[EXCLUSIVE] Gaia Gear Ch.08 (Full)

Chapter.08
With the Land and Sea to His Back

1

　The shuttle...
　It stands as our solitary instrument capable of breaking free from Earth's gravitational clutches. Yet, waxing poetic about it feels oddly outdated, as overcoming gravity is not the significant challenge it once was.
　Still, in Affranchi's era, sentimentality became almost inevitable, given how shuttles have long been monopolized by the privileged few.
　On Earth, at this time, those who could board a shuttle were either part of the bureaucratic structure that upheld the Earth Federation government or those who had the skill to maintain a positive relationship with these bureaucrats. Exceptions existed, of course, but these were people deemed extraordinarily safe or otherwise indifferent by the Earth Federation government. Yes, in any era, indifference becomes a talent for survival. And strangely enough, those who can overcome gravity generally return to Earth.
　They didn't desire to live in space.
　In such a time, the shuttle was rarely utilized for anything else. Paradoxically, those who wanted to truly exploit its capabilities couldn't board it. Perhaps humans are inherently contradictory beings.
　This habit hadn't been remedied yet.
　In the shuttle's cockpit, the two crew members wouldn't easily bow to Affranchi's demands, he could see that, and it shook him. Any further push and Affranchi could potentially destroy the shuttle with his enigmatic machine. If that happened, he would never ascend to the stars.
　This would render his actions meaningless.
　Power, indeed, often strips away freedom.
　Therefore, the shuttle crew didn't readily obey Affranchi's commands even with pitiable expressions.
　"How do you want me to do it? Tell me!"
　"Tell me how to get this machine into space!"
　"I want specifics. I don't know how to do it!"
　"I don't know how to do it!"
　"You're the professional, what are you talking about?"
　Agitated, Affranchi scrutinized their expressions on one of the displays.
　"Did they figure out I'm a total novice when it comes to shuttles?!"
　He didn't miss that the two adults in the cockpit seemed to be observing his machine.
　"Adults are cunning... Do I have to use force?"
　"Then, disconnect that shuttle and just use the booster!"
　Affranchi was prepared to inspect the connection between the shuttle and the booster. But he felt if he showed this opening, even using the shuttle as a shield, he could be shot down by a helicopter.
　Suddenly,
　"Don't make any unnecessary moves! Listen to the man-machine!"
　That woman, the career woman who had guided Affranchi and Everly Key, appeared in the shuttle cockpit.
　Affranchi's eyes shifted from the multi-screen showing the crew's faces to the panoramic display.
　"That woman... Miranda, did she say?"
　He was taken aback at the sight of the career woman, standing with the door separating the shuttle cockpit and the passenger cabin behind her.
　She stood firm, dressed in a crisp jacket and a tight skirt, a small handgun gripped in her hand.
　"Stay ready for launch! Get permission from the control tower to disconnect the cargo!"
　She pressed the barrel of her gun against the captain's temple. As Affranchi's first impressions suggested, she was indeed a career woman. Or rather, like a soldier...
　"Impressive..." Affranchi felt he understood how to intimidate people from her actions.
　"What do you intend to do?"
　"Our task is to secure that machine. A matter of logistics, yes? We'll decouple the excess cargo and hitch up the machine. No more, no less."
　"Don't be ridiculous! There's no way we can go into space with such a bulky object causing air resistance!"
　"Is that supposed to be a joke? Look, I'm an expert. The machine and the shuttle have been mapped, each variable meticulously factored in. We are not playing a fool's game here."
　"You and your ilk!"
　Unmoved by the co-pilot's fiery outburst, she bit back, "If you seek labels, we are Neo Zeon. That should satisfy you, right? If it's Neo Zeon, there's no helping it. They're that kind of people, aren't they?"
　"Sly!"
　While the captain spoke, understanding that she wasn't joking, he requested the control tower to detach the cargo. Affranchi watched their interaction with keen eyes, tracking the arrival of the MHA helicopter. But, as he'd predicted, they dared not approach Affranchi's mechanical titan too closely.
　Finally regaining his composure, Affranchi gently swayed his machine's top section side-to-side – a symbol of caution. This was his role in this moment of chaos. If he slipped in his vigilance, he would undoubtedly be bested by the formidable career woman.
　"Baam Segen claimed I lack the qualifications for this shuttle ride?"
　Affranchi's memory was playing tricks on him.
　The career woman seemed to glance at the movement of the machine operated by Affranchi. Then she said to the captain, "Depending on the circumstances, we should both be prepared to die here, got it?"
　"I understand! Tower! Hurry up!"
　Fear echoed in the shuttle captain's voice.

2

　Affranchi pondered. The fact that she was able to board the shuttle with a handgun indicated that she was part of the privileged class. If she came from such a family, her kin would likely face severe punishment due to this incident.
　However, she might have falsely claimed the name of a family belonging to that class. Perhaps she had originally planned such an act and infiltrated the bureaucratic structure of the Earth Federation government. Sure, anyone who dreams of the resurgence of Neo Zeon would likely do so.
　The cargo removal was quick, but to Affranchi, entrenched in battle, each passing second seemed an agonizing eternity. The passage of time, different in quality, was difficult to endure. Miranda's endurance through this ordeal was commendable, and in contrast, he found his resolve pitifully fragile.
　"Recognition..." he mulled over the concept, his mind wandering as he eyed the audacious press helicopter approaching.
　Upon reflection, the noise in his head was no longer audible. And Affranchi looked around calmly inside the cockpit and was once again astonished at his understanding of this structure.
　"I know this..." Even when thinking calmly, he understood what the digital display on the console panel meant, how to operate the spherical control ball, the arm rakers, and what the buttons in the indentations where his fingers pushed meant.
　There were minor discrepancies between this knowledge and his memory, which irked him. Yet, they were trivial. His understanding was as if he'd studied it meticulously. This was not knowledge gained from his upbringing nor an innate aptitude. He had no known knack for machinery.
　He didn't know whether he had a sense for machines.
　Even if it was a latent ability, it wouldn't surface so effortlessly. Human beings weren't designed for such convenience. He was no more pliable due to his humble island upbringing. That's why he wanted to get out. That was the first reason, and the second reason was that he felt that space might be calling him.
　Yet, acknowledging such learning, utterly detached from conscious awareness, was far from pleasant. Human memory selectively retains acceptable experiences thanks to the merciful ability to forget unwanted recollections. This ability helps us to avoid the oppressive weight of painful learning. Experiencing life through the prism of our acquired knowledge reveals life's astonishing banality, often prompting us to renounce life. Hence, the ability to "forget" has been crucial to our survival as primates.
　Nonetheless, Affranchi found himself acting on an understanding alien to him, evoking discomfort. Mere acknowledgment of this fact was not true understanding for him. He was, it seemed, being controlled by an unforgettably disturbing truth, one that could lead to madness. This makes people uncomfortable.
　"Why am I piloting this machine? Why am I hijacking the shuttle by breaking the law? If I act without answering those questions, am I not a puppet? People should be fully accountable for their existence. If they can't, life loses its essence. Humanity's next evolutionary stage should be a society comprising individuals who understand this. But due to ignorance, people suffer, they struggle, they ravage the very Earth that sustains them, a planet that has long been gasping for survival..." Affranchi mulled over these thoughts.
　However, Affranchi failed to notice an inherent paradox in his introspective ponderings. The notion of a "gasping Earth" is an understanding, a concept that would elude a young person like Affranchi, raised as he was, isolated from civilization on a small island in the southern sea. The life he knew did not offer the "knowledge" or "imagination" to conceive a threatened natural world. Knowledge borrowed from books or television could only go so far. But paradoxically, both the beginning and the end of Affranchi's thoughts revolved around this very understanding of a "gasping Earth."

3

　Affranchi plugged the manipulator of the man-machine into the cargo attachment of the shuttle and secured it. He did the same with the legs. As if designed by destiny, the proportions of the shuttle and the machine synced flawlessly.
　He opened the machine's hatch and stepped onto the deck facing the shuttle.
　The MHA guards on the rooftops of the buildings on both sides of the shuttle were on high alert with their guns, but there was no sign of them doing anything to Affranchi.
　Instead, he could sense in them a weary reluctance, akin to a once fierce beast, now toothless.
　"Could it be the hostages?" Affranchi paused, standing before the hatch that led into the shuttle's cabin.
　Standing there were two soldiers, unarmed.
　"Please go in. Your comrades are waiting."
　Affranchi returned a noncommittal reply, his hands curling into fists as he approached the hatch, primed for combat.
　"Sieg Zeon..."
　A near whisper from the right-side soldier guarding the hatch.
　Affranchi was startled, his gaze snapping at the man.
　Yet, the man stared unblinkingly ahead, his gaze not meeting Affranchi's. He proceeded into the hatch.
　Upon navigating the airlock, the stern visage of the career woman greeted him. The cabin was eerily vacant, devoid of the thirty-odd passengers this shuttle should have hosted.
　"Seal the hatch!"
　"Understood."
　Affranchi responded instinctively to her sharp command, locking the shuttle and cradling the key. This, too, he found, was a task he could execute without contemplation.
　"Quite an antiquated spacesuit, isn't it?"
　Her words were as crisp as their first encounter. Affranchi promptly donned the normal suit (which is a spacesuit).
　Yes, he was able to follow the initial procedure flawlessly. He connected the oxygen bubble attachment to the pipe in the backpack, then slipped on the helmet.
　Simultaneously, an exchange ensued in the cockpit with the control tower, Miranda issuing a string of orders. Affranchi couldn't discern the specifics but inferred a trajectory towards Side 2.
　He adjusted the gun-laden seat's backrest from body-use to spacesuit-use, a ubiquitous design in space vehicles.
　"I'm familiar with things like this."
　A sudden flash of memory, foreign yet known, left Affranchi astounded, but the feeling of unease persisted.
　"Why do I know this? It's as if I'm not myself. A different personality is controlling me." Picking up the gun from the seat, he sank down.
　"I'm utterly spent. Keep that weapon trained. We can't let our guard down with these people," Miranda instructed as she began suiting up. Affranchi, in turn, aimed his gun's muzzle at the captain's shoulder, visible diagonally through the hatch.
　"Keep your eyes forward! Follow instructions!" Affranchi barked.
　As Miranda pulled the zipper up her spacesuit, she leaned in close, her voice barely audible, "Was what Baam Segen said true?"
　"What do you mean?"
　"Because when I look at you, I can't believe this is your first time doing this."
　"Oh!"
　Affranchi couldn't help but detect the distinct scent of womanhood close to him, prompting his gaze to dart toward the cockpit.
　"Just five more minutes! We need to adjust for Earth's rotation and our flight path," pleaded the captain, his shoulders twitching with unrest.
　"Fine," Miranda retorted, her voice laced with exasperation.
　"Affranchi, take that seat over there..."
　As the space between them widened, Affranchi moved to a spot where he could keep an eye on the co-pilot.
　"Right," he agreed, stealing a glance at the delicate outline of Miranda's ear under her hair before seating himself.
　"Miranda, what should I call you?"
　"You may call me Mueller or Myu, as my lover does. Miranda Howe. I have no baptismal name," she replied in a gentle whisper.
　"Alright, it's time! Proceed."
　Having issued her orders, Miranda cast a quick glance at Affranchi. In the sparkle of her eyes resided a gentle warmth and sweetness, the essence of being called Myu.
　Affranchi gave a subtle nod; his body weighed down by the bulky spacesuit.
　A faint vibration enveloped the spacecraft, quieter than anticipated. The shuttle's main body sat atop the first stage, its onboard engines idle for maritime operations.
　The acceleration intensified; the lights of Hong Kong city streaked past the windows, their speed soaring.
　The shuttle was now coursing along the colossal rail they had looked up at from the regular ship with Everly.
　Then, the vibration.
　A deafening roar hammered their backs, and the co-pilot's scream echoed from the open cockpit hatch.
　"Vibration! Are we okay?"
　"It's the air resistance! So brace yourselves!" the captain hollered.
　"We're fine! We have simulated this!" Miranda's steadfast voice echoed.
　At her assurance, the captain swung around, his face pressing into the seat. They were approaching a point where the rail curved upwards into the sky.
　"Ugh!"
　Voom!
　The final surge of acceleration for lift-off.
　The craft became lighter and began to swim against the air stream.
　Grrr...
　The rumble crawling up from behind was undeniably eerie.
　The clatter of galley equipment echoed through the cabin.
　For the first time, the word 'regret' flashed in Affranchi's mind.
　"I'm scared... I'm scared of leaving Everly..." n an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability, Affranchi voiced his fear. His reality, as he knew it, consisted of that island and the woman it had borne.
　This acknowledgment released him from the shackles of foreign memories.
　"I am not a man of dual personas."
　This realization fortified Affranchi. His fear, genuine and unadulterated, felt right.
　Affranchi's consciousness triggered a cold sweat to bead his forehead.
　His face turned deathly pale, his body trembling as if in the grip of a profound chill.
　"Sieg Zeon… The man Baam Segen said it, and so did the man standing at the hatch… Sieg Zeon…"
　The question erupted in his mind, over and over.
　What did it mean?
　"I can't latch onto those words just yet. I'm still a man of the island. I am still a man of the island. I haven't been trained to carry those words. Above all, I lack the evidence that would make those words feel real for me…"
　That was Affranchi's conviction.
　His understanding was precise, each thought was carefully weighed.
　"That's a killing machine, isn't it?"
　"..."
　He remembered Everly's words.
　"When did she say that?"
　Affranchi thought Everly Key had uttered those words in that cold, cavernous room where the man-machine rested.
　But that was not the truth.
　Affranchi's thoughts were manifesting as Everly's words.
　"The man-machine is a machine of war, so... that can't be helped…"
　This was what the truthful Afranci, who wanted to deny that false justification, was thinking.
　And then, these thoughts spawned new words.
　The actions of the man-machine produced the thought that people might die, which in turn led to the word "war."
　That thought illuminated Affranchi's mind like a dazzling sunbeam.
　"War."
　It was an extension of politics, or maybe it was politics itself.
　Moreover, it bred death, poverty, and chaos. Was it not ironic that politics, which should bring about unification, instead created division?
　And furthermore,
　"In the space age, the nature of war has evolved, adopting an aspect of the old times... The purpose of war did not become high-speed, much like how the nature of the state fundamentally changed after the French Revolution, the nature of war took on the aspect of civil war and more civilians than soldiers began to die.
　And in the Space Age, the nature of war became more personal, perhaps because history was reversing.
　Yet, the tendency for mass slaughter has intensified.
　As civilization advanced, war became more repugnant because only science and technology advanced. Human will was left lagging behind the advancement of technology.
　Humans clung to Earth because, although they had acquired the technology to possess the expanse of space, they did not have the spirit to correspond with that technology."
　So, to instigate that revolutionary spirit,
　War, then...?
　"It's a leap, but I'm being asked to pilot the machine..."
　To know the reason for that....
　Perhaps that was why Affranchi was sitting in the cockpit of the man-machine. That was what Affranchi, who wanted to believe so, thought.

4

　The shuttle shuddered under a relentless barrage of impacts, the world outside its window swallowed by an impenetrable darkness. Then, from the dense blue stratosphere, it leaped into the cosmic void in a heart-stopping instant.
　"?!"
　A final, jarring impact coincided with a curt "Thank you" from the captain. In that instant, the relentless assault ceased. It was as though the invisible hand pounding the shuttle from all sides had been banished to the abyss.
　Affranci felt a cold trickle of sweat trace a path down the collar of his normal suit. His gloved fingers made an ineffectual attempt to swipe it away, sliding over the surface of his suit.
　His gaze sought Miranda, his lone companion in this precarious endeavor. Beads of perspiration clung to her stern visage, suggesting a battle against the same terror gnawing at him.
　"Were it not for her, I'd still be in that fetid metropolis of Hong Kong," he mused.
　His feelings towards this reality were mixed. A tinge of regret whispered of the untapped mysteries of Hong Kong. His thirst for knowledge ever present.
　"I know nothing of the world..."
　The thought echoed within him, a reflection of the desires that lay dormant within his heart. His innate yearning was to seize the world...
　Miranda stood. Encased in her normal suit, she floated awkwardly in the zero-gravity cabin.
　"Time to change our course?" She voiced her command with an air of authority, a pistol nestled in her hand. Outside the shuttle, the serene grandeur of space stood in sharp contrast to their inner turmoil.
　"I'd like to think this is a joke?"
　"I'm considering your lives. If you knew more, we'd have to kill you or wipe your memories. Our course is set for the shoal zone, the area where Side 4 used to be." Miranda Howe's tone was steady as she handed instructions on a piece of paper to the captain.
　"That's too far!" the co-pilot protested.
　"Is it? Originally, it had the thrust to make it to lunar orbit. Even if it slows down because of the man-machine onboard, we can get there."
　"But, the shoal zone..."
　The captain faltered, Miranda's paper slipping in his grasp.
　"Shoal zone?"
　The words knitted Affranci's brows. A strange term indeed, merging terrestrial jargon with celestial geographies.