Ch10

Duo was there. He stood so near but yet Heero could not even indicate that he was all right, not dead, alive. Duo seemed to gap and glare at him, but he wasn’t. He was gapping at the mobile suit, no, guymeluf that he operated, the guymeluf with an acquaintance of Duo’s grasped in its hand. And at the pilot unknown to him that took the child heedless of the screams ripping out of the child’s throat.

Heero wiped at a tear trying to escape. There was nothing he could do, nothing at all. Then two ideas came to him. The first was clearly suicidal. But hey, Duo had always called him suicidal. He could do suicidal. All he had to do was press the ejection switch and pop out of the guymeluf. Yeah, and then be immediately killed by a lurking near Trowa or some of the other Ziedian solders that must be near him. Yeah, leave to tell Duo you’re all right and then get killed, perfect plan, perfect solder, Heero thought.

The agreement, if it could be called that, came back. If he didn’t fail the mission, Duo would not be purposely assassinated. So, that plan was useless; he would not, could not put his Duo in danger.

The other plan he could do easily without anyone but Duo the wiser. But he had to rely on Duo’s memory and commonish senses. He had to make only one gesture and Duo had only to recognize it.

He raised his guymeluf’s hand up and waved ounce. It wasn’t a regular wave, but it looked that way to a casual observer and most not casual observers. The hand’s middle finger bent at a ninety-degree angle. The pinky touched none of the other fingers.

Duo should know it; they only used it for the past five months on the street. It meant ‘help, Ziedian,’ basically in their complex hand signals developed on the street after Wing and Deathscythe H destroyed themselves in a battle. They only used it once before—a false alarm—but practiced it every day, well, almost everyday.

Now, where was that bottom to fly? There it was. He pressed the bottom. The guymeluf’s legs sucked together and it lifted up a few feet. He turned the guymeluf around and shoot out of there with only one more stolen glance at his angry lo… Duo.

A few of the country’s guymelufs made to get him, but he didn’t even bother to fight them; he just left them behind in their old and outdated suites. Weaklings, they were, and he had to rely on them to beat Ziedain. This world was going to fly into Ziedain’s rule like candy from a baby’s hands when no one was the baby: it might cry, but nothing it did would save the candy.

Or maybe not. Well walking through the solder barracks, he had two people talking about a war fought here against an enemy with almost modern to Heero scientist helping them, or something like that. And there was magic here, great magic. He felt it in his bones and knew it to be true and even more then the powers he felt in his friends’ auras.

Like Trowa’s auras. His was silent and deadly. And tricky. Heero hardly noticed it these days; only a few times had he felt the goodness and powerfulness of the aura, and that was when they were alone in the hallway after their meeting. Heero wondered if Trowa, if any of his friends, knew about their auras. Probably not.

So, this world had some hope, but not in the suite area. Knowledge of fighting and spirit could win the battles to come. And that woman, Hitomi, that powerful woman who shun brighter then the light that brought him to Ziedain hands. She could win the war to come if she harnessed her full power.

Trowa swung near to him as night fell on top of them along with those two moons that he had both visited and fought on. Trowa pointed down below them at a clearing by a river. Heero swung down and landed behind Trowa. He set the hand that held the kidnapped boy onto the ground but did not loosen it.

Trowa jumped down from his suit and went to the hand. Heero unclenched the hand at his nod. The boy started to scream before Trowa stuffed a rag in his mouth as the boy struggled in the bonds Trowa had just tied around him and a tree.

“You can come down now, Heero.” His voice was unemotional as Heero jumped down from the cockpit. From a bag slung over his shoulder, Trowa took out handcuffs. They were also part of the agreement.

Heero didn’t even mind handcuffs nowadays. He was used to the lessened mobility, and stares like the one the boy was giving him. Trowa slipped matches in his hand. Heero nodded in understanding and went over to start the fire.

Soon the fire was steadily burning but not enough to give away their position. Heero dragged some fallen twigs and made a shelter around the fire to supply them and the fire cover.

“Good job, prisoner,” Trowa said.

Huh, why did Trowa call him prisoner now? Heero thought. Through the whole mission before, they had call each other by close to old times; Heero was pilot Heero and Trowa was solder Trowa(1).

Trowa walked over to Heero, right to Heero so they were touching. He wrapped his arms around Heero’s waist and nipped him on the neck. He then proceeded to untie Heero’s paints with deft, experienced fingers.

“I need to talk to you, Heero,” he said in Heero’s ear. “Go with the flow; people watch.”

Heero showed no outward appearance of shock. He was used to more things then the handcuffs, and Trowa would be kind.

It wasn’t really rape. Heero neither gave consent nor didn’t give constant. He just let it happen, screamed ever so often for effect, and imagined a braid falling over his shoulder and cushioning his head. Anyway, it felt sort of good, though Trowa was a bit big.

Soon Trowa finished and collapsed over Heero.

“The watchers in hearing and seeing range are busy now; we can talk.”

Heero almost chuckled at Trowa’s barb, but it reminded him what the other pilot, his maybe friend, had just done.

“Heero, I am on your side.”

“Then why are you working for them?” He thought Trowa told the truth from his aura.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

1—What rank should Trowa be? I am not good with military turns. Also, am I spelling solder correct?

What do You, the reader, think should happen next.

The next chapter of Slavery should be out later today.

I will probably rewrite the end at some point; I don’t like some parts.