"Initiating…"
The void of space, empty on all sides of the lonely Ingrid, snaps starkly into focus like an inverted blow to the head that momentarily leaves one in blackness instead of blinding white. An instant of disorientation as the pilot seeks direction, training slowly coming to the fore as he remembers all directions are up in outer space. The confused nausea flees, a ghost of a knot left behind but easily ignored. The pilot has grown used to zero gravity sickness by now.
Floating, calm and calculating in the unnatural stillness, breath an anticipating whisper as his repairer's timid voice addresses him through the speaker beneath his faceplate. "Ready, Hiead. Statistics normal; you're doing fine."
Always to the point, his smooth voice responds, "The enemy?"
Nimble fingers on the keyboard bring up an overlay of the terrain. "…None in sight. Hold on a moment, executing a thermoptic scan of the area… Negative. Standby."
"Standby…" A mumbled statement, low and a trifle irritated, rebounding in the confines of the stifling helmet and gathering anxiety the speaker is unaware of, already deep in thought.
This is his third time in the Ingrid simulator. More of an annoyance than an educational experience. Very unlike his first run, which had been fun, even exciting - his golden opportunity to flaunt his skills in front of his fellow candidates. And he had performed perfectly. The second time was slightly less stimulating, bordering on monotony. While Hiead had tested as well, the outcome had been less exemplary and lacking impression.
But now, on the third trial, Hiead Gner, Ingrid candidate, wonders why he shivers slightly. The simulated mecha is set to the standard temperature of seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit, so unless a malfunction is detected within the suit, any variation in temperature is purely psychosomatic. And since his repairer has not alerted him of a problem…
Hiead tries agitatedly to adjust to the chill working through his fingers, climbing up his left arm to-
Explosive heat.
-his shoulder. Familiar sensation-
The thick stream a crimson river carried by the rug, maroon in its passing.
-from long ago. Inappropriate for the current situation, and unwanted.
In the control room, Hiead's strained voice demanding, "Check the temp-"
Smoking barrel and a figure, wispy white hair-
"What?" Ikhny fiddles with a dial, the one responsible for fine tuning communication between the pilot and repairer, and finds no anomaly. "You were breaking up. Repeat."
Over the line, heavy breathing.
'Was it the temperature gauge?' she wonders, imputing the code. The displayed gauge blinks red to indicate a rise in temperature, unusual and most likely due to the body over heating in the restrictive suit. On the overlay, the blit of an enemy approaching from the edge of the battlefield.
"Hiead!"
-red eyes, furious and… afraid?… framed by the pale hood of a trench coat, falling and fading to black, then red, then black again. The silence rings like the resonating barrel.
"M-me?"
Fabric tore, forceful hands seized roughly, and the percussive smack broke the thin scream.
More concerned, Ikhny calls again, "Hiead! Get a hold of yourself!"
When no response is forthcoming, she inputs more data to compensate for the abnormalities in his statistics while also altering his ratio of oxygen to nitrogen in the hopes that maybe his senses will return when his breathing is strained.
Through the speaker, Hiead still breathes heavily.
Heavy breathing, jagged. And with it the stillness…
…falling…
…descended with sinister promise, and the floor bled.
"Red?"
-Drip-
"Concentrate, Hiead!"
"…filthy wench! Should have… legs taped… vows!"
"…into you?"
-Drip, drip-
Bang.
Crimson streams on buttermilk and cranberry jam on the wall. Maroon hills absorbed the tracks of the river's passing while the cranberries rained from above.
"Who…?"
"… enemy on your left flank, fast approaching…"
"Who?"
-dripdrip-
"An enemy, Hiead! Strike now!"
BANG
Explosive heat, unbearable, and he was falling with the crimson river… over the hills. Black and red and black, bells in his ears.
"… can't… air."
Harsh, ragged breathing.
A scream.
The bells in his ears rang their retribution and those red-
'It's not… me…"
-furious and frightened eyes followed him through the churning river of black and red into darkness.
"Watch out!"
Though his limbs feel stiff with tension and his head buzzes from oxygen deprivation, Hiead manages to maneuver right in time to avoid the thrusting blade of a Type-A enemy suit. "Air!" hisses through a brief static in the control room, and Hiead is relieved when his repairer stabilizes his tanks without further provocation.
"He's weak in the right leg from an earlier collision," Ikhny supplies.
The enemy suit depresses a booster and speeds above the Ingrid, raising a saber for a successive downward cleaving swoop. Its eyeplates flash red, reflecting the red glow of the saber.
At the controls, Ikhny watches the temperature gauge climb to eighty-six. A few keystrokes and she can see the numbers 111 over 82, 112 over 82, 113 over 82... Watching his pulse rate climb, she doesn't notice her partner's violent course of action.
Hiead propels himself at an angle and twists behind the Type-A, retrieving his own weapon, a rapier, from his back before the simulated enemy can respond. Hiead chooses to retaliate in kind.
The rapier swings low, between the legs, and in a one handed feat of strength, Hiead halves the mecha vertically.
It only takes a second.
Ikhny is standing with her hands to her mouth, eyes fixated on the afterimage of the cleaved machinery - viscera sucked into space's vacuum, oil arcing like blood into the void - when Hiead stumbles out of the simulator. She remains thus until the lock is released on the control room door and it opens, releasing Hiead and welcoming instructor Azuma with the results and an expression of perfect neutrality - the kind that always hides darker thought.
'A shame,' Azuma thinks as he nears the stationary repairer. 'The first mark on his record.' He beats the folder of test results against his cupped palm with the sound of a wet plunk, like a stone hitting water. He has been sweating. 'I was hoping to have one student with an immaculate testing record.'
Azuma halts near Ikhny's shoulder and she starts, the displacement of air in her 'personal space' permeating her heavy thoughts. She will not look at him, however, feeling a peculiar guilt… as if she had provoked her stoic partner somehow. Maybe she had let Hiead down as a repairer… or a friend?
The instructor clears his throat loudly, an alert. "Hiead seemed upset so I didn't bother giving him the results. Can I trust you to deliver them when he's calmed?"
Ikhny nods dejectedly, clicks off her console display.
"Too bad about that EX reaction," he sighs, placing both Hiead's results and her own atop the darkened console. He turns to leave.
Ikhny braves facing the instructor now in defense of her partner as she states, "B-but Sir, there was no EX reaction."
Azuma halts, turns and regards her with interest. "No EX? Let me see your diagnostics."
Hurriedly, Ikhny brings the diagnostic report onto the console, hesitating slightly longer than necessary over the display. The numbers verify the temperature flux along with a heart rate inclination and her own tampering with the oxygen system. No EX reaction was noted by the simulator.
"Hm."
Azuma prints a copy of the report and then reclaims the top folder, Hiead's, from the console's white panel.
"Tell ya what. I'll give this to him myself," the instructor mumbles. His unfocused gaze and low, lax tone are easy signs of his preoccupation.
"I want to have a word with him before you do, Instructor," Ikhny requests with her customary shyness. "An issue needs to be settled between us."
"Alright. Send him to me when you're finished."
"Yes, Sir." Ikhny executes a sloppy salute and, barely remembering her own test results, rushes out the door after her partner.
Eyeing the diagnostics in his hand, Azuma smirks, chuckles briefly. "As
Clay would phrase it, 'this is quite an interesting development'."
In the hallway, Ikhny has a momentary twinge of conscience, though the thought of going back into the room to offer an apology never enters her weary mind. There had once been a time when such corrupt behavior would have appalled her, and maybe it still would if she did not wholeheartedly believe that her actions served a higher ethical standing than merely playing by the rules. By altering the diagnostics, Ikhny extended the time frame with which she can help provide solace to a deeply troubled individual.
Beneath her instructor's steady gaze and cool façade, Ikhny had expertly deleted all data pertaining to Hiead's mental instability. Daring, but necessary given the dangers such an abnormality could present to both Hiead and an enemy - the violent destruction of the Type-A setting a prime example of the latter. If the instructor were to suspect any neurological dysfunction in a candidate, that candidate would be subject to psychological evaluation and close scrutiny over the course of one month, and may be stripped of the chance to hold any military position, let alone the highest honor of piloting an Ingrid, if he were to exhibit any signs of the abnormality within that period. Ikhny had read the rulebook. She consulted it the very day Hiead had experienced his first fit during training. She kept it secret then out of an odd sense of justice - that Hiead might live out his dream and not be disqualified for Goddess candidacy on the first day of training. Now she does so out of friendship, even if it is not reciprocated.
Strangely, and contrary to what some might believe, fear has never motivated Ikhny.
But fear does follow her through the twisting corridors of the GOA, dwelling somewhere in the frazzled lining between her shadow and the tile floor, cast behind her by the fluorescent fixtures lining the corridor's white walls and consequentially lending validity to the expression 'out of sight, out of mind'. Ikhny knows her presence will not be appreciated, may even be perceived as provocative, but her partner's retaliatory bisection in the simulator and her own subsequent corruption of data has forced her to act immediately, before the matter gets too out of hand. She has to warn him that his actions not only jeopardize his future as a pilot, but her own as a repairer.
If she had wanted to be a professional cover-up, she would have taken her training in cosmetology.
As Ikhny rounds the bend into the hallway that houses the boys' dormitory, she hopes Hiead is cooperative. Spying the boys' room door, closed with no light peeking from the slot beneath, she also hopes he has not decided to sleep off his frustrations. And as she stands in front of the door - silence a pall and the fluorescents' poor mockery of the day leaving a taste like chrome in the back of her throat - Ikhny feels the uneasy dread of confrontation.
Her hand finds the doorknob and turns.
Dun dun DUNNNN!!! ...Well, maybe not too suspenseful, but I felt the urge to exaggerate. To be continued?