I can't be wrong. It must be the world that's wrong!
Kallen Kozuki-Stadtfeld hated Britannia, in all its myriad forms. She hated the ideology - that fanatical adoration of personal gain at any cost, which was used in turn to justify the brutal oppression of any perceived to be lessor. She hated the culture - contemptuous of all that was foreign; spawning systematic attempts to erase the defeated that continued to lay waste to centuries of knowledge and tradition long after the final bombs fell upon cities and forests. She hated the people - at best apathetic bystanders drowning in state-sponsored propaganda, and at their worst eager participants in the ruination of all that they touched.
Truly, Kallen hated Britannia with every fibre of her being - which made it very worrying indeed when even she could muster only the most minor complaints where her captivity was concerned. Upon being extricated from the broken remnants of her Knightmare frame, Kallen had thought herself prepared for many fates, each more gruesome than the last - for such was the lot of the resistance fighter. Yet none of the grim discussions with her peers - genuine horrors mixed with the soldier's penchant for exaggeration – nor even her own worst nightmares had prepared her for the reality of capture.
A decadently large bedroom - more grandiose than the best Stadtfeld Manor had to offer. Meals to order prepared by a personal team of chefs who had cut their teeth in the Viceroy's palace. Her choice of entertainment - from the finest works of Pendragon's literati to trashy European paperbacks likely pulled straight from a dusty old pawnshop that made her sinuses tingle just looking at them. Even a request for Japanese works - the product of rebellious impulse more than any genuine expectation - had returned a polite apology; none of their current providers supplied such works, and her hosts lacked the language skills to diversify their search. The only sign of her captivity at all was the heavily reinforced gate – carefully repainted red to match her hair, with only a few solitary flakes to show for the rush.
Altogether? It was enough for Kallen to start combing her room for hidden cameras, convinced that this had to be part of some elaborate scheme – perhaps propaganda eulogising Britannian mercy? But try as she might, no such devices emerged and - barring an unpublicised, generational advance in surveillance technology - she was forced to conclude that her captors were earnest in giving her every luxury save for freedom. In this lap of luxury, Kallen spent many restless hours, perhaps helping to explain the strange tinge of relief that came when someone finally knocked on her door, informing her to make herself presentable for an interview – an interrogation, at least was something she'd mentally prepared for.
"Hello? It's your interviewer! I've been told to announce myself before entry."
A standard introduction somewhat spoiled by his subsequent entry mere seconds later.
"Lloyd, the point of announcing yourself is so people have time to compose themselves before letting you in."
"Well, that's the first I've heard of it. I even read the briefing notes this time! Ah, hello there!"
What an odd pair. Kallen could only think as she led them to the dining table.
Wearing a rumpled white lab coat and thick, round-rimmed glasses, Lloyd was worlds away from the police officers (and maybe the odd lawyer or councilman) Kallen had been expecting. Behind him trailed a woman – immaculately dressed and carrying a black briefcase, moving with precision yet radiating an aura of exasperation that Kallen had frequently seen amongst her stepmother's staff.
"My apologies for that, Lady Stadtfeld. I am Major Cecile Croomy of the Britannian Special Research Division, designation Camelot. I will be conducting this interview, whilst Project Director Lloyd Asplund is present solely to evaluate technical matters."
"Cecile calls it an interview, but that's just for the record." Lloyd confided. "There are no other applicants, and you've already been selected."
"Camelot? Isn't that the name of some fancy knightmare development think-tank?" Kallen blinked, recognising the name from certain military hardware magazines that were common acquisitions from raids on Britannian depots. "Wait, don't tell me this is an actual job interview. I think there's been a mistake here."
"Most likely several," Lloyd agreed genially. "But our presence here is not among them. Cecile, the judgement."
"Top Secret – Summarised Sentencing Remarks of Mr Justice Spencer." Kallen read aloud from the thick document that emerged from Cecile's briefcase. "Defendant Kallen Stadtfeld, charged with Preparation of terrorist acts, Collecting Information for the purpose of committing terrorist acts, Obtaining illegal proceeds for the purpose of committing Terrorist Acts, Supporting a Proscribed Organisation, Possession of an article for Terrorist Purposes, Illegal possession of a knightmare frame with active combat modules, Murder of military officers in the line of duty. Found guilty in absentia on all counts… Sentenced to Community Repayment in service of the Crown. All records of proceedings and conviction to be placed under seal by order of [REDACTED – PENDRAGON EYES ONLY]? Wait, what?"
"As you can see here, your legal concerns are but a thing of the past." Lloyd grinned. "All that's left is to work diligently on behalf of the Empire, under my supervision of course."
"Under our joint supervision. Lloyd is no longer permitted as sole supervisor of knightmare pilots, by order of the Adjutant General Corps for Human Resources."
"I was cleared of all allegations at the tribunal!"
"Because it was established that the fatal accident took place whilst Warrant Officer Wilson was over five times the legal alcohol limit for operating a knightmare frame." Cecile sighed. "That didn't change the fact you neglected to tell him the unit he'd been piloting for over a month wasn't fitted with a standard issue cockpit ejector. If you'll recall, his father – the Third Earl of Washington - raised quite the commotion, and Prince Schneizel doesn't need any more distractions. He's busy enough running the Empire."
"…This is hard to believe," Kallen interrupted. "I mean, maybe dad has enough money to get me out quietly, sneaking me through a miraculously unlocked door at night. That sort of thing. But community service with all records sealed? That's as good as getting away with it in broad daylight! He doesn't have the power for something like that. Who did, and why would someone like that go through all this trouble for me?"
"For the devicer who – without any formal training and piloting a battered old Glasgow, outnumbered and surrounded – nonetheless managed to bring down two Sutherlands piloted by accredited Britannian knights? True, the Purists are hardly elite from a Pendragon perspective, but they are still amongst the best in Area 11 – and you made them look like fresh recruits. Why not you, for an experimental test pilot of the most advanced knightmare in the world – the first true Seventh Generation frame and the future of the world?"
"But don't you work for Prince Schneizel?" Kallen insisted, latching onto Cecile's offhand comment. "You must have access to better pilots."
"Theoretically." Cecile affirmed. "But even with the Prime Minister's backing, our resources are not unlimited. Ace pilots – for you will surely be classified as such with further training and experience – are rare and highly prized. Any of Britannian origin are jealously guarded – by their family, by any benefactors at the Academy and their superiors in the field. At the highest level – the Knights of the Round and their affiliate organisations – requisitioning their presence requires the written approval of the Emperor himself. Their training is also hugely expensive, inevitably leading to debts to those who sponsored the lengthy process – in turn resulting in exclusivity contracts upon graduation with very expensive buyout clauses. You, on the other hand are currently unattached – unbound by ties of blood, finance or politics to any organisation within Britannia. You're also already here – what's not to like?"
"The fact that I'm Japanese, a terrorist and determined to destroy Britannia and everything it stands for." Kallen's eyes narrowed. "Besides, if you're really the one making this fancy new knightmare for Britannia, then I should kill you for the sake of Japan. Are you really willing to employ someone who wants to murder you?"
"All my employees want to murder me – if not on joining then certainly by the second week." Lloyd's grin never wavered, remaining unflappable as ever. "As for your other objections – they could just as easily describe certain members of the Royal family, even down to the Japanese heritage – not many nobles left these days, and a big marriage pool to fill for over a hundred princes and princesses, you understand. But all of that is irrelevant, because despite all of your objections, you're still going to work for me. Why? Because besides your life and liberty, which I'm aware you don't value very highly, I have four very good, compelling reasons."
"Oh really?" Kallen raised an eyebrow. "Try me."
"Ohgi Kaname." Kallen flinched. "Kent Sugiyama. Shinichiro Tamaki. Naomi Inoue."
That's why they never bothered with an interrogation. Britannia already has them!
"How are they?" Kallen couldn't help but ask. Last name notwithstanding, these were her real family.
"They are being treated with the same care and luxury you received - under the aegis of Prince Schneizel himself." Cecile quickly added. "Their location however is unknown to me, and their privileges depend entirely on your continued cooperation. You will, of course, be permitted to verify their status by video-link during leisure time, subject to booking at least half an hour in advance. For operational security reasons, the calls on their end will take place in a white room with no identifying features."
"…Who are you two, really?" Kallen chose that out of her many questions. "I've met my share of scientists – most of them aren't so cloak and dagger."
"You said it yourself," Lloyd retorted. "I'm the one making a fancy new knightmare for Britannia; that's a position many would – and have – killed for. We know how to take care of ourselves. But don't worry about that – as long as you perform to your expected standard, everything will be just fine. Now, any further questions?"
"…Can you at least paint the knightmare red?" Kallen slumped into her chair, surrendering to the inevitable."
"Oh, why not?" Lloyd shrugged. "Even in the myths, Lancelot didn't exclusively wear white."