Title: Of Bullets and Barrels
Archive: DHML, error12211, if you want, please ask.
Web page: http://www.geocities.com/error12211/
Warnings: Yaoi/shonnen-ai, 1+2+1, weird little universe, AU!!!!! I do not own Gundam wing, I do not own the boys with which I am playing, I do, on the other hand own the way in which they play. Furthermore, I do not own the technology and magic of `The Red Star', of which this is loosely based. But damn, I wish I did.
Notes: Ooohkay. So this fic is continuing, and now I have no clue how to end it. Non, >.<'''', so you will have to excuse this part, and its rather dry and mediocre writing. I am uninspired, and the words on this page were forced into writing through sheer force of will. Other then that. Thank you so much to everyone that read the teaser, and replied, this fic is for all of you.
Misuzu, I owe you a picture. And I keep forgetting to e-mail you, what did you want it to be of?
This fic is tiring to write, so if you guys find it boring, tell me and then it can join some of the other fics I was going to write, under three feet of dirt in the backyard.
Of Bullets and Barrels
The actual melding of technology and magic has never failed to amaze me. Two things, so conflicting, have been joined; have been molded into a frighteningly effective weapon. After all, humanity has always searched for one more power, to be one greater, more dangerous, and more fear inducing then the opponent. The war between Romafeller and Oz, has proven this point time and again. Already it has escalated to the point where both sides are on the verge of Mutually Assured Destruction. MAD, something that we last saw within the Cold war, and promised never to look upon again. But that was a lie. Much like this war is a lie. Much like `Dulce est decorum est pro parti morti', is a lie. There is no honor in this war. There is no pride. There is no beauty in our creations, as surely as there is no beauty in weapons like myself.
Sorceress, pure breed
Heero sighed, his breath ragged. His mind gasping for the one point of ideal concentration, away from the ever-present fear. He could die. He was expected to die, every time he went out, every time he did what came naturally he pushed the statistics, raised the average. Lowered his chance of surviving.
Raw space in two.
The heat was almost unbearable; he could feel his skin liquefy, the light coming from beneath the thin membrane bursting through it, cracking it. He chocked back a sob, and once more sought out euphoria.
He heard the metallic hiss of the isolation tube's gate as the main door opened, raw space threatening to suck him out.
And there he found it. Like a single bright light in the sky, a star in the heavens which spread out, endless, eternal, before his eyes, outside of his cylindrical prison. His lips bent in a smile, before the whole of his body dissolved into light. The I-field around him, bending and twisting beneath the strain, holding in the sheer energy that radiated at its center.
The field expanded towards the other ship, and pure light burst through the tube, throwing the large ship backwards, all the while aimed for the enemy, crashing through layers and layers of electronics, housing, and life, and bursting out the other side. Leaving behind, a path of destruction, as the light dissipated. It left nothing of its presence, but a tunnel within the side of the Deathscythe.
The first thing his mind registered were the constraints at his wrists, his freezing body, and the dripping of the coolant. He was shaking, quivering like a leaf in an autumn wind, as the cool liquid ran off of his feverish skin, his heart pounding frantically in his chest.
But he was alive.
The actual physics of the situation is complicated, but can be broken down into a few main parts. The first is the sorceress herself, who manages, through various protocol, to break her body down, and heat the air around herself. She, or at very least the matter into which she breaks down, becomes plasma. The rest is left to the I-field. The field is the only thing that keeps the blast contained. It lines the isolation tube, stretching from the edges of the aiming ring. Where the I-field ends is where the blast is most powerful, which is why it is always extended away from the hull a minimum of 100 meters. This is also why attacks from 100-125 meters are most effective.
Once the plasma reaches the end of the field it moves through raw space in a straight line, towards the target, which it also penetrates in a strait line. This is the doing of the sorceress' consciousness.
Unfortunately the I-field generators are extremely heat sensitive, a problem that has yet to see remedy. As a result the intense heat of the plasma can destroy them, and such a fracture can lead to leakage into the ship. Should a leak be discovered early enough, the process can be slowed enough for the sorceress to be eliminated, if not, then the ship must be abandoned, as the breach can be likened to a direct hit by an enemy ship. From so deep within the Isolation Tubes, this breach could potentially overheat the whole of the ship's weapon and guiding apparatuses causing its destruction.
Inventor of the current Isolation Tube design.
"Body temperature 100 Celsius. We are keeping you in there for some time longer Sorcerer."
"Understood" he whispered. His muscles spasming, and his eyes slowly focusing on the room. He felt cold, but according to the statistics, his body was still on fire. He breathed in once more. His lips pulling back from his teeth as he grinned.
He was alive.
His head whipped up.
"Your heart rate is too fast, Sorcerer, you have three seconds to slow it."
He felt the bile rising in the back of his throat. Then felt the prick of something in his arm, as his body was forced to relax. His body temperature fell further, before rising steeply.
"Five four Attack terminated. Awaiting orders."
Heero took a deep breath, as the coolant began to run anew down his arms, his body aching, heated, he could smell burning flesh, and knew it to be his own.
"Surrender has been called. You have been requested to join both Captain Winner, and Second Barton. Interrogation room, 309."
"Accepted" he rasped, when his mouth felt sufficient well to move.
Slowly the ring stopped rotating, quickly positioning itself flat, once more, subsequently throwing Heero to the floor. The man rose slowly, aware of the resounding footsteps of the engineers, as someone covered him in a blanket. Briefly he looked up, staring at the safety-suited man that held him on his feet. He could see no face behind the glassy goggles and the black mask.
"What is the temperature?" he rasped.
"The room is at 80 Celsius, rapidly dropping."
"60." Someone called.
Heero frowned, as another shiver wracked his naked body, he could feel his skin complaining, stretching over the muscle, tightening. He pulled away from the man.
"Get me my clothing, and leave."
They retreated, leaving a neat bundle by the door, before it shut with a metallic hiss. He straightened, walking up to the bundle, and shimming into the leather, already feeling the skin on his arms crack, the blood flowing in thin rivulets down is limbs. After all, that is why the sorcerers wore leather. It hid the blood.
The process of cooling the body is necessary for the continued well-being of the sorceress. When the I-field calls them back into the tube, and they rematerialize, their bodies are just below the temperature that would have caused them to degrade once more. The coolant removes heat from the body at a rate of 100 Celsius per second. For powerful sorceresses the procedure can take approximately 1 minute. Should the coolant malfunction; the sorceress within the ring will burn up, spontaneously combust. Even pure breeds have human genes in them, and as such are affected by the extremely high post-fire temperatures. Of course, even proper cooling and protocol will not leave the sorceress unscathed. The skin that split moments before the attack will be weak in those places, and will tear, where it was too intensely pulled, after the attack. As a result, most priestesses wear leather, which protects the healing skin, while permitting a flow of air, to the damaged tissue.
Healer, pure breed.
Heero stalked into the room. Gazing coldly at the men seated around another figure. The man could not move. Barton was making sure of that.
Stiffly he saluted to Quatre, who waved his hand, dismissively in his direction. Formalities were left to the control rooms and hallways.
"How are you Heero?"
He shrugged in response, his lips thin, ignoring the burning pain of the cuts beneath his clothing.
"We have before us a rather interesting specimen." Stated Quatre in monotone, turning his gaze from Heero to the man slouched in the chair, dressed in a black flight suite. Heero stiffened, as he felt a wave of pity for the pale figure in the chair, to attack Wing was to face the wrath of Quatre, which was hardly pleasant, seeing the effects that Wing's interface had on the young captain.
"Who is it?"
"Shinigami himself. The idiot didn't recognize our ship, and attacked us to loot it."
"It is you who must interrogate, Sorcerer, his power signature fluctuates too quickly for me to keep him in any other state but this. And unconsciousness has never been an effective interrogation tool." The words were a whisper, cold in the room, and Heero shivered. Remembering, once more, why it was that Trowa rarely spoke. He too was a sorcerer, but of a different class all together, his skill had placed him in black operations, of what rank, no one knew.
"Understood. Release him."
Quatre stepped back, a large spear coming unattached from his back, and instead hovering above his right arm. "Do it."
Barton nodded, before stepping back as well. They could feel the field around Shinigami fall, as the man slouched further, before trying to jump from his chair. He never made it.
"Trap Protocol 301 11 beta 2. Radius: 2 meters."
Within moments Shinigami was suspended in the air, his body fighting against the invisible restraints that held him aloft.
"Bastards, let me down and fight like men."
Quatre rolled his eyes, walking up to the figure suspended above the floor, spread-eagle, and infuriated. "You are Shinigami, captain of the Deathscythe Hell. Is that correct?"
"Whatever. I surrendered, so that your bloody witch wouldn't blast the hell out of my crew. Shit head."
Heero sighed, causing the bonds on the other man to pull tighter, watching as blood began to pour from where the invisible restraints bunched and broke the skin. Shinigami did not flinch. He stared angrily, his violet eyes roaming over the room, taking in their faces. Suddenly he grinned.
"Not that she will have another chance."
"The ship is gone, and I am no longer captain."
"REPORT!" Quatre's voice boomed through the room. A brief pause filled with the crackle of static, as someone in the control center replied.
"The ship 098-BETA-3-ALFA custom, is no longer on our scanners. Checking external video negative. Ship is not on external feed. Checking heat sensors. Negative. Checking for physical content."
Wing shuddered as missiles were launched in the general direction of Deathscythe. "negative. There is no physical matter in a 100 km radius of 098-BETA-3-ALFA's last position. 098-BETA-3-ALFA custom, is missing. Searching possible escape routs, estimated time for search. Three minutes."
Quatre's eyes closed, the spear floated back to its place at his back.
"Are you Shinigami?"
"Yes." The man managed, his grin widening. "The one and only, Duo Maxwell, at your service, I'd bow, but I can't say that I'm in the position to do that."
"Where is your ship?"
"Wherever Feifei decides to take her."
"Wufei Chang." Supplied Trowa. His eyes dark in the shadow of the room.
"Second in command. Wild."
Quatre snorted, stalking up to the man that hung in front of him "Are you crazy? You have a Wild on a space ship?"
Maxwell laughed his head falling back, exposing a slender neck.
"I wouldn't talk Quatre, you've got one too."
Briefly Heero became aware of the smell of ozone.
"Someone shoot him NOW!" Quatre's scream pierced the air. Already Duo Maxwell's skin was beginning to split, and he could see the light cutting through the thick material of the space suit. "Don't if you kill him now, there will be no way to control him."
"get out of the room, and seal off this area of the ship hopefully, we will only take out Wing's levels one through five, and not the whole of it, now with all due respect, Captain, Barton, run."
My mother, when she found out that I was a priestess, cried for hours. I never understood, as I was but a child. I never realized that I was already dead.
The actual I-field can be created by the priestesses to a small extent, great enough to determine more or less where the blast should go, but never enough to control it fully.
Quatre nodded quickly. His face softening for a moment. "Heero " he whispered, his voice pained.
He could hear the ship groan, as the I fields began to pick up an increase in power. Somewhere main doors closed. The metallic barriers closing off the area within which the I-fields detected a spike in heat.
"You will kill us both at this rate."
"But you will not take out the rest of the ship."
A brief flicker, and Heero's own body began to glow, his entire form shaking with strain. No sorcerer with half a brain tried to aim without an apparatus.
"Aa, but I am not after the ship."
Heero's head whipped up, and he stared in horror at Shinigami, the bonds had come undone, and the figure quickly latched onto him, crushing him to his chest.
"Protocol 9081-alfaD9, Hirde get me the hell out of here."
And the room went white.
I fields, are not mine.
Nopers, they actually belong in the Gundam Wing universe or so my friend, a Gundam connoisseur, tells me. >.<;; Basically the thermo-weapons that the Gundams use are not thermo weapons in the traditional sense. Rather the hilts produce plasma that is channeled into the shapes of the weapons, through the use of an I-field.
Web page: http://www.geocities.com/error12211/
BTW, what should happen now, because I have no idea. There is this BIG gap between this, and what I want- to happen and it isn't resolving itself .