Title: Alternative Directions: Options 207/???

Series: Gundam Wing

Author: Karina

Rating: Definitely PG in Australia, at the moment, but probably safer to say R for later chapters. Not sure about international ratings.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the lovely boys and their girls in the series. Wish I did. Please don't sue me. I haven't even got a brass razoo to give you.

Many thanks to ShenLong Deb for betaing this chapter. 

//... // thoughts
"... " speech
~/... /~ text
*... * flashback
** ...** Vision

Alternative Directions: Options: Mars

Chapter  207

Mars Colony

Base Dome

2nd March AC 198

Time 9:43  [approximate Sanc time 07:33] 

Barker

Insanity unbound.  That was what this entire screw up was.  Insane.  That was what they all were.  Barking mad.

Some more so than others.

What the fuck was he supposed to make of that anyway?  Honestly, what in God’s name had happened to the world?  All sense and sensibility was melting into a stinking puddle of viscid... goo...for want of a better word.

Before the sky falls.

He bared his teeth in a silent snarl at the insanity of it all. At the... the... the unfairness.

The cryptic son of a bitch.  And just what was it supposed to mean anyway?  ‘Before the sky falls’.  He could not believe he had listened to a shit load of garbage and actually tried to make some sense of it.  It was far from rational or logical as far as he was concerned, but... Ah, indeed, but...

It was idiocy, fantasy, garbage... It had to be, logically.  But the trouble was he could not discount everything the mad bastard had said.

And Zechs Marquise, Milliardo Peacecraft, the Lightning Count, Lightning Baron, Son of a Bitch, Devil Incarnate... whatever you wanted to call the bastard.  He had to be stark raving mad.

Mad.  Insane.  Loopy.  A raving lunatic. Troppo. Around the bend.  Balmy. Loose bats in the belfry!

But... Again with the but!  Was he any more insane than this day?  And there was more than one raving lunatic running around the base.  People were dying!  People had already died and more, a lot more people, would die if they did not do something and soon.  Something imminently sensible.

Or was the truth of the matter that it took doing something equally as crazed as the day, to begin to return stability and sense to the world?

Marquise had to be insane and that led to him having to answer a simple question.  Just how insane was that man?  Lives hung in the balance.  He was loony for certain, but there were degrees to insanity.  The man had a reputation for doing insane things that, in the heat of the moment, seemed to make no sense at all and only in retrospect could one see beyond the seeming insanity to a core truth.

Marquise was loony in a dangerously sane way.

How many hours had he, a totally sane if stressed professionally trained agent for Preventer, wracked his brains trying to come up with a viable solution?  A solution to the dilemma of getting their people, locked out in the freezing Martian night, safely into the dome?  Despite his best efforts, and the efforts of no few others, all of whom he could testify to being stressed but not barking mad, had come up with was...  Well, not exactly nothing, there were suggestions, but the projected results were always that they would lose a lot of people.

And it was Marquise, the certified nut case, who had in fact come up with the most plausible scenario for getting the most people safely into a controlled, survival assuring environment.

Crazy in a canny, insightful way then.

Blow the dome, he had said.  Blow the dome over the shuttle bay, a controlled charge, shaped, sufficient to breach the survival dome... and that was what they were doing.  Put to the engineers they had calculated the required explosive charges, the best position to allow people to access the dome and it was basically exactly as Marquise had said.

He needed to grill the man over slow roasting coals to get at what was surely classified information.  How had Marquise known...?  Well, if he did that, asked, he no doubt would gain a whole host of gabble and prattling on about psychic powers and... other drivel.  Jesus, he was going insane just thinking about it and he had too much to do to cater to a case of the space crazies!

  Insane or not it was their best bet at getting those people inside the dome, and that had to take priority.

 Above him, working with haste though carefully, he had one of the two experienced demolitions men available to him setting the charges on the dome, giving a crash course to those who were willing and had a decent head for heights.  His second demolitions expert, and a couple of engineers who claimed to have nerves of steel and a deft touch, were working on the elevators, disabling the bombs. So far he had not heard or felt anything that suggested someone had been tragically careless and triggered a bomb in the sub base.

It was the best he could hope for at this stage.

Careful handling of the situation had them at least moving forward and not spinning in circles, wringing their hands together helplessly whilst the world around them spun crazily out of control.  It was a small moment of stability in an otherwise crazy world.

Before the sky falls.

What the hell had He meant by that?

Ominous words.  Cryptic, yes, but definitely words of warning.  Marquise had been anything but joking when he had said them.  There had been something... off... about him.  Those eyes, incredibly blue, intensely blue, were frightening in their intensity.  He had been dead serious.

There had not been enough time, not as yet at least, to beard the dragon and try to get a reasonable explanation for that cryptic commentary.  He had not returned to the treatment room to grill the man as he had implied he would.  He needed to know, but there was this thing called priorities.  Save people first, and then resort to any means necessary to get an explanation out of the bastard.

He had not returned to the medical centre though he supposed in a fleeting moment of sanity on his part, he should have.  But no, somewhere in-between storming out of the room and relieving his over loaded bladder, he had decided to be inflicted with his own brand of insanity and actually... trust the bastard.  If he survived this day he would ask himself why, but that was for later, after everything was done.

Finding out who had the necessary expertise to get the job done had taken his priority.  No one had had a better suggestion and he had a small window of opportunity to save those lives.  He’d willingly consign himself to a psyche test and treatment in the fullness of time, but it could wait.

He had to be insane to dwell on his state of mind when there was so much to be done.

Hawass had been on the radio, establishing contact with the group in the cave.  They had needed to keep the contact brief as they were uncertain how long the mobile suits would continue to operate without recharging, and of necessity, they needed to spare oxygen.  Barker and Hawass had done most of the talking and the team leader in the cave had done the listening.

Time was of the essence.  Those in the cavern were now on their way to the dome.  The clock was ticking on their lives, and Barker could only wish his teams could work faster in getting the dome open by the time the survivors reached them.

Survivors.  How many would make it?

They were going to lose people and he hated that bitter reality.  He hated the idea of people struggling across the rugged terrain, fighting the habitat that was so inimically hostile to the human species.  Fighting to survive.   It was not just willpower that would get them through, not when it would be science that failed them.  If the tanks were just a little larger, had just a little more air in the suits...  If there was just a little more energy the mobile suits could store...  If the sanitiser units of the space suits could be just a little more efficient, that might give another five precious seconds of pure, unpolluted air.  If the water tanks...

How many more people would die before this was over?

And just when would it be over?

His gaze shifted from the dome overhead where his people were working on placing and setting the charges, to the group shifting equipment out of the projected fallout zone.  It would not be pretty when they blew the dome.  Everything needed to be secured, removed to the storage vault if at all possible.  He had no idea how long they would need to survive and that uncertainty led him to be loath to sacrifice equipment and tools that might mean the difference between life and death.

He had a team preparing the recharging bays for the shuttles into something that would work on the mobile suits, as per Marquise’s suggestion.  Once the dome blew they needed to get the mobile suits positioned to assist the people to enter the dome and they did not even have an idea of how many suits would make it back to the dome.  They had put in a full day’s work and then the trek last night to the cavern, now the return journey.

Everything had to be ready, as much as possible prepared for them when they arrived, and that included taking into the sub base a select number of fully prepared space suits for later use.  Oxygen would be needed to be ready for the survivors to use if their own air supply was exhausted before the airlock cycling could get them into the sub base.

He and his teams would leave the dome and have the airlock locked down and the blast doors securely in place before they initiated the explosives.  They could not afford the airlock to be damaged by the blast.  Hawass had jury rigged a camera so that they could observe the shuttle dome as the dust literally settled.  They would need to send in a team to clear debris and inspect the breach before their stranded people could enter.  Those who were on their last gasps of oxygen would not appreciate an order to wait.  It all had to be ready.

All going well, by the time they blew the dome the teams working on the elevators would have succeeded in removing the charges.  He wanted those holed up in the enviro dome to be safely relocated to the medical centre.   Everyone would need a check up, but aside from that necessity he dared not have people spread themselves through the sub base.  They needed to be kept together... for every person’s safety.

How many more killers lurked amidst their number?  There was safety in numbers in this situation, and the bigger the numbers the better.  He dared not trust anyone.

Not even that mad bastard whose plan he was following.

He would have to go back and talk to Marquise... He should have gone back after he relieved himself, but...

Priorities, it was what he was trained to recognise and act on. And to stew over whilst in the midst of working.  No, at present it was best he avoid the medical centre.  Avoid Marquise.

Too much insanity would further impair his ability to function.  He had been given a workable scenario and had opted to act on it, not question and waste time.  It was the best viable plan to be offered and he had taken it.  No looking back and second guessing himself.

“How is that power rack adaptation going?!  We need that ready before we set off the explosives, people!” The bellow was unmistakably Hawass.

“Working on it!”

Yes, they were all working on ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ might be with each individual.  At least they now had radio contact with the survivors marching relentlessly toward what he hoped was assured safety.  And the range now was such that they could pick up Dome One now, though the connection was, quite honestly, crap.

Interference made it a mass of static, but they hoped to improve it.  They needed to clean up the interference that appeared to be a burst of solar radiation interfering with the jury rigged spare parts transmitter Hawass had constructed.  It was an independent construct, not a part of the main communications relay affected by the virus invading their systems and stopping them from sending off-world communications.  The transmitter was little better than a kids crystal radio, but it was enough to punch through the distortion and give them some small contact with the domed city.

Enough wool gathering.  Enough reflections on his sanity.  He was the coordinator of this effort and he would not fall down on the job.  Admittedly he could do with another slug of that killer acid they called coffee, but his bladder already felt abused and his liver was probably rotting, so on with the job.

“Hawass!  What’s the latest on that virus program of yours?”

------

Polnar

He stretched slowly, giving his aching body time to luxuriate in the movement.  Slowly, a controlled outreach of movement designed to ease muscles, to lengthen them out when they had been too long idle and allowed to tighten.  Long, slow stretch to ease the ache, not punish himself with additional discomfort.  He hurt enough without further abusing his musculature.

Marquise, he was glad to see, was quiet, possibly actually asleep, which surely was a good thing.  Giles was dozing, hunched over and skewed around, so that his back was propped against the side of the bed, his head slumped forward and occasionally a quiet snore escaped him.

It was a peaceful moment in time, one he was thankful of, though it allowed him to feel every ache and pain he had earned in the last few hours.  He was alive, his partner was alive, and their assignment was alive and ongoing.

He had initially been worried when the Preventer had failed to return to the room, but Marquise had merely grunted and seemed to relax.  Time stretched and Barker had not returned for an explanation and no one other than the doctor had come to disturb their peace.   The medic seemed gratified that no one had made a move to stop him from taking the vitals of the man in the bed.  Better yet, Giles had offered no objections to having his own observations taken and noted down.

Less than half an hour after Barker had initially stormed out of the room, there had been a mass migration of people past their door.  He had chanced a look outside to find Barker at the head of the group headed for the exit into the sub base and he had relaxed.  Satisfied that whilst it had not looked as though he had accepted what he had been told, Barker was never-the-less acting on that advice.  He had reported to Marquise what was happening and the only response had been a firm nod and quiet comment.

“He’s a good man and he is well aware of how limited his options are.  He does not like to lose people.”

A man could have worse praise, Polnar reflected.

Marquise had then settled himself down and appeared to give some serious attention to the need to rest and sleep.  The room had been quiet since, with the exception of the medic’s periodic visits and Polnar had taken the chance to pull a chair over to his post beside the door.  It had been a long day and there was no need for him to abuse his body any more than he had to.  He could sit and guard just as well as stand and guard.  He had set the back of the chair to the room and sat astride it, using the high back to support his folded arms, though he refused to put his head down.  He would sleep if he relaxed that much and he was too much the professional to make that mistake.

He had been careful to set the chair on the side that would be hidden should the door be opened, but cautious enough to place another chair, a stool, in a position to ensure the door could not be slammed open and have it impact on him.  He had one foot resting on that stool so that the instant the door was opened its movement against the stool would alert him to company.

It was his insurance.  Just in the event he slipped and dozed, which he was determined not to do.  Should anyone charge through the door he at least would not wear the door and be stunned for a vital second or three.

He had also taken the respite to make himself a cup of coffee.  He had tried the sludge they were drinking elsewhere in the medical centre and decided he really did not need to kill either his taste buds or his stomach, thank you.  He would have preferred tea, to be honest, but opted for coffee in the interests of keeping just that little bit more alert.  Honestly, he hated coffee, if he did not before then he surely did now after drinking that poison.  It had its uses.

Periodically he could hear movement on the other side of the door, but no one disturbed them.  He had popped his head outside into the hallway and questioned one group consisting of three technicians on what was happening, and had managed to score a progress report.

That they had now established a more secure radio transmission was a blessing, but he had known they had developed a working radio.  It was how Marquise had contacted them, after all, but now the range had effectively been doubled.  If they could tweak it just a little more, then they might be able to contact the survey team who was, as far as he knew, unaware of the dramas unfolding at the base.  The base systems were still affected by the virus but it was being worked on, nothing new there, he reflected, and the team working on the freight elevator was making progress.

Barker, ungraceful and definitely ungrateful as he had been, had acted decisively on the suggestions given.

A quiet word with the medic on the last of his visits had informed him that Ms Noin was stable, though exactly what ‘stable’ meant was open to debate.  Giles had expressed his concern and informed him that whilst Marquise had thus far resisted Crisis, Noin had not been so lucky.

The phrase ‘not exactly pretty’ did not tell him what had resulted when she had her ‘moment’, but Marquise had twitched and Giles had clammed up.  Not long after that Giles had settled down to doze.

He was bored out of his brain, but it was not the first time and he fervently hoped it would not be the last time either, that he sat vigil.  In this particular situation, boring was good.

His eyes flickered to Marquise who moved on the bed... a small movement that was repeated.  He tensed, relaxing after a few minutes when the man settled and he leaned back, resting his head against the cool metal.  It had been a hell of a long day.  There had been no chance to sleep and he had put in a full day’s work the previous day on top of everything that had happened.  The odd few minutes dozing when the situation allowed could not be counted, and it certainly was not restful, but it was all he would get until matters here were settled.

Settled?  How were they to do that?

Just how did they trust people?  After the butchery he had witnessed, how did they dare to trust each other?  It was not going to be easy, if at all possible, to determine who the sleeper agents were.  They might already have accounted for them all but... There was no certainty, they could not guarantee there were no more lurking, waiting.  And what the hell were they to do with that infiltration unit?

Everything had changed.  A mixed bag of blessing and curse if you asked him, which no one would, of course.   Marquise had, when Barker had not returned, informed them of the reasons behind his cryptic ‘before the sky falls’.

His gut still clenched when he was brought face to face with the evidence of psychic event, not that he would openly admit to it.  Unless he knew there were telepaths in attendance, of course.  He was improving, getting better at dealing with the idea, but it was still... He knew, whilst he was not one of those select few who were Gifted, who could use one or more of the varied abilities that marked them from the ordinary human, he knew that it, psychic ability, was not some work of fiction and fantasy.

Psychics actually existed and what they could do was... mind boggling, really.

It was easier to believe the whole psychic ‘thing’ when it came to the kinetic talents.  They could physically affect things.  Solid material objects.  They could physically move things with the power of mind over matter.  Or, more accurately, mind ‘on’ matter.  They were capable of manipulating switches, pushing buttons, picking up items.  The strengths of the skill varied wildly from individual to individual, but at least you could ‘see’ a ‘physical’ result along the lines of cause and effect.

The telepaths wigged him out.  Just the thought of someone being capable of infiltrating his mind and rifling through his thoughts was just wrong!  It was not natural, though he had been assured when he agreed to work with Raydon’s special ‘group’ that it was entirely ‘natural’.

His acceptance had initially been grudging and hard won by the teams he worked with, but was owed, in truth, to one particular telepath who had simply looked at him, rolled his eyes and sighed.

‘What the hell makes you think we WANT to know what’s on your mind?  We have better things to do than know you want to scratch your ass.’

More than one Gifted since that day had told him in no uncertain terms that they had enough dealing with their own thoughts, insecurities and fears without having to delve into another person’s murky thoughts just because they could.  It was, he had been told, exhausting and stressful to entertain another person’s private thoughts.  It left them feeling ‘dirty’ and used.

The more he observed them the more he noticed.  The stronger rated telepaths, and the high rated empaths, the most sensitive of them, tended to not touch people and to keep to themselves.  A lot of the younger Gifted who had less control over their ability, tended to spontaneously burst into fits of anger or tears.  There were a large number of psychologists in the teams attending the telepaths.

And the clairvoyants... they were just... well...

Strange.

They were a paradox, seemingly witnessing events that had not yet happened.  Much time was spent performing acts that were designed to change the outcome of what was ‘seen’.  But how could you prove that ‘something’ would have happened when it did not actually take place?  Where was the proof that something would indeed have occurred, as they claimed to ‘witness,’ if it never actually eventuated?

No, he was rather glad he was not...

Movement?  His attention focused and he raised his head quickly, dismissing his preoccupation and snapping back to the job at hand.

Marquise was twitching again.

He waited a moment, leaning forward slightly to focus himself, watching closely... If Marquise was showing signs of a recurrence of ‘vision’, then they could be in trouble.  Giles had warned him and... Yes, definitely a renewed bout of twitching.  Not good then.  He had no choice other than to rouse Giles from his much needed sleep, because he had no idea how to deal with a psychic on the cusp of crisis who just would not lie down and let it all go.

Marquise had already discerned through the medium of vision, that there was action being taken out there in the vastness that was space, which would be to their benefit.  Though it might seem that they were isolated and at their own devices, they actually did have allies out there.  Allies whose actions in solving a part of the situation would never-the-less impact on the fate of the Mars colony.

To know that the ship assigned to pick up the incursion team would be unable to carry out its mission had given him the urge to cheer.  It was a pity Marquise had immediately squashed that reaction with the unwelcome news that the price was a bombardment of the planet by debris that had its own unique set of challenges they would have to meet.  But at the end of the day, he had said, they would survive the bombardment of the debris field where they would not survive the pick-up of the incursion team.

It was a fair exchange in his view; his life for a bout of dodging garbage.   Though what would happen after the incident was open to anyone’s guess.  How would the ESUN seek to cover up what had happened on Mars?  Messily, came to mind but he dismissed the thought.

No, he did not need further distraction.  Marquise had seen that they would be spared the Wellington’s deadly mission, so what more was there for him to see?

The twitching was growing stronger, far stronger than it had been before, and he hissed softly.  No way was he going to deal with this without Giles.  He was probably the next best thing Mars had to Haydon Giles, at least he knew that psychics were real, but he had no idea at all how you dealt with a psychic in crisis.  Giles claimed to have little more knowledge than he, but it was ‘more’ and that had to be better than the nothing he knew.

There were voices beyond the door, just the whisper of sound, no discernible commentary, but enough sound for him to know that there was someone out there.  Was that it?  A potentially hostile incident?  An incursion into the room by those persons out to claim the prize and take down the colonists?

Was that what Marquise was reacting to?

If they were loud enough to be audible through the closed door and walls then he would not have thought they were hostile.  Certainly they were not sneaking around, and you had to be talking reasonably loudly to be heard through the walls of the base.  Had something happened elsewhere in the base and they were responding, reacting to that unknown?

It could be anything, but be it an attack or reaction to something else of importance, it did not matter.  Sometimes the straightforward approach worked best.  He pushed himself to his feet just as the bed jerked.

“Giles!”

He was up and out of the seat, tossing it to one side in a bid to get to the bed.  Not a single step had been taken before Marquise started to convulse, his body jerking, stiffening and arching up off the bed in total, eerie silence.

t.b.c.

Karina Robertson  2014