Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ My Statue ❯ The Bet ( Chapter 1 )

By Elly Leaverton

To: Alisa Grimm, staff writer

Colony House Books, Inc

From: T. T. Bloom, Producer

The Greatest Show in the Universe

Date: February 17, A.C.213

Re: Biography

You were right, Ms. Grimm, to ask me to type out this story rather than simply tell it to you. I have no difficulty in telling stories of the Gundams and the Eve Wars. Those stories come from a time long ago and perhaps a person I'm not anymore. This story. Well, I couldn't even begin this story the other day. This one is about my feelings and who I am now, not some crazy fifteen-year-old. And it does need to go into my biography because without it I don't think the book would have closure.

Five years ago, I had just started my third year of producing the circus. A job I think I was born to do. I have a good mind for the business, and I can spot talent. Of course, it helps that I have been in the circus nearly all my life. More than that, I think my experiences during the war have given me a bitter-sweet understand of what people want out of a circus. The circus is both current and historical. It's for children of all ages because you went to it as a child, as a parent and as a grandparent. What it supplies, is that needed escape into a happier time. And that strikes a cord with me, I understand the need to escape from painful memories.

I am not a man who can create war anymore.

That year, my trapeze act was giving me trouble. They were arguably the best in the business and they knew it. They asked for an outrageous contract. I turned them down and was taking grief from it on all quarters. Even my sister Cathy disagreed with me. Maybe it was because I loved the circus that I hated to pander to greed. Sure, everyone deserved to make a decent wage, but shouldn't you be grateful just to be in the circus? To be part of the greatest show in the Universe? To wake up every morning and know you were going to create happiness that day? Money and contracts made me uncomfortable because suddenly the circus changed from `We' to `I'. How naïve I was!

Of course it was only my second time through contract negotiations then. Contracts are renewed every two years. My first time, I was the assistant to the old producer and he took the heat. I have a better understand of the workings of contracts now. On that second time, I was still letting it get too personal, too emotional, and much too stressful. So when Quatre asked me over to tour his pet project at the time, I jumped at the chance to get away.

It was one of those canned rainy days on Colony L4 23976, when I arrived. Perhaps growing up on Earth has jaded me a little to the colonies. My show spends half its season on the Colonies now. It's hard not to compare the reality of the Earth to the man-made phenomena that is the Colonies. So artificial.

Maybe that's why the old families, like Quatre's, have developed difficulties. Quatre is a Winner, and the Winners have lived on the Colonies since the International Space Station. As a result all of them have difficulty reproducing. Quatre told me once that he and all twenty-nine of his sisters were born in test tubes. Quatre was smart though. All six of his wives are from Earth and they've made him a father sixteen times over.

The Winner family has always embraced polygamy. It's an Arabian custom, and Quatre is so true to custom he wouldn't even drink alcohol after the Eve War! The authorities used to just look the other way about polygamy, now they go so far as to encourage it. Quatre tells me it's very difficult to grow a male child in a test tube. It took 30 tries to get him. But mostly they encourage it because the Eve War killed off hundreds of Colony boys. Of course, perhaps it was a mistake to encourage the renewal the male population. After all, we did start most of the fighting, didn't we?

He only lives with five wives now though. His first wife, surprisingly, was Dorothy Catalonia, but she left him when he developed the unnerving tendency to consummate every successful business deal with a marriage contract. He tells me he warned her about his culture, but I don't think she actually believed him.

Quatre is my best friend but I could never live as he does. Cathy was all the female busy-bodying I could stand, how he survived with five I'll never know. Besides, I just couldn't fathom having a wife that I didn't love. I would feel like I was stealing something from her. So there you have it-not all men want a harem.

Quatre didn't love his other wives. He admitted it to me once. Dorothy's the only woman for him. He refuses to grant her the divorce. Loves her too much. Poor guy. But, that's not the story you asked me for. If you want Quatre's story, buy his biographies. Or you could frequent the tabloids. They love to splash pictures of his love life all over the front page.

You want to hear how I found her again.

Well, it started that rainy day. Quatre met me at the door with his coat already in his hand. Since the war, Quatre had grown to about six foot three. I once had thought I would always look down on him but he topped me by two inches. Since marriage and the constant ministrations of five busybodies, his hair was shorter and he wore a mustache. I've seen pictures, and I'd say he looks very much like a blond version of his father.

I look like my father too. Very much so. So much that when I reached my majority it erased any doubt in the minds of Catherine Bloom and myself that I was, in fact, her long lost brother, Triton Bloom. I have tried to go by that name, unfortunately 'Trowa' is a hard name to exorcise. I took 'Triton Bloom' as my middle and last name and left it at that.

"Trowa," Quatre exclaimed, sounding very much like he always sounds, "I'm so glad you came! We never get to see each other."

"Really Quatre, I was here on your birthday," I told him.

"Two months ago! I have news! I'm going to be a father again, and it's a boy this time!"

"Congratulations! Well now, finally you'll have a son by someone other than her." He knew who I meant.

"Well, that's not exactly true." He blushed.

"You mean she came back to you?" I couldn't believe it. Not Dorothy.

"We met to discuss our sons' visitation schedules and one thing lead to another..."

"You seduced her."

Quatre grinned then, male pride asserting itself over modesty. "Well, yes, I did. With her, it's always war, and I'm very good at war."

"Yes, you are. How are your other two sons?"

"Wonderful, busy at that aristocratic school she keeps them at."

"You'll see them more now?"

"No, nothing has changed really, other than my proving the fact that she still loves me, or at least can't resist me. I get cards from the boys every now and then. She tries to poison them against me, but they understand our customs. I wish I could see all of them more."

"It'll happen," I mumbled, not really convinced. From what I hear, Arabian polygamy is difficult to accept for a woman, especially one raised in a house of European nobility, and definitely for a woman like Dorothy. Although, according to custom, as first wife, she would rule the others. I could see Dorothy liking that. Who knows?

"Well, anyway, it's almost time for the rain to stop. Shall we go? I've just been dying to show you the new shelter." He bounded to the door, with the vigor he always displayed when helping others. "It's specific to the Eve Wars victims and veterans and they've come from all over. I've got the best physiologists money can buy, and the facility. Oh! Wait till you see it!"

Considering the many shelters, he's shown me over the years it's a wonder I remember this one at all. Perhaps I am turning sentimental, but I do remember it. It was made of slightly pinkish granite--a stone that was always near and dear to Quatre's heart. It was a three-story building with plenty of windows and light. I don't remember much about the interior, but I'm sure you can visit it so you can describe it in the book. I'll include the address. I do remember the kitchen and dining rooms though. Very clearly.

It was a broad open room with a tile floor in a star pattern. The tables were round and sat six people each. The kitchen was well designed with a large island in the center and a serving window into the dining room. The people the shelter was for were the typical types I've seen in every other war recovery facility, but perhaps a bit more destitute rather than crazy. To speak truthfully, I never liked being around them much. I felt responsible for their condition. Was any cause-no matter how noble, worth the scars left by a war? Would these people even exist if the five Gundams never existed?

We, of course, found ourselves helping to serve lunch. Quatre doesn't come to these shelters and stand idle.

"So?" he asked me over a large kettle of chicken noodle soup. He dished it out as we talked.

I was on bread-detail complete with plastic gloves and tongs.

"You sounded a little stressed on the phone," he prompted again.

"Oh it's just the circus. Contract renewal troubles." I handed a roll to a young man who looked like a panhandler convert. 'Will work for money or booze'.

"Cathy wants more money?"

"Cathy's the easiest of the lot. She'd work for the same pay as the elephants if I asked her. No, it's my trapeze act."

"The Flying Panzinis? They're wonderful! What's the problem, I thought you'd give them anything they ask for?" He smiled at a scrawny woman. "Here you go."

I put a roll on her plate. "But I just can't afford what they want!"

"But I thought you had a good year last year."

"We did but the board wants me to keep the costs down in case we have a bad year. They are penny pinchers, but what can I do? I've tried to explain. So now I have striking trapeze artists and a whole circus that's mad at me. The board doesn't have to deal with that do they?"

"Whose final decision is it?"

"Mine"

"Then sign the contract."

"It's not that simple, Quatre." I was upset. I wanted him to back me up, not tell me to give in. He should've understood, he's a businessman, one of the best. "They're just popular, that's all. Why I could train one of these victims here to be as good at trapeze as they are. What if they aren't as popular this year and we lose money?" Of course I didn't really mean it, we needed the Panzinis they were nearly as essential as Cathrine. But it felt good to vent and Quatre had always been the perfect listener.

"I bet you couldn't." He smiled that aggravating smile at me. If I'd had Heavyarms at that moment, I would've open the chest cannons and let him have it!

"Couldn't what?" I felt my face grow hot.

"Couldn't train one of these victims to be a trapeze artist."

"Yes I could." I snapped. "As long as they were under forty, not on drugs or overweight."

He laughed at me. I knew it was a stupid thing to say. I knew I couldn't do it really, but I'd already said it and I didn't feel like taking it back. I had been compromising enough at work lately and now with my friend I wasn't about to back down.

"This is too much!" Quatre still wore that aggravating smile but now it had a touch of devilish delight in it. "Trowa is giving me a chance to prove him wrong!"

"Quatre, can we just drop it? I was just making a point."

"Oh no my dear friend, you can not do it, and you know it."

Why wasn't he listening to me? Why wasn't he backing me up? I was angry. This was not the distraction I came for. I'd wanted to escape my problems not dwell on them. "I have been in the circus business almost all my life Quatre, you think I can't train someone else?"

"I'll make a bet with you. You prove your boast, and I'll fund that new shuttle you've been wanting my company to sponsor."

"Fine!"

"But if you fail, you sign the contract."

"I won't fail."

"And it has to be one of these victims just like you boasted."

"Only..."

"Right, young, normal weight and no addictions."

We shook on it.

"Okay...." He scanned the room. "That narrows it down to three, sad to say. Thomas, a bomber during the war, deaf, here to learn sign language." He pointed out the man to me.

The man was short and stocky. "No," I said. What had I let Quatre do to me? I was sorry for this situation but completely unable to get myself out of it. My pride hurts sometimes. Even worse, as I looked at this first candidate, I realized I was shortly going to have to admit my defeat!

"Then, Claudia there, missing her left leg from the knee down. Recent victim of an unexploded mine field. Here for physical therapy."

One leg! I was doomed…I was almost afraid to ask. "And the third."

"Our mute. Missy. Just got here from being homeless on Earth. She was in an orphanage until she turned eighteen, has been a wanderer ever since. We haven't even started on her yet." He smiled smugly at me.

"Her name is Missy?" I asked

"Yes, no one knew her real name so they called her Miss and then Missy, and she seems to answer to it."

"She's mental?"

"Most likely." He thought he had me.

"But she has all her fingers and toes."

"Take my advice, Trowa. Give up. I got you. Sign the damn contract."

"No, which one is she?"

"She's there, by the window, at that table by herself." He pointed her out.

I put down my bread tongs and headed for the table. She was a slight slip of a woman. Skin and bones. Her hair was matted, dull and messy. She wore layers of clothing like most homeless wanderers do. She was under forty, probably about my age. I evaluated her like a racehorse. Long arms, long legs, blond, straight teeth. I could make a performer out of this dust mop. That is, if she'd agree, and if she wasn't crazy.

"May I join you?"

She didn't respond. She had two bowls in front of her, and she was still working on the third. She spooned it quickly like someone might take it from her or kick her out. There was desperation about her that one only feels when walking by that begging homeless person on the street. That feeling that makes you look away and clench your teeth as you grasp tightly to your indifference. As if you could, by ignoring it, ensure that it would never happen to you.

I sat down scraping the chair on the tiles as I did. She looked up then and watched me.

"I would like to train you." All of a sudden I felt really stupid. She still watched me with no change in expression. "Quatre tells me people come here to get their feet back on the ground. I'd like to help and I think I could train you to be a member of my circus."

She said nothing.

"Look, you'd get a usable skill, three square meals a day and a stipend for necessaries, and if you complete the training, a job. Are you interested?"

She blinked slowly, but did nothing.

"I'm sorry, I realize you are not much of a talker. I understand, believe me. You don't have to say anything, just," I held out my hand, "give me your hand."

At my final words, she started in surprise and instantly her hand was in mine. Her hand was dirty with years of grime under her nails and she held on to my hand as if her life depended on it.

"Good." I didn't know what else to say. "Good."

She looked up into my eyes, and I saw something there that made me much more comfortable. An intelligence. An understanding. I knew she was not crazy. Messed up, sure. A victim, no doubt. But not crazy.

I led her away from the table and back to Quatre, who, by this time, had left his post in the kitchen to watch me with concern.

"She agrees." I told him.

"Does she?" he asked, then turned to Missy. "Do you understand Missy? He's going to train you to be in a circus. Do you want that?"

She was staring at my hand, which she had in a tight grip. Slowly she nodded and mumbled. The only words I could hear were "Thank you".

"So you do talk?" I asked.

"That's the first time I've ever heard her talk." Quatre looked at me with a question in his eyes. Then he shook his head. "Trowa this is stupid. I tricked you. I knew there was no one suitable. You can't do this. Just sign the contract."

"No. Besides, she wants to go, and I think you're wrong about her...." I tapped my head.

Quatre sighed. "You really are on the edge today, my friend."

He had no idea.

I enlisted my sister immediately. I couldn't clean this woman up alone. I said nothing, but Cathy has a way of defining reality. I let her believe I was helping this homeless woman for Quatre. On the bright side, it totally erased the trapeze artists from her mind and things were back to normal between us. As I mentioned before, she agreed with Quatre and everyone else--that I should sign the contract.

"So what job are we going to train her for?" Cathy asked on the way to a spa. She had her arm around Missy, totally indifferent to the dirty clothes. That's Cathy.

"We'll see." I didn't want to tell her more.

"Oh this is so great Trowa! And it gives us something to do during Winter Quarters! I knew that trip to the shelter would do you good! And how noble of you to want to help like this!"

"Yes," I agreed. Perhaps one would call it lying, but I didn't want to do this alone. My pride had already gotten me into enough trouble.

Cathy was a wizard at the spa. She had them do everything, manicure, pedicure, and something which sounded absolutely dreadful and involved wax. Her hair was matted beyond repair, so it was cut off. Down to two or three inches from her head. Cathy went out and found a running suit for her, which I paid for. So after about three hours, we got back a very clean, shorn, walking skeleton. But Cathy was happy with it, and I seemed to detect a slight smile on Missy's face as well. She mumbled a "thank you" at me again.

"Food, Trowa." Cathy walked a circle about Missy. Missy had all the classic signs of malnutrition: dull lackluster hair, pale complexion, dark circles under her eyes, and, of course, no fat and very little muscle. "She can't be trained to do anything without some muscle."

"Right. This way."

Cathy again threw her arm about Missy and we walked to the next-door restaurant. A quiet spot, with more coffee customers than anything, but they served lunch.

As we sat down, Cathy announced, "I will be ordering for Missy. She doesn't know what kind of food she'll need to do circus work. High carbs I think, to start, and protein."

"Going to fatten her up?" I asked.

"She needs muscle Trowa, and lots of it."

"As you wish." There was no arguing with Cathy, besides, I wasn't up to the task that day.

"So, Missy, you're going to have to tell us about yourself." Cathy started right after ordering. Missy looked distressed and mumbled. I had to intervene.

"Cathy, Missy has led a very troubled life. I'm sure she doesn't want to talk about it. Why don't you tell her about the life she's going to lead from now on?"

"Oh the circus life! Of course, how silly of me! Of course she wants to hear about the future!"

Missy was a good listener and she could mumble "uh-huh" with the best of them. That's all the input Cathy ever needs to talk as I myself can attest to.

Cathy was circus from birth and it was her favorite subject. She launched into a serious bout of 'Jackpotting', which is circus lingo for telling circus stories, circus shoptalk, and circus gossip.

"...And when we first arrive at a town or colony we have to do the animal walk. The spaceports and the stadiums are never close to each other. Neither are the train stations and the stadiums on Earth. Have you been to Earth? But the animal walks are pretty fun. A lot like a parade with people watching them walk by on either side of the road."

I watched Missy while Cathy talked to her. What had I got myself into? Now that I could see her body, without those layers of homeless clothes, I could tell that with a little muscle she could do it. It gave me some comfort. But there was still something...I don't know...empty, almost ghostlike in those blue eyes. Was it possible for a victim of horror to be human again? Would I have to train her mind as well as her body?

I lived through war, but not like a victim did. I was safe in my little cockpit, wreaking destruction but not part of it. Not in the way she was anyway. I tried to understand what it was like for those people who had no control of the war. All the reasons in the world to fight fall flat in the face of some poor civilian who suffered because of a choice I made. I pushed those thoughts away, I was not that boy anymore. I was not the pilot of Heavyarms. He was as dead, and as nameless as I could make him. If I tried to suffer vicariously for all of the victims of that boy now, I'd go insane.

The circus had another 'six-pack' weekend before boarding the shuttles to Winter Quarters on Earth. A 'six-pack' is a circus term referring to two days in a row with three performances each: 11am, 4pm and 7pm. It was always a push, and you tended to be spent by the end of it.

That six-pack was a particularly grueling one, because it was the last six shows of the season-with all that that entails. Performers get very sentimental and the digital recording devices come out in droves. It's a hard time because some of these people and acts will not be returning next season. Everyone would be so emotional. And of course there is the end-of-the-season party, which I would be required to attend. I don't do well at parties, even with people I know very well. I was not looking forward to it.

To top it all off, we would still have to strike and to do the animal walk back to the spaceport right after the party on Sunday.

Cathy and I settled Missy in our suite of rooms at the hotel. One of the perks of doing the Colony circuit was the accommodations. On Earth, the circus members stayed in their rooms on the train. That wasn't practical for Colony shows though. Most spaceports don't allow people to stay in the shuttles. Besides, since the spaceports are located close to the center of the colony, the gravity there is very poor. It would be next to impossible to sleep there.

With Missy so close to us, Cathy could monitor her food. She also got her up to join the circus in its morning calisthenics at the stadium. I did them too, like I always do. But they were much more of a chore then, because people were still upset with me. I was glad, as they say, that looks couldn't kill.

I distracted myself by watching Missy, who did whatever Cathy told her to do without question. She watched Cathy like one of her many fans: open adoration. And she would've exercised that Friday until she collapsed, just following Cathy. But I saw her shaking. She didn't yet have the muscle or endurance to keep up with the circus performers.

I let her go just a little longer until I saw her legs start to shake, and then I intervened.

"Missy, come sit down. You've done enough for today," I told her.

She ignored me, still watching Cathy.

"Come Missy, give me your hand." I wondered at the time what made her start and instantly grab my hand. But that thought was quickly erased by the immediate need to get her to a chair before she collapsed and get her a protein drink.

I remember being very pleased at both her attachment to Cathy and her determination to keep up. I felt more confident about being able to train her. Determination and dedication beats out natural talent any day. Just try it. You'll see what I mean.

I knelt before her, one hand on the cup, the other on her shoulder. It was a very bony shoulder. I had to steady the cup to help her drink. She'd really pushed herself. "Missy, don't worry. You'll do fine. A few more days of good food and you'll be able to keep up."

What was a person with this much determination doing being homeless anyway? I didn't understand it. But I also, didn't know anything about her. Quatre had said she was a wanderer. Maybe she never begged? Maybe she worked? Or maybe we were supplying some need that brought the determination out of her?

She mumbled something, but this time it was so soft and shaky that I couldn't make out anything. I didn't worry about it and assumed it was just another thanks.

"These next two days, I'd like you to exercise as much as you can. Eat, of course, and watch all six shows."

Her cup was down by half so she could no longer spill it with her shaking. I let it go. But I watched her finish the cup. Her shaking slowed, and I was glad.

"Be sure and pick a different seat for every show. We are a three ring circus after all." It's funny how much you talk when faced with a silent person. I'd always noticed it from the other side of the table before. And now, faced with a person more quiet than myself, I noticed I was talking a lot more than normal.

"And if you want to watch Cathy, the best seats are near that ring. Ring Three." I pointed to the far ring, which was empty save for the bars, wires and ropes suspended over it. She paid attention to where I pointed. Definitely a Cathy fan.

Of course, I performed in that ring too. Three times during that year's show in fact. As knife target, lion rider and pole climber. Well, the pole wasn't in the ring, but it was near it, and very close to the audience. It was a stunt done by one of my heroes of the circus past: Bello the clown. I've recreated several of his historical greats over the years, but the pole climbing one remains my favorite.

If she sat near that ring, I could watch her too. I could see her reactions and judge if she even liked the circus. I would have to let her go if she didn't and return to fetch that deaf bomber. Something I hoped wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen. I would win or lose my bet with this woman, and I knew it.

I don't know exactly what sort of reaction I was expecting to see. I'm not sure if I would've been happy to see her gasping and cheering with the rest of the crowd. She sat perfectly still and watched us all very intently. She seemed to be doing something with her hands as she watched. But I couldn't tell what it was.

It was Cathy who figured it out. And back stage she told me.

"Missy is mimicking our hands, did you see? I watched her when the trapeze artists were on and when you were pole climbing. Every time you closed your hands she closed her hands. Do you know what this means Trowa?"

I did, but I let her tell me.

"She's deconstructing the moves! She wants to do what we do. Oh! You couldn't have picked a better person to help! We are just the people she needs to draw her out of her shell. How did you know?"

I shrugged, but I thought to myself, 'Quatre knew'.

"Sometimes I don't doubt why you are the producer. Now if you would only sign that contract..."

I walked away.

Look at the time! I hardly can believe I have been writing to you for over six hours, Ms Grimm! I will have to continue this in the morning.

Yours Truly,

T.T. Bloom

"She's so deliciously low. So horribly dirty." Prof. Henry Higgins.

"I ain't dirty! I washed my face and hands before I come, I did." Elisa Doolittle