CHAPTER I-The Threat

Even on colonies, the wee hours of the morning were the darkest of all. White low energy street lamps shed their harsh light on the pavement, illuminating briefly a dark head of hair arranged in a long braid before it whipped out of sight in the shadow of the arched entranceway to a shrine.

Duo Maxwell was a staunch catholic, but he had no problems with other religions. He wondered if Heero believed in Shinto, or if he simply enjoyed the dark corners and seclusion that the small, antiquated place provided.

He leaned against the wall and heaved a deep sigh. Would Heero like what he was going to tell him? Oh, definitely not. Just the mention of her name had infuriated him. Duo wondered if Hilde would be a widow soon.

It had been a good life…

"What is it?" a voice growled from the shadows.

Duo jumped and watched the harried Heero Yuy step into the white light. He glowered, "Dammit, Heero, sometimes I wonder what you do with your spare time."

"I take care of an eight year old, actually."

Duo let out a frustrated sound, "You can never take a joke, can you, Heero?"

He shrugged. Duo sighed. The braided pilot couldn’t help but notice the way his friend carried himself. It was as if he was spending every moment fighting off reminders of better things. His eyes, carefully guarded against everything, now held a small glint that exposed Duo to the real Heero, a man stumbling lost in the dark.

Duo also knew that if it hadn't been for that kid, his friend most likely would have committed suicide out of despair. Having someone to take care of gives you a reason to live. Having Hilde to support saved Duo after the war had ended, and he understood that Heero needed the same thing.

Heero pulled up the collar of his jacket, "What do you have to report, Agent Maxwell?"

Duo looked away, "I know I should be telling your superior, but Colonel Wolf wanted me to go directly to you. This is to be a covert operation- no tangling with the schedules of branch leaders, nothing."

Heero was silent, eyes boring into Duo as he spoke. It unnerved the normally unperturbed man so he cleared his throat and moved on.

"It's about your sister."

"What does she want now?"

"Our inside sources say she's pissed that she lost the election by such a small margin. Not only is she mad at you for not helping her win the election, but she's blaming President Wayridge's marriage to Relena Darlian as the cause of it. She plans to assassinate both the president and the first lady." Duo eyes his stonily silent friend and then continued, "Unfortunately, our sources aren't considered reliable in court and we have no actual evidence of her plans."

"So you need it to actually happen."

"Yes. We've gotten the plans. They are planning three shots to the chest for Wayridge, three for Relena, and only two gunners."

"Where?"

"The Kirwasaki Music Hall."

"On L1? "

"Ariel wants to oversee the operation herself."

"And why am I going to be involved?" he said harshly.

"You're the best in the field. We already have a team covering the capture of the assassins. We capture and interrogate them, and then we have a reason to arrest Ariel. We want you to get the president and the first lady down and out of the building in case the assassins escape."

Heero narrowed his eyes, "Surely the president will be bait enough-"

"No," Duo said sharply, shaking his head, "Ariel wants the first lady more than the president. This isn't about politics, this is about revenge."

Heero turned around and began walking away.

Duo reached out to him, "Hey, are you coming or not? It happens next Tuesday!"

Heero paused and snorted, "Five days, huh?" he started walking again, "I'll be there."

Duo turned and left, not unhappy about the conversation. He had survived unharmed, and that was more than he had expected.

"Heero unlocked his front door and stepped inside, shaking off the nighttime chill. Profits from his artwork and his regular Preventer paycheck had allowed him to buy a comfortable home. He could have bought a bigger house, but he donated the majority of the profits from his art to charities.

Heero Yuy, the humanitarian. He almost laughed. 'She' was rubbing off on him.

"Heero?" came a soft voice from inside, strained from crying.

The former soldier was instantly alert. He kicked off his shoes and ran to Tyrone's room. He slid open the door and found the small boy sitting up, his blankets twisted around him as he rubbed his cheeks with his hands.

"Tyrone, are you all right?" he asked in Japanese. Although the boy had been raised speaking Russian, Doctor J had made sure all of his students could speak and understand Japanese.

He seated himself beside Tyrone's futon, and held the boy close as he cried into his jacket, "I had a nightmare…and you weren't here. I'm sorry…"

Heero held him close, "One should always follow their emotions."

Tyrone looked up, sniffing morosely, "You always say that, but why don't you?"

Heero shook his head, "I always follow my emotions."

"No you don't," Tyrone said back. He lowered his voice, "I've seen the blue room."

Heero glared at him, "That's different."

"Is it?"

Tyrone was intelligent, far more intelligent than the normal eight-year old. That's what had made him so good at controlling Doctor J's 'Machine.' He could concentrate the entirety of his being on one thing and wouldn't stop contemplating it until he figured it out.

Heero had come to the conclusion that the boy would be a good detective one day.

"It's very different. Sometimes responsibilities and rules restrict us from following our emotions."

"So then what you're saying isn’t entirely right."

"Fine, one should always follow their emotions, unless it broke a moral code or law."

"Okay."

Heero grimaced. It was always a battle with Tyrone. But he didn't really mind. He cared for the boy like a brother, and the child, in turn, distracted him from a certain person.

He stopped his train of thoughts. Had it come to the point where he couldn't bear to think her name?

He stayed there, holding Tyrone until he slept and wondering why fate was so cruel.

The Kirawaski Music Hall was famous for one thing: its color. One entered the place by walking up a wide white set of stairs that brought you to a large promenade. To your right would be a view of L1 the likes of which no other building could compare to, and to your left lay the glittering white dome of the music hall.

The dome, however was not exactly white. The strong glass was laced with many small tubes that could by pumped with a chalky substance that would give the dome the appearance of opaque snow-white.

The artificial sunlight was dimming on the colony and the dome was turning cloudy to lessen the impact of the dying light. The bold, vibrant strains of Vivaldi were weaving there way through the building as a famous string quartet absorbed themselves in the music. Was there a crowd watching them? Was the president watching them?

They did not know. They were lost in the haunting tones that made each person that listened to them feel stirringly alive. The marks on the sheet of music were not responsible for the emotion the quartet was awakening in each listener. Music is much like saying the words, "I love you." How you say it makes it different, the love for a child, the love for a parent, the love for man or a woman, are all distinguished by the different tone.

A student playing music merely says the words "I love you" with no emotion, a monotone that has no depth. However, a true musician finds these words and sings them aloud to everyone.

That is what real music is.

It can be droned, rapped, or played perfectly, but the key is the emotion lurking behind it.

That was what President Wayridge and his wife were listening to.

That was what everyone in the music hall, including the two assassin lurking in the lighting boxes, the Preventers keeping an eye on them, and the apathetic Heero Yuy, were listening to.

And then it ended, dying away like an ancient person slipping away in their sleep.

And then there came applause.

"Arigatougozimasu," the lead violinist said cheerfully when the appreciative cries had died down. She spoke in a fluid Japanese that was just as beautiful as her music, "It is our great honor that the President of the ESUN and his beautiful wife have come to listen to us. Mr. President, would you like to say a few words?"

"It would be my honor," Wayridge said as he made his way to the stage. Originally French, the president's accent was quite horrible, but that was ignored by the onlookers as he walked forward. Relena followed, smoothing her light blue dress and smiling to the adoring crowds.

The dress was of particular interest to Heero Yuy. The blue part was strapless and hugged her curves loosely, but an undergarment of a translucent sort made sleeves and ended at her neck. It reflected rainbow colors as the light hit it, and was quite dazzling to look at.

The people looked to their president, and then back to Relena, admiring her for her grace and her heart, and him for being her husband.

Politics isn't about ideals, it's about selling personalities.

Heero Yuy was ducked behind the white folds of the curtains that lined both sides of the stage. He looked over to Relena's thin shape and then to Wayridge.

"Where are their bullet-proof vests?" he hissed to a familiar shadow. Trowa Barton stood beside him, garbed in the dress of a stagehand.

He smiled smugly, "They're wearing Samurai wraps, a mesh that takes the impact of a bullet and distributes it evenly throughout the part of the body it covers. Very new, and unknown outside of the Preventers. Relena is flaunting it on her dress."

"That see-through stuff?" he asked incredulously.

"Trust me, Heero, it's a lot stronger than it looks. The impact of a bullet will radiate throughout her body. To her, it will feel like a full body squeeze."

President Wayridge began speaking again, "Good friends, it is an honor to me to see that the arts have not be forgotten in this time of science and progress. I would like to-"

But then the assassins started firing. Two shots screamed towards the president, hitting him in the stomach. He grunted, but was protected by the vest.

There was a struggle in the lighting box as Preventer agents fought for the gun. The second assassin took aim for the president's chest again, but was elbowed, and the shot went higher, hitting President Darrell Wayridge right between the eyes.

Heero threw himself out onto the stage and tackled Relena to the ground as the fight continued.

She didn't even notice.

The President of the ESUN was dead.