| Title: Building a New Life Chapter: 11 /? Word count: 7562 Rating: Mature Betaed by rogue53 Warnings: Lemons, fighting, blood, explosions, swearing, slight kink. Nothing else. Parings: 1X2, 3X4, 5X6. Relena as friend to all the boys. Disclaimer: I do not own or hold any rights to Gundam Wing. Those rights belong to Bandai, Sunrise, and the Sotsu Agency. These fan fictions were written for fun, not profit. However, this story does belong to me. Please don’t snitch it. Summary: Sequel to The Price They Paid – The Pilots fought for peace for the Colonies and the Earth. With peace and the freedom to begin new lives they now are faced with new threats, not from politicians, but from the hard, cold space around them and the men and women they work with. Construction work is dangerous and the people involved in colonial construction are hardened and rambunctious. Building a colony is not at all like building a city. As the boys are about to find out. Authors note: Not much of a real plot so much as just incidents in building a colony and how the boys handle them. . Quatre leaned against Trowa and got comfortable. They were going to another part of the colonial cluster where the asteroid was parked. It had been towed in from the belt and it's orbit stabilized to hold it here. It was being set up as a mining asteroid as it was heavy in iron, copper and other metals. They were all ore but very pure. He had studied all the data on the asteroid, it's stability, and it's size and weight, estimated by scientists from probes. He wasn't comfortable with the conclusions they had reached but he couldn't put it into words. Trowa settled more comfortably and snuggled Quatre under his arm. “Go to sleep. You've been fussing about that for over a week. Let's just go, do, make your sisters happy and get back home. The sooner this is over, the sooner we can finish this foolishness and get to Mina Hurr.” Quatre grumbled, “If one more thing goes wrong, I swear I'm going to leave them all to pick WEI clean. I don't need all that money, I've got plenty. Damn it, my personal fortune is big enough to build a colony, for Christ's sake.” “True, true, but you're more worried about the little guy, admit it.” Quatre sighed. “You're right. If I don't keep things under control, people will start to lose their jobs. That's not right.” “How long before things get to that state, if you leave the girls to battle it out.” “Six to ten years, maybe a bit longer.” Trowa swore. “Fuck it, you silly lack wit. Let them stew themselves into a mess. You can pull the company back before things get that bad. You really think they'll let the company go to ruin for prides sake?” Quatre snuggled a little closer, sliding down Trowa's side until he was more or less laying on him. “No, probably not. I ... do you think they really don't realize that they'll run the company into the ground if they spend all their time in power struggles. Why the hell did father want so many damn daughters anyway?” “No idea. I don't think they're thinking about that right now. They all want to be the power behind the throne, so to say, and they're only thinking about that.” “Ummm. I think you're right. And you're right about letting them get themselves into a mess, as long as it doesn't hurt the employees.” “Won't. The second they realize that there are layoffs in the offing, they'll back off. They'll be begging you to take over again.” “Or not. Maybe they'll run the company better if I'm not looking over their shoulders.” “Chance of that too. Go to sleep.” Quatre just gave a soft snore in reply. Trowa laughed softly and settled down to get some sleep himself. . The shuttle docked, Quatre woke and they disembarked into the huge hanger. Trowa looked around, keeping in front of Quatre. Something was off, something that both Quatre and he could feel. Neither one of them could put a finger on what it was though. Quatre eased up beside Trowa, fighting the urge to put himself between his lover and ... something. They performed a complicated little dance on the stairs, each trying to cover the other. Finally Quatre laughed and let Trowa get in front of him. “Fine, have it your way.” Trowa sighed and started down the stairs. His greater height allowed him to cover Quatre fairly well. They were met at the bottom of the stairs by an officious man with a truly awful comb-over. He bowed then told Quatre, speaking right through Trowa, that he was to show Quatre the way to his quarters. “And you, my good fellow, get the bags.” Trowa just ignored him, stepping around him like he was a solid obstacle. Quatre followed, a stream of orders flowing from his lips. “I want the computations directly from the man who compiled them. I want to see where the ceremony is to take place. Lunch time, or dinner? Never mind, I'm hungry, find a good restaurant and make a reservation. If there aren't any yet, find a cafeteria. Have someone unload the baggage and take it to quarters. I need a secretary who can transcribe my note recordings without asking me what I said every three minutes. Trowa, I need to see all the specifications and data myself. I'll send it all to Duo if I have to. I don't like something about this and I intend to find out what. Let's go.” Trowa just pulled out a phone and started dialing. He got the central switchboard and made all the arrangements Quatre wanted, except for the food. There was to be a dinner after the ribbon cutting, which was in exactly ten minutes. Quatre snarled as he realized that he'd been out flanked, most likely by one of his sisters. There wasn't time to do all the reviews he wanted before the cutting. He hissed his irritation then announced, “Anything goes wrong, I mean, so much as running out of napkins and all my loving sisters are on their fucking own. I don't care. Trowa, we'll have to change in a ... I don't know where. I'm not going to a ceremony wrinkled. Fix it.” Trowa glared at the official. “Your name?” “Owen Fielding.” He glowered. “And yours?” “Trowa Barton. Gundam pilot, and aide and lover to Quatre. We need a place to change.” “Ah, that's a small problem. I didn't realize that you were so very small. Mr. Barton is better but still ... we're all wearing miners clothing. To signify solidarity with the real workers here. Very ...” He waived a hand in a vague gesture. Quatre snickered softly, if this ass thought that either he or Trowa would feel out of place in miner's coveralls and a hard hat, he had another think coming. “That's fine. Just get me the smallest size there is. I'm sure I can make do. Trowa is bigger than he looks. Trowa? Medium or large?” Trowa smirked at Fielding. “I take a medium-tall. Quatre takes a small-regular. He'll have to roll up the legs, but that's ok.” Fielding didn't seem to know that he was being patronized, he was too busy trying to lord it over the 'kids'. The kids managed to keep from shooting him by a hair. It didn't take them long to reach the large open auditorium where the cutting ceremony was to take place. Quatre nodded to the man who met them. He was carrying an armful of coveralls and two hard hats with 'Winner' and 'Barton' stenciled on them. “Here you go. I have one of every size. You're different enough that I didn't think you'd take the same one. And your toppers are stenciled. I've got to head back to finish some arrangements. We've even got one of the new mining machines out, to add to the ambiance, or something.” He smiled a bit. “I'm just a grunt that got shanghaied into this somehow. I better get gone before that pussy organizer that Liala brought in has another fit. You need anything, yell.” Quatre accepted the pile of clothing the man shoved at him and handed off the three larger sizes to Trowa. Trowa just held the one marked L-T up to his chest to check the fit. “Looks ok to me. You?” Quatre was doing the same thing with a small. “Looks ok to me. Let's find a place to change.” They finally just stripped down right in the middle of the room. There was no place else to do it. No one paid any attention to them as they pulled off their jackets, shirts and trousers. It didn't take but a second or two to step into the coveralls and zip them up. Trowa plopped his hard hat on his head and handed Quatre his. “Why do I get the uncomfortable feeling that we're going to need these?” Quatre shrugged. “No idea.” He pointed to a door where a crowd of people were entering. “And here we go.” “Great. I just wish this was all over with.” “Me to. Smile like you mean it.” Trowa gave him a swat on the back of his hard hat and glowered at the sister who was in charge of this mess. She gave him back one of those insincere sugary smiles that made his teeth hurt. Trowa knew that half Quatre's sisters didn't like him and the other half were indifferent. Most of them tried to stay on his good side, Liala was not one of those. She didn't like him and left him with no doubts about it. Trowa respected her for that but hated her for the way she acted around him, sneering at him only set Quatre's back up and that stupid smile just looked weird. Trowa waited for Quatre to give some indication what he wanted to do. It didn't take long. “I want to see all the science on this. I want to make sure that turning on the gravity plates won't cause ... I'm not sure what.” Liala curled her lip. “We have gravity here ... in case you hadn't noticed. What difference will it make when we turn on the master plates?” Quatre shook his head. “I don't know. That's what I'm trying to find out. The small plates that create the gravity for this installation can't put out a field large enough to cause problems. But when you put the whole asteroid under that kind of stress, who knows what will happen?” One of the bureaucrats in charge of something or other snapped. “Look, just leave the science to the scientists and be a good boy.” Quatre just eyed the man for a moment. “I don't like your attitude, my science is just as good as theirs; if not better. I want to send all the data to Heero and Duo for analysis before we do anything.” This started an argument that lasted until Quatre just snarled, “Enough! I am the president of the corporation and I will be obeyed in this. Nothing is to be done until the science is verified. By experts of my choice. Do you understand?” Liala sighed and nodded. “Very well, how long will that take? The reporters are going to have a field day.” Trowa just shook his head. “All we have to do is tell the truth. Quatre has some concerns about the safety of the operation and wants the data analyzed by outside sources. Second opinion and all that sort of stuff.” Liala grumbled but finally, grudgingly agreed. None of them noticed Fielding and their new acquaintance easing off to the side. The result of this second of carelessness was instant and dramatic. Fielding nodded to his friend then announced, “Without further ado, we activate the new gravity plates as a preliminary to the cutting of the ribbon opening the new facility. Now!” He made a dramatic gesture and this friend pulled the lever. And was instantly crushed as the whole wall collapsed on him. Quatre grabbed Trowa, who grabbed him back. The wall was suddenly the floor and the erstwhile floor was a crumbling wall. Except that only happened in half the room, the other half twisted until the ceiling was a wall not opposite the floor. Trowa and Quatre sorted themselves out and stood up. The gravity was strong and steady, just not coming from the area they thought it would. “Well, fuck. This is just great. Really, really fucking wonderful. Trowa, tell all those cock-suckers they're fired, and black balled; as well as, their wages are garnisheed for the foreseeable future. If we survive this.” Trowa just grunted. He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed. He got an answer at once, spoke for a moment, then hung up. “Ok. The plates shifted the second they were turned on. Seems there was a fracture point that no one thought was important. Quat, we're in real trouble.” “Yeah? And what, in this cluster fuck, isn't trouble?” Trowa sighed, then smiled slightly. “Well, we're not holed, no atmosphere leaks. But they can't turn off the plates for fear of making the asteroid shift again, and they can't dig us out without turning off the plates. Unless they can access the only working mining machine on the asteroid.” “I see, and where is the machine?” Trowa smirked at Quatre. “Here.” Quatre started to laugh. “Well, shit.” “Yeah, they rushed assembly for the cutting ceremony, thought it'd look ... photogenic, I guess. The rest are still in their cases. In a facility that's cut off from the rest of the facility by 30 feet of solid rock. Not that that would do much good, it takes four days to put one together.” Quatre looked around the room. It was large, huge in fact, but there had to be at least sixty people in it. Most of them were reporters and their support crews, soundmen, cameramen, and so on. The rest were businessmen and women with some catering crew thrown in for good measure. He saw two men standing by the mining machine but they looked like the obligatory maintenance crew, more for show than anything else. “Call central back, tell them I want all the data available sent to Duo. Tell them not to touch the gravity grid, not to do a damn thing without my personal ok, and tell them that I want a compliment of Preventers available to make arrests for criminal negligence.” Trowa just nodded and made his call. “Data's on its way. The contact says that the info should be coming in within the hour. They're working on some way to get us some gas without creating problems. Like the way that man talks, sounds like he's got some sense.” “Ok, we'll hunker down and wait. I'm not making any announcements to this crew of idiots ... other than that we're working on it. You want to do the PR or what?” Trowa looked around, everyone was surprisingly calm, he decided because they didn't have the faintest idea how deep the shit was ... yet. Quatre paced, biting his lip and ignoring his sister and her aide, who seemed determined to drive him mad. Finally, he turned, tripped over the aide for the third time and just announced. “Ok. You want to be helpful? Here's what you do. Make an announcement that explains exactly what happened, who's to blame; and that it's not me, and find someone capable of organizing this mess into some sort of coherent whole. Got me?” “Um ... yes, sir. I do, sir. I'll get right on it.” The aide scurried away, head ducked. “Liala, this is the absolute last fucking straw. Piss on you, the camel you rode in on and all your stupidity. If you and the rest of my sisters are so damn determined to ignore my concerns, fine. Take care of the whole mess yourselves. Come to me when it comes to the point of laying off people and not until. I've got things to do that no longer include Allah cursed babysitting. You're all so involved in stooping to a damn pissing contest that you're all ... never mind. Just get out of my way, my sight and my hair. Do not open your mouth, just breath. I've got to sort this mess out and I don't have time or inclination to mollycoddle anyone.” Trowa silently cheered Quatre on. After the aide managed to get everyone's attention, make his announcement and quiet the resultant uproar, Quatre demanded the microphone. “Ok. Everyone ... shut up! ...” Quatre waited until his battlefield bellow got everyone paying attention to him. “Thank you. Here's the skinny.” He proceeded to tell the unvarnished truth and wait out the new upwelling of comment, screaming and demands that someone do something. “”Someone ... me, is going to do something. Anyone here have military rank, I don't care if it was Oz or Alliance. You'll be working under my orders and I expect you to put aside old grievances for the sake of survival. Now ... hands up.” Several hands raised. “Thank you. Any of you machinists, or Master Sergeants? Anyone have experience in battlefield command?” Some hands stayed up. “Ok, you, you, and you. Take inventory of all supplies. You, what was your rank and what did you do?” The man admitted to being an administrator for some field marshal or other. Quatre set him to organizing the whole group into platoons and setting someone to command them. He also told him to arrest, bind and confine anyone who argued with him. “Yes, sir. Excuse me, my name is Michael Farnsworth. Are you declaring martial law? Just need to know, since you're the owner of this fucked up mess.” “Martial law it is. And ... there's the jail.” Quatre pointed to one corner of the room. “Just stuff all the dissidents there, set a guard on them and get this mess organized. We're going to be tunneling out and we'll need most of the able bodied men to move beams and position them to keep the tunnel from collapsing. We'll have to keep the whole group close together, in the tunnel but out of the way of the machine. I also want you to make sure that everyone has appropriate footwear and clothing. Make do with tablecloths and so on. Got me?” “Yes, sir.” Farnsworth actually saluted. Quatre returned the salute and promptly forgot the man. He was capable, he'd do his job. Now Quatre had to find out if he could actually pull this off. “Ok, Trowa, let's go see if we're lucky.” It turned out that they were. The machine was one that Quatre knew how to use, in fact, it was the newest laser miner; unfortunately, it was a small one that only cut an eight foot face. Or fortunately. And, luckily, the two men with the machine were actually tenders. Quatre had them turn on the miner. This machine was a tunnel miner. It was a machine that actually had legs and feet, robotic walkers that allowed it to walk forward and back, but it was still heavy and required a strong operator and two tenders. The tenders were the men responsible for keeping the water reservoirs full and the lines untangled and out from under foot. Quatre realized that they were extremely lucky that this machine could mine in any direction, horizontal or vertical or any degree between. Quatre wished for a jumbo degas drill but knew that one wasn't practical on a mining asteroid. They were too big, ran on diesel and vibrated too much. That was why the company had decided to use only the small, man controlled drills known as walkers. “Excuse me, sir. I think I've found something that might turn out useful. If you would come this way?” Quatre blinked at the man for a moment. “Do I know you?” “Oh, no sir. I'm Francis, Mr. Dominic's personal aide.” He noticed Quatre's frown of confusion. “Don't worry, you don't know him either. Mr. Farnsworth requested my assistance. I'm taking inventory of every piece of equipment available with an eye to finding things useful to the ... er ... dig.” “I see. Well, show me what you've found and explain how you think it might be useful.” Francis showed Quatre to the side room filled with metal plates and jacks. “There are enough plates to make forty linear feet of wall six feet tall. And those jacks are strong enough to hold up a ton each. I'm not sure what to make of it, but it seemed like something you should know about at once. I'm sorry if I was out of line.” Francis stood waiting for Quatre's judgment. “This is a real find. I was worried about how to stabilize the walls of our tunnel, parts of it are sure to be rubble, unstable. This will do the trick. Great. Now all I need is the proper location to start mining and the direction.” “I think you're out of luck on that. I have no idea.” Francis smiled slightly. Quatre smiled back. “I didn't expect you to, but I have some people working on that right now. We'll get that info soon, I'm sure.” . Duo sighed and stretched, the gundams were on line, and he and Heero were just resting, waiting for the transport to get them to Mina Hurr. “Duo! Data coming in from Quatre.” “Data? What's up?” Heero shrugged eloquently. “Don't know, but it's bad. Quatre's swearing.” Duo paled, “Oh, shit.” Heero just nodded, jiggled the mouse on Duo's computer and started the download. “I'll have all the stats up in a second. Coffee?” “I'll get it. Collate all the data on standard parameters. Overlay, if there's any map, standard 3-D grid. I assume that there's a shit storm on the asteroid?” “Yeah, but that's all I can tell you now.” “Back in a flash with the cash.” Duo left to get coffee and Heero started his analysis. It took them two hours to collate and analyze the data. Then Duo sent Quatre his final analysis and crossed his fingers. . Quatre looked at the data and thanked his – who ever was listening – that all he had to drill through was 600 feet of rock, ore and rubble. He did some calculations in his head. The tank on the drill was going to be insufficient to the task of cooling 600 feet of hot rock enough that he wasn't going to be baked as he moved behind the drill. “We need more water. The tank holds about 50,000 gal. That's just enough for about ... at 1500 gal a foot ... 33 feet and some inches.” At Trowa’s shocked look, he sighed. “That laser heats the rock to melting point, cutting out a plug then shattering it into gravel. Then it has to be cooled enough to handle and walk on. That's a lot of water. So 600 times 1500 ... and we're screwed. We need 900,000 gal ... maybe more.” “Well, shit.” “Right.” “I'll find Francis and see what he says. Maybe we'll get lucky.” Francis was also of the opinion that they were in real trouble. That much water was enough to fill an Olympic diving pool, more than once. “And what about all the steam?” Quatre thought for a moment. “Well, there's a capture system that sucks it away but condensing it ... that's the problem. And the machine won't use waste water. It'll clog the jets. Usually the miners just let the steam condense and run away. On an asteroid, it's piped into recovery tanks, filtered and reused. We don't have any of that equipment available. This was only for show, so all the auxiliary machines are ... elsewhere.” Francis thought about that. “If you cut a drain down the middle of the tunnel, that should bring the water out of it. At least it won't be standing in the tunnel.” Quatre thought about it too. “Could be, but if the gravity is as fucked up as I think it's going to be, the water won't drain away.” He thought some more. “It could pool in low ... or no grav areas but I don't want to rely on that. Someone could drown.” Francis didn't understand the Arabic, except for the word 'camel'. He wasn't sure he wanted to. Trowa ran his hands through his hair and sighed, this was bad, very bad. He just hoped that someone didn't make it worse. He should have kept his thoughts to himself. “Here! You!” The assistant manager of the complex marched toward Trowa with a furious expression on his face. “What the hell happened? I demand explanations ... now!” “Bite me.” Trowa walked away. The man trailed him sputtering threats and questions. Quatre told the man to shut up, also that he didn't care what his position was. “I need information. If you don't have that, go away. In fact, you're fired, as the assistant manager you should have managed better. Kept a better hand on your people. This entire situation is the result of arrogance and stupidity.” He turned to Francis, who had followed Trowa, ignoring the manager. “Water. 900,000 gal. Yes or no.” Francis sighed. “No.” Quatre rubbed his face. “Fuck. Without water, I can't cut. We're going to run out of air before they can assemble another machine and cut through to us. Francis, find me water.” Francis started to say something but he was interrupted by a fussy looking man in a bad toupee. “Excuse me. I heard you were wanting water. There's plenty, and we can get to it from over there.” He pointed to a spigot in the wall. “This is where the employees swimming pool is going to be. We've been making water for it for several weeks. There's a million gallons, more or less.” Quatre nearly hugged the man. “Thank Allah. And, is there, by any chance, some way to reverse the process and split the water back into hydrogen and oxygen?” “Yes ... it'll take a bit of doing, but I'll set the crew to work ... when I can find them. Excuse me.” He scurried off to make his arrangements. “Trowa, I need a crew. The two men are going to be worn out quickly. You'll do for one. Someone with some muscle for the other. Come on.” Quatre talked to the crew for a moment, then turned to fire up the drill. He'd changed the orders when he'd seen the data on the tunnel. It was going to be mostly hard rock with very little rubble. The plates and jacks they had would be more than enough to hold it in place. So, instead of having everyone follow the drill closely, he'd decided to hold them all back until the tunnel was complete. One worry off his mind. He checked the readout, positioned the machine by walking it to the proper point and started drilling. He instantly thanked his lucky stars that he had changed into miners coveralls, this was going to be hard, dirty, wet and miserable. He clenched his teeth and concentrated on his work. While Quatre drilled, his sister was working with Mr. Farnsworth to organize and control the people. Since they were all most all reporters this wasn't as hard as you might think. They were all used to staying where they were told. The usual reason being that they didn't want to be thrown out of wherever they were, but it worked well. They were kept informed, completely, at Quatre's order. Some of them even still had contact with outside broadcast systems. Liala ordered that no one was to interfere with their connections. The businessmen and women took their model from the reporters and were, mostly, cooperative. A few tried to argue for or against something or other and found themselves bound with torn up tablecloths and under standing guard by several members of the reporting teams who turned out to have military training. They were more than happy to oblige. Trowa was kept apprised of the situation and just nodded his appreciation, remarked that he was turning all duties over to Mr. Farnsworth and returned to what he was doing Quatre knew that he was going to have to call on all his pilot training to do this. The machine vibrated so hard that it rattled his teeth. Most operators only ran the machine for half a shift, four hours. The machine could drill at about sixty feet an hour, that meant he had ten hours of work ahead of him. He groaned to himself, this was not going to be pleasant. Trowa kept pace with Quatre, glad of the heavy boots he wore, the floor was hot, no matter what Quatre said. He glanced at his watch, then patted Quatre on the shoulder. Quatre shut the drill down to a purring idle. “Yes?” “Here.” Trowa handed Quatre a bottle. “Water. Then you need to eat. I also have some energy tabs. I've arranged for a couple of men to train as tenders. The two crewmen can't keep it up like we can. But those two are quick learners and, if we trade them off, the original two can train another two. We'll manage.” And they did. Quatre kept the drill going, punching a hole through the asteroid, crews made up of the willing reporters and their crews shoring up the parts of the tunnel that threatened to collapse. It all went well until the gravity started playing tricks on them. Quatre had locked the guidance system in on the proper course. When he first started drilling gravity was at ninety degrees, 100%. Then it changed so that it felt like Quatre was drilling straight up, then down, then back to level. Now he was drilling up again. This was much harder than you would have thought as Quatre had to brace himself and the machine so that he could gain purchase to push the machine into the face of the tunnel. Now Quatre had to brace one foot on a jack, push the drill against the face and then step the other foot up and do it all over again. Someone had to place the jacks so that Quatre could stand on them. Trowa was doing that himself. He checked his watch. It was time for Quatre to rest again. Quatre wanted to work straight through but Trowa wouldn't let him. He was making sure that Quatre rested for thirty minutes every two hours, had plenty of water and ate. He also gave him stimulant tabs, which he was taking himself. They'd all used them during the war and could attest to their effectiveness. But they had a huge down side. They were only effective when combined with enough food and water to keep up with their bodies demands and they only worked for 14 hours. Then their bodies just quit. They'd fall asleep and couldn't be awakened for at least 20 hours. Trowa didn't care. Once they got out of this hole, he wanted to sleep and he didn't care who wanted to talk to him, or Quatre. So they drilled and drilled and suffered in the heat, humidity and bad air of the tunnel. The air was terrible, not because of the exhalations of the men, but because the cutting head gave off gasses from the rock. The air was vented into the tunnel face by the cutter, blowing off the gasses. Trowa had gotten word from Mr. Farnsworth that they'd managed to get the 'cracker' going. They were converting water back into hydrogen and oxygen and pumping it into the tunnel. And someone had figured out how to filter the water and reuse it. That was a relief. When Trowa patted his shoulder Quatre set the drill to idle and just sat down on the jack he'd been standing on. He took the water, food and stimulants without comment. Trowa settled beside him with his own meal. “How you holding up?” Quatre leaned back against the wall. “Good. I'm going to crash the second I'm out of the tunnel. You?” “I give myself about ten minutes past that. What do you want to do?” “I want you to give orders now that we're to be taken directly to the infirmary. I'm not talking to reporters, or anyone. I want to sleep until I wake up myself. In the same bed with you. Ok?” “I'll give orders as soon as I'm done with this. I'm turning setting the jacks over to another man for two hours. I've got to get some rest or I'll be down and out before we finish. I won't even have the ten minutes we need. Finish that water.” “I will. I'm sweating like a whore at a prayer meeting. I'm going to have to shed the top of this coverall.” Trowa helped Quatre peel the top down and winced. Quatre's shoulders, where the harness pressed into the flesh, were bruised purple. Quatre looked and shrugged. “I'll be fine.” “I know. It just looks bad.” Trowa eased down the ladder of jacks and turned his place over to a big man who smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. “I'll take good care of him. Two hours?” Trowa nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” . The reporters had all managed to keep cameras and recorders running. Those who were actually working on the tunnel were getting support from others, who sent footage to their stations for them. There was constant coverage from the source. Mr. Farnsworth didn't interfere with them as long as they stayed out of the way of the drill crew and the men tending the water plant and the filtering station. No one did. But they did send out footage taken at the face, footage of Quatre battling the drill to keep it running straight when a vein of softer rock wanted to pull it off course. And footage of his grim face as he discussed setting jacks with one of the support crew, jacks they later showed him standing on. The reporters explained all the problems, looking more and more stressed and rumpled as the day went on. The executives did their part too, surprisingly enough. Some of them organized feeding everyone, arranging for people who could cook to do so, and for the servers to make sure that everyone got something and no one took more than they were entitled to. They were also the one's to arrest the scientist, Mr. Fielding and another man. The three who were directly responsible for throwing the switch, against Quatre's direct order. There were also a few who were just troublemakers. They were all under guard in the corner Quatre had designated as the jail. All of ESUN looked on in horror as one young executive and his aide struggled to rescue nearly one hundred people from death by suffocation, starvation or collapse of their refuge. . Trowa took up his position behind Quatre again. He was hoping that the gravity would do them a favor and turn again. Quatre was wearing out quicker than expected and needing stims more often. A few feet later Trowa's hopes were answered, the tunnel straightened and flattened to horizontal again. It didn't matter that it had always been horizontal, it mattered what it felt like. And that was vertical. Quatre was sweating so heavily that he was stopping every thirty minutes to drink. His shoulders were now raw from the rubbing of the harness and he really looked like a miner. His face was caked with mud made up of sweat and dust from the drill. His hands were blistered and raw from handling the controls. Even his calluses from piloting a gundam hadn't saved him. Trowa had kept him in gloves until he wore out the last pair that would fit him. He'd worn out three pairs of gloves in six hours. He was coming up on hour nine and Trowa was beginning to worry that he wasn't going to make it. One reporter, seeing that they'd trained other men to be tenders had asked why Quatre didn't train someone to take his place. Trowa had been glad to see that it was obviously more from concern for Quatre than anything else. The reply had been simple, training on this drill took 20 hours of class and 100 hours of experience. Quatre had managed to squeeze it in between boardroom and office duties. Trowa never understood how Quatre managed to do everything he did and make it look so effortless. Quatre had never let him feel neglected either. He shook his head, got another bottle of water and went back to the face. . It took exactly ten hours and twenty minutes to cut the tunnel that would rescue them all. The last twenty minutes were hell on earth for the four people tending the drill. Quatre was so exhausted that he couldn't think. Trowa was nearly so. The two tenders were ready to drop and had only held on this long because they'd lose too much time changing them out. Quatre walked the drill out into the open space that had been created by removing all the goods in the warehouse that was their target. The waiting medics caught him as he collapsed. Trowa followed him, gave his orders and promptly fell on his face. The two tenders were in just as bad a shape and only managed to make it to stretchers before they too were out cold. Medics scurried around, tending to Quatre, Trowa and the two tenders. Reporters climbed out of the tunnel and immediately started to broadcast. ESUN officials demanded things, Preventers took people into custody. Quatre and Trowa slept through it all. The medics just scooped them up and took them to the infirmary without interference. No one thought to notify Heero or Duo that they were free and safe, they had to find out from the news. They didn't mind, thought, they were just glad that their friends were well. . Quatre groaned and struggled to open his eyes. He finally managed and saw Trowa sitting on the side of his bed. He smiled at Quatre, Quatre sighed. “Morning, sleepy head. Tea?” Trowa helped Quatre sit up, stuffing pillows behind his back to help him stay upright. “Mmmm, yes, tea would be very nice. Thank you.” Quatre accepted the cup and let Trowa steady it as he sipped. “Good. What's going on?” “Shit storm.” Trowa's trademark taciturnity was in full force. Quatre sighed, this was not good. “Ok. More please.” Trowa gave him a quick outline of what was going on. Quatre grumbled, then announced in no uncertain terms that Liala and her crew were responsible for the mess, they were responsible for the clean up. He wasn't involved. His announcement was profane, in six languages, and left no room for argument, especially since he'd declined into the gutter Arabic that he'd learned from the Maguanacs. “Ok. I'll let them know. What do you want to do after?” Quatre tugged on Trowa's hand. “I want to go back to sleep, and I want you to sleep with me.” “Sounds good. I still feel like I've been run over by a bus. The only reason I'm up at all is because I wanted to be here when you woke up.” Trowa smirked at Quatre, making him wonder what Trowa was up to. Trowa met his chosen reporters, handed over the recording and reminded them that they weren't to censor it, nor excerpt it. They'd agreed before he arranged to make the recording. They knew what would happen if they broke their word. None of them wanted a visit from Nanashi in the middle of the night. It didn't take them long to grasp the fact that Quatre Rabbera Winner had severed ties with all his sisters and, as the general public wanted, turned over the running of WEI to them, reserving the right to take over again when, or if, the company got into trouble. They didn't realize that the inertia of a company that big would keep that from happening any time soon. They also didn't realize that he was still entitled to and insisted on having an income from WEI that equaled 3% of the total GROSS income of the company. Three percent didn't sound like much but the vast resources of WEI put the sum into the hundreds of millions. More than enough to support the initial construction of Mina Hurr. And, since Mina Hurr was already producing salable items, it was going to become self sufficient quite soon. Quatre and Trowa went back to sleep for another six hours. . Quatre woke up first this time and gently blew into Trowa's ear. “Mmmm, what? Evil man.” “Wake up. I want to leave so we need to figure out how to get our hands on a transport without my sisters finding out.” “You're running away.” “Damn fuckin' right I am. I'm not taking a chance of that pack getting wind of my escape.” “Ok. I'll just get us something to eat and have a word with ...” “No! You know they all spy on me. That's one of the reasons I'm still so paranoid. Food, then we just go.” Trowa knew exactly what Quatre was talking about and sympathized, he'd just wanted to make sure he knew exactly what Quatre wanted to do. He smiled, then rose to get them something to eat. Quatre spent the time writing letters to the sisters that had been most on his side. He just explained that he was tired of being head of a family that spent all their time undermining his decisions and fighting behind his back. He wished them well, gave them some advice and signed, 'Respectfully, QRW' He folded the real paper and put each letter in it's own envelope. Trowa entered just as he finished. He was carrying a handful of energy bars and two bottles of sports drink. Quatre took a bar and ripped off the wrapper. “I really hate these things, you know? Ate too many of them alone in the dark during the war.” Trowa shrugged. “Sorry. You should have told me that a long time ago. I just grabbed them because they were handy. And I could get my hands on them without attracting attention.” “Oh, well, that's ok. What are we going to use for transport?” Trowa smirked at Quatre. “Are you aware that you have a private shuttle of your own?” “Yes, but one of my sisters is usually using it. I've never actually managed to go anywhere in it.” “Well, it's here. I gave the captain orders while I was looking for food. The ship will be ready to depart as soon as we are.” Quatre smiled at Trowa, one of his special, bright, sunny ones. The one that Duo called a 'Buster Beam of Happiness'. Trowa smiled back. Quatre ate two bars and finished the drink. Trowa had three bars and drank some water along with his drink. They ate in companionable silence keeping their eyes moving from door to door. Trowa snickered a bit. “What?” “Who's going to jump us from the shadows?” “My sisters, reporters, cameramen? Don't know, don't care.” Quatre wadded the last wrapper up. “You ready?” “Yes, let’s go.” They walked to the transport and found that not only was it Quatre's private 'yacht' but had their gundams stored in the cargo hold. “Good day, Master Quatre.” The captain saluted Quatre never realizing that calling him Master was condescending and insulting. Quatre wasn't a child to be called master instead of mister. Quatre gave him back a severe stare. “You may call me Mister Winner. I'll be piloting today.” The captain looked at Quatre for a moment. “But you can't. You have to have a license to pilot.” Quatre gave him a disbelieving glare. “I know that. I have one. In fact, I have several. Earth to Orbit Shuttle. Inter and Intra system, and Gundam. You know, those big mecha that won the war? Like the one's in the cargo bay? Get out of my way.” Quatre stomped by the captain and headed for the cockpit. Trowa followed with the captain right on his heels. “Quatre?” “I'm tired. Tired of all the politics and shit. I'm master here, how dare he condescend to me like that? I'm going to have respect if I have to shoot someone to get it.” Trowa relaxed. “Ok, fine by me. You've put up with shit way too long in my opinion. Your sisters subtly undermined you with everyone. 'Poor Quatre, so stressed' or 'Don't let Quatre run all over you.' Time you did put your foot down.” Quatre settled in the captain's seat. “I just didn't want conflict within the family. Didn't work very well, did it?” Trowa shook his head. “No, it didn't. Start check list.” Quatre started reading off the required information. Trowa checked things off. “Hello, I'm the navigator. I assume that Mr. Barton will be co-chair?” Trowa nodded. Quatre just continued reading off data. The navigator settled in his place and started up his computers. “Mr. Jones, navigator ready.” “Mina Hurr.” “Yes, sir.” |
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