Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Colonies of L-2 ❯ One Shot ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. This fan fiction has no commercial value, and I am not making any kind of profit or income off of this story or the use of characters owned by Sunrise and Bandai. This is based on a traditional Creole love song called The Lakes of Pontchartrain.

 

The Colonies of L-2

 

“We're experiencing a little engine trouble. It's nothing serious, but we urge passengers to secure themselves in their seats, and we ask the flight attendants to do the same,” the soothing voice of one of the shuttle's pilots came over the intercom. Most of the passengers were a little worried but completely trusting of the pilots. I knew, however, that the shuttle was in more trouble than the pilots were letting on—just from asking the stewardesses to buckle up.

 

From my former job, I could feel the shuttle's “little engine trouble.” We would have to dock on a nearby colony or risk being stranded in the middle of space, and L-2 was notorious for having the most random spots where communications failed. If the shuttle were to break down here, there was a good chance we would not be able to radio for help, and who knew how long someone else would stumble across us? We would end up just another headline on the news: The Missing Shuttle P035. Knowing we would be docking soon, I stopped a stewardess on her way to secure herself and inquired which colony was the closest. After informing me she was a flight attendant, she answered my question with just a hint of disdain and hurried to take a seat.

 

It did not really matter where we docked since I could not avoid it or change it, but it was still good to know where one is going. As expected, we docked on the nearest colony. I expected to have to wait for hours on end while mechanics were called to fix the engines. Apparently, though, I had underestimated the problem, for we were evacuated from the shuttle along with our luggage. The company assured us that they would work hard to find a new flight, but we would have to wait patiently.

 

That was at eight in the morning. I grabbed a bagel and a newspaper from a nearby stand at breakfast. I read all the articles—at least all the ones I could stomach—by lunch. Needing more nourishment, I grabbed my meager possessions and headed to an airport restaurant. I choked down another meal and worked on the crossword puzzle. By mid-afternoon, I was tired of waiting. I went up to the desk (as I had many times during the day) and inquired if they could see any flights coming within the next few hours that would validate my staying at the spaceport the night. After some pressing, the girl admitted that there was no hope of my getting on any of the future outgoing flights that day. I gave them my information in case an entire shuttle load of passengers decided not to get on one and headed out. I only had one large bag—military-issued—and a small carry-on filled with things I didn't trust the shuttle crews not to damage, so I was able to wander the colony on foot without too many obstacles.

 

Finding a decent, but cheap, restaurant and a good place to rest for the night turned out to be harder than expected. I was a former OZ pilot in White Fang territory. Did it matter that I was a colonist and had never set foot on the Moon, much less Earth? Did it matter that I only joined OZ when they first came to the colonies to make nice? Did it matter that I only joined OZ for the good pay and to help my family? No, of course it did not. I did not wear my uniform, but I stuck out like a sore thumb. They just seemed to know I once donned the uniform. Of course, I may have sneered at them just a little. I was out of OZ because I could no longer pilot, not because of a change of heart.

 

During my last battle, I sustained a head injury. It did nothing too serious. I healed overall, but my eyesight would never be the same. It was affected just enough to keep me from piloting ever again. To be fair, they offered me a behind-the-scenes job. I could go take a few classes and become a technician of some kind, but that was not for me. Instead, I decided to head home to start a new life for myself (actually just the life I left behind when I joined OZ). However, the shuttle taking me home had problems and left me on this colony, and somehow its White Fang sympathizing citizens knew of my former allegiance and probably of my disgust for them.

 

Thus, while I walked down the street, I quickly found no one would take me. My money was worthless to them. No restaurant would feed me. No hotel would house me. The first time this happened, I naïvely believed they were fully booked. The second, I was a little suspicious, but I still believed it. By the third and fourth times, I had noticed a pattern as well as the accompanying sneer. Though I knew the result, I continued trying to purchase dinner and board for the night. Each proprietor turned me down and gave me a nastier sneer.

 

I was very close to calling it a hopeless quest and to heading back to the spaceport for an uncomfortable, hungry night when I saw her. She was carrying bags of groceries and trying not to be shoved too much along the bustling streets—she was not succeeding that much. Amidst the crowds, she somehow saw me, and I could tell she was making her way toward me. Wearing the most angelic smile I had seen in months, I felt my stomach flutter. I forced myself to wear the neutral face I had perfected while a soldier but allowed enough warmth to show through so that she would not be scared off. I was sure, however, that my face was not as neutral as I would have liked.

 

“Hey, pretty girl,” I said with all the cockiness I could muster. She rolled her eyes but still smiled.

 

“When I went into the grocery store an hour ago, you were looking for a meal and board. It seems you haven't had much luck,” she observed.

 

I shrugged. “Apparently my money's no good here. It must be my discipline.” I glanced around the colony meaningfully. “If it weren't for these animals, I'd just stay at the spaceport.” She chuckled some.

 

“My house is very small, but I never turn out a helpless soul,” she offered. I readily agreed—who would turn down such a pretty girl? I took her other bag and helped her carry the groceries, which was not that hard despite carrying my bags as well.

 

We came to what she explained was really her parents' house. Her father was dead from one of the wars, and her mother had been taken by the government months ago with no word from her since. I tried to help her unpack her groceries, but she insisted I take the spare room and get comfortable. After a few protests, I inspected the room and dropped my bags. She had said the former occupant had left about a month or so ago. I could still see traces of him. There were a couple books which did not seem like something she would read. The room was still set up the way a man would use a room, not a girl.

 

I pulled out a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom. I stepped in the shower, feeling the warm water run over me. It was nice to be able to take a shower without having to worry about conserving energy. I lengthened my usual shower time by a few minutes, but I did not stay too long as I was a guest in this lovely woman's house. I changed into my new set of clothes and stuffed the old set, which I had been wearing since I left OZ, back into my bag. I was walking down the hall back to the kitchen, trying to loosen the water in my ear by wiggling my finger in it, when she again caught my breath. She was reaching up to grab plates on a high shelf, and from the designs on the dishware, I figured it was the good china.

 

She had changed during my shower, and she now wore a nice shirt with a skirt that stopped just short of her knees. She had an aura around her. It was clear she enjoyed working in the kitchen; she seemed very much in her element. Seeing her so content warmed my heart; she looked so beautiful like that. I found myself wishing I had a camera, but I soon decided that no photograph or painting could capture her easy beauty.

 

The meal was excellent, and she refused to let me help with the dishes. After the kitchen was cleaned, she joined me in the living room, and I relayed my tale. I told her of my being in OZ and how and why I left. She asked me what I planned to do with my life. I took a moment to think. I had felt I was going to pick up my life where it left off, but as her questioning eyes waited for me, I found I wanted more. I smiled and told her how I wanted to go to school and to get a degree. I told her I wanted to open my own coffee shop where I could chat with the customers. She laughed at that and thought it was a wonderful idea; she even joked that she could and would love to run it with me. I found this touched me deeply, and I had to find something at which to look so that I could hide my blush.

 

I changed topics quickly after that and asked about her. She confided in me that she had once been part of OZ as well. However, her circumstances were much different than mine. Apparently her former roommate pulled her out of it, and she would not go any further than that. I inquired about her own dreams. She said she would stay and work on the family business, the scrap yard. It was fairly profitable now, especially with all the scrap metal just floating in space. She wanted to save enough money to fund a trip to Earth. She had never been to the planet, and she wanted to see it before she grew old. Of course, it was very expensive traveling down to Earth, so she knew she would not be able to see the planet for many, many years. Still, it was her goal, and I assured her that I knew she could do it, and I also added that she would do it sooner than she thought. She laughed at this and grinned, asking if I were a psychic. Then she changed her mind and asked if I was going to fund her trip.

 

Now, perhaps the butterflies in my stomach had flown into my head. She was so beautiful and so nice. We were both so similar, and she cared about me so much. She listened and was genuinely interested in me. I probably read too much into each laugh and each smile she gave me. Wherever I went wrong, before I could stop myself, I heard myself blurt out, “Will you marry me?”

 

Her laughter ended there. (At least it did not change into that cruel laugh that some women often expel.) There was a moment of silence, not quite awkward but not comfortable either. Slowly, I brought my eyes to her face. The kindness was still there, but her lips were pursed. I could tell the kindness was dampening her pity for me, and I knew my answer then and there.

 

I started to back out of this, looking away to hide my shame and embarrassment. Nonetheless, she insisted that she did care for me and that she was very fond of me. Still, a marriage between us could never be. She already had a man, and he was off fighting, trying to end this war. She had no way at the moment to repay him, but she was going to remain true. She would not desert him as so many colonists had; she would keep supporting him, and she would not see any men while he was gone. I could see the honesty in her eyes once I got the courage to look back into them. Somehow, that soothed me, and the rejection's sting dulled. I smiled sincerely and assured her that I understand. I also told her that I hoped she could find a way to repay him because he had to be a wonderful man for her to be so devoted.

 

At this point, she was holding back tears, and I could see them forming in her eyes. She called it a night and headed to her room. I watched her go, wishing I had never brought up the topic. I tidied up the room and turned off the lights before turning in myself. I knew I would have to get to the spaceport early in the morning to catch a good shuttle. My mother would be worried sick, and I would have called her from the house, but I knew what the price of such a call would be.

 

Early the next morning, I scribbled a note thanking her for her hospitality and generosity. I left what little money I could spare (she had fervently refused any the night before), and I headed back to the spaceport where I got a very early flight. I settled in my seat and watched the colony fade away. I already missed her. I was on a shuttle loaded with businessmen, so it was not surprising when the stewardess offered me a complimentary drink. I took it graciously. I raised my glass, starting what I knew would become my tradition at the rest of the social events of my life, and drank a health to my beautiful colony girl, Hilde Schbeiker, at the Colonies of L-2.