Chapter Text
Levi leafed through the newspaper as he waited in line at the bus stop among the familiar throng of early morning commuters, every one of them fixated by the news of the day. The front page of the newspaper was dominated by a large photograph of three men in military uniform, the headline blaring “The Best of the Bravest”. Beneath, in swaggering prose, the story read, “Paradis Space Program has selected its first astronauts from over 100 prospective candidates from all branches of the military, aviation and naval forces. Following a rigorous testing and selection process, Commander Nile Dok, Commander Erwin Smith and Lieutenant Commander Mike Zacharias have achieved the highest honour of being chosen as the Scout Project’s pioneering astronauts. One of these brave men will be the first Eldian to orbit the earth in a manned space capsule…”
“Makes you proud doesn’t it?” A man further up the line commented to no one in particular, gesturing to his own copy of the newspaper.
As the bus drew up at the stop and Levi boarded, he heard a young woman’s voice behind him, “They’re so handsome, aren’t they?” “Dreamy,” another agreed.
Levi snorted as he took his seat, they wouldn’t think the “Best of the Bravest” looked so handsome if they’d seen them green round the gills and puking their guts up in a bucket, which is precisely how Levi had got to know the three men. Like many of the residents of Shiganshina, Levi was an employee of the Paradis Space Program. Formerly a small insignificant town not far from the south coast of Paradis, the population of Shiganshina had burgeoned when it was chosen as the base for the new space exploration program. Levi was just one of thousands of civilian and military personnel employed by the program, one tiny cog in a huge and complex machine. In Levi’s case, he was the engineer responsible for maintaining and operating the gimbal rig. An innocent enough name for an ingenious device constructed of three circular interlocking aluminium cages controlled by pressurized gas jets, which rotated in three dimensions. The rig was designed to mimic the tumbling motion of space flight, and was used to monitor the effects of motion sickness and vertigo, and to train the astronauts to control and manoeuvre a spinning space capsule. Every test pilot’s first encounters with the gimbal rig left them sick as a dog, even the Bravest of the Brave. The only exception to that rule as Levi.
Levi let his mind run over his tasks for the day ahead as the bus sped through the outskirts of town and out towards the base. The calibration of the rig’s pressurized gas controls was slightly off at the extreme range of its velocity. Admittedly they never used the rig at the limits of its operating capacity during the training program, the only one who routinely tested the rig at maximum velocity was Levi himself. Still, a fault was a fault and he wanted to root it out before it compromised the rig’s performance and the astronauts’ safety. They were beginning a run of tests with Smith, Dok and Zacharias later in the day, so if he wanted to locate the problem and fix the rig, he only had the morning to do it.
As the bus pulled up at the stop outside the base Levi found a long line of people waiting outside the gate. Despite the early hour, the sun was already high and it was promising to be another sweltering day.
“What’s the hold up?” he asked the woman at the end of the line, a petite red head he recognised as one of the computers.
“Oh good morning Mr Ackerman,” she replied, smiling brightly. “I’m not sure, I think we might have new gate guards on duty today.”
Levi rolled his eyes and huffed impatiently. Sure enough, when he reached the head of the line fifteen minutes later and presented his security pass at the gate booth, he was confronted by an unfamiliar soldier who frowned at his ID.
“Name and identification number!” the guard barked.
“Ackerman, 14102512IPH.”
“Division?”
“MASTIF.”
The soldier stared at him blankly.
Levi sighed. “Multiple-axis space test inertia facility.”
The guard still appeared unconvinced and was reaching for his radio when a loud voice rang out from behind Levi’s shoulder.
“Is there a problem here soldier?”
The tall lanky figure of Dr Hanji Zoe stepped in front of the guard and slapped their ID against the glass of the sentry box.
The soldier balked as he registered the maximum security clearance pass.
“No ma’am!” He replied, standing to attention. He blinked for a moment, peering in confusion at Hanji’s messy pony-tail, dirty overalls and thick glasses. “Sorry, sir?” He didn’t sound entirely sure of himself.
“Doctor will do just fine,” Hanji replied with just a hint of impatience.
“Yes si…doctor!” The soldier saluted.
“Now if you’re quite finished interrogating Mr Ackerman, I know he has important business to attend to.”
“Yes doctor! Sorry doctor. Can’t be too careful,” the guard added “Orders to be on alert for spies and undesirable elements.”
“Who are you calling undesirable?” Levi bristled, but Hanji was already pulling him away through the gate. “Fucking rookies,” he grumbled.
“He’ll learn,” Hanji laughed. “Give him a week and he won’t bat an eyelid at all the undesirable elements round here.”
Hanji had a point. Led by the maverick General Dot Pixis, the Paradis Space Program may have presented itself as a shining beacon of upstanding military rectitude, but behind the scenes it employed all manner of unorthodox and unconventional individuals. If someone had the brains, the talent, or the ingenuity to provide the crucial spark of genius that would help Paradis edge ahead with its space program, they were in.
Hanji Zoe was a case in point; Pixis had appointed them as flight surgeon for the entire Scout Project despite defying all binary norms and conventions. Along with a large aeromedical team of medics and nurses, Dr Zoe was responsible for testing and monitoring every minute aspect of the astronauts physiological and psychological fitness, health and wellbeing, as they were pushed through the punishing pre-flight programme that tested their resilience to acceleration, weightlessness, heat, vibration, noise, vertigo and disorientation, while assessing the risk and impact on the human body of severe g-forces, combined stresses, radiation, and potential toxic hazards. Though the doctor was regarded by some as an unhinged sadist, most were grateful to have one of the sharpest medical minds of their generation at their disposal.
Hanji had also been responsible for recruiting Levi to the space program. When not poking and prodding the astronauts every orifice, they had a passion for engines and all things mechanical. This had led them by chance to Levi’s garage where he repaired and reconditioned all manner of vehicles. If something was broken, Levi could fix it, no matter how old or wrecked. His real talent was reconditioning vintage motorbikes and it was over this shared interest that he had grudgingly bonded with the exuberant doctor and eventually capitulated to their repeated entreaties to contribute his skills to the Paradis Space Program. Levi had started out as a general mechanic in Hangar S, but was quickly moved to the team developing and testing the gimbal rig when Shadis, the project’s chief engineer, realised that not only did he have the technical skills to maintain and fine tune the device, he was also able to operate the rig at extreme velocity without experiencing any of the usual ill effects.
“You’re running tests with the guys this afternoon right?” Hanji asked as they made their way across the base to their respective buildings.
“That’s the plan.” Levi replied. “Need to run a few safety tests on the rig this morning but should be good to go.”
“Excellent. I’ll be coming down to monitor the tests myself.”
“Haven’t you got assistants for that? We’re just running the same tests as last week, to see if their reaction speeds and coordination have improved.”
“I know,” Hanji nodded, “but last week we hadn’t announced the names of the astronauts. I want to see if their selection has had any impact on their performance.”
“You think it might?” Levi asked curiously.
“Could do.” Hanji shrugged. “Psychological stress factors can certainly impact performance.”
And then they were off, theorising about the complex dynamics of psychological and physiological stresses, losing Levi entirely in the process.
Levi spent the morning testing the gimbal rig with the help of two of his technicians, Jinn and Schultz, eventually locating a hairline fracture in a gas valve. They replaced the valve, re-pressurised the system, then Levi climbed into the rig and strapped himself into the chair to try it out.
“Okay, fire it up and switch to manual,” he ordered through the radio headpiece.
The rig began to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, the walls of the test chamber dissolving into a grey blur, as the cages rotated in three dimensions, rolling, pitching and yawing with increasing velocity. At the centre of the cage, Levi could feel the force of the acceleration pinning his body to the seat, pushing the air from his lungs. It was disorienting and exhilarating in equal measure, but as the speed increased and Levi focused his attention on the monitor fixed at eye level, he settled into a state of calm steady focus. “Maximum velocity,” he heard Jinn’s voice over the radio. Using the right hand control column, he manipulated the gas jets to bring the wildly spinning rig under control, monitoring the figures flickering on the monitor in front of his eyes. “Power down,” he radioed once he was satisfied with the rig’s performance. “Roger that.” Jinn replied, and the rig began to slow. As the walls of the chamber gradually came back into focus, Levi became aware of a blurry figure standing by the door at the back of the room. Bringing the tumbling rig to a smooth and controlled stop, the vague form resolved into the familiar figure of Commander Erwin Smith.
“Wow,” Smith approached the rig applauding slowly, staccato hand claps reverberating off the walls of the enclosed chamber. “That was incredible. I’ve never seen the rig move so fast!”
“Smith,” Levi replied as he started unbuckling the straps pinning him to the seat. “You’re early.”
“Always,” the commander smiled. “How fast was that thing moving?”
“30 rpm.”
Smith whistled, leaning one tanned elbow on the frame of the rig. “That’s quite something. What’s my top speed? 25?”
“20,” Levi replied dryly. “Don’t build your part up.”
Smith tilted his head back and laughed. “Damn, you’re putting us to shame. Need a hand there?” he asked, extending his hand as Levi unbuckled the final ankle strap, eased himself out of the chair and began climbing out of the rig.
“I’m good.” Levi said, but he let Smith take his hand and help him down from the cage like some god damn princess. Erwin’s grip was strong and steady, his larger hand enveloping Levi’s own. Hands you could trust, Levi though distractedly. He was always distracted when Smith was around. Tall, blond, and blue eyed, with the kind of athletic build that wouldn’t look out of place in Physique Pictorial magazine, Erwin Smith was the golden boy of the space program in more ways than one. Always impeccably composed, rumour had it that not even the gimbal rig could dislodge a strand of Smith’s immaculately pomaded military-cut hair. Levi knew that was bullshit, because the image of Smith climbing down from the rig with his blonde hair askew, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, was seared indelibly into his simple brain. The man was a god damn menace, with his perfect blonde hair, his perfect blue eyes, his perfect white smile, his perfect toned arms. To say nothing of his perfect broad chest, which, as Levi stepped down to the floor, was precisely at his eye level and an inch a say from the tip of his nose. Fuck.
Smith was still holding on to his hand and Levi could feel his cheeks colouring.
“Got your balance?” he asked, brows creasing in a mix of curiosity and concern.
“Yep,” Levi said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Look at that!” Smith said, stepping aside but still holding Levi’s hand as though leading him in a dance. “Steady as a rock! Can you stand on one leg?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Levi scowled, but he lifted one foot off the floor and rose up on tiptoe to demonstrate his unshakable balance.
“Amazing!” Smith’s eyes widened, genuinely impressed. “Doubt I’d be able to scrape myself off the floor after 30rpm. You should be the one going up into orbit, not us.”
The door of the chamber banged open, and Hanji breezed in, clipboard in hand, white coat flapping. “Sorry to interrupt the dancing lesson boys. We’ve got work to do.”
“Afternoon Dr Zoe,” Smith greeted the doctor, while twirling Levi around in a swift and unexpected pirouette.
“God damn it Smith. Quit messing around and get up there.” Levi growled, turning away to hide his scalding cheeks.
“Yes, sir,” Smith replied, serious and focused once more. He climbed into the rig, settled into the chair and began fastening the straps. Levi climbed up after him to help secure the straps around his head and chest, checking he was securely strapped in, leaving only his arms free to manipulate the controls.
“All tight?” Levi asked tugging the strap across Smith’s broad chest.
“Chest strap’s a bit loose, could you take it in a notch please?”
“Sure thing,” Levi muttered, trying to ignore the firmness of Smith’s muscle, the heat of his skin radiating through his thin tank top. Distraction made him uncharacteristically clumsy, and he fumbled with the buckle before he was able to pull the leather strap tight. Thankfully Smith’s attention was concentrated on the monitor in front of him, so he appeared not to notice.
“Better?”
“Perfect, thank you Ackerman.”
“Okay, we’re good to go.” Levi climbed down and dropped to the floor, grateful to put some distance between himself and Smith. Pulling his radio from his belt, he radioed Jinn in the control room to start up the rig.
The afternoon’s tests proceeded smoothly; Smith’s reaction times had improved from the previous week, Zacharias’ remained the same, only Dok showed a marginal dip in performance.
“You and Smith have quite a rapport.” Hanji commented at the end of the day. They were leafing through the notes on their clipboard, as Levi completed final checks on the rig before powering down for the night.
“Smith has a rapport with everyone. Guy could start a conversation in an empty room.”
“That's true.” Hanji mused. “He’s very articulate. Very personable. He’s a bit of an enigma though, doesn’t make many really meaningful connections with people.”
“You saying he’s shallow?” Levi looked down at the doctor from his perch on the rig.
“No not at all.” Hanji continued. “Quite the opposite. He’s a very private man underneath that personable façade. A bit like you really.”
“Me? Since when have I ever been fucking personable?”
Hanji snorted. “No I mean the private bit, your façade is more grumpy bastard than personable.”
“Fucking thanks Hanji.”
“But you’re a lot alike in many ways,” Hanji mused thoughtfully, scribbling something on their clipboard.
Personally, Levi couldn’t think of anyone he was less like than Erwin Smith, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to challenge Hanji on that front, so he let it lie. Later that night, as he lay awake in the stifling heat, spread-eagled naked on his bed, Levi couldn’t help his mind drifting back to the doctor’s words and wondering if perhaps, just perhaps, he might have something in common with Erwin Smith after all.