Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction / Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Once More, With Pirates ❯ Shout at the Devil ( Chapter 10 )

A/N: Holodeck fun, and Mustang has some of the wind taken from his sails. For some bizarre reason, I had a difficult time writing this chapter. I think the characters all want to play, and keeping them on plot is a bit of trouble. Yeesh! They're like kids, here!

 

Special thanks goes to my fiancé, Sam, for helping me find the appropriate title and song snippet for this chapter.

Chapters: 10

Word Count, This Chapter: 2887

Word Count Total: 29,667

Words Left: 20,333

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shout at the Devil

 

He's the wolf screaming lonely in the night; He's the blood stain on the stage; He's the tear in your eye; Been tempted by his lie; He's the knife in your back; He's rage; He's the razor to the knife; Oh, lonely is our lives; My heads spinnin' round and round; But in the seasons of wither; We'll stand and deliver; Be strong and laugh and… Shout-shout-shout
Shout at the devil - Motley Crue (Shout at the Devil)

 

Mustang was in his environment. Hot. Dry. Desert. But this wasn't Ishbal, or even Lior. There was no sand, for one. The ground was hard pan, and covered only with the thinnest layer of fine, black, crystalline gravel. There were no mud-brick buildings; but tall, twisted spires made of the same black crystal substance as was on the ground. They looked like blown glass, and they magnified the weak sunlight through them. They also absorbed the heat, bringing the ambient temperature up in the surrounding area. It made the air lung-searingly hot, and caused heat-waves to distort any possible view he could have of anything except the most close-up. It also interfered with his view of air movement and density at any level above his head.

 

Naturally, his intended targets took advantage of that weakness.

 

He leaned his back against one of the spires, and felt a bead of sweat roll from under his long bangs. It threatened to make a direct path right into his eye, but it was diverted by the object stuck to his forehead. It rolled off to the side and down his cheek.

 

Mustang grinned. He'd asked for a challenge. And he got it. He couldn't remember the last time he had to work so hard for a simple objective.

 

He reached up, and wiped at the sweat on his brow with his arm, making sure to avoid dampening the flint-infused gloves. The physiometer stuck to his forehead, and reading everything from pulse and respiration to brain-wave activity, was beginning to itch, and threatened to become a distraction. He did a quick mental exercise, and shoved the irritation out of focus. Now was not the time to be concerned over minor discomforts.

 

That last salvo of robotic buzz-bombs just about did him in. There was a swarm, and more than a couple managed to get close enough to him that he was going to feel the heat-sting from his own flame alchemy for a day or two.

 

The strangeness of the environment and his attackers would have him goggling under normal circumstances. But that was for later. He was a soldier first; a human in an alien world, second.

 

He cautiously peeked around the edge of his hiding place, and peered through the heat-waves. He couldn't see any activity, but that didn't mean there wasn't any. A voice cut the air, and caused him to start. “How are you doing, Roy?” Crusher asked over the comm.

 

“I would think you would know that better than I would, Beverly,” he said, as soon as he calmed his pounding heart.

 

“I can read your vitals and brain-wave patterns,” she said. “But I have no idea what's going through your mind.”

 

He leaned back against the spire, and chuckled low. “Well, you did warn me that the holodeck would be very realistic. It's very easy to lose yourself in the… adventure.”

 

He heard the humour in her voice, when she said, “That was the whole idea.” Then her tone changed to a more serious one, and she added, “Most people find the holodeck a bit disconcerting the first time they experience it. Just remember that you can always stop the program if it gets to be too much for you, and the safety protocols are in place, so you won't be severely hurt.”

 

Mustang raised a fine brow, and smiled a bit. “Isn't that cheating?”

 

Instead of answering, she said, “The data from the last round of exercises is compiling now. We're ready for the next round, whenever you are.”

 

Data interjected, “I have programmed the new element to this round of testing; as you requested.”

 

“The life forms you mentioned?”

 

“Yes, Sir. Please remember they are holographic projections, however they will behave as real Borg.”

 

“Roy,” Crusher said, “I just read a spike in your pulse and respiration. If this is getting too distressing, I can have Data change the parameters. In fact, I highly recommend it.”

 

Mustang grinned. “That's just pure adrenaline, Beverly. Nothing to be concerned about.”

 

“I disagree, Colonel Mustang,” Crusher said, tension tightening her voice. “The Borg are an incredibly difficult opponent, even for our most seasoned officers.”

 

Mustang leaned around the spire, and smirked. “Doctor Crusher, are you suggesting that a soldier from some primitive, backwards planet couldn't possibly be `seasoned' enough to take on a handful of Borg?”

 

“No insult intended, but yes.”

 

“None taken.”

 

Mustang then jogged out into the open and said, “Computer, begin simulation.”

 

As the first Borg stepped out from behind one of the spires, Data said. “Your objective is to secure the area from your current position, to the spire at the end of the main avenue.”

 

There was no more talking on Mustang's part. He'd gone into full soldier-mode the instant he'd ordered the computer to begin the simulation. He stood in the center of the avenue, ready to snap. He waited patiently as the Borg came closer and marveled again at the similarities between universes. The cybernetic replacements that Data had described were shocking to see, yes; but little different than some of the more extreme enhancements he'd seen in automail.

 

He remembered what Data had told him about this race of beings, and remained where he was. The single Borg walked right past him without even looking in his direction. It gave the Colonel a chill down his back. Amazing, he thought as he watched the being continue to walk down the center of the avenue without even so much as a glance back. It's as though I'm not even here.

 

He let the first one go on, and turned back to the spire ahead of him. Two more Borg appeared, and came his way. Again, they didn't seem to actually notice him. Let's see about changing that, he thought.

 

He snapped, and a small fireball exploded at the feet of one of the Borg. It was to get their attention, not meant to cause damage. Not yet.

 

It served the purpose. They stopped, and scanned the area, but barely noticed him at all. They both had cybernetic enhancements in place of eyes, and one had a beam of light coming out of one lens. The light hit Mustang, spread and scanned him from head to toe. It then moved on. The Colonel raised a brow and wondered if he should feel insulted at that.

 

“The Borg are a relentless hive mind,” Data had told him. “They feel no emotion, and have no other objective than to assimilate other technologically advanced races. If you do not have the technology on you to capture their interest, they will ignore you.”

 

“They don't sound like much of a challenge, then,” Mustang said.

 

“On the contrary, Colonel. If you engage them, and you are capable of causing injury, they will notice you. Because they are a hive mind, if you disable one Borg, the rest will be aware of what tactic you used, and efficiently defend themselves against it. You will have to adjust quickly in order to defend yourself.”

 

So it's going to take a full-on assault to get their attention, Mustang thought. So be it.

 

He rapidly ran through the tactics he would use. There were two Borg, but he had little doubt there were more waiting in the wings. The flame alchemy was what he used most often on his own world, because it was quick and efficient. But Roy Mustang had other tricks up his sleeve that didn't necessarily involve fire.

 

He snapped, and both Borg became flaming pyres. One of them was instantly consumed, but there was a faint sparkle and flash around the other one, and the flames were quickly damped as though all the oxygen around the being had been sucked out.

 

His eyes widened and his brows shot up at that. But he wasn't given time to wonder just how the Borg had done that, as he now had its complete and undivided attention. And it was aiming something right at him. He dodged the beam and took cover behind a spire, then flinched as hard pan rock exploded where he'd been. A shard of black crystal whistled past his face, and he jerked out of the way just in time.

 

He cautiously peeked around the spire, and saw the Borg coming his way. There was a definite distortion to the air around it, and he realized it was the force field Data had warned him about. He changed his focus, allowing his normal vision to blur, and concentrated on just the air movement as it swirled around the protective field.

 

It was difficult even for him to see, but it was there. A weakness in the field near the solar plexus. It was simple; increase the density of the oxygen near the weakness, focus it down to a narrow beam a hair's breadth wide, and force it to terminal velocity. Then all he had to do is slice through the weakness in the field, and thus the Borg. But he was going to have to be quick about it, since it would mean he would have to break cover.

 

He took a couple of breaths, steeled himself, and dashed out. He slapped one hand down over the top of the other; onto the transmutation circle embedded into the glove, and felt it heat up. Then he twisted his wrist and made a cutting gesture. He felt the resistance of the air against the protective field, and then felt the field give. By the time he was across the avenue, the Borg had been neatly sliced in two, and was fading out in a haze of light.

 

He dove behind a black glass boulder just as he heard a high-pitched whine. He rolled and came upright, then chanced a quick glance over the top of his new cover. Another Borg was materializing out of thin air, and he could see that the protective field around this one didn't have the same weakness as the last one.

 

It appeared to know instinctively where he'd hidden, and as soon as it had completely materialized, headed right his way, without so much as a quick scan of the terrain. Relentless and single-minded, he reminded himself. He appreciated the irony, and realized that he had no idea just what relentless and single-minded really was, until this moment.

 

He'd already planned out his next move far in advance. He had taken note of the black crystalline gravel that littered the ground. The tiny stones were smooth and oblong. Perfect for projectiles. It was just a simple matter of changing the air movement a little, speeding it up, and angling it just right to lift the gravel, and hurl it at the Borg. A solid projectile at high enough velocity should pierce the field without much effort.

 

He came to his feet, touched the circle on his hand and sent black crystal bullets flying at the Borg.

 

They bounced and ricocheted off the field. Not a single one pierced it. Mustang cursed under his breath and quickly went through his list of tricks…

 

“Resistance is futile,” a flat, hollow voice said from behind him, and Mustang suddenly remembered the first Borg that he let walk on past. He spun, and felt the blood drain from his face.

 

He was in a burned out shell of a building, and he could hear the sounds of shouts and gun fire all around him. The sun was setting and it would soon be nightfall. It was time to get the area secured, so his troops could return to the relative safety of their tents. He just had this one last building to check; little more than a shack, really. Filled with trash, and still standing by sheer force of will, alone.

 

In a dark corner, he caught the hint of movement, and sighed. He'd really wanted this to go off without any problems. He moved in deeper, to get a better look, and saw an Ishballan child cowering in the corner. He started to kneel down, when the child turned, revealing the stolen rifle he held.

 

Resistance.

 

Mustang straightened, and held his fingers out to snap. The child stared, shaking and near tears. His finger trembled near the trigger, but not on it. Not yet.

 

0o0o0

 

Beverly Crusher saw the spike of Mustang's vitals an instant before all information stopped. “Data,” she said.

 

“Computer, end simulation,” Data said.

 

“Unable to comply.”

 

“Computer override. End simulation,” Data ordered again.

 

“Unable to comply.”

 

Data opened the panel by the door, and attempted to manually override the computer. His fingers flew rapidly over the keypad in a blur as he entered different command codes to get the doors to open and end the simulation. The only response he got for his efforts was an annoyed chirping as the computer refused to obey.

 

0o0o0

 

It was a stand-off. Mustang wanted to end it without bloodshed; but he feared he may have no choice.

 

Resistance.

 

The Ishballans were recruiting children into the resistance, now.

 

Mustang grit his teeth, and froze. This was a child. Just a child.

 

His hand trembled with the effort of stopping himself before he could snap his fingers. His entire body trembled with the agony of the choice.

 

A child. Was his own life more valuable than the child's?

 

The boy's finger twitched onto the trigger, and Mustang's soldier instincts took over.

 

“Computer, end simulation!” Mustang yelled.

 

“Resistance is futile, Colonel,” the Borg said, and then smiled coldly.

 

“Q.” Mustang growled.

 

He watched in horror as Q morphed in front of his eyes, from the cold, emotionless Borg, into a brown-skinned, red-eyed Ishbal rebel. “The Ishballans learned that the hard way, didn't they?”

 

“Wrong, Q. It was an uprising, they—“

 

“They didn't want to be assimilated,” Q said. He strode around the boulder, and up to the Borg that was frozen in place. Static as a simple snapshot. Q seemed to look the alien being over with extreme interest, and then turned back to Mustang.

 

“The Borg are a fascinating race, aren't they?”

 

Mustang remained where he was, and refused to say a word. He wasn't about to play the game.

 

Q was unphased, and faced the Borg again; a look of warmth crossed his face. “But they're not just one race.” He walked around the being, and then smirked over its shoulder at Mustang. “They're a collective. Several races assimilated, and turned into Borg. All pretense of individuality, all diversity taken from them. No longer to be the unique beings they once were.”

 

“What's your point, Q?”

 

Q disappeared, and then reappeared at Mustang's shoulder. He was now dressed in the uniform of a State Alchemist. “The people of Ishbal are primitive savages, aren't they, Colonel? And the State wanted to bring them into the modern era. But the two philosophies clashed, and your military might was stronger. The Ishballans could either be assimilated, or they would be destroyed.”

 

Mustang trembled with barely controlled rage. His hands flexed and he forced himself to resist the temptation to use alchemy on Q. He knew it would be useless, anyway. Even if, as Jet had said earlier, it would certainly make him feel better.

 

“Are you suggesting that we are anything like the Borg?” Mustang asked.

 

Q looked over at the static Borg, then back at Mustang, and smirked again. “Are you suggesting you're not?”

 

He strode to the space between the two, and then said, “Just remember Colonel, no matter how powerful you think you are, there is always someone more powerful than you.”

 

He disappeared, and the Borg started to move again.

 

“Computer, end simulation,” Mustang said with a calm he no longer felt.

 

0o0o0

 

Crusher watched as Data kept fighting with the mulish computer, his fingers blurred over the keypad, but he only received chirps in response. She'd already put in a call to engineering, and they were attempting to override the program from their end as well, but to no avail. The Doctor had an ugly suspicion as to why.

 

Then, without warning, the computer announced, “Simulation ended,” and the doors slid open.

 

Crusher gasped at the sight of Mustang's haunted look. He tossed the physiometer to her, and said, “I'm fine, Doctor.” Then he turned to Data and said, “I would like to report a visit from Q, Commander.”