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He’s probably going to get his hand smacked for this—or bitten, whichever comes first. But it’s like what his dad says whenever he brings out the ruler: there are no gains without pains.
So Guel stays on all fours, the dewy grass underneath his shadow close enough to tickle him on his chin. His back is punishing him, the pressure like a giant fist pressing onto his nape and shoulders, and no matter how many times he blinks, the sweat never quite clears from his eyes. Folded low like this, it’s getting a little difficult to breathe, too.
But he stays still, an apex predator observing the hard-shelled bug move its legs, the way his dad likes to flex his fingers in the office after a lecture. It’s a fat thing wrapped in shiny, black armor, probably large enough to fit Guel’s palm. But the greatest thing about it is its hooked head, and the long horn extending outwards from the bottom like a thick needle with antlers.
Guel flicks his tongue over his lips, catching the salt from the sweat that has beaded under his nose. His breath starts to quicken, a noisy whoosh of air in and out through his mouth when he finally raises his hand from the dirt and starts to reach for the bug. Through his teeth, he sucks in his spit, his sweat rolling like marbles down his cheeks.
The bug freezes as soon as it senses his presence. Suddenly wary, it crawls backwards on all six, and raises its horn and forelegs to meet Guel’s challenge.
It’s the coolest thing he’s seen this week, bringing him to grin and snicker. His tutors don’t even teach him about these little buggers, but ever since he found one in the bathroom that sent his nanny into a panic, he’s been curious about them. Imagine, something so small could send even a grown adult running for her life! And here he is, braver than anyone else in the entire mansion—
“—other! Broootherrr!”
Okay—Guel is definitely the bravest in the mansion, but Lauda of all has to be as brave as him.
His hands land meatily on the grass when he pushes himself up to his feet. The world sways for a bit but he catches his balance quickly enough, never mind that the daylight is absolutely searing this morning. Guel raises his hand to wave Lauda over, just long enough to be seen before he pulls up his shirt and wipes his face on it.
Lauda is quick to admonish him for his lack of care. “Brother, you know you can’t do that!” He’s turning six this year, just a couple of months behind Guel. But despite that, he already sounds like Guel’s nanny and sometimes, it grates on him. Of all the people who live in the mansion, after all, Guel was the one who stuck with him so that nobody made fun of him for having a different mother. Well, aside from his dad, of course.
But, well anyway, he knows Lauda won’t tell on him. This isn’t the first time his half-brother has caught him like this. “What?” Guel spreads his hands sideways. “I’m already dirty, anyway. We can just say that uh…” He looks briefly at the grass. “We were chasing a bug away from the house!”
“A bug?” Lauda doesn’t look inclined to believe his plan will work.
“Or a cat.” Guel shrugs. “Itʼs not like we have to prove it, anyway!” Any questions asked by the adults, and he’ll just throw a fit to get him and Lauda off the hook.
Lauda puffs out a quiet breath. Still lacking in confidence there, but at least he forgets about the state of Guel’s shirt. “What are you really doing out here, anyway, Brother? You know the tutor’s arriving soon.”
“So what? They’ll wait for us, anyway. Besides, this is way cooler! Check this out.” He comes down to his knees again (he’ll hear words about his shorts, too, for sure) and waves Lauda closer.
Lauda crouches beside him, looking first at him, then at the black thing making like a rock in the middle of a patch of fresh grass. Guel watches his brother as he screws his eyes tighter and peers closer still—
With a yelp, Lauda falls back to the earth on his butt, and Guel laughs. Guess that makes two of them with the dirty shorts. “Brother, what is that!”
“Itʼs a beetle!” Guel cackles, triumphant. And to celebrate, he boldly wipes his face on his shirt again, right in front of his round-eyed brother. “My nanny found this in the bathroom once and freaked out. Here, watch this!” He brings his finger towards the obsidian spokes again—
“Brother,” Lauda grabs him by his sleeve and tugs his arm back, almost enough to upset Guel’s balance but he persists regardless. Even with the beetle threatening him with its weapon again. “Brother, isn’t that dangerous? What if it bites you!”
“Bites me? This small thing?” Guel laughs at Lauda’s wild imagination, but he does quit his pursuit for the beetle’s hostility, anyway. “I bet if I touch it, it’ll just run away. Bet you I can even put it on my hand!” It’s a brilliant idea, and he whirls back to face his brother, excited to see what he thinks about it. “What do you say, huh? I bet I can do it, right?”
“B, Brother,” Lauda chokes. It takes him another second to swallow his spit and nod, but not without saying, “B, but shouldn’t you be careful? If it bites you and Dad finds out—”
“Dad won’t find out.” Guel speaks surely, but there’s no denying the truth behind his brother’s words. If their father finds out, he’s sure to get a beating from him again.
But the challenge is there, the thrill of the fight. Maybe the beetle would bite him but what if Guel could put it in his hand? He doesn’t know anyone else who could do that in this mansion, not even their dad!
The fingers in his right hand tense. Guel wipes his palm dry on his soiled shorts and puts his left hand down onto the grass for balance as he looms over the bug. Lauda hisses his name again, but he doesnʼt tug on his shirt anymore. That means all that’s left is to do this!
Guel holds his breath, tongue darting quickly over his lips again as he reaches for the black beetle. Again, the feisty little thing raises itself on its haunches, daring him to move closer with its horn. It looks sharp, Guel realizes just then. If it catches him, it could be really painful. Not to mention, those legs look really big and mean, like they’d poke through his hand and never let go…
Guel cries out and swings back with a closed fist, sending Lauda back to the earth again with a squeal. “See?” he laughs, keeping his fingers tucked tight. He wasn’t sure that he could make Lauda believe he had a real bug inside them but the way his brother is staring—no, gaping at it, he knows it’s working. “Told you I could do it! You wanna see?” He moves his fist closer still. It’s a risk.
But he knows his secret is safe and that Lauda won’t actually want to see it. He’s already shaking his head wildly, and begging him, “Brother, put it down! Let’s just go back to the house, the tutor is coming.”
“It won’t hurt you! Here, I’ll put it in your hand—”
Lauda shrieks. “No!” Scrambling to his knees, he pushes himself up and bolts through the garden.
And Guel laughs victoriously, bringing himself to his own feet to chase after his brother. “C’mon, Lauda, it’s just a bug!”
“I don’t want it!” Lauda screeches back. “Dad! Daaad!!”
—
“What’s this, Princess? Thought you’d already be on your way to Earth by now.”
Guel doesn’t have to hear the answer from Miorine, not with the way she’s glowering at him like a cat who’s ready to jump him and gouge his eyes off with her pruners. But he asks her, anyway, with a smirk riding proudly on his cheeks. “Or did the smugglers run away with your money?”
He didn’t think she’d actually do it—it’s a dangerous thing to do, after all—but Miorine actually pitches the stubby shears at him with a wild cry.
Guel stumbles sideways, dodging the blades by a narrow margin when it bounces off the side of the open door. “Hey—!” he snaps at the woman, baring his teeth. “What the hell were you thinking—?!”
“You have no right to step inside my greenhouse!” Miorine roars back, marching up to him with enough rage to maybe finally fry all these silly tomatoes hanging off her walls. “Don’t you have another stupid duel to fight? Get out!”
“Is that how your father taught you to talk to your bridegroom?” Guel snarls. And just in case it isn’t clear yet that he intends to do the exact opposite of what she wants, he puts himself squarely in the middle of the entrance and braces his fists on either side of his hips, completely blocking Miorine’s path.
There’s probably a joke to be said here about how Miorine, for once, isn’t vying for an exit. Instead, she fixes herself right in front of him, too, and even raises herself by her toes to meet him glare for glare. “What makes you think I care about what that lousy old man thinks? I’m not like you, Guel Jeturk. And I don’t need some spoiled man-child to tell me—”
“You watch your words and your manners around me, Princess!” Guel cuts her off with a bark and pushes her two steps back when he takes a step forward. By all appearances, she still looks ready to tear him to pieces with her own bare hands, but by and large, her ambition seems to have simmered down now. Like the smoke rising off of drenched firewood.
Good to know he’s still got some power here. Guel chuckles at his effect in delight, crossing his arms over his chest. “I see it’s not yet too late for you to learn some discipline. Keep it up, and you and I might just get along nicely, after all.”
“I’d rather die in space.” Miorine is still seething. “There’s absolutely nothing I want to have to do with you so if you’re done gloating, you’re free to go away and leave me alone.” Her heels are sharp when she turns her back to him and marches into her cramped sanctuary. How dare she!
Guel tuts at her brazenness and breaches her sacred space with another bold step—
For all that he thinks about the woman, though, when she does yelp and jump back from the left side wall, Guel finds himself hurrying to her side in alarm, searching the tiny greenhouse for something potentially dangerous. He finds it by following her line of sight. Underneath her taller plants, the black bug is stark against the silver floor—
“How did this thing get inside?” Miorine growls, raising her foot high.
“Miorine, wait!” Guel jumps forward before she could crush the hapless beetle under her shoe, striking his arm out to prevent her. Behind him, Miorine cries again, stumbling against the other wall. One of those flower pots screeches against the glass surface and shatters. Well, what matters, at least, is that the beetle is now safe.
Guel breathes out a sigh of relief. A quick inspection of his surroundings brings him to some flat white dishes, like plastic discs, stacked on top of a circular pedestal. Perfect for what he needs.
He doesn’t bother asking for permission when he grabs the one at the top, and sets it down next to the lucky bugger still standing frozen where it nearly met its death. If it doesn’t move, maybe Guel would forget about it—that’s what’s probably going on in its tiny brain right now.
But he wipes his palm on his shorts, careless of its pristine white fabric, and reaches down to the beetle with two fingers shaped like a pincer. The beetle jumps to life when it finds its first plan foiled and tries to intimidate Guel by sticking out its horn, as always.
Guel tuts under his breath, “Hold still, dammit. I’m trying to save your life.” So he persists valiantly, dodging the stubborn insect’s advances until he can finally pinch the tiny horn right at the top of its head, away from friendly fire. The beetle’s legs are flailing when he lifts it off the floor.
And deposits it safely onto the white dish, where it proceeds to pretend to be a rock again.
“There. All done.” Guel stands up, careful not to upset the dish. “Itʼs just a harmless beetle, it won’t stab you if you leave it alone—”
“How could you?” Miorine hisses.
Guel looks up to face her. She’s still standing by the wall, her fists trembling on either side of her, hatred still in her eyes…but this one is different. The fire has gone out now, and what’s left of it is something cold and smoldering that even the tears clinging to her lashes won’t put out. He knows that kind of anger…has felt the same smoke rising inside his own chest, in fact—
“How could you treat an insect better than a person?” Miorine goes on to ask him. “You say that that insect has a right to live? Well, I have a right to live, too!” she cries, jabbing a thin finger to her heart. “I have the right to live however I want! Why don’t you louts ever realize that?!” Where the hell is she coming from here?
Guel fixes his usual scowl for her and opens his mouth to put her back in her place.
“No, I don’t want to hear it!” Miorine stomps off into her inner sanctum. “Just take your pet with you and go away. Just leave me alone!”
—
Vim Jeturk taught him that in all things, he should always have the final say. The final laugh. No Jeturk ever leaves a fight defeated.
If his dad ever found out that Guel just left the greenhouse without another word, he’s sure he wouldn’t let him leave the room until his cheek stung.
“Here you go.” He sets down the white dish onto the grass, and the beetle recognizes this as its cue to crawl off, back into the arms of nature. “Good thing I was there to save you. You know, for an Earthophile, you’d think Miorine would understand your place in things. But…” Guel shrugs, smiling slightly, “I guess she’s not so different from the rest of them. You and I, no matter where we go, nobody will understand us.” Something he’s always felt in his bones…though that doesn’t make it any easier to put it into words.
It’s embarrassing, in fact. What does he mean to say by that? Him, Asticassia’s ace pilot and reigning Holder. Not to mention the heir to Jeturk Heavy Machinery, one of the three branches of the Benerit Group. He has everything, and he is everything. What gives him the right to say those things and to feel that way?
“You say that that insect has a right to live? Well, I have a right to live, too! I have the right to live however I want! Why don’t you louts ever realize that?!”
What’s more embarrassing to admit is that even if Guel had chosen to stay, he didn’t know what he would have said to Miorine. A right to live however you want? Don’t make me laugh, he might have tried—if he could. If he had the balls to hear himself say that…
His phone is ringing. Guel answers it, standing up. “Lauda, what is it?”
—
Even while landing, the mobile suit has exceeded his expectations. By 13-percent, according to the performance readouts on his HUD.
Guel practically bursts through the cockpit when it’s finally safe to disengage, floating up like a frenzied fish to meet his father who’d come out of his office to make the delivery himself. “Dad, the Dilanza is perfect!”
“As it should be.” The mobile suit’s performance does not surprise Vim at all. Even with Guel already near him, he’s more interested with the tablet that the mechanic is showing him than his own son’s glowing report.
With a nod, Vim finally sends the mechanic off, and Guel finally has his fullest attention. Guel wants to hug him. Guel wants to seize him in his arms and thank him again and again for— “With this, you shouldn’t have any trouble winning your duels.” What? What—what did he mean by that?
“Dad,” Guel laughs slightly, suddenly conscious about the shape of his smile, and uncertain about his father’s words. “I never lost a duel.”
“You could stand to win it without looking like a cripple,” Vim retorts. His expression is like that of a wall, and no matter how long Guel has known this man, he doesn’t know how to see through this one. “Think about our company image the next time you’re clumsy enough to lose an arm and a leg, Guel.”
“That—yes, sir!” His father’s terseness feels like a lifeline going slack between the two of them, and if Guel doesn’t respond correctly, he feels like he’ll lose it in space. It’s a confusing feeling, but…well, his father is a busy man. He misses him, but he and Lauda aren’t kids anymore. While Vim used to be able to make time for them before, now they’re practically both grown men. Ready to stand on their own. This is just a part of growing up.
“Have you met your fiancée, Guel?” Vim starts to descend to the ramp.
Guel follows dutifully. “I have.”
“Good. It’s important that she doesn’t forget that she belongs to Jeturk House. And on that note, I want you to find another opponent to duel by next week. We need to make a statement after that incident with the smugglers.” Vim never looked back to him. He must have a lot on his mind.
“Yes, sir.”
“That was a close call. If I hadn’t paid them off to leave, it might have been too late.” Finally, Vim does turn to look at him, and Guel brings his shoulders back in attention, just as he was raised to do. “I’ll leave you to it. Show them the might of Jeturk Heavy Machinery.”
Guel folds himself forward for a proper bow. “Yes, sir!” And that was it. No final words from his father, not even a clap on his back, but Guel is no longer a child. He understands these things adults do now.
He waits until the heavy hangar doors bang shut before he rises, though there’s nothing left to look at now except for the absence of his father. He’s used to it—should be used to it by now, but it still leaves his stomach with a hollow feeling.
“I think he has another meeting with the Group.” And being the mind-reader that he is, Lauda appears suddenly, coming up to meet him from over his shoulder. This one is a much more pleasant sight, at least. Guel feels his odd feelings vanish and breathes easily. “Anyway, your new Dilanza looks good, Brother.”
Guel smirks at the compliment. Obviously he loves his brother, but this is one reason why. Lauda always knows how to reset his balance, make him feel better. “Of course, he does.” He gazes upon the brilliant giant, standing out in the dim bay in a vivid purple armor, an elegant plume of white feathers between its blade antennae that reminds him of a certain friend he rescued earlier. “You’ll get to see him in action very soon, too.”
“Another duel?” Despite Guel’s reputation, Lauda seems surprised to hear it. “Who’s the challenger this time?”
“I have to look for them,” Guel tells him, shaking his head slightly and shrugging. “Dad wants Jeturk House to make a statement about my engagement with the Princess.”
“I see,” Lauda says, nodding, one hand reaching up to the tips of his front locks to twist it in his fingers. “So soon after the last, too. Aren’t you getting tired of these meaningless duels, Brother? Half of them aren’t even anywhere near your level anymore.” Him? Guel Jeturk? Tired of dueling?
Not that Lauda doesn’t have a good point, of course, and sometimes, it does get tiring. An average duel barely lasts five minutes anymore, to the point where it takes longer to prepare the mobile suits than it is to actually break them. He used to look forward to these things like a mad dog on a leash that’s ready to snap. But now…just thinking about the ceremony of the stakes and the vow…the mundanity of putting on his suit everyday of his life just because of some stupid trophy he happens to be keeping—
But no. His father wants this for him. He needs this trophy for his father.
Guel laughs, reaching back to undo his hair bun. There’s a different time and place for his feelings, and Lauda doesn’t have to hear that side of this whole engagement business. “Once you get used to the adrenaline rush, you’ll keep looking for it. Besides, I’m the head of the dueling committee. What kind of a head would I be if I refused a duel?”
“But still, Brother—!”
“When I finally become Miorine’s husband, it’ll be good for the company.” Guel claps his brother fondly on his shoulder. “And what’s good for the company will be good for you, Lauda. Until then, I’ll just have to keep winning.” And for good measure, he puts on a grin for him. “In any case, winning is easy.”
—
Twenty-seven. That number used to be so important to him.
So important, and yet the number of times that number had caused him to wake up gasping from a nightmare is countless. Dreams where 27 stayed 27 forever, or has suddenly become 26. Dreams where before his very eyes, it resets itself to 0. All his victories nullified and voided. All his worth as a pilot…as a son…as a person…
He should have been more worried about the number next to it, though. The zero. If only that number had stayed 0…if only he’d remained unbeatable, then everything would still be normal. He would still be the Holder, he would still be a member of Jeturk House, the heir to his father’s legacy…
Funny, though, that thinking about his father’s company has only left Guel feeling cold and tasting bitterness in his mouth. He was supposed to inherit everything but his father never treated him more than a child. He was just an extension of the man—someone who was only ever good when he did as he was told, when he won his duels. Like a boy who’s forced to eat his vegetables, just so there wouldn’t be any leftovers to deal with.
What did I really want, anyway? Guel wonders to himself. I thought I wanted to be the Holder, but is that for me or for my dad…?
“Hey, who made that mobile suit?”
“Huh?” Guel looks up to the man floating in through the door at his side. It’s dark in here, the lights coming only from the narrow panels overhead and the myriad of stars past the viewport.
“The purple one. With…” His visitor holds a V up over his head with the hand holding the cloth bag. The Dilanza. His old Dilanza.
“Jeturk Heavy Machinery,” Guel answers with a nostalgic smile. He looks back to the tablet he’s holding. On the screen, the Dilanza is dodging his opponent’s beamfire with ease, dancing through the rocky terrain left and right. In the end, the Dilanza wasn’t the fastest suit he’d ever ridden—that honor belonged to the Darilbalde. But the Dilanza was his. It was his will, his skill and intuition. His worth, that was taken away from him by his father. Of all people.
“They called him the Dilanza,” Guel adds when he starts to feel his eyes getting damp again.
“You sure know your way around mobile suits, Bob. Glad to have you with us,” his new companion says, strapping himself down to the seat next to Guel. Bob. To be perfectly honest, he doesn’t know what to feel about that name when he penned it down the job contract. Bob was no Jeturk or Holder. Bob was nothing.
But so far…Bob has been good to him.
“Here, have some.” Out of the cloth bag, the man produces a black ball wrapped in thin plastic.
Guel knows his…that is to say Bob’s place in this crew, so he shakes his head and raises the wrap in his right hand, the silver foil already torn halfway down the flat bread. “I’m good, thank you.”
“Take it. My husband makes the best rice balls, and you’re going to thank me for it.” He doesn’t leave Guel a choice when he fits it in one of the pockets of his safety vest. No one has ever done that kind of gesture to him before.
Guel feels embarrassed, but he thanks his companion, anyway, for the kindness.
The man settles down to eat, and Guel returns to the recordings of his past duels—one of the few he had a mind to smuggle with him before he absconded from the school. It’s silly when one thinks of it—he could have grabbed something else on his way out, something more useful. But in the end, he couldn’t let go of the past so easily. His glory days.
When he notices the man watching with him, he shares the screen shyly, and the man shifts closer happily enough, and reminds him to try his husband’s rice ball, too. Guel indulges him, then. It’s the first time he’s having this kind of food. Back in Jeturk House, even when he was cramming between tests, he always had someone make his food for him. And when he was exiled…well. In the first place, he never learned to make this stuff.
“Itʼs delicious,” he tells his companion, hiding his mouth behind his hand while he cleans up the rice and seaweed clinging to his lips. He didn’t think it would be such a messy thing to eat, but here he is.
“Didn’t I tell ya?” the man laughs, waving his own half-eaten rice ball. “My husband has a way of mixing his sauces. That’s the secret behind this. A good rice ball isn’t just all about the fillings, after all.”
“I see.” This is the first time Guel is hearing about this and frankly speaking, he has no idea what to do with this information.
“Look, you’re a Spacian,” the man laughs, peeling back the plastic from his own rice ball. “Just trust me on this.”
“I see,” Guel laughs along with him. He really doesn’t know what to do with this information. “So…you’re from Earth?”
The man nods with a mouthful of rice and seaweed. “My husband and I both. We met each other when he was still waiting on tables, and I was working in my parents’ lotto shop. You know, life back there is so much simpler than you can even imagine. We didn’t really care much about…” He pauses, searching around him for ideas before he ultimately sweeps his rice ball to the room. “This or…” Now he’s gesturing to Guel’s screen. “That. We didn’t have those kinds of fights back home. Closest we get are these insects…you know beetles?”
“You have beetles on Earth, too?” It’s a funny subject to be suddenly excited about, but for a change, here’s something that doesn’t remind Guel of his old life, or his family. Figures beetles have never betrayed him, either.
“Yeah! Nasty little buggers,” the man laughs. “But you could really earn a lot from ‘em. I used to really get into beetle fights before I met my husband. What we’d do is that we’d put two male beetles on a stick.” He extends a finger horizontally for a demonstration, but Guel already knows he doesn’t need one. It sounds too familiar even without it, and he has the recordings to show for it. “And then they’d fight it out. Whoever’s beetle throws the other off the stick wins, and the stakes are insane! Like you’ll never believe how much they’re betting on these guys!”
“I guess not,” Guel says. He shares a friendly laugh with him again, then bites hungrily into his rice ball. It’s a lie, of course. Stakes, duels, his life used to be all about them. Once upon a time, they were the air he breathed, his lifeline to his future. But now…
Now all he could think of was, Those beetles didn’t even get to have a say in what they were fighting for. And even if they did, would that change anything? Would their free will matter to anyone?