Disclaimer: Wild Arms 3 and all associated characters are not mine.
-o-
Kaitlyn tugged at her father's coat and said, "Come on. We'll miss it."
But Clive Winslett looked back. He was unsure of what he'd seen. He looked up and down the train platform in the afternoon heat, at every passenger and door, sweltering in his leather coat under the midday sun. There wasn't much time. The items were on board, as planned. They couldn't rely on drifters now, and once the man himself arrived his cover would be blown. He had to get on that train.
"Let's get on then," he said. "Look, I've got enough money for some ice-cream."
"Ice-cream?" said Kaitlyn doubtfully.
But the whistle was already blowing. They had to run to make it, because as the doors closed and they pulled away, Clive had seen that man walking into the station. His heart was thumping within his chest; it might have bothered him to think the diversion he'd paid for had failed so successfully, but he knew what would happen were he to fail.
Ten minutes later, the train was miles away, and the floor was moving back and forth, with the last of the passenger doors closing. Clive was still walking a minute later, clutching his stomach: even when his mother had taken him to see one close to Little Twister, he never had been one for trains. Anything that went over ten miles an hour felt unnatural. He preferred using the Teleport Orb. The carriage jumped, and with it came an uneasy sickness: he lurched to the wall.
"Kaitlyn, go and find Maxwell," he said.
"You sure? You don't look so well," his daughter said. "I haven't seen you like this before. Should I get a doctor?"
A nearby compartment stood empty. Clive quickly made up his mind and went for the door. The metal that covered the round handle was ungodly sensitive, and searched out every nerve in his forearm; his fingers were soon frozen and his throat sore. But he pulled it open and flung his bag upon the nearest seat. His long case was placed with attempted care under the seat. If anything went wrong, he had his sniper rifle to hand.
Except he wouldn't - he'd spew over the enemy, he'd bet.
He knew exactly what was on the train, and he knew they would guard it with their lives. All of the old gang would be here, it was a ceremonial handover. And he was looking forward to seeing that damn Basker again. He owed him for the last time their guns had crossed. But they weren't here.
Or maybe he had the wrong compartment.
Either way, he kicked off his shoes and waited.
-o-
A lady was watching the train through a pair of binoculars. It was approaching steadily, and this time they weren't sending lackeys, which she didn't suppose was a good thing but she had to live with it anyway. Like she'd had to live coming back from Hyades, but that was another matter. And she preferred not to talk about it, because if she talked, he talked. Then they argued and she got angry, and when she got angry she did things.
Inside, the other accomplice had been taking advantage of Kaitlyn's big mouth. They'd crash the train then take what was needed. Forget the passengers; their lives were worthless.
-o-
"What're you doing, Clive?" Virginia said. "Our cabin's three carriages down."
"I needed somewhere to sit for a few minutes," he said. "I'm not ill, I just feel unwell."
Virginia was looking at Clive with a mix of curiosity and warmth, and Clive felt he was being comforted by his mother. With her memory still fresh in his mind, he hadn't taken his eyes off Virginia, whose expression was now confused.
"Are you sure? You've always been fine on a train before."
He laughed. Their hands touched briefly, but he quickly pulled it away. "I just haven't been on one in a long time. Kaitlyn seems to think I need a doctor. Doubtlessly, she told you the same thing. She's really grown since you last saw her. I'm quite proud, though I wish Gallows would stop telling me what a woman she is. She's only sixteen."
"Seventeen."
Clive looked out the window and saw a blurred cow.
"I'm older than I look. Sorry."
Then the door opened. A man with long brown hair, mixed with white, burst into the carriage. He wore an open yellow shirt, a Basker feather-tooth necklace resting atop his chest, with an ARM holstered by his waist. He ruffled Virginia's hair and scratched under the rim of his headband before slumping in the seat next to Clive, who recoiled at the smell of whiskey. This only made the jobs of their rivals easier.
He smiled.
"Drinking again, I see. An old friend told me it's the devil's work."
"And I see you suddenly acquired a sense of humour!"
Clive smiled. He raised his hand for silence, and said, "I do try. But it's good to see you again, fearless Basker. How's the hometown these days? They must be looking forward to seeing their prodigal son."
"I wouldn't know. I haven't talked to the old hag in ages. Where's Kaitlyn, anyway?"
"Gone to the toilet," Clive said. "Women's problems."
He looked out the window again. Ten minutes, and this charade would be over. But where was Jet? The Filgaia Sample was taking a long time to have a dump. And he needed everyone in a place where he could see them. They were already within his trap. They knew Clive as a friend, but he'd fooled the man's daughter. And if Kaitlyn died, he wouldn't cry. He didn't know her, he didn't care for her. But he could use her. Just like he was using Clive.
"What is it, Clive?" Virginia said. "You've been awfully quiet."
"I've been thinking. Personal matters," he said. "Things have been difficult at home. It's hard to deal with Kaitlyn. She's not the girl I knew. She's grown, changed. I'm thinking of the day she leaves home and it'll be just me and Katherine. I don't think I have the energy for another child. Plus, I don't think my earnings could afford it."
Virginia was looking at him seemingly understanding, but Gallows hadn't taken his eyes off Clive all through the trip, and his words were thoughtful.
"I talked to her a little while ago. She seemed fine to me."
"You don't have children," Clive went on. "It's difficult. Trust me. She gave me a real handful when little. She always wanted bedtime stories, and I found it hard to give no for an answer."
It wasn't about Kaitlyn, but it would do. The emotions were there. It was the truth, which for him was a great deal.
"Kids are like that."
"And who made you so wise?"
"Grandma. With a stick."
Clive looked at the Basker with the untidy hair and the lopsided smile, and at the female drifter who had aged but was still recognisably her father's daughter; the green eyes, the brown hair. And he was reminded of Yggdrasil, of Leehalt Alcaste, and he bowed his head. And then he saw the Filgaia Sample moving outside the door, and he looked away. It was the Sample that scared him – he wasn't human, he wasn't normal. Nor was he, but the Sample was the planet. It could know things. It could make their lives difficult. And it couldn't, not when they were this close.
Three were already within their grasp.
"Hey, Jet, Jet, Jet!" Gallows said. "Come and sit with the old men."
Jet shrugged, and sat on the opposite side. His mouth was hidden by his red muffler, and he looked at Clive and Gallows before closing his eyes.
"Look, a flower!"
Jet looked up and down before closing his eyes again, and Gallows and Clive saw how enthusiastic Virginia was, how her hands were clinging to the windowsill. And Clive remembered how the flowers had begun to grow around even Little Twister, yellow buttercups within mounds of grass. It had been a rare sight before, and now they were growing and the rains had begun to fall. The world was changing, and he and his colleagues were threatened with being left behind. And yet, the rains and flowers and meadows made him glad, for he thought if they could return, then surely everything he sought was within his grasp.
"What is it, Virginia?" he said. "A tulip?"
"No. It's green. And there's loads of them."
"A cactus." Clive could remember his notes. "Before Filgaia decayed, they grew in deserts and hot environments. I expect they'll die out soon, once the land changes. But I don't think it's a flower. More like a plant."
Virginia was looking out the window without seeming to understand or care, and Clive saw a Medium poking out her uppermost pocket. His fingers moved. Then they were stilled. Now wasn't the time, not with the others present.
"A world of memory," he went on. "Do you think Werner could ever return? I know he helped us, and you must be sad at the thought you won't see him again."
"I don't think he will… But that's all right. He helped us, and he's moved on. I think he's happy being with my mother."
"Good. I'm glad."
"But you're asking a lot of questions, Clive."
"I'm just interested, fearless leader. You've grown quite a lot within these last few years. It's like you're a whole new person."
"No, no. I've just had the time to think. We won't have our Mediums for a while, but I think I can handle it. The Guardians helped us, we owe them this much. To be returned to their chosen people. I'm just worried. It's a time of peace, and all we've been used to are pursuit and war. I just want to live in a world that will accept us, not chase us down to the ends of the earth."
"And you think that time is soon?"
Clive nodded. "I'm sure it is. But you look tired, Virginia. You should get some sleep. Don't worry. I'll keep watch. Gallows is already passed out. I think he doesn't want to go home." And he thumbed to his right, where Gallows' head was rolling against the headrest.
"If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
"And you'll wake me up when we get there?"
Clive nodded. "Though, I think you'll be up before then. We have a long time to go, and we were up pretty late last night. It's just me, Virginia. You won't have to fear a thing."
-o-
Life was amusing. The Guardians gave it, they took it away, and all humanity could do was follow their plans and do their best to live. They would suffer, fall in and out of love, and be ultimately in need of saving from their unfulfilled existence. Except they would never be, and the Guardians knew this. Were one to face them, they had to be prepared.
Leehalt Alcaste was always prepared.
He leant back, balancing a clear orb on his right palm as he considered their next move. He had cheated death, he had fooled the Guardians, and greatest of all he had spat on Werner in the afterlife, and there was nothing that double-shooting fraud could do about it. Their work was to better humanity, and Werner had fallen short of doing what was needed. He could have helped, but Leehalt wouldn't have needed it. He did not need help from someone who walked all over his feelings and enjoyed it. Indeed, flagrantly so. Well, when the Guardians got wind of his ideals and came down to punish him, they would fall into the darkness. Humanity had no need for Guardians.
The communication orb in his hands was a restored piece of machinery. He always had been the better programmer. Even Werner had been forced to accept such a fact. But Werner was a man, and Malik was a child. Melody was… Malik never noticed her, not before, not now, and he wasn't interested. But they liked his attention, and he got them to work for it. It was a mutually beneficial situation. And he needed his companions to get his work done. He couldn't just leave them to fester in Hyades, not when they all felt the same way.
He looked into the orb. Malik was sitting amongst the drifters, his presence unknown, and Melody was observing the train's progress from a cliff. Both had matching orbs, both could talk when needed. The Guardians perhaps knew of his plans already; their Mediums certainly did. But they had no way to tell, not without the Ark Scepter. That had been another artefact to come under his possession.
He saw Melody cringe. She knew he was expecting things to go off without a hitch. And so it should. They were not Janus. They always got the job done.
She flipped back her long hair and the scene changed to Malik, who was surrounded by sleeping drifters. His fingers were moving, his lips smiling, eyes looking from Virginia, to the Basker, and last to the Filgaia Sample. Leehalt switched off the orb. They had returned, they would not die – not again.
Had they been together, Melody would have reacted to Malik differently, maybe would have thought he was flirting with her some what. But they both knew there was only one person Malik cared for. She haunted his dreams, so much so Leehalt had taken precautions. The last thing he needed was Malik remembering the circumstances of his death. If the brain and its memories were electric, they were a network of signals. He was a programmer. Some things he preferred not to tell anyone.
He tapped the orb, annoyed. "Begin your operation, or I'm going to die of natural causes. Again."
"Righty ho." Malik tapped the orb. "Well, I'm afraid I can't hear you well and the connection's breaking up." That was a lie. "Oh, and someone wants to use the bathroom, so we'd best be parting company, delightful as it is. A happy worker is a productive worker and all that. Bye now."
And he was left with silence.
-o-
Malik locked the door. Everything was fine. He walked down the corridor, past the conductor, and peered inside their compartment. All three were asleep. His fingers were growing itchy. He reached for the door when the carriage shook. There followed a large bang and he was knocked off his feet, just in time to see all the luggage come crashing down.
"She's too early, I see," he said, and his fist slammed the floor.
Jet's eye moved.
Elsewhere, Leehalt clasped his hands and looked at the hole where the generator had been. What did dead people dream of? He couldn't remember. He thought of Ekatrina, and how much she meant to him. Melody was violent, obsessed with her own validation through her improved appearance. Malik was Malik; a happy, bouncing bundle of joy who bounded in with his coffee and stole everyone's peace and quiet. Yet since their rebirth, something had not been right with any of them.
He had been unable to account for the mental trauma. He wanted his colleagues to be his colleagues, who they were. Not shadows of their former selves. Only, he worried about Malik. Melody was calm, mature. He'd sought her advice, since hers and Malik's life signals had faded near the same time. And he had discovered Malik had been ill. He loathed to worry, because that implied something was wrong, and he loathed to be wrong or show any emotion. Both were distractions, and they had to win. Their knowledge was power, and that power would guide humanity. Not the Guardians, and not the Demons. That had been his first and only mistake.
First they would acquire the Mediums, and then the Guardians themselves would be scared of the thought of death.