Just like Cooler had promised, no mission followed for the next couple of weeks. When the recruits told Plum about their promotion, the young soldier was so excited his monitor stared beeping furiously, and the four of them earned a good scolding from Dr. Aioli, who pushed them out of the infirmary without too many compliments. It took the Durian a good couple of days to get out of the infirmary. According to Ketch, Plum had it pretty bad during the battle, and really was an unsung hero from the mission on Zalt, dealing with more than ten soldiers at once.
“We need to celebrate him, then,” Mariko suggested. “In fact, we need to celebrate us all!”
So, after one of their usual strenuous trainings, she approached Neiz asking if she could throw a small party for her friends. The Zaltian seemed a bit surprised at the request, but once Mariko explained her reasons, the alien smiled.
“Leave it to me,” he said. “I’ll talk to Lord Cooler and se what I can do. As a personal favor for saving my dear cousin.”
The day after, Neiz gave the recruits a tablet and a pen during breakfast, asking them to list their favourite foods from their home planet. That same night, when they walked to the cafeteria for dinner, a triumph of dumplings, pizza, and other stuff Mariko had never seen waited for them on the table, along with a bottle of what she recognised as prosecco.
“All provided by Lord Cooler’s generosity, and cooked by me,” Neiz explained, grinning at the young soldiers’ amazed look. “You have until midnight to enjoy, but remember to clean up once you’re done.”
He was about to leave them to their feast, when the recruits insisted for their mentors to join them; five minutes after, Dore, Salza and Neiz were sitting around the table with the four of them, eating, drinking, and sharing tales of war with their pupils. All except Cooler, obviously.
After glancing over her shoulder for a few times to see if he would show up, Mariko leaned towards Salza and tapped his shoulder. “Isn’t Cooler– Isn’t Lord Cooler going to join us?” Mariko asked in a whisper.
Salza glanced at her, then shook his head. “Lord Cooler does not eat with his soldiers,” he explained. “Except under special circumstances.”
Mariko nodded. “I understand,” she murmured, going back to her dumplings. And yet, seeing all her friends with their respective mentor, a part of her did not understand at all why she had to be the neglected one.
That same bitter feeling stuck with her for the following days. Salza’s answer had been pretty self-explanatory: Cooler was a noble, and nobles do not eat with their subordinates. Yet, Mariko couldn’t help but wonder if something else had to do with Cooler’s absence during the party. And one supposition started to make its way in her mind the more she got to spend time with Isa.
The young Arcosian was elated ever since she had been appointed as the first in command for the new platoon of the Armored Squadron. She literaly would not stop talking about it whenever she and Mariko were alone.
“I can’t wait to tell my parents about it,” she laughed, clapping her hands with excitement. “No one in my family has ever received a decoration from the Arcosian royal family at my age. I bet my sisters will literally burn of jealousy – so much for going after Frieza. That’ll teach them.”
Mariko didn’t answer, only stretching her lips and giving Isa a vague nod. Whenever she acted like that, Isa reminded Mariko of her old high school classmates back on Earth: each accomplishment was something to slap into other people’s face, a step to climb over everyone else’s heads when everyone else was seen as competition. It was a toxic mindset Mariko had been swallowed by when she used to go to school, but she had managed to leave it behind when she finally moved to Conton. It was hard to compare herself to others when everyone else was so drastically different, both in their stories and their skills. Conton had been a breath of fresh air in that regard; but now, hearing Isa comparing herself to all the other young Arcosians she knew every single day, the embers of Mariko’s competitiveness were starting to burn again under the ashes, and she didn’t like it.
As a result, she tried to spend more time with Ketch and Plum. The latter was also beaming since the promotion, but in a whole different way: he kept telling Mariko how much that occasion meant for his family, a chance to redeem his poor planet, to raise his loved ones from the dust of poverty.
“Ketch and Isa probably never had to share their plate with five younger brothers,” he said, sharing an understanding look with her. Mariko had the feeling Plum saw her as some kind of underdog too, and she didn’t have the heart to admit she came from one of the wealthiest families in Central City. So, just like with Isa, she ended up nodding and smiling, without the courage to open her heart to her worries when in his presence.
Ketch was the one Mariko felt most at ease around. Maybe because he, too, knew what it meant to feel the weight of his family’s expectations on his shoulders. Once, when they stayed in the training room for longer than Isa and Plum, Ketch confessed her that his parents hadn’t written to him since they were told about the accident in the tavern, back on Brassica.
“How did they know?” Mariko asked him, confused. Ketch answered with a shrug.
“People gossip, even more when they are rich and have nothing to do,” he said. “If only they knew what we witness on these missions out here…”
Mariko knew he was referring to Tarrat’s suicide. That was another thing they had in common; after all, she had witnessed Kitrus being brutally hit by Cooler when she handed him to the prince herself, and she often wondered if the old rebel was still alive. Sometimes she realised she preferred not to know.
“Well, you’ll show them what you’ve got, I am sure,” she answered. Then smiled: “You’ll show them and Isa, too.”
She wasn’t sure Ketch’s face could turn any redder than that, but clearly she was wrong.
However, the more she spent time with Ketch and Plum, the more Mariko realised Isa was subtly avoiding them. She was certain of that when one evening, after dinner, Isa had asked Mariko to go back to the dorms with her instead of staying a bit longer in the cafeteria to play chess with the guys. As soon as they walked out of the room, Isa addressed her in a severe tone.
“You shouldn’t act so friendly around them,” she said. “You’re a second in command, now, remember?”
“What are you talking about?” Mariko frowned. “It’s Plum and Ketch.”
“Hierarchy is important in a squadron,” Isa sighed, shaking her head. “How can you expect them to follow your orders when you act so familiar with them?”
“Well, maybe they’ll do it because they trust me,” Mariko pointed out, “and maybe they will trust me because we’re friends.”
Isa had answered with a smile full of pity. “Maybe,” she had said, but that maybe held all the doubts of the universe. “But you should trust me as well. I am your friend too. And I am also your leader after all, remember?” And with that she had left, leaving Mariko speechless as she walked back to the dorms.
Since that night, Mariko started wondering if Cooler wasn’t disappointed in her too. It would have made sense for an Arcosian prince to expect his appointed recruit to become a leader, not just a second in command; maybe that was why he hadn’t showed up at the party, after all.
The truth was that Mariko didn’t feel like a second in command – she didn’t feel like commanding at all. She liked when Isa, Plum, Ketch and her worked together because of mutual trust, and the only obedience that equated them was the one towards Cooler and the Armored Squadron. Their friendship was the only thing that made her feel less lonely on that gigantic metal fresbee lost in the middle of the universe. Maybe Cooler had guessed her dissatisfaction, maybe he deemed her ungrateful. After all, she hadn’t rejoiced for her own title yet, not even once after the party. The truth was that, to Mariko’s heart, nothing else existed but earning a first place – but not out of competition. She needed to prove herself she could be the best one ever. Second best meant nothing to her pride.
After the fifteenth day since their mission on Zalt, Isa seemed to grow somewhat distracted. Both during their trainings and the lessons with Salza, her pink eyes kept running to the portholes, staring at the stars with a confused look. One day, during lunch, she finally spoke out her thoughts.
“I know those constellations,” she said, nodding at the window. “We’re heading home.”
“Well, Arcos.” Isa frowned, letting out a murmur. “I suppose it’s because of the King’s celebration.”
“What celebration?” Mariko asked again, feeling like an idiot for being the only one with questions at the table; even more so when Isa gave her an impatient look.
“Where have you lived until now?” She huffed. “King Cold organises a party every ten years since his reign.”
“This should be his twenty-fith, if I remember well,” Ketch commented.
Isa nodded and Mariko’s eyes went wide. Did that make it… Two-hundred and fifty years of reign? She knew Arcosians’ life span was long, but hearing it like that was a whole other thing. How old was even Cooler, then?
“I imagine Lord Cooler will attend,” Plum said, glancing at the porthole in turn.
“Most certainly. He makes sure to never miss family events,” Isa answered.
“I guess we’ll have to guard him during the celebration, then,” Mariko shrugged. “Keeping an eye on the party, stuff like that.”
“Perhaps,” Isa supposed, “although that’s usually a task for lesser soldiers.”
“Oh.” Mariko grinned. “Well, then maybe we are going to be invited to the party instead!”
Much to her surprise, Isa bursted into a laugh, and Ketch snickered too. Plum kept his eyes low on the plate, his cheeks darkening for the embarrassment.
“Are you for real?” Isa sighed, regaining some breath, “only the highest titles of Arcos and its kingdom are invited to these events!”
“But no worries, you guys won’t miss much,” Ketch commented, giving Plum a reassuring pat on the back. “These parties are just made of boring dances, cold food and lots of wine. Well, the wine part is nice, actually,” he admitted, scratching his chin. “We’ll save you guys a bottle or two, promised.”
Plum answered with a shy smile, but Mariko’s eyebrows knitted with a frown. Ever since Cooler had elected them as the second platoon of his Armored Squadron, she felt the four of them were progressively growing apart. Sure, there had always been certain differences among them, but they were never as noticeable as they were getting during those days, she thought, seeing Isa and Ketch still chuckling for her previous comment.
So it was with huge relief, as well as a good dose of satisfaction, that she opened the envelope placed on the table in front of her seat on the day after, identical to the one of her three comrades. Inside, written with red ink, the letter said:
With this missive, the Arcosian Royal family requests the presence of Miss Mariko from Earth, second in command of Lord Cooler’s Young Armored Squadron, at the celebration for the twenty-fifth decennial of King Cold’s reign. Guests are required to dress according to the Arcosian color etiquette.
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