A.C. 212
A pleasant summer day was turning into a lazy afternoon. Quatre had invited his friends over for a small get-together. Currently he and Wufei were calmly watching from their seats at the round white-wire table as Duo pretended to be a chef and Hilde attempted to save the barbeque. Sally had gone to admire the garden along with Catherine, who had tagged along with Trowa simply because -- as Quatre suspected, anyway -- she wanted them to be guinea pigs for her new cookie recipe.
Quatre looked to the side of the patio where his son sat with Trowa, Wufei's son Li, and Duo's daughter July. Stephen was still showing off the grey tabby kitten he had found the week before, at the moment teaching the two guys how to properly change the bandage on the cat's injured leg. Quatre smiled proudly. The moment they had found the wounded kitten Stephen had assumed responsibility for nursing her back to health; also after that he had made a hobby out of doing volunteer work at the local animal shelter, proclaiming his dream now was to become a veterinarian. But Quatre knew the boy's heart lay solely in his knack for inventions and computerized toys. The only time he wasn't working on those was when he was tending kittens. Quatre was grateful to have such a skillful and giving son growing up with a much better attitude toward life then he himself had had at that age -- he was grateful that Stephen handled the knowledge of being a test tube baby with more grace.
Quatre then 'Ahem'ed loudly in hopes of getting Trowa's attention, which worked of course. The two traded glances and Quatre called, "Say, Stephen...would you like to spend a week at the circus? I have a lot of work to catch up on and I wouldn't want you to be cooped up at home all alone."
The boy smiled although he was distracted ruffling the kitten's fur. "That'd be fun. Can I bring Tiger?" He held up the kitten so she could bat at Trowa's hair. The clown chuckled and took Tiger into his own hands.
"Sure." Trowa grinned and leaned back, letting the kitten stand proudly on his chest and meow so the world knew she had just pinned down a sizeable human.
Quatre smiled fondly. "You'll be leaving in two days, so make sure you have everything you need by tonight." The boy made yearly visits to the circus and had always managed to forget a part or two of whatever project he was working on at the time.
"Yessir," Stephen answered sternly. He cleaned up his 'kitten care kit' then raced into the house, Li at his heels. Trowa and Quatre traded looks again, each still smiling. Ah, the energy of youth...Not that they were all that old being in their thirties. Still, the former gundam pilots all had their signs of the burdens they had borne. Wufei, for example, seemed to have a permanent pensive visage. Quatre glanced over at him now. "Wufei, is something bothering you?"
The dragon warrior didn't reply immediately, instead shaking his head a moment later as if to wake himself. "No, not really," he murmured. "Nothing at all."

It was sometime past midnight when Stephen crawled out of bed, yawning. He was the only one awake then, he knew. Everyone else had left around dusk, while Catherine and Trowa retired to the guestrooms in the wing adjacent his; Stephen had always liked having an entire wing to himself, there was always plenty of space for his gadgets. There were also always places to explore, and no one was close enough to hear him poking around.
In all his eleven years Stephen had yet to find out all of the nooks and alcoves of the Winner mansion. Every two or three weeks he would map out a section and then see what additions needed to be put on the map. It had been two and a half since his last trek, and since he would be away for the next week he figured he might as well spelunk tonight.
'Spelunking', as it turned out, would be the appropriate term for this night's venture.
Stephen dressed quickly and, as customary, slung his satchel over his shoulder before slipping out of the room. The bag held a flashlight, a chocolate bar, and his laptop which contained aforementioned map. He tiptoed down the hall in silence -- even though no one was around to see him, he still liked to sneak around just for the heck of it. He was walking in an already-mapped direction when a sudden draft caught his attention. He glanced curiously at the surrounding wood-paneled walls in an attempt to find its source. Strange. There aren't any doors or anything around here... He went closer to the left-hand wall and slowly moved along it, waiting to feel the draft again.
He paused by a dusty red tapestry. I had assumed there was a wall behind this thing... He scurried over to an umbrella stand across the way, plucked up a hooked cane, and then turned back. He cautiously pulled the tapestry aside with the cane, lest he leave finger prints in the dust. Behind the cloth was the source of the draft -- a short, dark hallway with no doors immediately visible. Contrary to the tapestry's appearance, this hall was dust- and cobweb-free. Strange... Stephen thought uneasily as he dug out his flashlight. He let the tapestry close behind him after stepping forward, shining the light down the remaining twelve feet to the very solid wall that ended the mysterious hallway. He shivered at the cold as he began to investigate the few paintings and three narrow ornamental tables which were the hall's only occupants.
Where is this place if it's so cold in here?? He sat down and took out his laptop, calling up the map. Okay, there's the tapestry... He typed in his estimated dimensions of the new hallway. Disturbing enough, the computer showed that he was right smack inbetween the last branch of his wing and the guestrooms wing. He would have to be more quiet while poking around in here. The revelation only made things more confusing. Just how could it be so cold there when it was positioned between two well-heated halls? Stephen vowed to find out, more out of fear than curiosity. He retrieved the cane and proceeded to warily tap along each panel of the wall in search of a hidden vent. There was nothing behind any of the landscape paintings. He went around the three walls twice before pausing three-quarters of the way down the left side. Kneeling, he tapped it harder than before. A vague metallic sound came from beyond the wood.
He took a screwdriver from the kit and carefully prodded the breaks between the wooden slats. A horizontal line formed three feet up from the floor where seamless paneling had been a moment earlier. With a bit of prying the section came loose. Stephen gently removed it and set it aside. He then regarded the gray metal hatch which obviously led to the source of the draft. After close inspection it proved to be extremely easy to open once removing the four screws that held the corners shut.
Stephen shown the flashlight into the resulting hole, looking down into the recesses of a narrow, rectangular, metal shaft that was too deep for the beam to fully illuminate. There was a ladder built into the side starting just below the opening in the wall. With a shrug Stephen repacked his satchel then attached the flashlight to the bag and eased backward into the passageway, quick to find the ladder. There was plenty of room but it was still very cold so he decided to make this a short exploration. He didn't have too much time, after all, and he could use a bit more sleep before his trip tomorrow.
For a good ten minutes he climbed down the ladder, having to stop occasionally to rest his numbed hands. The metal was becoming too cold to bear -- he began to wish he had gloves. He knew wherever this shaft led, it was far below the mansion. Had to be close to the bottom of the colony, actually, if no heat reached the spot. He considered returning another time, better prepared with a coat -- but just then his feet ran out of rungs. He nearly fell from the impact of sudden floor. However, he managed to steady himself and hastily freed the flashlight. He was in a sizeable metal room, clear of anything up until the far corner which held piles of...something. He shuffled through the dust to see just what needed to be buried in such a lonely place. Rectangular pieces of electronic equipment...He wiped away a good inch of dust and his eyes widened at the symbols written on the side of one box. Databases...they must have been from his fathers' old computers.
His curiosity firmly riled, he searched with haste for a port he could adapt so he could access the database on his laptop. He was disappointed when he saw the only output was too foreign to immediately connect. He could fix it, with time...but that was something he didn't have just then. He hurriedly typed in the shaft's location on the map -- under a password to reveal it, of course -- then clambered back up the ladder as quickly as humanly possible. Considering that no one had been there in at least five years he didn't worry about covering his tracks. He did, however, have to refit the paneling. He just hoped whoever kept the hidden hallway clean didn't make regular inspections of the wall...

Later, during breakfast, Stephen thoughtfully poked at his cereal while the adults ate without distraction. It was Trowa, helping collect dishes, who noticed the boy hadn't eaten much. "Anything wrong, Stephen? We'll be leaving soon, you should eat something -- it's a long trip."
"Nothing wrong," he replied. He smiled faintly and glanced from Trowa to Quatre, who sat at the other end of the table. "Would it be okay if I just stayed home? I have some new projects I want to try, and there's too much to bring along to the circus. I won't be bored alone, at least." He glanced between them again, anxious for their answer.
Quatre didn't have to consider for long. "If that's what you really want to do, it's fine with me." Trowa nodded in agreement.
"Thank you! I'll excuse myself now." Stephen ignored the mushy remains of his cereal as he went to hug his father, then hugged Trowa and even Catherine as she was returning with a refill of coffee. "Have a safe trip!" the boy called before disappearing.
"Must be a doozy of a project this time," Trowa murmured in amusement.
"Hmm," Quatre agreed, shaking off the spark of worry that kindled over leaving his son alone with his potentially dangerous sense of ingenuity.

Stephen managed to wait until everyone had left before trekking to the hidden hallway. He was now dressed in three layers of clothing with gloves stashed in a pocket for when he needed them. He carried a large backpack -- now emptied of everything he would have taken to the circus, the clothing replaced by various wires, tools, and electronic bits he would need to adapt the databases.
This time around he closed the two panels after him -- once he had stuck the wooden one to the metal one with some strong tape, it was an easy task. Then, carefully balanced on the ladder, he donned his gloves and began the long climb down, all the while quelling his excitement before he ended up moving faster than safety would allow. Once he reached the bottom, the first item he removed from his pack was a round light whose width was three-quarters the length of his forearm. Attached was its own five-foot stand; it was one of his own inventions. He set it up to shine in the corner then typed in the command on the computerized panel midway up the stand so it would redirect the light at a voice request.
He then took out an old white teeshirt he usually reserved for wearing when working with any machine requiring oil and the like, opting to use it as a dust cloth as he set about cleaning and restacking the databases, seeing as they were piled rather hap-hazardly. There were about eleven in all -- give or take a few raw clumps of circuitry and motherboards that were scattered amongst the computer hardware. He set the loose wires and chips in one corner then picked a database at random to try to hook up to his laptop.
Twenty minutes later his eyes avidly scanned the lines of details streaming across the screen. "Mobile...suits? Interesting..." He paused that particular disk then swiftly went about adapting the other terminals so he could view them in some semblance of order. Returning to the first set of information, he found outlines on the basic functions and designs of mobile suits. "Fascinating..." His laptop beeped. Locked files. They were simple to bypass, however. "Gun...danium..?" Mobile suits made of a near-indestructible metal... His fingers flew across the keys as file after file beeped. He eyed most of them warily. Weapons statistics. Something tightened in his gut just thinking of the horrible damage such things could do.
He found himself shuddering, emerging from his euphoric haze. He locked the files again under triple encryption. No one should have access to those. But then again... He downloaded to his laptop the file detailing beam sabers -- after all, it could be useful in construction, for cutting large pieces of metal, if it were refined for a clean cut...He filed the idea away in the part of his brain that stored all potential projects; it was a very crowded place, indeed.
No other information was available in the first terminal. The next yielded some vague information about a military organization called Oz. All of the files contained stats and graph designs of various generic mobile suits. "Leo, Aries, Virgo...Someone had an astrology fetish," Stephen muttered aloud. He paused when two subfiles beeped their existance under the list of main suits. Taurus, Variable: S.K.; W.F. He called up the first one.
Taurus, Variable: Sanc Kingdom. He studied the schematics, his eyes greedily taking in the data to deposit in his brain, and he found himself uttering, "Cool..."
The file went onto his laptop. The third database held three folders, all variations of an MS called Tallgeese. "Modified Leo," he murmured, recognizing the underlying design. It was the fourth terminal that grabbed his attention.
Data 01
Wing Gundam
Status: Destroyed AC195.25.Dec.
Statistics filled the screen. Fighting data, weapons scores, pilot data.
Pilot data. Heero Yuy.
Yuy? Wasn't that one of his uncles? Hadn't heard from him in a while...Stephen grinned and realized maybe he should find Mr. Yuy and ask about this Wing...
On the next terminal: Data 02. Gundam Deathscythe. Status: Destroyed AC 196.27.Dec
Pilot data:
Duo Maxwell.
Well, that was an interesting coincidence...Suddenly he was nervous about about accessing the other databases. He only called up the suit design on the next. Data 03. Gundam Heavyarms. Wow, lots of armaments...Plus one knife under the right forearm. Hmm... Something else to file in his growing folder for MS parts.
His curiosity got the better of him. Status: Destroyed AC 196.27.Dec. Pilot Data...
Pilot Data...
Pilot Data...
He wished he hadn't looked.
Trowa Barton.
Mechanically he hooked up the seventh terminal. Data 04. Gundam Sandrock. Now his gaze was definitely riveted by the design. There was something familiar about it, as if it felt like home...like desert, like land...like from a home far away. Sandrock... Earth. He momentarily looked away, puzzled by the thoughts flowing through his head. He had never seen this thing before, so why was it bringing these wisps of memories? He copied the design to his laptop, stats and everything. Status: Destroyed AC196.27.Dec.
Aloud, he recited in a numb state, as if he had already known and had repeated it several times already, "Pilot Data. Quatre. Raberba. Winner."
For some bizarre reason he felt proud.
He went through the next three terminals without much thought: Data 05. Shenlong/Altron Gundam. Status: Destroyed AC 196.27.Dec. Pilot: Chang Wufei.
Data 06. Gundam LunaAria. Status: Destroyed AC 195.23.May. Pilot: Alexa Reaves; Data 06-II. Gundam Shockwave. Status: Unknown. Pilot: Dimitri Reaves.
Data 07. Gundam Ananse. Status: Semi-operational, civilian use. Pilot: Imena Tribeshope.
Growing bored with the endless suit specs he reached for the pile of raw circuitry and wires. For a solid hour he spliced and soldered and tweaked, his conscious thought retreating to some corner to whimper as his mechanical processes took over. Half the time when this happened he jokingly wondered if he wasn't part machine -- after he came out of the productive bout, that is. With a few extra minutes he had the tangle hooked into the laptop. There was an interval of beeping and then the screen went from the usual light blue to black and then returned in digital green. Scores of numbers went by in moments, although mostly ones and zeros. Stephen attempted to follow, but his all-too-human brain couldn't manage. Finally, after five minutes of scrolling, a prompt came up. He waited, not wanting to try typing until he was sure it couldn't function alone. He was rewarded two minutes later.
:Accessing sys
Finding command H-1-c-0-8
Searching...
Searching...
:Accessing sys
Initiate
:Running sys XXXG-0SR1
Stephen's eyes widened. This was an actual gundam systembase! He could run an MS with this! As gently as his excitement would allow he put the loose circuitry in his backpack. He would need more supplies than he could carry down here, and he'd need a better place to work. He'd made up his mind. He was going to build a gundam.
It was by some great fortune that he completely forgot about the last terminal, which had four letters scratched into the side: Z E R O.

A.C. 213, January
:Input final affirmation
Through his reading glasses Stephen regarded the final blueprint for his mobile suit, displayed upon his laptop's screen. One finger hung poised over the button that would set in motion the plans he had been fostering over the past year. Discreetly hiring engineers. Skimming shipments of gundanium. Secret.
Secret.
Secret.
His finger sank down. Beep. There. It's done. And it will probably take another two years to complete.
Which was all well and good.
I know there might not be much use for this thing after all...Maybe I'm building it just to prove I can...Hopefully Father will excuse it as another intriguing invention.
I have no interest in fighting, after all.