The now-retired Lieutenant Marito stands by the medical bedside of Inaho Kaizuka.
He doesn't know what to think about the fact that the once all-powerful young man, will now celebrating his 18th birthday in orbit of Earth, thousands of kilometers away from the Earth that he'd tried so hard to protect.
When they'd recovered Inaho's body, Marito had been among the vanguard of the on-foot operation to make it that far to recover him and the rest of the Ensign's team. He'd only seen his body once he had been stabilized, and then the decision was made following the cease-fire, to bring his body to orbit, to remove the pressure of the bullet in his brain against the surrounding tissue.
The bullet that had been removed once he had been moved to the zero-g surgery room.
The bullet that, once removed, should've allowed the tissue space and given time to heal, but didn't, for whatever reason; no one among the medical staff had any idea why the tissue was refusing to heal. The tissue was alive, for certain, his heart was still pounding in his chest, and there were at least some brainwaves that could be measured from the young Ensign, but yet — no sign of him waking up any time soon.
Marito sighed to himself, and turned as the door to Kaizuka's room slid open, and there was the distinctive sound of a cart being rolled into the room.
It was Marce, one of the medical staffers aboard the station, one of whom who had been specially assigned to Inaho's case.
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Marito." Marce asks. "Visiting the Ensign again today?"
Marito nods, gives a small smile, and turns back to look at Inaho, who for all the world, almost looks like he's sleeping, rather than being in a medically induced coma while the tissue in his brain heals. Although, the scar tissue around his closed left eye tells a different story.
Marce locks the cart in place next to the Ensign's bed, and begins the process of changing IV bags, not saying anything to Marito unless spoken to, and nothing is said to him, so he doesn't talk. Instead, silently working as the machines that Inaho is hooked up to continue to beep, measure and monitor his state.
Part of Marito wonders if Inaho will ever wake up from this sleep, and if he does, what the state of the world will look like.
"Was Yuki—" Marito realizes that he's still aboard a military station, despite talking to a civilian, so he corrects himself, "Was Second Lieutenant Kaizuka not here overnight?"
"No sir." Marce speaks as he places an empty IV bag on the cart, and hangs up a new one to be connected to Inaho's body. "She had informed the staff that she would be gone to the Armistice station for a couple days."
Marito nods, and takes a hand to rub the stubble on his chin. "Did she say when she would be back?"
"She just told us 'a couple days' and to 'watch over Inaho'." Marce explains.
"I see."
"What about you, sir?"
Marito blinks, confused by being asked a question by the man who otherwise didn't talk unless talked to.
"The Armistice Station, I mean… Rumor has it that most of the remainders of the original Deucalion staff have been summoned to the station to give various reports."
"Oh, that." Marito sighs, "I've not been summoned, yet. I imagine I will be soon enough anyways. So I'm transiting over to the Armistice station at the end of today."
"I see. Good luck to you, sir."
"Thank you, Marce." It's strange to him, that there would be a civilian aboard a military medical station, but it also doesn't surprise Marito either. There was a tremendous loss of skilled doctors and nurses, either to annexation, or the attrition of them as the United Earth lost more and more territory to the Martians.
Part of him wondered how many lives Inaho had saved in his fighting. At least his own, surely, those aboard the Watatsumi, and the Deucalion numerous times — but that was just those among the military. What about those civilians whose lives Inaho's actions had saved? The ones who had lived under Martian occupation, who Inaho had spearheaded to free from Martian occupation? All those steps, all those actions, just to end up here, in a hospital bed, with seemingly no chance for recovery. All he had done, just to end up here, hooked up to a dozen machines or more.
Part of Marito wanted to smirk at the cosmic comedy of it all. One of the strongest fighters of the UE, and here he was now.
"Sir? You're smiling?" Marce asked, breaking the silence that was otherwise punctuated by the sound of the machines keeping Inaho alive.
"It's nothing, just thinking about one of the kid's heroics." Marito does his best to wipe the unconscious smirk off of his face. "Granted that doesn't narrow it down a lot."
"I imagine not, sir." Marce smiles kindly.
Marito sighs, closing his eyes against the sight of the room; "I could use a drink…"
Marce doesn't respond to this.
"Watch over the kid while I'm gone?" Marito says, breaking the silence of the room.
"Of course, sir."
Marito starts moving for the door, stopping in the doorway as if he has something more to say, but doesn't say it.
Marce watches the Lieutenant leave the room, and is left alone in the silence in between the beeps of the heart-rate monitor that was watching over the young man laying on the bed.
"He's a strange one, isn't he?" Marce says to no one in particular, but in particular to Inaho.
Marce would, even when prompted about it, admit that he talks to his patients aboard this station, all of whom were injured in some manner in combat throughout the War and needed — for one reason or another — needed to be treated at one of the more secure partial zero-G facilities. Some of his patients even talked back to him. But he would always talk to those patients who were in the coma. Too often had he entered a patient's room, when there were visitors, only to find that the person visiting hadn't barely said a word to the patient the entire time they had been in the room.
So Marce talked to his patients, in hopes that it made them feel less lonely.
It made him feel more like he was interacting with someone, despite working in silence on what would, without the machines hooked up to the patient, be a corpse.
Slaine Troyard is used to being alone.
Ever since leaving Earth behind with his now-deceased first father, he was used to not having friends, having people to talk to. People on Vers didn't generally take kindly to Earth expatriates. And working among those aboard the Castle Cruhteo, that same sentiment was held, especially by those he served; but not all of them.
It was those rare people, the ones who didn't seem to care where he was from, that stood out the most to him. An old pastor on a Versian street corner. A senior servant in the Landing Castle. The Princess of Vers.
It was those people that made him resent being alone in this world. Their kindness that would cut through the sorrow that he felt about his solitude, and left him wanting — craving more.
It was this craving, that unbeknownst to him, that would be what brought him continuously back to this same chamber aboard the Landing Castle. The chamber that no one else, save medical staff, were allowed into. The guards outside never even set foot inside the room. Even then, the medical staff didn't need to spend time monitoring inside the room. Meaning, that no matter what time of day, no matter what mood. The Count Slaine Troyard could spend time with the Princess of Vers, Asseylum Vers Allusia, in silence through the medical-suspension fluid that is being used to keep her alive.
He never would claim to understand the technology that keeps her alive. Just blessing its presence to keep his Princess alive. Even if she couldn't talk, she couldn't see, and couldn't hear him; all that mattered was that she was safe now. Safe from all those who would dare exploit her. That's what really mattered, and all that would ever matter to him.
"Count Troyard." A voice speaks throughout the ship, one of his flag officers using the intercom of the castle to get his attention. "Your presence is needed on the bridge."
The Count doesn't move for a moment, instead closing his eyes against the sight of the room, before going into a deep bow; a silent sign of respect to someone who would never release him from his bow. He broke it after a few seconds of customary silence, leaving without a word, or a glance over his shoulder back at the suspending princess as she floated in the liquid.
The door to the chamber opened, and Count Troyard stepped out from the room, into the hallway beyond.
To the unacquainted observer, the halls of Castle Cruhteo might very well have looked identical to nearly any other landing castle, but there was still nuance. One that once you spent enough time touring each individual landing castle, one might realize what it is.
There were 37 clans of Orbital Knights, before the second Earth-Mars War. The deaths of Count Cruhteo and Count Saazbaum, and their dominions having been united under the Count Troyard, left the count of Clans at 36. Something more balanced. Each Clan was treated less like a division of the Martian military might, but rather as its own military, with a knight sitting at the top. However, each clan was still allegiant to the Throne, so they adhered to some familiar standards — like uniforms. But that didn't stop each of the now 36 Orbital Knights from finding ways of self-expression. They were still human after all.
The color of the walls, the style of rug or carpet in the stateroom one might stay in — the temperature of the shower. Things of that nature that showed how a landing castle, and in some cases the Terran land around it, were held by a unique person, with their own agenda.
Slaine knew this well. Knew the struggles of keeping any one of the other Knights in line. Each one viewed themselves as generally equal to any of the other Knights, and held this stance very strongly. Meaning that when asked for one's subservience, even temporarily — a Knight was unlikely to give it. Some did, some had rallied under Count Troyard's words and promises of uniting the Knights into a fine blade, something to carve deep at the heart of the Terran menace, to prove their loyalty to the Throne, to unite them underneath the banner of the former Count Saazbaum's cause.
The cause of pulling the rug out from under Terrans, to bring prosperity beyond just that held by the upper class of the Vers Empire.
The castles of Troyard's domain had been retrieved from the surface, and been purposed as he saw fit. The first of which, being the establishment of the contended Armistice station. The other being the placement of the Castle Cruhteo in Low Earth Orbit, where he now walks. He steps aboard the elevator, and takes it all the way to the bridge of the landing castle, where the gravity induced by rotation of the castle no longer occurs, and the magnetic inserts in his boots need to be activated. He taps the heels of his boots together, and a soft chime lets him know that they're on.
Just in time for the elevator door to open to the soft din of the bridge.
"What is it?" Slaine speaks with a voice that felt more commanding than a young man his age might otherwise have.
"It's the ground troops, sir." A voice from one of his bridge officers responded. He steps forth from the elevator and onto the bridge. "They're reporting in. Apparently they've found something quote 'interesting that milord needs to see.'"
"Put them on screen please." The holoscreen at the front of the bridge blinks into existence, and connects to the soldiers on the surface. The ones who had been working the Terran lands around the city of Seattle, scouring it for signs of guerrilla fighters and resistance cells that would hamper the continued control over the territory.
"Milord", the soldier gives a salute to Slaine, who despite having been the Count of Saazbaum and Count of Cruhteo jointly — still wasn't used to the ordeal of having the common man's soldier salute to him. Especially after his time not having been anything more than a second-rate citizen of Vers.
"What is it you've found?" Slaine asks of the lieutenant, adorned in a battle-vest and with the barrel of his rifle peeking out from behind his shoulder, slung across his back.
"Civilians, milord." The camera pans to the soldier's left and shows a vast number of civilians, wearing various states of scrapped-together clothes. Doing their best to keep out the elements, keep it away from their skin and insides as they best tried to survive the cascadian winter. "What would you like us to do with them? We've already searched them for weapons and other dangerous items, and found nothing — save some survival tools. They've made no aggression towards us, despite guerrilla activity in the area."
Slaine opened his mouth to answer, but then shut it again, not entirely sure what his answer would or should be.
"Escort them to the nearest forward operating base. Give them shelter and whatever else they need." Slaine begins, "Let them leave when they want, and offer those who need it, medical attention. It's winter down there, yes?"
"Yes, milord."
"Was there anything else to report?"
"No, milord. We've been continuing to track that stray Terran resistance cell that you ordered. We've not made substantial progress." The soldier sounded almost disappointed in the lack of progress made; and looked like he was about to steel himself for reprimand from his superior, when Slaine simply smiled.
"You're doing good work down there, keep tracking the resistance cell, and report back to me when you have made progress."
The soldier looked visibly relieved. "Milord!"
Slaine gave a motion for the signal to be cut, and it shortly was.
"Where are they tracking that cell? Can you show me?" Slaine asked of the nearby officer.
"Milord." The officer punched something into his workstation, and where the communication signal was just displayed, instead there was a map of the pacific northwest of the Americas. "They are tracking the cell through the Cascade mountains at present."
"There were no landing castles that landed in that area of the continent, correct?"
"Correct, milord. The closest landing castle that made landfall on the continent was in the Terran city of Calgary to the north." The officer responded.
"Whose castle was it, again?"
"Countess Raefala, milord."
"She isn't aligned with us, which means we can't count on her for ground support."
"No milord, and the Terrans aren't happy with us pursuing resistance cells either."
Slaine smiles again at this, "Our cease fire is between the UFE and the Vers Empire, but not between Vers and resistance cells."
The officer turns and blinks at this, not being entirely sure how to respond to the idea that chasing those resistance cell members, didn't qualify as breaking the Armistice. "…Yes, milord…"
"And what about the Armistice? Have the Terrans made any decisions about it yet?"
"No, milord. The armistice council still hasn't declared anything. There are fifty-eight days left before the Armistice expires, most of their meetings are behind closed doors, so we can't ascertain what's going on in good faith."
Slaine frowns at this, part of him aware that there should be nothing inhibiting his crews from doing their best to try and spy on the Terran delegation aboard Castle Saazbaum. The other part — the more dishonorable part of Slaine — wonders why they are even bothering trying to negotiate in 'good faith' with the Terrans.
"Please keep me apprised of any updates from them, it'll be important for us to know when to make our next move."
"Yes milord." The officer responds. Slaine turns to leave the bridge again, "Where will be able to find you, if something happens, milord?"
"I'll be in my chambers, resting." Slaine responds, not turning to acknowledge the officer.
This is only partly a lie.
He'll be just as likely to return to the chamber that he was earlier in. Spending idle time in the presence of her Highness, waiting for the inevitable day where she's to wake up again. This is something that Slaine is sure of, as the elevator door closes behind him.
2
