Roulette
By Nightsong
Setzer Gabbiani walked down the busy hallway with an unconcerned ease, gloved hands pushed in the pockets of his long black jacket. His eyes briefly played over each of the passing Imperial soldiers, more out of habit than any interest or concern.
It had been a long time since he'd last been to Vector, and even longer since his last trip to the Imperial Palace. Had Setzer cared to reflect on it for a moment, he would have noted that he hadn't missed the place much. The smell of oil and smoke seemed to permeate everything in this city, and the perfumes and red-carpeted floors of the palace hardly masked that.
His feet clacked sharply to a stop – the rugs scarcely masked the impact of feet against the metal floors – as he stepped up to a guard standing alongside one of the palace's many doors.
"I'm here to see General Leo." He said simply, strands of his white hair falling in his face as he cocked his head to regard the soldier.
The guard shouldered his rifle and looked Setzer over. "You have an appointment?"
Rolling his eyes, Setzer pulled a piece of paper from his pocket bearing the Imperial Seal. "You think?"
The Imperial glanced briefly at the document – a useless gesture, as Setzer'd had to show his papers to get into the palace in the first place – and stepped aside, his interest in the matter apparently lost.
The white-haired man smoothed out the folds of his jacket for a brief moment, then smoothly stepped past the man and opened the door that led to Leo's office. What greeted him on the other side was a very spartan affair when compared to most of the overly-ornate palace. A rich, wine-colored carpet was laid from wall to wall, and the few chairs in the room were padded velvet, but other than that, the room's sole decoration was the cherry-colored and heavily polished wooden desk that served as its centerpiece. Behind it, General Leo sat, his posture board-like as he pored intently over several maps and an accompanying set of notes.
As Setzer entered the room, his gaze darted up to meet the man, and he pushed the charts aside. His eyes were the color of ice, and conveyed a steel and wisdom that seemed beyond his years.
"Mr. Gabbiani." He spoke with the rough-yet-sincere tone it seemed only military men could manage. "I've been expecting you. Please, sit down."
The black-clad man frowned, but did as he'd been requested. "I hope this isn't going to take too terribly long, General. I landed the Blackjack in the first open area I found that looked out-of-the-way, but it looks to be in a rather bad part of town. I'd rather not leave it and my crew there for too long."
"I wouldn't worry too much about your airship. My men have been instructed to keep an eye on it for you." Noting the lack of change in Setzer's expression, he chuckled lightly. "But don't worry, Mr. Gabbiani. I won't keep you here long."
The Imperial general rose, stiffly as he had sat, and paced easily over to the small window his office afforded. Beyond it lay the city of Vector, all steam and steelwork. It would have gleamed in the day's sunlight had it not been so soot-stained. "I'm curious, though. Last month you were completely refusing all our requests to use that ship of yours for Imperial work. What changed your mind so quickly?"
Setzer looked up at the man sharply, then almost immediately turned away. "I…" gave up all hope for her "simply had some time to reflect." On the emptiness of my life and how very mundane every day has become "The Empire's done great things for the world; civilization, trade, all those things an entrepreneur like myself depends on. It seemed only fitting that I give something back…" he forced a grin, though he felt more like scowling at the man for dredging up memories that had only been just beneath the surface as it was. "And besides, I hear you Imperials get paid very well."
Leo smiled slightly and shook his head, his gaze locking with Setzer's for a moment before it went back to a set of papers on his desk. "Fair enough. Let's get down to business, then." He bent slightly and picked up a piece of paper, scanning over it as he continued to speak. "As you know, the Empire's been having problems with a group of terrorists calling themselves the Returners. They've been responsible for several bombings and intelligence leaks over the past few months."
Setzer arched an eyebrow, wondering where this was going.
"Now, I realize that you originally thought we'd be calling you in on a request for a relatively simple assignment; munitions transport or something along those lines. In actuality, that was to keep Returner agents from finding out something we've learned recently." He put one hand down on the desk and regarded Setzer somberly. "Now, what I'm about to tell you is classified information. From our reports, the Domans have apparently recognized the Returners as a legitimate organization, and provided them with several warships from their navy. These ships are apparently being used to transport contraband munitions from Nikeah and South Figaro to Doma, and there are rumors of possible assault plans by the Returners on Imperial holdings to be executed in the near future."
"And what does all this have to do with me?" the white-haired man asked, crossing his arms.
"We would like you to use your airship to sink these terrorist vessels, Mr. Gabbiani. We can provide you with a dozen Imperial Air Force-designed missiles that you can simply have dropped from your ship that will be more than adequate for the task. In exchange, we will triple the payment we discussed in the letter to you from 15,000 to 45,000 gil."
Setzer blinked, rising from his seat. "Wait just a minute here. Why don't you just send the IAF out after these ships yourself if you have weaponry like you're claiming available?"
Leo sighed. "To be frank, Mr. Gabbiani, our air forces do not currently have the range capabilities necessary to strike these ships, and fuel is burned almost too quickly for a flight any distance over the ocean infeasible."
"I don't doubt it, from what I've seen of them." The IAF gunner ships, as impressive as they seemed, were not actually a viable mode of flight from what Setzer had seen. The ships were too heavy and designed contrary to the basic laws of aerodynamics, making energy expenditures in keeping them aloft enormous. "But still… I'm not sure I like the sound of this. You're basically asking me to fight your war for you."
"You're right. And believe me, I wish there was an easier way to go about this than involving a civilian." Leo let the paper he'd been holding drop back on the desk, his eyes following it down. "But Mr. Gabbiani – and please, don't take this as a threat, because I do not mean it as one – Emperor Gestahl has already made several inquiries regarding simply impounding your ship for study and general use. I suggested we contract you instead as an honorable alternative." Those ice blue eyes flitted back up. "It would be in your best interests to accept, and stay away from Vector in the future. Just friendly advice."
"Friendly advice, sure." Setzer was surprised he wasn't angry. Even this twist felt redundant, numb. "Only one thing to do, then."
Five minutes later, he left the Palace, a few maps and briefing notes clasped tightly in his
left hand. In his right, pressed between his palm and forefinger, was the coin he'd flipped to make his decision.
After all, he thought, if bad luck pushed me into this situation, it's only fitting that luck should have to make the choices in it.
.
I first met her in some dive in Nikeah. I was only there because I'd heard they had roulette tables, which were something of a rarity in the city. I still don't know why she was there, but she didn't fit in with the crowd at all.
She was tall and blonde, just the way I like a woman. Sure, maybe I didn't recognize her beauty right off the bat; she had something of a crooked nose, and her style of dress was closer to mercenary than debutante, but the moment I looked in those green eyes I saw a spark that no one else has ever matched.
I bought her a drink after she beat me at four straight hands of blackjack, and we ended up sitting there at the bar talking until the place closed. Heh, come to think of it, I don't think I ever even got near the roulette tables.
Turns out she was something of a traveler, one of those people who catches the wanderlust bug and just has to see everything and everyone before their time's up. I remember how she told me she loved to sail, to feel the wind on her face. How it made her almost feel like she was flying.
The next day I took her up in my airship and let her see what flying was really like. I think that was probably the moment I knew for certain that this woman was the one for me. She said it made her feel free, like all the troubles of the world were left far below on the ground.
Which is funny, because it's exactly what I said the first time I flew.
We just got closer and closer as time went on. We had so much in common… she was like the part of me I'd been missing. Stubborn, witty, good-hearted, free. My soulmate, to be sure. So, after calling in a few favors with old friends, as well as floating more than one loan, I set to work on building her one. An airship that would take her closer to the stars than the Blackjack ever could.
The Falcon, she called it.
.
"Setzer, what's going on? What're these Imperials doing here?" Mason was a portly man in his mid-forties. He was a jovial sort who liked a good drink and a good game of cards, both of which were in copious supply on the Blackjack. He'd served as a vendor on the ship for nearly a decade, selling products both to its captain and to a few select clientele – mostly from Jidoor – who paid Setzer for the privilege to gamble onboard.
But Mason hailed from Narshe, a land that, while neutral, had never trusted the Empire. Setzer's mumbled response thus unsettled the man more than a bit.
"They're doing… what? I thought this was just supposed to be a transport assignment, Setzer!"
Sighing, Setzer brushed a few strands of hair from his face and leaned up against the railing, looking out over the ugly Vector landscape from the deck of his ship. "You thought wrong, then, old friend. They're outfitting the ship with bombs to drop on some ships near the mouth of the Lete River. And that's all you need to know about it."
"By the goddesses, Setzer! What's next, you joining the Imperial military?"
Setzer's eyes narrowed, though he refused to look at the older merchant. "Hardly. But the pay-off is a big one, and money never hurt anyone."
Mason sighed, shaking his head as he looked down at the Imperial soldiers, hard at work bolstering bombs to the sides of the ship with rope. "This is about Daryl, isn't it, Setzer. You want to take your mind off of her by doing something reckless."
The black-jacketed gambler's fists clenched, as he turned fully away from the man. "Leave me alone, Mason. This is my ship, and I'll do with it as I please."
Mason started to say something else, then stopped himself. As he turned to walk down the narrow staircase that led back down into the ship's interior, he was forced to step to one side to make way for a brown-armored Imperial. He kept his eyes on the man the entire time as he left, sighing deeply.
"Captain Gabbiani." The soldier, a 20-something man with hard, dark eyes, stood almost at attention before the gambler as he turned around.
"…Just Setzer or Mr. Gabbiani will do fine, thanks. What is it?"
The Imperial tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement. "We've finished setting up the explosives alongside your ship. You should be able to make them drop simply by cutting each of the ropes supporting them from their supports along the railing. They will detonate instantly upon impact; your ship should be safe from the blast itself and any shrapnel as long as you maintain an altitude of at least 100 feet above them."
Setzer crossed his arms, leaning back against the rail. "Good to know. Will that be all, then?"
"Yes, Ca-Mr. Gabbiani. The IAF authorities have been notified of your impending takeoff; you're clear to leave Vector."
Nodding, the gambler turned and stepped over to the ship's steering column, pulling two long levers that started the ship's engines with a rumble. The soldier, momentarily thrown off by the lack of any dismissing comment, stood dumbly for several seconds, then stiffly began hurrying off-board.
.
She'd always been quite the competitive one, which suited me just fine. A gambler's spirit, I called it. Little surprise that she thought the Falcon better than my Blackjack in every possible way. And though I denied it fervently at the time… hell, it probably was the better airship, ultimately. It was a bit experimental; the engine designs had been completely overhauled to maximize potential speed.
We took to racing, flitting over countless lands. She usually beat me, too, though at the time I always just said I'd let her win.
I remember the day I told her I loved her. We were on a little hilltop in the Khalkist Mountains – it was one of the best places in all the world to just sit and watch the sunset, away from everything.
We made plans to get married.
What I hate the most is how blurred most of these memories are in my mind now. The only thing that still stands out is the last day… god, that last day. We'd been racing our way across… god, I think it was the stretch of sky just past South Figaro. It was our weekly ritual, and one that she had a rather large tendency to win out on. She certainly did that day, I remember.
Usually, after finishing on that little distraction we'd meet up in whatever city we were near, have a little dinner, and then go off to 'our' spot - that hill in the Khalkists where I'd proposed - and watch the sun set. But, for some reason, that day she was especially into the flight thrill. She decided that she'd take the ship farther up, and at higher speeds…
She'd always loved the stars. She'd always tell me that she was going to get close enough to touch them, someday, farther than anyone had ever been. She never got that wish.
I waited on our hill from the sunset she should have been there for for hours. She never came. The next day, I discovered that the Falcon itself was incognito.
…I never saw her again.
.
The sun rose on the seas south of Nikeah, sending a thrill of crimson across the horizon. Setzer stood on the deck of the Blackjack, his jacket whipping about him in the early morning winds. With one hand, he fidgeted with a single gold coin, flipping it over and over between his fingers.
"I shouldn't be doing this." The gambler said aloud. His only reply was the sharp keen of the wind. "Taking sides in a war I care nothing about."
He shook his head. "Then why in the hell am I doing it?"
The answer came to him immediately, with the vision of a shattered airship and a burial shroud.
Daryl was dead. Nothing could ever change that. Not the repairs he'd made to her ship, not the monstrous tomb he'd sealed it and her memorial in. That spark he'd seen in her eyes was gone, and with it had gone much of his own.
This was all there was, the flip of a coin, the roll of the die. Chance. The lives of a few fugitive renegades meant less than nothing next to that force.
Musing, he flipped his coin, again. It came up heads, again.
It seemed Chance was set on this course.
"It took her. It can have the lot of you." As he spoke, Setzer threw the coin over the railing. It fell glimmering into the sea as he walked back to the ship's helm.
He flew the ship in silence for a few long minutes, his mind clear of thoughts and his mouth set in a tight line. The sun rose higher in the sky and eventually became obscured behind thick black clouds that lined the horizon like a distant curtain. It would be a dismal day, Setzer could tell, if the weather didn't prove dangerous to his ship.
It rained the day we sealed the tomb, too.
His thoughts far away, it was several seconds before he noticed the sheen of metal against the ocean in the distance. Muttering a curse, he pulled away from the ship's steering column and over to the railing, pulling a spyglass from a deep pocket of his coat as he leaned out over it a bit.
There were three ships in all, Setzer saw as he looked, each fully outfitted for war and bearing, upon closer inspection, a star and crescent moon insignia along its side: a Doman marking.
"Well then," he said, putting away the telescope, "looks like it's time for the show, Daryl. Wouldn't you be proud of me."
She always hated the war. We always stayed away from Vector.
He rushed over to the helm of the Blackjack, his jacket billowing out behind him something of a theatrical manner. Tears shone in his eyes as he began to take the ship down towards the Doman vessels.
"What does it matter what you think. It's your fucking fault."
.
I found the wreckage nearly a full year later, on some backwater island up north. By rights, it was a miracle that it didn't crash into the ocean.
How I wish it had.
Just what caused the crash, I would never know. Too much time had passed and robbed me of that. But more than that, she wasn't on deck. There was no body.
I don't know why I searched the ship, really. I told myself she must have been thrown out in the crash, the odds were overwhelming. But I still looked through everything. I still looked everywhere.
I found her body in the engine room, huddled in a corner. The sight robbed me of all I had left of her: the memory of who she'd been. When I close my eyes, even now, I can't see that crooked smile, I can't see that spark in her eye. All I can see is a rotting corpse with empty eyes.
Ultimately, I ended up spending something like the next month drinking myself into a stupor. I'd call it an escape, but it wasn't, really. It was as though my memories of losing her became clearer as my senses dulled. But part of me wanted that, wanted that sorrow to be my entire world.
At the end of it, I nearly killed myself. It was a Sunday night in Zozo, and the rain was pouring down so hard you could scarcely see the city's towering skyscrapers. I'd rented a room about ten floors up, from a guy I was pretty sure was robbing me blind, but it had a balcony. I leaned a little over the edge of the rail, letting the rain wash over me, and I thought about how easy it would be to fall. One last flight and I wouldn't have to miss her anymore.
The thought disturbed me even as it enticed me, and I fell back from the rail, roughly catching myself on my hands as I hit the cold floor. As I pulled myself back to my feet, some coins fell out of my pocket. I bent and picked up one of them, turning it over a few times in my hand. It had been minted in Zozo - which meant it was basically worthless everywhere else – and had the telltale joker's head on one side, and a Z on the other.
Something fell into place as I stared down at that joker. All my life, I had placed my trust in lady luck to some extent; I owed my fortune to gambling, after all. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but at that moment it made sense to me to put my fate in her hands. Life or death, riding on something that couldn't have even paid for the watered-down beer they served here.
So I flipped the coin. I still can't decide if I won or lost the toss.
.
The crew of the first ship didn't even notice the Blackjack before the first bomb dropped, ripping the hull nearly in two with a flash that lit up the grey sky.
The men on the other ships had figured out there was an assault by the time the second went off, and they rushed to defend themselves. But they were utterly unprepared for aerial combat, it was obvious; crossbow quarrels and flaming arrows fell far short of their mark, and every so often, another of the dozen bombs fell from the sky, taking another of the warships with it.
Perhaps Setzer grew cocky with the ease of it all, he'd later reflect. More likely, he'd just removed himself too far from the situation to exercise caution. Whatever the case, he'd gotten down to the last ship, with ample explosives to finish the job. He was sweeping the ship in fast and low when it listed hard to the right, nearly knocking the gambler off his feet. It was easy enough to see the cause, as soon as he looked out again; that last warship had punched through his hull with a huge harpoon attached to a steel cable. Fighting to stay standing, he grabbed desperately at levers, knowing he had to slow the ship down before it was ripped apart. He was prevented from this as a second impact knocked him to the deck.
Desperately, he grabbed the steering column itself and pulled the whole ship hard around to the right, back towards the warship that was now behind him. He had very few options at this point, he knew. He was too far out to sea to simply push the motors until the harpoons tore their way back out: The ship wouldn't fly for more than a minute or two with that much damage to the hull. And if he bombed the ironclad vessel below, he'd likely be dragged to the bottom with it.
Biting back a curse, the man slowed the ship down as much as he could risk, and set it to turning wide circles over the water. It seemed they had reached something of a stalemate, for there was little else the Returners could do to Setzer, and nothing at all for Setzer to do to the Returners that didn't involve drowning.
Well, almost nothing.
It was a crazy thought, and frankly the gambler cared very little for the notion. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a heavy wooden box and opened it. In it was a full deck of what looked to be oversized playing cards. However, they were made of metal, and the edges were razor-sharp. He'd bought them during one of his drinking binges half a year ago, not expecting them to be good for anything but possibly an odd game of poker.
On a whim a few days later, he tried tossing a few of them at a dart board he kept in his quarters. They were remarkably well-balanced, and after a few tries, he had the things going straight through the dartboard into the wall behind it. He'd adopted the things as a bit of a hobby after that, and had even gone back to buy several more packs when the first set started to dull. In his own opinion, he'd gotten remarkably good with them.
After several long seconds spent staring at the cards, Setzer shrugged and pulled a coin from another pocket and flipped it high in the air.
As he caught it, he forced a grin. "Heads I'm a lunatic, tails I'm screwed."
Several more seconds passed. He opened his hand.
"Lunatic it is."
.
Setzer expected to sprout half a dozen crossbow quarrels the moment his ship dove down to nearly sea level, coming up alongside the terrorist warship. He was disgusted – though certainly relieved – when none came his way even as he jumped from his own ship's deck and tumbled onto theirs.
Cards flashed from his hands as he found his footing, and the Returners seemed to finally realize exactly what was happening. He couldn't blame them for being surprised, really, but the dive was a dead giveaway. Breaking into a run, he grabbed another handful of the cards and let fly at the nearest group of crossbowmen.
The plan was extremely simple: detach those steel cables, re-board his own ship (this part had required enlisting the help of a bitchy and incredulous Mason as pilot), and drop the last few bombs before the Returners could recover. It was stupid, suicidal, and looked even less likely to work now that he was onboard than it had beforehand.
And Setzer was enjoying every second of it.
He reached the first harpoon gun with half the ship's crew at his back, and another three before him. Grinning, he gave a little theatrical bow and tossed a card from each hand. Flipping end over end, they sliced clean through leather armor and embedded themselves in chests. The pair collapsed almost immediately, gurgling as the third threw himself at the gambler sword-first.
Barely thinking, Setzer jumped to the side, barely evading the man's blade as it came down hard, striking the deck and – luckily for Setzer – getting stuck in the wood. As he did, though, the card box slipped from his jacket, his weaponry clattering across the deck as the ship swayed.
There was no time to get them, the man was too close, too fast. A wild notion struck him, and without another thought he reached deep into his pockets, and brought out two large bags of coins, the first half of the gambler's payment from Vector. Growling, he brought one down hard over the nearby soldier's head. The bag ripped open even as the man collapsed, and Imperial coins showered down on him.
Ripping open the other bag, he began throwing the coins with all his might into the throng of terrorists behind him. While it didn't come anywhere close to stopping them, and probably didn't even hurt that much, the simple fact that he was tossing money at them was so strange that more than a few stopped and stared, mouths half-open as the gold pieces pelted them.
Setzer took advantage of the moment by scooping up a few cards and hurrying to the harpoon gun. With a simple tug the cable was unhooked from the ship. He threw it overboard, then threw another of his cards into the mob as he sprinted away.
Now came the arrows he'd been expecting since he boarded, lots of them zipping by him out to sea or to embed themselves in nearby posts. The men obviously weren't trained archers, though, for a lot of the shots were far off-target, and the ship's constant rocking helped throw off the ones that weren't.
It was still no great shock when one pierced his right shoulder, just as the second harpoon gun came close. Setzer couldn't help but stagger to the deck, biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood as he hit.
The remaining crew members slowly encircled him, steel drawn and bows at the ready. Even through the blur of the pain, Setzer couldn't help but notice there were only a dozen men left – really, he was very good with those cards.
"Who in the hell are you?" one of the men, obviously the captain from his attire, said. His eyes were full of fire, and he looked as though he might give the order to fire whether or not Setzer answered.
The gambler found himself grinning in spite of it all, and he looked the man in the eye as he responded. "What, were you born on a farm? I'm the legendary gambler, Setzer Gabbiani."
It seemed that was the wrong way to answer, for the captain gave his men the order to loose. Setzer closed his eyes and waited for the end.
The end didn't feel much like arrows through his chest, though, so much as a jarring shaking that made his head slam against the deck. And it didn't sound so much like arrows as a loud explosion. He decided he'd open his eyes, just to make sure.
It didn't look much like arrows, either. The crew members had all been knocked down as well, a few tumbling overboard as bomb fire claimed the far side of the ship.
Setzer could have kissed Mason at that moment – assuming that he wasn't thinking clearly and that Mason was, in fact, a beautiful woman – but he settled for pulling himself unsteadily to his feet and rushing for the second harpoon gun, now momentarily unguarded by the distracted and panicky crew.
He pulled the second cable free with ease, and was thinking about the best way to signal Mason to come and pick him up when the ship's captain came at him with a sword.
Setzer reached into a pocket for a card, only to find that he was fresh out. No coins left, either; all that he really had was his spy glass, and that didn't qualify as a weapon, not even to him.
He pressed himself against the rail, cable still in hand as the captain neared, obviously beyond reasoning. Setzer gave it a try anyway.
"Whoa, whoa, let's talk about this. I can give you and your crew a ride to the mainland if you want. Wouldn't that be fair? We can pick up some of those guys from the other ships, too, though I'm sure the Domans will be by soon enough; we're not that far from there now, and-"
He came to an abrupt stop, as the man took a swing at him. He managed to duck it, and was grinning all the wider as he twisted away from the second one. "You know, forget it. I had a better idea."
With a quick salute, he jumped over the railing, still holding tight to the steel cable.
He hit the water almost immediately, and for several seconds it was a struggle just to hold on. Luckily, Mason noticed what he'd done almost immediately and pulled up until he came back out of it, sputtering. The captain was no longer in sight; probably off to whatever passed for lifeboats on his rapidly-sinking ship.
All around him, the ships burned. He was soaking wet, had an arrow lodged in his shoulder, and he'd lost half his payment for the job.
And it was the most fun he'd had since she died.
As the Blackjack sailed off – presumably to the nearest landmass – Setzer found himself whistling a chipper tune and pondering going out to the roulette tables in Nikeah just as soon as he got his wound dressed and got a few glasses of ale in him.
He was feeling lucky.