Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Hokkyokusei: The North Star ❯ Danger, Will Robinson! ( Chapter 7 )

Danger, Will Robinson!

It had been forty-five minutes and they still had not walked out of Cathy's bedroom and he was rolling his eyes with impatience. Just how was it possible for hairdressing, drying, make-overing and make upping supposed to take, he asked himself, as he flipped through the TV channels, searching for a good Friday night movie to watch. Trowa glanced at the large faced clock by the kitchen counter. It was six forty-five on the dot.

"Are you going to stay there all night, Cath? 'Cause I'll need to call Quatre and tell him not to come, then."

"Very funny, Trowa, very funny. I haven't even changed yet, so hold your horses." His sister's voice was muffled from the door. "Oh, but come on in here for a minute. I need to talk to you for a second." He heaved a sigh and clicked off the television, striding over to his sister's bedroom door and entering.

The small room looked as if a tornado had hit it. Beauty magazines, discarded pantyhose, and other personal apparel lay strewn all over the floor. What was apparently Catherine's attire for the night was hung on a hanger on the closet door. His sister sat cross-legged on her sunny yellow bedspread, in the middle of the mess, dressed only in her fuzzy pink bathrobe.

He blew out his breath, impressed in spite of himself, his sister's fire red hair was coifed in a Greek style, pinned back with a gold wired net, a few curls loosed in strategic places, and her face made up to perfection. Standing beside her was Cala, fussing over the flawless coils of hair. Cala looked up and shot a warm smile up at Trowa who was leaning on the doorjamb of the opened door. Compared to the sophisticated elegance of his older sister's appearance, Cala should have looked like a slob, but she didn't. Wisps of dark hair escaped a hasty looking ponytail, falling into her eyes, which seemed to glow with suppressed excitement. Feminine beauty radiated from both women.

Trowa couldn't resist a small smile directed toward his new partner, before talking to Catherine. "So, sis, what'd you want to talk to me about?" Cathy turned her head slightly and scrunched up her forehead in thought.

"Well, Trowa, since Cala's leaving in five seconds-"

He blinked in surprise and quickly interrupted her. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah," Catherine nodded her head in confirmation, "she's going out to visit her friend's house, since she said she'd already seen all the movies in the cinema and in the video rental place." Cala smiled and saluted him, stretching before turning and walking his way, toward the door.

"Yep, consider me just about gone." She slipped past him and was out the door before he could make another word. He stared after her suspiciously as he heard the front door slam with her exit.

"What's she in such a rush for?" he muttered to himself.

"Oh, something about catching the seven o'clock bus or something. But, Trowa, I was about to say that now that Cala's gone you're all alone here, so I was wondering if you would like to come along with us to the opera. You know, dust off that tux of yours and help out with making the boring, old, and completely incomprehensible opera fun." She turned her hopeful violet eyes onto him, smiling pleadingly. Trowa raised an eyebrow thoughtfully.

"You mean, you need someone to translate Quatre when he translates Italian and I'm the man for the job."

"Precisely." Catherine sighed. "My fiancé is just too smart for me. His normal vocabulary is usually already dictionary work, but when he gets into other languages… well, no one can understand him more than they can understand the other babble."

Trowa smiled his slow smile and nodded his consent. "All right, Cathy, but only because you're my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister!"

"That too."

And with that he slipped back out the door and shut it firmly behind him. A smirk tugged at his lips and he strode down the hall to his room, turning his thoughts back to Cala. Just why has she disappeared again? Well, I won't think about it right now. I've got to spend some time with Cathy before she goes off and gets married and I might as well do it now. He sighed and went into his room to see if his tuxedo still fit.

~*~*~

The cool night air was refreshing as it hit her face. The rush of the speed, the risk, and the danger was thrilling and exhilarating. She could never find enough of it. Her only slight addiction. The smooth purring of her motorcycle reverberated in the air around her as it sped down the dark and desolate alley. The only perfection in the world was at that moment and if she had a choice, it would never end. Her tires screeched loudly in protest as she made a sharp turn into the empty side street. The streetlights flickered on as she sped by and she saw that she had reached her destination. She sighed inwardly and decelerated, slowing enough to skid into the almost empty parking lot outside of the old rundown factory.

In the shadows, Cala made out the faint gleaming outline of a stretch limousine. Her motorcycle made grumbling sounds as she coasted into the space next to it, popping the kickstand and hopping off of it. A dark tinted window rolled smoothly down from the side of the vehicle and a familiar face blinked disapprovingly up at her face.

"Ms. Abassi, I still don't understand why you insist on driving that dangerous thing of yours all the time. What with all of your obligations, being reckless with your life is very irresponsible. And at the very least the time it takes to find a parking space for those annoying little things is horrendous! Drivers are paid to make the time for such things." Cala rolled her eyes before she slid off her helmet, leaning down to better face her vice president.

"Sachs, dear, don't sound so annoyingly presumptuous. I wouldn't want to have to make you drive this stupid slow thing, that you're in, around for a month again, now would I? You just can't seem to comprehend that drivers are people too, not just working class, now let me in already."

The small middle-aged man frowned, muttering something under his breath and pushed open the door for his employer. "I swore that if you did that again, I would quit."

"You wouldn't dare," she replied assuredly, shaking her hair out of her eyes and sliding into the seat beside her vice president. "You're pay's too high for you to do that and you know it, so don't try that again. How is everything going? Let me have a look at the company review and stock portfolio. I heard something about a couple points that rose yesterday." The older man's brown eyes lit with the happiness of a child who had just been given a gift.

"Oh yes! It was so exciting. I was sitting in my office when…" and he went on to describe the whole scenario as the limousine drove off from the parking lot. Cala nodded pleasantly, smiling and laughing at the right times, while she leafed through a stack of papers out of a smooth black leather folder. Occasionally, she would interrupt his story to ask questions about something in particular, but over all the fifteen-minute ride didn't take long.

The limousine came to a smooth stop as they reached front of a showy and expensive looking salon and spa. Sachs let himself out before Cala, still babbling animatedly. When Cala stepped out into the cool night air again, she noticed the dark figure cloaked in the shadows step forward and the corners of her mouth curved in satisfaction.

"Cemal, it's been a while." Her soft tone reached his ears even through the incessant chattering of the businessman ahead of her, as the young man straightened the collar of his leather bomber jacket, heading towards her. "And where's Azim?"

"Yes, it has been a while, Cala. Too long, I'd say." His voice was low, but she could hear his hurt and she reached over to touch his arm. "Azim's stationed at the opera house, he's going to be your escort for tonight. Won the coin toss, the sly bastard. I swear he cheats, somehow." His bronzed skin paled only slightly as it hit the bright lighting of the salon sign, his white teeth flashing even more brightly in a warm smile.

"Ah. I see, you've been taking good care of yourself. Take that vacation down south, like I told you to?"

"Well, yes," his dark cheeks flushed slightly, "but I handled some minor business dealings while there too. It was nice to see the sand again."

"I know what you mean." The smallest of sighs escaped her lips reaching his ears through the bustle and hustle of the city. "I've been missing the heat."

"And the sun. And the humidity. A certain someone we know has told me that you would be missing the 'mother desert' as of now." Cemal's eye gleamed with humor as they stepped into the salon and watched Sachs argue furiously with the woman at the front desk.

"I see you've been chatting with Hamir." Her voice was low and amused. "How is that wily old liar? Made any more predictions yet?"

"Nope. But I think that he's going to try to move into town."

"Oh, really? That's a first. How long has he been in that little basement of his? I'd say about forever and a couple of years, but I'd probably be wrong." She glanced over at the still fighting couple before her and rolled her eyes. "Oh, this is taking forever, excuse me a minute, Cemal." He barely withheld a grin as he witnessed Cala smoothly step into the conversation and reach over to the secretary's computer keyboard, type in a few quick codes and then point to place her appointment had appeared on the screen. The flustered young woman glanced at the screen and blushed furiously, beginning to apologize profusely. Cala just shook her head, and smiling graciously thanked the woman.

A matter of seconds later, a small fussy man stepped out of a door, greeting Cala and hustling her into the back room. She exited approximately five minutes later donned in gorgeous silk dress, the color of it matching her dark indigo hued eyes, and her hair swept back in a simple and elegant French twist. Her pulled back hair let the eyes of spectators' focus on the royally sculpted structure of her face; her wide slanted eyes perfectly complementing the slashing cheekbones, which led down to the lush cherub-red lips.

"So, how does your very not-well dressed date think of your tailored Chanel evening gown, along with its lighter-than-air, hand-knitted Irish ebony lace shawl?" sniffed the sharply dressed man accompanying her out of the dressing room.

"Gary, dear, I'm sure he doesn't give a damn, because Cemal isn't my date," she said absently, checking the delicate platinum Rolex that now resided on her slim wrist. "My escort is meeting me at the opera house and if I don't hurry, I'll be late."

The man rolled his eyes in exasperation, pouting like a child. "Doll, I never could understand why you never understood the term 'fashionably late'?" Cala smiled warmly and played along with his bantering.

"Because, dove, I run by business time and there is no such term."

"Business time. Hmph! You're much too young for that. I've always told you that you should quit that nonsense and join up with me to become the model that you should be."

"And I've always told you that you should stop hanging around the dressing room so much, the perfumes are messing with your head."

"Hmph! The thanks I get for my hard work." He pouted, sulking, and Cala laughed lightly, hugging him with an arm, before accepting a small beaded purse from an attendant.

"Well, I'll be off now, Gary." She straightened and beckoned Cemal and Sachs who was knee deep in paperwork to the door. "Thanks so much for your help again."

"No problem, doll. Toodles now and have a good time at the opera." The man waved cheerily as Cala, Cemal, and Sachs stepped back into the limousine and were off. Sachs was grumbling about the bad service and Cemal was trying to keep his eyes off of Cala. No matter how many times he'd seen her decked up in formal wear, he still couldn't get used to the fact that her beauty radiated a million times more than ever in them.

Cala glanced up from packing her tiny purse with necessities and leafing through various reports of her company, to see Cemal staring dumbfoundedly at her. She could barely resist the urge to laugh. Her best friend for eons was ogling her like a starving beggar ogled a delicious deli sandwich from the outside windows. That fact alone reminded her that she wasn't a mere child posing as an adult anymore. She had grown up. And in more than one way. The realization made her sigh with a twinge of sadness.

Before she knew it, they had reached the entrance to the opera house and her driver was holding the door open for her. Smiling politely, she stepped out onto the rich red carpet and froze when she spotted her escort waiting somberly for her a few feet away.

"Well, little one, it seems that you've arrived at last." His soothingly familiar voice penetrated through the darkness.

"I guess I have." Deep blue eyes stared into steady dark ones for a moment. "What do you think?"

"I think that I'm seeing a vision of a grown woman, because all I can remember is a little girl." Unshed tears sprang to her eyes and she rushed into Azim's open arms, breathing in his musty familiar scent

As she stood in her old friend's warm embrace, forgetting the world around them, she felt herself wishing deep inside that she had never grown up and that she could stay a child forever. "Azzy, I missed you," she whispered into the depths of the starched linen in his tuxedo surcoat.

"I know, little one, I know," he murmured back and they stood there for some time, no more words needed.

~*~*~

The urge to grind his teeth in frustration almost overwhelmed his polite smiling exterior. He should have known that there would have been a catch to tagging along on his sister's date. His 'escort', a fragile-looking debutante, heir to some useless fortune, giggled annoyingly as she tugged his arm. He just couldn't understand why his well-intentioned, but completely misled sister and best friend repeatedly tried to match-make him up to the stupid idiots with butterflies for brains and about a ton of rouge plastered on their faces.

He should have known when Quatre had not only seemed unsurprised to see his best friend in the old tux, but pleased. As soon as they had entered the magnificently designed opera house, his so-called 'best friend' had introduced Trowa to his date. The blonde had stuck to his side like a burr and hadn't let go. The desire to groan was so overpowering. The blonde idiot had been giggling and babbling on about how flattered and excited she was to be here with the hero of Earth and the colonies. He would've bet everything he owned, and probably everything that Quatre owned, that the girl wouldn't have even known who he was if his wonderful sister hadn't 'by chance' pointed it out to her.

As they entered the private balcony that Quatre had reserved and his date's attention was pulled away from him by a question of seats, Trowa got a good look out into the packed opera house. Doctors and lawyers in their stuffy formal wear, talked among themselves, their fussy motherly wives chattering with each other about bad baby-sitters. He took in the beauty of his surroundings, with the gorgeous wood arched ceiling and red-velvet carpets, seats and curtain, and suppressed the urge to sigh.

Being who he was, he rarely got to see the elegance of this type, though he was sure he could if he really wanted to. The fact of the matter was that he never let himself. He had never felt that he deserved to walk among the black tied people, and he was never very comfortable around them.

Mentally shaking himself out of his self-pity party, he looked up and around. The other balcony boxes were filled full of expensively dressed businessmen, not much unlike Quatre. The lights flickered smoothly, a signal that the show was about to start when he caught sight of a familiar figure in a box closest to the stage. His emerald-shaded eyes narrowed with suspicion. A beautifully dressed woman with sweeping dark hair and striking dark blue eyes turned to her escort, flashing her facial features. The sharp planes and the strong nose of the bronzed face were identical to that of Cala's. But the lights flickered off for the last time, disabling Trowa's sight.

His instincts told him to leave immediately and investigate, but that he knew that it would cause too much commotion. The darkness calmed his sudden and seemingly random quickened heartbeat and he cast his mind about for ideas. What is Cala doing here, he thought to himself. Doubt catching his mind. If that's even her. It's been awhile since the last Preventer assignment and I'm getting rusty, so I wouldn't be surprised if this is just another of the rich, empty headed debutante that looks even faintly like Cala. Hell, I only got a little look at her. Anyone can have dark hair and blue eyes. And Cala isn't likely to be here. She's joined the circus. She can't afford a seat here in the balconies, much less the best box seat possible. Even less to dress for an occasion like this.

He was sure that the annoying brainless pip-squeak beside him was wearing a dress worth well over a six figure number and bejeweled in a relatively small fortune of big, white ice.

The curtain opened and the stage lighting went on, but he couldn't see the woman in the box closest to the stage's face. The light had intensified the shadow's darkness that she sat in. Soft, annoying humming distracted him, and he turned to see the blonde beside him raised her expensive gold opera glasses to better see the stage and the singers, holding it backwards to her eyes. When she squinted and complained loudly that they didn't help at all, he gritted his teeth and murmured quietly that she had it the wrong way. The blonde blinked blankly for a minute and Trowa rolled his eyes, physically taking the glasses and turning them the right way for her. Peering through the lenses, she cooed in loud pleasure and purred her thanks to Trowa, running her gloved hand seductively on his arm. He was only saved when a hissed "Shutup already!" from the rows below insulted the blonde into sulking off to the lady's powder room.

Trowa mentally gave thanks to whoever or whatever was up there as his eyes followed the blonde out the door, making sure that she didn't walk into anything, he noticed the stalwart form of Rashid standing outside the door. And an idea struck him. Since he couldn't leave to investigate, he could ask Quatre to send his faithful assistant to do it for him.

And at least he had something to keep his mind off of berating his idiot of an escort and he leaned to his left, where his sister and Quatre were seated. They were whispering and giggling to each other like teenagers and he cleared his throat softly to get their attention. They both looked, startled and curious, at him and he began to tap softly in the old Morse code his message.

* I think I just saw someone I know. Do you think you could get someone to investigate for me? *

Quatre, who understood perfectly, frowned slightly in the semi darkness, tapped softly in reply.

* I guess so, but what for? *

* I'm not sure. Just a feeling. *

His fair-haired friend seemed to consider this for a moment and nodded. * It couldn't hurt, I guess. I'll send Rashid to check it out. *

Trowa nodded in reply, tapping a quick thank you along with the location of the suspicious individual as the blonde idiot returned to her seat, still in a bit of a huff. With his curiosity satisfied, he would be able to suffer through the rest of the evening quietly, without lashing out at his "date" and strangling her to death out of either sheer boredom or insanity from her scary stupidity. At least he hoped so.

~*~*~

Smiling coolly, she accepted the flute of champagne from the waiter as she waited patiently by the soothing marble fountain. Patience wasn't a virtue that she had by the bushel, but Cala had cultured it out of need and practice. Lots of practice. Sipping her champagne, she rolled her eyes and checked her slim Rolex again.

10:00 on the dot.

She was directly on time for their rendezvous, but she knew that her new business associate, being the fashion socialite that he was, would never consider being anything but fashionably late. Five or ten minutes wasted, she thought disgustedly. No matter how much she liked Quatre, she detested lateness of any sort more. Her excuse was that she ran on business time, which she did, but her strictly planned schedule never allowed for more than a three-minute space between appointments and she hated to be behind.

Rolling her eyes yet again, she glanced around the hotel lounge. The opera's post performance reception was just beginning and the guests were still arriving by the dozen. A pretty young woman with a riot of dark curls, dressed simply, relative to the well-dressed guests hurried by and caught her attention. Cala blinked and called out to her.

"Gabriella? Is that you?"

The woman looked at her and instantly recognized her, rushing back to greet her. "Miss Calista! I can't believe you're here! You never come to these silly parties. It's so nice to see you again." Her slightly Italian accented voice was rich and far more beautiful than the woman's looks. Cala grinned at the sound of it.

"I see your voice hasn't diminished at all, Gabby. Wonderful performance, by the way."

"Oh no! It was horrible and you know it!" The woman smiled modestly. "Complete error during the fifth stanza in the eight movement of the symphony. They skipped the entire thing! It was horrible. Everyone became so confused."

"Oh yes, I noticed that. Maestro Phillips must have lost his glasses again. What with how he nods his head so violently while conducting, I wouldn't be surprised. And I saw him fumbling on the ground for something right about that time. You pulled it off excellently in the end, though."

The woman colored slightly at the praise and motioned for a waiter to bring her a flute of champagne like Cala's. "Luck, I guess. But I must say it's wonderful to see you here. It's been quite a while since I've seen you at a performance."

"I've been traveling for business and it's extremely busy in the company." Cala allowed herself a sigh among friendly company. Gabriella nodded sympathetically in understanding.

"I heard about the business merger between the Winner's company and yours, Miss Calista. It must be a good thing, but a lot of hard work?"

"A lot of both. But it'll all be over soon." She smiled at the sympathetic look the younger woman sent her and she gestured for Gabriella to move on. "I know you have to go and smile for pictures and sign some autographs, so off you go. Don't worry about an old lady like me. I'll be fine." The girl giggled at her words and started off again. "Oh and if you see my new partner, please send him this way," Cala added. The woman nodded smiling and soon disappeared in the milling waters of people.

Her lips twisted into a small smile of pleasure. Though she was always invited to the receptions as a much-loved patron of the opera house and its singers, she rarely attended them and it was a pleasure to see some friendly faces that were so welcoming to her. If only Quatre would find her already, her happiness would be complete.

~*~*~

Quatre eased slowly through the crowd of people, stopping to chat with some acquaintances about the performance and leaving his fiancee and Trowa behind at an interesting marble statue that he knew he could find again. He was already a little late for his meeting with his new business associate, but that couldn't be helped. Polite social quotas had to be met before meeting her.

As he sidestepped his way through a particularly thick crowd of people, a soothingly beautiful voice floated to his ears, cutting through the clinking of toasting crystal. "Mr. Winner. Over here, Mr. Winner."

He turned to see the star of the opera, Isabelle G. Giordano-Faylis, beckoning for him to come closer to her. Automatically, Quatre flashed his flawless photogenic smile as he stepped closer to the group. The young woman was surrounded by high placed 'drama' people that he knew faintly, but he didn't know the singer at all.

"Hello, Ms. Isabelle. Your performance was beautiful."

She laughed modestly. "Why does everyone keep saying that when the opposite is the truth? But, anyway, it hardly matters what I think, no? And thank you for your compliments, Mr. Winner."

"Please, call me Quatre."

"Only if you'll call me Isabelle."

"All right, I can accept those terms." He chuckled with the group and quickly checked his watch while everyone was distracted. "My apologies ahead of time for being rude and hurrying off, but I have to meet someone-"

"Oh don't worry, Quatre. I only called you over here so I could give you Miss Calista's message. She was looking for you and asked me if I could direct you to her if I saw you. Please tell her that Gabby saw you and gave you her message." She chuckled a little. "I hate to be thought of as irresponsible, especially when I owe someone such a great deal." Then she shooed him off, returning to the previous conversation.

Her words left him with food for thought and more than a little curiosity to add to the mix. Quatre knew, by instinct, intuition, or Gundam training that his new partner was hiding more than her share of secrets, but he had never, nor ever intended to pry into her life. Calista Abassi was simply going to be his business associate.

Nothing more.

Though he couldn't help but wish for a friendship with her. Somehow she had made a connection with him during their brief meeting. Not a sexual connection, he thought immediately, feeling the heat rise in his collar just at the thought of such an idea. More of a connection made through understanding. Not only was she of his culture and religion, but she had somehow understood the situation he had been in, engaged to the woman he loved and then faced with the ridiculous arrangements of his father.

That was a feat that only some of his closest friends: Duo, Wu-Fei, Heero, Trowa, and Catherine. And Relena. He almost flinched at the thought of his ex-fiancée. Though their former relationship had been broken by her unbreakable love for his friend and fellow pilot, Heero Yuy, they had not stopped being friends. Despite that fact he sometimes felt discomfort burn at his conscience whenever the subject was brought up.

The ever charismatic and perfectly beautiful Prime Minister Relena Peacecraft Yuy. Calista had so reminded Quatre of her. The glowing indigo eyes were almost exactly the same when he thought of it, but also the fact that they had both had the unique ability to understand him. And just about anyone, as a matter of fact. Though they seemed to use the ability in what seemed to be completely different ways. Relena to empathize and sympathize and then to use her powers of persuasion to help. Calista to see another point of view and help change the situation to both of their advantages. But in the end, both of which were used to help.

Their special ability of understanding seemed to attract loyal friendships from people. Relena's group of admirers included both himself and Lucrezia Noin. And from what he'd seen of the 'Cemal' person, who had been so malevolent towards him, he'd recognized to be pure loyalty to Calista.

But, he thought, firmly reigning in his thoughts, a close friendship with Calista was impossible. It had always been the policy of the Winners to never deal business with friends, the opposite of such a situation practiced as well. Of course, as far as actions went, he did plan on introducing Calista to his fiancée. But then that was an entirely different matter, he reassured himself. Catherine had been nagging at him to include her in his business and he was obliging. She would eventually need to meet Calista sometime, as his partner would be a firm fixture in his work, even though it had been a month since the paperwork had gone through and this would be his first time meeting her face to face since.

Quatre made a mental note to himself to bring that up to her as he slid out of the slow moving crowd and caught sight of his partner. Beautiful as ever, Calista was waiting by a flowing marble fountain, her expression doggedly patient. A genuine smile lit his face as he waved to her and they met mid-way.

"Well, if it isn't my lovely new business associate. How have you been?"

Calista showed off her perfect white teeth in an easy smile. "Wonderful. And you, Master Quatre?"

"I've been doing pretty well. Was told to give you a message from 'Gabby' that she'd sent me to you." Her smile broadened.

"Well, that's good. You may think that singers are flighty people, but I can always count on young Gabby." She didn't elaborate as called for a passing waiter to refill her champagne glass and though Quatre wanted to, he wouldn't ask her to. "Set a date for the wedding yet?"

He automatically flashed a grin at the thought of his upcoming wedding. "And the date's set for next year summer. Cathy wouldn't let me set it sooner. She said that my sisters have been tripping her up so much that she's too behind schedule for a sooner date."

She laughed jovially as she looped her left arm into his right and started walking with him back to the swarm of people. "That sounds about right. From what I hear, wedding planning is a horrible thing."

"I'm sure it is. Praise Allah that I don't have to live through it."

"Oh, you. We should really get onto more important topics than the stupidity of the male species, though, so I won't start." Quatre had to smile at that.

"I can agree to that."

"You should." Calista responded with a smile of her own. "Now, not only should we discuss our new partnership and some of the changes that should be made, but I have a personal note to add." Her manner sobered on the last note, catching Quatre's interest.

"Why don't you just get it over with now, if it's important, that is?"

"Yes, it's important." She paused, seeming to hesitate for a second. "It has to do with your safety and that of your bride-to-be."

Quatre's eyes widened immediately with alarm, halting their brief stroll but managing to keep his voice low and level. "Our safety? Just what's going on?" Calista laid a calming hand on his forearm.

"It's nothing immediate, but… this is a warning to keep a more careful eye on your and your loved one's security."

"Has there been a threat made against us?"

"No. But it wouldn't make a difference, because there is one. A definite threat to your well being." And seeing the questions in his face and eyes, she shook her head to them. "I can't tell you who or what. It's too complicated and I'm not even sure, but it's not just you. It's everyone."

His sky-blue eyes narrowed. "What do you mean everyone?"

"Everyone that was involved in saving the world from chaos and destruction. And everyone that is currently keeping it from caving in on itself right now."

He could feel the panic begin to rise in his throat. "Everyone?"

"Everyone."

Quatre turned away from her, staring at the ceiling, almost unbelieving. "Then the world is in jeopardy."

"Naturally. But then again, when isn't it?"

His attention snapped back to her. The way she had said those words. Just tossed them off her tongue like it was nothing important. The way she looked right then. Completely at ease telling him that the world was at stake and he might lose everything he loved. He'd only known four other people who could have done that and they probably might not have been able to do it anymore.

Incredulity and awe filled him and he stared hard at her. "Just how do you know all this? And just who are you?" Mirth glinted in Calista's deep ocean blue eyes and she smirked. He realized then that he really didn't know the woman standing in front of him. She was a total stranger, despite their 'early introductions'.

"It's nice to see that you're finally awaken out of the daydream of the tranquillity in peace, Quatre." She tossed her dark hair out of her face and slipped the rest of the bubbling champagne down her throat. "Because that's just what peace isn't. Peace isn't a happy wonderful dream. That's what it might be for normal people, but we aren't normal, Quatre. No matter where we go or what we do, we will be everything but normal. For us, peace will always be the greatest fight. To keep it. To live it. To be it. And peace, here on Earth and in space, is there to stay. It's just begun to plant its roots and it's got a long life span ahead of it, so I'm guessing that the battle's just beginning, wouldn't you say?" Calista laughed her delightful laugh and then stared her twinkling eyes straight into his confused ones. When he failed to reply, she just smiled some more and gently handed him her glass.

"I don't think that I'll be able to stick around some more for some business talk. I'm due for a meeting with someone else soon and I don't want to be late. I'll send some of my files on my thoughts, on some improvements and such, over to you, but I think that our business is doing extremely well so far. The stock's gone up a bit and the new labels have been delivered on time. We're doing great. Hope it keeps up. I'll be around some more later on. If you've noticed my prolonged absence, you can tell that right now I'm pretty booked. So I'll see you later." Then she twirled around as if to leave, then paused, as if catching an afterthought. "Oh and don't worry about warning all your friends. I'm going on to do that."

And with that she left Quatre Raberba Winner, one of the richest and most powerful men alive, standing there, his mouth hanging open, still too stunned to respond at all.