Chapter 1: Thaw

The first time she awoke, it was as though her entire body was nothing but a dull ache. It was brief. Her eyes did not open. She felt cold.

The second time she awoke, the dull ache had strengthened into a throbbing pain, and she was still cold. She was able to force her eyes open, but her brain would not cooperate to begin to comprehend anything. Her mouth was dry, and she couldn't move. There were bright lights above her in an otherwise nondescript, metal ceiling, and they hurt.

Then figures in white began moving her - her vision was too blurry to make out what they looked like - but the pain was rapidly intensifying. She tried to see what they were doing, tried to cry out - it felt like they were peeling her skin off. They started at her neck and worked their way down, and by the time they reached her chest she was screaming hoarsely. The pain came in pinpricks and warmed her still-cold body. She couldn't move. They continued to work without hesitation despite her cries - tugging that may as well have been ripping, peeling that may as well have been burning.

When she was able to see the dark edge of what they were lifting away from her, inch after painful inch, she at first still wasn't sure that it wasn't her frostbitten skin. Then she remembered.

My pilot suit - they're taking the snakeskin. Kheree. They're taking my - Then she also remembered: Heero.

She saw him forcing the hatch closed on her cryogenesis bay - she saw his face and his hand on the glass. She fell unconscious again.

The third time she awoke, she imagined it was because her name was being called.

"Artima!"

"Kheree!"

"Sarnai!"

"07!"

"'Tima!"

Who was she, now?

Her eyes opened. She was still lying on the same surface as before, but she was lying naked in her own blood. She was cold, but she was able to move a little - just enough to drag a hand up her body to her face. She was crying, and the pain had not abated, merely changed form. Her head hurt, but the sting of thousands of tiny pinpricks in the dry air was worse. Her muscles still ached from stasis.

Her memories were a jumble. How long had she been frozen? Where was she? Why had they taken her pilot suit? Where were Taki, Heero? The Doctor?

Sit up, she coached herself. It was too difficult to sit up fully, so she compromised by easing herself onto her left side and resting on her elbow. She could see the room better, now.

It was a fairly large operating room of sorts, with everything in steel and gray. No windows, except for the small square ones in the double doors immediately opposite. The low ceiling suggested a basement. She recognized the shadowy, damaged tube of her cryogenesis bay in one corner. Her bloody underwear lay discarded on the floor. She was alone.

She shivered in the pain, the loneliness and the cold. Her right hand tenderly felt over her body, sticky from smears of blood and old sweat and some other kind of poorly-cleaned-off gel that stank. She realized her nails had grown hideously long, as had her hair. There was nothing around for her to change into, and obviously no one had thought it important to clean her up. She didn't even have an IV.

You've been discarded, she told herself. Her lungs hurt with the deep breaths she attempted to take. You need to get up, and take care of yourself - get out of here before they get back. They do not have your best interests at heart. You can figure the rest out later.

She essentially rolled off the operating table. Every joint protested, and her spine still felt too rigid. It seemed to take forever for her to pull on her dirty briefs, and for the first time she regretted not wearing a bra in her suit. But, there were more important things to worry about.

Water first. Cut your nails, then clean yourself.

She dragged herself toward a row of cabinets and a sink. It took several attempts to haul herself upright enough to turn on the faucet and gulp down water in grateful handfuls. The stale gel on her hands stung in the tiny holes left behind from her suit and tasted bitter but she didn't care. She found a scalpel next and with a weak grip that slipped several times, trimmed her nails.

As she worked, her back to the cabinet, she asked herself, What is your name?

She could see a sliver of her reflection in the blade. "For now, you are Artima Wei."

"Vague as usual," Merribit sighed once they were far enough away from McGillis' office.

Orga hummed an agreement and pushed his hands into his pockets. He led them down the carpeted hall that would take them out of the executive wing, and after that, down the maze of halls that Mikazuki insisted was a shortcut to the port. Their shoes made little sound underneath them and there was just as little evidence of wear in the pile; at first the level of excess of having carpet at all had irritated him, but now, he considered it something to aim for. A different color, maybe. And just in the office.

Merribit was saying something else now, and Mikazuki making a noncommittal reply, but Orga was too lost in thought to pay attention to their exact words. He reasoned that tiredness was finally catching up to him - that and he still disliked all the paper-shuffling he had to look forward to next.

They left the carpet behind a sliding door. Took a left, and another. They encountered no one, which wasn't unusual; Vingolf always had strangely quiet halls. The one they were on was curving right - when it straightened, he remembered there would be windows on the right-hand wall.

"What wing is this?" Merribit was asking Mikazuki, though by all rights she should be the one to know.

"Don't know. Think there's an elevator to a basement around here too."

They rounded the corner. Merribit yelped a "good God" and Orga's arms instinctively shot out either side to hold his companions back - only a few feet away was a practically naked, tall woman with grimy dark hair falling around her shoulders, hunched and armed with a scalpel. She controlled her surprise faster than they did, it seemed, and straightened; she walked directly toward them without hesitation, scalpel raised. If she was self-conscious of her nakedness she gave no indication. As she came closer Orga could see smears of blood on her bronze skin; he averted his eyes from her bare chest. Mikazuki reached for the gun in his arm sling but Orga lifted a hand in caution.

"You will take me away from this place," she said with a rasping but determined voice. "Now."

"What happened to you?" Merribit whispered.

"No questions. Let's go," the woman stopped and jerked the scalpel. Her dark brown eyes were narrowed.

"You're going to threaten us with a half-inch blade?" Mikazuki said.

"More to the point," Orga added and squinted, "you don't know where you are, do you? Or who we are. What makes you so sure you should be leaving?"

"Doesn't matter," she said. She wobbled a little but tried to hide it.

"Can we shoot her now?" Mikazuki asked and received a hiss from Merribit.

"Maybe we should inform Gjallarhorn that you're wandering around when you shouldn't be," Orga suggested.

Orga was surprised by the woman's sudden dart to his left - Merribit's side - followed by her expert grabbing of his arm with one hand and her other elbow rising, her ankle locking against his. He was falling before he fully knew what was happening. But what was even more surprising was how she was abruptly falling too - a glance told him that neither Mikazuki or Merribit had moved. Orga caught his fall but the woman was staggering to one knee, breathing heavily, her eyes screwed shut. This close she smelt of chemicals. When she pitched forward she grabbed onto Merribit's jacket to try to steady herself, and received another yelp in response.

"Oi," Orga began.

But just as quickly the woman was up on her feet again, tucking behind Merribit. She held one of the blonde's arms behind her back and the scalpel to her throat. Merribit had a grip on her hand but wasn't able to pull it away.

Orga froze where he knelt, and raised a placating hand. "Let her go." He held her eye. If he wasn't as alarmed as he was, he would have appreciated the trick. It had been a trick, hadn't it?

"We'll all leave together," the woman said. "Once I'm satisfied, then I'll let her go."

Mikazuki clicked the safety off his pistol and brought it to the woman's head - still she did not relent.

Merribit swallowed, "It's evident that you shouldn't be here. We'll take you. Willingly - but only if you let me go."

Orga groaned inwardly.

"That's not what I said."

"No, but you have a gun pointed to your head by someone who doesn't care if you live or die. Even if you kill me, you still won't get out of here. Better that we all live, right?" Merribit said. Like a testament, she let go of the woman's wrist.

After a long moment, the woman said, "Withdraw your gun."

"Lower the scalpel first," Mikazuki said.

When still she hesitated, Orga added, "It won't be long before someone comes along. You're running out of time."

She returned her gaze to his. It was another long moment before her shaking hand lowered the scalpel and she stepped away from both the gun and Merribit. Merribit slowly let out a breath of relief, and Mikazuki lowered his pistol.

"Here," Merribit said and took off her blazer, holding it out to the woman. "It's something, at least."

She took it hesitantly; to put it on she notched the scalpel between her teeth like a cigarette. The blazer was too short for her, but it was indeed something.

"Let's go," Orga said. He picked up the pace and the others followed, Mikazuki bringing up the rear. "Your name?" he asked without turning around.

"Artima Wei."

"Why are you here? What happened to you?" Merribit asked next.

"No more questions," Artima said. "Just walk."

Orga rolled his eyes. As soon as the opportunity arose he'd have to talk to Merribit about her sympathies - this wasn't how he planned on the afternoon going. While it was obvious that something was wrong with this woman, taking her from what must be Gjallarhorn custody wasn't likely to help their business relationship. After all, they had no idea why they were keeping her to begin with, or who she was. What if she was an enemy? Although, he still retained his previous theory about her not knowing where she was, which seemed strange.

And what do we do with her when we're back on board the Isaribi? If we get her out of here unseen, that is. He knew there would be cameras in the port.

"My name is Merribit Stapleton; we belong to a trade group called Tekkadan," Orga heard the older woman say; he groaned more audibly this time. "We -" her sentence became another surprised noise, followed by, "Orga!" and a thud on the metal panels of the floor.

Orga turned, fully expecting to see another ill-advised attempt on Merribit's life, but instead saw that Artima had collapsed unconscious. Merribit tried to hold her up but was struggling. The scalpel was discarded on the floor. "What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know - she just fell, and she was holding her chest like it hurt," Merribit said. She was frowning deeply and trying to cradle Artima's head. Almost like an afterthought she pinched a strand of her hair and rubbed, smelling then tasting her fingertips. "This is stasis gelatin," she commented under her breath.

"What?" Orga asked, walking quickly back to them.

As though ignoring Merribit's comment, Mikazuki said, "Good, we can just leave her."

"Stasis gelatin - it's used in both medical recovery bays and cryogenics tanks," Merribit said. "She must have recently got out of one."

"It doesn't matter," said Mikazuki. "We should go. She isn't our problem."

Orga thought for a moment, and then said, "Mika's right."

Merribit's face scrunched a little, as it was wont to do when she was angry. "No. We're not leaving her here."

"It's for the best," Orga said, and began to walk away. Mikazuki fell into step beside him.

"Stop. We're not leaving an injured and compromised woman lying in a hallway alone," Merribit said. "No matter if she threatened us. She obviously wants to escape."

"Yeah well maybe Gjallarhorn doesn't want her to," Orga called back.

"Hasn't it occurred to you that perhaps they don't have her best interests at heart? She obviously was not properly brought out of whatever stasis she was in, or had her wounds treated. They left her without clothes, for crying out loud. Not even prisoners are treated this way." Merribit paused. "I will stay here if she does not go with us."

Orga came to a stop and looked up at the ceiling for patience. "Miss Merribit, we don't have time for this."

Merribit's voice was low as she said, "As you yourself said, hers is running out."

Orga looked down at Mikazuki, but received only a shrug.

"Orga, please."

He supposed they could always dispose of her later. He sighed and turned on his heel, hurried back to the women. "Begging doesn't suit you," he said, and knelt to pick Artima up over his shoulder, trying to avoid thinking about holding onto her bare back. This close, he could see pinpricks of dried blood down her thighs. "Let's hurry."