Chapter 21: The Prince, the Private, and the Earl

""… Now as Idealist was walking on his own, he espied a curious pair afar by the road. The man's name was Eccentric, a four-eyed noble of fanciful ideas who passed his days tinkering with gears and bolts. The woman's name was Longsuffering, Eccentric's attendant. As they crossed the way of each other, Eccentric beheld the young man's purposeful gait and the light of his eyes and began thus to enter into some talk with Idealist.

Eccentric: "How now, good fellow, whither away are thou headed?"

Idealist: "To yonder Town where the Black Prince pitches camp. He means to embark on a quest and many have come afar to join his banner."

Longsuffering, a patient and stout-willed woman, addressed the youth: "Art thou a knight?"

Idealist: "I am a stableboy."

Longsuffering: "Hast thou a sword and shield?"

Idealist: "I have none but mine clothes and the staff I carry."

Eccentric: "That's too bad! For none but those fitted for war are joined into the Prince's company. Wilt thou hearken to me if I give thee counsel?"

Idealist: "I will, for I stand in need of advice."

Eccentric: "I see in our meeting the works of Destiny. I have with me creations of mine, mighty tools of war I desire to submit to the Prince: A Fiery Sword, Varis' Lance, Achilles' Shield, and Hermes' Shoes. Wear these and you shall put armies to flight. His Majesty will witness your feats and endow you with honors while my genius shall be known throughout the land. What say you?""

From the English play, "The White Knight of Camelot."

Act I. Lines 77-94.

Premiered in New London, September 2097."

****

Little Lloyd Asplund rode upon high atop the shoulders of the giant robot, arms wrapped around the helmet's horn as his short legs dangled over the side. The gold and white robot gleamed in the sunlight as it marched through the empty metropolis, each step causing the glass paneled skyscrapers to vibrate. Then emerged before the duo a host of red and black robots armed with sharp claws and clearly meaning business. The boy nudged his fat-framed glasses with his fingertips and sneered at the challengers. "Bash them, Robot!"

A leaping attacker was stopped cold in midair by a rocket-propelled fist from the white robot and exploded with a comedic kaboom. As the projectile flew back and reattached to its host's arm, the white robot leapt out of the way of a second assailant that sliced an office building clean in half. With quickness that belied its size, Lloyd's robot spun and kicked its opponent square in the gut, sending it tumbling through a row of buildings. And so it went, Lloyd's robot knocking down and out opponents until only one was left. "Robot, use the Mega Laser Beam!"

A blast of visible energy from the white robot's chest connected with its target. As the resultant fireball rose into the sky, Lloyd clapped his hands and hopped with laughter before turning to hug his companion. "Awesome. You're the bestest, strongest, most amazing robot ever!"

And the robot, turning its head, answered in a deep digitally rendered voice which children raised on imported cartoons naturally expected robots to sound like. "No, you are the amazing one, Lloyd. After all, you created me."

"Yes, I am amazing. I'm the best robot maker in the world!"

At that moment, the color of the sky turned dark and there rose in the eastern horizon a menacing shadow that fell over the city. A terrible voice boomed as though from Heaven itself, sending a frightful chill down the boy's spine. "Lloyd Carmine Asplund! This, is, not, playtime!"

"Eeek! The witch! Run, robot, run!"

And the duo ran, as fast as the robot could, but there was no escape from the omnipresent shadow that shaped into the form of a giant hand, reaching and slithering around Lloyd's robot and tripping it. The boy fell bottom first onto the pavement and watched tearfully as his precious creation—his life and joy—was snatched away. "No! Robot! Don't take him from me!"

The voice, which sounded so deep and terrible a minute ago, now became recognizably feminine and irritated (rather than angry). "If you would keep on schedule for once, both our lives would be so much easier."

"Don't… wait, what?"

"Wake up, Lloyd!"

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10:11 AM

Lloyd Asplund's Apartment, Tokyo Concession, Area Eleven

"Blargh!"

Lloyd snapped up, shaken and sweating. A furtive glance around informed him he was sitting in his bed, in his own room. He looked down; he had been sweating so much that his pajamas and even the sheets were soaked. He was literally dripping with sweat. The curious thing was that he was not much a sweater, not even on the exceedingly rare occasion that he exercised by taking the stairs at work. Plus, he'd never heard of a sleeping man drowning in his own sweat…

"You're up, finally."

He turned and saw a blurry blob in the direction of his bathroom. Fumbling and putting on his glasses, he saw his head subordinate standing with an orange bucket slung over her shoulder. He sighed deeply. "Water tactics in the morning? You couldn't just wake me like civilized people do?"

"I tried, didn't work. Today happens to be the worst day for you to be sleeping in."

Opening his drawers, Cecile Croomy began to pick out a change of clothes for her boss.

"What were you dreaming of anyways? You were grinning ear to ear one second and then you looked as if you became oppressed by some evil spirit."

The mechanic-electro-engineer-physicist staggered out of bed, trailing little wet spots on the carpet as he pattered towards the bathroom. He'd seen the dream often enough to know the metaphors all to well—The fear of having his Precious taken away, and his faithful colleague whose duty it was to remind him that there were consequences when you accepted other people's money to fund your hobby, such as demand for accountability.

"Hmm, yes, well, it began pleasant enough. I was living out my fondest childhood dream, and then you showed up."

"… I beg your pardon?"

"Did I say you? I meant you… U… Uranus. Yes, I had a vision. Greek mythology, you know, family drama, castration, flint knife. Brutal stuff, really makes the skin crawl."

Now alert and more awake than he had been seconds ago, he took the clothes from his assistant and closed the bathroom door safely in between; bodily pain was not how he liked to start his days. "You said this was a bad day to sleep in. Does that mean there are days where the extra half-hour is permissible?"

"No, there aren't. However today is especially important. That's why I came to make sure I pulled you out of bed in time." Cecile was in the middle of picking up her boss' scattered belongings when a thought occurred to her. "You do remember what today is, right?"

He did not. He rarely remembered dates and appointments and deadlines. Poor attention to minor details like that was a weakness he admitted openly. It was also the reason why he kept an assistant whose duty it was to carry multiple planners, so he could be free to concentrate on the meat of his work. "Friday?"

"Saturday."

"Ah, and what's special about Saturday?"

Cecile felt a vein surface on her temple; she endured enough stress on a regular basis as it were. "Prince Schneizel's representative arrived from Britannia. He wants to see our progress. The inspection is scheduled for 12:30. That's two hours from now."

"Topping. He'll approve our request for extra funding then."

"Or he could decide that the Lancelot is late and over budget and cancel the project."

"Cancel!?" Lloyd nearly tripped and whined loudly over the noise of the shower. "Cancel my Lancelot? But that's madness! Even a blind man could see how Lancelot changes everything."

"I know. I helped build it, remember?" Cecile knew how sensitive Lloyd was when it came to Lancelot; there was a reason why the man constantly referred to the prototype knightmare as "his," a notion she'd long since given up trying to correct. "Even if Lancelot is the most advanced knightmare in the world, that's all moot if we can't demonstrate its potential."

This was the part of his job that Lloyd liked least; accountability, which translated in his mind to "the necessity of explaining the obvious to laymen." Granted, that his was a secret project patronized by the Chancellor himself, but even this enviable status did not preclude all inquiries by nosy bureaucrats concerned about how taxpayer money was spent—as if there could be a more worthwhile public project than his Lancelot!

"I don't see what the trouble is. All core and secondary components test out. What could possibly keep anyone from recognizing the potential of my knightmare?"

"Well for starters, we have no pilot."

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11:14 AM

Residential Project Block B77, Tokyo Concession

For the residents of Tokyo, roadwork was as common a sight as traffic signals. Their place in the urban landscape did not change after the Invasion, except now, the construction crews were often accompanied by small detachments of soldiers: In the wake of occupation, sabotage against infrastructure by rebels prompted the Empire to step up security by assigning army units to guard reconstruction efforts. In time, pre-war prosperity returned to a growing spectrum of the local populace, undermining support for those who chose to resist. By 2017 the Empire had succeeded in suppressing urban partisan activity and driving major organized resistance into the countryside.

Consequently, security for local projects was now usually delegated to units composed of locally recruited Honorary Britannians. These soldiers were unarmed, for experience showed that partisans were reluctant to attack their brethren, even those who had entered the service of their enemy. This trend cut both ways for the occupying power, however—Past experiments in employing Honorary Britannians against rebel forces yielded unsatisfactory results, and weapons distributed to these units often found their way into the hands of partisans. Thus today, Honorary Britannian soldiers carried out their missions of deterrence and improving community relations without the aid of guns.

On this morning, at a Tokyo district formerly known as Akasaka (officially re-designated Proustworth to honor one of the Governor's favorite writers), work at a construction site was in full swing. A stocky foreman stepped over a bundle of cables as he surveyed the work of his crew, barking commands over the cacophony of jackhammers and flying sparks. Continuing his rounds on the yet unenclosed seventh floor, the foreman found his best worker busy on the job, snapping and bolting steel frames into place with the speed and accuracy of a team of experienced tradesmen.

The foreman smiled; the boy was a freak of nature, willowy as a reed and yet able to carry an I-beam section on his own without a scissor lift. He was also nimble, climbing up and around the exposed skeleton of the unfinished high-rise with the ease of a trapeze artist navigating a playground jungle gym. The irony of it all was that he wasn't even a member of his crew. "Break time, Kururugi, take thirty."

Suzaku lowered the wrench in his hand and looked up. "I'm still good, chief."

"You're making the rest of my boys look bad. C'mon, it's near lunch time."

The pair took the stairs down. The foreman cursed at the rising midday heat and wiped his forehead with a towel slung around his neck. "I don't get why you're doing this. Army is only here to keep the peace, make sure no one comes messing with my project. Why aren't you down stairs chilling with the rest of your buddies?"

The private, dark uniform sleeves rolled up and MK. 7 helmet exchanged for a yellow hardhat, smiled as he passed an ascending wielder. "There hasn't been a terrorist attack in months. I feel I should be doing something, not just sitting around getting paid."

"Seeing how much the Brits took from us, I woulda' thought a little smooching off was in order, payback and all."

"Well, back at the barracks I eat like three people. That should count for something." The young soldier chuckled before continuing. "Besides, Britannia isn't all bad; when this project is done it will house hundreds of low-income families. It's why I want to be a part of this."

"Hmph. The way I see it, they're just replacing a few of the homes they bombed to hell seven years ago. I do the job 'cause it moves folks out from the ghettos, but I don't pray for Emperor Charles before bed, if you know what I mean."

"I…"

The youth's attention was distracted by one of his squad mates standing on the back of an army utility truck. "Hey Kururugi! It's your turn to go buy lunch. "

"Coming!" Suzaku turned apologetically to the foreman. "Excuse me."

"Take it easy." The foreman watched as the private leapt through an opening in the wall, landing thirty feet below before sprinting to where his fellow soldiers were waiting with their requests.

"Strange kid, that one."

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11:21 AM

City Center, Tokyo Concession

"I told you so." Cecile sat besides her boss, arms folded across her chest as their car sat stuck amidst thick midday traffic. "I told you stopping at that drive-through was a bad idea."

Lloyd leaned back in the driver's seat and sucked his strawberry milkshake loudly through two straws. "How am I supposed to make a sales pitch on an empty stomach? We'll be there on time, relax." He held out the paper bag to the woman in uniform. "Curly fries?"

"No thanks." Cecile wrinkled her nose at the deep-fried offering; how Lloyd managed to stay so reedy in spite of his free eating habits escaped her. It was unfair, really. "What do you plan on telling the Prince when we get there?"

"Well, I thought I'd be straight up about it."

"Try me."

Lloyd cleared his throat and began to recite as though from script. "As per the government's wish list of specs and features, we've completed the world's most advanced KMF. Unfortunately, the capacity of the command and control unit…"

"The pilot."

"Right. Unfortunately, pilot capacity has become the bottleneck as KMF capability grows. The Sutherland was built to achieve more perfect human-mimicry—the closer the KMF behaved to a human, the easier it was for a pilot to get the most out of it, like wearing your own skin. Comparatively speaking, Lancelot is superman, in both energy output and maneuverability. Its performance is beyond normative human experience, and since a normal human—normal being the operative term here—can't conceptualize himself as superman, he cannot pilot the Lancelot to its potential."

"Or at all, really."

"Yes, but lets not raise that issue voluntarily shall we? I think truth in small parcels would be better for our sponsor's health, as well as ours."

Cecile sighed deeply. "We can improve the user interface, make it simpler and more efficient to reduce demand on the pilot, but for that we need data, trials, time…"

"In other words, to dumb down Lancelot's controls so it can accommodate mere mortals." Lloyd rested his chin atop the steering wheel and he look towards the red-filled traffic display over the intersection. "Ergonomics, human-machine interface, anthropology, biology, stuff concerning fleshy squishy stuff… never was my forte."

"Our present pool of candidates won't be any help. We'll have to start over with a new set of criteria and sampling methods." Cecile powered up the notebook she carried in her lap and opened a roster of military personnel stationed in Area 11. "I just hope we can persuade the Chancellor to keep this project alive until we find a pilot."

"Maybe we ought to take out an ad: 'KMF test pilot wanted for Top Secret Project; superb reflexes and coordination required. Gymnast/circus experience preferred. Exceptional compensation; meals and lodging included.' If we're lucky, an apolitical ninja will respond and all our problems will be solved."

"… I am in no mood for jokes at the moment, Sir."

"Um, right." Lloyd's eyes were back on the road in a flash. "How now, I believe we're moving again. I'll take an alternate route and uh, get us there quicker."

------------------

11:30 AM

Sector 334, Greater Tokyo Metropolitan Area

One of the great things about electric cars is how silent they are compared to gas-driven vehicles of old. In the thirty-plus years since the imperial decree phasing out private usage of fossil fuels, electric vehicles became even quieter, greatly reducing noise pollution. The change was particularly noticeable in densely populated cities like Tokyo, where environmental noise had a tangible effect on the wellness of inhabitants. Now days, a typical electric car sitting in idle sounded little different from one zipping along at fifty-five miles per hour—ten less than what showed on Lloyd's speedometer as he rushed by rows of derelict buildings. This part of Tokyo lay outside the boundaries of the Concession, and its bleak neighborhoods stood worlds apart from the lively streets they were driving through mere minutes ago.

Cecile tightened her grip around the passenger side handle as her boss sped around a bend. "You won't save us any time if you get pulled over."

"'Clause 19 of the Magna Carta: Members of Peerage shall in all cases, except Treason and Felony, be privileged from arrest.'"

He smiled as the car bounced after hitting a pothole, eliciting a yelp from the woman next to him. "And don't worry about pedestrians. No one lives in these parts."

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11:33 AM

One of the bad things about electric cars is how silent they are: A number of studies conducted after the Green Earth Decree suggested a correlation between increased traffic accident rates with the popularization of silent electric vehicles. However, the authorities decided that this risk was more than offset by the large environmental and economic benefits brought by electric cars. Thus, drivers were made to drive slower and pedestrians learned to be more careful.

Suzaku was not being careful. He dashed through the back alleys and ran across empty streets with his arm full of bento boxes and saran-wrapped breads—the lunch vendor operating five blocks away had run out of carrying bags. The woman who owned the food stand had catered to a local high school before the war, and her victuals were popular with salary men and women (and soldiers) on a budget.

On this particular day business was good and the wait in line long, so Suzaku decided to make up time by taking the short cut through an uninhabited sector of Tokyo—uninhabited due to the extent of the devastation and Britannian policy that prioritized developing the Concession before all others. He did not stop and check for traffic because in the ghettos there was no traffic, as drivers avoided the ghettos out of fear for crime and poor road conditions. Besides, he was in a hurry…

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11:33 AM

… And so was Lloyd, who saw the human blur cut across his path too late to hit the breaks in time.

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11:33 AM

Suzaku sensed the rush of air before he saw the speeding vehicle. Reacting reflexively, he leapt mid-stride into the air and curled into a position that would minimize the direct force of collision.

He wasn't quite fast enough; he glanced off the hood of the car and hit the windshield hard, and his world went spinning.

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11:34 AM

"Oh God." Lloyd's forehead was resting against the wheel. "Is he dead?"

Cecile jumped out of the car and ran to the prone form on the pavement thirty feet away. "Are you alright?"

"I, I think so." With a helping hand, Suzaku sat up slightly dazed and felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. "Sprain maybe, nothing serious."

Cecile's shoulders sagged with relief. "We need to have you examined. There are doctors where we are heading."

It was then that Suzaku noticed the uniform the woman was wearing and the bars denoting her rank. He struggled to his feet, nearly losing balance as he snapped to attention. "That won't be necessary, ma'am. I apologize for getting in your way."

"You've nothing to apologize for. Someone wasn't driving safe." She shot the man responsible an icy stare and Lloyd ducked behind the driver's side door. "Come on, the base isn't far and it's closer than the nearest hospital."

Suzaku was touched by the woman's sincerity but habit—formed by discipline and years of cultural conditioning—was hard to break. "I appreciate the offer ma'am but I should be getting back to my unit. They'll be missing me."

"Give me your commanding officer's number. I'll call him."

"I'd rather not ma'am. The Captain doesn't take kindly to us getting in trouble."

"You're not in trouble... Private Kururugi." Cecile made out the Romanized spelling stitched on a pad across the youth's left breast. "He'll understand if I explain things to him."

"Look, the boy says he's fine and he looks fine. We're all in a hurry. Why don't we honor his choice and go our separate… uh oh." Lloyd covered his big mouth, knowing full well as the female officer turned on him that he was about to get pounded.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I take that back. No, not the face! Look, what will the Prince say if I show up with black eyes and missing teeth?"

She paused to consider for a second.

"You're right."

A blow planted in his gut left the scientist moaning and rolling on the ground as he clutched his rattled internal organs; Suzaku paled at the power and placement of the punch. Having dispensed justice, Cecile turned towards the private, the aura of a kind, worried sister replaced by a something cold, authoritative, and deadly. "Private Kururugi, you are coming with us and you will receive treatment for your injuries before they get worse. Are we clear?"

"Yes ma'am."

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12:41 PM

Sector 399, Greater Tokyo Metropolitan Area

Site Y: Project Camelot Research Laboratory

Site Y was located in the heart of a vast industrial district that had been spared from the destruction of the invasion seven years ago. The benefits of its location were manifold—access to close by industrial facilities, abundant electric capacity, and above all anonymity. Ostensibly accessible to the public, the site was protected not so much by overwhelming military presence but by its address number: abrupt dead ends, mislabeled street signs, and road crews who set up random road blocks meant that only those supposed to reach Camelot made it through the miles of haphazardly crisscrossed roadways.

Lelouch, accompanied by Villetta and Marika—Kewell's younger sister whom he had reassigned from the Knight of Ten before leaving Britannia—had just declined an offer of tea from a lab assistant when the man he was scheduled to meet walked into the reception area fashionably late.

"Your Majesty!" Lloyd extended his hand towards his distinguished guest. "It is an honor to finally meet you in person." The scientist turned to the woman beside him. "My colleague, Major Cecile Croomy. She is my military liaison and is active in research here as well."

"A pleasure." Lelouch—dressed in crisp business attire—surprised the female officer by taking and raising the back of her hand to his lips. "I read your report on solid-state energy propulsion. I found your work very promising."

Cecile flushed pleasantly; Marika quirked a brow and looked at Villetta, who merely shrugged. "You flatter me, your majesty. I hope you're enjoying Area Eleven?"

"I'm afraid I haven't had much time for sight seeing, but the sooner we finish the sooner I can start."

"In that case let's get underway. Shall we?"

Lloyd led the tour, briefly pointing out the work taking place as the group passed by different labs and workshops. Considerable distances separated the different units, each of which more or less focused on one component of the project so that only a handful of personnel out of the scores involved possessed a complete picture of the final product. Lelouch took it all in, noting the laidback workplace atmosphere. He even saw several team members dressed in blue jeans and t-shirts.

Lloyd caught on to the object of his guest's curiosity. "Everyone commutes to work in assigned outfits; technician wear, plant manager's suits, that sort. When they get here they change into whatever they like."

A few minutes later, the party stood before a pair of sealed blast doors with a sign overhead that read in large, bold print two words: Restricted Access. The scientist became visibly elated, bouncing his fingertips together in a series of quick staccatos.

"I love this part."

Lloyd pressed his thumb against a scanner. A few seconds later the access granted signal sounded and the three-foot thick doors began to roll back. The prince stood with his arms folded behind his back as he waited for the process to complete. "Lord Asplund…"

"Lloyd, please. Lord Asplund is what everyone calls my father."

Lelouch cleared his throat. "Very well, Lloyd, do you mind if I ask a straight question?"

"Not at all."

"Will Lancelot really change the face of war, or will it just be another promise that turned out to be a waste of time and resources?"

Those present were stunned by the prince's abrasive comment—Cecile was practically horrified. Lelouch waited; in addition to evaluating Lancelot itself, he was interested in taking the measure of the man who headed the most significant military research project initiated by the Empire since the knightmare frame. He learned from experience that pressure combined with insult made for a useful acid test.

"Well?"

The retreating blast doors came to a resounding halt that echoed through the cavernous hallway and faded into stillness. Lloyd slowly turned towards his guest, who was surprised to find not irritation, but genuine amusement on his demeanor. "Your majesty, Lancelot will surpass your wild dreams… I promise."

-------------------

Lelouch circled around the sleek gold and white knightmare frame, pausing at intervals to inspect certain details up close. When he read the initial report on the project (which contained no pictures for security reasons) he expected the Miracle Machine to be of a radical new design, like the Panzer Hummel that was causing Britannia so much grief. In fact, the Z-01 was largely similar in shape and scale to the venerable Sutherland which it was meant to replace. While Lancelot did appear more toned and streamlined compared to the boxy Sutherland, Lelouch was not immediately impressed that the robot—the product of more than three years of research—could become the war winner they desperately needed.

When he finished his round, the Prince stood before the robot without a word until Lloyd sidled up besides him. "What do you think, your Majesty?"

"It looks impressive."

"Thank you."

"But a better looking knightmare is not what we invested billions for."

"Of course not—you ordered all the bells and whistles as well." Lloyd strolled up to his creation and patted its thigh fondly as though he was a car dealer pitching a prize roadster. "Lancelot is the complete package of speed, maneuverability, firepower and survivability. The departure from the 5th generation platforms is so great, it's like leaping straight from a crank crossbow to a 800 rpm machinegun."

Cecile winced—she had warned him repeatedly about getting carried away. Marika, herself an elite pilot who had rode the most advanced models the Empire had to offer up until then, displayed a healthy dose of skepticism at the boisterous scientist's claims.

The prince however was not affected. "That's what I like to hear." Lelouch nodded towards Villetta, "Fetch the Panzer, Colonel. We're having a demonstration."

Lloyd's smile faltered a bit. "I beg your pardon?"

"I brought a captured enemy unit to Area Eleven for this very purpose. Don't worry, it will be a simple test. According to your specifications, Lancelot's energy shields can repulse armor piercing shells from a 105mm tank gun; shrugging off 76mm rounds from the European Panzer should be a walk in the park."

Lloyd began to rub his palms against the hem of his lab coat. "Well yes, in theory that is, but we've never…"

"Colonel Villetta will pilot the Panzer and handle the firing. Tell your man to take Lancelot and meet us at the target range."

"My man?"

Lelouch glanced over his shoulder at the scientist with an odd look. "Your test pilot. Speaking of which, I'm surprised I haven't been introduced to him yet."

On the outside, Cecile was the very image of professional composure. Inside, every alarm was going off as she nudged and elbowed her boss in the back outside the prince's view. Scenes from her career played through her mind like an old film reel even as she prayed that for once, Lloyd would do the prudent thing and come clean before matters became any worse…

"Of course, I'll go fetch him straightaway."

Cecile cracked her knuckles.

----------------

"Congratulations~!"

Suzaku had had a bizarre day, some would even say unfortunate day. After being hit by a car during an errand he was taken under duress, if not completely against his will, to a military installation absent from any map he ever seen. There he was treated for his injury and made to sign a confidentiality agreement followed by several stacks of what appeared to be health surveys and insurance waivers. Stranger still, the man who ran over him looked every bit more in pain than he was, with a hand nursing his ribs and a fresh cut on his lip. And he was offering him congratulations; to say the young soldier was puzzled would have been a gross understatement.

"Um, for what, sir?"

"On your promotion!"

"My promotion?"

"Private Suzaku Kururugi," Lloyd summoned his best authoritative tone—difficult to do when your subordinate officer just used you for a punching bag, "for your exemplary service in His Highness' Territorial Army, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Corporal."

"Sir, I…"

"You have also been transferred to the Special Dispatch Division, an auxiliary military agency under direct supervision of the Chancellery. As head of the Special Dispatch Division, I am your new boss. Your first assignment…" Lloyd lifted a five-inch thick binder from the examination room's table and planted it in the young soldier's lap, "is to familiarize yourself with the cockpit layout of KMF Z-01 Lancelot, which you will be piloting in precisely twenty-four minutes. Any questions?"

"Yes sir." Suzaku's hazel orbs lowered to the floor tiles as he paused to reflect. "This is all too sudden, sir."

Lloyd cleared his throat deliberately. "Yes, well, life waits for no man."

"I mean, I have no idea when and how I could have transferred out of my unit…"

"Elementary, Watson: You signed the papers moments ago. They're being processed as we speak."

Suzaku's eyes turned wide as saucers. "I thought those were insurance waivers."

It was the kind of reaction Lloyd Asplund lived for. "Better read the fine, fine print next time."

The way the scientist smiled reminded the young man of a certain Mad Hatter, and he was the helpless dame who'd tripped down the rabbit hole. "Sir, the only piloting I've done was in a simulator. I've never actually been inside a knightmare before."

"Not to worry. I'll walk you through each step through this headset. For today, all you have to do is get in the cockpit and hit a particular switch exactly when I tell you to."

"What's going on, sir?"

"Just a harmless little demonstration."

Lloyd neglected to mention that the Suzaku would soon be staring down not one, but four barrels of a Panzer Hummel loaded with live rounds.

The ambiguity of the man's reply deepened Suzaku's anxiety considerably, but he was a trusting boy by nature who was additionally raised to respect authority. "I understand, sir. I'll do as you say."

"There's a good lad." Lloyd's exhale of relief resulted in a stabbing pain in his ribcage, a sobering reminder of Cecile's stern reprimand. A few bruised ribs were a small price to pay however if his hastily drawn together plan would save his precious from the axe of the budget committee.

Suzaku flipped through the binder until he found a diagram which detailed the layout of controls inside Lancelot's cockpit. For the next several minutes he seemed to absorb the information well, but then his brows furrowed and the crease deepened until finally he looked up for guidance.

"Um, sir? I can't seem to find the ejection handle."

Lloyd tapped his index finger against his chin. "Ejection handle? Hmm. Ah yes, I remember now. There is no ejection handle, at least not yet."

The young soldier blinked. "But, but… every knightmare's cockpit is an ejection pod!"

"Yes, about that. The thing is, I was investigating the possibility of a flight system for Lancelot. It was a stupendous idea, very exciting! But the higher ups failed to see the potential and refused to supply more funds. So I ended up routing money from a couple of less important projects, things like field trials, pilot screening and selection, cockpit ejection integration… that sort of thing."

The stuffy feeling in Suzaku's chest had by now pooled into something leaden and bottomless in the pit of his stomach. Lloyd, seeking to boost the young man's spirits, patted the soldier on the shoulder with both hands and winked.

"Trust me, everything will be fine."

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4:37 PM

The Royal Guest House, Clovis Land

Planted in the center of the room, Milly spun slowly on her heels as she took in her surroundings: Ornamental mirrors and richly framed painting hung on the walls, which were covered in an elaborate red-blue pattern. Tall white French doors made up the entirety of one side of the room, opening onto a marbled balcony with stair access to the infinity pool that merged into the horizon. The doorways and corners of the ceiling were lined with sculpted white stucco. The hardwood floor was completely overlaid by a single, massive Persian rug. A large fireplace with a mantelpiece faced the King-sized canopy bed from across the room. Mahogany furniture, bowls of fresh flowers, Ming vases and antique articles adorned the somewhat cluttered living space after the Rococo style. The ceiling was a magnificent mural of Angels on clouds and other Heavenly scenes surrounding a gold coat-of-arms featuring a lion and serpent laid on top of St. George's Cross: The flag of the Holy Britannian Empire. Milly whistled.

"This is a really nice place."

The student council president turned to the boy stretched out on a chaise lounge, "It was sweet of your brother to let you stay here."

With his collar open and tie undone, Lelouch was the epitome of the working executive unwinding after work. "Clovis insisted; wouldn't take no for an answer."

Milly lowered herself to a chair beside her resting friend. "Long day?"

"Not exactly. Everything went smoothly, but the man I was scheduled to meet turned out to be different than I expected. "

"Is that a bad thing?"

Lelouch rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm not sure."

And that was the problem—while he did not doubt his brilliance, Lelouch found the man in charge of Project Camelot a quandary. It was as if Lloyd Asplund operated on his own narrow wavelength, and those who did not share his specific passions exhausted themselves just trying to relate to him. That included the female officer who was his lead assistant. Nevertheless, his personal misgivings about the project leader notwithstanding, the Black Prince was a man who valued results above all else. Thus, after he witnessed the gold and white knightmare emerge unscathed after weathering a full-on volley from the Panzer, he shook the scientist's hand and gave his full approval.

It was then that someone made three measured knocks on the main entrance to the suite. "Enter."

An impeccably dressed steward walked in and bowed to the lounging prince. "You called, my lord?"

"Club sandwich—honey mustard no mayo—fruits, cold cuts, juice and tea; I haven't had much to eat since morning."

"Very good sir. For you, madam?"

"Hmm," Milly had not planned on eating when she came to visit, but her friend's dwelling had so impressed her she was curious to learn more. "What do you have?"

The half-bald gentleman lifted his pointy nose ever so slightly. "Madam, we have everything."

Milly smiled. "In that case, I would like… a Grand Marnier soufflé with crème anglaise."

"Very good, madam. I will return shortly with your orders."

Lelouch tilted his head towards Milly after the servant left. "You are evil."

"Since when is craving dessert a sin?" She chuckled and wondered whether the self assured servant could produce the tricky dish on such short notice. "Can you really get everything here?"

"I wouldn't know; I've had no time to sit down to a proper meal. I suppose it's possible—there is a kitchen downstairs that can fill most orders. Then there are the eleven restaurants inside Clovis Land, all of whom deliver."

"A girl could get used to this sort of treatment."

"I doubt that."

Chin in hand, she turned to look at her scowling friend. "Lelouch, what could you possibly find wanting about this place?"

The Prince raised himself into a sitting position.

"Well, for starters, I feel like I'm living in the Versailles, the gaudy one currently open for public viewing. It was even worse before I removed half the breakable trinkets and the busts of these historical literary figures—can you imagine how unpleasant it is to wake up in the middle of the night and find yourself surrounded by so many pale statues of dead poets and writers?"

His frown deepened when she began laughing.

"Then there's the fact that no amount of soundproofing and clever landscaping can hide the fact that this mansion is inside an AMUSEMENT PARK. Tons of people pass through here! I hear them on the thrill rides. There are fireworks so often I never want to see one again."

"Forgive me, I had no idea the extent of your suffering. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. The commute from here to Ashford Academy is too long. I would ferry Nunally in a helicopter but that would attract too much attention. Ideally, she would dorm on campus like most of your other students, but her condition requires personalized care. Even if I did find someone…" The prince folded his hands before him as he lowered his gaze. "I'm worried she'll have difficulty adjusting living away from me."

Milly understood that Lelouch was speaking as much for himself as he was for Nunally. The two have always been together—To begin coming home to an empty mansion, even one as replete with comforts as the Clovis Land mansion, would be difficult to adjust to.

And that was when she hit upon one of her many great ideas.

----------------

5:51 PM

The Student Council Clubhouse, Ashford Academy

Lelouch took an immediately liking to the homely two-storied building, sufficiently removed from the rest of the school buildings to ensure peace and privacy. The furnishings emphasized function and comfort over aesthetics, which suited the prince fine. There were plenty of rooms inside; more than adequate for the siblings. Best of all, an elevator provided wheelchair access between floors.

"It's not exactly the Ritz…" Milly drew open the curtains and late afternoon sunlight filtered into the room as Ashford Academy—largely empty of students on the weekend—came into view. "But you'll have the place all to yourself. By night the students go home, and by day Nunally will be in school. Only the student council ever comes by, and there's nothing we do here that can't be scheduled elsewhere."

"I like the smell of the room. It feels… warm." Nunally, who had been out in the gardens getting some sun when Milly dropped in, ran her fingertips along the wall. "What do you think, brother?"

"It's perfect." The prince noted that Ashford Academy had a walled perimeter and all entrances were guarded by gatehouses or monitored; a wise precaution for a Britannian boarding school in an until recently hostile Area. "How about domestic help?"

"Sayoko can see to all your needs."

"Your maid is a local, right?"

"I can vouch for her. She has been with us for ten years and I trust her like a sister." She pinched the hem of her skirt and curtsied. "Here at l'Hôtel de Ashford, your majesties' satisfaction is guaranteed."

Nunally giggled at the elder girl's faux French accent. A digitally rendered excerpt from a Puccini opera filled the room and Lelouch retrieved his cell phone, mouthing a silent apology to Milly before answering. "This is Lelouch."

The caller was Villetta. "Sorry to interrupt, Sir. But there are four students here who claim they're from the student council and looking for Miss Ashford."

He turned to his friend. "Were you planning on meeting friends?"

"What? Oh rats." Milly ran to the window and looked below. "That's them. We were supposed to meet here and go for supper. I completely forgot."

"What are your orders, Sir?"

Lelouch joined Milly next to the window. Following her line of sight, he saw three girls and a boy close to his age engaging Marika in conversation while Villetta stood a few steps away. He considered the situation: His instructions were to remain discreet until the primary task of his trip—evaluating Project Camelot's progress—was complete. After that, he was to declare his presence in Area Eleven at an appropriate time so as to create a public sensation and surprise Britannia's neighbors in the Far East. And since the afternoon's earlier activities had satisfied Lelouch about Camelot's progress, all that remained was to unveil himself to Area Eleven.

"It's alright. Show them in. We will meet them downstairs."

"Understood."

"Are you sure about this, Lelouch? I could distract them and…"

"The students will have to know eventually, once Nunally begins classes. Getting to know members of the student council should help smooth the transition." The prince put away his phone and placed his hands on the handle of Nunally's wheelchair and smiled.

"We'll be counting on you, Miss. President."

To be Continued


Author's Notes: I've apologized many times before; by now any credibility I have about update schedules is shot. I will say this though: the story is not dead. I've finished my first year of law school with an awful first semester and a very good second semester, averaging out to Not Bad. Hopefully, as I continue to get the hang of how to study and test, I will have more time, energy, and inclination to write. I also apologize for not answering many of the reviews I received. I do my best, but there are so many of you, so thank you all!

The intro to this chapter was inspired by John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. The characters in Progress are allegories of a trait or characteristic, such as Faithful or Worldly Wiseman. After debating with myself for far too long I decided Idealist was the most appropriate label for Suzaku at this point in the story. Cecile's was a no-brainer, while Lloyd was a toss up between Mad Scientist, Eccentric, and other labels of that vein. Mad Scientist did not sound Old British much though, so Eccentric was it.