Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Eyes Cold As Death ❯ Fifteen ( Chapter 15 )

Eyes Cold As Death

Chapter 15 -- The Beginning of the End

Heero slumped at his desk staring blindly through his computer screen. He chewed on his fingernails. It had been four days, just four little days, since he and Wufei had raided Jezebel's office, but it felt like an eternity. What had they been expecting? To find all of her plans written nice and concise in a document labeled: Timeline to Take Over the World? Instead of all of this subterfuge, they should have just arrested her. Wasn't a victim's testimony good enough? Heero bit off a nail. True, they had found some very interesting information, but it seemed as though everything from Jezebel's office kept trying to lead them into the past. A past that no longer existed in history books.

But even in all of his frustration, he knew that he and Wufei had acted correctly. They needed something, anything to give them an opening to end the threat. If he could ask just one thing from all of this, it would be the one piece of information to hook everything together so they could finally bring this bitch down. He wanted her blood. He wanted justice.

"What is her plan?" His fist slammed down on the table sending pens rolling off and clattering to the floor. He rubbed his hands over his face, leaning back and stretching the muscles in his neck. If he didn't stop soon and take a break, he'd end up a hunchback from crouching over the desk all damned day and night long. With hands still covering his upturned face he began to imagine himself as Jezebel. The only way to defeat her was to become her. And, he soon began to realize; the only way to become her was to watch her.

He heard Duo stumble into the kitchen and rummage around in the cabinets, mumbling something about arrows and cryogenics. He shook his head, curious as to Duo's new obsession about cryogenics. Heero paused in his thoughts, stumbling over the term cryogenics. Something seemed familiar about that term. A deep memory stirred reluctantly at the word. Cryogenics. Cryogenically frozen. Frozen people. Frozen.

"Damnit!" He abruptly brought both of his clenched fists down. The wood groaned under the sudden movement, wincing from the punches. All coherent thoughts fled from his head. The rummaging sounds in the kitchen stopped. Heero bent from his chair to pick up a stray pen from the floor. His office door slowly swung open and Duo's soft voice drifted in.

"Everything okay, Heero?" Heero slowly nodded, unsure of the movement.

"Yeah. Just frustrated."

"I understand." Silence weighted on the air. Heero imagined that he could feel the silence riding the small undercurrents of the air circulating throughout the room. "What would you like me to make for dinner tonight?" Heero leaned back, swiveling his chair so he could look at Duo.

"You don't need to cook. We can just order out." Duo shrugged, and Heero knew that Duo wanted to make dinner. "Then something with chicken in it." A smile briefly crossed Duo's face.

"Sounds good to me. I'll thaw the chicken." A pause. "I'm too tired to sit in the office, so if you don't mind, I'm just going to do my work here at home today." Duo's voice was soft, quiet and highly unlike him. Heero tried to remember the last time he had seen Duo so subdued, but failed to conjure up a memory. He smiled at Duo.

"I don't mind at all." As if mention of work prompted the action, Heero glanced down at his watch. "I should be heading in myself, though." He rose as a frail old man might rise from a chair. He could almost smell the despair radiating from Duo as a groan forced its way from his lungs. His joints stiffened, then popped, loud sounds in Heero's ears. He stretched his back, his hands rubbing at the small of his back. He could feel the muscles begin to unwind as his entire spine shifted suddenly back into place. Duo's laughter saturated his relief. "What?"

"The look on your face when your back cracked." Duo broke back into laughter and turned away from the study. Heero shook his head at his lover before shuffling his way into the bedroom to get ready for the day.

______________________________

Duo heard the front door close as Heero left for the office. He sighed loudly, thanking everything he possibly could he didn't have to go into the office. He was still exhausted from his discussion with Sally, those few short hours ago. He rubbed his temples willing himself not to think about work.

"I need a vacation." He mumbled, too tired to speak properly. He dragged his hands through his lose hair and began to massage the taught muscles in his neck. He allowed his head to be cushioned by his massaging hands. He lost track of the time as he stood in middle of the kitchen, eyes half closed, staring through his eyelashes at the ceiling, trying not to think. He dropped his hands, forcing himself into action. Man, he was so tired.

Duo yawned as he stepped up to the fridge, absently scratching his side. He hadn't gotten home last night, well, this morning, really until after the sun had begun to rise. He wasn't sure if he had actually ever watched the sun rise -- he'd always watched it set, but never rise. It was truly an awe inspiring sight as the warm light from the dawn flowed over the darkness of the night, gently highlighting the sky and slowly rubbing out the stars. Duo found himself pulling over to the side of the road in order to gape at the sight. He wouldn't ever forget that morning. But by the time he had finally gotten home, tossing his keys on the table, Heero had been up, searching single-mindedly through the vast piles of paperwork still strewn throughout the house. Duo had merely grunted at Heero and collapsed, already asleep, on their bed. He had fallen asleep to the faint clicking of Heero's keyboard, and it was to the same sound he had awoken to. It was reassuring in a way, to fall so comfortably into the same habits of the past.

He pulled himself out of his musings and reached into the freezer to pull out the chicken he would use for dinner. He stared at the package of frozen chicken as different spices and sauces went circling in his head. BBQ? Cajun? Scampi? Curry basil? Something new? He watched as his fingers brushed away the condensation, leaving clear plastic behind. Frozen, the chicken was frozen and he had to thaw it for dinner, so he could use it. Thaw. Frozen. The chicken was frozen. Cryo. Frozen.

The chicken fell to the floor, bouncing oddly, and slowly as Duo's brain screamed, sudden pain flooding through his senses. The pain wasn't physical; it was purely mental and emotional, blossoming through his head as a mushroom cloud. The afterimage of the chicken in his hand superimposed itself over the physical image of the chicken settling on the floor, still slowly spinning. Ice crystals glistened on the floor as they quickly melted into small circles refracting the suddenly peircing light. Everything was in stark relief, the contrast hightening the sudden epiphany. The colors faded like an old photograph as his mind wrapped around his thoughts like thickening darkness. Though the light was bright, he did not flinch from it, his eyes remaining wide open, jaw slack, still in the frozen image of shock.

How could he have missed it?

Cryogenics involved the freezing of living things. All of the main documents referred to modern antiquity, the ancient history of the modern world. The drama and warring between America and various other countries. NASA. The verge of nuclear winter. UN. He had been trying to connect cryogenics and the wars of the past and had not been successful…

…until now.

Jezebel and her Eagle Squadron had been cryogenically frozen. Why? Duo could not say, could not guess, but he knew that they had been cryogenically frozen, and now they were awake, with whatever thoughts running around in their heads from the pre-colony era that Duo could not even begin to imagine. After all, these people were from an ancient era, an era no longer taught in history classes. An era which no longer existed in the minds of the populace, and only existed in a myth-like form in various scholars' heads, always differing between scholar to scholar.

Duo seemed to remember that this pre-colony era was too unstable to be remembered. Most of the records from that era had been destroyed in the rain of missiles thick enough to be a shower. Traditional antiquity, like Egypt and Rome, were still discussed in education, whereas the world of the early 21st century had been widely forgotten. So, there was no reference for the type of people that existed at that time of turmoil.

Duo slowly reached down, knees cracking as he crouched by the chicken. Settling on his haunches, he remained hunkered down silently observing the chicken. He made no effort to pick the chicken up, he just squatted there, hand reaching out, frozen, like the chicken. Frozen like Jezebel had been.

What were they doing here anyway? Trying to bring back the glory of the American Empire?

______________________________

NORAD, Colorado Springs, CO March 5, 2001 AD

Major Jezebel Nottingham strolled confidently down the pristine corridor toward Conference Room 4C. She carried a sleek black binder under her arm, hugging it solidly to her side as she clipped her steps. Her uniform was pressed to military specifications and her shoes polished so they were as bright as the lights reflected in them. She was to meet with the Secretary of Defense, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and a sleuth of other military officials. The meeting was classified, almost to the point that the meeting would be secret even from God.

She stepped smartly up to the door, saluting the two MPs guarding the entrance. One snapped a salute in return before checking her ID and her clearance, while the other kept his military issue rifle at ready. Once the first MP cleared her, the other stepped aside, saluting her as she passed into the conference room. She executed another salute, coming quickly to attention.

"At ease." General Donald McKearney gestured at the only empty seat at the large polished table. "Have a seat, Major." Jezebel quickly sat down, folding her hands on the table in front of her. She remained silent, determined not to miss a single thing. The room was full of twelve of the most important men in the US Armed Forces, and she would not dishonor herself.

Without preamble, General McKearney launched into a detailed description of a future mission. Jezebel would later remember only bits and pieces of it though she lingered on each word; each nuance as it passed from the General's lips to her ears. On occasion, one of the other officers would interject, adding their piece here, additional information there, or only a reaffirmation or clarification of a different point. She would always remember the discussion of cryogenics, a word she only understood from the movie "Forever Young". She had had such a crush on Mel Gibson when she was younger, and remembered the chick flick about Mel Gibson being frozen to forget about his lost love. It was the only chick flick she would watch, much to the delight of her husband, David.

"This process of cryogenically freezing humans has definite drawbacks."

"You mean it's dangerous as hell." A Major General spat. Once the briefing had turned to the delicate subject of cryogenics, the atmosphere had quickly degenerated from a tense, classified military meeting, to that of a bunch of friends sitting around a table drinking beer and playing cards.

"Yes it is, Ryan. But the President and his advisors think it may become necessary. The situation over there is balancing on a knife's edge. It could go either way." Maj. Gen. Ryan Cooley leaned back with all of the appearance of chewing on a cigar.

"Donald, how can we possibly risk all of those lives?" Jezebel recognized the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Lieutenant General Larry Zaninger.

"Because, if we don't more may fall in worse ways."

"Pardon me, Generals," Gen. McKearney nodded at her in acknowledgement. "What are the risks of this…procedure?" Silence settled thickly over the room.

"Side effects could include anything from: tremors, numbness, nausea, loss of memory, paranoia, paralysis, schizophrenia, distortion of memories, alteration of personality, deterioration of cognitive reasoning, cancer, muscular dystrophy or death." Maj. Gen. Cooley spoke softly, as though he was not a military officer, but rather a small, frightened boy. "Anything from physical sickness to mental sickness. You could wake up and be a child in an adult's body, or you could wake up and kill everyone you see."

"Cryogenics is an imperfect science. Our researchers are still developing the technology, and in a few years…" Gen. McKearney threw a pointed look at Maj. Gen. Cooley, "it should be much more safe. On top of this," he added quickly, before anyone else could interrupt, "we don't plan on having you and your team frozen for more than a few years."

"The risk mounts exponentially with time." Maj. Gen. Cooley added.

"Major, we are asking you to select a team and begin training for this mission." Lt. Gen. Zaninger began. "We don't anticipate needing any of you for this, but we may as well be prepared…" An uncomfortable silence choked the room. Jezebel looked between all of those assembled. "Especially since the President has ordered it."

The Pentagon, Washington D.C. September 11, 2001 AD

The din was deafening and unintelligible. Jezebel couldn't understand a single thing as she raced from one end of the building to the other. All she had been able to decipher was something about a hijacked plane, and something else about the Twin Towers. She rushed toward the Deputy Secretary of Defense's office to drop off some ambiguous report that had been literally thrown at her amongst the confusion of the early morning. She stepped quickly, not pausing when a new sound filtered over her ears. She was reminded of the feeling of walking down the terminal in order to board a jetliner. Warm air built up around her. The ground dropped, suddenly bursting up, throwing her toward her destination. Hot stinking air billowed around her, screaming in open rage as the floor buckled and shifted. She landed on her arm, pain blocked by the screaming of jet engines over heating. Rolling over the uneven and motion-filled floor, she saw the fireball rushing at her. Then she knew nothing.

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, Southern Hemisphere July 7, 2002 AD

"Captain Satavich," Jezebel paused as the jet rolled over and began to plunge to the glassy ocean below. Her stomach lodged itself into her throat, threatening to push itself into her mouth. Captain Satavich grunted in her ear, one of the pilots laughed. Jezebel started to raise her hand to flip the laughing pilot off when the plane made its sharp bank, pulling out of the dive and into a hair-raising ascent. Jezebel was crushed under the g-force. This time, Capt. Satavich's grunt seemed more like a crushed squeal. She decided she wouldn't mention that. After all, Satavich still hadn't mentioned anything about her throwing up all over the cockpit the first time they had trained this way. She gradually adjusted to the pressure and attempted to carry on her disjointed conversation with her Captain.

"How are you faring?" She heard a slight groan meet her question.

"Is it done?" He was almost sick, she could tell. He had that thin quality to his voice that came just before throwing up. Before she could answer him, one of the pilots spoke as the plane's ascent began to smooth and flatten out.

"We're heading to base now, Colonel, Captain." Jezebel closed her eyes in profuse thanks. She hadn't been overly sure of how much more she could have withstood. Her team and her were out in the middle of the vast Atlantic Ocean training for their possible mission. One of the aspects of their training, according to General McKearney, was to accustom each of them to extreme conditions. This aspect of the training was to accustom them to extreme forces of gravity and speed, alternating from freefall to multiple gee's to speeds of Mach 3. Eventually, her team would join with NASA on a mission that would slingshot them around the moon, driving them up to forces of speed altogether unheard of on Earth.

"Flaps lowered, making final approach."

"USS Michigan, this is Eagle Three requesting final approach."

"Eagle Three, you are cleared for final approach. Don't fall off." A burst of static accompanied the transmission, and Jezebel winced at the Navy humor. She always hated take-offs and landings when it involved an aircraft carrier. She was sure that each time would be the time they did fall off into the dark ocean. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to remember the footage of the collapse of the Twin Towers. Anytime she needed to force herself back onto the path chosen for her, or to detach herself from the fear; she would remember the acrid smoke, the screams, the tortured twisting of metal. She would remember day the Towers fell, dropping people from their heights as they tumbled, crumbling to the ground far below their roofs, to crush firemen, paramedics, police, civilians…Americans. She gritted her teeth as the jet snapped to a halt, her head smacking the headrest behind her. She gritted her teeth against the pain of those memories, the still vibrant smells and sounds. She gritted her teeth willing herself not to cry, not to give into the pain, the memories. She told herself to move on--continue to train, to live to fight another day. She forced herself not to remember the pain, but only the facts -- and failed.

Her husband had been on the one hundred and second floor of Tower Two.

She never knew if he had fallen from the shattered windows, or if had died inside.

She vowed to herself, as she always did that she would find some other frame of reference to take away her fear, but deep inside she knew she would never be able to stop watching the Towers crumbling and wondering where David was.

Undisclosed Location, Australia June 28, 2006 AD

"Good luck and Godspeed, gentlemen." President Bush slowly, reverently, shook hands with all of the Marines before walking out of the bay. They were under ground in some military research complex in the scorching sands of Australia. Thirty coffin-like apparatuses waited solemnly, lids open at attention, for their occupants. A plethora of doctors and medical technicians bustled around the stoic Marines like flies over a pile of dung. The President had just given them the "For Your Country" speech, reminding them that they were to be the US' last hope for the sanctity of the future.

Jezebel turned to oversee the remainder of the operation, before she, too would be placed inside one of those metal coffins and placed in a sleep so deep it should be death. Ten years, she would sleep a dreamless sleep, waking in the capable hands of US doctors, being comforted that all was well and she could go on living her life, and thank you for trying. Or, she would wake to nothing, and have to wage war against the enemy. Ten years, and perhaps she could forget the collapsing of the Twin Towers, of imagining her husband falling to the hard sea of cement below. Perhaps she could put aside her hatred of the monsters that had attacked the US below the belt -- targeting its innocents rather than fighting in honor and attacking those who already had blood on their hands.

"Its time, General." Jezebel nodded and allowed the nurse to guide her over to an examination table. This is what she had trained for. She was ready. She would not fail. She glanced up at General McKearney, giving him a small salute.

"Good luck, Jezebel." He said softly, placing his hand on her shoulder. "It is my hope to be able to be here when you are thawed, ten years from now." She nodded.

"Mine as well."

"I shall see you then." He turned and walked out of the room. She would never see him again.

She tried to keep herself calm as the cover to the coffin slowly slid shut, sealing her from the world. She bit her lip, suddenly claustrophobic as she could hear switches and gases moving around her. A sudden hiss almost deafened her and she was immediately cold. She closed her eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep. A sleep that lasted for over two hundred years.

Undisclosed Location, Australia November, 20 192 AC

The lid slid open and Jezebel's first coherent thought was that it hurt to breathe. Her second was that she was freezing. Her third was…

"Where the fuck is McKearney?" …voiced out loud as she pulled herself from the coffin, searching desperately for a friendly face. He had promised. He was not there.

There was no one.

Other lids began to slide away, opening for their cargoes. She forced herself into action, helping her team out of the coffins.

Out of the thirty, only nineteen survived. Two were paralyzed in some fashion, and one died within a week.

The US did not exist.

A year and a half later, a war began and Jezebel and her remaining Marines hijacked a shuttle and fled from the Alliance, OZ and the lack of anything familiar, to the relative safety of space so they could begin to plan…

Preventer HQ Present Day

"They've landed, sir." Jezebel pulled herself from the hazy depths of her memory to acknowledge Colonel Satavich.

"When can you be ready?"

"Tonight, General." Jezebel smiled.

"Tonight, then, Colonel."

"Yes, sir. Launch will occur at…nineteen hundred hours." Jezebel's smile widened.

"How long to ground zero?"

"Three hours, forty two minutes after launch." She leaned back in her chair.

"Today will be the last day of totalitarian reign. Tomorrow will be the dawn of a new age."

"Yes, sir. Our mission will finally be complete." Jezebel nodded to her empty office.

"Tomorrow marks the return of America…"