Char and Garma had finished their last night out of their miserable week of guard duty. It was now early Saturday morning. Even though he longed for sleep, Char was forcing himself to stay up just for a short time so he could write a quick letter in the bathroom light. He didn't want Garma to awaken and ask to whom he was writing.
I'm done with my first week here at the Academy, and it's been awful. Since he was writing in French, Char was able to utilize the useful word bête, which literally meant "beast". It carried his meaning far better than anything in English. I have a room with only one roommate, although we spend almost no time in it. We start our day at 0500 and PT, then we march to a range to learn whatever skill is scheduled for that day. Today we're going to start marksmanship.
Here's a giant surprise for you. My roommate is none other than Prince Garma Zabi himself. It was completely by accident, since I'm an 'A' and he's a 'Z'. We're both in the Mobile Suit track and all of us students were paired up by chance, not by alphabet.
Char thought about what to say next. Eventually he decided his perceptions were a normal enough thing to include and went on, He's not bad, as a roommate. He does his share and is not as high-maintenance as I would have expected. Since we got into trouble our first night here, being on guard duty with him at night has given him many chances to teach me about maintaining my rifle. He has two siblings who have also gone through the Academy.
Well, I have to get some sleep. I wanted to write and let you know I'm here and I'm alive. I'm not at all enjoying this, but I'm not supposed to and I knew I wouldn't.
Tell my dear little sister that I'm all right and to be strong.
Your nephew,
Char Aznable
Char folded up the letter and put it in an envelope. The address he put on the outside was not to his guardian's home in France but to a family in Side 3 who would relay it down to Earth. He hoped the letter would make its way there quickly. It had been very hard to leave Artesia, and it was surprisingly important to let her know he was all right.
Char turned off the light and went into the bedroom. By the light of Side 3's artificial dawn he could see Garma asleep under the covers of his bunk. Garma had tried sleeping on top of the covers for one night but found he got too cold. He'd resigned himself to lifting only one side of the blankets, leaving the other tucked, and to smoothing the blanket under his pillow and dust cover every morning. It was a little more work, but Garma had figured it was worth it to have better quality in what sleep he did get.
"My sister had her own room and they never inspected it," Garma told Char after PT and breakfast the second morning they were there. "Knowing her, the room was probably straighter than the cadre could ever make it, because she's just that way."
"So why didn't you do the same?"
Garma shook his head and picked up his weapon. "I love Kish, but she's not a soldier. She joined the military because she thought it was something she had to do, for reasons that probably make sense only to her. Dad thought she should just go to law school, but she insisted. I decided to take Dozel as my role model instead."
"How about taking Garma as your role model?"
Garma fixed his dark gaze on Char. "Because he's a lefty musician bound for obscurity who had to re-invent himself in order to be viable. Got your magazines?"
Char patted the ammo pouch that contained the empty magazines they were required to carry. "Right here."
"Let's go."
The class was bused to the rifle range. The class sat in rigid silence, which suited Char just fine. He'd only interacted slightly with their classmates, even though he was carefully putting names to faces, knowing that if they were Mobile Suit trainees now, chances were they'd be stationed and working side-by-side after graduation.
"You flirting there, Aznable?" snapped Pevensey. Char lowered his eyes to his lap again.
The rifle range was a rectangular field surrounded by a high wall on three sides. The open side was fronted by a wooden tower about twenty feet high. The cadets were marched past it and the wall on the left hand side of the field to a smaller area that was again walled on three sides. The cadets were lined up alphabetically and sent out in groups of twenty to zero their weapons.
Char walked to his lane, which was marked by a low metal podium with the number 8 engraved on it. He felt strangely vulnerable without the usually ubiquitous Garma. He arranged his sandbags, lay down prone behind them with the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, and waited for the safety NCO to pass him.
"Are we ready on the left?" came a voice from the central tower, from which they were to take their commands.
Char saw the safety NCO who stood to his right raise the green side of his paddle.
"The left is ready. Are we ready on the right? The right is ready. Firers! At this time, rotate your selector switch from 'safe' to 'semi' and fire three perfect shots. Fire away."
Char's thumb pushed the switch on the side of his rifle upwards and he shifted the butt of the rifle closer to his cheek. He curled his finger around the trigger and squeezed backwards, his eye intent on the man-shaped target on the opposite wall. He shifted slightly again and fired a second, then a third time.
"Cease fire, cease fire. Firers, at this time put your weapons on 'safe' and back away from your weapons."
Char did so, hopped to his feet, and withdrew behind a line painted on the ground. As he watched, a red light came on over the distant target. He groaned to himself. He hadn't zeroed, which would have required putting three shots close together in the same spot on the target. As he watched, the printer built into the metal podium spit out a copy of where his shots had pierced into the target. One was in the head, a second in the torso, the third far over to the right.
"Positions 1, 3, 4, 6, 9, 10, 11, 15, 18 and 20, you have successfully zeroed. Take the printout of your target, collect your weapon, and proceed to the center lane to be rodded off the range."
The safety NCO came over to take a look at Char's target. "Watch your trigger squeeze and your breathing," he said to Char. "You're pulling way too hard on the trigger."
Char tried again without success. "Breathing," he was told. "Trigger squeeze," the next. "Are you applying any of the principles we taught you?" he was asked on his fourth attempt.
On the fifth, he saw Garma come onto the range. At "cease fire" he watched as Garma collected his printout and his weapon and leave the range while Char stayed there for a sixth attempt.
For the seventh, a cadet named Gerald was allowed to join him, "They want the ones who zeroed on the first try to coach the others," he explained. "Okay, just relax at first. Exhale, then squeeze the trigger. Use just the pad of your index finger. Don't jerk. You know, like they taught us."
Gerald turned out to be what Char needed and he zeroed on the next attempt. Relieved but embarrassed, he took his printout and left the range, sparing a pitying glance at the cadets still standing there. He was strangely thankful that Garma had not been assigned as his coach.
That night they were all allowed to sit in the grassy courtyard that was usually forbidden to them, cleaning their weapons. Garma sat beside Char, but Char couldn't bring himself to speak to him.
"Okay, enough. What the hell did I do?" Garma snarled to him the next evening when they had returned from the practice range. Char had done marginally better that day, but Garma had once again spent what seemed like five minutes on the range total.
"What makes you think you did anything?"
"Youíve barely said a word to me since breakfast yesterday."
Char turned towards his locker and began undressing for his shower. "I got news my dog died."
"Do you think I'm stupid? You haven't gotten a single piece of mail since you arrived here."
Char stopped with his hands on his belt buckle. The kid was watching him. He was paying attention to what happened in his life. Suddenly, he became very afraid.
"Don't stalk me, Zabi," he muttered as he stripped bare and grabbed his towels and toiletries.
In the bathroom, Char turned on the hot water in the stall and stood for several minutes, letting it pour over him. Since he and his sister had gone to Earth with Jinba Ral, his life had been a delicate balancing act between hiding in plain sight and remaining unknown. Édouard Maas had been the champion gymnast who had no close friends, the prominent student who never attended school events, keeping his high profile only in the fields of athletics and high grades. His relationships with females were limited to afternoon trysts with married women because he could be sure none of them would ever talk to anyone else about him. Many people knew the face and name of Édouard Maas, but he was very good at keeping them distant and relatively disinterested.
Now he was in a situation where there was someone who by necessity had to be close to him and who was apparently very interested.
It would be so easy to hate Garma Zabi. Being close to his family seemed to come effortlessly to him, and that closeness was something Char envied. His sister was the only family Char had had consistently, and she was gone until some indefinite point in the future. Édouard Maas, the popular yet friendless student, was only close to his family through death. Being a tool of revenge for his father was intimate indeed, though hardly something for the family Christmas letter.
He needed to keep Garma close, but he didn't want it to be by letting Garma "adopt" him. He would not do it by being a Zabi charity case. When he'd found himself paired up as Garma's roommate, he'd at first been unable to believe his luck. This was not working out, as he found himself on the defensive. To be on the offensive, he'd need to prove himself better than Garma. The boy was prone to hero-worshipping people, and Char knew he had to be one of those heroes in order to get the dynamic just right.
Over the next few days, it became apparent that the rifle range was not going to be where he succeeded in doing it. Garma qualified right away and Char got to watch him collect his marksmanship badge and head back to the dorms to clean his rifle and have some personal time. It took Char eight tries to qualify.
"I knew you'd do it," Garma told him soothingly when Char returned. Char just scowled.
"Glad it's over with," he told Garma.
"Zero-gee combatives is next," Garma reminded him. "You lived on Earth, you think you're going to have any problems there?
Yeah, you'd like that, Char thought to himself. "I don't know. It's something I probably have a good shot at because my sport's gymnastics."
"Really? What kind?"
"Parallel bars and horse," Char said.
"Ever done the rings?"
"More raw power than I can wring out of my body for long. What's ironic is that even with PT every morning, I'm starting to get out of shape. Sure, my cardio's getting a lot better, but for gymnastics I have to work out with weights and that's not happening. I'm going to have to get my upper body strength back up before I start with the team in the fall."
"What with me being a fencer, the PT doesn't hurt my physical condition at all. It's not physical strength, just speed, agility and just a bit of psychology."
"Sounds like my kind of sport," Char said with a grin.
"Let's try it out when we come back in the fall," Garma said.
"You're on."
Dear Dozel:
So the rifle range is now behind me. That was a piece of cake. It was weird going on and off the range in one go andwatching some of my classmates come trailing in hours and hours later.
Today we did the confidence course. That was fun in a scary sort of way. If you'd told me a couple of months ago I could do an obstacle course with dark underground tunnels, twenty-foot cargo nets, etc., at a dead sprint for a mile, I never would have believed you. People never believe me when I tell them you and I are full brothers, but I see that maybe we have more in common than I thought.
Anti-grav combatives next, culminating in our "big game at the end of the season". Three more weeks here. I can't wait to see you, and yes, I do want you to be the one to pick me up. Dad dropped me off, so I was expecting one of his cars to come get me, but if you can do it I'd actually like that better. I have so much to tell you.
Garma
Garma slipped the letter into an envelope and looked across the room at Char, who was sewing a button back onto his uniform jacket. For Garma, the confidence course had been a challenge during which he'd had to use his speed and agility to compensate for his lack of overall strength. He and Char had actually managed to finish within moments of each other because while Char wasn't as fast a runner as Garma, he had gone through the monkey bars, simulated open windows and other such obstacles without any visible effort.
Not surprising at all. Garma looked down at his own thin arms and then enviously at Char's well-defined musculature. He knew everyone had strengths and weaknesses, but he liked Char's strengths better than his own.
Char finished sewing on the button and raised his eyes to meet Garma's. "What're you staring at?" he asked, not unkindly.
"Ah, nothing. I was just telling my brother Dozel about confidence course. You kicked that thing's ass. Honestly, I was wishing I had your kind of physical strength."
"Just need to build up to it, my friend. I wasn't born this way, I owe it to gymnastics. Besides, we finished at pretty much the same time, so there's nothing for you to beat yourself up over. Which reminds me, I've got that bet against Van Kamper that I can do more pushups than him."
"Craziest bet I've ever heard," Garma said. "You have to shave your head or he has to shave his back. I don't know which is more repulsive."
Char ran his fingers through his thick blond hair. "Definitely the former. Keep count for me would you? This thing goes down Sunday afternoon."
If Char had been waiting to see the chink in Garma's armour, combatives were definitely it.
They didn't start in zero-gee. They started in the gymnasium, wearing combat uniforms, bare feet and no metal. Char wasn't a wrestler, but when they paired him against a stocky Asian cadet who was his height, if not build, he found that his previous athletic skills served him perfectly well.
The other cadet, whose name was Ma, grabbed hold of Char's uniform jacket and immediately dropped to the mat, intending to take Char with him. Char obliged, then rolled to the side, grabbing Ma's wrists and pulling them apart as he kicked one of Ma's lower legs upward. With his opponent unbalanced, he was able to roll Ma back onto the mat where Char wrapped his arms around his head and kept it there until the cadre called a halt to their match.
Char stood up just in time to see Garma being rolled into a small package by a girl who matched him in height and weight. Garma rose, looking chastened, though he gamely shook her hand.
"I think I'll do better in zero gee," he told Char.
Dear Dozel:
Today was grenades day. It was another depressing event in a depressing week. We did unarmed combatives yesterday and I was soundly beaten by a girl. If it weren't for the fact that I'm in the mobile suit corps, and I know from experience that I can fly a Zaku, I'd be very seriously considering leaving the Academy. If brute strength and physical ability is what it takes to be a good soldier, I don't have it. My roommate has more of what it takes, I think. He's a gymnast so he's got lots of raw power, agility and grace. Me, I'm little, light and clumsy. I have to remind myself that this isn't the whole military experience.
I'm hoping I do better in zero gee where my size and strength isn't a factor.
I know you're not much of a writer, but write back anyway. Please?
Garma
Garma regained a little bit of face the next day when he found Char puzzling over the connections on his normal suit.
"You're having a problem with that?" Garma asked. Not knowing how to put on a normal suit in the Colonies was like not knowing how to open an umbrella, as far as he was concerned.
"It's been--a while," Char confessed. "Remember, I didn't grow up here and we took all our vacations in Europe, where I grew up." He stood while Garma connected his harness, reciting what hooked to what and why. It was a bizarre feeling. No one had dressed Char since he was a small child.
The arena where they were to do the exercise was essentially a cage built onto the side of the colony, about the size of a football field. The cadre formed them up in the airlock and had them function-check their suits. Content that no one was going to die in the vacuum, Pevensy ordered them to do a left-face and opened the inner door.
Char felt himself tense as they drifted rank by rank into the open area. Yes, he'd spent his first ten years on a Side, but he'd never once been in zero gee like this, with so much space around him. The huge cage was built of girders with rails that looked a couple of inches wide forming a wide mesh that was just tight enough to keep someone from floating out. They could still clearly see the stars and another colony cylinder in the distance.
He floated out into this three-dimensional corral, not liking the sensation at all. Char had thought that perhaps it would be like being under water, but being under water had its own pressures which zero-gee did not.
Garma reached out and grasped his hand to initiate skin-talk. "You okay, battle?"
"This is different. You seem happy enough."
"I love being in space. You'll get used to it." He rolled onto his back, using the jets on his back to propel himself up towards their team area.
"Control," Char muttered to himself and increased the force out of his jetpack. He arched his back and found himself heading in the same direction that Garma had taken. He noticed a second or two later that he was starting to curve backwards so he tipped his upper body forward to compensate. It worked, and he realized that this was a fairly simple exercise in using his body mass and the jets in combination to control where he was going. He reached the platform where their team was, landing foot-first with the magnets in his boots sticking him to the surface.
After he had handed out blue armbands to differentiate the team from the red team across the cage, a cadre member named Johnston motioned for them to stand in a circle and switch to the frequency that was assigned to their team. "Being out in zero gee changes everything in combatives," he said. "It's the great equalizer. Somebody her size," he pulled a five-foot female cadet out of the group, "can take on someone his size." He pushed forward a big Swede. "Our goal today is to capture the flag on the other side of the range." He pointed to a red banner on a pole behind the platform facing them across the cage. "How this gets done is up to you. The first and only rule is safety. Let's go."
The team huddled and Char said, "Okay first, let's set up a perimeter around our flag."
"How many guys?" someone asked.
"I was thinking six. That's one on each side, one above, one below."
"Let's send out our strongest guys to get the flag itself," another cadet put in. "We—"
"Wait, strength doesn't have anything to do with it," the small female cadet said. "Who's best when it comes to moving in space?"
"Not me," said Char. "I'll guard the platform."
"I am, I worked in the commercial dockyards all through high school," said Ma.
"I'll do it too," said Garma. "Same kind of reason."
So it was settled, with six cadets guarding the platform and the remaining seven going after the flag. On a signal from the cadre, Garma and the six cadets who were trying to capture the flag went into action. Garma found the circumstances distracting; he loved being out in space and here he was free to move without inhibitions with the stars all around him. He didn't want to rush forward, slamming into other cadets and using momentum to tangle them up and send them spinning. He wanted to float amidst the music of the spheres, which was impossible as Cadet Washington used tiny Cadet Rodriguez as a missile, using the combined force of shoving her towards him as she accelerated her jets. Garma caught her full-force across the torso, noticing that she seemed quite pleased to find herself making impact with him.
While this temporarily stopped Garma from advancing to the other side, it also meant that Rodriguez couldn't either. They disentangled, but Garma was already trailing far behind his teammates. He took advantage of this to look behind him. Four of the opposing team had already reached their platform, but Char was holding his own. Garma turned back to the goal, flying in as one of his teammates seized the flag, lifting it up from its loose magnetized moorings and sailing upwards into a scrum of red-team cadets. Garma joined the blue-team cadets in jumping on them, loosening grips and throwing them off-course. After that it was chaotic, a contest to again grab each others' limbs in order to keep each other spinning or flying in entirely the wrong direction. Garma thought of bumper cars, although that parallel gave way to one of running on a treadmill as he found another cadet flying backwards, his jetpack switched off somehow, under his feet.
"Endex, Endex," came the word through his helmet earphones. "Blue team, you got it."
They were given a chance to eat what were affectionately still called "astronaut meals" in a classroom adjacent to the arena.
Sunday morning arrived. Garma headed off to church as usual, marching in formation after an early breakfast with a large platoon of other Catholic cadets. Some of whom had only found religious fervour in their first weekend in training, after discovering that the alternative to getting up early for church was doing barracks maintenance all morning.
Garma had always attended with his father somewhat unthinkingly. Now he found the thought that he and his father would both be at church even while they were separated very comforting. Also comforting was being able to have his hands on a piano, even if it was just for that one hour.
He returned to find Char in his PT uniform of olive-green t-shirt and black shorts, mopping the hall. "The price I pay for being a heathen," Char said.
"Let me do that. You've got that pushup contest in a few."
"I'll wait for you to get changed."
Garma went into their room and removed his grey uniform, replacing it with PTs. For some reason, he was unreasonably anxious about this bet of Char's. It was a silly thing, and he knew he should feel indifferent or amused, but he didn't like the idea of Char losing and having his head shaved at all. He returned to the hallway and took the mop from Char with orders for him to go back to their room, take ibuprofen and stretch.
The time set for the contest was 1600. In the tedious atmosphere of basic training anything remotely novel was eagerly anticipated, so the courtyard was already full of cadets who were filling their time with repairing uniforms or writing letters. There was scattered applause as Char and Garma came into the courtyard, which Char met with a cheerful wave of his hand. The crowd formed a rough circle and Cadet Washington, a thickly-built black man with a famously deep voice, took the role of ring announcer.
"Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the first and let's be honest, probably only Mobile Suit Training Platoon pushup competition. In this corner, or side of the opening of the crowd, what have you, is the pride of barracks room 304A, Brandon Van Kamper!"
Van Kamper was two meters tall with the lean build of a basketball player. His forearms and legs were covered with long straight brown hair. His fans applauded with one exclamation of "That's MY battle buddy!"
"And in this part of this large cluster, the golden boy, the silent and deadly Char Aznable!"
Garma looked at who was supporting Char. Unlike Van Kamper's crowd, his was predominantly female. Garma frowned. The giggling and bouncing in excitement got on his nerves immediately.
"All right, gentlemen, I'm going to give you a three-count," Washington said as two other cadets lay down the thin foam mats that they used for PT. "On one, get on your hands and knees. On two, assume the front leaning rest. On three, start pushing. Cadets Zabi and Reynolds will count for Aznable, Akiode and Tyler will count for Van Kamper. One."
Char and Van Kamper got on hands and knees, side by side.
"Two."
They snapped up into front leaning rest.
"Three."
The two men started pumping out pushups. There was an immediate outcry because Van Kamper was sagging in the middle and his counters kept repeating "Five...Five...Five..." until he corrected it. In the meantime, Char was moving up and down smoothly, seven pushups ahead of Van Kamper.
Garma kept counting, wanting for Char to win but resolute that he would count fairly. Reynolds was there to validate his count, and they reached thirty in unison, then forty.
Char started to slow at forty-five. At fifty-six he arched his back in the approved rest position for a moment untilVan Kamper was within two pushups, then resumed at a slower pace. He paused for a second at sixty-five, but so did Van Kamper.
After that, the pushups were very slow and very deliberate. The crowd counted along with the four cadets who were officially doing so. "Somebody's gonna lose hair!" someone said out loud.
"Not me," Char whispered between clenched teeth. Garma could see sweat beading on his forehead and dropping to the mat, but Char did not stop. He was over seventy now, each pushup taking several seconds.
Seventy-five, seventy-six...Van Kamper was at seventy-three when suddenly he gasped, "Oh shit," and fell forward onto his chest. There was cheering from the pro-Char faction, with more bouncing and hugging from the female cadets.
Char got to his knees, shaking his arms out. "All right then! Off with that shirt!"
Van Kamper's back was indeed notably hairy. Two cadets came forward with shaving cream and a disposable razor. One sprayed the foam onto his back and covered the area with it. Garma turned back to Char as the first swipe of the razor left a stripe of pale exposed skin.
"I should introduce you to my brother when my family comes to pick me up," one girl was saying, "He's enlisted, but he did the most pushups in his basic training platoon."
"That'd be really interesting," Char said in a tone that suggested he was anything but interested. Garma felt smug and that night in their room his heart leaped in his chest when Char asked, "I wouldn't usually ask you to do this, but could you get this analgesic cream on my back? I did my biceps and triceps and that's where I can't reach."
Garma took the tube from him and smeared cream across Char's back muscles. He had a beautifully sculpted upper torso from the gymnastics. His skin was pale without pink undertone. His body was a pleasure to look upon--and Garma suddenly felt a twinge of arousal.
He put the tube down hastily and retreated to his side of the room. "There you go. Take more ibuprofen. Tomorrow's PT is running. You'll be fine."
Char allowed himself a brief smirk as Garma busied himself with tidying up something. So. Not only did Garma lack confidence in his own considerable abilities, he now apparently had a crush on him. Excellent.
Garma, on the other hand, was rapidly putting pieces together in his head. Not only was he now admiring Char's abilities, he was lusting mildy after him and getting jealous at female attention towards him.
This was difficult because first, he had to live with this man. Second, while Garma's brother Saslo had been gay and Garma had never had any problems with that, Degin had. He avoided Char's gaze for the rest of the evening.
"Okay, now that you shitbirds know how to move in team formations in space, we're gonna learn how to do it on land."
The cadets stood in a large circle around Cadre Pevensy as he knelt in the dirt. They were in the clearing of one of Side 3's small forests, surrounded by pine trees and the occasional deciduous growth. They had marched five miles in formation to reach the area and some of the cadets were shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Char himself was leaning on the outside of his right foot, his boot having rubbed a nasty blister onto his right big toe. He'd have Garma bandage it when they got back, after he'd showered. He'd come to enjoy the discomfort it caused the boy whenever Garma had to deal with Char's nudity or touching Char in any way.
" So we've got enough people for two squads here." He counted off ten and ten and began to assign them positions. "You, team leader. Automatic rifle, grenade, squad leader, team leader, grenade, commo. The rest of you are semiautos. Now, look down here and I'll show you how to move."
Char was team leader. Garma was commo, which meant, rather sadistically, that the wispy Zabi prince not only had to carry his rifle but a communications backpack that weighed 1/6 what he did. They spent the day stumbling forward through the woods, dropping for cover behind fallen logs, small birms, and anything else they could find. None of them were pleased to hear that this would be part of the six-day exercise that would be their final exam at the end of their time in Beast Barracks.
"Once again, that sucked," Garma said as they were downstairs outside, cleaning their weapons. All of them had become notably dirty during their day in the woods.
"Why are we doing that anyway?" Char asked as he dismantled his bolt carrier. "We're mobile suit corps. We fight in space. The zero gee combatives make sense. We're going to be in space, we're combat arms, and it's easy to see where we might find ourselves outside our ships and having to take on the enemy face to face, mano-a-mano as they say. But in the woods? What kind of shit is that? When are we supposed to fight in the flipping trees? Even if the enemy reaches Side 3, we've got Home Guard to take them on inside the colony."
Garma said nothing, preferring instead to concentrate on the cleanliness of his trigger mechanism.
Char frowned. Garma was usually quick with his answers, proud as he was to have inside information from his brother Dozel or his father the sovereign. Furthermore, if he didn't know he would normally say that. Garma was being quiet because he didn't want to lie.
"You know something you're not telling me," Char said.
"I don't know anything."
"You suspect something then." Char lowered his voice and leaned towards Garma. "We're in this together, battle. If I'm going into harm's way somewhere, I want to know about it in advance. Don't hold out on me."
Garma remained silent. He looked up the barrel of his weapon and attached a swath of gauze to the cleaning rod.
"Garma!"
Garma glared at him. "Use your imagination. Where might we end up fighting in the woods? Guess."
Char thought about it. "Ah. I see."
"Just a strong possibility," Garma said. "Like I told you before, I don't know anything for sure or certain."
This was a possibility that caused Char to once again lie awake at night, listening to Garma's occasional soft snore.
This changed a lot of things. Char Aznable had come to the Academy to see if he'd be able to get close enough to the Zabis for assassination. This he'd achieved. He'd counted on some minor skirmishes with the Federation in the course of whatever years he spent in the Zeon military. He hadn't planned to make a career of being an officer. It was intended to merely be a stepping stone to removing the Zabis and re-instating the republic his father had instituted.
All these plans could have to be postponed if the Zeon government intended to directly attack Earth.
There were ten days left in Beast Barracks. Six would be spent on their last training exercise. Three would be for cleaning equipment and packing it away for incoming cadets in the next year. One would be outprocessing to go home for four weeks before returning for the Fall academic semester.
0400 hours on the Monday found the cadets being bused to an obscure corner of the Academy grounds. On arrival, they formed up into the same ten-person formations in which they'd done their early practice in the woods. They were in battle dress, weighted down with vests containing sensor equipment, helmets, rucksacks and of course their rifles. The goal was to move in formation ten miles to a site where a short-distance spacecraft was waiting to take them to the next phase of the exercise.
Years later, Char would only remember certain highlights. The advance was slow; the ten miles ended up taking a good six hours because at random moments they had tear gas grenades thrown at them from the brush and they had to grab their gas masks as they hit the dirt and formed a perimeter. At one very surrealistic moment, they found themselves lying in the prone position, their rifles supported on their backpacks, facing the woods as a class of more senior cadets had their morning PT run down the road beside which they were lying.
By the time they did reach the port in which the craft was waiting, it was clear even the cadre were tired. Garma's arms were trembling from holding his rifle at the low-ready position for six hours and his shoulders and back felt raw from carrying his ruck. He thought the rectangular port, built into a mountain against the wall of the colony cylinder, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
They came out from the woods to a clearing around the port. The weary cadets started walking towards it—and suddenly a mob of people in civilian clothes exploded out of the woods on either side of the port.
"Get down!" shouted Ma, who was squad leader. Char and Garma both raced for the treeline, although after ten miles their "race" was slow indeed. Garma knew that he himself felt as if he were moving through tar, his whole body felt so heavy. He spotted a tree that looked wide enough to conceal him, but suddenly a siren went off from the sensor gear he was wearing, indicating that he'd been hit by an enemy "bullet". Knowing he wasn't supposed to take any action after that because he was "dead", he seated himself behind the tree and waited.
When the simulated attack ended, Cadre Pevensy came past him. "Get up, you. Get in the truck with the other casualties."
Garma got up and went to the open-bed truck that was by the side of the clearing. It took him and a rough half-dozen other cadets to a cinderblock building not far in the woods where they were locked in and spent the night sitting on the concrete floor with the lights on and a talk-radio station playing at high volume.
He was fascinated to discover that it was actually possible to nap, for a short time at least, with his arms wrapped around his knees, back against the wall. His skinny tailbone felt it in the morning, but the rest of his body hurt just as much.
As one of the survivors, Char was charged with defending the craft until the next morning. Bereft of his usual battle buddy, he paired up with Ma, who had also lost his. They took up a position behind a rocky outcropping of the mountain and spent the night taking turns watching for the frequent attacks that occurred throughout the hours of darkness. As Char lay propped again on his ruck, feeling dampness seep from the ground through his trousers, he thought to himself he'd never felt so bored or so abandoned.
As the morning light brightened, he heard one of their cadre announce, "It's a miracle! The dead have been raised!"
He and Ma looked down from their position to see the "dead" cadets jump stiffly off the truck. The "living" cadets were told to join them. They were allowed onto the craft, which finally took off towards an undisclosed destination.
They were given an hour of peace to eat a breakfast of field rations. The keynote of the morning was that everyone wished for a chance to change underwear.
The five days blended together. They landed on a simulated colony. They were attacked getting off the shuttle, but this time they expected it and neither Char nor Garma "died". On the colony they did more zero-gee combat of the type they had done in the cage that first time.
They were attacked during sleep times. They were attacked during meals. They were attacked while fighting each other. It seemed like the exercise would never end, but during the fifth torturous night of simulated combat it did, culminating in a five-mile march from the port back to the Academy grounds, where they were ordered to form up in front of their building.
The scene was unsettling. There were three officers standing at a podium that hadn't been there before. Floodlights were focused onto the lawn, causing them to blink painfully.
"Ground your gear," they were told.
They dropped their rucks onto the ground, by the right foot of each cadet, top of the rucksack pointing towards the podium.
"Company, atten-tion!"
They came to attention, although sluggishly.
"Congratulations, cadets!" said one of the officers, a captain they'd only seen peripherally during training. "You have now finished the first phase of training. None of you failed in the task set before you. We're proud of you; be proud of yourselves. Now, here to give you each your first-phase completion badge is a man who I know wishes could re-live the past weeks that probably had all of you wanting to curl up and die. Cadets, I give you His Royal Highness Admiral Dozel Zabi."
Char turned his head ever so slightly to look at Garma. The other cadet's expression was one of overwhelming exhaustion with no other reaction to the sight of his brother.
The podium only came up to Dozel Zabi's waist. He tried to pull the microphone up to his level, realized the stand only extended so far, and ended up removing the microphone and holding it in his hand. "At ease. Good morning! How is everyone feeling this morning?"
There was a scattered collection of "Oooahs" from the formation, some stronger, some weaker.
"It's been a long six days, I know. I remember, because it was only eight years ago that I was standing where you were now, wondering who the hell was this officer giving them a speech and would she please just make it quick so I could get back to my room and wash my itchy a—I mean backside. But I ask you to bear with me. This may not seem important to you now, certainly not as important as a shower and finally gettting some shut-eye. It is, though, so I want you to look right now to the cadets to the left and to the right of you."
Char had Garma to his left and a cadet who wasn't in their squad to his right.
"These are your comrades, on whom you'll be relying for at least your time at the Academy. Perhaps they'll go with you to your permanent duty stations after graduation, perhaps not. You all have just gone through the same type of ordeal that soldiers have endured during their training for centuries. We've gone from muskets and bayonets in the forest to high-powered rifles meant for use in space, but it's the same kind of initiation, a crucible of weariness, pain, and filth shared with one's fellow comrades. It's something you have to go through to understand what it does to you, and you are connected now by this shared initiation. This connection between each other is something no civilian can understand. It sets you apart as protectors of the people. All the torture you've gone through this summer has been necessary to discover if you are fit to protect the citizens of Zeon. You have been tested and now you can know as a fact that you have what it takes. Give yourself a big hand."
The cadets clapped for a few minutes.
"I'm now going to hand out your first-phase badges. Congratulations, cadets. You've earned your rest, and we look forward to you doing great things in the next four years."
He replaced the microphone and began to go past each rank of cadets, giving out the ribbon and shaking each cadet's hand.
When he came to Char, Char was overwhelmed by the immense size of the man. He'd always heard that the legendary Dozel was enormous, but since that had come from little Garma he'd taken it as an exaggeration. No, Dozel Zabi was as large as he'd heard, towering a solid foot above Char. His hand completely surrounded Char's when they shook. He was huge and scarred and intimidating even though there was nothing but friendliness in his gestures.
Char wondered how he'd greet Garma, but Dozel was very professional, giving him his badge and shaking his hand as he did with all the other cadets.
Finally they were dismissed and allowed to drag themselves up to their rooms. Char put his ruck down and said, "I never thought those six days would end. Dibs on the shower."
"Fine, I've got to get my boots off." Garma dropped onto his chair and started undoing the laces. His feet were marked with the imprints of his socks and sticky with six days' worth of foot powder and sweat. "I don't even smell human. I smell like some kind of rough beast."
"Cadet Zabi!" bellowed a voice as the door slammed open.
"Doz—I mean, Admiral Zabi!" Garma snapped to attention and winced as he landed on his sore feet. Char did the same, glad he hadn't started to undress yet.
"Get your gear, little brother. I'm taking you home."
"But Dozel, I still have three more days."
"You've completed your training and collected your badge. Dad wants you home."
"My gear—"
"Somebody else can clean it and turn it in."
"That's not fair, Dozel."
The older Zabi was resolute. "Dad wants you back."
Char shrugged. "I don't mind cleaning your gear."
"No, Char—"
"I get the room to myself for a couple of days. I think it's a great trade-off."
Garma sighed. "If you're sure."
"Hey, the sovereign himself is commanding your presence."
Garma looked up at his brother. "Should I change?"
"Just put your boots back on and get your stuff. You probably want your own shower anyway. I'll help you."
Char watched with amusement as the two brothers packed Garma's duffle. Dozel was a veritable mother hen, tutting over how Garma folded or rolled his uniforms and showing him how best to fit everything into the bag.
Garma came over to Char when they were finished and extended his hand. It was grimy, the nails black with dirt. "Cadet Aznable, it's been a pleasure."
Char shook his hand. "Cadet Zabi, likewise. I'll see you in September."
"I've got your e-mail. I'll write."
"Sure, but we'll be back together soon enough."
Garma hiked his duffle onto his aching shoulders and followed Dozel out the door. He glanced back into the room at Char as he did. Their eyes met and Char smiled. That was the permission Garma needed, and he felt much lighter as he trudged down the hall.
On Garma's first morning of freedom, he slept late, until 7 a.m. That this was "late" amused him greatly. About three hours later he set out on his bike for the part of town called Riverside. This meant cycling to the monorail, riding about half the length of the colony, then getting off and riding through the tree-lined streets towards his destination.
Riverside had a reputation as being a bohemian part of town. The area was expensive, full of handcrafted furniture stores, bookshops, curio sellers, art galleries, and cafes. Garma noted a cafe/bookstore for later, then pulled his bike up in front of the Singh Out Loud art gallery. He locked it to a parking meter, then inhaled deeply and went inside.
The interior was typical, with laminate wood flooring, white walls, and track lighting. The exhibit looked interesting; fantasy animals, birds, and insects in bright neon colours. Garma looked at one of them despite his errand, trying to figure if they were made of ceramic or papier-mâché or both. He looked at the accompanying plaque; the art style was called 'alebrije' and came from Mexico.
"Delightful, aren't they?" the owner of the gallery asked as he stepped from the back. "I was very lucky to--GARMA!"
Garma stood, knowing he had to look about 12 in his oversized button-down shirt and jeans. "Hello, John. Long time no see."
John Leonard Singh hugged the teenager who had once been his brother-in-law. "You look amazing. What's been going on with you and what brings you here?"
"You look well yourself." John was in a comfortable-looking set of khakis with a tweed jacket. His short brown hair was only slightly touched with grey and his large brown eyes seemed to have recovered their happy expression over the years.
"I'm in the Academy now. That's kind of what brings me here."
"Sounds like you came here for advice."
"I know, and it's lame of me after not being around all these years. I apologize."
"Let me put the sign up." John picked up a "Back at" sign and set the clock on it for half an hour ahead. He locked the door and they went to the kitchen in the back. He made tea as Garma perched on one of the barstools by the counter.
"It's all right that you haven't been around," John said as he plugged in the kettle. "I got all the cards you sent over the years, but I did need some space away from your family. It's not easy separating from you Zabis. The press were after me for at least a year after Saslo was killed." He held out his left hand. "I've remarried. His name is Brian, heís an orthodontist and ceramic artist."
"I'm glad. I mean, Saslo was really special and all, but I wouldn't have wanted you to be alone all these years."
John poured boiling water into mugs. "So what's on your mind, little brother?"
Garma took a mug. "I think I'm in love with a guy. I've never had any gay thoughts before now, so I'm kind of wondering what's going on."
"It's easy for an otherwise straight man to get feelings for another in an all-male environment."
"It's not an all-male environment. There are female cadets all over the place."
"And I'm sure it's not as if none of them are interested."
"You got that right." Garma reached into his pocket for a photo. "This is us together. His name's Char. He's another mobile suit pilot, he's my roommate and battle buddy. That means we're always together, two by two."
"Sounds romantic."
"It's not just that though. He talks to me honestly, John. He tells it like it is. We're from pretty different backgrounds; he was raised in a foster home so he's really independent and I was raised by my dad, who has to protect me and control everything. That just means I never get tired of listening to him when he talks, which is less than I do. Plus he's just the kind of guy I wish I could be. I already said he's independent, but he's also smart and tough and nothing ever seems to get to him. I'll get back to our room after a really hard day and cry, but he just takes a shower and shrugs it off."
John leaned against the counter. "Usually when a person falls in love, they know it. Sounds like you admire this guy, but to play Devil's Advocate, what makes you think it's love, or even a crush?"
Garma sighed. "Yeah, thatís the personal stuff. I realized it when I found myself looking at a calendar and thinking at least we have three more years of the Academy together and that after that, I don't know what I can do. That and I noticed I like looking at him after he gets out of the shower." His cheeks felt hot and he knew he was blushing.
"Those are pretty good indicators."
"Heís absolutely gorgeous, John. I've never been so turned on by another person before."
John shrugged. "Well, sounds like you've made up your own mind already."
Garma considered. "Yeah. I guess I have, haven't I?"
"Sometimes a person has to say it to another person for it to sink in."
Garma nodded. "Well, I have some time to think about where I'll take this thing. Thanks, John."
"Any time. Family is family, you know?"
Garma nodded again. "Now, can you show me your exhibit? I've never seen anything like them."
...To Be Continued