Chapter Ten point Four: Faint heart never won fair lady
"Ten-shun!"
Graham Aker snapped to an exquisite attention, his boots coming together with a reassuring crack. If he was about to be destroyed, he would be destroyed as the good soldier he knew he was.
He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of taking that from him.
The office around him was spacious and, although not luxurious, it was well-appointed. The walls were panelled in polished mahogany, and hung with portraits and certificates. Before him stood an enormous desk, at which sat a white-haired but solid-looking officer, clad in a flag-rank officer's white uniform, his rank insignia that of a full general.
General Gerard Bruckner, Commandant of the Imperial Military Academy at Caerleon, regarded him with unreadable eyes.
"This is the cadet, Master Sergeant?"
"Yes sir!" barked Master Sergeant Barbara young, standing next to and facing him, her eyes boring into his temple like lasers. "Cadet Graham Aker, second year! Confessed to all charges."
"To all charges?" One white eyebrow went up, just slightly. "So, Cadet Aker, you did all of it, did you?"
"Yes sir, I did." There was no point in holding back now. "I'm guilty. I did it. I'm completely to blame."
"I see." The commandant sounded more than a little dubious. He glanced at his computer screen.
"So…you persuaded three junior cadets to steal Ermintrude from the mascot's paddock, and to release her inside the Eastern Division barracks?"
"Yes sir."
"You persuaded the young Lord Waldstein to infiltrate the barracks, knowing that Ermintrude would be in there, and steal several items?"
"Yes sir."
"What were those items?"
Graham paused, feeling suddenly awkward and foolish.
"Answer the question!" barked Young.
"Trophy ribbons, sir."
There was a very long, and very tense pause.
"So…you had junior cadets release an emu in the eastern barracks, and at the same time sent a nine-year-old boy in there to steal them back." The eyebrow went up just a little more. "Cadet, are you morally corrupt or merely incredibly stupid?"
"Sir…" Graham pause, clearing his throat. He was scared, moreso than he had been in quite a while. "Sir…they were ours, sir."
"Would you care to explain?"
"They were stolen from cadets of the Western Division, sir," Graham continued. "We…I couldn't just leave it to them, sir."
"Oh couldn't you now?" retorted the commandant, with weary condescension. "You couldn't do something so conventional as to issue a formal complaint via this office now, could you? You had to go and cook up some ridiculous plan to get them back and get your revenge at the same time?"
"I…I guess I wasn't thinking straight, sir."
The commandant paused. Graham braced itself.
"Master Sergeant Young, do you have any other suspects or persons of interest?"
Graham's heart clenched as he heard the slight inrush of breath.
"Respectfully sir, he's lying. But the only other suspect is the young Lord Waldstein, and I strongly suspect Cadet Li Britannia was involved."
"On what basis do you make this claim?"
"The Eastern Division cadets described a boy of about his height and build, and the security cameras confirmed it. He was taken away by a man and a woman in an academy jeep, their faces covered. The same jeep was parked a short distance from the Western Division barracks when I arrived there."
"I see." The commandant paused. "And did you see Cadet li Britannia in the jeep, or alighting from the jeep at any time?"
"No sir."
"Hmm…then it would appear that the boy is your only link."
"Sir, he's the only person of remotely that height and build on the academy grounds, and there are no indications of a break-in."
"But you did not see his face?"
"No sir."
"Circumstantial, then."
The commandant returned his attention to Graham, his blue eyes piercing him like cold needles.
"Cadet Aker, I'm going to give you a choice," he said, sternly. "You can reveal the names of whomsoever was in that jeep, and I'll let you off with a reprimand. Or you can continue in this charade. Which will it be, Cadet?"
Graham squeezed his teeth shut, forcing himself with every fibre of his being to remain still and silent.
"So be it. Fifty demerits, and a month's punishment duty, in the Mascots' Paddock. I do hope you like llamas, Cadet Aker."
Graham could have sworn he heard the slightest of sniggers from Young.
"In the meantime, I wish to speak with the cadet in private. That will be all, Master Sergeant."
Young snapped her heels together, and strode out of the room, leaving them alone. Bruckner let out a long sigh, and relaxed just a little.
"You're a fool, Cadet," he said, sounding very weary. "Fifty demerits over a lie."
"Guess I'll just have to work harder sir," replied Graham, with a lot more bonhomie than he felt. Fifty demerits! The others were going to kill him!
"Yes, you will." Bruckner sighed again. "But there's just one thing I don't get, Cadet. Why?"
"Sir?"
"You've been doing well over the past year," Bruckner went on. "Not the best in the academic aspects, but more than passable. Good instincts and reflexes in combat, and for the most part a fine attitude. You even drew the attention of the knightmare development team."
"Rub it in, why don't you?" thought Graham bitterly. This was it. Bruckner was going to tell him how he had been just about to recommend him for special favours, but now it was all being taken away because he had been a naughty boy. Why couldn't he just get it over with?
"So, why risk it all for the sake of the princess?" asked Bruckner. "She was clearly involved. Why risk crashing and burning for her sake?"
Graham didn't know what to say. He remembered clearly enough what had happened, and knew deep down what the answer was. But how to say it without looking an even bigger fool than he already did?
"It was…the right thing to do, sir."
The commandant watched him for a very long time.
"Cadet Aker, you are either an incredible honourable or incredibly foolish young man, possibly both," he said eventually. "I should let you suffer your punishment and let it be a lesson to you. But honourable behaviour should be encouraged, and on occasion it even deserves reward. It also just so happens that I might have a use for you."
Graham's eyes widened. What did he mean?
"I'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself," Bruckner went on, his tone very slow and deliberate, putting Graham in mind of a copperhead readying itself to pounce. "I'm going to sign you up for the knightmare development programme."
It was all Graham could do not to gape like a fish. The knightmare programme? He had long been fascinated by the possibilities of knightmares, and had heard all kinds of rumours about a training and development programme being set up at the academy. But to actually be part of it?
"You will serve as a test pilot for the knightmare frame technology selected by the Imperial General Staff for use by his Majesty's forces," Bruckner continued in the same tone. "You will present yourself for duty whenever you are required, even at the expense of your studies. Any classroom or training time will have to be made up in your spare time, if you have any. You will undergo whatever tests or trials the development team require of you, and you will do so without complaint, or attitude, or hesitation."
He sat back in his chair, seemingly amused at the look on Graham's face.
"As with any other extra-curricular module, there will of course be rewards. One hundred credits, and two weeks additional furlough. That is, assuming you survive with your health and sanity sufficiently intact to continue at this institution."
Graham's mind was awhirl. Desperate hope and shivering dread warred within him for control. A hundred credits! And two weeks furlough! All he had to do was survive this, and everything he wanted would be his!
But the thought of what it might involve. Just how many classes would he have to miss? How many training days would he have to skip out on? What would it take to make up for lost time? To avoid losing more ground?
And what would the actual testing involve? What could it be, to make the commandant smirk at him like that? It wasn't a good sign, no matter how he looked at it.
Then he saw her face again, that look she had given him when the Imps had taken him away. Just how much of an impression had he made?
Wasn't that enough? Couldn't she cut him some slack just this once? Wasn't it worth using a little leverage just this one time?
Except…he knew what she would say if he did. And he would deserve it.
"I'll do it, sir." The words made him feel strangely calm. "It would be my honour, sir."
"Very good." Bruckner took a very fine-looking quill pen from its holder, dipped it in a pot of ink, and signed a form on the desk in front of him. "Don't let me detain you, cadet."
Graham snapped off his best salute, turned on his heel, and marched out of the office.
Once outside, in the musty privacy of the empty corridor, he had to force himself not to slump against the wall.
"Faint heart never won fair lady," he thought, as he forced himself to walk onward. "And no one's fairer than you, Cadet Nu."
Pain.
He should not have known such pain. He had hardly moved his body since he had entered the cockpit. But there it was, his head a mass of pain, spreading down his spine and through his body.
And the heat. He had heard the new Glasgow knightmare had a lousy heat sink, but he had never imagined this. He couldn't remember the last time sweat had run down his back like that, trapped against his skin by the g-force suit.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate. He had to concentrate, or the neural synchronizer wouldn't detect and translate his mental commands properly. He cleared his mind, focusing on the moment.
"Strike!"
The command blared over his comm. Graham punched, his knightmare's right arm thrusting forward, fist clenched. Around him, eleven other identical knightmares did likewise.
"Upper cut!"
His left this time, punching straight up. Graham hissed as his head throbbed, his overworked brain forcing out the command.
"Kick!"
He tried to remember, to focus his mind like they had said. Remember the calisthenics classes, the moves, the way his muscles felt as they moved. Remember it, focus on it, show the system what to do.
"Block!"
His right arm, across his chest. The mechanical arm moved, the muscles in his real arm aching in time.
"Squad…rest!"
Reprieve. Blessed, blessed reprieve. Graham brought the Glasgow back into the ready position. Knowing the sadist in charge of the session, it wouldn't be for long. But even a few moments of relief was something.
"Having a bad day are we?"
A face appeared on the main screen in front of him. It was a young man, his fine-featured face topped with a mop of unkempt lavender hair. Behind square-rimmed glasses, a pair of pale blue eyes regarded him with mild amusement; as if he were a child or a laboratory specimen.
"Yes, you don't look well." Lloyd Asplund glanced at a nearby screen. "Your pain centres are lit up like Pendragon on Founding Day, your heart rate is at two hundred, and your brain activity is already redlining. Not that any of the others are much better, if it's any consolation."
"I...I..."
"Not dropping out are you?" The young man sounded disappointed. "And we're getting such delightful readings!"
Graham gritted his teeth. He would not fall apart, not like this, not with this foppish little sadist looking on.
"It...hurts..."
"I know, I know." His tone was a little more sympathetic. "Phantom limb syndrome, or something along those lines. Your brain's getting a tad crosswired...another little kink for us to work out. But with synch rates like yours we'll have it fixed in no time...hint, hint, great big hint!"
So that was why he had been so excited before. Something about Graham's brain was of use to this strange man, and this project. That was what they wanted. Not him, not his heart, nor his courage, just his brain.
He was tired, so very tired. His body felt so heavy, so limp, so weak. All he had to do was close his eyes. All he had to do was slip into the gentle, comforting darkness that seemed to hover nearby, like his mother when he was sick in bed, so many years ago.
No. No! He could not do it! He could not just give up! He was stronger than that! He knew he was stronger than that!"
"Six down, six to go," commented Lloyd, his eyes sparkling. "What do you say Cadet? One more routine and you're done for the day. Up for it?"
"I'll…I'll do it…" croaked Graham, sheer anger clearing his clouded, suffering mind. "I can make it."
"Marvelous! Any minute now!" The comm-screens disappeared, and Lloyd could see the instructor's own Glasgow, forming the ready position. "Strike!"
Right fist punch.
"Strike!"
Now the left.
"Strike!"
Right again.
"Strike!"
Left again.
"Upper cut!"
Right fist upper.
"Upper cut!"
Now the left.
"Cross!"
A change. He hadn't expected it. But Graham just managed it, punching with his left hand while drawing in the right to guard his head. He heard a clatter to his right. Had someone fallen?
"Block!"
There were black spots at the corners of his eyes. It was all Graham could do to keep up, to realign himself with the rhythm of the routine. The instructor was messing with them, testing to see whether they were truly paying attention, or had merely fallen into an automatic routine.
Graham's heart burned with hatred, just has he had hated every instructor and drill sergeant who'd screamed and tormented him over two years of training. But he had to keep going!
"Duck!"
His legs spasmed as his Glasgow ducked, pain shooting up and down from his knees. Why did his body react that way? Was the neural synchronizer confusing his body? Like a phantom limb as Lloyd had said?
"Kick!"
More spasms, more pain. Had he been standing up on his own, he could not have performed the move. But his mind did as he willed it, heedless of his body's suffering.
"Block!"
He was fading. He was losing the battle. Graham could feel his grip slipping, his body growing numb. Just a little bit longer!
"Duck!"
Down and up, his legs finally going numb. Was this a good thing? Or would the system stop responding?
"Block!"
He felt the Glasgow shake, and for a moment it jarred him to wakefulness. His moves were getting sloppy. He was losing his grip. He had to hold on!
"Strike!"
His right arm was gone. He could no longer feel it. He could no longer feel anything. The darkness was rising to embrace him, as gently as his mother pulling his blanket up to his chin, so very long ago. He had given it his all.
"Squad…rest!"
One last effort, one tiny spark of will, enough to draw his Glasgow's arm back, and ease the knightmare into the start position.
And the darkness slipped gently over him.
Villetta Nu was more than a little worried.
Having finished her lunch, and with plenty of time before her afternoon seminar, she had made the mistake of taking a quiet stroll along one of the academy's tree-lined avenues. As pleasant as it was, it had given her mind time to wander, to worry.
She had told herself that it was nothing to do with the infamous incident in the Eastern barracks, several weeks earlier. She had told herself that she was in no way worried about Graham Aker, the man who had - for reasons best known to himself - taken the fall for the whole wretched affair.
That said, it had been unfair. That had been the consensus among the cadets; those outside of the Eastern Division anyway. Aker's involvement had been peripheral at most, yet he had been allowed to take the fall. His gesture had cost him - and the Western Division - fifty demerits; a cutting blow so early in the year. And on top of that, he was condemned to spend a great deal of his spare time mucking out the academy's various mascots.
And that thing. The one his friends wouldn't tell her about. The one that was supposedly secret.
Villetta didn't understand it any more than the rest of them did. The commandant surely must have seen that Aker was lying. So why had he played along? Was it an attempt to appease the Eastern Division? She couldn't exactly blame him, considering the state their barracks had been left in. But what had been in it for Aker? Why take the fall for Princess Cornelia, by all accounts the true culprit?
Was he trying to curry favour with the Imperial family? Did he feel sorry for young Waldstein?
Or was it her? Was it all because of that ridiculous challenge she had set him?
She shook her head. No point in dwelling on it. She had things to do.
She checked her watch. 13.05. She had a seminar on the North-South War that afternoon, but that wasn't until 15:00. A responsible second year cadet such as herself would stroll right over to the library and spend the intervening time putting the finishing touches to her seminar notes. The more info she had hidden away in her tablet, the better the impression she would make. And the better the impression she made, the higher her score would be at the end of the day. She had to make the top percentile...
"Hey look! It's Aker!"
Villetta turned, without really meaning too, and saw that it was indeed Graham Aker approaching. He had a silly grin on his face, and looked a little unsteady on his feet for some reason.
"Aker the Ostrich!"
"I thought it was an emu."
"Wasn't he with the panty thieves?"
"No that was the Eastern Division."
Villetta thought of turning away, of getting out of there before Aker spotted her. She wasn't sure she was ready to deal with him right now, especially not in front of all those gossiping cadets. But that would imply that she had some reason to avoid him, that she was embarrassed.
She was not embarrassed! No sir, no way!
"Cadet Nu!" Aker greeted her cheerfully. It really was a ridiculously stupid grin. Stupid, blatant, wide, and cheesy. No getting out of it now, though.
"Good day, senior cadet." She turned to face him. No harm in being polite.
"And good day to you, Cadet Nu." That grin. That stupid grin. "My, is it not a fine day? A glorious day! A triumphant...!"
He stumbled, eliciting a chorus of gasps from the gossips. Before Villetta knew what she was doing, she had darted forward and caught him. He was so light.
"What the hell are you doing, senior cadet?" she blurted out, stunned. "Are you drunk?"
"Not this time, Cadet Nu." He grinned, this time somewhat wearily. Villetta sniffed the air, but could smell no alcohol on him.
"Then what was that?" she demanded, embarrassed. Then a thought occurred. "Was it your extracurricular?"
"Now...Cadet Nu..." Graham managed to straighten up. "That's classified, don't you know?"
Now she was worried. Graham Aker might have been a flighty, foolish young man, but he had always been steady on his feet. What could have happened to him? What was going on that left him so exhausted and uncoordinated?
"But enough of that." Graham reached into his tunic and pulled out a folded slip of paper. He unfolded it, and held it up for her to read, that stupid grin back in place.
"Wh...what the...?!"
She could not believe what she was reading. It wasn't possible. It made no sense.
But there it was. Signed and sealed with the commandant's signature. And another signature too...a Lloyd Asplund, ASEEC, with a smiley face.
"How...how did you...?"
"Well..." Graham's grin faded, replaced by a tired, sad smile that touched her in a way she had not expected. "The commandant, God rest his iron heart, thought I deserved a chance to prove my worth. So I took it, and here I am. They liked me so much, they let me off my paddock duties to spend more time in there. Not sure there's much left of my brain though."
He chuckled. Villetta tried to think of some retort, some cutting remark to shake him off Cloud Nine and get real. But she couldn't.
"I...I know it's not entirely gentlemanly to question a lady's word," he went on. "But...I do recall a certain brilliant cadet making a certain request of me, and I do believe that request has been discharged."
The gossips were watching them, whispering among themselves. Villetta felt her cheeks heat up.
"Me and my big mouth!"
She hadn't seriously expected him to do it! It was just a way to get him to stop bothering her!
But he really was that serious. He had endured all that, whatever it was, just for a shot at her company for one measly night.
No. She had no time for that sort of thing. Silly girls like Stephanie Franklin might waste their time dating and messing around with young men, but Villetta Nu most certainly did not! She hadn't endured all those exams, all those physicals, all those funny looks and dismissive comments, to spend her private hours on dates. She had come to Caerleon to become an officer, so that she could one day become a noble, and her parents would spend their golden years in comfort.
But she had said it. She had said what she had said, and he had completed her challenge. Her fellow Purists would not stand for her breaking her word.
And neither could she.
"I...I did say it...didn't I..." she said, awkwardly.
"I wouldn't presume to say, Cadet Nu." That grin again. Villetta realised that she was blushing.
Her anger flared. She could hear them all sniggering and giggling among themselves. She could take it no more.
"Come with me!" She grabbed Aker's sleeve, and dragged him away along the street, ignoring the whoops and catcalls her fellow cadets sent after her. Only after she had reached a place where no one was around did she stop.
She paused, as she realised where she was. The trees around her were cherry trees, each one grown from cuttings of a set of trees gifted to Emperor Lothar by the Meiji Emperor of Japan over a hundred years earlier; currently growing in the Imperial arboretum in Pendragon. Villetta had heard of how the Japanese loved their sakura flower, the cherry blossoms that fell in the springtime, and these trees in particular had many legends surrounding them.
Romantic legends.
"What was it?" she demanded, glaring up at Aker. He was still grinning, this time with just a hint of a blush on his cheeks. "What have you been doing?"
She wanted to know. She had to silence this nagging curiosity, this worry.
"I can't tell you, Cadet Nu," replied Aker, somewhat wistfully. "If I did, I'd have to shoot you." He paused a moment. "But it's something else, all right. Like nothing I've ever seen or done. Something you wouldn've believe even if I could tell you."
He seemed so happy about it, in that tired, wistful way. She could see it in his eyes; that sparkle of a remembered thrill, of something glorious.
She drew herself up.
"Very well, senior cadet," she said primly. "I will permit you to date me, on one..."
She trailed off. No. No conditions. She had given her word.
"I ask but one favour," she went on. "Whatever it is you've been doing...I want in."
Aker blinked in surprise. Villetta wondered if he was about to refuse.
"You'll have to ask the Commandant," he said, still smiling. "But...you didn't hear about it from me, all right?"
That grin again. Villetta thought of challenging him, of demanding something a little more concrete than ask the commandant. But she found she didn't want to.
"I...have a seminar at three," she said.
"Can I come see you later then?" Aker asked, gently. "After dinner?"
"I'm free tonight."
"At eight?"
"That would be...agreeable."
A pause. A very long, but curiously pleasant pause.
"At eight then, Cadet Nu."
Aker bowed, turned on his heel, and strode off. Villetta watched him go, wondering what sort of man he was, and what she was getting herself in for.
Not that it was actually going to be a thing, or anything like that. It was only a date, after all. Just a date, nothing more.
But even as she walked off, heading dutifully for the library and her studies, she could not get him out of her head.