ANATEXIS

PART 3 - Turbidity

It was 3 a.m. and the corporal was sinking into a open-eyed sleep. Then, footsteps, and he jerked into alertness at the sight of Sergeant Rhone. The man had his arms behind him, but the heavy baton he was carrying was clearly visible.

"Open the door, corporal."

The corporal kept his eyes on the baton. "I can't, Sergeant Rhone. My orders were that no-one should enter the cell unless authori - "

It was said that sergeants were chosen for their exceptionally small reserves of patience and exceptionally excessive lung power. Rhone definitely fitted these requirements; he pulled the corporal up from his chair and shouted: "You don't seem to UNDERSTAND something, CORPORAL! In this room there's just you and me and you see these STRIPES, boy? You see these? You see THIS?" The baton loomed into close-up; the corporal's eyes crossed slightly to focus on it.

"Sergeant - I can't - open the door - don't have the - passcode."

Thrown off balance, the sergeant took a step backwards and muttered oaths.

"I could call the Lieutenant Colonel and ask for it but I don't think he'd be very happy to give it to you," the corporal could not resist saying.

The sergeant looked ready to incinerate him, but a strange scuffling noise from inside the cell arrested him. Both men froze.

K' k' k' k' k - khhhhh

A new sound surfaced; something neither of the men had heard before in their lives. It was reminiscent of the last drops of viscous fluid being sucked up a straw, but with a sinister texture of urgency to it, and the scuffling continued beneath it.

Shaken, the corporal slid back the narrow blind to look through the reinforced glass. His eyes widened and his mouth worked soundlessly for a second, then he stumbled across to the communication unit, punching the buttons with clumsy fingers.

"Captain Yonoi," a voice answered immediately. "Is there trouble, Corporal?"

"The prisoner - " The words stuck in his throat.

Sergeant Rhone had himself looked into the cell by then and was muttering sweet jesuses in the background.

"Keep calm!" urged the voice over the communication unit. "I'll notify the Lieutenant Colonel at once. Are you still there?"

"...yes..."

"It may be a ruse. Whatever you do, keep calm!"

It was no ruse. By 4 a.m. the pathologists had the would-be assassin Edward Chase (deceased) on a steel table in the white-tiled room jokingly referred to as 'The Juice Bar'. The post mortem was going to be difficult; his muscles had contracted so tightly in the spastic convulsions that the body was rock hard.

"It's not rigor mortis sensu stricto," said Dr Vijay. "A body doesn't set into rigor till hours after death. This was from forced spasming."

Captain Yonoi tripped over the latin terms as he grimly took written notes, for easier referencing with the visual recording of the autopsy. Anyway, whoever was going to watch the recording probably needed some mental preparation first. With the flavour of a vintage horror movie the doctors were hammering at the body, trying to get it into a more convenient position on the table before they commenced work. Their efforts were shockingly crude and brutal.

"Carl," mused Dr Vijay, "you're right, he does look like a fossilised dinosaur. With his back arched like that..." Chase had been found with his head thrown back, jaws yawning open in agony, his spine arched into an impossibly tight curve.

"And this is going to be one nasty excavation," the other doctor said, putting his weight on the corpse's bent arm. There was a snap, and the arm lay flat on the table, albeit at a strange angle. Yonoi thought he was going to throw up.

"We can't pump relaxants through the body," explained the doctor patiently. "Not since we want to get traces of those poisons."

"Captain Yonoi," said the Lieutenant Colonel, as his subordinate turned paler and paler. "Leave the room for awhile - I'll call you when you're needed."

Gratefully, the Captain exited.

The doctors barely waited for the swing doors to stop moving. "Right, let's make the first incision."

Wufei deliberately averted his eyes at the first cut, not out of squeamishness, but because it was almost degrading to look. The human body was so undignified when undressed of its garment of skin; enclosed slick organs and nameless substances proving that men were just the sum of so many soft decayable parts. Pinkish plasma flowed into the wells around the table, collecting in a glass reservoir on the floor. So this was why it was called 'The Juice Bar'...

"Eh, what's this?" The doctor frowned at the foreign object tucked behind the sternum. "Lieutenant Colonel Chang, we have our culprit." He gingerly tweezered it out and dropped it into a sample jar. Wufei took it from him, turning it about in his surgical-gloved hands.

It looked just like the casing of a shark's egg, an ovoid brown translucent thing. Now punctured and deflated, this capsule was probably the repository for the toxins that had killed Edward Chase.

"We'll have to check the liver for the identity of the toxin, but now we know where it came from. Amazing. They must have inserted it through an incision in the navel."

"Cunning," agreed Dr Vijay. "No visible scars." The two pathologists seemed to find the whole procedure pleasantly enjoyable.

"I want tests run on the substance of the capsule itself," said Wufei. Irritation was building in him; he realised that the beating from Sergeant Rhone must have helped rupture the capsule. So that was how it worked. If they punished you to make you talk, you died. How devilishly clever...

Dr Vijay heard the murmur and looked up from his work. "Sorry? Did you say you wanted a feeder?" He picked up a plastic tube from the tray.

"No," said Wufei, putting down the jar. "I said I wanted the leader." He looked at the time, and started towards the doors. "Notify me as soon as the results come back."

Captain Yonoi spoke as soon as his superior appeared. "Sir, there's just been a message from Her Excellency. She wants to see you at the Palace when you've finished here."

"That would be now."

Mariemaia's smile widened when Wufei walked into her office. Anywhere else his eyes looked straight ahead and his chin was high, but here in this particular room he always had his face just slightly averted, his gaze directed just slightly lower than usual. A subconscious change, but Mariemaia was entirely aware of the reason behind it - it both amused and empowered her.

"Excellency."

"Lieutenant Colonel. I've heard that your prisoner has been poisoned. Has someone breached security again?"

"A poison capsule was pre-implanted in him. It released the toxins under the stresses of interrogation."

"Ah."

"A full report of the autopsy will be generated within a few hours." A pause, and he half-bowed, thinking that the interview was over.

"Wait - " Mariemaia rose from her desk. "Let us dispense with formalities for the moment. I've summoned you regarding something else."

Wufei frowned. "Formality preserves respect."

And familiarity breeds contempt, I know. The Dictator moved over to the long French windows. They faced eastward, and the dawn sun illuminated her red hair. "I've lain awake all night thinking about the assassination attempt. More than ever, I'm surprised by how perfect my timing is."

"Your timing?" Wufei was puzzled.

"Why, it's Boxing Day, Wufei. How would you like to be General?"

"So this is the 'present' you've prepared for me?" Wufei's laugh was short and stern. "We both know that generals are tied down to their desks and their terrain maps. They command armies, not fighting men. They lose touch with the real battle."

Mariemaia had expected some protest of this sort, and gave him a pleased side-glance. "You are a warrior, I know. But there was a time when generals were much closer to the conflict, Wufei. I believe you were named after such a one."

"The rank means little." Wufei folded his arms and his chin returned to its customary altitude. "If you want brutal honesty, then let me say this: Your army means nothing without the strength of mobile suits, and I already command the best division you have."

Mariemaia clapped her hands gleefully. "I have read you too well! We DO think in the same way."

Wufei looked at the girl Dictator in undisguised exasperation. "Are you testing me?" he complained gruffly.

Mariemaia sobered, but the satisfaction remained. "Yes - this is the reason why I, too, command the best. And now you are less stiff than you were when you entered." She turned, facing him. He was also lighted by the dawn rays, but the red glow seemed more like fire. "A compromise. Let me make you a full Colonel, Wufei, and then we can talk about your real present."

Black eyebrows shot up.

Mariemaia gestured for him to move over to the desk, and then she opened the slim metal case to reveal a bound report. This she handed to the Colonel. "As I said, my timing is perfect. The assassination attempt only confirmed my wisdom in initiating this project. And with your help, this project will be successful." She paused to take in his reaction. "Is something wrong?"

There was a distant look on Wufei's face as he leafed through the report. The stiffness was rapidly returning, Mariemaia observed with some disappointment.

"You wish to begin development of a new Gundam," said Wufei. "But I think Nataku is strong enough."

"To deal with the most powerful rebels, yes. But what if your enemy were a legion of Serpents, a legion of other Gundams?" Mariemaia tapped the desk pointedly. "The attempt on our lives was an insider's work. Orders could have come from my own staff. We both know that coup follows coup - I have done it myself."

The dark Chinese eyes were flinty. "And this sequencing system you have outlined for the new Gundam, this ZERO system clone - "

"Stop." Mariemaia cut him off quickly. "ANATEXIS is nothing like the ZERO system."

The Colonel waited for her to explain.

"The genius of it is that it does not feed back directly to the pilot's brain. It won't corrupt your mind. Rather than the calculation of outcomes, it is designed to collect real-time data of the enemy's group fighting styles during combat, and then layer the sequence of your commands such that they are maximised, with no weaknesses exposed. Think of it as an inverse function - think of it as a two parts of a jigsaw... Whatever the enemy throws at you, your counter attack is perfectly integrated to flow around it, to negate it."

Wufei was frowning, his expression closed.

Mariemaia went on. "Who you choose to fight and how you choose to fight will be unaffected. But the system will hone your moves for you, allowing you to tackle multiple enemies. And thus over time your own natural senses become better developed; you stretch your own abilities."

Wufei seemed to be wavering, Mariemaia was almost sure of it, and she pressed harder. "You've learnt that only the strong are able to uphold justice, Colonel Chang. Only the victors. Don't be afraid to augment your own strength."

The dark irises fixed on the young Dictator's face, searching. "I believe," came the slow return, "that there is a point where one becomes too strong. There is no honour in cheap victories. Only disillusionment."

"That is why I have presented this to you, Colonel!" Mariemaia put her knuckles to the desk's polished surface. "Build this new mobile suit with honour. Decrease and increase its abilities as you wish, tune it, forge it into the image of a paramount warrior. Design it to be a weapon that you would want to wield. ANATEXIS doesn't seek to become your master, only a servant to your causes!"

In the silence, Chang Wufei's eyes fixed on the report in his hands, and Mariemaia knew she had at least partially convinced him.

"I have seventeen generals scattered over my World Nation," Mariemaia said, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "Their obedience has lasted these seven years, but perhaps one of them, perhaps more, will be an enemy in the future. I need the new Gundam to act as both deterrent and punishment."

"You will have it," said Wufei tersely, his voice low and steady. He moved away from the desk and left abruptly, the report clutched in his hand. The doors clicked shut.

The Dictator went round the desk slowly; she had spent no small amount of energy in the exchange. The rosy hues of dawn were giving way to a golden softness which lit the huge oil painting on the wall. This portrait, dominating the office, was what Chang Wufei's eyes always sought to avoid when he entered. This was what depressed his confident gaze by a fraction of a degree, introduced that tiny significant portion of doubt...

Mariemaia moved forward and pressed her cheek to the canvas, her small fingers stroking royal blue.

"It's because I understand him. That's the hold I have over him."

A contented exhalation of breath.

"Aren't you proud of me, Father?"

The portrait did not answer, but she could imagine the unwavering smile was one of agreement.

On New Year's Day WNR 8, Relena Darlian lost her temper. Her rooms in the Dictatorial Palace were usually free of any reminders of the military regime, but since the assassination attempt there had been constant intrusions by soldiers. 'Protection', 'safety' and 'imperative' were words Relena was now sick of. She had been under house arrest on more than one occasion, and this was very near to it.

"Get out! I don't care if I'm about to be murdered by rebels!" Her slender hands closed on the first object within reach, a biscuit porcelain figurine, and the guard's retreat was very swift.

Relena realised what she was holding and carefully replaced it on the table. She would never want to damage this; the little figurine of a girl with a straw hat. A year ago it had arrived with an unsigned letter: 'This little girl of Cinq is a survivor of the wars. May she be your companion in troubled times. From a fellow being who wishes you well.' The words had warmed her heart.

There was a tap at the door, and when Relena saw booted feet she was ready to shout at the offending guard again. But then she saw it was no ordinary soldier.

"General Rourke," said Relena dully. He too was one of Mariemaia's honorary advisers. "We had no scheduled meeting."

"Ah, dear Miss Darlian. I am here on other matters." He smiled and held out a little white box tied with a silver ribbon. Whe Relena did not take it from him he set it on the table. "That is from Her Excellency the Dictator. She apologises for it being overdue, but Christmas this year was... a departure from the usual."

Relena was silent.

"But this is from myself." The General produced an envelope from inside his jacket and put it next to the box. "I hope you won't decline tickets to the ballet?"

"I'm afraid I must do just that, General Rourke. I simply don't have time enough for frivolities."

A shadow passed over the General's face, and his moustached upper lip curled in scorn at the excuse. But then he smoothed it away, and took a step forward. "Three weeks ago you were far more receptive. You said you were delighted to be with me."

Relena was indignant. "I was attempting to change the Dictator's mind on the subject of military drilling in schools! I was 'delighted' that you were on my side of the argument!"

"You invited me to dinner," said the General.

"So we could discuss the matter away from unfriendly ears," said Relena impatiently. "Since then I have made it quite clear to you, General, that we have nothing to say to each other outside of our collective duties."

The General ignored this and began pacing leisurely about the sitting area, to Relena's unease, idly picking up ornaments.

"Interesting little thing. Looks like a cup."

"It's an incense holder." Quatre gave that to me... so long ago... "Please, General. I must insist that you leave me in peace. I have other things to attend to - "

"How droll." He was now patting the silk-clad harlequin on its tiny head with a finger.

"Please don't do that."

"Now this - isn't she pretty?" He had lifted up the biscuit porcelain figurine before Relena could stop him. "You know, Miss Darlian, she looks just like you. But... her hair is down, not like yours, in that bun... I can't help thinking how much better you would look with your hair loose on your shoulders - "

The room seemed to be shrinking. Relena steeled herself, and looked the man in the eye. "I'm asking you to leave. I will speak to you at the next meeting."

The General's lopsided smile was not attractive. He reluctantly lowered the figurine, but when it was four inches away from the table, he dropped it. It glanced off the table's edge and fell another two feet to the floor, shattering. Relena gave a cry of dismay and dropped to her knees to look at the fragments.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Rourke, kneeling down beside her. He could see she was shaking as she scooped up the pieces. He picked up one fragment which was lying a little way from the others and gave it to Relena, brushing her hand as he did so.

"Get out," choked Relena, starting away, her voice full of revulsion.

He stood, smug, and bowed out in a twisted parody of chivalry.

And Relena, her knees weak, collapsed onto the sofa. The broken porcelain rested in her lap; the little Cinq girl's eyes were reproachful. But what could I do? I hadn't the strength to oppose him... I couldn't save you... I... I'm only a fragile thing myself; I wish I were more, but -

In the garden below Relena's window a man crouched close to the grass, clipping the hedges with heavy garden shears. The voices drifting down to him had been muffled, but the distress and later the fear were obvious. Soon now.

Relena awoke suddenly, her dream fresh in her mind. It had been achingly beautiful - the stars, the glowing moon, and blue eyes which stared unblinkingly back at her -

I will protect you, Relena...

She shivered. It was cold in the room, and she saw that the curtains were moving in the draught. As she stepped over to shut the window she frowned - she remembered closing them before switching off the lights, quite distinctly....

And then she saw the piece of paper, its corner neatly tucked under the stem of the lamp. Relena stared at it, suddenly fearful, the hairs rising on her arm. But she had to know what was in it. Tentatively, she picked it up and unfolded it.

The neat script was soft in the morning light:

Don't be afraid, Relena. I will protect you.

The words were more cruel than they were kind.

Captain Yonoi could tell from the raw edge in his the Colonel's voice that there had been little room in his schedule for sleep that week. He had not acted as the Colonel's secretary for very long, but already was feeling the strain of accompanying such a responsibility-laden officer on his duties.

"Tetrodotoxin," said Yonoi slowly. "Sounds like I should know it, but I don't."

"Puffer fish poison," said Wufei. "But you've traced the material of the capsule?"

"Yes, it's a polymer made by a pharmaceuticals and med-technology company called Saltern-Barchan. It's usually used for covering the wounds of burn victims; a substitute skin."

"Ah - " The Colonel made a frustrated noise, pinching the bridge of his nose. That says little; it's probably irrelevant. He looked up again. "What of the shipment of gundanium?"

"Major Girot comm'd us yesterday. It will arrive in due course. He also sent in a run-down on the prototype Tallgeese. It was indeed worth researching, as you suggested."

At least something was going right. The Colonel nodded, and a wisp of black hair detached from the rest of the strands. The Captain stared, itching to slick it back down.

"Captain Yonoi!" Sleep deprivation and decreased tolerance went together, and the roughness was audible. Captain Yonoi quickly snapped out of it.

"Er yes, the latest breach of security. There has been movement detected in the North Wing of the Palace, on the third floor."

Wufei thought awhile, his eyes closed. "Adviser Darlian's quarters."

"Yes, sir. They've brought the relevant video captures in." Colonel and captain adjourned to the next room, where a corporal was jogging and shuttling around the captures, trying to find the right segment. The unranked guard who had first noticed the anomalies on the security cameras nervously sat in the corner.

"Play the recording." The corporal jogged it back to the mark, and the pictures rolled.

Wufei looked at the screen, his dark eyes focused. The digits in the lower left corner steadily counted up the seconds. First the hallway was empty, and then a poorly defined amorphous shape appeared, flickering in and out. It seemed to float towards them, its darkness like a stormcloud.

"My god," swallowed the corporal, actually backing away from the screen. "It's a ghost."

Wufei's eyes narrowed. "No. It's not. Someone tried to send a static image to the cameras to hide his entry, but the signal was too weak. The true images and the disguised image were superimposed. That's why you can see through him."

They observed the intruder's progress through the eye of a different camera. Standing next to the portrait, it was clear that he was about six feet tall and athletically built. He paused a moment, evidently trying different keys for the lock, and then passed through, close to the third camera.

Wufei hit the pause button with violent swiftness, and the intruder's face froze onscreen. He was masked - a thick dark translucence covered half the screen. But a stray lock of hair had slipped from the hood, curling to below his chin. It was very pale. Wufei could imagine that it was platinum blond, and reached below shoulder length.

"So. It seems our Prince hasn't yet shuffled off the mortal coil," said Wufei.