Xibalba, Chapter Eight
"Turbulance"

"I don't know, Red. I wonder about her sometimes. I mean, really, what would possess her to want to do that? I can understand wanting to respect her sensei's wishes or whatever, but... I didn't wanna hurt her, but she didn't leave me much of a choice."

"Why are you trying to validate yourself to me?"

"Uh... I'm not trying to—"

"Rationalize it however you like, Cloud, but the fact is that, if you'll pardon the expression, she asked you to prove your love for her by kicking her ass, and you complied. Although, had I been placed in the same scenario, I don't know that I would have done any different. As I said before, there is no voice of reason when emotions such as love become involved." He ended the conversation by padding over to the rug and lying down.

Cloud snorted and plopped onto the bed, then looked at Yuffie. She lay on the next bed with the appearance of peacefully sleeping. She seemed to be okay—breathing regularly, no bruises—despite what he had done to her. The tissue around her eyes was still red and puffy from her earlier crying, but that would go away soon. He knew from experience that she would be very sore when she woke up—hell, he was sore from all those light blows she landed on him. Restore magic, even at its most potent, could only heal damaged muscle, skin and blood vessels. It could not soothe raw nerves or remove lactic acid buildup; those things would have to be taken care of by the body's natural recovery process. Potions helped, but their effect was limited. Only rest could allow the body to fully recover.

As he pondered this, there was a commotion from below, and a woman's voice shouted his name. Red perked up and he stood, looking at the stairwell. The voice called him again, and pounded up the stairs. She reaced the top and became identifiable: Shera. It was obvious she had come here in a rush—her normally immaculate brown ponytail was dissheveled, and she was clad in her night clothes and house coat, which were stained a curious shade of red, and work boots. He saw the panic on her face as she rushed at him, and her eyes were wild behind her glasses.

"Oh god Cloud, I'm so glad I found you," she cried, and he wasn't sure if he should return the hug. It wasn't like they were especially close or anything. She didn't give him the chance though, as she let go a second later and snatched up his hand. "We have to go now." She yanked on his arm and started for the stairs.

He pulled his hand back. "Wait, Shera, what the hell? What happened to make you fly here without even changing your clothes? Is that blood? Is that your blood?"

"We don't have time, I'll explain on the way back, but we need to leave right now!"

"Not until you tell me what's up."

She gave him a stare that froze his blood. "The captain is dying."

Red jumped up, and the world ground to a halt.

"He's what?" Cloud said.

The intensity in her eyes quelled any further questions he had. He nodded once, then looked at Red.

"I will watch over her," he said. "Go."

They fled.

They stepped up into a run as they left the inn and beelined for the entrance to the village, then sprinted as the cobblestones met the grassland. About fifty meters away a very familiar pink aircraft sat, its single propellor spinning lazily in time with the engine's idle. Plastered on the side were the words "Tiny Bronco" in a rather interesting color scheme.

Heh, Tiny Bronco. This is cool.

If it was possible, Shera lengthened her stride and bounded to the plane. She halted and grasped the door handle and flung it open. Not needing any instruction, he clambered into the co-pilot's chair and buckled in. She was in a moment later, slamming the door and flipping the latch. She seated herself and strapped down, then nudged the throttle open. The pitch of the engine rose, the propellor became a blur, and the plane began to move, bumping along the uneven ground. After a time, she determined they had sufficiently accelerated, and she eased the stick back. The bouncing ceased as the craft left the earth, and she pushed the throttle wide open and pulled back on the stick. The nose went up sharply and the engine wailed, and Cloud was pinned back in the seat. He stole a glance at the instrumentation, and immediately regretted it. ENGINE RPM was pegged at six, ALTIMETER was spinning out of control, and AIR SPEED was climbing toward three hundred kilometers per hour. The rest of the gauges might have been labeled in Cetran for all the meaning they held for him.

He came this close to showing her his breakfast.

Eventually she banked the plane to the north and closed the throttle a bit. She leveled it off, and the engine wasn't so angry anymore. It was now possible to engage in discourse, so he posed the first question any man would.

"What the hell is powering this thing? I've never seen anything run by a Mako engine move so quickly."

Without looking up from her mystical runes, she responded. "It's something the captain created some time ago. It's an internal combustion engine, and it's fueled by a petroleum distillate known as gasoline, which is refined from the only subterrainian resource more abundant than Mako: fossil fuels. He knew Mako couldn't last forever, so he designed the engine around an alternative fuel. Its configuration is a bit different from most other engines, with the cylinders in a vee shape at a ninety degree angle, which allows for maximum compactness and a minimum of vibration, as opposed to a standard inline configuration. It has eight cylinders displacing five point seven liters and producing three hundred horsepower at five thousand revolutions per minute. Economy isn't anything to write home about, but it can't be beat when it comes to power output. A comparable Mako engine wouldn't make half the power of this baby. There is a downside though. While a Mako engine has almost no byproduct, aside from the obvious ruination of the land, a gasoline engine puts out toxic levels of several known greenhouse gases, including carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons, nitrogen oxides and particulate matter. ShinRa discovered all this in research and development when the captain submitted the design, and they nixed production plans, citing possible bad public relations resulting from making a machine that would put out that much pollution. Rather ironic in hindsight, I know. For his part, the captain was furious. 'Fuck their PR,' he said to me. 'They wouldn't know a good design if it bit 'em in the ass. I'll just build it myself.' And he did, by secretly appropriating funds from the Aeronautical and Space Program. The prototype tested successfully, so he had two more constructed, along with enough spare parts to rebuild them all at least five times."

She paused for breath. Wow. That was quite the mouthful. Plenty of time to assimilate the information later. "How did he do all that without Palmer's knowledge?"

"You give that fat fool too much credit. Palmer is an idiot, nothing more, nothing less. Even if he had found out and the operation were explained to him he still would've been clueless." Her choice of words made it plain she didn't care for her former boss. He nodded slowly and pressed on.

"What about the PHS network? How were you able to call me? I thought it didn't work anymore."

"You're right, it's been inoperational since ShinRa's headquarters were destroyed four years ago. But remember, Junon was essentially Midgar's sister city, and the company's secondary offices. That part of the company changed its name to Junon Electric and Wireless in order to dissociate itself from ShinRa, and commenced building a new PHS hub there. It was completed some time last year, with full service restoration late last month. I only found about this when my family in Junon contacted me last week. You could've knocked me over with a feather when the phone rang. Fortunately for us, the company didn't change any of the numbers, and the 'hacked' status of our joint account was left unaltered as well. But I hadn't any reason to call you... until today, that is."

He waited.

"The captain... Cid... had been... sick, for some time, due to his prolific smoking habit. He began smoking at a young age. When he was hired on with ShinRa, he signed up to test their new brand of cigarettes, and was immediately hooked. The strain of tobacco the company cultivated was several times more addictive than any other brand available, and was a huge commercial success as a result. Unfortunately it was also several times more carcinogenic. The consequences of that never manifested, though, since the fall of ShinRa also spelled the end of their smokes. For his part, he stockpiled what amounted to a two year supply at the rate he consumed them, which was just enough to get him through the stress of refitting the Tiny Bronco and designing and planning the construction of a new ship. The enxt few months after he ran out of cigarettes were... unpleasant, to put it mildly. The withdrawal symptoms he experienced were far worse than anything I'd heard about, and no other brand could quell them. He was violently ill every morning, ate very little when I could make him eat, and was so irritable that the clinking of a spoon on his tea cup sent him flying into a rage. We went through a dozen kitchen tables before the symptoms subsided. In the end, though, he didn't smoke anymore. It's just too bad that didn't matter to the cancer. He was okay for about a year, and the ship was coming along swimmingly, but it was obvious his condition was deteriorating rapidly. Lately he's stopped going to the ship. He's been going to bed earlier and getting up later, sometimes going to sleep before sundown and not waking until almost midday. Over the last month he hasn't even been bothered to get out of bed at all, except to tighten the last bolt on the ship, and... when they came."

Again she stopped to catch her breath. He said nothing.

"This morning. We were woke up by screams and gunshots. There were two of them, a man and a woman, wearing gray, and they were shooting everyone in sight. They kept yelling that they wanted Cid, and they would keep killing until he came to them." Her eyes watered, and her voice caught in her throat. "I begged him not to go, he was too weak from the cancer to fight them, but..." She sighed deeply and dashed the tears from her eyes. "He grabbed his spear and went anyway. They shot him before he could even charge them. I went to him, and he was... just bleeding everywhere. I didn't have any materia..." She took another breath to steady herself. "But they didn't shoot me. They told me to relay a message to Cloud. They said, 'We'll be seeing you at Midgar,' and they left in a black helicopter with no markings."

Cloud frowned. That couldn't be coincidence. That Warren guy at the inn had said to go to Midgar. Now two unknowns killed people in Rocket Town to make the same point?

"Is Cid okay?" he asked.

New tears formed. "I got him to the doctor as fast as I could, which is why there's blood on my clothes. He used materia on him, but it didn't seem to do any good. He said that he'd lost a lot of blood, and he's bleeding internally, and without surgery, he'll..." She choked back a sob, trying to maintain her composure. The last thing either of them needed was for her to lose it at five thousand meters and crash the plane into the jagged peaks below. "Our hospital isn't finished yet, but even if it were, it wouldn't be equipped to handle his case. The nearest medical facilities that could are in Junon and Wutai, but even with the new ship he wouldn't make it." She reached out and hit a button marked AUTO-PILOT and turned to face him, her eyes wet with anguish and, at the same time, burning with hatred. "I want to find them, Cloud. I want to find them and make them suffer. When I find them, I'm going to tie them to a chair and break each of their fingers and toes with a hammer. One. By. One. Then I'm going to burn their nipples off with a butter knife and a blow torch. Then I'm going to strap them to a table and let water slowly drip on their foreheads for a few days, one drop every two seconds, until just before they go insane from it. Then I'm going to beat their faces into hamburger with a tewnty-four millimeter spanner, and by god, if they're still alive I will make them experience pains that even their nightmares can't match." She turned back to the controls and deactivated the auto-pilot.

Holy fucking hell.

Cloud was stupefied. Shera said that? Shera, who was so mellow, mild-mannered and even-keeled that Cid's verbal abuse bounced right off?

Nothing more was said for the remainder of the flight. What could he say that would come close to countering her? All he could do was stare through the windshield and marvel at her words. He had to give it to her though, she was pretty damned creative.

The mountains gave way to the open plains of the rocket launch pad area. Rocket Town was there, but it looked quite different. There were many more structures, a serviceable runway and an absolutely massive hangar, even from this distance. Shera banked the plane to line up with the runway, lowered the flaps, and picked up the radio. She clicked it on and spoke into it.

"Rocket Town approach control, this is Cessna zero-two-eight-one-echo, one-one-niner-point-three, over."

The response came immediately. "Eight-one-echo, this is approach control, go ahead."

"Control, eight-one-echo, requesting clearance on runway one, over."

"Eight-one-echo, control. Clearance approved for runway one. Welcome home, Shera."

She shut the radio off and expertly directed the plane back to earth. The tires on the landing gear complained loudly as they touched down, but only the barest of jolts was transmitted. Right away she cut the throttle and applied the brakes. As soon as they came to a stop she was out of her harness, pulled the key from the ignition and hit the door. He followed suit and was out a few seconds later.

They were met by a plain-looking man whom Shera did not introduce. She handed him the key to the Tiny Bronco, and he nodded. Without exchanging a word, she ran into town, and Cloud went with her.

They arrived at the infirmary in short order, and as she opened the door they were struck with the stench of spilt blood and powder burns. He counted fifteen beds, all of which were occupied by gunshot victims, some living, some not. Several more stood, sat and lay about the room. He wasn't able to contemplate the deplorable condition of these people for long, because Shera headed for a curtained-off room with a piece of paper taped atop the entrance with the letters "ICU" written on it hastily. She cast the sheet aside, and he was right behind her.

A thin, balding man in a blue lab coat and a bedraggled young woman in a floral sun dress and red-smeared apron stood over a bed, upon which was the prone form of Cid Highwind, the captain.

The man and woman, presumably doctor and his nurse, looked up when the sheet was moved, and the nurse's face told Cloud everything he needed to know about what went on here.

Cid was not well. Pallid face, sunken eyes, clammy skin, shallow respiration, blood-soaked dressings... Cloud counted six wounds to his chest, but they didn't seem to be close-range. They must have dropped him as soon as he set foot outside.

"Donovan, Angela," Shera said without preamble. "Anything?"

Angela, the nurse, suddenly became very interested in the wall above the bed, while Donovan shook his head slowly. "I've done all I can for him," he said, "but I just don't have the proper equipment. As I told you before, nothing short of major surgery is going to help him. Frankly, I'm surprised he's lived this long."

Cloud's eyes narrowed. He didn't care for the guy's tone, and his bedside manner was severely lacking. It implied disdain, very unprofessional. Shera didn't react, so he held his tongue.

"If you can get him to a modern facility," the doctor went on, "he might have a chance. As it stands, I don't see that happening, even with that ridiculous flying machine he built, so he has little time left."

Again, the doctor's tone left a bad taste in his mouth, a bit odd considering the situation. Shera's shoulders were heaving; he knew she wouldn't be able to hold it in for much longer.

"Did you use restore materia?" Cloud asked, staring directly at the crimson splotches.

"Do you take me for a fool? Of course I did. The wounds are too deep for materia to be very effective."

Something's not right here. He thrust his hand into his pocket and withdrew his master-level restore. "Let me see what I can do," he said, stepping over to the bed. He focused on the orb's power, and as he felt the first tingles of the magic a hand clamped onto his wrist, breaking his concentration.

"I said, I already tried that," the doctor said, squeezing, attempting to intimidate him.

He looked down at the hand, then to its possessor. "If you value that hand you'll let go of me," he said darkly, making his eyes glow for added effect. His arm was released.

"Cloud," a voice rasped.

Cid. He was glaring right at Cloud.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Why aren't you after those mother fuckers?" He spoke just above a whisper, but with intensity. His gaze redirected. "Shera... come over here." She obediently moved to the other side of the bed and stood by Angela, who was wide-eyed and agape at her previously comatose patient. Shera took up Cid's hand in both of hers, and he smiled weakly. "I had a surprise planned for you, and I wanted to be there to see your reaction... but now I guess that's not gonna happen." She shook her head vigorously and began to speak, but he cut her off. "Bullshit. I'm already dead and you know it. I was dead as soon as I picked up that spear like a fuckin' idiot and stepped out that door. Ain't nothin' you can do about it, except get the cocksuckers that did this to me and have Cloud cram his sword up their asses sideways. And then you kill them. Them and anyone they work for. Twice. So this doesn't happen to anyone else." He shakily lifted his other hand and caressed her tear-moist cheek, and she smiled.

"I love you Cid," she said.

He didn't respond. His hand fell back to the bed and his eyes drooped closed, and he exhaled.

A death rattle.

The nurse put a hand over her mouth and fled the room, making gagging noises.

Cid...

Cloud stumbled back from the bed. This isn't real. This isn't... Cid? Dead? That loudmouth son of a bitch...

A moment later Shera bumped into his chest, crying uncontrollably, and he put his arms around her. It was all he could do. As she sobbed into his shirt he regarded the supposed healer grimly.

"Doctor, have you ever picked up your teeth with broken fingers?" he asked.

The doctor blinked twice and shook his head slightly. "Excuse me?"

"I said, 'Have you ever picked up your teeth with broken fingers'?"

He hesitated. "I'm not sure what you mean..."

"What I mean, doctor, is if I find out you didn't do everything within your power to save this man, or anyone else here today, then you will find out what it's like."

The doctor puffed out his chest, again trying to intimidate. "Is that a threat?"

Cloud laughed humorlessly. "No doctor, of course not." He turned and drew the curtain aside and guided Shera out. "It's a promise."

As they exited the clinic, leaving behind the putrid aroma of death and dying, he considered using his fire materia to burn the man's lung tissue while still inside his body to instantly asphyxiate him. Amusing, to say the least, but ultimately inconsequential.

They trudged toward her house, but it wasn't long before she collapsed to her hands and knees and refused to go any farther. He knew her bereavement, knew it well, having seen many people die in his time. He would share in it later, to be sure, but there was too much that needed to be done now to succumb to it.

He lifted her back to her feet. Her legs were like jelly and wouldn't support her, so he scooped her up much like he did Yuffie just a few hours ago, and bore her the rest of the way to her home.

Her empty, silent home.

Damn.


Cloud waited on the couch in the living room while Shera cleaned herself up. All he could think of as he stared at the coffee table was vengeance, the swift and terrible vengeance he would deliver unto those responsible for all the death they dealt that day. Shera's imaginitive but previously unspeakable torture plans seemed like the perfect means to that end.

She appeared from the bedroom, and her demeanor had completely morphed from inconsolable grief to a quiet, angry determination. Her trademark ponytail was tightly pulled up with nary a hair astray, but her glasses were conspicuously absent, presumably replaced with contact lenses. She had on a white tank top that hugged her curves pleasantly, along with black cargo pants and brown work boots. Atop her coiffure sat Cid's goggles, and she was shrugging into his flight jacket.

Without a doubt, she wore them with pride.

She strode across the room to where a halberd hung from the wall. From tip to butt it was forged mythril, one of the strongest, most durable, and lightest metals in the world. Shaft length was right at two meters, with a diameter of about three centimeters. Most of its surface wrapped with strips of rough leather to provide a more stable grip. The head of the polearm was a gruesomely curved piece about a half meter long reminiscent of an old-style cutlass, but with a serrated edge, much like a power saw disc. It sat on thick U-brackets bolted into the wall.

As she lifted the mast ax from its brackets, she said, "Cid was rather paranoid. Shortly after he returned from defeating Sephiroth, he began instructing me in the use of the spear as a weapon, so that I might defend myself if he wasn't here." She brought it down and turned to him, holding it with practiced ease and perfectly balanced in her right hand. "With the little free time he had between building the new ship and rebuilding the Tiny Bronco, he made this, poured his heart and soul into it, and named it Crime and Punishment. He never had the chance to use it because of the peace he helped bring to the world. Now it becomes his avatar, and with it, I will avenge him, and everyone killed or harmed today. She paused, and her knuckles were white as she gripped the spear. "Let's go back to the hangar. By the time we get there the ship should be ready for us."

They left her house, and she walked resolutely toward the aircraft hangar, Cid's Crime and Punishment poised in her hand, while he tagged along like a lost puppy. He could not equal this woman, who stood on the precipice of despair but did not plummet into its depths, who instead took up her man's spear and swore to exact revenge on his murderers.

Cid sure knew how to pick 'em.

As the sun rose toward high noon, they met the unidentified man from earlier just outside the huge structure.

"Jason, is she ready?" Shera asked him.

Jason nodded once. "As ready as she'll ever be. The crew is on board and standing by, the cargo bay is bursting with supplies, and the fuel tanks are brimming." He stepped aside and opened a door. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."

"Thank you Jason," she said, and they crossed the threshold.

Cloud looked up. And up. "By Odin's beard," he remarked, and Shera smiled wanly.

In short, the ship was beautiful.

At a glance, Cloud estimated it to be about fifty percent smaller than the Highwind had been, for it was not based on an old-fashioned dirigible design. The design was more hawkish, with raking lines and angles nose to tail and rounded "wing" protrusions, much more modern. It squatted upon stout landing gear, but knowing Cid it was more than likely equipped for vertical take-off and landing. Emblazoned on the side was the name of the ship, and next to that was the familiar mural of the bikini-clad woman, but it was not blonde—instead the head was a photographic recreation of Shera.

Zephyr.

"Oh god," she said, and he looked at her. "I always hated that woman he had painted on the side of the Highwind. But now it's me..." She closed her eyes. "Thank you, Cid."

They boarded the Zephyr and proceeded straight to the bridge. Seated at the consoles all around was the same crew who'd manned the Highwind. Cloud chuckled nostalgically. They were definitely in good hands.

"Captain on the bridge," the men called simultaneously, and she sat in the captain's chair at the center of the bridge.

"Report," she said, and the stations chimed in.

"Navigation, online and nominal."

"Radar, online and nominal."

"Weapons on standby."

"Engines on standby, fuel level at ninety-nine percent."

She nodded to herself. "Gentlemen, let's move out!"

The engines immediately thrummed to life, and the roof of the hangar opened up to allow the Zephyr egress. The craft lifted off smoothly and took off into the wild blue.