. Being back in France after staying on the beaches of the Bahamas caused that. The brightness outside was a mere annoyance.

“Relena, really…calm down,” came Heero's soothing voice from her left. “It's part of your job.”

“I was on vacation!” she stressed her words; shouting would do no good in the car. “We were finally spending time together!”

“Well if they called you back, it must be important,” he soothed. He hated the situation just as much, but someone had to be calm. They stood outside the limousine and headed inside the building, ignoring the mass of reporters asking incoherent questions. They quickly crossed the lobby ignoring the turned heads and headed up to a top floor. Once there, they headed to Une's new office.

“What was so important you called me back here?” she demanded, sounding more like a spoiled princess than a Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs.

“She doesn't know?” Carson Logan asked, bewildered.

“The media has been suppressed for now, but I don't know for how much longer,” Lady Une informed. She turned to face Relena. “Vice Foreign Minister, I'm afraid Southern France and Northern Italy are overrun with terrorists and protestors.”

“What?” Relena asked, feeling selfish for her earlier statements.

“They attempted a coup, Miss Relena. Now, as far as we know, they haven't harmed anyone, but they're on the streets, armed, and they've set up borders. We expect demands soon.”

“Like executing Mariemaia soldiers?”

Une nodded, “So far the Pyrenees have kept Spain safe; I'm not sure why they haven't spread to the other countries. Perhaps they don't have enough manpower to do it.”

“Shouldn't the Alps have kept Italy safe then?” asked Relena.

“Most of the rioters are locals, so they know the terrain well. I guess maybe enough of the Spaniards didn't join them,” Une reasoned. “We only have the areas where they are, and we can only speculate on the reasons why they haven't spread further.”

“Do they have weapons?” Relena inquired.

“Yes, they bought them from the former Iasi Kingdom,” Une informed, “I've had an operative in there for a few months, and I sent two more in there to gather the information from her when communications went down, but the authorities are not cooperating. We believe them to be captured or, more likely, dead. I've sent another agent, a more seasoned, experience one in to find them and bring them out hopefully, despite his first objections.” She smiled almost wickedly to herself.

“I hope they're alive and safe,” Relena said. She felt sorry for what happened, but what did they want her to do exactly?

As if reading her mind, Une continued, “We need you to play diplomat to IaÅŸi. I, and the President, would like you to talk to the King and hopefully convince him to hand over the agents peacefully. Once he does, or once it becomes apparent he never will, we're going to have you negotiate with the terrorists' leaders and see if you can make any progress with them as well.”

The young girl held in a sigh. She was back to her old role, and she was grumpier than before with her vacation cut short. As her mother always said, “We cannot always do what we want, but we must always do what we must,” or it went something along those lines.

“I know it's asking a lot,” Une said in a motherly tone, “but we need you now.”

Relena nodded claiming she understood.

“Lady Une!” called an aide, “We have the first reports of executions!”

“What?”

“They're hunting down and killing ex-soldiers, not just those under Mariemaia!”

Relena heard Une hiss a curse.

“They're…also demanding…your blood, too.”

 

10 March AC 197—Specific location unknown, Province of le Languedoc, former France

“The riots have calmed, but they haven't left. They've armed themselves, and they're on every street corner,” reported Quatre jumping down into their self-made bunker after doing some reconnaissance. They still had not found Trowa. Quatre speculated he was at Preventers' Headquarters.

“Where could they have gotten so many weapons? You guys can still take them out, right?” Catherine inquired. He fidgeted. “Well, you can, right? Tell me!” He grabbed his bottom lip between his teeth and pulled it through.

“The Preventers are spread pretty thin right now, and last I checked, they had…inferior weapons,” he admitted. The girls sighed, and one let out a little scream. “But they can still get better weapons easily, and it doesn't matter who has the better weapon. What matters is strategy, and there are some great strategists back at Preventers.”

“Where are the best?” asked Marina.

“Well…most were killed during the wars,” he explained, “It was on the theory that if you `knock out the brain,' then your enemy won't be able to plan and coordinate as well.”

“What's all that cheering for?” Tatiana asked as the jeering rose another level.

“They're capturing old soldiers. I heard some say there've already been executions; it's hard to say. Communications have gotten primitive.”

“How primitive?” questioned Catherine.

“All types of phone lines are down,” Quatre reported slowly as Catherine's face twisted, “And, uh, computers are being jammed…and of course they're not letting that much mail through. They open each letter and read it before sending it off, if they send it at all that is….” He cleared his throat, “They're using mainly human messengers to communicate. They attach a letter or tell it to someone—since they've banned automobiles—who then runs across the countryside to the…recipient—Tatiana, where are you going?” He called out as she suddenly started climbing out of the bunker. Marina and Catherine were at her sides in an instant grabbing her middle and waist and pulling her back down into safety.

“I'm sick of this bunker!” she cried out, “Someone needs to give them a good punch. They're ruining our lives! We get all the stupid wars to stop, and they're not happy because…because….” She looked at the three weary faces staring back at her and gave up her rant. There was no use preaching to the choir. Instead, she slid down the side and sat, staring into space.

Quatre glanced at Catherine and Marina, but they looked about the same as he. The stress and strain was getting to them all, and they would soon require more accommodating quarters if they were to continue living there for any period of time. Quatre could survive on his own like this, but he knew the girls would have a harder time. They did not have the training he did. The circus may not provide all the comforts of a “normal” home, but it provided a lot more than the little shelter he had made. They were being good sports about the sort of food he was able to scrounge up, but he doubted how long they could keep eating it. When he had blushingly instructed them on where the restroom facilities would be—a hole in the woods nearby, there had more than a little grumbling. However, it was the best he could do under the circumstances. Above everything else with which the girls had or would have problems, the one thing he most feared about staying out with them in such conditions was on their “lady's day.”

He had nearly thirty sisters, a fiancee, and a daughter on the way. He should have felt perfectly comfortable with that time of the month with all those women around him. However, this was not so. His father had seemed fine with it, especially how open his younger sisters were about it. He could remember being five and hearing his sisters Ulima and Aubrea fighting over whether or not Ulima stole some of Aubrea's, well, female things. He asked his father what they were, and his father, without blushing or stammering, told Quatre in simple terms about how girls had a “special time” each month. It had seemed mystical back then, and he was secretly jealous of them for having it. His father had found it amusing. When he took a class on the reproductive organs, which had been a mix of male and female students, his partner had made him and the rest of the guys sick. The instructor had pointed out that only a few pints—or was it quarts? He did not pay that much attention—of blood leave a woman during her…period. His partner had swiftly raised her hand and exclaimed that it seemed like gallons, which caused some queasiness even now.

“Quatre, are you ok?” Catherine asked with concern. She put a hand on his forehead. “You look sick.”

“Just…thinking,” he responded lamely.

“Are you sure?” questioned Catherine, not convinced.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “just thinking of a new, better place for us to go to.” She accepted this with a nod. He put his mind to work. His uncle told him his mother's brother lived nearby, but where exactly did he say?

“Come on, girls; pack your things,” he instructed, “I know a good place to go.”

“How good?” inquired Marina.

“There's a house we can stay in,” he informed. The girls squealed with delight, scurrying to gather their things quickly.

 

13 March AC 197—Streets outside Vysehrad Palaces, Burlok, former Iasi Kingdom

Pavlo Droski glanced at his buyer's new hand. The young Asian boy looked bored as Pavlo inspected him. Kids, he thought, taking the jobs of adults who need them to support a family or more. Not only are they talking our jobs, but they've completely stopped showing respect to anyone but their own age group. It was true, he felt Relena Peacecraft—she never should have been queen at fifteen—and Quatre Raberba Winner—he was much too young to run a company—were to blame. However, his king had shown him these children were not to blame, not even punks like the one in front of him, Zhang Wu Feng. Their leaders who allowed this were to blame. The children deserved a childhood as they would be adults all too soon.

“All right, come on,” he instructed the youth. Zhang stood straighter and watched him carefully. “You can stay on the palace grounds.”

“Not in the palace?” the child inquired.

“No, rooms in the castle are for important guests only,” he replied.

“My boss isn't important?”

“Your boss is; you are not,” he emphasized, “If he were here, he would stay in the castle. His minion, on the other hand, doesn't warrant such a gesture.” Pavlo took him to the quarters next to the stables. That lady was there. Lenore Valerii. She was always around, it seemed, always watching. She was up to something. Unfortunately, his king did not see women as being that crafty, especially his mistresses. He hand-picked them, and no one dare suggested one could deceive him.

“Who's the new guy?” she asked innocently with a simple smile.

“You `re not to know!” he snapped.

“Zhang Wu Feng,” the boy introduced before she could retort, “I work for Hong Se Lao Hu in China.” Pavlo did not like the look in her eyes as they greeted each other. Hopefully, they had an affair, and then he could be rid of both of them.

“How is Hong Se?” inquired Lenore as she checked her hair for split ends. Yes, the life of a mistress was a hard life. “I'm surprised Yi sent you…given the brief background of you I was allowed to see.”

“Yi thought my real expertise would be needed here at some point,” explained Zhang as he threw his bags in his room. Pavlo wondered what his “real expertise” was, but he did not put too much thought into it. It was most likely something inane. He left them alone to attend to his more important business items.

 

Every buyer IaÅŸi supplied had hands inside the former kingdom already, except for Hong Se Lao Hu. Preventers picked up their hand for drug trafficking across borders. Hong Se was not aware of this yet. Thus, they were able to send one of their own agents into the kingdom in the hand's place. Luckily for the Preventers, there was a high positioned man named Yi. While Yi and Yi were said with different tone of voice, a foreigner would hear no difference in the syllables. The only one who would be able to tell the difference was an agent fluent in Mandarin. All agents were stretched with the riots that had broken out. The only fluent agent close was Chang Wufei, and despite his arguments about doing this kind of undercover work, he took the assignment. Trowa was better suited for the job out of all the pilots, but he was missing since the riots and he did not know Mandarin.

As a result, Wufei unpacked his bags in a Slavic country, about which he knew nothing, with a woman of which he only knew the name. Lenore eyed him, watching his every move. He was not sure why and it caused some unease. It was the same eye which Meiran had scrutinized when they were first wed, and he did not like to be reminded of it.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Lenore asked innocently, watching him still.

“Yes,” he answered frankly. She blinked, taken aback by his bluntness. He stood at full height once his clothes were put away. “Is there anything else you need to know?”

“You're quite young,” she forced herself to stop analyzing him, “I read all the information Yi gave me. I thought you would be older.”

“What part made you think I was older?”

“Nothing…specific,” she danced around the issue. He must have guessed at the specific reason, for he snorted at the sentiment.

“I know which fact made you imagine me older,” he said, “and I don't think you should judge age by skill. It can come at any age. If you start assigning ages by skill, you will underestimate the enemy as my enemy underestimated me in the war.”

She gave him a sharper look before changing the subject, “Who's the pretty girl?” Wufei looked and saw that he had already taken out the picture. He covered it quickly.

“No one,” he replied. He gave a look to let her know not to pursue it. She nodded and headed out the door. He sighed once he was alone. Looking at the picture of his late wife, he wondered where he would be if she had survived. Well, there was no point in wondering about “what if;” he could do that for the rest of his life. He needed to make sure no one else was widowed…at any age because war. He looked out his window and smiled. A field of flowers. He silently promised Mei to keep views like this safe.

 

14 March AC 197—Earth Sphere Unified Nation Senate Building, Luxembourg, former Luxembourg

“We cannot simply sit here as terrorists harm our innocent citizens!” argued a senator.

“They're not so innocent,” reminded a fellow senator, “They were solders, trained killers.”

“Who are legal, law-abiding citizens now,” pointed out another.

“We have no confirmation they are only killing former soldiers anyway,” the first warned.

“They surely would not kill innocent civilians,” gasped the second indignantly; he seemed almost offended at the suggestion.

“They may believe they're killing soldiers,” First reasoned, “but we don't know how reliable their sources are. What if they're just killing on rumors? Or what if they're killing ones who never actively served? There were many `soldiers' who just transported goods for the military.”

“Then they should have worked for private citizens,” Second spat, “Soldiers are nothing more than mindless drones, and I for one think they should all pay for their crimes. I believe I'm not the only one who feels this way in this room.”

“Feel that, as you may,” started Third as First fought to control his anger, “We are not conquerors here to punish our `subjugated public.' We came peacefully, and we give everyone equal opportunities. We have all done things in the past we regret. Most of these soldiers you wish to prosecute are either old men—who have but a few short years left—or young men—who were led astray by their idealism. The folly of youth should not be punished so roughly. In fact, it helped us see how foolish wars are.”

“Thank you, Senator, for wording my thoughts so well,” First complimented.

“These `rioters' also bring up another good point,” Second said changing to a subject he might win at the moment, “There are too many children in the workforce, holding high-paying, high-power jobs no less. Nearly half of those employed by the government or private citizens are under twenty-five, and nearly ninety percent of those did not go to college for their career. We are lucky if they finished high school!”

“I suppose you have people to blame for this?” First questioned stiffly, glancing intentionally at Vice Foreign Minister Darlian.

“Yes, if you are going to refer to people such as Vice Foreign Minister Darlian, former Queen Relena, Miss Dorothy Catalonia, or Mr. Quatre Raberba Winner, I suggest you hold your tongue. They have done much for the people of this nation, including us, despite such tragedies as being orphaned,” Third warned.

“They have done a good job, yes, and I applaud them. They have done an excellent job; however, they are prime examples. They are in very influential positions, and I am sure they gained much life experience during the war, but they are young! There are only certain wisdoms that come from age. They have not even finished high school! I appreciate all that they have done, but perhaps it is time they act their age and stop trying to be adults!”

The rest of the debate was lost as the senators all started shouting for one side or another. Relena sighed and stood. She solemnly found her way to the door and headed out. The legislative bodies were all behaving the same way. They frequently got off topic: what to do with the occupiers of France and Italy. Luckily, the President did not need the approval of the Senate or any other body to command the Preventers. She headed outside to return to her current living quarters, trying to get the arguments out of her head.

 

14 March AC 197—Vysehrad Palaces, Burlok, former Iasi Kingdom

Wufei waited until Droski passed the stables. The man did not trust him and was becoming a pest. Of course, he really should not trust Wufei, but his mistrust came from internal affairs. If it were a play, he could see the irony. As he passed, Wufei slipped out and headed toward the castle. What furthered his belief that Droski's mistrust had more to do with Valerii than with himself was that no one else seemed as suspicious of him. They let him pass through the doors without a second glance, usually without a first.

Inside, he could not see an obvious place where they could be keeping the agents. Nothing screamed out at him. He slinked through the passageways. The guards ignored him and were busy with their own affairs. He went down the longest stairwell. It was the only place he had not yet checked. He had not checked it yet because the stone door was locked, and the lock was tougher than his skill. He could jimmy it, of course, but he needed a lot of time to work on it. At least Duo was not on the other side to give him a hard time about it.

Once at the door, he knocked. He was underground enough where he did not worry about anyone else hearing the noise. Guards were stationed at the top of the stairwell, but he was young enough to where they figured he was not a threat at all, so if they heard anything, they would think nothing of it.

An obscenity came from the other side. Wufei stood straighter. He had not expected an answer. What caught him off guard more was the deep male voice that seemed to chastise the first, which was either a woman or a teenage boy.

“Who's there?” Wufei called.

“None of your damn b—what? It's just those damn guards again, or that bastard of a minister.”

“Your attitude is not helping the situation! How old are you anyway? You still haven't told me!”

“Agents Rookie and Jet, I assume?” Wufei questioned. He could practically hear them contemplating this.

“You know our code names?” the man asked cautiously.

“Yes, it's Agent Dragon if you remember,” he informed, studying the lock for another time. He looked more closely this time.

“The voice sounds familiar, now that you say that,” Kedlin said, “Hard to tell behind these thick walls.”

Wufei agreed. “I'm not sure I can get you out, not yet at least.”

“Can you at least tell us what's going on in the world?” requested the lady, Jet Yuy if he recalled correctly.

He briefly summarized the events of the past week. Kedlin and Yuy interjected bits of information they had gathered from their cell with where they calculated they would take place in his timeline. Wufei nodded as they pieced together events they collected from the guard. It was then he heard the changing of the guards, and with the change, the Minister's arrival. There was nowhere to hide. There was only a stairwell that led to the cell. There was also no way to explain away his presence down here for so long. The Minister would be more scrupulous than the guards. Wufei cursed inwardly as he heard Droski's voice part of the entourage. Of all the people to accompany the Minister….

“Who is this?” asked the Minister of Internal Affairs with an almost amused tone as he lay eyes on Wufei faster than he had expected.

“Zhang Wu Feng,” Droski answered, clearly no amusement in his voice. “He's the new hand from the Chinese base, Hong Se Lao Hu.” He added a comment in what sounded like Russian to Wufei, but it could be any Slavic language really.

“And what business does a hand have down here for so long?” questioned the Minister. His eyes never left Wufei.

“None,” Droski answered quickly. His eyes were too on Wufei. In fact, everyone seemed only to look at him.

Wufei kept silent. He was careful to keep his face neutral. His gaze, unlike the rest of the company, alternated between Droski and the Minister. In truth, he did not see the others. So, he was surprised to hear the voice of Lenore Valerii speak up from somewhere to his right.

“Perhaps he should be locked up with the others?” she suggested. The others, all men Wufei now noted, changed their gaze from Wufei to her.

“Keep quiet, woman,” hissed the Minister, “Until we know his true knowledge.”

“Given how close they are, I'm sure he already knows,” Droski said slyly, “They have spent an enormous amount of time together.” The Minister gave Lenore a sharp look and questioned her, in Russian, sharply. He seemed to accuse her of something, probably infidelity to their King. She responded defending herself, but it did not seem to matter. With a flip of the wrist, she was sent up the stairs in a huff.

“Mr. Zhang, you work for Hong Se Lao Hu?” questioned the Minister. His voice was calm again.

“Yes, I do,” Wufei answered.

“Who is your primary boss?” he questioned again, gesturing for the key to one of his workers.

“YÄ«,” responded Wufei watching him carefully.

“Then you will enjoy this,” smiled the Minister as he opened the door to the cell, “I am sorry to report your shipment is severely lacking. However, I am sure Yi will be pleased with our supplementary gift: three Preventers agents.”

 

16 March AC 197—Northwest of Mazamet, Tarn, Province of le Midi-Pyrenees, former France

They had been walking for days, nearly five hundred forty kilometers—not all on foot, thankfully. He had been worried about traveling on open roads, alone, being easy targets. However, they had walked amongst crowds most of the trip, and they were never alone. They still prohibited automobiles. Protesters damaged a lot of them in the riots anyway. Only suppliers from America and Iasi drove anywhere, but they frequently allowed some passengers to ride in empty space and to hang on the vehicles. At least they were not cruel. They brought in fresh food to all their cities each day as far as Quatre could tell.

He was not sure how he would find his uncle once in St. Gaudens, but they had awhile to go before needed to decide on that. Catherine and Marina did not seem to mind the walking. They pointed out local flowers and wildlife, almost as if they were on a nature trail. He had worried about all the whining that would inevitably come from Tatiana. However, as they had never been alone on the roads, she found many new friends. She was a chatterbox, and she would talk to all that would listen, even if none of them understood her Russian or English. She explained how they were almost swept away by the crowd but their blond Muslim savior (she started calling him this affectionately, almost to inform all the Christians on the road) had pulled them out of the sea of people and safely into a tree. She talked about how they had to build a bunker quickly and out of near nothing. Of course, it was mainly Quatre who had built the bunker, but she left that detail out. It did not bother Quatre much. He was happy enough to hear Tatiana happy and not whining for once.

“How much longer, Quatre?” asked Catherine.

“About a day or two,” he estimated. “I don't think we're far now. Let me ask someone.” He strode over to an older gentleman, and the two conversed in rapidly in French. “Only about fifteen kilometers left,” he informed as he rejoined Catherine.

“That doesn't sound too bad,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. She looked to Marina. They chatted in Russian, leaving Quatre time to think.

He thought of how far Dorothy had to be. It was probably more than ten thousand kilometers, but beyond that, he could not calculate the distance without a map. Also, she should be about two and half months from her due date. He should be there with her. Yes, he wanted to discover this new family he suddenly had, but he had a baby on the way. That baby needed him more. He marveled at how little of his life he truly knew and at how he was suddenly bringing in a new life when he barely knew himself. He was about to get married. He should know himself at least before he got married, right? How could Dorothy completely know him if he did not understand himself? How could he know her if he was still discovering things about his life? He knew the answer. He cared deeply for Dorothy, maybe even loved her, but the only reason he was marrying her was for their daughter. If Dorothy had not forgotten her birth control pills, or if he had worn a condom, they would not be engaged; they would probably not even think of it. The truth was she was pregnant, and he did care for her, love or no, so he would marry her and spend the rest of their lives together. He would not abandon her. He made a mental note to give her a big fat kiss when he saw her again, no matter who saw.

He looked over and saw a young couple, still older than he, with their own little girl. She was skipping a step or two ahead of them. The couple held each other's hands and looked into each other's eyes. They were clearly in love. They had their daughter, they had each other, and they had love. He could only hope he and Dorothy would still be happy when their own child was that age.

 

17 March AC 197—Bonne Fortune (Fortune Jontea's estate), St. Gaudens, Haute-Garonne, Province of le Midi-Pyrenees, former France

Quatre chatted with a few of the locals as they entered St. Gaudens. Catherine, as the other girls, was weary from the trip. They had walked five hundred fifty-five kilometers in total according to Quatre. She suspected he was not entire certain where his uncle really lived as he wandered around the town, not heading to a specific house or apartment.

“Excusez-moi, monsieur,” he questioned one man, “Est-ce que connaissez Fortune Jontea?”

“Oui, je connais M. Jontea,” the man answered with ask nod. “Pourquoi est-ce que vous vous renseignez sur lui?”

“Il est mon oncle. Savez-vous ou habite-il?” Quatre asked.

“Es-tu son neveu?” the man inquired. “Il habite a Bonne Fortune, chez lui, avec Mlle Sophie, sa soeur.” He pointed to the left and rapidly gave directions, which Quatre seemed to follow. At least someone in their group knew French. Trowa had picked it up somewhere in his life, but Catherine and the girls only knew the basics.

“All right, I know the way,” Quatre informed. Marina gave Catherine a look. Cathy smiled in response, and they followed their guide. He took them down a few streets and then out of the town, or out of the closely populated part. Down a road, they walked up to a fairly large house, with beautiful grounds. The lawn was well kept, and there were flowers, from the ground, on bushes, and on vines, littered through the yard. It was not clustered or tacky, at least to Catherine's eyes, though. She smiled at the place and felt immediately at home. This was the home she wanted when she retired from the circus. Maybe it would not be as big or grand as this estate, but it was essentially for what she was looking.

Quatre knocked on the door, “Bonjour, mademoiselle. Je m'appelle Quatre Raberba Winner. Mon oncle, Fortune Jontea, habite-il ici?”

“Fortune est vous oncle?” the girl at the door inquired. Quatre nodded. “Il est mon frere! Fortune!” She kissed him on the cheeks, and he blushed faintly. An older man eventually came to the door. He looked at the girls with a frown, but his face brightened with recognition on Quatre.

“M. Jontea, je m'appelle Quatre Raberba Winner. Je suis vous neveu,” Quatre started. The man cut him off in a hug and a kiss on the cheeks and ushered them all in his home in English.

“We never thought we'd see you again,” Fortune said. Both he and the girl, Sophie, Catherine decided, were grinning. He took them into the living room where they all sat. Quatre and M. Jontea discussed family and how Quatre found out about him, how he found him, and why they had come. M. Jontea seemed displeased with the riots, and he said they were welcome to stay in his house as long as they wanted. While the men discussed this, Sophie was left to entertain the women. The problem was Sophie knew French and not enough English for conversation, and the same was true for the girls vice versa. So, they sat there, smiling at each other. Fortunately for them, Catherine, Marina, and Tatiana were able to eavesdrop on Quatre's conversation. Sophie had to smile through the whole thing.

“You should see your rooms now,” M. Jontea said, standing. He spoke to Sophie in French, and she took the girls upstairs. Quatre and his uncle went another way. The rooms were more than Catherine expected. Big, fluffy beds, cheery walls, books on bookshelves, and they also got a window with a terrific view of the countryside and far off mountains.

“You…here,” Sophie said with a thick accent. She pointed to each girl and then to her room.

“Merci,” Catherine thanked in what she was sure was an equally thick accent in French. Sophie smiled at it nonetheless. She turned to go, but Catherine stopped her. One of them had to learn the other's language, or at least a way to communicate. They could be here for awhile. She pointed to herself. “My name is Catherine,” she informed a bit slowly as she saw Sophie translating word for word.

“My…name is…Sophie,” she responded.

“You're…I mean, you are Quatre's aunt?” Cathy asked. As Sophie thought about this, she nodded.

“Je suis la tante de Quatre,” she told. Catherine was now interested in her age. She looked too young to be Fortune's sister.

“Je suis dix-huit ans,” Catherine tried to tell her. Sophie looked at her very strangely. Then it dawned on her what Catherine was trying to say: She was eighteen years old, not she was literally eighteen years.

“J'ai dix-huit ans,” she corrected, “Et moi, j'ai trente-huit ans.” When she saw Catherine was not following her, she took a piece of paper on Catherine's dresser and wrote thirty-eight on it. She recognized it and smiled. She could not think of any compliment for her. She wanted to say she looked so young for her age, but she doubted Sophie would understand. Finally, Sophie was able to leave, and Catherine sighed, wondering if they were to play charade games for their entire stay.

 

18 March AC 197—La mansio de la familia de Noranta (Noventa Family Mansion), Ramio, Parish of Escaldes-Engordany, former Andorra

Sylvia Noventa went to the door as her butler called. She was surprised to find Colonel Une at the door with her adoptive daughter, Mariemaia. Standing behind them were Amaya Vandivier and her twin brother, that famous singer. She gave permission for them to enter. Colonel Une requested that “the children” be allowed to go to the backyard. Sylvia showed them how to get their, and the twins took Mariemaia out. The girl stayed close to Alaron, but she did not seem as star-struck as Sylvia would have guessed.

“Are you still in contact with Dorothy Catalonia?” the former colonel asked.

“Only for propriety,” Sylvia answered honestly, “I never knew her on a private level.”

“She is the reason Andorra and Spain are not populated with those rioters turned occupiers,” Colonel Une informed, “She used her own little militia to hold them back.” She spoke with a wisp of pride in His Excellency's dear cousin.

“I am glad she did,” Sylvia responded, unsure of what to say and where this was going.

“I am sure you are. The president has big plans coming up, and I will not have that much time for Mariemaia and her guests. I need you to watch over them for a few days. They will be the perfect guests, or else. I hope to enlist the twins' father for help in the president's plan, so they cannot go home until I am done using them as a bargaining tool. They need to be kept safe, you see, in order to get the most out of their dear father. I am sure you understand my personal need and want for keeping Mariemaia safe,” she enlightened. Sylvia nodded.

“I suggest you keep in touch with Miss Dorothy, for you may need her help if the protestors decide to demonstrate on more ground. She might be useful if push comes to shove,” Colonel Une gave a crisp nod. Sylvia assured her the children would be safe with her, and Une reminded her she was responsible for anything that happened to them. With that, the former colonel left. Bags were brought to their new rooms.

Sylvia sighed as her weekend plans were dashed. She knew Amaya from Midii, and she would not be a bad companion. She was sure Amaya could handle her own twin, and Mariemaia could be a joy when she wanted to be. But she still had to be hostess.

“Miss Sylvia,” called a servant. She turned to face her. “I'm afraid your grandmother wants you to move houses again. Apparently, the protestors are coming closer. The Catalonian militia is pushing them back, but she would feel safer if you moved to a different house.” Sylvia nodded at the information. “Miss? Forgive me, but should we also move your guests?”

“We're not moving,” she informed, “We're staying here until it gets way too close. If they get close enough to where we definitely must move, I will contact Dorothy Catalonia and see what she has to say.”

“Is that wise?”

“I don't know. I don't know much these days.” The servant nodded and left to perform her duties. Sylvia headed to the backyard to be with her guests. They were kicking a ball around. As she watched them just playing around, she wondered if the rioters even considered that this was what they wanted all along, that children playing in the backyard was really peace.

 

19 March AC 197—Outside ESUN Senate Building, Luxembourg, former Luxembourg

Relena sighed as she walked out the Senate Building. It was more squabbling and bickering. Peace may have won over War, but Bureaucracy took the victory. Would she ever learn to deal with it? Or, would they ever get along? She wondered. A flood of reporters rushed to her asking questions about what took place and of what she predicted would happen. She had no answers for them, something they did not want to hear. She smiled but inwardly shook her head. She attempted to walk down the stairs, but without Heero, who was on a mission, it seemed near impossible. Her current bodyguard seemed to care if he hurt one of the reporters. Heero usually saw it as the reporters' own faults if they got in the way.

She looked to her left and saw one of the younger senators giving an interview. Well, he seemed old to her, but he was young relative to the others' ages. She smiled and walked a little closer to eavesdrop. The reporter interviewing had an interested tint in the eye, something she rarely found to be a comfort. The senator went on in the interview, nothing too exciting or too damaging. She expected no less of the man. However, he suddenly veered off course and said something incredibly stupid. Relena saw it coming and rushed over to stop him, but she was too late.

 

19 March AC 197— Vysehrad Palaces, Burlok, former Iasi Kingdom

Pavlo wandered through the halls, looking for a task. He noticed a group of men, mixed of his countrymen and of visitors, huddled around a television. Upon entering the room, he saw a newscast was on. They were interviewing senators after the latest meeting. Most had the predictable comments: vague but commanding, like they knew about what they were talking. The reporter came upon a younger senator. The inexperienced man said a blunder of a comment. As he said it, Pavlo noted Zhang's eyes widened. Was it with fear?

 

19 March AC 197—Rzhev, Tverskaya oblast, former Russia

Heero kept his faux fur-lined coat tight around him. It was faux fur so that he would not have to endure anymore remarks from Relena or Quatre. Plus, he did like animals. He walked down the blustery streets. There was a huge screen broadcasting the latest Senate findings. He looked up to watch. Heero was good at keeping his emotions in check, but even he felt fear sometimes. The senator said his piece, and he went cold. Not with fear for himself, but for the rest of the world, he knew things were about to get much worse.

 

19 March AC 197—Road, Marseille, Province of la Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, former France

Trowa drove down the road with Midii toward the spaceport. They listened to the broadcast of the Senate over the radio. A young senator came on for an interview as the older ones would not indulge the reporters. He sounded like a politician, but it was evident he did not have as many years of experience as his colleagues. Trowa nearly drove off the road as he could not believe the stupidity of the man's next comment.

 

 

 

19 March AC 197—Peacecraft Residence, Mars

Lucrezia dialed their radio to a frequency tuned to Earth Sphere news. They had heard about the crisis from Une, and now she and Zechs listened for information as often as possible. They listened intently. Noin gasped at the man's comment. Zechs stood.

“When is the next shuttle to Earth?” he asked, looking out the window.

“In a couple weeks,” she answered.

“We're going to be on it,” he informed.

 

19 March AC 197—Schbeiker Residence, Colony C-412, L-2 Colony Cluster

Hilde sat next to Duo in the kitchen as they watched the broadcast. Hilde chewed on the last bits of her lunch and nibbled on some of her sister's discarded meal. Duo sipped on his beverage. The next moment, Hilde choked on a chip, and Duo spat out his drink.

 

19 March AC 197—Bonne Fortune, St. Gaudens, Haute-Garonne, Province of le Midi-Pyrenees, former France

Quatre settled on the couch in his uncle's house. He turned to the news on television. An attractive young reporter was interviewing a junior senator. He saw Relena in the background and smiled, all was well. As the senator replied to a question, his eyes widened as his body froze.

 

19 March AC 197—Specific location unknown, former United States

The American leader followed the politics of his day closely. As the senator gave his statement on television, he smiled wickedly, a new idea brewing in his mind. His aides watched with him, oblivious to the epiphany their leader just had. Perhaps he could have his cake and eat it, too.

 

19 March AC 197—EBC, Television Broadcast, throughout Earth Sphere Unified Nation

“And, Senator, many have called for the prosecution and execution of former soldiers of Mariemaia Barton. In fact, the protestors who took Southern France and Northern Italy are claiming they have executed former soldiers of all wars. What are your thoughts, sir?”

“I don't understand why they're going after them. I mean what about the Gundam pilots?”

 

**Translation Notes**

French:

Excusez-moi, monsieur—Excuse me, sir

Est-ce que connaissez Fortune Jontea?—Do you know Fortune Jontea?

Oui, je connais M. Jontea—Yes, I know Mr. Jontea

Pourquoi est-ce que vous vous renseignez sur lui?—Why do you want to know?

Il est mon oncle. Savez-vous ou habite-il?—He's my uncle. Do you know where he lives?

Es-tu son neveu?—You're his nephew?

Il habite a Bonne Fortune, chez lui, avec Mlle Sophie, sa soeur—He lives at Bonne Fortune, his home, with Miss Sophie, his sister

Bonjour, mademoiselle. Je m'appelle Quatre Raberba Winner—Hello, Miss. My name is Quatre Raberba Winner

Mon oncle, Fortune Jontea, habite-il ici?—My uncle, Fortune Jontea, does he live here?

Fortune est vous oncle? Il est mon frere!—Fortune is your uncle? He's my brother!

Je suis vous neveu—I'm your nephew

Other:

Yi—One (therefore, also Une) (Mandarin Chinese)

540 km—335 miles

555 km—345 miles