Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or any recognisable characters, nor am I making any profit on this.
Warnings: For future chapters - violence, swearing and poverty. Anything which is particuarly bad will have a warning on it.
A/N: Hey! First chapter of my latest story which I've actually typed/written enough of! The chapter is short, a bitter of a teaser if you will. But hope you enjoy it!
Dickensian Streets
By Corralero
Chapter One
When Quatre had been little, his most cherished times had been with one of his many sisters, Nina. At night, when bedtime and sleep were imminent, she would curl up next to him and read out loud into the soft warm sanctuary of his nursery. She had the most beautiful voice, be it in singing or speech. His father always called her his Lark, delighting in the fullness of melody, depth and expression. And she loved to read. She loved to study. She had gone to Earth, to England to study English at Oxford University. And Quatre had missed her terribly. When she had come home for Christmas she brought back a new book for them to read. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. The novel had enthralled them for hours, sending Quatre into fits of giggles over his sister's impressions of Faggin and the evil Sykes. He had not seen the adult light of understanding in her eyes as she painted him a magical caricature world of words. It had become tradition. Every time she returned it was with a new Dickens book tucked away in her luggage. Great Expectations, A Christmas Carol, Hard Times, Nicholas Nickleby, A Tale of Two Cities and on and on and on until his head was filled with the twisting cobbled streets of London as he ran around his home to avoid the likes of Sykes and rescue Estella from their troubles until night fell and his sister would scoop him up and bear him off to bed, reading to him once more. When Quatre was little…
Martin grunted in cynical amusement as he idly watched a cargo ship docking on to the bay. There was nothing special about the ship. Normal, regulation size, dull blue-grey colour still tinted slightly with the ice caused from the decent from space into the L2 port. What did vaguely irritate him was the ease in which the ship docked. A process that had taken him, much to the jeering of the rest of his crew, near on thirty minutes. Wasn't his fault the bloody ship handled like a cow's arse. The clunking sounds informed him the cargo ship next to his had completed the docking process. Bored, he swept his gaze around the relatively new port. It wasn't like L2 to spend the money on doing something decently, and they hadn't failed to live up to the steersman's low expectation. The place was a mess. He'd never seen a port quite so badly organised before. It had taken them half the day to find the fuel dumps, the waste of time leaving him feeling not a little irritated. They were all a bit jumpy. Some of the ship's content wasn't quite legit. Which annoyed him. He didn't like being caught up in tha kind of business, but the captain, sneaky bastard that he was, hadn't exactly given them much choice. What was done was done, he surmised, and it would probably work out for the best, but he still didn't like dithering about on L2 of all places when they were safer in transit. His attention was drawn back to the latest arrival to the port as the ship's pilots emerged onto the decks. He snorted in increased irritation. Pete's sake, pilots got younger and younger today. His eyes narrowed as the two men, boys, stretched, evidently taking in their surroundings. They were glancing around, in increasing confusion. Ha! That bloody fuel dump fooled everyone. Feeling slightly mollified that the young pilots' predicament, he left off his observations to get down to some work.
Twenty minutes later, he was disturbed by a knock on the door. Looking up from his current state of adjustments to the helm, he was surprised to see the two young pilots he had observed earlier peering in. Wiping his hands on a rag, he stood.
"Hey, man. Sorry ta bother ya an' all, but can ya point us in th' direction of th' nearest fuel dump?" The speaker was obviously native L2, his harsh accent determining lower class origins. Closer up the two of them were even younger than he had thought, both of slender build and petite height. He had at least six inches on them. The thought pleased him and he suddenly felt generous towards his visitors.
"Sure thing. The name's Martin. Steersman to this hunk of junk," he stuck out a clean-ish hand, which was taken in succession by two firm grips along with two names, Max and Will.
The blond fellow, Will, looked around. "She's not that bad," he commented appreciatively and he glowed with typical crewman pride.
"Yeah. Anyway, this ports a blooming mess," he led them over to the vantage point. "What you need to do is head in this direction and…"
He tailed off as wailing sirens and blue lights flooded the loading area.
"Oh shit."
The exclamation came from three mouths in one go and Martin made an anxious dash up onto the deck to see what was going on, only to find the ship well surrounded with crackling calls for the crew members to come into the open with their hands in the air. When he next thought to look around for his two companions they were gone.
To be continued...