Upon exiting the expensive office setting, Claire was left feeling cold, drained, and above all, furiously angry. Even though his guidance had been well-intended, Summers had limited her to a handful of options. Orphan, ward of the state, or apprentice. And he had made it clear that an orphanage was the "preferred" place for them. Summers had even given her a list of apprenticeship options, further defining her future.
All of the sympathetic glances and phrases, the special treatment, and the damned paternalism irritated her. I should be grateful, she thought, and I am, but…I'm not a child. Not anymore. Why do they all treat me like one? Her thoughts trailed to the attendance office, mortician, and lawyer in turn. They don't understand that I'm not helpless. I'm not helpless, she repeated to herself.
Frustrated, Claire decided against going home until she could calm her nerves. There's no need to upset Serah, though. Pulling out her comm unit, Claire sent a quick text update to her sister. "Done with the lawyer. Will bring home dinner." She thought about adding more information, or maybe a meaningless platitude, but decided against it.
The "OK! Love you!" that buzzed back at her in return gave Claire a few hours' reprieve and a humorless ghost of a smile. Looking at the envelope in her hand, Claire felt strangely ambivalent. She didn't know whether to take the attorney's advice and follow one of the prescribed apprenticeships or simply throw the sheaf of papers into the nearest flame. Choosing instead to put the documents out of her mind for the time being, Claire placed the envelope in her satchel and walked to the town square.
Sitting on the fountain's ledge, Claire saw a Guardian Corps soldier stroll casually by. Her thoughts were drawn to her father, and to her conversation with Serah earlier that morning. He was a good man, but was he a good father? She'd always thought so, but then remembered what his passing had done to her mother. The familiar burning anger she'd barely concealed from Serah nearly boiled over. Claire didn't even realize she was glaring at empty space.
You left us to play "hero" to some kid? You couldn't even save yourself. Her derision combined with heartache and frustration over feeling so damned helpless – the word burned acidic in the back of her throat – and Claire tore away from the fountain, running blindly in no particular direction. Her only desire was to escape the unwanted thoughts rushing through her mind.
Eventually, lungs burning, she crouched onto the balls of her feet, chest heaving with the exertion of breathing after running too long. Looking around at last, Claire saw that she'd gone well past Bodhum's borders into the southern marshlands. I can't just run from my problems like this, she belatedly chastised herself. Spotting a nearby waterfall, Claire strode towards it and rested on the adjacent embankment. Pulling her knees to her chest, the girl stared moodily into the churning water, ruminating over the past few years.
Heavy footfalls brought Claire's attention back to her surroundings. She watched as four soldiers jogged in formation across the marshland, seemingly in tandem. The one in front held his right arm up in a fist suddenly, and the other three soldiers immediately halted.
Claire could vaguely hear the squad leader from where she sat. "…indicate it's three hundred yards out, at 2 o'clock." The other three pulled out their rifles and the group moved more sedately in the direction indicated. Wanting to see what was going on, Claire followed them from a distance.
When the leader raised his fist again, the other three opened fire. Claire heard the enraged roar before she saw the Beta Behemoth. A hulking gray monster with elongated horns, it was easily twice as tall as the soldiers in front of it without standing on its hind legs.
More upset than injured, it charged the group of four, who jumped in different directions, their movements clearly coordinated. Two of the soldiers suddenly glowed blue, jumping up into a pair of trees and shooting steadily at the behemoth from above. Under the onslaught, its rear right leg collapsed, seemingly unable to bear weight.
Growling vehemently, the behemoth swiped at the two remaining soldiers, forcing them to roll away.
"Rogers, grab a water AMP!" the leader yelled out to the third soldier, who reached into the pack at his waist. Pulling out a metal canister, he sprinted forward a few paces and threw it in the monster's face.
The blinded behemoth charged into a tree, lying stunned. The first two soldiers, glowing blue again, jumped down onto its back and fired into its skull at point blank range. It lay unmoving, and they holstered their rifles.
"Good job, men. Move out!" Taking point, the leader began jogging in the direction they'd come.
"Sir, yes sir!" the others responded, falling into their original formation.
Unseen, Claire could only watch in admiration.
Not needing to feign her vastly improved mood, Claire walked in the door with one of Serah's favorite pasta dishes. Serah was sitting at the kitchen table writing in a workbook. The younger girl looked up and grinned when she smelled the meal. "Claire! You're home!" Serah closed the workbook and ran up to greet her, taking the bag of food and walking back to the kitchen.
"I brought pasta," Claire said by way of greeting. "How was your afternoon?"
Beginning to set the table, Serah responded, "It was good. I know we don't have class for two weeks, but I didn't want to get behind in my schoolwork, so I asked my teachers what we would cover. How was your meeting with the attorney?"
Claire spoke more carefully, not sure how much to avoid. "He said we're going to be able to stay together and live at home the way we always have. I'm old enough to be your guardian, so there shouldn't be any problems. And mom had some money saved up, so as long as we're careful, we won't have to worry about that either." It was close enough to the truth.
Serah's eyes widened in excitement. "That's great news, Claire!" she exclaimed.
Laughing softly at the enthusiastic squeeze which followed, Claire kissed the crown of her sister's head again, relieved that Serah had not demanded more detail.
"So what material were you studying, Serah?"
The younger girl chattered excitedly as they ate, her story interrupted by mouthfuls of pasta. "This unit is based on the different resources the fal'Cie provide for us. Kujata, for instance…" The ensuing dinner passed quickly with talk of schoolwork, only interrupted by the clicking of forks against plates and the occasional contented sound from Serah. Afterward, physically and emotional drained, Claire excused herself for bed. Serah busied herself with the dishes. Only bothering to pull off her shoes, the older girl passed out within moments.
The rain pelted down, drenching her clothing and making visibility all but impossible. A flash of lightning was quickly followed by the rumble of thunder, the storm directly above the girl, its intensity echoed in the vibration of the ground underfoot. Shivering more out of cold than fear of storms, Claire looked up at the hospital building in front of her.
Ineffectually attempting to steel herself, she walked in the front door, still shivering. The climate-controlled environment did little to warm her soaked garments. Exiting the elevator on the sixth floor, Claire turned right and walked briskly down the hallway. She had been here daily for almost four months now, and the receptionist and nurses gave her small smiles of recognition. Claire nodded slightly back at them, distracted by her desire to see her mother.
Feeling something crumble inside at the sight of the older woman's pale form, Claire put on a brave smile. "Hey, Mom, how are you feeling today?"
"…Claire?" the voice was weak and confused. Claire suddenly felt guilty for waking her. "Yeah, Mom, I'm here."
"How was school today, honey?"
"It was good, Mom. I aced a test today, and Serah did real well too. She's making a lot of friends in middle school. In fact, she's in an after-school club right now; they're learning to make these arts and crafts out of leather." Claire was not naturally chatty, but made an extended effort to update her mother about their lives.
The smile Claire received was warm, if frail, and she felt marginally less chilled. She reached up to hold her mother's hand. Feeling skin cooler than her own, and seeing the shadows under the still-bright, but somewhat glassy blue eyes, Claire's heart constricted.
"Claire, you're drenched!" The girl looked down at her school uniform, ashamed for some reason.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't think to bring an umbrella to school this morning."
"No, no, Claire, I was not scolding you and you know it. But you need to take care of yourself; you'll catch the flu!"
Catch the flu. That's what they had thought Elise was ill with at first: a simple bout of influenza. When she had failed to recover after a week, though, she went to the hospital and found out it was something far more serious.
"If you get sick, too, who will protect Serah?" Horrified, Claire ran from the room.
As she woke up, gasping, Claire realized the moisture was just a cold sweat rather than rain. Mostly, she amended, swiping at her eyes. She crawled under her covers and tried to sleep again, hoping to avoid more nightmares.
By mutual agreement, the two girls spent the morning looking over old photos and other mementos of their parents after breakfast. Some they would keep for themselves, and others they would leave with their mother at the funeral. Serah decided to keep most of the photos they had, electing to update her scrap book. She claimed the pictures helped her remember them better. Claire didn't argue, silently gluing as Serah directed.
"Oh, do you remember this one, Claire? I was so scared up in that tree, but you showed me where to put my hands and feet, and by the time Mom snapped the shot, I think I was climbing faster than you!"
With a tight smile, Claire nodded, their mother's final words ringing in her head. You're such a good big sister.
In the end, Serah brought a school project Elise had been particularly proud of and a candid shot of the three. Claire brought a book she'd read to them as children.
The funeral was held later that afternoon at the cemetery, with only Claire and Serah in attendance. As the preacher began a standard eulogy, bemoaning the loss of a woman so young to illness, Serah's sobs punctuated his solemn but generic statements.
Claire's nightmare still weighed heavily on her mind. She took Serah's hand firmly, squeezing slightly to reassure the younger girl. I'll protect her, Mom. Claire did not cry, even after they saw her casket lowered into the ground next to their father's.
Master Sergeant Amodar was standing outside the building enjoying the morning air when Claire walked up to it. "Good morning, Miss," he said politely as she moved to open the door. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Yes, sir," she responded, "I'm looking for the recruitment office."
He bunched his eyebrows together. "Are you here to pick up a form for your older brother, perhaps?"
Claire frowned as she turned to reply. "No, sir. I am here for myself." After a moment, her features smoothed. "My name is Claire Farron," she continued as she held her hand out in introduction.
She can't be any older than 14, the sergeant mused to himself. Amused despite his disbelief, the sergeant shook her hand. "Amodar," he said, consciously omitting his rank. "Well, Miss Farron, come on in," he spoke as held the door open for her.
Walking straight past the recruitment office, he led her to his own. "Would you like some coffee, or a snack?"
"No thank you," Claire politely replied. She sat in the chair Amodar motioned towards. Her posture is too stiff. She's defensive, he noted absently.
"Now, then, Miss Farron. What brings a young lady like yourself to the Guardian Corps?" His features settled into an amiable smile as he brought his own mug of coffee to his lips.
"I would like to join the Guardian Corps, sir."
"I had already gathered that much," he said with a chuckle. "Why?"
"The mission of the Corps is to protect and serve the populace. You prevent people from being hurt by wild animals or cie'th and maintain order on a day-to-day basis. I would like the opportunity to be a part of that mission." The words were precise and obviously rehearsed.
His voice was wry. "I am well aware of my job description, Farron – do you mind if I call you Farron?" She shook her head. "As I said, I know what we do. But you haven't answered my question." The words were tinged with humor.
Claire looked down, silent. She wasn't expecting resistance. He tried a different tack. "How old are you, Farron? 11?"
She visibly bristled a bit, but her voice remained polite. "I am 15, sir, and will turn 16 later this year." Right about where I thought she was - a little older.
Amodar decided to get a few more details. "You still in school? What are your grades like?"
"Yes, sir. I get mostly A's and a few B's." Claire's features calmed again.
"You look fit. Do you have any experience with sports?"
"I ran in track my freshman and sophomore years, but don't have time for it anymore."
"How about job experience?"
"No, sir."
Taking a small sip, Amodar thoughtfully looked out his window, noting the colors of the sunrise. In his peripheral vision, he could see Clair shift uncomfortably. You have no reason to enlist, Amodar thought to himself. If you really wanted to join the military, the smart option would be to finish high school, get your degree, and earn a commission. You have to know that. There's something I haven't hit yet.
"You're young, Farron. Too young. Where are your parents?" Claire's posture didn't change this time, but her eyes gave away the girl's hurt.
"They're dead, sir."
At his automatic apology, Amodar noticed her face harden. You don't want sympathy, eh? "You know there are other options, right? You have good grades, extra-curriculars. You could certainly get an apprenticeship. Hell, the state would probably sponsor you through university!"
Claire waited out his tirade and simply stated, "Yes, sir. I am aware of my other options, but thank you for pointing them out."
Amodar gazed into his coffee for a moment, assessing the situation and trying to gauge his own instincts. "Why are you really here, Farron?" the sergeant asked at last, coming full circle.
"To protect what's important to me," Claire responded with an indecipherable look in her eyes.
It's as good an answer as any, and she'd make a fantastic soldier. But that piece is still missing.
He chuckled amiably again. "I meant it when I said you're too young, and it's not entirely due to parental consent. Basic training is difficult, and the technology you'll work with will stunt your growth if taught too soon."
Amodar paused momentarily. "We do have a program you should qualify for. It's called the Delayed Entry Program, or DEP for short. You are admitted immediately, and start earning your stripes from the rank of Private, but one of the terms is that you finish school.
"You will still take your standard curriculum – maths, sciences, and the like – but we substitute your electives and physical education classes with those of our choosing. In return, you will receive standard vouchers for food and housing, as well as a minimal stipend. It's normally a difficult program to get into, but most of the people who walk in here at your age are desperate, and they have nowhere else to go. By all accounts, you have good grades, strong upbringing, no criminal record, probably assets to your name?" The last two were questions.
Claire nodded in the affirmative at both. Shaking his head, Amodar picked up his phone. "Before we can do anything else, you're going to need a psych eval. It's standard operating procedure, nothing to be worried about. We can talk more afterward."
"I understand, sir," came the reply. Claire gave him her first smile as she stood to shake his hand again. "Thank you very much."
"You're welcome, Farron. Best of luck."
Amodar read the results of the psych evaluation, intrigued: Quick-thinking and ambitious. Impact due to loss of parents minimal – will make full recovery. Shows potential to be a dedicated soldier. Recommendation: full DEP sponsorship. He sighed, tossing the folder on his desk. I knew all that already.
Amodar knew he should assign Farron to one of the actual recruitment personnel, but something held him back. She should be enjoying her last two years of school and worrying about what college to attend, he thought to himself a bit sadly. Beginning an application package, Amodar signed the appropriate forms and wrote up his own recommendation. But we can always use good people, and the Corps takes care of its own.
