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Final Fantasy VI: The Sands of Time
Book 1: The Beginning
Chapter 2 - City of Dreams
Part 2.3 - Homecoming
The Figaro meanwhile was now making its last silent march towards the mountain metropolis of Narsille. It had reached the narrow pass that led directly to the massive gates of the city, and was now in more danger than it had been yet. The last leg of the journey was an especially difficult one, with the increasingly rocky terrain posing a major threat to the now unbalanced base. With every hour the path became steeper and steeper, and at any moment the Figaro could tip over backwards and fall onto its back, never to get up again. With this threat hanging over them, the crew of the Figaro was a somber sight, and barely ever talked now, their minds wholly centered on keeping the base upright. They spent as much time as possible guiding the base through the crags of the mountain path, constantly running between the bridge and the engineering section on the first floor to ensure an unbroken line of communication at all times. The Captain was a grim sight to behold during this perilous last stretch, and the crew stayed away from him as much as they could. He spent most of his time on the bridge in his usual position staring out at the path ahead of him, his one eye fixed on the steadily growing lights of Narsille. Every once and a while he would turn around, as if sensing a slight shift in the base's equilibrium, and yell out a few minute adjustments to the crewmen working the ballasts. With the loss of the ballast equalizers, they were forced to make every adjustment in weight, whether it be major or minor, by hand, and it was a tiring and dangerous process for all involved. Crewman and engineers were seen dashing to the first floor and back every half-hour, checking to make sure the Figaro was perfectly balanced at all times.
Dune was one of the few people on board who had nothing to do, and decided to spend some time on the observation deck alone watching his home grow steadily closer. It would be less than a day before he was walking the streets far beneath his apartment once more, and his anticipation was growing with every hour. The night's events and the day's hopes had prevented him from sleeping for any large amount of time, and he had decided it best to get up to see the sun rise over the distant peaks behind Narsille. He shivered in the cold air as the morning sun rose to greet him, the two moons slowly descending back down, their dance over for another night. It was now approaching winter in this region, and the temperature was dropping steadily as the Figaro climbed in altitude. Dune had brought with him a thick overcoat to keep himself warm, but even that only helped a small amount, although the weather itself was not the problem. As the temperature decreased, it seemed the temperature of crystal in his pocket decreased as well, as if it refused to be showed up by the surrounding air. This made Dune extremely uncomfortable, and his overcoat could not help him here. The obvious thing to be done was to leave the crystal in his room, but this thought never even crossed Dune's normally logical mind, as if all natural urges to discard the crystal were being suppressed.
Dune stared hard at the lights ahead of him, trying to make out the tall spires of the city around them. It was still too far to see anything clearly, but Dune could definitely see the dim outline of the city heights above the large cluster of lights at its base. The city was almost as tall as it was wide, and some of the larger apartment complexes reached almost three miles into the sky. With over 40 million inhabitants and immovable mountains on all sides, the city had had no choice but to expand upwards when the ground below had become too crowded. The Committee had of course overseen most of the construction of the new buildings, and was always in the middle of planning higher and higher additions to these massive towers of steel and glass. It was in one of these towers that Dune lived, and it was his very own apartment that he tried in vain to espy from the deck of the Figaro. Soon, though, he thought to himself, he would be able to pick out the very section of the very tower that was his own, and he fondly imagined the single lone occupant of that section anxiously waiting for his return. Perhaps Mae, too, was looking out over the rocky barrens between them, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Figaro crawling up the mountain path, ready to deliver her husband safely back into her arms? It was with these comforting thoughts Dune warmed himself as the Figaro made its final ascent.
A momentary shift in the base's balance sent Dune unexpectedly reeling backwards. He quickly caught the railing with the hooked end of his cane before falling over and steadied himself once more. Shifts like this were to be expected now and then with everything being done manually, and after such a close call Dune decided that it would be best if he stayed indoors for the rest of journey. Besides, it looked like it was going to snow, and Dune was cold enough as it was. He bundled up his overcoat and started towards the hatch that led down to the fifth floor foyer. As he was turning to climb down the hatch he took one last look at Narsille, then shifted his gaze to the destroyed watchtower nearby where the large searchlight once was. There was nothing there now except a skeletal tower of steel and glass, twisted and frayed by the force of the lightning, a grim contrast to the towers of Narsille. It would seem a bolt even more powerful than the one that had struck him had done this, and he shuddered at the memory of the storm as he climbed back down. There were no storms in Narsille, either, not since the Committee had set up its weather regulators to compliment its seismic regulators. There were never any problems in Narsille, the city of dreams.
Dune carefully made his way down the ladder, hooking his cane around the rungs of the ladder to support some of his weight as he descended. No sooner had he safely set foot on the fifth floor foyer than another shift in balance shook the base. This would be a perilous last stretch indeed. Dune had barely recovered from the shift when he heard the Captain's voice yelling at the crewmen, even through the closed bridge doors. Dune knew better than to walk onto the bridge now, and he silently continued down to the second floor. He would wait out the rest of his journey in the safety of his room on the third floor, but not before getting something to eat in the cafeteria on the second floor. He knew Dr. Atma would probably be looking for him soon to renew the unpleasant daily task of supervising his recovery, so he hurried to the cafeteria to grab one last meal and moment of peace. He glanced in the infirmary as he passed it on the way to the cafeteria at the end of the corridor, but it was dark and silent; Atma must still be sleeping. Dune breathed a sigh of relief and continued down the hall and into the cafeteria.
The cafeteria was a large open room, about twice as large as the bridge, and was large enough to accommodate the entire crew if necessary. There were several hundred chairs lined up along ten extremely long tables, each being parallel to the one next to it. At the back of the spacious room was a large glass shield similar to the one on the bridge. The shield offered a window to the rear of the base, which at the moment showed a long, wide, winding trail steadily falling away from the Figaro, with two sets of deeply furrowed tracks lining the trail. Not many crew members preferred such a view on the homeward journey, and most of the crew had no time anymore for such idleness. As such, the cafeteria was not very crowded at this early time and Dune was almost the only person there, save the cooks. Dune could smell the breakfast being prepared for the crew, and it smelled unusually good for the food that was usually prepared here. He guessed that the cooks were preparing something special for the crew, this being the crew's last meal on board. The cooks, knowing the trials the crew had had to overcome during the course of the night, obviously wanted to make their last meal an especially good one. Dune had no problems with this, and walked over to the counter near the entrance and eagerly ordered his breakfast. He sat down at the closest seat he could find and began vigorously devouring his meal.
Just as Dune was finishing his meal the double doors to the cafeteria swung open and none other than the Captain walked in and yelled out an order comprised mostly of seafood to the bewildered cooks. They quickly gave him his meal and went back to preparing their masterpiece for the rest of the crew. The Captain never ate anything extravagant, and his diet almost solely consisted of fish. A true man of the sea in almost every way. Dune was surprised to see him here, but he guessed that even the Captain needs to eat every once and while, and now was as good a time as any, there being no recent shifts in balance. The Captain spotted Dune and nodded, but said nothing. He walked over to where Dune was seated, pulling up a seat across from him and dropping his plate on the table with a clang. He was apparently still agitated about the condition of the Figaro, and Dune would not be the one to break the silence. Fortunately, it seems the Captain wanted to talk, and he started up the conversation for Dune.
"Hey, Dune, what do you make of all this?" The Captain said this in a surprisingly weary voice. It would seem the events of the night and the constant supervision of the base had taken their toll on the old man, and at the moment he was showing his age quite clearly. Dune remembered seeing a similar Captain six nights ago when he had first woken up after the storm.
"I don't know, Captain. It does seem like we've had a nasty string of bad luck recently. Surely you've been through worse than this on the open sea, though?" Dune hoped bringing up memories of the Captain's triumphs over the sea would lift his spirits.
"Arrr...yes, but I am a man of the sea, I need the rolling waves and the sea breeze to be happy. I'm out of my element here, and this Figaro is a poor substitute for my Maiden of the Sea. As soon as we finish up things in Narsille, I'm heading back out to sea in her and riding the waves and the winds once again. You're welcome to join me if you like, Dune." The Captain gave a quick light-hearted glance at Dune.
The Captain remembered his own vessel fondly, and Dune could see that the old flame was slowly coming back into his form. The last thing Dune wanted to do, however, was join the Captain at sea. Dune was as much out of his element over water as the Captain was in the middle of the desert, and on every trip he had taken on the Captain's ship in the past he had gotten violently ill. Even the smell of the fish on the Captain's plate was making him feel rather queasy as memories of his adventures with the Captain resurfaced. The Captain, noticing the change in Dune's complexion, let out a loud laugh that shook the table.
"Gahahaha!...Still haven't gotten your sea legs after all these years, eh, Dune m'boy? No worries. I was only fooling with ya. I know you ain't got no love for the sea like I do. 'Tis a shame, though." The Captain was back to his old self again, and he and Dune contentedly talked about old times until the first shift of the crew started silently entering the cafeteria in groups of two or three, the cooks eagerly serving them their well-deserved meal.
Seeing that it was time to get back to work, the Captain took leave of Dune and the cafeteria to return to the bridge. He left the cafeteria in a much better mood than when he had walked in, much to the relief of the crewman he passed on the way out. Dune, too, was in a much better mood, and he even felt like he could deal with being around Dr. Atma for just one more day. Dune got up and left the cafeteria as well, and as he walked past the infirmary once more, he heard Atma's greasy voice echoing from behind him. It seems the good doctor was now in.
"Dune! Where do you think you're going? Especially after what happened last night! You are still in no condition to be roaming the halls without doctor's supervision. I have to make sure you are perfectly capable for active duty before I give you a clean bill of health. That means one last exam before we reach Narsille, so turn around and get back in here!" It seemed Atma was in a rather foul mood after the events of the night as well, although it was hard to tell whether it was any worse than his usual demeanor. Dune had no choice but to follow the doctor's orders, and prepared himself for what would hopefully be his last day with him.
