Fiction / 'The Junk Pile' #1
If I have artistic integrity, none of these will be here. The thing is, as far as the internet goes, I feel artistic integrity is overrated.
"Adjust your tie, young master. Gods, you look positively dreadful," Asaoka chided, glaring balefully through his spectacles as Suzaku fumbled with the fabric on his neck. Parliamental aide to his father for some years and an old friend of the family, the middle-aged man was well known to have sound judgement in all things; he could hardly wish for a better companion. Still, he could not help giving the man a sulky look as he pulled and yanked the tie into a respectable shape.
Asaoka duly noted the expression and supplied a long-suffering sigh that only Asaoka could do. He continued with the reprimand. "Your father has briefed you on the society of your future peers, I believe. It will be unlike him not to do so. He would expect you to behave accordingly to customs theirs and ours, master Suzaku. In the case you failed to notice, we're going to be across the channel any minute now."
"I know, but Asaoka-san...we're still fifteen minutes away from campus," Suzaku argued. Certainly, a school that required crossing two oceans was not his idea. "I just wanted to see the country from up here, and I was sure the tie could wait. We aren't going to see the principal right away in any case, right?"
The retired bureaucrat sighed again, though not without fondness. He fondled his briefcase absently as his lips stretched into a sympathetic smile. "Perhaps so, young master. But as you might soon realize, it pays to be well prepared beforehand. Your father would have intended it, no doubt."
Patronizing as it was, Asaoka had a point...albeit a point he had only heard discussed and not actually seen proven. Kururugi Genbu had been a staunch proponent of it. "Father would," Suzaku nodded ruefully, refusing to comment more on his intended future. Though Father's term as a Prime Minister was over, the family name still commanded respect. The disappointment of being declared unfit for a politician's life still stung. He had hero-worshipped Father back in the day.
"Do take heart, now. You might not be a good match for your father's career, but he and I believe you will make an excellent diplomat one day. You have the talent for it," Asaoka said as if to sooth him, and to a degree it worked. Before Suzaku could venture a reply, however, the old man squinted and peered down the window of their small craft. "There, young master. Look down. That's the Britannian heartland just below us."
He looked down. Sprawled beneath them, verdant green and lifeless grey where the war made its mark, was Britannia. It did not look so imposing from this vantage point, to his mild disappointment. The edges of a city could still be seen rapidly passing below. They had apparently missed it in their brief conversation. Suzaku thought he could catch sight of a medieval-looking castle, and scrambled his mind to figure out what city it was.
Despite his sincerest efforts, he did not have to scramble long. Asaoka spared the scenery a glance or two before remarking, "I think we've just passed Dover. The country doesn't appear to have changed at all." His tone was slightly smug. "You now have approximately five minutes to prepare, young master. Do you have the gear ready?"
Suzaku turned and laughed. "Yes, Asaoka-san. Readied and checked, five times since we got airborne, in fact." He reclined in his chair, so as to spend his final minutes on the plane somewhat comfortably as well as to provide Asaoka with a clear with of his clothing. "I've got few enough things with me. Is the suit fine?"
The last was meant as a joke, but Asaoka apparently took it seriously. He squinted and peered, and looked so intent that Suzaku could not find the courage to blurt out that he was not serious. He waited until Asaoka had finished his inspection to give him a wide, friendly grin. "Found anything, Asaoka-san?"
Asaoka pulled out a cream-colored handkerchef from his suit pocket and wiped his forehead, even though the plane was kept at a nice 20 degrees. "Still all-round shabby, but I suppose we have done a passable enough job of making a respectable young man out of a wildling." He smiled. "Now the plane's banking. Look down the window, that's either Canterbury or Ashford."
The scenery below was that of a sprawling city full of high-rises and shiny steel, so Suzaku supposed it was Ashford. He had heard that Canterbury received the brunt of the bombing and many of its old buildings were gone, but the rule that nothing new can be taller than the Cathedral survived. The map was deceptive here; he thought Ashford was still a good many kilometers away at least. "Asaoka-san..."
Before he could finish his sentence, however, the pilot's voice came over the intercom and passengers should make the necessary preparations for an imminent landing. Naturally this meant no talking, not in this light transport jet, as the engine alone drowned out everything else. When the plane vertically touched down to whirring lights and chirping radio messages, Suzaku wondered if they had bothered any school activities. He hoped not.
Asaoka helped him with his luggage as he took care of the gear, still holding the briefcase. The reflective glare of the airplane's wing was burning right into Suzaku's face, but he still managed to size them up for good measure before his feet touched the ground. There were none of the black-suited guards he had expected, and the rest of the throng was surprisingly normal---brightly-dressed students, smiling teachers and what seemed to be an assorted junior crowd milling about. The rest of the school did not seem to mind the commotion.
A girl around his age stepped out from the crowd. "Mr. Kururugi?" she called out, pronoucing his last name with some difficulty.
Suzaku had long learned which name foreigners usually find easier to mangle, and amended accordingly as he bowed. "Please call me Suzaku, ma'am."
She started, and a second or two passed before a smile broke on her face. "Why, that's rather straightforward of you. I guess it is easier to pronounce." The crowd burst out laughing. "Well, my full name is Millay Catherine Ashford, but everyone drops the middle name for convenience. You might as well call me Millay if we're already on a first name basis," she grinned. "Father told me to lead the vanguard, seeing how he's too busy figuring out the perfect tea to remember plane schedules anymore."
The significance of her surname was not lost on Suzaku. "I must thank Lord Ashford for his generousity," he said, to some snickers from the student crowd. He wondered if there was something wrong with the sentence. "Is he well? My father also wishes to impart his greetings."
Millay gestured to Asaoka. "You're his father?"
Asaoka apparently was strickened by this suggestion; probably not by the confusion between him and ex-Prime Minister Kururugi, but by the very idea that he could be Suzaku's father. "No, milady. I am merely his aide, Asaoka Shinichirou, accompanying this boy for this trip." He gave Suzaku a long sideways glance. "I shall be returning to Japan tomorrow morning after passing your father some papers. That is all."
"I see. I'll have the guest quarters arranged," Millay said, smiling gracefully as she curtsied. "And as for you, Suzaku," she turned back to him and nodded. "You'll want to tour the campus, I think. School should properly start for you tomorrow, is that all right?"
He nodded in assent, so Millay turned again to the throng of students and said, "All right, everyone! We're going to draw straws to see who's going to play Guide, and whoever got the red one gets to skip class for the entire day. Good?"
A loud chorus of "Good"'s went up and Suzaku had to try his very best to keep from blinking. He certainly did not expect this from a Britannian public school, though he did not know what he had expected, either. Millay had produced, seemingly out of nowhere, a bunch of paper straws and held them in the her hand as the other students gathered around her, chatting excitedly.
"Asaoka-san..."
If the elderly statesman was surprised, he showed no signs of it. "Yes, young master?"
He glanced back and forth between his chaperone and the crowd as the straw-drawing started to elicit groans from disappoints students. "What kind of school is Ashford, again?"
"The only school that can teach you what you need to know, young master, if Japan is to survive this situation," Asaoka adjusted his glasses, sighing. "It is very much like the Meiji era all over again, I'm afraid. Such a pity that we do not have this kind of school at the homeland, or that we are in better shape. No one would send you to such a warzone like this, otherwise. You have to study well, and correspond with us often. The Ashinaga clan wishes to create a project of its like."
The Ashinagas were allies, connected by blood in distant marriages a long time ago. Of course, the Imperial Family also traced their blood back to Amaterasu Oomikami, so this was hardly rare. He nodded. "I'll do my best."
Asaoka looked at him sympathetically before adjusting his glasses again. "You'll be an excellent diplomat one day, Suzaku. Don't go around forgetting that."
It was the first time Asaoka had called Suzaku's name without honorifics since kempuku, and he was reminded again that today could be the last day he would ever see the older man again. He tried to give both of them his best optimistic smile. Everyone said he was good at that. "Thank you, Oji-san."
At that moment a singular cheer erupted from the crowd. Suzaku turned his attention back to them; he could see a dark-haired boy jumping up and down with a red-marked strip of paper, shouting something about getting the whole day off. The rest of the students sulked at him and started to disperse as he moved past, pausing for a moment to listen to something from Millay, but otherwise sped through the clearing to where Suzaku was standing.
When they neared enough, the boy gave him a wide grin. "Hi, new guy. You're the son of that Japanese Prime Minister, right? Rivalz Desmonde, second year. My father deals in electronics."
He returned the grin with a friendly smile. "Suzaku Kururugi, nice to meet you. I guess I'll have to trouble you for the whole day."
Rivalz snorted. "Trouble? Nah, nothing of that kind. The prez---" he gestured towards Millay, who noticed and replied with a wave. "---she'd guide you around herself if there's not the tiny bitty problem that you're a guy. See, the areas we need to go through are different."
"Is there, er..." Suzaku was surprised and found himself at a loss for words. Surely a school in Britannia, of all places, would not have sexual discrimination going on.
The other boy helpfully waved this suggestion off and saved him the awkwardness. "Discrimination? Nope. We're all nice and equal over here, thank God, or the prez'll be even crazier. What I mean is that the places we go to are different." He eyed the gear Suzaku was carrying. "They're built the same, you know, but the instructions are not. Different brain chemicals make for different tactical responses and the like."
Realization hit him. "Oh."
Glancing back and forth between the luggage Asaoka was handing to a dour-looking housemaid and the gear in Suzaku's bag, Rivalz continued in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm surprised you brought your own. Most of us buy from the campus, capitalist businessmen that they are. Sure it's going to fit?"
Suzaku nodded. "Doctor Asblund sent us the specifications. He said there are differences to be accounted for between Europeans and Asians, so we had to prepare one up beforehand." He looked around worriedly. "Is it going to be a problem?"
"Nope." Rivalz flashed him a bright grin, revealing imperfect white teeth. "We barely get into the thing as it is. There's no need for it in our simulators, though the profs might disagree, and we manage the real thing fine enough without it. I should say that you're excessive, even, but then we do need to wear properly for exams." He leaned over and said, conspiratorially, "I've known some who went into personal practice runs naked, if you know what I mean."
He could see the shocked and appalled face of Asaoka, unfortunately blessed with better-than-average hearing, and tried not to imagine what he must look like right now.
"Are the classes so loose?" he asked, a little horrified. Such a thing would definitely not be suitable for Japan, no matter how efficient it was. Rivalz just shrugged, however.
"Wouldn't say it is, pal. Once you've been on one, you'll see what I mean. The war's not picky about what we are picky about, but it sure is for other things. Like the bloaters. Damned perfectionists."
"...bloaters?"
"Them. You might have another name for those cheerful little roses, but that's how the slang goes over here." Rivalz snorted, then went into his cheerful mode again. "So. Which part of the school should we start with, partner?"
Suzaku thought about it for a moment. "Classrooms, I guess, if it's not going to bother anyone."
"None at all, half our classes are empty anyway. You know, for practice." The dark-haired boy flashed him another wide grin. He was beginning to think it was automatic. "So shall we go?"
He nodded.
Rivalz proved to be an entertaining guide through an uneventful journey, eliminating what fears Asaoka did instilled in him. Just as he said, the classrooms shown were all empty, though signs of use and misuse were everywhere from scracthes on consoles, patched-up wiring, and pencil graffiti on the walls. Rivalz explained how the consoles worked in class while he tried to familiarize himself.
"The red one's for range and depth calculations, and you control what you want analyzed with the yellow one over here. There's a notepad, if you want, but you'll be hard-pressed to find pencils in the campus store"
His voice was rueful as he went round each table, and Suzaku wondered if something had happened here before.
Next up were the clubhouses and workshops, which he found impressive; there was even a museum from the pre-war days, when Ashford Tactical Command was still known as Eton College, before the venerable old school disappeared along with most of Windsor. He was surprised how little the looks or atmosphere in the old pictures were kept, considering Ashford was meant as its spiritual successor, but Rivalz had already progressed to the next room before he had the chance to ask.
"Have to keep moving, campus' a big place to tour," he explained with a grin. Though Suzaku was fairly confident of his stamina, he was tired by the time they arrived at two big double doors. Courtesy of the jet lag, no doubt. His guide, however, promised that whatever aches he had would be gone by the time they got inside.
He was right.
Beyond the doors lie three combat Frames, Britannia-built, far more imposing than the models developed in Japan. They were easily as tall as a six-storied building, all painted white and gleaming like knights from a fairytale. Perhaps they were. Knights and their shining armor.
"Impressive? Different from the ones you used at home?" Rivalz asked, the pride clearly present in his voice.
Suzaku could only nod. Of course they were impressive. Of course they were different. Other countries may try to emulate Britannia's technology, but there was a reason the Empire could hold back the invasion so well. He did not have to be an ace to tell that yes, he wanted one of these. The armanents equipped with each were clearly powerful, and he could not guess how many lives he could've saved if he was in one instead of the home models.
Rivalz walked forward and spread his arms. "Say hello to the Lancelot, the next generation of protectors for our country."
"'Hello, Lancelot'?" Suzaku suggested mildly, dodging a swat from his companion's arm. He laughed. "I don't know what to say. Am I the first Japanese allowed to see this model?"
The other boy pointed a finger theatrically. "Right you are! I don't know what deal you guys made, but you're pretty damned lucky they let you in. Not even the Continentals get to, and half their princesses have sons somewhere in the Buck House. I imagine they're eating their handkerchefs right about now." He paused. "By the way, speaking of international deals...you happen to know your room number?"
"At the dorm?" Suzaku asked.
"Where else?"
He mentioned a figure. Rivalz whistled, as if he had just realized what a comedy show's punch line was all about.
"So you guys went that far, huh? Well, can't say I'm surprised. That room's the only one we have left, what with Dormitory A blowing up last month. They probably don't want to offend your country by throwing you out to the commons." He made a gesture that plainly said You Lucky Bastard.
Of course, he had absolutely no idea what Rivalz was talking about. "So you're all sleeping in the common rooms?"
"Most of us. We all used to have single rooms, comfortable-like, until they blew up. My room luckily survived, but then I had to accommodate three new students in my tiny little space. Sometimes the commons are better if you don't mind the snores."
That answered some nagging questions about the number of students present, but Suzaku's curiousity was not yet sated. "And the owner of the room? Is there something I should know about him?"
"Well, Lulu's something of a weirdo, but as long as you don't make a big deal out of ranks and stuff..."
"Lulu? I'm rooming with a girl?" Suzaku was aghast. Are standards really so lax here in Britannia?
Rivalz only grinned at him wildly. "Girl? Nah. 'Lulu' is short for His Imperial Highness Lelouch Vi Britannia, Eleventh Prince of the Empire and I think currently Twelfth in Line for The Holy Throne and finally our neighbourhood grumpy tactical advisor. I suggest you don't ever mention that girl thing. He's a nice guy, but lately, you know, dying siblings and stuff...he can be a bit oversensitive."
----
The battle proved to be exceptionally tiring.
Lelouch adjusted his collar and reclined into the command chair, staring straight at the ceiling, and sighed. Twenty platoons deployed and nine lost, not a good number for future developments. To make it worse, there was no blunder on his part, nothing he could regret---nothing except how the invasion were stronger than anyone had anticipated. If compared to a chess match, it was like trying to trounce the whole board with just three pawns and a king.
It was not his fault there were so many lost. The battle was still won, for the time being.
The door opened with a whoosh.
He did not have to turn back to know who it was, but courtesy dictated that he did anyway. So he stood, turned and bowed in perfect sequence, staring at his feet the whole time. "Your Imperial Majesty."
The other side's voice contained a hint of impatience but none of the surprise most expressed upon seeing the deserted command center. "Save the ceremony, Lelouch. I am not our Lord Father, and I didn't call you into service for bootlicking. Report. I heard Grummel saying that you lost nine platoons, is that true?"
He lost?
Grummel, that fool. As if he would have done so much better, as if they would even be in this situation if he had taken proper care of the Channel invasion. If Lelouch was there instead of that incompetent imbecile...
He met his brother's eye, and made sure that his indignation showed. "Nine platoons were lost in the battle, sir, but I would say the fault is neither theirs nor mine. The enemy has changed again."
"Again?" Schneizel groaned in dismay. He leaned against the bulkhead and tapped his fingers. "Are you sure there's no mistake?"
"Sir, if there's a mistake, I would've lost only three at most," he replied, trying his best not to let further indignation seep into his voice. "We're sending the instrumentation to Dr. Asblund in a moment. I'm sure he'll report the details to you."
"Oh yes he will, that bundle of joy," the older man answered dryly. He scanned the screens lit up in front of the room. "You've already had them in defensive positions. Good. I'll reserve my evaluations for Lloyd's analysis, but if you're right I won't fault you for the loss, so stop that look already."
Lelouch schooled his face back in the usual blankness used for command. "Yes, sir."
The other man nodded. "Good. I have to check on Cornelia, Duncan, Clovis and...oh, bloody hell," he cursed. "Have you heard anything from Stefan and Andrew, lately? The reports said their communication towers were destroyed, and your station is the only one with a remote chance of cracking the interference."
"Andrew said his command was regrouping in Canterbury, sir, but there's nothing from Stefan." They were the sixth and seventh princes, hardly older than himself and hardly any more experienced. Still, the war kills those who cannot survive it. He could see Schneizel sighing, and knowing that it was not out of worry for their brothers but for the troops they took with them, tried to change the subject. "Is Aurelia's condition improving?"
His brother shook his head. "No, and maybe just as well. I don't think he'd take well to my jumping the gun if he ever wakes up. Hah. He can well take the throne, in my opinion, I'm having my hands full with this war." He sighed and looked at his watch. "From past estimates, how long do you think you have until the next wave?"
Lelouch had the figured ingrained in his mind, and knew that any preemptive strike was out of the question. "Three days twelve hours, sir."
Schneizel smiled ruefully. "Enough for the troops to make another round of farewells, eh? Very well, go back to school. Ashford should take care of command well enough without you here, and we don't need to scare the populace more than we must." He paused. "Mind you, keep your cellular on this time around."
He bowed. "Of course, Your Imperial Majesty."
"Adjust your tie, young master. Gods, you look positively dreadful," Asaoka chided, glaring balefully through his spectacles as Suzaku fumbled with the fabric on his neck. Parliamental aide to his father for some years and an old friend of the family, the middle-aged man was well known to have sound judgement in all things; he could hardly wish for a better companion. Still, he could not help giving the man a sulky look as he pulled and yanked the tie into a respectable shape.
Asaoka duly noted the expression and supplied a long-suffering sigh that only Asaoka could do. He continued with the reprimand. "Your father has briefed you on the society of your future peers, I believe. It will be unlike him not to do so. He would expect you to behave accordingly to customs theirs and ours, master Suzaku. In the case you failed to notice, we're going to be across the channel any minute now."
"I know, but Asaoka-san...we're still fifteen minutes away from campus," Suzaku argued. Certainly, a school that required crossing two oceans was not his idea. "I just wanted to see the country from up here, and I was sure the tie could wait. We aren't going to see the principal right away in any case, right?"
The retired bureaucrat sighed again, though not without fondness. He fondled his briefcase absently as his lips stretched into a sympathetic smile. "Perhaps so, young master. But as you might soon realize, it pays to be well prepared beforehand. Your father would have intended it, no doubt."
Patronizing as it was, Asaoka had a point...albeit a point he had only heard discussed and not actually seen proven. Kururugi Genbu had been a staunch proponent of it. "Father would," Suzaku nodded ruefully, refusing to comment more on his intended future. Though Father's term as a Prime Minister was over, the family name still commanded respect. The disappointment of being declared unfit for a politician's life still stung. He had hero-worshipped Father back in the day.
"Do take heart, now. You might not be a good match for your father's career, but he and I believe you will make an excellent diplomat one day. You have the talent for it," Asaoka said as if to sooth him, and to a degree it worked. Before Suzaku could venture a reply, however, the old man squinted and peered down the window of their small craft. "There, young master. Look down. That's the Britannian heartland just below us."
He looked down. Sprawled beneath them, verdant green and lifeless grey where the war made its mark, was Britannia. It did not look so imposing from this vantage point, to his mild disappointment. The edges of a city could still be seen rapidly passing below. They had apparently missed it in their brief conversation. Suzaku thought he could catch sight of a medieval-looking castle, and scrambled his mind to figure out what city it was.
Despite his sincerest efforts, he did not have to scramble long. Asaoka spared the scenery a glance or two before remarking, "I think we've just passed Dover. The country doesn't appear to have changed at all." His tone was slightly smug. "You now have approximately five minutes to prepare, young master. Do you have the gear ready?"
Suzaku turned and laughed. "Yes, Asaoka-san. Readied and checked, five times since we got airborne, in fact." He reclined in his chair, so as to spend his final minutes on the plane somewhat comfortably as well as to provide Asaoka with a clear with of his clothing. "I've got few enough things with me. Is the suit fine?"
The last was meant as a joke, but Asaoka apparently took it seriously. He squinted and peered, and looked so intent that Suzaku could not find the courage to blurt out that he was not serious. He waited until Asaoka had finished his inspection to give him a wide, friendly grin. "Found anything, Asaoka-san?"
Asaoka pulled out a cream-colored handkerchef from his suit pocket and wiped his forehead, even though the plane was kept at a nice 20 degrees. "Still all-round shabby, but I suppose we have done a passable enough job of making a respectable young man out of a wildling." He smiled. "Now the plane's banking. Look down the window, that's either Canterbury or Ashford."
The scenery below was that of a sprawling city full of high-rises and shiny steel, so Suzaku supposed it was Ashford. He had heard that Canterbury received the brunt of the bombing and many of its old buildings were gone, but the rule that nothing new can be taller than the Cathedral survived. The map was deceptive here; he thought Ashford was still a good many kilometers away at least. "Asaoka-san..."
Before he could finish his sentence, however, the pilot's voice came over the intercom and passengers should make the necessary preparations for an imminent landing. Naturally this meant no talking, not in this light transport jet, as the engine alone drowned out everything else. When the plane vertically touched down to whirring lights and chirping radio messages, Suzaku wondered if they had bothered any school activities. He hoped not.
Asaoka helped him with his luggage as he took care of the gear, still holding the briefcase. The reflective glare of the airplane's wing was burning right into Suzaku's face, but he still managed to size them up for good measure before his feet touched the ground. There were none of the black-suited guards he had expected, and the rest of the throng was surprisingly normal---brightly-dressed students, smiling teachers and what seemed to be an assorted junior crowd milling about. The rest of the school did not seem to mind the commotion.
A girl around his age stepped out from the crowd. "Mr. Kururugi?" she called out, pronoucing his last name with some difficulty.
Suzaku had long learned which name foreigners usually find easier to mangle, and amended accordingly as he bowed. "Please call me Suzaku, ma'am."
She started, and a second or two passed before a smile broke on her face. "Why, that's rather straightforward of you. I guess it is easier to pronounce." The crowd burst out laughing. "Well, my full name is Millay Catherine Ashford, but everyone drops the middle name for convenience. You might as well call me Millay if we're already on a first name basis," she grinned. "Father told me to lead the vanguard, seeing how he's too busy figuring out the perfect tea to remember plane schedules anymore."
The significance of her surname was not lost on Suzaku. "I must thank Lord Ashford for his generousity," he said, to some snickers from the student crowd. He wondered if there was something wrong with the sentence. "Is he well? My father also wishes to impart his greetings."
Millay gestured to Asaoka. "You're his father?"
Asaoka apparently was strickened by this suggestion; probably not by the confusion between him and ex-Prime Minister Kururugi, but by the very idea that he could be Suzaku's father. "No, milady. I am merely his aide, Asaoka Shinichirou, accompanying this boy for this trip." He gave Suzaku a long sideways glance. "I shall be returning to Japan tomorrow morning after passing your father some papers. That is all."
"I see. I'll have the guest quarters arranged," Millay said, smiling gracefully as she curtsied. "And as for you, Suzaku," she turned back to him and nodded. "You'll want to tour the campus, I think. School should properly start for you tomorrow, is that all right?"
He nodded in assent, so Millay turned again to the throng of students and said, "All right, everyone! We're going to draw straws to see who's going to play Guide, and whoever got the red one gets to skip class for the entire day. Good?"
A loud chorus of "Good"'s went up and Suzaku had to try his very best to keep from blinking. He certainly did not expect this from a Britannian public school, though he did not know what he had expected, either. Millay had produced, seemingly out of nowhere, a bunch of paper straws and held them in the her hand as the other students gathered around her, chatting excitedly.
"Asaoka-san..."
If the elderly statesman was surprised, he showed no signs of it. "Yes, young master?"
He glanced back and forth between his chaperone and the crowd as the straw-drawing started to elicit groans from disappoints students. "What kind of school is Ashford, again?"
"The only school that can teach you what you need to know, young master, if Japan is to survive this situation," Asaoka adjusted his glasses, sighing. "It is very much like the Meiji era all over again, I'm afraid. Such a pity that we do not have this kind of school at the homeland, or that we are in better shape. No one would send you to such a warzone like this, otherwise. You have to study well, and correspond with us often. The Ashinaga clan wishes to create a project of its like."
The Ashinagas were allies, connected by blood in distant marriages a long time ago. Of course, the Imperial Family also traced their blood back to Amaterasu Oomikami, so this was hardly rare. He nodded. "I'll do my best."
Asaoka looked at him sympathetically before adjusting his glasses again. "You'll be an excellent diplomat one day, Suzaku. Don't go around forgetting that."
It was the first time Asaoka had called Suzaku's name without honorifics since kempuku, and he was reminded again that today could be the last day he would ever see the older man again. He tried to give both of them his best optimistic smile. Everyone said he was good at that. "Thank you, Oji-san."
At that moment a singular cheer erupted from the crowd. Suzaku turned his attention back to them; he could see a dark-haired boy jumping up and down with a red-marked strip of paper, shouting something about getting the whole day off. The rest of the students sulked at him and started to disperse as he moved past, pausing for a moment to listen to something from Millay, but otherwise sped through the clearing to where Suzaku was standing.
When they neared enough, the boy gave him a wide grin. "Hi, new guy. You're the son of that Japanese Prime Minister, right? Rivalz Desmonde, second year. My father deals in electronics."
He returned the grin with a friendly smile. "Suzaku Kururugi, nice to meet you. I guess I'll have to trouble you for the whole day."
Rivalz snorted. "Trouble? Nah, nothing of that kind. The prez---" he gestured towards Millay, who noticed and replied with a wave. "---she'd guide you around herself if there's not the tiny bitty problem that you're a guy. See, the areas we need to go through are different."
"Is there, er..." Suzaku was surprised and found himself at a loss for words. Surely a school in Britannia, of all places, would not have sexual discrimination going on.
The other boy helpfully waved this suggestion off and saved him the awkwardness. "Discrimination? Nope. We're all nice and equal over here, thank God, or the prez'll be even crazier. What I mean is that the places we go to are different." He eyed the gear Suzaku was carrying. "They're built the same, you know, but the instructions are not. Different brain chemicals make for different tactical responses and the like."
Realization hit him. "Oh."
Glancing back and forth between the luggage Asaoka was handing to a dour-looking housemaid and the gear in Suzaku's bag, Rivalz continued in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm surprised you brought your own. Most of us buy from the campus, capitalist businessmen that they are. Sure it's going to fit?"
Suzaku nodded. "Doctor Asblund sent us the specifications. He said there are differences to be accounted for between Europeans and Asians, so we had to prepare one up beforehand." He looked around worriedly. "Is it going to be a problem?"
"Nope." Rivalz flashed him a bright grin, revealing imperfect white teeth. "We barely get into the thing as it is. There's no need for it in our simulators, though the profs might disagree, and we manage the real thing fine enough without it. I should say that you're excessive, even, but then we do need to wear properly for exams." He leaned over and said, conspiratorially, "I've known some who went into personal practice runs naked, if you know what I mean."
He could see the shocked and appalled face of Asaoka, unfortunately blessed with better-than-average hearing, and tried not to imagine what he must look like right now.
"Are the classes so loose?" he asked, a little horrified. Such a thing would definitely not be suitable for Japan, no matter how efficient it was. Rivalz just shrugged, however.
"Wouldn't say it is, pal. Once you've been on one, you'll see what I mean. The war's not picky about what we are picky about, but it sure is for other things. Like the bloaters. Damned perfectionists."
"...bloaters?"
"Them. You might have another name for those cheerful little roses, but that's how the slang goes over here." Rivalz snorted, then went into his cheerful mode again. "So. Which part of the school should we start with, partner?"
Suzaku thought about it for a moment. "Classrooms, I guess, if it's not going to bother anyone."
"None at all, half our classes are empty anyway. You know, for practice." The dark-haired boy flashed him another wide grin. He was beginning to think it was automatic. "So shall we go?"
He nodded.
Rivalz proved to be an entertaining guide through an uneventful journey, eliminating what fears Asaoka did instilled in him. Just as he said, the classrooms shown were all empty, though signs of use and misuse were everywhere from scracthes on consoles, patched-up wiring, and pencil graffiti on the walls. Rivalz explained how the consoles worked in class while he tried to familiarize himself.
"The red one's for range and depth calculations, and you control what you want analyzed with the yellow one over here. There's a notepad, if you want, but you'll be hard-pressed to find pencils in the campus store"
His voice was rueful as he went round each table, and Suzaku wondered if something had happened here before.
Next up were the clubhouses and workshops, which he found impressive; there was even a museum from the pre-war days, when Ashford Tactical Command was still known as Eton College, before the venerable old school disappeared along with most of Windsor. He was surprised how little the looks or atmosphere in the old pictures were kept, considering Ashford was meant as its spiritual successor, but Rivalz had already progressed to the next room before he had the chance to ask.
"Have to keep moving, campus' a big place to tour," he explained with a grin. Though Suzaku was fairly confident of his stamina, he was tired by the time they arrived at two big double doors. Courtesy of the jet lag, no doubt. His guide, however, promised that whatever aches he had would be gone by the time they got inside.
He was right.
Beyond the doors lie three combat Frames, Britannia-built, far more imposing than the models developed in Japan. They were easily as tall as a six-storied building, all painted white and gleaming like knights from a fairytale. Perhaps they were. Knights and their shining armor.
"Impressive? Different from the ones you used at home?" Rivalz asked, the pride clearly present in his voice.
Suzaku could only nod. Of course they were impressive. Of course they were different. Other countries may try to emulate Britannia's technology, but there was a reason the Empire could hold back the invasion so well. He did not have to be an ace to tell that yes, he wanted one of these. The armanents equipped with each were clearly powerful, and he could not guess how many lives he could've saved if he was in one instead of the home models.
Rivalz walked forward and spread his arms. "Say hello to the Lancelot, the next generation of protectors for our country."
"'Hello, Lancelot'?" Suzaku suggested mildly, dodging a swat from his companion's arm. He laughed. "I don't know what to say. Am I the first Japanese allowed to see this model?"
The other boy pointed a finger theatrically. "Right you are! I don't know what deal you guys made, but you're pretty damned lucky they let you in. Not even the Continentals get to, and half their princesses have sons somewhere in the Buck House. I imagine they're eating their handkerchefs right about now." He paused. "By the way, speaking of international deals...you happen to know your room number?"
"At the dorm?" Suzaku asked.
"Where else?"
He mentioned a figure. Rivalz whistled, as if he had just realized what a comedy show's punch line was all about.
"So you guys went that far, huh? Well, can't say I'm surprised. That room's the only one we have left, what with Dormitory A blowing up last month. They probably don't want to offend your country by throwing you out to the commons." He made a gesture that plainly said You Lucky Bastard.
Of course, he had absolutely no idea what Rivalz was talking about. "So you're all sleeping in the common rooms?"
"Most of us. We all used to have single rooms, comfortable-like, until they blew up. My room luckily survived, but then I had to accommodate three new students in my tiny little space. Sometimes the commons are better if you don't mind the snores."
That answered some nagging questions about the number of students present, but Suzaku's curiousity was not yet sated. "And the owner of the room? Is there something I should know about him?"
"Well, Lulu's something of a weirdo, but as long as you don't make a big deal out of ranks and stuff..."
"Lulu? I'm rooming with a girl?" Suzaku was aghast. Are standards really so lax here in Britannia?
Rivalz only grinned at him wildly. "Girl? Nah. 'Lulu' is short for His Imperial Highness Lelouch Vi Britannia, Eleventh Prince of the Empire and I think currently Twelfth in Line for The Holy Throne and finally our neighbourhood grumpy tactical advisor. I suggest you don't ever mention that girl thing. He's a nice guy, but lately, you know, dying siblings and stuff...he can be a bit oversensitive."
----
The battle proved to be exceptionally tiring.
Lelouch adjusted his collar and reclined into the command chair, staring straight at the ceiling, and sighed. Twenty platoons deployed and nine lost, not a good number for future developments. To make it worse, there was no blunder on his part, nothing he could regret---nothing except how the invasion were stronger than anyone had anticipated. If compared to a chess match, it was like trying to trounce the whole board with just three pawns and a king.
It was not his fault there were so many lost. The battle was still won, for the time being.
The door opened with a whoosh.
He did not have to turn back to know who it was, but courtesy dictated that he did anyway. So he stood, turned and bowed in perfect sequence, staring at his feet the whole time. "Your Imperial Majesty."
The other side's voice contained a hint of impatience but none of the surprise most expressed upon seeing the deserted command center. "Save the ceremony, Lelouch. I am not our Lord Father, and I didn't call you into service for bootlicking. Report. I heard Grummel saying that you lost nine platoons, is that true?"
He lost?
Grummel, that fool. As if he would have done so much better, as if they would even be in this situation if he had taken proper care of the Channel invasion. If Lelouch was there instead of that incompetent imbecile...
He met his brother's eye, and made sure that his indignation showed. "Nine platoons were lost in the battle, sir, but I would say the fault is neither theirs nor mine. The enemy has changed again."
"Again?" Schneizel groaned in dismay. He leaned against the bulkhead and tapped his fingers. "Are you sure there's no mistake?"
"Sir, if there's a mistake, I would've lost only three at most," he replied, trying his best not to let further indignation seep into his voice. "We're sending the instrumentation to Dr. Asblund in a moment. I'm sure he'll report the details to you."
"Oh yes he will, that bundle of joy," the older man answered dryly. He scanned the screens lit up in front of the room. "You've already had them in defensive positions. Good. I'll reserve my evaluations for Lloyd's analysis, but if you're right I won't fault you for the loss, so stop that look already."
Lelouch schooled his face back in the usual blankness used for command. "Yes, sir."
The other man nodded. "Good. I have to check on Cornelia, Duncan, Clovis and...oh, bloody hell," he cursed. "Have you heard anything from Stefan and Andrew, lately? The reports said their communication towers were destroyed, and your station is the only one with a remote chance of cracking the interference."
"Andrew said his command was regrouping in Canterbury, sir, but there's nothing from Stefan." They were the sixth and seventh princes, hardly older than himself and hardly any more experienced. Still, the war kills those who cannot survive it. He could see Schneizel sighing, and knowing that it was not out of worry for their brothers but for the troops they took with them, tried to change the subject. "Is Aurelia's condition improving?"
His brother shook his head. "No, and maybe just as well. I don't think he'd take well to my jumping the gun if he ever wakes up. Hah. He can well take the throne, in my opinion, I'm having my hands full with this war." He sighed and looked at his watch. "From past estimates, how long do you think you have until the next wave?"
Lelouch had the figured ingrained in his mind, and knew that any preemptive strike was out of the question. "Three days twelve hours, sir."
Schneizel smiled ruefully. "Enough for the troops to make another round of farewells, eh? Very well, go back to school. Ashford should take care of command well enough without you here, and we don't need to scare the populace more than we must." He paused. "Mind you, keep your cellular on this time around."
He bowed. "Of course, Your Imperial Majesty."