Chapter Ten
A Year Later
Noel Kriess let the water of the shower roll over his tired body, which had gathered a great deal of dust and sweat from the practice rounds of self defense in the practice areas which were set outside today.
"Hey, pretty boy! You gonna give me that necklace if I win tomorrow?" the voice was sultry with a clear mountain people accent, making him smile briefly; Mayatris was always flirting with him, which he didn't mind, as it was usually just her way of being competitive; she was one of the best hand to hand fighters in her unit and was bucking for a promotion besides; so anything she said was taken with a grain of sand.
"When you get your own command, we'll see about that duel, Maya!" He shot back; he felt for the necklace unconsciously, feeling the little lightning bolt superstitiously; he remembered how he got it, then laughed at himself at the memory of the day he had disgustedly tried to sell it to make trip money to the Guardian Corps boot camp. He had practically thrown it down, despising it, as it brought back his ridiculous one sided love affair with Serah Farron and her sister's outrageous offer the next day, after dragging her into the mess by basting her half the night, ok, all night after crying on her shoulder. The jeweler's hands had trembled and he wondered if he'd made a mistake – maybe Lightning had reported it stolen? But no, the database was clean. The jeweler had refused the sale; angrily he'd demanded why, it was gold, was there something wrong with selling it? The jeweler shook his head, then calmly replied he didn't have enough money in his bank account to cover the price of the metal. It was iridium, not gold. The gemstones were sun's eyes, the most coveted jewel on the planet, SV-III in quality. He simply didn't have enough money to buy it. Shocked, Noel stood there as the realization he had been wearing the price of ship around his neck sank in; he simply blurted out in confusion: how could a girl like that get a necklace like this? The jeweler laughed and said she was either of the Imperate house, or was Etro herself in disguise! Then he kindly recommended his friend down the row who dealt in iridium. Noel ended up with a loan for a ticket from the jeweler, whom was sent more than a few commissions later, when he could afford to buy precious metal jewelry.
He slowly dried off in the locker room, tuning out the noise and chaffering until it got really noisy, then he automatically yelled " Lower your voices, ladies & gentleman!" with the bored air of sergeant, the rank they gave all weapons masters. His was the sword and he trained them all well, which gave him some purpose in life after his last case as a personal bodyguard. Maybe he'd take it up again after he got out of the corps. The Fal'Cie could find him anywhere in the universe when they deemed him fit to return to the upper city in their oblique logic.
"…but I hear there's one real looker coming on board tomorrow! I hear she's quite the expert in the gun saber and tough as nails! The director of the Academy has his eye on her for his personal corps, maybe even the Imperate guard, or so I hear, so you better watch where you place those dirty paws, sirrah!"
" Oh? How about I place them here, you like that, eh?"
" Ohhh! now I'll have to stuff you in that locker, it took me a half hour to press that shirt, damn it all!"
"Hey Sarge! Will we get to chew into the new unit tomorrow? I'm aching for a new ring partner! Maya is getting predictable!"
"I'll see what I can do! But stay away from the lookers, will you? They will get you killed in fight, you're always looking at them instead of your enemy! Better an ugly one who can fight, than a beauty who'll let you fight for them!"
"Yessir!" a chorus shot back at him; various comments were made about the prettiness of the sergeant's face and offers were made to make it less so, growling that they couldn't get a woman for love nor money when he was out with them off duty. He laughed and shooed them out, walking back to his room well satisfied with the day…the last one he was to enjoy for many days afterwards.
The new unit piled in early, a full complement of 48, which excited the base, as they were special Ops trainees; most were highly placed in society, sons and daughters of the Imperate house or spectacularly talented in some area deemed necessary to the defense of the corps. Noel shrugged, somewhat indifferent, as all trainees had to learn to work as one; only a select few could handle the specialized training to be the army of one. His eye ran down the list of names on computer screen tablet; his eye fell on Farron & his breath caught, but relieved, he saw the name Claire, not Lightning, or Serah. He doubted Serah had the sand to complete a Corps bootcamp, but knew Lightning had plenty of sand in her shoes; he remembered a rather energetic dunking of a patron foolish enough to touch her, then her steadfast courage in facing down the Fal'Cie Barthandeus without cringing in terror; her totally insane, totally inappropriate offer bubbled up again from memory, making his stomach twist, then sigh in regret; he touched the necklace again, watching the golden stones refract in a tiny explosion of colors that was always a bit unexpected; it just didn't fit – the necklace was far too valuable for a mere bar girl to own; her manner, her stance, her entire being radiated an unconscious sharpness, an attitude of leadership…almost regal manner in her bearing, so out of place for someone living in the lower strata of society. He had puzzled over it, theories that she was Fal'Cie born on the wrong side of the cradle or a fallen angel from grace; or was a part of the serving class, or even had a Fal'Cie lover – she was certainly beautiful enough to attract the eyes of House Imperate. He threw it all at Hope, but nothing quite fit perfectly back then; there were too many missing pieces of evidence.
He sighed and told himself to forget it, it was not for him to know. He recalled he had gone back to the little temporary tin can of a home that night, intending to apologize for his rude refusal and beg for a couch to sleep on, as he had nothing left but his swords, he had cleaned out his bank account buying her. Everything else he owned was back across the desert and would take weeks to get. Noel berated himself for breaking his people's law of hospitality; a guest never outright refused the host, nor did it sit well that they'd been intimate and she'd had the courtesy to offer for him the very next day. She had been quite sincere, but Etro! He was a purebred, his line went back 5 centuries, he was janissary the highest caste on both sides of the cradle. There was a right time, right place and right person for all things, but would Etro guide him to this? A bar girl with the baddest reputation in the most notorious dive of Oldtown? Were the gods crazy?
He walked into an empty dark house, and sat there, wondering if she'd come back. He fell asleep in her bed, holding the pillow, breathing in her scent, calming himself as he made it through his second night without Serah in his broken heart. The dawn brought no Lightning; he kicked his heels at her place, nervously drinking the tea he'd made for them both until he realized he'd insulted a woman that had connections despite not being Fal'Cie, and she just might be somewhat irritated at his blunt assessment of her place in life. So he packed some food & took whatever change he could find & started walking. Eventually a Corps recruiter took pity on him two train stops away, and let him sleep on his couch. The next day, he'd signed up and never looked back.
The practice rings were lively that afternoon as new contacts were made, and new patterns of attack and defense were introduced by the new trainees; true to the rumor, there were lookers, talented lookers at that, pleasantly exciting to the more experienced corps in training. Everyone was in awe of a lovely dark haired girl, a daughter of a senator with a sweet face but a deadly skill in gunsaber already; she'd been trained since she was 12 with it by her own mother, who had wisely feared assassins; Noel was tempted to fight a round with her, and ran into the ring with Maya; the girl was swift, calm and nearly fearless, having learned the lesson of trusting her weapon. She nearly took his own head off, after she demonstrated a clever move, dropping to her knees and moving on them as strikes whistled above her head, leaving her free to riposte under the arm of her opponent. He was caught himself, then after the practice ended and they all made their bow, he caught up with Djanel and asked about the move. She smiled, bowed again and told him in the second form of polite address to non-Imperate whom were to be respected: "Oh, thank you Sergeant Kreiss! My mother trained me, but the drop move is actually Trainee Claire Farron's. You should ask her – she makes me look like a total amateur with a gunsaber, especially in tight corners. She's just right over…well! I guess she's already in the showers! I don't see where she went to! Shall I tell her you want to see her?"
"No, Trainee Djanel. I'll catch up with her later. I am sure she'll be in the ring soon."
"Oh, she already was! You didn't see her?"
Puzzled, he stared after the mass of retreating trainees, wondering why he didn't catch a superbly talented trainee like Djanel when he eyed the fights over. He shrugged and ran to catch up to Maya for her report of the trainees. He reviewed the recorded tapes later that night, idly looking for talent, but again puzzled he didn't find anyone like Djanel with the gunsaber. The name Farron came up to haunt him again, and he switched the display to full color, scanning for a head of pink strawberry ice in an outrageous expensive asymmetrical cut; there was no such tint on anyone's head, but an interesting shade of blue on one young man's pate, whom he decided to make an example of tomorrow. Blue was too easy to pick out in a desert landscape. He'd have too much fun.
Lightning kept her head down, and swiftly walked off the practice ring; she'd taken the greatest of care to not draw attention to herself, even playing down her skills on a day when she should be playing them up to get the coveted positions in the ranks. She didn't live for glory, she simply lived. She rejoined the Corps after several heartfelt conversations with Hope, who gambled on her talent and won handsomely; he had made sure her dossier was seen by the Academy, as well as the high court; she was being groomed for her proper role now. He was proud of her hard work and acceptance of her true self, her family line; it was only a matter of time before she'd explode on the scene of Academia; he held no hope for any deep romance with her, despite the fact that he knew her heart better than anyone else alive, but he simply didn't feel that spark of passion for her. It was all burnt away when Vanille died in the purge.
She, in turn, gave him all her loyalty in return for the favor of holding her through not one, but two long sunsets in her life; she prayed she could make it through this month of training without having to confront sergeant weapons master swordsman first class Noel Kriess. It was a big place, there were plenty of places she could hide, plus she had Hope's number to get her out quick. She had sent a text back once she had found out Noel was in the Corps; Hope had shot back: Do you want out now before it gets messy? She had replied: Not yet. I am now an iridium rat, LOL! Plenty of rat holes here. Let's see if I survive a week. I'll text if I get in a jam…love you Hope. CYA.
The next morning was good, they were out in the field to practice; she groaned as she saw one of the boys on the team she was on had a head of intense blue hair; she grabbed him & hastily jerked him down, then furiously dumped sand & dirt on it to dull the tint, which stood out like a flag against the tans and duns of the desert landscape. She ended up tying a piece of his undershirt over his head, which worked well. They finished the exercise without getting totally incinerated; Noel was intrigued the trainee had the presence of mind to disguise his hair and called him forward to make an example of him, but in a better way than he had originally planned: "Now, look everyone ! Here is what I am talking about! Adapt to your environment! Take a second to adjust yourself to the landscape, it will save your life! Great job, trainee Eldous. Fall back now."
"Uh, sir? It was really Trainee Claire's idea…I – I mean Trainee Farron, sir!" noting Noel's frown at the inappropriate mention of a first name.
"Trainee Farron? Step forward to be recognized!" Silence. Noel frowned again, his blue eyes beginning to harden: "Trainee Farron! I said STEP FORWARD!" Silence.
"Uh, sir? I think she may be back up on the cliffside sir – look behind you. I don't think she can hear you, sir." Noel squinted his eyes against the sun and saw a slim white haired figure climbing down a good 400 yards away, idly flipping through space with a lean grace when she reached the last boulder, then running to catch up to the other group of trainees leaving the field. He shrugged and said to himself, I'll catch her at the mess hall tonight.
Again, he was disappointed, and multiple times afterwards. Trainee Farron had already eaten and was in the field with the hand to hand combat master's group; Trainee Farron had already been up at dawn and was running her 3 miles for warmup; Trainee Farron was still in the field with a team, looking for trainee Emado's lost gunsaber; she was everywhere but in his sight. He almost dropped it, thinking he simply was just obsessing over the name, or just had an overzealous trainee in the ranks; but a comment overheard gave him pause; then he decided he was going to nail trainee Farron down one way or another. He had overheard Maya flirting with Emado, a gorgeous young man with skin like yellow satin, his warm brown eyes set at an intriguing slant with a ready smile And an even readier gunsaber. "…Oh? Aren't you and Sarge Kriess an item? "
"Why no, Emado, how could you say that? I give him crap, because he's so walled off from everyone; I think there's a heartbreak there and he has yet to talk to anyone about it! I don't like breaking hearts at all, I am always about the romance, Emado!" Oh Etro, you lying jade! Noel thought as he rolled his eyes. He'd narrowly missed being coupled with Maya more than once, and the idea just didn't appeal. He was a nomad, he was used to being alone for long periods of time; only what totally suited him, what was the best would do for him, but the best he'd already tasted, then thrown away so long ago…
" Well that makes two of a kind, Maya! I think Claire is a broken heart also; I think she avoids us all because it's still fresh….but I can see you breaking more than a few hearts with that smile! Watcha doing Friday night? Get rid of Kriess and I'll make sure you get treated like a lady!"
"Oh, I will! By the way, He's been looking for Farron and getting more pissed off by the day; she's shown some talent and the Corps wants talent, you know! Tell her so she doesn't end up disciplined!"
"Oh Etro, is she talented! I think she' either an Imperate incognito, or she just doesn't like Kriess. She just simply melts into the scenery the second Kriess is in scope. Those royals are a touchy lot, you know. He's nomad blood, isn't he? Maybe the two are fire &ice when they meet, never the two shall see eye to eye, ya know? I hear they get punished for speaking to a lesser class in anything but the second form of polite address! Maybe she's just being polite by avoiding a fight!"
"I hear you – It is easier to avoid a fight than try and fight one! I don't blame her – I sure as hell wouldn't want to get in a fight with Kriess! He scares the Chaos out of me with the way he moves – he's silent as a shadow! I'd be down with a slit throat before you could say bless me Etro! By the way, is dinner in the plan for Friday night?"
"Wear a dress, and see!"
Hmm…Friday night it is, Noel smiled to himself. Perfect for a little night Ops: Project – who is Trainee Claire Farron? He pretended to let it go, and went about as normal, but always kept a corner of his eye alert for peripheral movement; any good hunter knows prey will just stay out of the line of sight to avoid being seen. And he was all about the prey this week.
He carefully looked up her dossier, hoping to get an image from her induction day, but got nailed with a security restriction code. He flirted with the records clerk, even though he didn't like men, but only got a single screenshot of an Academian assessment summary of her fighting techniques and magic abilities. Next, he quietly ordered the trainees to be taped, and had the tapes dropped on his desk every night; he spent his off hours scanning for a white haired slim figure; he caught glimpses of her back entering the showers, her face distorted by the spray of water and steam; a slim hand on Djanel's arm while walking down the hallway to practice was caught, but it looked like any other lady's hand, no scars, no tattoos, no piercings, nails cut short. It wasn't until he saw the practice fight tapes in the arenas that he got a sense of what she was: silver white hair, the face de-pixellated and blurred from the distance the camera was set at, but obviously slim , seemingly aristocratic , a delicate turn of elegance in her bearing; but in watching her slim body moving in action was when he did get a real feel for her – by Etro, she was a talent, she was utterly ruthless, precise, clean, and could move her body with a fluidity of a dancer, she used anything & everything to gain advantage or leverage, uncluttered by emotion or preconceptions of what war was like. She understood the true precept of war: she was a killing machine, she was created, trained to destroy. And how he respected that.
He was looking at the match to his own skills, his own Etro to his Odin. The hunter in him flowed hot with desire and he hurried to push the cammed tapes forward, breathless, eager. He became even more puzzled when the sparring was underway in the common practice ring; she deliberately avoided certain moves, pretended strikes hurt her more than they did, even acting out scenes where she fell or pretended she was clumsy, just like a skilled comedian in a play, or a stunt man. Then it hit him: She was hiding what she was deliberately. The only reason she could have was clear; Trainee Claire Farron was a spy. Maybe she was PSICorp, an enemy; at best, a mole for a corporation or the Imperate. Maybe even a ghoul for a Fal'Cie. He broke into a sweat at the thought. Then he began to plan, so very carefully, not leaving the smallest detail to chance. Then he hit the comm signal for his team.
Friday night came and Claire was relieved she had avoided Noel for the entire week. It couldn't last forever, but she hoped she'd be out of the camp before he could do something once he found out Trainee Claire Farron was a, um…lightning bolt from his past. She sent texts to Hope every night to keep her spirits from flagging. He would end every one by saying: everything has a way of working out, just let it. She waited until everyone had left on leave to the various roadside cantinas and off duty pleasures, and the lights were turned down; she decided to take a turn in the practice arena with an automated program, then maybe sneak to the back door of the nearest cantina to get a steak; Corps food was good, but the idea of a steak was irresistible. She swung her gunsaber up over her shoulder and began to trot into the empty practice arena ring; she stopped suddenly as lights blazed on, blinding her; she instinctively dropped, pulling her weapon into position.
No one attacked & she looked up to find her enemy; at first she thought maybe she'd just triggered something by accident. But no, it was a trap. The benches were filled with the entire crew of trainees, all looking at her with hard suspicious faces, even Emado. A lone figure walked out into the ring and simply gestured for her to come forward. She stayed where she was. Always let the enemy come to you.
Sargeant Noel Kriess' deep tenor spoke lightly, despite the nastiness of the subject: "Trainee Claire Farron, so there you are. I've been looking for you high & low all week. I wondered why such a trainee was hiding her light, instead of trying to outshine everyone with her obvious talent. So tell me, how is it we meet on this night, instead of in a training field…got something to hide? "
She immediately knew what he thought: Traitor. He didn't know it was just her face she was hiding, he thought it was secrets. Damn it all, why didn't you just go to command, Noel? A photo would have explained it all, then we could have both become rats in the woodwork and avoided each other. She thumbed the cell in her pocket with the single button code to Hope that said: Get me out, like yesterday. My cover is blown. She prayed it wouldn't be blocked and simply waited.
Noel frowned, as this was not typical mole or spy behavior. Any traitor would be trying to prove she was harmless, she was who she was. This one simply stood her ground and didn't give an inch. She must know her game is up; I should just arrest her & be done with it. But she might be impossible to take without killing her, if her mission is that important. But I'll try.
He drew his own gunsaber, and immediately the group in the benches drew theirs and pointed at the lone figure in Corps trainee duns. She ever so slowly drew her own gunsaber off her shoulders and even more slowly set it on the ground; Noel barked, the whiplash of command in his voice: "Hands up & on your head." He slowly walked forward to see what all the fuss was about; a lovely face came into view, silver haired, a slim elegant figure; the pointed little cat chin stood firm without a quiver; the hair was no longer ice pink, but milk white strands that fell in long soft spikes, an outrageous expensive asymmetrical cut grown out for a year; the eyes finally looked up at him, a shade of crystal aqua blue azure he thought he'd never see again in his life. As he stood there stunned, gazing at the face of one Lightning Farron, she demurely cast her lids down and sweetly commented: " Nice gunsaber."
Then everything went to shite for Noel; he fell for it and had looked at the weapon, eyes off of her for a bare two seconds; in that two seconds she had grabbed the saber, and shoved the hilt into his throat, knocking the breath out of him; she expertly twirled it from his grip & pointed at him, the point breaking his skin, a thin line of red trickling from the slight puncture wound down his neck into his shirt.
"Well. Now you know. Are you going to call off the dogs, or are you going to let them tear me to bits? It may not fly you know, if it turns out I was just a baste from your past you didn't fancy." She was sure her words carried to the first rows, & hoped weapons would be lowered in doubt.
" I wouldn't baste you even if you were the last woman on this planet, Lightning Farron;…all Farrons are faithless whores." His voice shook, visibly enraged, and just itching to get his hands on his own gunsaber again.
"I don't know anyone named Lightning, Sergeant Kriess. I am just Trainee Claire Farron. " She let her stare become icy, then rather pissed herself, she spoke mockingly, as if she were a socialite recalling a chance meeting during an afternoon tea. "Oh, yes…wait…I remember. There was a Lightning I met, a foolish creature, I recall… a Valkrie of the infamous Valhalla who tried to save someone . She died. What were those words she said before I killed her? So many people die every day, don't they? Oh yes, I recall it now: She asked to remember what she said as she died: Please. Let me die. I offered all I had to someone but I had no skills, no connections, no breeding, no inheritance. Never forget that. It's all I have of him."
Noel blanched, his face sickly under the lights as he remembered it all: Serah, Snow, Lightning carrying him out of Valhalla, an explosive night of passion and nuclear bomb of an argument afterwards. He grew angrier by the minute, then burst out: "Lightning's dead!? Weelll. I see a bit of an imbalance here…Claire!" he sarcastically whipped back at her.
The trainees in the first row suddenly got it; one had remembered Valhalla in Academia, and had remembered the ungodly sexy notorious Lightning, the Valkyrie. The word spread like wildfire through the arena that the woman was her - There had been a huge outcry at first, she had been the city's scandal and secret delight for an entire 6 weeks in the gossip columns and blogs, then it had been hushed up just as suddenly. They assumed she'd been silenced by the imperate or the crime lords…and here she was, staring down a weapons master like he was a worthless worm….and with how red his face was, it looked like Kriess knew who she was! Relieved and immensely interested, they started to put up their weapons , then sat down to enjoy the fireworks in the arena. It promised to be a humdinger of a fight, a legend in the making; Emado started taking bets, and soon everyone was a messy crowd replete with tobacco, loud horseplay, liquor and noise.
Lightning never looked more innocent as she sweetly, sarcastically replied with the classic taunt in the ancient language of war: "Molon Labe.1"
Noel dove for the dropped gunsaber & they were at it like two desert wildcats in a trice; he wished he'd had his own gunsaber, but anything would do. It was a well matched fight, and soon the gunsabers were thrown aside as the fight devolved into an all-out brawl; Lightning had a wicked right hook, but Noel had a stronger arm & nearly had her pinned more than once; but that is where Lightning shone; she was more flexible than Noel, and got away more than once by simply bending with the flow of energy; she landed a good kick once, dropping him in the dust; he laid her out with a nasty desert boy's throw, not taught in any class of his. She gasped as she went flying several feet and skidded in the dust, scraped all the way down one arm; it began to bleed, staining the dirt on her arm nearly black; it began to seem like cruelty now, her eyes hunted and sparking with pain. But he never gave up, he wanted to grind her down into the ground and walk away, his pride demanded it.
But she refused to go down; she kept up a solid defense, even after a second throw into the wall that had obviously taken the breath out of her; she turned her head and spat, but no one noticed the blood mixed in with the saliva as the greedy dust sucked it in the arena floor. She became more cautious of Noel's long reach after that; he in turn became a bit more careless, then found himself tumbling to the ground, her legs sweeping his in a clever dive; he thought he had her when they rolled together, wrestling for a hold; his legs had wrapped around her neck, but he let go with a strangled yelp as teeth sank in a tender inner thigh; she twisted the leg hard, scrambled to her feet and applied pressure, flooding his leg with mind-numbing pain; he sank his hands in the dirt of the arena floor and pulled himself forward by brute strength, muscles in his back rippling, to release the pressure; she in turn, viciously grasped the ankle with both hands , twisted it hard until he screamed and started to drag him forward a good 12 feet, then dropped him like he was nothing, reaching for a gunsaber as he writhed helplessly in the dirt, trying to regain his stance with one limping leg. She actually had the gunsaber in her hands as he attacked; he furiously yanked at her wrists trying to shake her grip loose of the weapon, but again, she hung on, her head snapping back & forth with the force as he dragged her back to the center of the arena to finish her off one way or another; it was no longer an officer disciplining a trainee, it was personal. The arena was a strained silence, the trainees now frightened, beginning to murmur protests, but all was stopped as the doors crashed open and the commander of the base strode through bellowing: "HOLD!" at the top of his lungs.
"Stand down! Stand DOWN! Both of you! At once! Kriess, don't make me repeat myself!"
Noel abruptly let go and let Lightning drop to the ground; she lay there stunned for a moment, then slowly rolled to her feet, swaying and using the gunsaber for support to keep her upright. Security Corps surrounded the pair and marched them off; a second sergeant at arms stayed to bark orders at the trainees and berate them for not stopping the fight. Reports were gathered and delivered to the commander's office within the hour.
1 Molon Labe: Greek μολὼν λαβέ; means "Come and take". It is a classical expression of defiance reportedly spoken by King Leonidas I in response to the Persian army's demand that the Spartans surrender their weapons at the Battle of Thermopylae.