Reflections of a Mercenary
Hired Killer and a Stradivarius
I don't really know what I'm doing here. What my purpose is, what my life is leading to. I don't even know my true name. Why the gods saw fit to place me on this earth is a riddle that only they know the answer to. I wish it were otherwise, but who am I to judge?
I suppose I follow the road that fate has mapped out for me, in some ways at least. I refused to kill innocents, or torture enemies – I took their lives swiftly, mercifully. I hope that will be enough to stave off the frightful afterlife I will have if the gods are not pleased with my actions. When my time comes, I can only hope my murderer will be as kind.
By the age of 14 killing had become second nature to me. I felt nothing. No revulsion, no pleasure. I guess it should have reassured me to know that I was not a sociopath, but I didn't care either way. Their blood - their lives - meant nothing to me other than a pay check and job security.
There was one aspect of my life that I did enjoy: visiting new countries. Despite the necessity of always having to hide, I did get to see new places. But, none of them really held my attention for more than a day or two. I was empty. Nothing could fill me with happiness or otherwise for very long. A young girl once told me she loved me, and I just looked straight through her. We were the same age but I felt years older than her; she seemed so naïve. I don't even think I blinked at her outburst, though it was a very long time ago and my memory of it is dim. I do remember that I departed for space not long after that, my team destroyed, no longer a mercenary but a simple traveller.
A couple of years later, whilst working as a maintenance guy on a colony in the L3 cluster, I somehow managed to both witness a murder and sign on to commit many, all in about five minutes. I wasn't sorry that Trowa Barton was dead, nor was I happy. It didn't give me any satisfaction whatsoever to take his name as my own and proceed to Earth in possession of the Gundam Heavyarms, though it provided distraction enough from my empty life. It was also a good opportunity to approach the ringmaster of a certain circus about possible employment to establish my cover – I have good natural acrobatic ability and animals accept me, so it was a simple decision to make.
Something I didn't count on was Catherine Bloom, the knife-throwing girl who befriended me immediately. She seemed to take great pleasure in treating me as a younger brother, and she called me that on more than one occasion. I acted as indifferently to her as to everyone, sure that it couldn't last, but to this day she still affectionately refers to me as her brother and forces me to eat her bad cooking. She is also now officially my guardian, something that makes her happy beyond measure - when I'm not running off on Preventer missions, at least.
In my early days at the circus, Catherine and I would perform together. I would be strapped to a large wooden board in my clown costume while she threw daggers at me, purposely trying to scare the audience by aiming close to my face and torso. It didn't bother me to be so helpless, knowing that a misstep in her routine would result in my injury or death – I was, as always, emotionless and empty. I think she saw that on my face one night during one of our early performances, and she froze in shock when she fumbled her throw. I still have a tiny scar on my cheek from her dagger, something she has apologised for time and again despite my reassurances that it doesn't matter.
Shortly after I began work at the circus I received a mission that would prove to be the defining moment of my existence. I must describe the encounter in detail to convey what a difference it made to me; just saying I fell in love makes it seem so unimportant. The truth is, my life was given a purpose that day.
Up to this point I had not known that there were Gundam Pilots other than myself, but on this mission it seems I was fated to have it thrown in my face: another Gundam showed up at the same place I did.
Not sure whether the suit was hostile or friendly, and not knowing what to do, I attacked. It was the standard response to an uncertainty, or so I thought at the time. After all, since inheriting Heavyarms I had developed a sense of self-preservation, despite my uncaring nature, and it seemed reasonable to want to escape in one piece. I wasn't trying to be a martyr. After a few minutes of intense battle the other suit suddenly stopped and the cockpit opened, freezing me in my tracks. Who would be so suicidal as to exit their suit in the middle of battle? I had my answer when a short, blonde-haired boy about my own age barrelled onto the flattened cockpit door, his blue eyes huge and anguished. I watched him on the vidscreen as he called out to me. I have to admit that the words he uttered were burned into my mind forever, filled with passion and frustration as they were:
"We shouldn't be fighting!"
It was the first time anybody had ever said anything like that to me. It threw me for a loop, stunning me into one of the stupidest things I have ever done: I straightened Heavyarms from its crouch, keyed open the cockpit, and walked out with my hands over my head in surrender. The other boy smiled sadly as he acknowledged the gesture.
"No, I surrendered to you first," he said gently. "Put your hands down."
He'd surprised me again. Not quite sure what to do, I lowered my hands to my sides and merely stared at him across the gap between our suits. He returned my gaze intensely, as though he knew what I was thinking. He startled me when he suddenly nodded as though confirming something in his mind, and retreated into the cockpit. I watched him warily as his Gundam started to move, nerves singing with tension and screaming at me to run away, but he called out to me to follow him and took off.
I clambered back into the cockpit and readied myself to do as he said, realising for the first time that Heavyarms had taken a fair amount of damage and needed repairs. I also noticed the small army following his Gundam and shook my head; apparently it would have been worse for me if I had continued the fight. In its current condition there was no way my suit would have survived. I launched Heavyarms into the air and followed the other suit, still wary.
The longer we travelled the edgier I got, muscles coiling with tension. It took almost all of my self-control to continue after him sedately, rather than breaking off and escaping – I felt sure this extended trip could not be a good thing. But I managed to keep myself from running away – barely – by concentrating on the fact that they had not killed me yet. If they had intended to, it would have been much easier to do it on the battlefield while I was off-guard and defenceless. Why would they go to all the trouble of sparing me to execute me somewhere else? Unless they wanted it to be a display- I stopped that train of thought and tried to focus on something, anything else.
My nerves had almost reached snapping point when we finally began our descent. I was concentrating so hard on guiding Heavyarms carefully into the large workshop adjoining the house that I missed most of the scenery, so I was pleasantly surprised afterwards to find that the mansion – for that's what it was – was big, airy, and well-guarded. I had barely settled Heavyarms against the far wall when suddenly the boy with the captivating blue eyes was calling up to me.
"Do you mind if the Maguanacs start working on your suit?"
I frowned minutely as my hands busied themselves shutting off Heavyarms' power. One last check of the system showed me that my suit would definitely benefit from the tune-up but I was reluctant to give in so easily. I said nothing, merely keyed in the command to open the cockpit and leaped to the workshop floor, sliding my hands into my pockets as I straightened. I was hoping that if I kept my hands tucked away, I'd be able to better remind myself not to overreact. And most importantly, not to hurt someone accidentally if I felt threatened.
The boy looked at me, confusion evident on his face. I watched him carefully, trying to assess the situation, but I was inexplicably fascinated by his eyes: they were so clear, filled with happiness, yet somehow shadowed with other, darker emotions too. He flushed with embarrassment when I didn't immediately look away, and tried to cover it by glancing at Heavyarms.
"The Maguanacs are really good at what they do," he pressed, and I grimaced slightly. He saw the movement of my face and rushed on.
"I mean, they can help you fix your suit if you want them to, they maintain mine most of the time and all of their own. They know their way around most mobile suit mechanics," he assured me, his expression determined yet careful. I knew that look; I used it myself when I trained the big cats at the circus. It was the kind of expression you used to convey that you were self-assured yet not dangerous, something you used to calm a frightened animal. I was not used to being thought of that way and it annoyed me.
"Fine," I said curtly, glancing away from him. My gaze swept across the workshop and I was startled to realise that we had an audience: the Maguanacs were clustered into the doorway like sardines, all focused intently on our conversation. At my stare they scattered, some whistling as they walked away, others picking up tools as they pretended that they hadn't been listening. My lips twitched; the other boy coughed. I was sure that he was smothering a laugh and it somehow put me at ease.
He seemed to detect that I was feeling calmer and grinned, turning to the Maguanacs and waving for one of them to come over. As he approached I could feel my nerves winding up again – the guy was a giant – but his manner was polite and he stopped a few feet away from me. I inclined my head towards him, showing him that I knew why he'd stopped and that I was grateful. He nodded before speaking to the boy next to me.
"Master, we can get started just as soon as you depart the workshop. We intend to repair Sandock and the other Gundam before we commence work on any of the other suits." His voice was deep, though that didn't surprise me too much – it fit his size – but his manner as he deferred to the boy he addressed was interesting. Clearly, this kid was someone important.
"Okay, thanks Rashid." I could hear the smile in his voice as he responded to the big man's words, and it warmed me. I was suddenly caught off guard yet again as strong emotion surged through me, stealing my breath and tugging at my heart. I turned away as I tried to recover, stunned. I'd never felt anything like that before, I was sure. I was so used to feeling nothing that this emotion was almost overpowering – wild and reckless, it threatened to make me fall to my knees. I pressed my hand against my chest and felt my erratic heartbeat, suddenly unnerved. What was the matter with me?
I could feel eyes on my back and turned around, tucking my hand back into my pants pocket. I knew my face betrayed nothing of what I had just experienced, so my eyes when I met the other boy's were calm. His face, on the other hand, was troubled, and his gaze seemed to be focused inwards rather than on me.
As I watched he seemed to come to himself, a smile gracing his lips once again. I wasn't surprised when he stepped forward, reaching out like he was going to touch me – he was obviously a casual toucher. I fought with myself to remain still and not see his movement as a threat, but just before he grabbed my wrist he stopped. Suddenly all of his attention was focused on my face. Confronted with his big blue eyes I stopped breathing, my eyes widening. I'm not sure what he saw in my expression – bewilderment, shock, fear? – but whatever it was made him freeze. He withdrew the hand slowly as I stared at him.
"Okay, no touching." He grinned at me, though the smile was edged with something else. I didn't get time to work out what it was before he was suddenly moving, striding quickly through the workshop. I didn't much fancy walking through all those strangers so I did something I'd never done in front of people I don't know before (with the exception of a target I intended to kill): I took a few quick steps forward and launched myself into the air, flipping so my head was pointed towards the floor. As I soared across the room I spun three times in the air and finally landed lightly on my feet next to the workshop door. A low whistle sounded from one of the Maguanacs as I turned around and waited for the other boy to catch up.
He stood in the centre of the workshop, mouth open in surprise. It was rather comical and I'm afraid I may have smiled at him, though I wiped it away as soon as I realised what I was doing. Finally he shook his head and stumbled forwards, astonishment still clear on his face. The workshop was almost unnaturally quiet as he reached me, his scuffling footsteps the only noise in the huge building.
"Wow," was all he managed when he got to me, awe still plastered across his face. I shrugged. I didn't see any reason to justify myself – it wasn't like I'd tried to hurt him or something. He seemed to pull himself together after a moment, shaking his head in what I assumed was disbelief.
"Um…let's leave them to it," he said quietly, walking out of the workshop door into the bright sunshine. I followed him, slightly blinded by the glare coming off his golden hair, filled with a warm feeling I couldn't explain. He never stopped moving, merely strode off towards the mansion, but I somehow knew there was a smile on his face. As it should be, I thought, before catching myself and focusing on something else.
When we got to the front door it was swept open by someone, I presumed a maid or something similar. I was surprised, therefore, to see the by-now-familiar baggy trousers and tunic of the Maguanacs – there were two, one on each side of the door. The boy greeted them by name – Saad and Jahid – and gestured in my direction. I met their inquisitive stares calmly, watching the confusion spreading across their faces before suddenly they both bowed to me. I stood there, completely nonplussed, until the other boy laughed.
"Enough, you two," he chuckled, and I was almost relieved to watch them straighten up with slightly embarrassed expressions. I sidled past them as they walked over to a small table placed by the door, pouring mugs of a drink I would hesitate to call coffee – it looked more like mud. The boy strode up the huge flight of stairs dominating the entryway of the house, almost running in his haste. I followed more slowly, still not sure what I was doing here. I was starting to feel very uncomfortable with the whole situation, though there was nothing I could do until my suit was repaired.
Finally I walked through the open door of what I thought might be a study, closing it softly behind me. There were numerous glass cabinets around, filled with all manner of instruments. The boy was already there, pulling a violin out of its case. I studied it carefully from a distance, then blinked. Surely not – I had to be seeing it wrong, didn't I? This kid couldn't really own a Stradivarius! Then the rest of my brain caught up. Of course he could; this kid was rolling in money, anyone could see that. His family probably owned two or three colonies and half of America. I walked over to the farthest wall away from him and leaned against it, crossing my arms over my chest as I ignored him. I was only here to get my suit repaired, that was all. No-one said I had to be polite.
After a few moments of silence, I was aware of him gently drawing the bow across the strings and coaxing forth the sweetest sound I have ever heard. I felt my mouth fall open slightly when he started to play in earnest, a truly beautiful tune. Yet, the sound seemed to be like his eyes: happy yet somehow sad at the same time. I couldn't help myself; I crossed to one of the glass cabinets and removed a flute, lifting it to my lips. I easily found the counterpoint to his melody and wove the clear notes of my flute around the tune without conscious effort, trying to lift the mood of the piece. He looked surprised for a moment – though his playing never faltered – before smiling gently in acceptance. I had never been so content in my life.
The next morning there was a tap at my door. I had been dozing lightly for most of the night, still slightly uncomfortable with the situation, and so I was out of bed and pressed up against the wall with my gun out before I even fully registered what the sound was. I didn't relax though.
"Who is it?" See? Normal. Or as normal as could be expected.
"Abdul, master. Your Gundam is fully repaired now." Oh.
"Thank you," I called back, holstering my gun and stretching my arms above my head to try and get rid of some of the tension. I could hear his footsteps as he walked away from the door, disappearing around a corner. When the sound had completely died away I moved quickly to the door and pulled it open a fraction. Clear.
I was halfway down the stairs when I realised I hadn't said goodbye. I stopped for a moment, thinking, then started walking again. No, it didn't matter. Chances were good I would see this guy again; we were both Gundam Pilots after all.
The two Maguanacs on guard bowed to me again, making me sigh internally. No expression crossed my face as I waited for them to stop. Finally, after a few moments of awkwardness, they straightened up and grinned sheepishly at me. I didn't acknowledge them any further than a nod and pushed the doors open, suddenly almost desperate to be outside.
"Hey!" a voice called from above me, startling me into looking up. The boy stood at a window on the second floor; he'd clearly been waiting for me to leave without saying goodbye. I wondered briefly if he was upset by that but didn't really care. His smile made me think not.
"My name is Quatre Raberba Winner," he called down to me. I froze in surprise for a heartbeat or two; a Winner? That explained it. The Winners were one of the richest families on Earth or in Space. I thought hard for a moment, debating with myself whether to tell him my name. Then I relented. The name wasn't mine anyway; what did it matter if I told this boy what it was? I replied in a strong voice.
"I have no name. But if you must call me something, call me Trowa. Trowa Barton." I watched him carefully as he nodded, then turned my back on him. I needed to get back to reality; peace - especially this peace, now, with him - couldn't last as long as OZ continued the war. I had to get back to the fight. I had never faced a prospect so unappealing before.
I headed back to the circus. As I drove the huge truck the Maguanacs had loaded Heavyarms onto, I felt myself slipping back into that familiar void of nothingness. It reassured me that I was still me, still empty, still a mercenary. But somewhere in the back of my mind, kept under the tightest of wraps, was the memory of the soft song of the violin and a pair of understanding blue eyes.