Chapter One
The smoke hung thickly in the air, clinging to the ceiling as if trying to find a way out. Most of the patrons failed to take notice. Then again, most of the patrons were far too inebriated to focus on anything besides the half-empty glasses in front of them. The bartender, a charming girl of twenty, shuffled up and down, filling glasses and occasionally collecting gil.
The double doors swung open, and a young man emerged from the frigid cold that was winter. He paused a moment to hold the door open for a second man, this one wearing a white scarf around his neck to stave off Winter's chilling embrace.
"Hey, gorgeous," the young man said as he sat, "I'll take a Strife Suicide, and my friend here would like a..."
"Molotov Cocktail, " the scarf-wearer replied, taking the stool next to his friend.
Nodding, the bartender disappeared into the back room and returned moments later with a glass of clear liquid in one hand, and a small bottle with a cloth plugging the neck in the other. Upon setting the glass down in front of the young man, she reached behind the bar and set a large blue pill beside the glass.
"You know, that drink you have there is named after my boyfriend," the bartender noted, running a hand through her thick ebony hair.
"I'm honored," Cloud stated, flatly. Smiling, he picked up the pill, broke it in half, then dropped the halves into the clear alcohol. The drink fizzed briefly, then turned a light shade of red. The scarved man unplugged his bottle, then took a swig before setting it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Hey!" Cloud admonished, "That's what we have napkins for, Captain."
He waved a cheap paper napkin in the Cid's general direction. Ignoring it, Cid spoke up.
"Don't call me 'Captain.' I get enough of that at home."
"Your own fiancée still calls you 'Captain?' Weird." Tifa glanced down at the bar, drumming her fingers. The silence was awkward. Cid pulled a cigarette out from behind his ear, followed by a pack of matches. Sticking the cigarette in his mouth, he struck a match. But the wet bar surface wouldn't permit it, and the match eventually snapped in two. He cursed as he fumbled for another.
"The old gang's all here. Well, most of them, anyway. In fact, they're waiting for you in the back. We need to talk." Tifa stopped drumming her fingers and looked up at Cloud. The flickering light of a battered neon sign in the corner accented his features. It had been the only thing recovered intact from the original Seventh Heaven, an electronic advertisement for some obscure brand of tequila. The hired excavators from Bone Village had tunneled through the smashed plate day and night for three weeks before finding what was left of the "Seventh Heaven." Now the old sign shed its seemingly thick yellow light on both drunk and sober; A man slumped on the bar surface, evidently out cold; Two businessmen, complete with sunglasses and briefcases; A young couple enjoying a drink after a play; Two men talking in loud voices and laughing incessantly; Cid, who had finally gotten his cigarette lit and was puffing away contently, back to his old self. Not exactly the most proper atmosphere, but nothing could be perfect.
"Well, then, shall we?" Cloud said, taking a sip of his Suicide and checking his wristwatch. Twenty past eleven. He turned to the man seated beside him. "Let's join the crew, 'O Captain, My Captain.'"
Cid calmly took the cigarette from his lips and flicked the ashes into Cloud's drink.
***
Reeve turned the holo-projector off and glanced up at the people around him.
"Questions?"
The Zoning minister, a stocky, balding man in his forties, gave a doubtful look.
"Sir, do you think this is rational? I mean, nobody's ever relied on thermal power alone. Shouldn't we have some sort of backup plan?"
"There are no backup plans," Reeve said, shaking his head sadly. "Thermal power is the cleanest and safest alternative. It's highly unlikely that we could build enough wind generators to supply a city of this size with power, and solar plants are unreliable. Everything else has been tried and disapproved."
"I say we just scrap this whole 'Clean Air' bullshit and build up a few good Mako reactors." It was the Defense minister, bushy eyebrows furrowed as if in though.
Had Reeve been given time to think, he would have controlled himself.
"You saw what happened to the Number Four after Meteor hit, didn't you?" The Sector Four reactor, even though new by Shinra standards, had malfunctioned and exploded several days after Meteor, taking most of Sector Four with it. What had spooked everyone was the fact that the reactor was reported secure and stable.
The man remained silent, which further angered the President of four months.
"Didn't you?" Reeve was almost shouting. In the back of his mind, warning sirens were going off, signaling that his temper needed controlling.
"Yes, Mr. President, I did," the man said, almost shrinking under the wrath of his leader, "But, y'know, it was pro'lly some damage from Meteor or somethin' like-"
"Bullshit. Holy would not have let Meteor even touch something containing Mako energy. It's that simple," Reeve snapped before waving his hand in a dismissive manner. He started pacing, a habit he had developed in his early days of bureaucracy, to ward off his temper. The Defense minister had been silenced, so the Chairman of the Military spoke up next.
"Mr. President, even though I understand where you're coming from, I would advise you to rethink this. Thermal power has never been tested on this wide of a scale before, and I believe that we should rethink our alternatives."
Reeve, who had control of his temper by now, nodded his head. He personally liked the work and effort that this particular man had devoted to the shaky new government. He was one of the few committee members that could really be trusted.
"I'll consider your advice. For now, the meeting stands adjourned." Before people started moving, he added, "Ladies and gentlemen of the Cabinet, the future starts now."
For his remark, he received half a dozen curious looks. Well, at least the quote had a nice sound to it.
***
Reeve left the conference room half an hour after the no-nonsense cabinet members had filed out. He hadn't felt like returning to his office, so he decided on walking the corridors, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, and hands jammed in his pockets. His hollow footsteps echoed down the empty halls as he rolled his eyes upward.
"Reeve, what the hell's come over you?"
The question was posed by himself, and couldn't be answered easily. Not even he, for the life of him, could understand why he had exploded during the Cabinet meeting; much less, the poor sod who had received the brunt of his boss's temper. Noticing a window, he stopped and glanced out. Midgar was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, some flakes of which were still falling gently, whirled around by passing cars and sticking to the clothing of passerby. The Shinra executive purposely ignored the band of shouting protesters seventy stories below. The group, with the aid of several cardboard posters, was screaming some sort of inaudible phrase in the general direction of Reeve's office several floors above, where they were received by nobody, save for a possible janitor. Shaking his head, he walked on.
Why the hell am I doing this? It's a crazy idea, and I'm the only one who approves, so can't I just listen to my advisors? Am I acting like some sort of monarch?
Inadvertently, his walk had brought him to the Hall of the Founding Fathers, one of the more disputed areas of the rebuilt Shinra headquarters. Portraits of the past Shinra presidents lined the walls, starting with the very inventors of electrical power, and, of course, ending with Rufus Shinra. Reeve stopped in his tracks and gazed deeply into this last picture. A set of cold, arrogant eyes gazed back.
In his mind, he asked himself if this man's icy stare was being mirrored by his own.
The smoke hung thickly in the air, clinging to the ceiling as if trying to find a way out. Most of the patrons failed to take notice. Then again, most of the patrons were far too inebriated to focus on anything besides the half-empty glasses in front of them. The bartender, a charming girl of twenty, shuffled up and down, filling glasses and occasionally collecting gil.
The double doors swung open, and a young man emerged from the frigid cold that was winter. He paused a moment to hold the door open for a second man, this one wearing a white scarf around his neck to stave off Winter's chilling embrace.
"Hey, gorgeous," the young man said as he sat, "I'll take a Strife Suicide, and my friend here would like a..."
"Molotov Cocktail, " the scarf-wearer replied, taking the stool next to his friend.
Nodding, the bartender disappeared into the back room and returned moments later with a glass of clear liquid in one hand, and a small bottle with a cloth plugging the neck in the other. Upon setting the glass down in front of the young man, she reached behind the bar and set a large blue pill beside the glass.
"You know, that drink you have there is named after my boyfriend," the bartender noted, running a hand through her thick ebony hair.
"I'm honored," Cloud stated, flatly. Smiling, he picked up the pill, broke it in half, then dropped the halves into the clear alcohol. The drink fizzed briefly, then turned a light shade of red. The scarved man unplugged his bottle, then took a swig before setting it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Hey!" Cloud admonished, "That's what we have napkins for, Captain."
He waved a cheap paper napkin in the Cid's general direction. Ignoring it, Cid spoke up.
"Don't call me 'Captain.' I get enough of that at home."
"Your own fiancée still calls you 'Captain?' Weird." Tifa glanced down at the bar, drumming her fingers. The silence was awkward. Cid pulled a cigarette out from behind his ear, followed by a pack of matches. Sticking the cigarette in his mouth, he struck a match. But the wet bar surface wouldn't permit it, and the match eventually snapped in two. He cursed as he fumbled for another.
"The old gang's all here. Well, most of them, anyway. In fact, they're waiting for you in the back. We need to talk." Tifa stopped drumming her fingers and looked up at Cloud. The flickering light of a battered neon sign in the corner accented his features. It had been the only thing recovered intact from the original Seventh Heaven, an electronic advertisement for some obscure brand of tequila. The hired excavators from Bone Village had tunneled through the smashed plate day and night for three weeks before finding what was left of the "Seventh Heaven." Now the old sign shed its seemingly thick yellow light on both drunk and sober; A man slumped on the bar surface, evidently out cold; Two businessmen, complete with sunglasses and briefcases; A young couple enjoying a drink after a play; Two men talking in loud voices and laughing incessantly; Cid, who had finally gotten his cigarette lit and was puffing away contently, back to his old self. Not exactly the most proper atmosphere, but nothing could be perfect.
"Well, then, shall we?" Cloud said, taking a sip of his Suicide and checking his wristwatch. Twenty past eleven. He turned to the man seated beside him. "Let's join the crew, 'O Captain, My Captain.'"
Cid calmly took the cigarette from his lips and flicked the ashes into Cloud's drink.
***
Reeve turned the holo-projector off and glanced up at the people around him.
"Questions?"
The Zoning minister, a stocky, balding man in his forties, gave a doubtful look.
"Sir, do you think this is rational? I mean, nobody's ever relied on thermal power alone. Shouldn't we have some sort of backup plan?"
"There are no backup plans," Reeve said, shaking his head sadly. "Thermal power is the cleanest and safest alternative. It's highly unlikely that we could build enough wind generators to supply a city of this size with power, and solar plants are unreliable. Everything else has been tried and disapproved."
"I say we just scrap this whole 'Clean Air' bullshit and build up a few good Mako reactors." It was the Defense minister, bushy eyebrows furrowed as if in though.
Had Reeve been given time to think, he would have controlled himself.
"You saw what happened to the Number Four after Meteor hit, didn't you?" The Sector Four reactor, even though new by Shinra standards, had malfunctioned and exploded several days after Meteor, taking most of Sector Four with it. What had spooked everyone was the fact that the reactor was reported secure and stable.
The man remained silent, which further angered the President of four months.
"Didn't you?" Reeve was almost shouting. In the back of his mind, warning sirens were going off, signaling that his temper needed controlling.
"Yes, Mr. President, I did," the man said, almost shrinking under the wrath of his leader, "But, y'know, it was pro'lly some damage from Meteor or somethin' like-"
"Bullshit. Holy would not have let Meteor even touch something containing Mako energy. It's that simple," Reeve snapped before waving his hand in a dismissive manner. He started pacing, a habit he had developed in his early days of bureaucracy, to ward off his temper. The Defense minister had been silenced, so the Chairman of the Military spoke up next.
"Mr. President, even though I understand where you're coming from, I would advise you to rethink this. Thermal power has never been tested on this wide of a scale before, and I believe that we should rethink our alternatives."
Reeve, who had control of his temper by now, nodded his head. He personally liked the work and effort that this particular man had devoted to the shaky new government. He was one of the few committee members that could really be trusted.
"I'll consider your advice. For now, the meeting stands adjourned." Before people started moving, he added, "Ladies and gentlemen of the Cabinet, the future starts now."
For his remark, he received half a dozen curious looks. Well, at least the quote had a nice sound to it.
***
Reeve left the conference room half an hour after the no-nonsense cabinet members had filed out. He hadn't felt like returning to his office, so he decided on walking the corridors, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, and hands jammed in his pockets. His hollow footsteps echoed down the empty halls as he rolled his eyes upward.
"Reeve, what the hell's come over you?"
The question was posed by himself, and couldn't be answered easily. Not even he, for the life of him, could understand why he had exploded during the Cabinet meeting; much less, the poor sod who had received the brunt of his boss's temper. Noticing a window, he stopped and glanced out. Midgar was blanketed in a thick layer of snow, some flakes of which were still falling gently, whirled around by passing cars and sticking to the clothing of passerby. The Shinra executive purposely ignored the band of shouting protesters seventy stories below. The group, with the aid of several cardboard posters, was screaming some sort of inaudible phrase in the general direction of Reeve's office several floors above, where they were received by nobody, save for a possible janitor. Shaking his head, he walked on.
Why the hell am I doing this? It's a crazy idea, and I'm the only one who approves, so can't I just listen to my advisors? Am I acting like some sort of monarch?
Inadvertently, his walk had brought him to the Hall of the Founding Fathers, one of the more disputed areas of the rebuilt Shinra headquarters. Portraits of the past Shinra presidents lined the walls, starting with the very inventors of electrical power, and, of course, ending with Rufus Shinra. Reeve stopped in his tracks and gazed deeply into this last picture. A set of cold, arrogant eyes gazed back.
In his mind, he asked himself if this man's icy stare was being mirrored by his own.