ATmac05: It's been a long time coming! As most of the last few chapter updates have been. I've been so busy with school, that I really feel compelled to finish only once I truly have a little downtime. However, as I have said, I will not abandon this story. And there is only one more chapter left until its completion, which I can promise will be coming very very soon, it will be short. As always, I appreciate those of you (if there are any of you left) who've kept up with the story over these years. And I sincerely appreciate the new readers as well. If you are happening upon this story, I would truly appreciate your review. Even if it is just a short word to let me know that you liked it. As a writer, I appreciate all criticisms, extensive or brief—as long as they are constructive. That being said. Enjoy. A very action packed chapter awaits you.
A Pleasant Lie: Chapter Eleven
Family Politics: Stealth and Closure
With the magnitude of determination and the brevity of revitalization, a new day began. Ffamran mied Bunansa had decisively deemed himself Balthier, evidence of his newfound resilience. His mother's death had exposed his childishness, an adolescent complacency with privilege and irresponsibility. The new name brought him a new awareness and a new sense of purpose. He, dare he admit it, was growing up. And if the new name wasn't enough, his new ensemble said it all. The ivory-colored silk tunic coaxing his torso said that he had the finesse of an adult fully come into himself. The bisque leather vest about his chest held the ethos of resilience. Dexterity and relentless flexibility, said the tightly fitting black pants about his slender legs, and the golden greaves—well, those just said vanity. But he was about to unravel whatever transgressions his father was committing in that damned laboratory of his, and if he didn't do it with a hint of vanity, then he wouldn't be Balthier.
Fran entered his room, an occurrence that interrupted his musings in front of the mirror. He noticed that she was re-fitted in the black armor he had originally met her in, albeit a newer version. It was sleek and refined. The new armor accented much of her legs as well as her torso. Its new design screamed of Archadian innovation, and it was accompanied with new headgear as well.
"You look stunning, Fran." He allowed himself to be forward.
Her eyes climbed from his feet to his head, not a far journey due to her height. "You look…indulgent." She quipped with a characteristic lisp.
"Indulgence is my middle name, Ms. Fran."
A welcome disposition in contrast to the saddened Balthier she had just seen the day prior. Fran wondered if Balthier truly had the willpower to be so boastful and confident so soon after his mother's death. She too had lost a mother, and it had taken her years to come to terms with it. Losing her best friend Relj was no less difficult, and she had not passed away, merely departed. Perhaps, Fran thought, Humes were not the feeble creatures she had grown to conceptualize. Misguided. Yes. Immature. Certainly. Imperfect. Definitely. But they were strong creatures, able to subsist with so few natural defenses. And they dominated the world. No doubt about it.
"So let's think about this." Balthier began. "You said that my father requested that my mother's body be sent to his laboratory?"
Fran nodded.
"At our previous visit, you felt the presence of Death, you said?" Another nod. Fran had taken a seat on Balthier's bed. "This leaves us with quite the quandary. My dear daddy is most certainly not the most humanitarian of sorts, but his work is not a mystery, certainly not diabolical, unless you harbor a particular abhorrence for materials engineering."
Fran thought of the Vieran Elders. "Sometimes that which we assume to understand is that which is most diabolical," she said. Balthier noticed the quiver full of arrows, and the bow attached to her back.
"I agree." He replied. "Well, this leaves us no choice. We have to find out what my father would need with a dead body."
#####
Durman drove uneasily. As Balthier's personal attendant and dedicated driver, he generally had a good sense of when he was driving his master into confrontation. The destination was no less disconcerting. Precedent had shown that the Draklor Laboratories was not a place one frequented when seeking a pleasurable sightseeing voyage. He ventured to pick his young master's brain as he drove through the city streets.
"Master Ffamran." Durman peeked through the vehicle mirror. He saw an intense concentration in the young boy's brow, and the immovable and yet beautiful stoicism of the Viera's visage. The two sat in the backseat, both looking out at their respective windows.
"Yes, Durman?"
"May I ask…?"
"No."
The elder stammered, already sensing his defeat. "Will you be needing a ride back?"
"Beats me, Durman. You'll be alerted if the necessity arises. Also, forgive my reticence, but I'm not receptive to questions at the moment."
Code for shut the hell up. Durman figured. "Well, young master, if you will permit me to comment rather than question? I must say that your mother always trusted me with the responsibility of your safety."
"I know, Durman."
"That being said, with her untimely passing I find that taking care of you is not only my duty as a servant, but a way of paying homage to Mistress Bunansa."
"Of course." Balthier replied nonchalantly, though he was appreciating his faithful servant's words.
"Therefore sir, I caution you, as well as assert-that you better not die." Durman uttered that last line with a nuance that extended beyond servant and hinged on imperative. Balthier felt the weight of his servant's words, and with a respect that he always maintained though never quite expressed, he replied:
"Yes sir."
Archadia was alight with the news of Alvaria mied Bunansa's death. Citizens of all classes were quite intrigued when they discovered that wealth, indeed, was not invincible. Balthier could see hoards of people crowding around newspaper stands and tabloid salesmen, thirsty for the salacious events of the previous day. LADY BUNANSA OF HOUSE SOLIDOR COMMITS SUICIDE. WIFE TO FAMED ENGINNER FOUND DEAD. DECADENCE OF ARISTOCRACY SURMOUNTS: ALVARIA MIED BUNANSA MEETS FATAL END.
"It's maddening," Balthier uttered. Fran turned towards him, "to think of what my mother's legacy will be in the minds of the masses. Merely a member of House Solidor, or just the 'wife of a famed engineer,' or 'decadent.' Is this what she will leave this world remembered as?"
Fran looked briefly at Bathier before turning her gaze forward. "You are your mother's legacy." She said. "Not this."
"Ha! I shudder to think what the headlines about my death will read."
Fran said nothing, silently musing on the peculiar ways in which Humes dealt with death.
"Draklor Laboratory." Durman sang as the vehicle left the winding backroads of Archadia and entered the menacing compound. A bronze hue seemed to pierce the air as the hovering automobile lowered itself to the ground and Fran and Balthier removed themselves from the car. Again, the outside of the gargantuan building was riddled with Bangaas and Seeq carrying large steel bars, wood, coal, and other materials undoubtedly geared towards construction. Scaffolding riddled the outside of the building, obstructing Durman's car from view to all but the most idle. Thankfully, the workers were much too busy with their own doings to notice the young lad and the Viera say their goodbyes to Durman.
"I do not know what you are trying to accomplish by returning to this place, but I wish you good luck in your endeavors, Master Ffamran. Please do be careful."
"Durman, I'm going to my own father's laboratory. You need not be so frightened."
"My dear boy, you've had the displeasure of dealing with Dr. Cidolfus for only 17 years, I've known him for much longer. I have reason to fear when I suspect you're entering his domain uninvited." He turned toward Fran, whose height just escaped him. "Master Ffamran has taken quite the liking to you. As a new companion of his, can I trust you to keep him safe?"
Fran nodded, she quite liked Durman. "My people have a saying, 'my wind is carrying her wings.' You needn't worry."
Durman sheepishly smiled, and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Well then. Please call when you are finished."
The car whirred off, and Balthier and Fran turned their attention towards the laboratory.
"The Mist…it's strange." Fran massaged her left temple. "It's subtle, nearly absent like the fleeting Mist of a dying body, yet it is of a strange character, unlike any Mist I've ever experienced before."
Balthier looked onward at the compound. "Well whatever the nature of this Mist of which you speak, wherever it is, that's probably where we'll find what's going on in this place. Can you lead us to it?"
"Yes. We must get inside."
"Of course, and I doubt they'll let us walk through the front door."
Fran began to look around. Workers of all species were dispersed throughout. Some moving leisurely, talking amongst each other, others dutifully handling the management of their tasks, moving various goods and tools to various places on the compound. It was during this observation that her eyes focused on a rather ill colored Seeq carrying a large clump of rock on his shoulders. He slumped over to the side of building, where Fran then noticed a large recess in the ground. With a grunt, the Seeq heaved the material into the hole. Just as it was released, a Bangaa climbed out of the hole, he began yelling at the Seeq, apparently having been hit by the cluster of material as it fell.
The incident sparked an idea for Fran. "There," she said to Balthier as she pointed at the recess. "That way might lead into the building."
"An underground entrance? Must we be so cliché?"
Fran shot a merciless stare toward Balthier.
He cleared his throat, scolded. "That way it is. Now how might we get past all these workers?"
"By distraction." Swiftly, Fran removed an arrow from her quiver. She turned it upwards, with the tip pointing towards the sky. Balthier stepped back as Fran's entire body suddenly began to glow a faint but deep purple, small golden orbs began to escape from her body like drifting pollen. With a tender gasp, a small ember materialized onto Fran's fingertips, which she promptly moved towards the arrow tip, igniting it.
I forgot about that little talent of hers. Thought Balthier.
Fran positioned the lit arrow on her bowstring, pulling back and aiming towards a large of pile of wood positioned at the outskirts of the compound. Balthier could see that the slight sinewy muscles of her arms were tensed as she released the string. The arrow surged forward, zipping a linear path through the air before colliding with the mass of wood. Like the arrow tip, but in a much more grandiose fashion, the wood ignited, creating a large, and most certainly distracting, fire.
"Fire!" One of the workers yelled, and in frenzy, the workers of the compound all began heading towards the enflamed bulk.
"Wonderful." Balthier remarked. "You're quite the problem-solver."
"It is an old trick."
Behind the swarm of workers, the nimble viera and the arguably less nimble Hume bounded towards the recess. Upon reaching the entry way, which now showed itself to be a cylindrical metal tunnel with an iron ladder bolted to its inside, Fran and Balthier met a moss colored Bangaa just as he was finishing his ascent.
"Who the hell…?" With an almost indiscernible deftness, Fran bashed her elbow into the Bangaa's skull before grabbing him by his neck and tossing his comatose body to the side before it could fall back down the tunnel.
Balthier was a bit stunned. "Are we going to clobber every being we encounter from here on in?"
"For as long as we are availed of other options. Hurry."
"Fair enough."
Balthier was the first to climb down.
Fran and Balthier found themselves immersed with a network of water-filled tunnels. Clumps of dirt and rock filled the waterways, being carried to indeterminable destinations.
"I've heard of this, it's a refinery system." Balthier commented as Fran and he continued alongside the iron pathways on either side of the waterways. "Once minerals are mined from the earth, they are gathered together for transportation. They are then dropped into these waterways, which carries the minerals to filtering systems that separate the valuable items from the waste. It's a landmark innovation spearheaded by my father."
"These must be what contaminate the waters of the residents of Lowtown."
"Well, the unusable waste has to go somewhere, and I venture likely not into the sliver spoons and golden chalices of the Archadian elite."
Fran stopped abruptly. Balthier tensed in response. "I hear something." She said, her long ears twitching.
"What is it?" Balthier asked.
The doctor's going mad! Absolutely batty, the old twit.
How can someone who 'as put Archadian technology on the map be becoming so daft? It's baffling—ludicrous.
"Voices." Fran replied. She grabbed Balthier's hand and led him across a narrow bridge to the other side of the waterway. They pressed their backs against the wall and leaned towards the corner, awaiting the arrival of the voices.
"Is it true what they say? That he's been found talking to himself?" One of the men said.
" 'Course it is! Heard 'em myself!"
"Are they talking about my father?" Balthier whispered.
"Quiet," said Fran.
The owner's of the voices rounded the corner. Two Humes, pudgy men, wearing dirt stained clothes and metal helmets. They didn't last long. Fran unleashed a backwards kick sent one of the spiraling into wall. Feeling obligated, Balthier uppercut the remaining worker square in his jaw, the blow was just enough to daze him. Fran followed with a swift kick to his chest eliciting a guffaw from the man before he fell along the edge of the waterway.
They continued along the waterway. The thickness created by the traveling water grew burdensome. Small droplets of mist danced along Balthier's skin as they proceeded. Fran was particularly uncomfortable, Golmore Jungle was a uniquely dry jungle that subsisted on Mist rather than water, and thus Vieras were unaccustomed to humid climates, or humidity period for that matter. The system of tunnels meandered in several directions, creating a maze that could only be navigated surely by a map or familiarity. Luckily, Fran could follow the thin thread of peculiar Mist that pulsated in her head.
"What does it feel like?" Said the young voice behind Fran.
"What?"
"This Mist of which you speak? What does it feel like?"
Fran took a moment to collect her thoughts. She never had to describe the feeling before, and it was hard to find the vocabulary for it in Hume tongue.
"There are different feelings." She commenced. "When the Mist is 'good' as you say in your language, the feeling is invigorating. If a place is full of peace, full of life, and joy. Like a thriving forest or clean sea, then my body becomes riddled with warm sensations that energize me. They feel closest to warm caresses from another. I met a Hume mystic who once had the ability to communicate with the Mist, even though she had given it another name. She compared the feelings to what sensations overcome Humes' bodies when they are impassioned."
Balthier listened intently, while slowing taking in the majesty of Fran's frame.
"When the Mist is low, I feel a constant weight on my body, draining. I grow tired more quickly. The Mist is low when life is diminished. In heavily industrialized Hume cities, this is most evident. This is perhaps why your kind has lost the ability to be sensitive to the Mist, for your technology has destroyed the channels through which it thrives."
Balthier looked downward, her statement made him feel somewhat guilty. Though he quickly realized he was not to blame for the technological advancements of Humes. Or could he, in his own small way, be responsible?
Fran continued. "The Mist is living, and thus it experiences emotions as every other being does. I can feel these emotions coursing through my veins, and I cannot help but experience them as the Mist does. When the Mist laments, so do I, when it is angry, I too am incensed."
"Does the Mist have a voice?" Balthier asked.
Fran stopped, and sadness crept into her mind. She had long abandoned the teachings of her people, and the words of the Wood, but one verse quickly flashed into her mind, for it was proving to be true.
Thou must never abandon the Wood, thine own reprieve, thine solace. For the Voice of Wood calls out to those who dwell within it. Abandon thy home, and thou will be met with silence. Intricacy 2: 32
"Fran?" Balthier called. "Something wrong?"
"The Mist has a voice. I lost the ability to hear it a long time ago."
Fran said nothing afterwards. Balthier wanted to inquire further, but a voice of his own told him to refrain.
"The Mist is leading me through here." Fran was alluding to a wide iron door lodged into the wall. They had reached what seemed to be the end of the waterway, as the water was now stemming from a low metal grate, and dead-end wall halted any possible progress. Adjacent to the dead end was the aforementioned door.
"Alright," chimed Balthier, "let's see what's on the other side." He gripped the door handle and shifted it upwards. The clicking sound of moving locks resounded through the air. Adding another hand, Balthier pulled the door towards him. It squeaked as it opened.
The tone of their environment had shifted from iron to copper as they stepped onto a platform elevated high above ground. They were met with a gush of cold and open air as Balthier and Fran begin to absorb the grand view before them.
A huge winged aircraft lay before them, grafted into intricate connections of metal wires and steel beams. Its front held two large cannons jutting forward, nestled underneath were two circular turbine engines, poised to unleash propelling fire at a moment's notice. Gorgeous burnt orange and lavender wings extended from its sides with a majesty that played at Balthier's boyish fantasies, his eyes widened.
"I cannot believe it!" He moved forward on the platform. "An underground hangar that houses an airship! It's breathtaking, Fran. Much smaller than I've usually laid my eyes upon. It must be a newer model, weapon-based. Look at those cannons! My father owns the Archadian Shipwright's Guild that designs these, you know. You know Fran, I took lessons for years that taught me how to fly these things. I stopped several months ago." He paused, taking a breath. "What I wouldn't do to fly an airship…"
"Balthier!" Fran screamed. She lunged forward and pushed him to the floor of the platform, bullets seared above them as they landed to the ground.
Balthier looked over the edge of the platform. Scientists had been posted at workstations on the lower levels of the hangar, presumably they had notified the small band of soldiers that had suddenly entered. The bulk of them were outfitted with the darkly toned battle gear of Archadia, a few wore armor, higher ranking officers. All of them had projectile weapons of some sort.
"Intruders!" Called out one of the armored soldiers. "They've set fire to the outer perimeter and incapacitated personnel! We've orders to shoot on sight! Fire!
Balthier's eyes were attacked with the clanging of bullets spraying the platform. He stayed low.
"Dammit Fran. Escape might be a rather apt solution at this point in time! Ideas?"
Fran was already glowing. The air whistled as Fran unleashed a torrent of water from her hands. The blast of water cascaded down the platform and surged against the laboratory's defenses. Scientists' and soldiers' feet were knocked from beneath them as they splashed against the now watery surface. Fran took the opportunity to rise and utilize her bow. A quick barrage of arrows dealt with a few more soldiers who had resisted the flood.
"Come!" Fran bellowed. "The presence of the Mist is getting stronger."
She skirted towards the platform's ladder and swiftly descended. Balthier followed, a bit more deliberately, he had not the lithe limbs of a Viera to support him. They were met with a few more bullets as they reach the lower level, the dual offense of water and arrows had not done away with all of the soldiers. Yet Fran's Vieran military skills shined through. With a dexterity and force that Balthier had yet to see from any creature, much less a female one, Fran pushed through the onslaught of soldiers. Some were felled with sweeping kicks to their throats. Others faced the blows of Fran's heavy punches. In one particularly admirable feat, Fran slid in between two soldiers, tripped them to the ground with the same kick, and then quickly unleashed an arrow on an attacker that had approached her from behind.
I must remind myself to steer clear of her bad side. Balthier mused. He began moving through the bodies that Fran was leaving behind in her wake. He felt a tad useless given that his fighting skills were not quite up to par; he had found physical education courses a bit loathsome and childish.
He stopped suddenly as a body fell his feet. Another acquaintance with Fran's wrath.
"Hmm…though I do doubt schooling would've equipped me with this particular brand of calisthenics." The young noblesse was about to step over the body when the toe of his boot knocked against something hard. He looked down and noticed a shotgun, ornate, emblazoned with silver and gold plating.
"Ah." He said. "Now Gun Ranging was a class I excelled in." He picked up the weapon, look into the barrels, and smiled.
A displeased father looked onto a console of screens. Each showing his offspring and feminine companion work their way through the labyrinth of his facility. A soft smirk emerged as he saw his security forces drop to the ground one by one. It seemed that neither saber nor shotgun could stop them as they continued onward through the lower levels of Draklor. They were relentless in their pursuit, he could see. Scratching the stubble of his chin with a gloved hand, he removed himself from his chair and turned towards the main of his office.
"What could they be after Venat? Could it be, that? Do they know of it?" He said with a laugh. "Pests. 'Tis what they are. To think, the directionless petulance that is my son is daring to be valiant! That Viera is no doubt his motivation. Only women spur men to work against their inherent characters. I must commend him on obtaining such a beautiful specimen." Dr. Cidolfus chuckled again.
An alarm sounded.
"Hmph. They've reached Sector 5. They're much too close for my tastes. I guess I must handle this on my own. I presume I'll have your help Venat?"
An alarm rang through the air. Though that seemed to be the most commotion the duo would have to contend with. Countless soldiers lay behind them, most merely out of commission, others in worse states. Fran breathed heavily and pushed the hair from her face that had begun to mat due to sweat. She traced her hands along the heavy steel door in front of her.
"This alien Mist, it's pulsating most strongly from beyond this door."
Balthier put a hand on his hip as he scanned his gaze over the door. A keypad rested to its left.
"It's encrypted." He said. "Quite the treasure must be beyond these doors."
"Ah!" A short yelp escaped Fran.
"What's wrong?" Balthier ran over to the Viera, who had knelt to the ground holding her head.
"Nothing," she breathed, "just this Mist. It sent a short jolt in my mind. It's—contaminated."
"Contaminated? Mist?"
Just then, a small beeping noise pierced the air. The two turned. A small blue light had appeared on the keypad. Within moments, the heavy gears decorating the steel door began to shift and spin as the door began to open from its middle. Its two halves began to slide sideways into the wall as small puffs of steam began to escape from the room. It dissipated once the doorway was fully opened. A blood red glow from within began to illuminate Fran and Balthier's faces.
Balthier helped Fran climb to her feet; she was still responding to whatever effect the Mist was having on her. They moved forward into the ominous light.
And Fran screamed, because she could feel the Mist screaming.
"Fran!" Balthier watched in amazement as his friend begin to wail and tremble uncontrollably. "What is this? What is the source of this?"
"Why look around dear son!" A voice rang through the room. Balthier immediately clenched his teeth and begin darting his vision around the room in hopes of finding his father. It was then they noticed what lie before him.
Bodies. Human corpses in transparent encasings lined across the walls. The room they found themselves in was a giant expanse of metal and machinery. From the floor beneath them to the dome ceiling above them all was iron and steel. Attached to the mechanized coffins were long thick tubes that reached downward towards a large sphere nestled in the middle of the complex. It was clear that the tubes were collecting something, into the gargantuan sphere at the center of the room. It was unclear exactly what was being transported.
The owner of the voice surfaced. Dr. Cid emerged from the darkness, the red glow of the room alighting his unnatural grin. He work a black robe accented with gold, and too long pistols rested in either hand.
Balthier's eyes bucked when he saw the weaponry. "Is that it father?" He yelled. "Do you endeavor to slay your own son?"
The doctor laughed. "My son, you have a weapon in your hand. Must I not be allowed the same courtesy? I'm sure you're quite aware of the Golden Rule."
Fran shrieked once again. She was on her knees, convulsing and screaming with an instability that terrified Balthier.
"Stifle your witticisms you tyrant!" Balthier raised his gun. "What is this place? And why is it affecting Fran this way?"
"Hm. So you don't know? For all the trouble you've caused I surmised that you would at least have the justification for it. Dill-witted Ffamran, this place is of no concern to you. It is a place of genius and of man's ingenuity! As all things of mine are. It holds no place for your misguide adolescence!"
"Is my mother one of those corpses?" The young Bunansa bellowed. "You used your own wife's corpse for one of your experiments? Is nothing sacred father? You pollute the inhabitants of Lowtown's water supply, abandon your son and wife, and then use the latter for technological advancement? Is science worth all of this? Archadia is an empire in no small part due to your brilliance! What more could you want? Is wealth and glory worth all of this?"
Dr. Cid became incensed. "Wealth? Glory? I do not nothing for material gain. You know as well as I do that wealth was always a reality for our family. The Bunansas and the Solidors have run the politics of this empire for centuries. You are the genetic crafting of the two most influential families in the history of this nation. Ffamran, my undertakings are not for wealth, higher stakes are at play. I am on the path to putting history back into the reins of man!"
"It's true what they've been saying. You're going mad!"
Fran screamed again, this time falling to the floor on her back. Balthier dove to her side, lifting her head into his hand.
"What's wrong?" He said. "I'll get you out of here. I promise."
"The….machinery…." She choked out. "It's….sapping the Mist…from the human bodies…"
"What?" Balthier gasped.
"He's crafted a machine…that can suck the essence of life from living beings. The Mist is in pain…suffocating from this abuse."
Balthier turned his head towards Dr. Cid, while still cradling his companion's soft head. "So you know of this Mist?" He called. "And you're finding a way to use it to your own advantage!"
Dr. Cid smirked slightly, then released another hearty laugh. "Well done! Congratulations Ffamran! You've become one of the first Humes to know of the wonder that is Mist! The Vieras seem to be the only species still in tune with the phenomenon. When I traveled away a year ago I happened upon it. Such a brilliant asset. Yet one that none seem to have mastered. Well I'll be the first! But of course, in order to utilize such power you need to harness it! It's no coincidence that the water has been killing those filthy urchins of Lowtown. I poisoned it myself. You see Ffamran, Mist is Life. And thus, I need life to obtain it!"
"Damn you!" Balthier rocketed a shell towards Dr. Cid. It seemed likely that it would make contact, but it seemed to veer to the side at the last moment. Balthier groaned, firing another, but Dr. Cid quickly ran out of the way.
"Ah Ffamran, well I see that I've done such a terrible job as a father that you've seen fit to fire first upon me! Well, so be it! Deliver my condolences to your mother! Venat! Your assistance!"
Balthier had not the time to ponder his father strange entreaty. Suddenly, his father was vaulted into the air in a wide arch. He began showering bullets from his two pistols as he soared across the room. Balthier cursed, and buried his face into the ground, certain his fate had been met, but, a few breaths later, he noticed that he was still unscathed.
He opened his eyes to see a small golden field of light surrounding him.
"Fran!" He was elated. She had forced through her frenzy to create a small veil of protection around them.
"Balthier!" She choked out, her arms extended, straining to sustain her Magick. "The Mist emanating from your father is too powerful! I do not know where it is coming from, but we cannot stop it! We must leave this place!" Fran flinched. "I cannot sustain this shield for much longer!"
Alright leading man, Balthier urged himself, Fran's taken her fair share of the effort, now you need to get us out of here.
He reflexively lowered himself back to the ground when he felt another barrage of bullets smash against the Magick field built by Fran.
"Cute!" His father said from afar. "That creature's Magick is scarcely competition for the Mist I have at my disposal. I've grown fatigued with you meddling in my affairs Ffamran!" Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa roared, sending a wave of opaque golden light soaring across the vastness of the area. It tore right through Fran's field, knocking the two a few feet across the floor.
Fran shrieked again, in a tone that sounded quite more feral than Balthier would expect. Frantic, he began scanning his surroundings. All that was visible were merely the iron surfaces of the room, a spastic Fran, and an iniquitous father cackling at the top of his lungs, his power somehow increased by large machine lodged in the center of the room.
Ah! Brilliant! Balthier raised his shotgun as an idea burst into his mind.
"Hmph! Bullets will you yield you no success child!"
"Probably not father!" He screamed. "And I daresay the same goes for that metal monstrosity of yours!" Balthier pulled the trigger, sending a blast straight into one of the large tubes sapping Mist from the corpses. It shattered upon impact, sending extracted Mist spiraling into the air.
"No!" Dr. Cid thundered. Using Venat's power he propelled himself forward. His feet barely touched the ground as he sped towards his son.
Balthier in the meantime fired more and more shots at the tubes, as each one exploded, the radius of the blast extended further and further, demolishing even more conduits.
"You will not destroy my work!" The doctor was completely deranged, flying towards Balthier with an insuppressible fury. He was on the verge of firing another load of bullets when a whirlwind of fire erupted just within his vicinity, causing him to fall to the side with a yelp.
It was from Fran. The released Mist was no longer tortured, and thus her mind was able to achieve some level of peace one again.
"Welcome back, mi'lady," Balthier smiled.
"We've not time for pleasantries." She replied.
"Ever the businesswoman…"
"The Mist is livid! It is about to destroy this compartment! We make haste! Come!"
As if cued, the entire room began to rumble fiercely as if an earthquake boiled beneath the surface. The coffins began to crash against the ground accompanied by the remaining appendages of the machine. Fran had begun to run. Balthier hesitated, glancing around one last time to see if he could spot his mother's body. But a falling piece of debris flung him out of his thoughts, and he began to run behind Fran.
Dr. Cid climbed to his feet. "Dammit! Venat!" He stopped to regained his composure, sighing. "It seems our plans for manufacturing the Nethicite have been delayed. I suppose I owe more credence to my own son."
There will be other avenues.
"Yes." He took one last look at the crumbling space around him. "Let us leave. I WISH YOU THE BEST, BOY!"
And Dr. Cidolfus Demen Bunansa laughed once again, a howl that reverberated through the air with the pace of insanity.
Fran and Balthier bolted through the underground corridors as debris smashed against the floors of the crumbling compound.
"Time is of the essence!" Fran hollered as she made a sharp turn around a corner and dodged a falling metal slab. "If we don't make it in time the lower levels of Draklor will collapse on our heads!"
"Thanks for the news! Do you think we'll make it?"
Fran pushed open the large steel door that led back into the airship hangar. The place was abandoned. Left to the sounding alarms, crumbling accouterments, and the large aircraft.
"I don't know," she said. "We must still make our way back through the waterways and finally back above ground."
"That'll take ages! We must find another way!"
"There is no—" Fran stopped. A rushing Balthier knocked into her backside.
"Fran! Dammit! Was it not you who said time is of the essence?"
"We've little of it." She turned her head towards Balthier and pointed at the airship. "You said you could fly that?"
Balthier scoffed and swallowed. "I said I took years of lessons! All simulations!"
Fran darted towards the ship, Balthier reluctantly followed. "I trust you were an adept student!" She said.
A large boulder smashed to the ground as the Viera scampered up a ramp leading to the door of the airship's Bridge. A small console stood on the platform adjacent to the door. She placed one of her long nails on its brightly lit control panel; a stream of holograms began to hover above it. One in particular read: ACCESS CODE
"A problem." She said simply.
Balthier arrived next to her. "Hm, this does pose a problem. This entire laboratory is managed by my father, I'm sure he has a universal password that gives him access to all parts of it." Balthier quickly begin typing in random associations with his father. Important dates, past project titles, terms related to significant events, and finally both Dr. Cid and his mother's name. Nothing worked. He began thinking of more obscure things of relevance. People and places from the few anecdotes his father might've shared with him. Sordid as their relationship was, Balthier did know a few of his father's favorite occupations and possessions. None of them seemed to work.
He grew frustrated, a sentiment that was punctuated with the increasing shockwaves of the rumbling compound.
Fran began to glow. "If we will not be allowed access, then force shall be necessary."
Balthier was just about to step back, when one final option popped into his head. A foolhardy venture, but it was a worth a try.
"Hold on Fran. Let me have one more go at it." With the skepticism one harbors for a fortune teller, he typed in, quickly:
F-F-A-M-R-A-N.
A click. The console glowed orange. Welcome to YPA-GB47 Test Combat Fighter. Draklor Laboratories. Archadian Shipwright Guild Productions. S.S Strahl. Prototype.
"Lovely." Fran said as she boarded the now open door to the airship's bridge.
Balthier stood momentarily. Shocked.
"Quite the revelation. A fitting way to see the final use of my birth name, I suppose."
"Balthier hurry!" Fran's voice carried through the air amidst the rattling of metal and earth.
"Coming, Fran." He said quietly. He jumped onto the ship and headed towards the cockpit.
The simulations swept back into his mind, fortunately, with familiarity.
"Can you get us out of here?" Fran asked.
"Yes." Balthier said confidently. "I can get us out of here. Brace yourself. We might meet with a few scrapes." He pushed a few buttons to open the hangar's entryway. Fran took her seat next to him and secured herself.
Balthier gripped the aircraft's steering.
A mother who hung herself, and an ambiguous lunatic of a father. He laughed. It seems theatrics run in my genes.
And with the push of a steering gear, the memory afforded from a privileged life's worth of flying lessons, and a little incredulousness—they were off.
ATmac05: Thanks for reading! As always, please review review review. I appreciate them so much!