Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don?t own a speck of Gundam Wing nor do I profit from integrating scenes in Ayn Rand?s The Fountainhead into my story. Much of the dialogue and philosophy in this chapter directly derives from her novel and her philosophy of objectivism.
A/N- Due to the fact that this chapter became absurdly long, I divided it into two parts. In this part, all the characters from last time (Quatre, Dorothy, Sylvia, Peter and Layla) are still present, but their interactions are fleshed out even more. As is now the custom, footnotes have been included again for your enjoyment, although, there aren?t many this week.
Synergy means: the interaction of two or more agents or forces so that their combined effect is greater than the sum of their individual effects.
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Birth and Binding VI:
Synergy, Part II
by Terra
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There was another person, that night, abnormally aware of Quatre Raberba Winner?s presence, who became aware from the moment he had entered the room. Sylvia had never set eyes on him in person, but she stood looking at him for a long time. Then, she moved through the crowd, and smiled at her friends. But between smiles and sentences, her eyes went back to the man with blonde hair and sharply alert eyes. She looked at him as she looked occasionally at the pavement beneath a window on the fiftieth floor, wondering about her own body were it to be hurled down to the pavement below.
Sylvia did not have to know his name, his profession or his past; it was incidental that she did happen to know these things. No one was ever a real man of flesh and blood to her, but only a force. She never saw men, so she could not now look away from him, because he was force personified in a human body. He was his own motive, his own power. For the rest of the evening, whenever some figure obstructed her view of any person or any thing, her head would jerk impatiently to find him again. She did not want to look at him. She had to look, just as she always had to look down at that distant pavement, dreading the sight. That evening, Sylvia Noventa was conscious of no one, but Quatre Winner. She knew that he did not remember that she even existed in the room.
She jerked away violently ? a broken motion of desperation. She found Peter walking towards her, his body slumped; he wore a self-effacing expression. It jarred her to realize that she was just now recalling his presence. In the few years of their acquaintance, Sylvia frequently forgot his existence. He always came to her for minor advice, for self-affirmation like an engine running on her energy for which he would have to stop for refueling once in a while. When they were in the same city, he would not go to the theater without consulting her about the play. He would not attend a dinner party without asking her opinion of its host. Once, he was involved with a girl who was intelligent, funny and lively. She found it amusing to test her influence over him by disapproving of the girl. To her disappointed satisfaction, Peter dropped her at once.
When he needed advice, he asked for it briefly, anxious to claim nothing, but the waste scraps of her time. So she looked at him, surprised, when he ambled beside her. He said, helplessly: ?Sylvia, I feel wrong.?
She asked, in her gentlest voice, ?What is the matter??
?I don?t know!?
?Now, darling, that doesn?t sound like you at all.?
?It?s ? it?s this damnable party. I?m just no good.? His eyes shone pleadingly. ?I didn?t want to say it. Especially not to you, because it isn?t your fault. It?s not just tonight that I feel this way. But it?s just ? it?s just that I?ve got to have somebody listen.?
?Peter, darling, first of all, why are you so frightened? You mustn?t be. Certainly not of speaking to me. Just relax, be yourself and tell me what happened.?
He raked a hand through his hair frustratingly. ?That?s one thing I didn?t want to say, but you guessed. I am frightened. Because ? well, you see, you just said, be yourself ? and what I?m afraid of most is of being myself. Because I?m vicious.?
Sylvia laughed, not offensively, but warmly, the sound destroying his statement. ?But Peter, you?re the most harmless person I know.?
?No, it?s true. I?ll try to explain. I?ve been acting like a fool, because I?ve wanted an escape. I?m unhappy. I?m unhappy in such a horrible ? unclean way. And it?s so dishonest. I go for days, afraid to think, to look at myself. And that?s wrong. It?s ? I?ve become a hypocrite. I always wanted to be honest with myself. But I?m not, I?m not!?
?Don?t shout, Peter. You won?t like it if the other guests hear you.?
?But that?s not at all,? he whispered, ?I don?t know. I can?t understand it. When I?m honest with myself, I know that the only emotion I?ve felt for years is being tired.?
?Just why are you unhappy??
He spoke, his voice lower, the words coming with greater effort: ?I don?t know. I feel so lost and it?s doing something horrible to me. I?m beginning to hate people, Sylvia. I hate ? I hate in a cruel and mean and petty way I?ve never been before. I hate ?? his voice wavered in realization, ?? Dorothy. I hate every moment I?m with her. She?s so goddamn indifferent and I haven?t got any hold on her at all. Sometimes, I find myself wanting to hurt her, hurt her somehow until she finally looks at me.?
Sylvia asked, quietly, ?Is that all??
?It?s not just that, but I expect people to be grateful to me. I demand gratitude. I find myself liking only those who are servile. I resent it when people argue with me. I feel that they have no right to minds of their own, that I know best as if I?m the final authority for them. My sister ? we were all worried about her, because she was running around with a hoodlum,? he confessed, ?I tortured her for weeks about it, telling her how he?d get her in trouble or pregnant and then leave her. Well, they eloped and they?re the happiest couple I?ve ever seen. Do you think I?m glad? No, I?m furious and I?m barely civil to her when I see her.
?Then there was a close friend of mine. He?s a gentleman through and through, but he likes to spend money a bit too freely. He?s just about squandered his inheritance and he needed a job desperately and I promised that I?d get him one. Before I could find it, he got a good job all by himself. I wasn?t pleased. I was sore as hell that he had done it without my help.?
She repeated, ?Is that all??
Peter shook his head hopelessly. ?A few minutes ago, I was speaking to a Romefeller businessman who wanted a stake in Winner?s resource satellites and I was discouraging him, telling him to invest in Jupiter?s moons instead. And suddenly, I realized that it was because I had wanted so much to ally myself with Winner once, but he didn?t want me and so I wasn?t going to let that man get it, either ? even though it would hurt my mining operation on Europa if he became my competitor.?
When he saw that she would not say anything ? was, in fact, waiting silently, he continued, frantically: ?It?s despicable ? but recently, I?ve begun hating anyone of ability ? like Winner. I?ve come to resent his genius, because why should he have it all? When I see him, I just want to tear apart everything he has. But it won?t make any difference, because he?ll just rebuild it all. He?s that kind of man. You can?t beat a man like that. And I?m ? I?m not good enough to do it honestly.?
Sylvia said, softly, reproachfully: ?Do you want to know what I think??
?Yes ? yes, I need you so much now.?
?Peter, you?ve given the answer yourself, in the things you said.? He lifted his eyes blankly. ?What have you been complaining about? It was the most egotistical speech I?ve ever heard in my life.?
?What??
?It was all about you, Peter. About nothing, but what you are or think or feel or have or haven?t got ? you?re just a common egoist.?
?But if I haven?t got any ? ego, any self-respect ? how can I be anything??
?Why must you be anything? That?s your problem: you must forget how important Peter Weridge is. Because, you see, he isn?t. Men are important only in relation to other men, in their usefulness, in the service they render. Unless you understand that completely, you can expect nothing, but one form of misery or another.? Sylvia laughed aloud, her voice serene and belittling. ?Why make a cosmic tragedy out of the fact that you?ve found yourself feeling cruel toward people? So what? Do you imagine yourself to be a Shakespearean hero of some kind? Because you?re not, Peter. No one has the right to be a hero, to distinguish himself from his fellow man. You?re not special and neither are your problems. No one ought to consider himself special. That?s the ultimate supposition of the ego and we?re all poisoned by it.?
He stood still, composed, but somehow he looked like something crushed and broken. He whispered, obediently: ?Yes, Sylvia ? I ? I didn?t think of it that way. I always feel so small after talking to you. But it?s right to feel that way, because I am ? small.?
She cradled the crook of his elbow to steady him. She said, soothingly, ?Remember, Peter, no one likes it when anyone?s too much of an individual. We are all weakened by contrast when someone tries to act better than his brothers, tries to do something heroic. Such conceit is unbecoming of mankind.?
He watched Dorothy quietly leave the ballroom. Quatre?s immediate thought was to follow her and after a casual glance, discovered Layla conversing animatedly with a fellow book reviewer. He strode across the ballroom and walked out into the hallway where he had seen her exit. It was vacant, but there was a set of intricately carved wooden double-doors at the far end of the hall and one door was not completely closed, held ajar by the momentum of a moving body. When he stepped into the library, and saw her standing before a large window, the garden?s lamplight outside illuminating her figure and casting her in a golden aureola1, he felt rather than saw her surprise. His eyes fell on the chess pieces lying in disarray by her hand.
He said, as if he had not walked in on her, as if he had been the one waiting: ?Do you play chess, Miss Dorothy??
Dorothy?s sharp grey-blue eyes bore into his bluer ones. Then, she sat down on the cushioned divan, her back straight and confident, pride carved in the slim set of her shoulders, lessened in severity only by the gentle clasp of her hands on her lap. She answered, simply, ?Yes.?
His black leather dress shoes stepped soundlessly against the plush carpeting as he approached. He chose the seat opposite her. ?Black or white??
?White.? Opening with her queen pawn, she moved it two spaces forward.
When he countered with his kingside bishop pawn, she immediately recognized the opening. It was famous for its combative nature. He was not merely playing for equality, but for advantage. Dorothy said, bitterly: ?How appropriate. The Sicilian Defense2, as a tribute to our lovely hostess.?
?If you had chosen black, I would?ve opened with the Catalan3. Forget Sylvia Noventa. I prefer to honor you.?
?Don?t ?? She stopped abruptly. Looking at the calm knowledge in his expression, she realized suddenly that he was mocking her. He knew that she hated his kindness. He was being kind to show her that he understood; that he had always known this about her; that she was transparent to him; and that he was dominant.
?Your move.? His blank tone irritated her, because it brooked no argument, held no room for doubt. She was helpless to answer him. Wordlessly, she moved a knight. As the game progressed, and her every aggressive move was countered equally violently, she understood that Quatre wanted her brought to her knees.
When he saw the recognition in her eyes, he said, ?I expected you tonight.?
At his words, she slowly raised her arm and her hand reached to touch his face. He did not move, neither away nor towards her. In a wrenching motion, she swept her arm across the chessboard instead, viciously scattering the pieces across the table. Her voice was steady in finality, as if she no longer cared to deny him, when she said, ?You know that I hate you, Quatre. I hate you for what you are, for wanting you, for having to want you. I?m going to fight you ? and I?m going to destroy you ? and I?m going to pray that you can?t be destroyed, even though I believe in nothing and have nothing to pray to.?
Quatre sat deep in his chair, his body relaxed, and taut in relaxation, a stillness being filled slowly with the promise of future motion. ?I know it.?
?I want to live as you live. Not to touch my money ? I?d give it away to anyone, even to Sylvia Noventa?s election campaign fund; it doesn?t matter, but I can?t choose your way over the world?s reality. Quatre, try to understand, please try to understand. I can?t bear to see what they?re doing to you, what they?re going to do when they realize you?re a Gundam pilot. You?re moving to some terrible kind of disaster. It can?t end any other way. Give it up. Run ? just leave.?
?Dorothy.? The way he pronounced the name remained with her and made it easier to hear the words that followed: ?I wish I could tell you that it was a temptation, at least for a moment. But it wasn?t.?
She whispered, ?Quatre, there was a man talking to you out there today, and he was smiling at you, the fool, the terrible fool. I wanted to tell that man: don?t look at him, you?ll have no right to want to look at anything else, don?t like him, you?ll have to hate the rest of the world, it?s like that, you damn fool, one or the other, not together ??
?I told you before. I?ll tell you again: you?re so afraid of the world, you?ve chosen to concede in the worst way.?
?Quatre, I can accept anything, except what seems to be the easiest for most people: the halfway, the almost, the just-about, the in-between. They may have their justifications. I don?t know. I?ve been told I can?t understand, because I?m a hater of mankind.?
He asked, quietly, ?Do you believe that??
?I don?t know.?
?It?s the person who loves everybody who is the true hater of mankind. He expects nothing of men, so no form of depravity can outrage him.?
?You mean the person who says that there?s some good in the worst of us??
?I mean the person who claims that he loves equally the clean, steady, intrepid eyes of a man of ability and the empty stare of an imbecile. Is it you who hate mankind, Dorothy??
?You?re saying all the things that ?? she took a shuddering breath, ?since I began to see and think ??
?Have been torturing you. You?re not wrong. One can?t love the best in man without distinguishing him from most of the creatures who pretend to bear his name.?
?What will you say if I give you the answer people usually give me ? that love is forgiveness?? She added: ?Or that love is pity??
?My answer is that love is reverence, and worship, and glory, and the upward glance. Not a bandage for festering wounds.? Quatre spoke effortlessly, his lack of strain creating a sense of comfort between them. ?Love is the desire to elevate the self, and subsequently, humankind; it?s not love to cower behind the masses. It?s about ?I? instead of ?we,? because there can be nothing without acknowledging the ?I? first. No creation, no progress, no salvation.?
?I wonder if that?s why you and I love skyscrapers. For their skyward reach.?
?When I see the city ? the skyline of any modern city ? from my window, I don?t think how small I am. I feel pride that our small bodies created such monoliths. What you and I love about skyscrapers is the creative faculty, the heroic in man.? His voice softened, steadied in conviction. ?Years ago, I felt that if a war came to threaten those buildings and the people who built and lived in them, I would do anything, pilot any weapon, sacrifice any part of my body to protect them. I can?t feel ashamed that I did.?
Dorothy smiled mournfully. ?When feeling and living as you do won?t mean forsaking everything else, I?ll make my peace with the world.?
The motion he had suspended since her confession manifested itself in the tenderness of his words: ?You?re beautiful, Dorothy. You?re the only person I?ve ever met who matches inside and out. But it?s also your curse, because you can?t ignore people who have no integrity.?
?Yes,? she whispered. She stood and leaned toward him as involuntarily as a sapling in the presence of the sun. Cradling his face with her hands, she said, gently: ?Destroy Sylvia Noventa. Go after her and don?t rest until you?ve erased every last trace of her.?
?I?ve said this before. I don?t think of people like her.?
?You don?t realize it, but when the time comes, it?s her you?ll have to fight. It?s not her popularity. It?s the special nature of it. You can?t fight her on her terms. She?s like a corrosive gas ? the kind that eats lungs out. I don?t know what her weapon is or how she uses it or what she?s after, but she wants ? she wants control over men, over the world if she?s given the opportunity.?
Quatre enclosed her hands in his larger, calloused ones. ?Dorothy, until you can forget about Sylvia Noventa, continue trying to destroy me. It will be better than what you?re doing to yourself right now.?
Layla scanned the ballroom again. She hadn?t been mistaken. Quatre was nowhere in sight. She almost jumped when a voice behind her inquired, ?Miss al-Nahdiyah, are you looking for Mr. Winner??
Turning around, she found herself facing the hostess of the banquet: Sylvia Noventa. ?Y-yes. You haven?t seen him by any chance, have you??
?No, I?m afraid not.? Sylvia smiled, gregariously. ?However, I wouldn?t worry. I?m sure he?ll turn up soon.?
?I must thank you again for the hospitality, Lady Noventa. This banquet has been so enjoyable.?
?Please, we?re all friends here. Hardly anyone uses my title. I find formalities stuffy and unwieldy. I insist that you call me Sylvia.?
?It?s a deal, but only if I?ll be Layla to you.?
?I wouldn?t have it any other way.? Sylvia casually looked around the room. ?This is intriguing. Someone was missing Lady Catalonia as well. And come to think of it, I don?t see her, either. It?s much too early for anyone to have left. Perhaps the two of them are together somewhere??
Layla admitted, hesitantly: ?It?s possible ? but I don?t think Quatre has ever met Lady Catalonia before.?
?Well, in my experience, friendships ?? she said, sagaciously, ?and even relationships, are made and broken all the time at these kinds of social functions.?
?W ? well, I guess that?s true, too.?
?Oh, dear, now I?ve made you uncomfortable.? Sylvia placed a gloved hand demurely over her mouth. She declared, ?Don?t heed anything I say. I tend to be entirely too honest. I?m sure there?s a perfectly good reason why they?ve disappeared.?
?Oh! I see him now,? she added, hastily, ?thank you for keeping me company, but I must excuse myself to speak with Quatre.? Layla smiled apologetically and walked toward the doorway he had just entered through.
Sylvia inclined her head slightly to acknowledge the dismissal. She was not surprised when a minute later, Dorothy appeared in the same entrance. She had placed herself by the door in wait. She stood, smiling, watching Dorothy?s face attentively. ?You?re much too obvious.?
She turned. ?What do you mean??
?Do give me credit for discernment somewhat equal to yours,? Sylvia drawled. ?I?ve always told you that we should be good friends. We have so much in common intellectually. We start from ideologically opposite poles, but that makes no difference, because we meet in the same point.?
?What are you driving at??
?For instance, it was interesting to discover that you have an interest in Mr. Winner.?
Dorothy said, slowly: ?If ? if you can see what you?re talking about, you can?t be what you are.?
?No. I must be what I am, precisely because of what I see.?
?You know, Sylvia, you?re much worse than I thought you were.?
?And perhaps much worse than you?re thinking now. But useful. We?re all useful to one another. As you will be to me. As, I think, you still want to be.?
?What are you talking about??
?Saying it would be so pointless, don?t you see? Dorothy, if you don?t know what I?m talking about, I couldn?t possibly explain it. If you do ? I have you already, without saying anything further.?
?Some day, Sylvia,? Dorothy said, sharply, ?you?ll make a mistake.?
?Perhaps. And you, my dear, have already made yours.?
A little later, as Dorothy moved to leave, she heard the unmistakable lilting, vibrant voice of Sylvia Noventa saying: ?? and, therefore, there is no nobler conception than that of men?s absolute equality.?
1An aureola is the radiance of luminous cloud which, in paintings of sacred personages, surrounds the whole figure. The aureola, when enveloping the whole body, generally appears oval or elliptical in form, but occasionally circular or quatrefoil.
2The Sicilian Defence is a chess opening that begins with the moves e4 c5. This allows both sides to play aggressively in an unbalanced position. Dorothy mentions that it?s a ?tribute? to Sylvia Noventa, because she is Sicilian by birth and they are currently at a party in Sicily?s capital.
3The Catalan is a chess opening that derives its name from Catalonia - nowadays a region shared mainly by Spain and in a lesser area by France, the homeland of Dorothy?s ancestors.
A/N- In the last chapter in this arc, Sylvia?s past and motivations are explored in greater detail and the identities of the Gundam pilots are revealed to the world. The next chapter will be entitled: The Canary in the Mine.
Valhalla will update next Tuesday, March 20th.
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