DISCLAIMER: Gundam Wing belongs to Sunrise and its affiliates, not the author.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Please review!!! Warning: Lots of quirkiness ahead!!! I was in a weird mood when I wrote this section. =D

EYES
“Rosencrantz and Guildenstern”

By
LadyKnight

Code: 10983908HOT09872FAUX

         Dimension: 0897

         Source: 09837

         246576866

         *%65

         //343KLU478//

         Log off?

         Yes.

         Leave Trace?

         No.

         Deleting ID.

         SESSION ENDED.

         Catherine sighed, shaking her head in frustration at the computer before her. The Minister was arriving in five days, and she’d still found nothing about the mysterious transports. Sighing, she shut off her laptop, deciding to wander L1’s ports the next day before returning to hack the archives of the colony cluster’s computer system.

~*~

         The docking port was teeming with people. Arriving and departing shuttles seemed constantly in motion. Clearly, the Minister’s visit was producing excitement in most of the people at the ports, watching as delegates from all over the Earth Sphere Unified Nation arrived in preparation for the L1 conference. The crowd was diverse everywhere: men, women, children all scurrying to and fro, each with his or her own agenda in mind. It was very easy to lose oneself in the crowd.

         As a late flight finally took off, a new transport shuttle arrived, arousing the interest of few bystanders. Slowly, the doors to the transport opened, revealing workers who casually carried out the long, rectangular crates. Each one read STEEL. It was easy to assume that each of the boxes contained the thin, steel poles regularly used for construction on L1.

         “How has Earth been?

         “Very ready for summer, Mr. Rosencrantz.”

         “And how is Mr. Guildenstern?”

         “Ready for hunting, sir.”

         “Ah, so all his eggs hatched?

         “Certainly, sir.”

         “He should not count his eggs before they hatch, you know.”

         “He counts his blessings as two score, sir.”

         “Well, then, tell him I believe our Hamlet shall be delivered shortly.”

         “Of course, sir.”

         The two men parted ways, the transport preparing to take off and several large vans preparing to leave. None of them noticed the woman avidly watching the arriving shuttles, seemingly awaiting someone she was supposed to meet. She was seated at one of the outside benches, her arm leaning casually against a crate, her left hand cradling her left ear as if she were simply resting her head on her arm. Her right arm was buried in her billowing skirts, and her unremarkable brown hair blew idly in the wind, concealing her face.

         All around the transport docks, unclaimed crates of varying sizes lay still and forgotten, filling corners and lying unobtrusively near the landing transports. They would be collected at nightfall, when incoming transports had stopped for the day, and the neglected crates would be left in CLAIMS to be picked up by their tardy owners.

~*~

THUD. A black clothed figure dropped from the skylight into the L1 ports’ CLAIMS room. Crates lay strewn about in disarray. The room was not guarded, and there were no alarms to trip off. It is fortunate that port managers think people who don’t pick up their crates don’t particularly value what’s in them, either. Quickly, the figure moved through the room, opening crates and pocketing something from each, all with quick precision. Clearly, the figure knew exactly which crates to look in. With one last glance around CLAIMS, the figure jumped back up through the skylight, shut it softly, and fled across the roofs of the warehouses.

~*~

Catherine shook out her curls, shedding her black bodysuit and throwing on a light nightshirt. Picking up a small black bag, she sat down at her laptop and turned the computer on. Proceeding to empty the black bag on the desk, she picked up each black box that fell from it, mechanically inserting each into a port on her laptop. With grim determination on her face, she began to sift through the audio tracks, searching for the conversation that had sparked her interest earlier that day. She had been using a mini recording radio system. She had scanned all the conversations by transport personnel, randomly sifting through the conversations by turning the small control dial she’d hidden in her skirt. The laptop quickly processed the audio files, making it easy for her to browse through the recordings to find her prize.

“... Mr. Rosencrantz...”

She grinned. It had been the only nonsensical conversation she’d caught among the transport personnel. In fact, most of the deliveries required no conversation except a cursory greeting to retrieve signatures and exchange crates. This conversation had been unusually prolonged, and the nonsensical words aroused her suspicions. Now this is something to work with...

~*~

         RE: GL12430-9725

         STAT: 90872-3

         CODE: KLIOC

         WELCOME TO THE L1 COLONY WIDE NETWORK ARCHIVES

         THESE ARCHIVES ARE FOR PRIVATE USE BY L1 COLONY CITIZENS ONLY.

         CODE: 3985097HYUYWING

         WELCOME, CITIZEN.

         SEARCH KWRD: HAMLET

         RESTRICTED ACCESS. PLEASE ENTER CODE.

         CODE: GUILDENSTERN

         ERROR

         PLEASE ENTER CODE.

CODE: ROSENCRANTZ

ERROR

PLEASE ENTER CODE.

CODE: 40

ERROR

PLEASE ENTER CODE.

CODE: EGGS

ERROR

PLEASE ENTER CODE.

CODE: SHAKESPEARE

         EXT: TRAGEDY

         ROOT: HAMLETGERTRUDE

         ERROR

         PLEASE ENTER APPROPRIATE ROOT.

         ROOT: HAMLET AND GERTRUDE

         ACCESS GRANTED.

Yes! I finally got in. Catherine leaned back in her chair and proceeded to read.

~*~

         Three days before Relena’s conference, Quatre Raberba Winner sat at his desk, sifting through e-mails he had received the last few days. Several of them were extremely short, with the words: I AM VERY ALIVE GANAR!!! written in large bold letters. A few even had a few odd faces scattered around, like ^o^ or o_+ and o_0. He smiled. I’ve got a very hyper spy on my hands. The latest one looked simply like this:

=^.^=

MEOW!

         Thoroughly amused, Quatre closed his Ganar account, glad that no more Los Ojos death reports were flooding the inbox. He was disappointed that she had not reported anything yet, but since Duo AND Heero had come up empty handed, as well as all the Preventers, he hadn’t expected more from Meo, either. I just wish we could all shake this worried feeling we’ve got about the upcoming conference. Sighing, he got up to pack. He would be attending the conference, too, so he and Heero could at least keep an eye on things for Miss Relena, though he would also be attending as a colony leader and not just as a former Gundam pilot.

~*~

         Quatre turned over restlessly in the large bed, half-burying his face in the very fluffy pillows. His father’s will had indicated that he was to use the master bedroom in each mansion he now owned. The will had almost DEMANDED that he use his father’s rooms. Staring up at the ceiling, he rubbed his sleepless eyes. It’s very strange to be lying in father’s bed. Determined to get some rest before heading to L1 two days early, he shut his eyes. His breathing slowed and his body relaxed into the comfortable bed. Hmm... I could really get used to this bed. Sighing contentedly and briefly opening his eyes to fluff out the already puffy pillows, he snuggled into the warm blankets a bit more deeply, leaning his head back and slowly letting his eyelids droop with weariness...

         SPLAT!

         “Argh!!!” Quatre squatted at the papers that had hit his face just as dreams had been about to steal him away. Bewildered, he studied the ceiling again, then started to gather up the papers. Rifling through them, he found that they were... they were... were... blank? Quatre rubbed his head, briefly wondering about his sanity, and put the papers on his bedroom desk. Glancing around the room and detecting no movement, he laid back in the bed, staring at the ceiling again. There’s nothing there... He closed his eyes, letting his breathing slow, relaxing again into blissful sleep...

         SPLAT!

         “Ugh!!!” Quatre glared at the ceiling, noticing with irritation how normal the dimmed ceiling plane light looked. The light was simply a flat, glowing, fluorescent tile that blended into the ceiling—nothing out of the ordinary. Glancing at the again blank pile of papers, he turned and placed them with the others on the desk. Moving to return to the bed, he passed the dresser mirror, facing it slightly since it was attached to the wall and right beside the bed. Suddenly, the ceiling light flashed and the room darkened completely. Bewildered, he cautiously turned to look at it. He stared at the words that scrolled across his ceiling light: GANAR – YOU’VE GOT MAIL.

         Quatre just stared for a moment, confused and astounded. I suppose I should check my mail then, he thought dazedly. He turned to head back to his desk but the mirror caught his eye just as he turned. He stared, wide-eyed, at his reflection, which was superimposed by clearly distinguishable green letters.

         RETINAL SCAN AND DNA VERIFICATION COMPLETE.

         WELCOME, GANAR.

TONER LOW. PRINTING TO EMERGENCY PRINTER.

         SPLAT!

         Quatre watched in disbelief as another stack of papers slid out of his ceiling light and onto his bed. He turned back to the mirror, only then noticing a new addition to his dresser—a console. Then, the mirror blipped, and a new message appeared.

         PAPER JAM.

         SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT! SWOOSH!

         Quatre stared in horror as stack after stack of paper flooded his father’s bed. Hurriedly, he studied the console and typed a command into it.

         PRINT CANCELLED.

         STATUS REPORT: PLEASE FIX PAPER JAM AND REPLACE TONER.

         Quatre hesitated for a moment, then typed, EXPLAIN.

         A long schematic came up on the screen—er, mirror?—as well as a large file entitled “Welcome, Ganar.” It was a full explanation of the computer system that, evidently, was integrated into his master bedrooms. After studying the schematic, he briefly moved away from the mirror to the bed to open the ceiling light and fix the paper jam, as shown. He also opened the top left drawer of the dresser he had never thought to use, and found the default printer. Fixing the malfunctions, Quatre turned back to the mirror and began to use it as he would his computer. This will take some getting used to...

         PRINT MESSAGE?

         YES.

         He turned to look at the ceiling light, but found that it was not printing. Apparently, the default printer, so long as it was functional, would do all the printing. He sighed in relief. No more papers in my face. I guess the ceiling light usually only flashes short messages. It now read, PRINTING MESSAGE. This Ganar business is just full of surprises, Quatre thought, grinning in amusement.

         PRINT COMPLETE.

         The mirror computer seemed to shut down automatically. Surprised, Quatre pulled the papers from the printer as the drawer closed and the dresser resumed its innocent appearance. He studied it a moment, finding that he could open the middle drawers but none of the side ones. Odd. He glanced up as the ceiling light returned to casting a dim glow over the room. Climbing back into bed, he adjusted the light to full brightness and began to read. The first thing that caught his eye was the salutation: Report to Ganar from Meo. As he continued to read, a frown slowly spread across his face. I guess it’s time to call Heero.