"Fate is So Beautiful"
Su Mon Han
"C'mon, Barton, is that the best you've got?"
Trowa narrowed his eyes and gripped the manual consoles of the Heavyarms. The cockpit of the massive Gundam was becoming swelteringly unbearable. The lack of greenery and irrigation caused an intensely arid climate at the Gundam test site hidden deep within the scrap wilderness of the L3 colony.
Sweat trickled down his temples and bare arms. Trowa had known from the beginning that piloting a mobile suit as massive as the Heavyarms would be a difficult and demanding task; but faced with living the reality of the Heavyarms tests and training was a different matter. However, a true soldier did not give in to fatigue; 98 degree weather and the strain of tons of Gundanium on his arms gave no excuse for failure.
"So, Barton, are you through?"
Trowa closed his eyes and steadied his breath, shoving the flicker of annoyance from the arrogant challenge out of his mind. His eyes opened and locked themselves into their usual emotionless olive stare. Without warning, Trowa took off, his fingers flying through a quick succession of punches and flicks of the wrist to unleash an utterly deadly torrential hail of missiles and bullets at the unsuspecting test targets. When the dust cleared from the series of explosions, the entire dummy squadron was nowhere to be seen.
"Holy shit!" the test coordinator hissed into the intercom. "Th-they're gone!"
"Obliterated in a single blow," observed the voice of Dr. S, also through the intercom in Trowa's cockpit. "Impressive. It was my aim in designing Heavyarms to be the ultimate, frontal-assault weapon, capable of devastating an entire squadron or command center alone." Dr. S's eyes gleamed. It seems I have found a pilot who can realize the potential of my masterpiece.
Aloud, he said, "Trowa, you've mastered the stationary offensive of the Heavyarms. Let's see what you can do in a mobile, short-range assault. The Heavyarms' main means of attack is by projectile, but it has a last-line weapon that can be used in short-range combat."
In response, Trowa activated the wristblade on his Gundam's right arm.
"Exactly!" came Dr. S's delighted reply.
"We're sending in some dummy targets for short-range combat!" the test coordinator announced.
"Good," Dr. S said. "Now, let's see how quickly he can maneuver that thing."
The Heavyarms is built like a fortress, Trowa thought. He calmly analyzed the approach of the new dummy targets. On the side-screen panels of the Heavyarms cockpit, diagrams pointing out potential dangers and weak points of his opponents appeared onscreen. A flashing red signal on the left sides of the targets on the diagram beeped insistently the whereabouts of the best angle of attack.
"Just what I was thinking," Trowa grinned. Yes, he certainly was getting to like this machine.
As the targets came into range and produced their thermal weapons, Trowa charged forward in Heavyarms, bladed arm held back in preparation for the discharge. Upon meeting his first opponent, Trowa sprang the blade forward, in at an angle and out, cutting cleanly through the torso of the dummy suit.
"Damn, he's fast!" the test coordinator gasped, personally controlling the movements of the dummy suits.
"Yes, he seems to be able to appreciate and utilize the strengths and weaknesses of the Gundam." Dr. S stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Make the next attacks from above," he muttered to the test coordinator.
"Sir!" he acknowledged, grinning in anticipation.
On the field, the second dummy target leapt high into the air, supplemented by the rocket boosters on its feet, and lifted its beam sword to slice down on Heavyarms. At the last minute, the massive Gundam whirled around with surprising grace and control. Using the momentum of the turn, Trowa swung the right arm up, allowing his blade to slice effortlessly through the attacking target.
"Another!" Trowa gasped to himself, noting another airborne target behind him. He followed through on the momentum of the spin to turn him another 180 degrees, meeting the leaping attack of a third test target. His blade connected full with its head and sent it flying and crashing into the sheer cliff wall that ascended to Trowa's right. At the same moment, a fourth test target attacked. Trowa whirled to face it and dispatched his attacker with a quick double-slash across the suit's torso and through its knee-joints. The suit crumbled to the floor.
Trowa grinned. Not bad for this hulking suit, he thought. As he raised his right hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, he felt that pull within him again. For no reason whatsoever, he quirked his left hand, still gripping the manual console, to the left, simultaneously turning the Heavyarms and firing off a missile towards the cliff wall.
"Why the—" Trowa cut off, staring as the missile intercepted a massive slab of stone—probably dislodged when he had thrown the third test target at the cliff— that was a second from squashing him and his Gundam flat. The boulder shattered into harmless bits of rubble about seven feet from Heavyarms' head.
"Oh my God…" Trowa breathed, unable to suppress the shaking of his hands as he watched the boulder's remnants crash into the ground around him. Miraculously, none of the smaller pieces, even, had hit the Heavyarms.
"Confound it all!" Dr. S's voice wailed over the intercom. "Trowa! What happened? Have you sustained any damage?"
"No," Trowa murmured, still somewhat awestruck. "Heavyarms is completely untouched."
"What?! Really?" Dr. S cried. "I was sure that landslide would have my Heavyarms in the repair shop for weeks!"
"No," Trowa repeated, regaining control of himself. "The Heavyarms has sustained no damages."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
There was a pause. "All right, then." Dr. S's voice was decisive. "Return to base. That's enough for today."
"Roger." Trowa's reply was as controlled and unaffected as always. But in the cockpit, his left hand shook again. What in heaven made me fire off a missile just then? How did I know it was coming? Trowa allowed his gaze to ascend the cliff wall as he considered what had just happened. The rock had been dislodged from high above, but the angle of the artificial sunlight glared him in the face, rendering him unable to see even the shadow of the falling boulder. So what had caused him to fire? How had he known? Trowa took a long, shuddering breath. …Had he even known?
******
"Hey, Barton!"
Dismounting, still a bit shakily, Trowa straightened to see the test coordinator hurrying toward him.
"That was really something!" the man gasped, eyes admiring. "I'll admit, when I first saw ya, I thought to meself 'that kid is gonna pilot the Gundam? There's just no way he can handle it!' But ya know, I pride meself for bein' flexible like this—I know when I'm wrong and I gotta say, I'll embrace ya wholeheartedly if ya can bring peace and freedom to the colonies!"
Trowa watched the impressive display passively. He really didn't feel like socializing at the moment. Time and again, his thoughts were drawn back to the strange urge that had caused him to fire randomly, coincidentally saving his life! As someone who had seen the pits of life, Trowa did not believe in such romantic impracticalities as fate or luck. He had no disillusions. A person had his skill, intelligence, and calculations; that was all he could depend on for survival. No one was watching and intervening. Luck was merely a coincidental favor of conditions—but Trowa knew that a successful person created his own luck, chose wisely enough to act at times when conditions were favorable. That was just the way it was.
"…Barton? You listenin' to me?"
"Yes, of course," Trowa replied automatically, even though he hadn't heard a word the man had said.
"Aah, a person can only be so serious!" the coordinator snorted. "All right then, you're probably tired anyway. See you at mess." With that, the burly officer strutted off.
Trowa followed him with unseeing eyes. What had he said anyway? Trowa had been around soldiers all his life and understood that men came in many different types and, unfortunately, there were always those who could never get enough of their own voices. The last thing a soldier needs is to drop his guard in camaraderie, he thought. That was foolish. Besides, who said they could be trusted just because they fought by your side in battle? You were nothing to them really. Nothing at all…
Trowa shuddered inwardly. What was the point of thinking about the past? There were issues now, in the present, that he should be concentrating on. He slowly made his way down the corridors toward the barracks. An hour until dinner. It would be best to shower and rest a little. Now, more than ever, it was important to keep in top condition. Trowa, outwardly as unaffected as ever, felt the stirrings of anticipation deep within him. This new assignment was going to be different from the small-scale missions he had taken on in his mercenary days; this was something that would change everything forever. Even me… murmured something deep in the back of Trowa's mind. Even me.