Chapter 4: Chance
In military school, Lelouch learned a great number of things. He learned how to handle a rifle, and how to pilot a Knightmare; he learned of the strong bond of camaraderie, how it brought men together even in the bleakest of times; he learned how discipline bred power. Above all, he learned that life could not move forward without a gamble or two.
Or ten. Or a hundred.
Jeremiah disapproved of this hobby of his but had only voiced it once, when he first discovered it.
"Gambling is not an action befitting of a prince, My Lord!" he said.
Lelouch looked up briefly from the screen before him. On it was depicted a chess board, and beside it, the round, double-chinned face of his opponent.
"On the contrary, my friend," he said, and then pressed the communicator attached to his ear. "Kewell, move the knight to c7."
He watched the black knight move in place and then continued, "It's exactly what we princes do. Politics is just a big chess game, after all."
"That's a different matter! Politics is necessary, but gambling-"
He was interrupted by the Prince's laughter, watching his opponent's move. Jeremiah could see that he'd already lost, and evidently the nobleman knew it as well; his face was shining with perspiration. He had to wipe his monocle clean.
"Oh, he's easier than I thought." His voice was still laced with amusement as he gave Soresi his orders, but it faded away once he looked to the side, meeting Jeremiah's glare.
"Alright then, it's what we humans do. Gambling is a fact of life. We gamble by walking across the street, by breathing in this polluted air ..." He paused, purely for the dramatic effect, just as he'd seen Clovis do so many times. "I'm taking a gamble just by trusting you so much, Lord Jeremiah."
Lelouch never took his eyes away from the screen, but from hearing the man's gasp it was evident his words had their desired effect. Instantly, Jeremiah launched in his usual tirade of loyalty and devotion, while Lelouch instructed Kewell on the next move and ignored him. Eventually, he stopped, and Lelouch managed to win his game.
The topic was never breached again, although he did see Jeremiah frown whenever Kewell was sent on an 'underground mission'.
Gambling, Lelouch found, was a very fun pass-time.
The thrill was not so much in the game itself, but in the process that led to it. As a Prince of the Britannian Imperial family, he could not be seen participating in illegal activities. Instead, he had two agents who played on his behalf: Lord Kewell Soresi and Conrad Evans. Conrad, his loyal butler, was for the more low-class opponents of the underground that Kewell's pride and station would not allow him to associate with. These both were known as the only two contacts of the one called the Black King.
The Black King was now riding in his personal transport, brows furrowed as his butler and accomplice gave him his latest report on his findings in Babel Tower. The soldier he was in contact with came as usual, dead-tired and cursing Bartley Asprius to hell and back again.
Every night, he was ordered to transport things back and forth from a base at the very outskirts of the settlements to somewhere he described as the middle of nowhere, near Mt. Fuji. This was all they'd managed to get out of him over the last two days.
After confirming the man's identity and connection to General Bartley, they began digging after him. Conrad was instructed to go to the same place each day, having befriended the soldier, and weasel more information out of him. It came in a slow, but steady trickle- truly frustrating- but today it seemed they'd made some more progress.
"A sealed container?"
"Yes," came the butler's voice on the other end. Lelouch could hear shrill laughter around him, the clinking of glasses, loud shouting and whirring- the sounds of the casino. "Spherical, with wires and tubes connected all around. He said it gave him the creeps."
"I see." He sent a sidelong glance at his secretary, who was looking discreetly away. He was careful not to say too much.
"He passed out not too long ago, but before he did, I heard him mumble something about a job at 3 a.m."
"You believe that is when it will be transported?"
"I do." Lelouch heard a crash on the other end; Conrad disappeared into a sea of curses and shouting. He was forced to wait, thin fingers grasping his knee tightly. Just in case, Conrad was instructed to remain discreet, as were the others who also had their targets. If someone had uncovered him, however …
Lelouch breathed easily again only when his butler returned, apologizing for the momentary lapse. "A drunken … fool ran into me, my Lord," he explained. "Do you want me to carry out your instructions, Master Lelouch?"
"Relay them to Jeremiah. He will take over from here- thank you, Conrad."
With the conversation ended, he motioned for Eleni to continue her briefing as if nothing had happened. And as he nodded, taking in all the details of the charity he was on his way to, the thoughts were whizzing around in his mind.
General Bartley Asprius was rather average, as far as generals went. Regardless, he got the job done. Lelouch disliked him for the most part, finding the way he grovelled at their –that is, the royals- feet disgusting. Most likely it was for that exact reason that Clovis had employed him here.
It seemed, however, that Asprius was cooking something up. And since he wouldn't dare go behind the Viceroy's back, there was no doubt that Clovis was behind it.
And yet he, the Sub-Viceroy, knew nothing.
Thus, he was conducting his own investigations into the matter, starting with that careless soldier. Jeremiah already knew of his suspicions, and would send the necessary person to trail the soldier until he got to the bottom of this.
Clovis' secret would not remain secret for long.
Kallen nibbled at her sandwich delicately. She was sitting in the garden with her so-called friends, only half listening to their conversation. It was all meaningless twittering, as far as she was concerned. Damn that Ohgi for making her stay in school, and damn him for always playing the guilt card. "Naoto would've wanted you to have a proper education," he always said. That was usually more than capable of closing all possibilities of arguments and made her march right back to Ashford. The comforting weight of her pouch in her hand, and the knowledge she could whip the knife out in the blink of an eye, was most likely the only thing keeping her sane.
"What about you, Kallen?"
"Hm?" She blinked, looking up at her friend's face.
She was greeted by Shirley's wide smile. "Have you thought about what you're going to wear for Sophie's coming-out ball?"
"Oh." And here she was, thinking they were going to ask her something important for a change. "No, not really. I don't think I'm going to be able to go." She gave an apologetic smile in response to their protests.
"Aww, Kallen!"
"Come on! You're barely around as it is!"
"It'll be fun, promise!"
She shook her head gently. "I'm just … feeling a little sick these days." Yeah, sick of sitting around like a goddamn invalid. Ohgi forced her to stay in school; he couldn't force her to socialize, although Inoue did encourage her to.
"Aw. Too bad,"
The iron-clad excuse triumphs again. They went back to their chatter; she went back to daydreaming about shoving socks down their throats.
It would be quite delicious, she imagined. Their eyes bugging out of their skulls, cheeks red and puffy, their shrill voices muffled by-
"-and Sub-Viceroy Lelouch might just attend!"
"What?" she asked incredulously, head whipping up.
All hail selective hearing!
Thankfully, she wasn't the only one with that reaction, as the two other girls said it at the same time. And then, the squeals came. She winced visibly, but tried to pass it off as a smile. She ended up looking constipated- something Sophie, the one who'd been speaking, and whose coming-out ball would be soon, was quick to point out, saying, "Wow, Kallen, you really do look sick."
Kallen waved a hand, indicating it was nothing, "But what was that you were saying about the Sub-Viceroy?"
Sophie got a twinkle in her eyes and a mischievous little smile on her lips, both of which reminded her eerily of Milly Ashford. "I was saying he might just attend my debut. What, you thinking you might just be able to come after all?"
"He is pretty yummy!" Mia giggled.
"Really, Sophie?" Shirley's eyes were wide, practically glistening with adoration. Ugh, how pathetic.
Sophie nodded, clearly enjoying the attention, and launched into an explanation of how her father, the esteemed Margrave Arcroft, was often present at the Viceroy's parties, and how he'd seen the young Sub-Viceroy attempt to make some form of a social life.
"Daddy says he's making allies." A nicer way of saying posse, Kallen thought. "And tries to appear as often as he can, mingle with the nobility. I can't imagine him passing up something like this."
Mia looked thoughtful- a real feat, considering it was doubtful she actually had a brain to think with. It was sad, sometimes, but at least she had her looks. With her looks, she would be the perfect Britannian trophy-wife. Now wouldn't Prince Lelouch just love that? Kallen could have sneered, but settled for taking a sip of juice instead.
As if in sync with Kallen's thoughts, Mia said, "He must get awfully lonely, spending all his time with some stuffy old men. He'll come, Sophie," she stated, nodding. Mia said it with such conviction, you'd think she got the knowledge from the Prince himself. "He needs some fun."
"Yeah," Sophie nodded, grinning conspiratorially. "And we'll give it to him, right?"
"Right."
"You've been spending too much time with Milly," Shirley said with a nervous little laugh, looking between them both.
"Speaking of Milly, did you hear what she called him that day? Lulu. Gosh, it's just so-"
And just like that, Kallen was in her own world again. She wasn't fantasizing about stuffing socks down their throats again, however, but wondering if his personal guard would follow if he was being led by a teenage girl to a dark, dark corner.
It would be so easy; she'd just seduce him, either with her womanly charms or with her family name, and pull him aside, and then her trusty pouch-knife would do the rest. She'd have to be extra careful, of course, but that wasn't new. She just had to tell the rest of her cell, in case she needed some back-up.
A thought came to her, making her grimace, and she lowered her half-eaten sandwich onto her lap.
She'd have to go shopping for a good dress.
Oh god, if the other girls ever caught wind of that …
The element that mattered most in battle was the human one. So he had been taught. And seeing as how Britannians were obviously the more superior race, they would always be superior in battle. Cornelia and the grand majority of his siblings believed in that, not to mention the general Britannian population, and although Lelouch generally didn't support that belief (it seemed far too ridiculous- when you shoot them in the heart, Britannians still bleed and die, after all) he was starting to wonder if perhaps there was some truth to it.
Piloting a Knightmare frame was part training and part talent. It didn't take much to be a decent pilot, but to be an exceptional one took a whole lot, especially where talent was concerned.
The Lancelot did not settle for merely a decent pilot. Sadly, that was all they seemed to be getting.
The excitement Lelouch had first felt upon first setting eyes upon the Lancelot had now diminished greatly.
Who was he kidding? This project had been abandoned by not one, but two of his brothers. If there was any merit in it they'd have been the first to pounce.
Lelouch's lips pursed, watching the latest applicant rise from the cockpit. His eyes were wide, obviously overwhelmed by the technology.
Yes, it truly was a magnificent machine, Lelouch would concede. When it had first been uncovered to him, he suspected his eyes had been that wide too, and he'd been just as overwhelmed. But there was little use for the machine without a man behind it. As it stood, the Lancelot might be put to better use if he sent it to Carline as a birthday present.
It might make her stop nagging so much, at the very least.
"Hmn, 57% efficiency," Lloyd stated. He was looking over his assistant, Cecile Croomy's shoulders, at the screen which showed the applicant's scores. The scientist sighed, straightening up, "Best we've had so far."
"But not good enough."
Lloyd turned slowly, as if he'd just remembered there was a Prince around. "No, not nearly. But! On the bright side, we still have a long list of Honorary Britannians to go through!"
He seemed quite optimistic about it. Lelouch wasn't so sure.
They didn't need Honorary Britannians for this, they needed Knights! Real knights, who had actual experience in battling with Sutherlands. But, of course, Britannia wasn't about to give up some of her precious Knights for the sake of experimental technology. And due to lack of an ejection mechanism, he couldn't pressure any of his subordinates into it either.
Idiot, he thought, shooting Lloyd a glare. When asked, he'd said the reason he didn't build an ejection mechanism was that he'd gone a little overboard with the experimental systems and had to draw funding from other, less important things. Idiot, idiot, idiot!
"Do as you like, Lloyd, and send me the results,"
His escort, realizing from his tone that this meeting was over, rose from his seat, and Lelouch followed suit.
"So soon, your Highness?" He was glad to be rid of him, it was obvious as day. "Ah well, busy schedule I suppose."
"Yes, exactly." Lelouch didn't even bother pretending to be cordial anymore. The time for pleasantries was over, and he wanted results. Unfortunately, it seemed he wouldn't be getting them for a while.
No wonder Clovis had laughed when he mentioned the Lancelot at dinner one time.
What a waste of technology and resources. The ultimate weapon, the first seventh generation Knightmare, and they couldn't even find someone to pilot it.
The disappointment was coming off of him in waves. Cecile's eyes were on his retreating back, a slight frown drawn on her lips. She could see him shaking his head. "Lloyd, do you think … ?" Turning to look at him, she found the scientist completely unperturbed, already looking through their lists again.
"He's every bit as impatient as they said he was, yes. I think it's about time we bring Kururugi, hmm?"
Cecile hesitated. "He's … he's the son of the late Prime-Minster."
"And, ironically enough, he joined the Britannian Military."
Lloyd had been very amused when they stumbled upon him; Private Suzaku Kururugi, the seventeen-year-old son of late Prime-Minister Genbu Kururugi, an Honorary Britannian serving in their very own military force. He had the highest scores when it came to the Knightmare simulator, as well as agility and endurance training. "The perfect devicer," Lloyd exclaimed after examining his file. The only reason they didn't bring him in was Cecile's insistence they should look at other alternatives first.
Lloyd gave her a sidelong glance, his usual cheeky grin playing on his lips. "Cecile, dear, do you really think the royals give a damn?"
"I'm not sure," she answered, giving a small shrug. She pulled out Private Kururugi's file again, and the green-eyed boy stared back at her from the screen. "I still don't think it would be a very good idea."
"Well, I do."
"Shouldn't we ask his highness first?"
The scientist laughed, collapsing onto one of the chairs very ungracefully. "Which one of them? We seem to have an abundance of highnesses these days," he said, waving a hand.
"I know Schneizel wouldn't mind, Clovis wouldn't care, and our dear little Lelou here-"
"Lloyd!" she whispered harshly, shooting a worried look at the door. "He's right outside! Be careful, please!"
He ignored her. "-I really couldn't tell, but at this point, he'll take whatever he can get."
Seeing the look of uncertainty that was still on her face, Lloyd rolled his eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Just bring Kururugi. We'll test him first, see if he can move my Lancelot, then we'll ask permission. How's that, hmmm?"
Cecile finally gave a nod, "I suppose that would work."
"Good, now get started on all those awful procedures… Please," he added in the end, seeing the pointed look she gave him. "My Lancelot is getting dusty, just sitting there. Poor thing."
His eyes were practically sparkling behind his glasses, even as he pouted at the thought of his Lancelot sitting useless in the hangar.
A/N: