FINAL FANTASY VII:

YOU DON'T HAVE TO WALK ALONE

CHAPTER TEN:

NEITHER BENEATH NOR BEYOND

Nothing I can do for you, my friend

Is beneath or beyond the bonds that bind us

From the easy beginning to the bitter end

Witnessed by the impartial sun and the knowing stars.

Two days later, the Pride of the Seas set sail, with various SOLDIERs leaning precariously off the railing and waving to their friends. Zack would have liked to see Aeris' smiling face amidst all the faces and cries of goodwill, but the military area was off-limits to civilians. He had managed to see Cloud, though, his yellow hair a bright beacon amidst all the blue and black uniforms, before he was swallowed up by the crowd. Zack hoped with all his heart that Cloud would be okay without him to keep the bullies at bay.

Soon, however, the chatter died off, and the soft whispering sounds of the wind and waves dominated the scene. Zack tilted his head backwards, staring at the sky, and hastily straightened as the ship rode a rough wave and sea spray, shockingly salty, fell on his face and lips. Most of the SOLDIERs had gone below deck—Zack had seen Akira flourishing a deck of cards—but the anti-social Kurst was still up there with him, though about five feet away, staring at the white-foamed waves with the same intensity he accorded to everything, and a SOLDIER from another squad—Evain Tenvell, he vaguely remembered— slumped against the railing asleep with a true soldier's ease; he didn't stir, even when the ship lurched again and he slumped forward even more.

Zack decided, then, to get to know his team mates better, though he had left it a bit late; after all, they were soon going to be fighting side by side, and it was always good to have someone whom you could trust at your back. He edged along the railing, carefully stepping around the slumbering Tenvell, and approached Kurst. The tall, tan SOLDIER shifted, sensing his presence, and turned black, deepset eyes on him. Other than that, he gave no acknowledgement of Zack's sudden company. It occurred to Zack that he had rarely heard Kurst speak, even in social gatherings; though he was usually present, it appeared he went there only to have a quiet drink, listen to the talk, and go home.

"Nice to see some blue sky for once, isn't it?" Zack remarked, indicating the sky with a flip of his head. It was a really nice day—the breeze was cool, the clouds were cotton-fluffy white, and the sunlight flashed off the silver glistening bodies of fish leaping in the wake of the ship.

"Yes," said Kurst, and it was the first time Zack had really listened to him, all grunts and noncommittal one-syllable words. His voice was deep and gravelly, running down into the bass range. "It is."

And that appeared to be it. Since this conversation was turning out, as usual, to be the sort that would only get anywhere with his more-than-active participation, Zack chattered on, "So, how long have you been a SOLDIER 1st? Akira's team seems pretty tight-knit; you guys move as though you've been bonded at the hip since childhood. I almost feel as though I'm an intruder."

"No," Kurst said, and his eyes shifted to Zack, oddly intent, with the strangest expression on his face. It looked like a cross between interest and resentment. "The General values you."

Zack could almost have laughed at that, if he hadn't felt suddenly uneasy, as though Kurst's assessment carried some deeper meaning he should be wary of. "The General values any good soldier who can walk and bear weapons," he said lightly to cover his tension. "Besides, I probably give him more lip than any other man under his command. I doubt there's any special significance in his value."

"You don't watch," Kurst intoned in his dead monotone. "I do. And so do others." He hesitated, as though realizing that he had exceeded than his daily quota of words, and wondering whether he should walk away. Zack hastily seized on the pause and Kurst's arm and asked, "What do you see?"

"You make him think," said Kurst reluctantly. "No one else has ever tried that before." He thought for a while and amended, "No one living."

"So?" Zack released Kurst's arm, inexplicably and abruptly annoyed. "What's the big deal about…being friendly, showing some camaraderie, that sort of thing? I mean…well, I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

"I am alone because I choose to," said Kurst. "Perhaps the General is not too different…in any case, there is much jealousy in the army, and there is some doubt over your promotion. People talk…and watch."

Zack had never heard Kurst say so much in one go before. Before he could hope he might be a positive influence on the man, Kurst continued, contemplatively, "You're different, Donovan. People don't like things that are different. But we do like and respect the General, and you…might be a threat."

"I respect the General too," Zack said, his annoyance intensifying. "I want what's best for him." But his insides squirmed uncomfortably as he spoke, and he could not look Hailo Kurst in the eye.

"Do you?" Kurst hunched down, turning his gaze back to the churning water. "I am alone because I choose to be so," he repeated. "What about the General? Did you think you alone were the first to offer more than the trust of a comrade?"

When the Pride docked at Junon some time later, Zack was still thinking about Kurst's words. Evain Tenvell had interrupted their engrossing conversation with his sudden awakening, and Kurst had reverted to his lamppost personality. After that Zack had spoken a little of home, and Kurst had revealed that his home was Junon and this was the first time he had been here since he'd left. But there would be no more confidences from Kurst; his final manner had made this very plain.

So…a threat, huh? Zack mused. That explained Akira's odd manner every time he'd ended up having a sort of heart-to-heart talk, or at least one-sided veiled threats, which was the sign that he'd touched some sort of nerve in the General. He realized then that he had overestimated Sephiroth's isolation—it wasn't that everyone shunned him, in fact, quite a number of his men did like him, for many of them had served with the General in the Wutai war. Trust that was forged with iron and blood and death was the hardest to break of all. He thought, too, of Cloud's unconditional adoration for the war hero he'd never met, and felt that he might understand a little. Sephiroth was a lofty ideal, the perfect soldier, the very embodiment of patriotism and courage and skill. To be like him was the idea attainment, and after that there could be nothing more to gain.

But Sephiroth shunned everyone instead. Cold, calculating individuals could still be admired, however, especially with that veneer of mystery that could never be pierced…but what if someone came along and upset that delicate equilibrium of comradeship and aloofness? Someone like him, in fact? Kurst had been trying to warn him that there might be others who would prefer to see Sephiroth remain perched on his unreachable pedestal and to bask in the light of his shared glory. Sephiroth was cold, but he treated everyone coldly, so that was okay. Equality for everyone, right? It was unthinkable for anyone to want more—that would mar the perfection, tip the balance…

"Damn the President," he whispered, understanding suddenly the sheer magnitude of his task. Aside from winning Sephiroth over, which was already in itself a feat of mighty proportions, he had to win his own comrades over. Comrades he was going to be fighting alongside with in a few days, and whom he only half-knew and half-trusted. They were going to regard him the same way, he knew. If there was going to be any reliable trust he could gain, it was in their first battle together…he swore in irritation and some fear, and got a look from Leonard Marling, who was fanning himself with his free hand; in the other he held a pike that was half again as tall as himself. "It's stinks even worse than before," he said bitterly, to Shale Turner, and spat on the ground.

Junon had indeed gotten worse—on the ground, anyway, where there were no training grounds or bases and thus no one that bothered, except the original inhabitants, who had no money or influence, and thus no voices. They lived in a sort of bewildered nightmare with no ending or escape, watching the not-old die in fits of coughing brought on by poisoned lungs, with a sort of helpless anger that was repressed by years of fear and silence. They said that once the beaches were as golden as Costa del Sol's, and the waves bluer, and the dolphins were so friendly you could wade right up to one and pat it on the nose. That was before the President of Midgar had thought it might be a strategic base, and built above it a fantastical technological monster-marvel of steel and teeth and awe, and the townspeople were left to wallow below in its fumes and waste, creating a sort of Midgar slum, version two. As the SOLDIERs filed through the dying town in silence, breathing as little of the burning air as possible, a little girl ran past them, her red dress a splotch of bright color against the gray—but Zack couldn't help but notice the thinness of her face and the dulled luster of her eyes, and bit back a feeling of irrational guilt.

Akira gripped his shoulder and gently steered him back in line with the rest of the group; he hadn't realized that he had been absently changing his path to mirror that of the girl's, as though to—what? Offer help? He shook the ludicrous notion out of his mind and got into the lift with Akira's crowd. It rose smoothly, bearing them away from the filth on the ground, and he got the sudden nonsensical notion that it was bearing them away from hell, and to the clean air and light up above. Akira began talking loudly about the Junon nightclubs, for Kurst and Marling were both standing together with gloomy expressions, closer briefly for the comfort of shared misery. I came from Junon, Kurst had said, and Zack knew that it must have the Junon Below, different enough from Above to warrant the capital letters.

The lift opened, and the SOLDIERs crowded out, glad to leave the cramped confines, and stepped onto the steel pavement. Akira led them to their designated locker room, while behind them the lift hut and ground its long journey back down for the next group of waiting SOLDIERs. "We'll be staying here for two nights, and for the Planet's sake DO NOT get plastered. Even if you have Mako-enhanced livers. During that time the Pride will be getting refuelled, the rest of the SOLDIERs will be getting into position and we'll be getting loads of fun new toys to try out, courtesy of the Science Department…"

There were some groans and cheers, and Turner piped out, "Will they do more damage to us or the enemy, sir?"

"Mostly the enemy," Akira said with a good-natured grin. "This is all I know for now, but I'll be getting more details at the briefing at, oh, right now." He sighed. "I'll have to get changed into that fancy dress uniform to impress the higher-ups, and the quartermaster has kindly supplied all of us platoon leaders with the required outfits, in case we 'forgot' them at home…"

There were groans of mock sympathy. SOLDIERs had military standards to conform to, and thus the dress uniform and field uniform were born. Field uniforms were fine. SOLDIERs, being largely invincible, had taken creative liberties with their armor, which was why Zack wore only one shoulder guard into battle because he thought it looked cooler, not because it made sense. If Sephiroth did it, his men didn't see why they couldn't—though of course the General wouldn't need armor, formidable as he was. The military higher-ups largely turned a blind eye to this because it improved morale, especially during battles where the lamest joke was celebrated as the biggest comical feat ever. There was no escaping the dress uniform though, especially since so much leeway had already been given to field attire. It was a stiff, starched thing, white with brass buttons and embroidery along the hem and cuffs. Akira gave them a mournful face and told them to return in three hours, if they were going to be leaving the barracks.

The four remaining SOLDIERs looked at each other as Akira left, walking stiffly, as though he had a bomb between his knees. "You've been to Junon before for training, right?" Marling asked Zack, setting his pike against the wall. "You must know the best place to hang out at."

Zack scratched his head. "If things haven't changed…"

Kurst shook his head. "Do what you like. I'm going Below." Without a further word, he made for the door and disappeared rapidly along the corridor. Turner watched with a puzzled face. "What's with that guy?"

"He says he came from Junon," Zack said.

"So do I, and I don't weep too many buckets over it," Marling said curtly. "Well?" It was a moment before Zack realized that he was dismissing Kurst and was returning to their previous topic.

"If you'll follow me…" he said.

Despite Akira's instructions, Marling was soon drinking amounts that could probably kill a baby whale. Zack was impressed by his ability to remain upright and coherent, showing no signs of drunkenness other than a slight slurring of the speech. Turner caught Zack's eye and grinned apologetically. "Leonard has many things to forget about," he said by way of explanation.

"Yeah," Marling said, his previous impassiveness turning into an almost comical gloom. He stared into the bottom of his empty glass as though it was the end of the world, and Turner gently took it away and refilled it. "'Rything's gone to pot. Nothing left but bars." He took a long swig that must have burnt his throat like hell, but he did not seem to feel it.

"You know, Akira said—" Zack began, feeling a little like a partypooper. But he didn't want Marling to get into trouble. The man just snorted. "No right to tell me what to do," he said sulkily, prodding at his glass with a long finger. "Only been leader for, for less than two months. No history."

"That short?" Zack said, surprised. "He seems like he's been in that post forever."

"He's really friendly," Turner said, reaching for the bottle. "Our last leader died in an accident, so Akira showed up to replace him, and once we got to know Akira it was fine. We SOLDIERs know how to work together, right, Leonard? But yeah, he only joined us two weeks before you arrived."

There was a brief pause filled by a low hum as Marling absently ran his wet finger around the rim of his glass, eyes unfocused. Turner was watching his friend with a look of concern; that expression looked as though it had long ago been welded onto his face. "I think that's enough," he said firmly, pushing the bottle to the other side of the table. Marling only made a faint "Huh" sound of protest, but made no move to reclaim his alcohol.

"I wonder why Sephiroth couldn't come with us," Zack muttered, looking around. His enhanced eyes pierced the darkness easily, and he could see several faintly recognizable faces scattered here and there. He'd just taken one step nearer to the strange General, and he was afraid that time might eradicate his progress.

"He was ordered not to." Marling sat up straight, ignoring Turner's eye roll and murmur of "Here he goes again…"

"What?" Zack raised an eyebrow. "ShinRa's greatest SOLDIER, and they won't send him out? He'll decimate the Condors!"

"Spot on," Marling declared. "But the government is in so much shit that it's up to their necks, and they don't want any complaints. Then, conveniently, there's this little rebellion over there at Salient which they can point their fingers at and say, "There's the guy that's causing all the problems!" It needs to look good! It needs a reason for us." He pointed at himself.

Turner put his head into his hands. "If you must pontificate, please lower your voice, Leonard," he groaned.

Marling ignored this. "The wars are over! Shinra's at the top of the world! Why need Mako-enhanced SOLDIERs! Thank you, Fort Condor, for stepping up. So no pressure in two days' time, folks. It's fine to win, it's better to lose. That's why the General can't come."

"The General is a symbol of hope to the people of Midgar," Turner said, strain in his voice. "The ShinRa government is being overcautious, that's all, they think they might lose him."

"He's a SOLDIER, like the rest of us," Marling said to the table, drawing smudgy pictures on the battered wood with his finger. "A bullet wound's just a scratch."

"Please, watch your tongue," Turner pleaded, and Zack thought that there was more than concern in his voice; there was also fear. "The walls have ears, and, you don't want…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Life is too long," Marling said, and was asleep almost before he finished the sentence, his head hitting the table and knocking over the empty glass. Turner gave Zack a little helpless smile, and together the two of them hauled him out bodily through the street. The bartender did not do much more than raise an eyebrow as they staggered past with their burden.

Akira was far from pleased when he came back from the briefing and found Marling knocked out. "That joker, and whoever didn't stop him, will get janitor duty when we get back to Midgar," he growled, and Turner and Zack looked at each other sheepishly. "Alright, someone will just have to tell him what's going on later, I want this to sink into your brains."

"Okay, so far over the last week SOLDIERs have been ferried, sometimes secretly, all over the continent…there're currently about thirty SOLDIERs, 1st Class, positioned in Junon. I don't know where the rest are, and I don't want to know. Each platoon leader only knows what his team is going to do, so that if spies get wind of it, they won't be ambushing every single one of us. We'll be going this together with Frey Hassway's group."

"We'll be escorting a high-level officer to Mideel to discuss the plans for building a reactor there with the mayor. This has happened before, since there really is something in the works, but obviously this time it's just a ruse. The officer in question is Karl Veheim, the General's aide, so he had better not be killed." This was in response to gasps at the mention of Veheim's name.

"The usual route that the entourage takes is almost due east, along the Mythril Mine, and on to the port city of Salient. Their ships still take us to Mideel, as long as we pay good coin. The rest of the route doesn't concern us, so I won't discuss that. What will happen is that as we approach Fort Condor we'll slow down, since one of us will have broken his leg during a fight with a monster. But we'll continue moving, since the Condors have the advantage of height and they'll find it suspicious of we linger too long on enemy land. Then when the signal comes we'll drop everything—except our weapons—and charge like heck."

"Er," a SOLDIER from the other group said. "Won't we be shot down when we do that?"

"The signal is also a distraction," Akira said. "One of the primary objectives of the mission, though unofficial, is to kill the giant condors. This does not concern us, but the aerial attack will be doing their best to finish off the condors, the fort will try to protect them…and we'll be swarming up from the ground. Thanks to Scarlet, we now have the world's first stealth machine…the first shot fired will be the signal."

He snapped his file shut, and looked around the room, searchingly. "Any more questions?" When no one felt compelled to raise their hands, his face cleared and he smiled. "There you go. If you have any comments to relay to me in private, you have my PHS number. Get some sleep, now. And please, if any of you get drunk I'll have to ban you from leaving the barracks, and I'm sure you don't want that. Good night!"

(end Chapter Ten)

A Word From the Author: 23/9/07: What's this? Ten months already? Argh!!! Ten months, and I only start writing now, in the middle of my final exams. It's funny—suddenly I started writing and planning last night, and now I more or less have the story planned out. Oh well, as the Patrician said, if you want something done, you'll have to give it to someone who's busy (and who doesn't want to do what she's doing currently). Anyway, thanks to y'all for your reviews and for making me feel wanted, thanks to Square Enix for Crisis Core, which I suspect had some motivating factor in reminding me of FFVII's existence, though I probably won't be getting a PSP, much less CC, any time this century. :weeps: Thanks also to XD for that CC game blog, which helped me love Zack again. Hope to be writing the Word for Chapter 11 soon! See ya!

Next: CHAPTER ELEVEN: FLIGHT OF THE CONDOR

Yours, T. Axile.