PROLOGUE

Part One: Base Camp

And were they but for this, those passionate schemes

Of joy, that I have nursed? indeed for this

That longings, day and night, have filled my dreams?

Now it has come, the hour of bliss,

How different it seems!

Laurence Binyon

"Well, well, well . . . if it ain't Princess Charlotte in the flesh. Looking radiant as ever, Your Highness."

She smiles and reaches out to shake his hand, pleased with his firm grip. "Captain, I'm so glad to see you again." His hands are covered and smeared with black grease and oil, and the skin on his corded forearms and scruffy face has been kissed by the sun, making him seem to glow slightly pink, the back of his neck blazing red. When they break apart, she gestures to the tall, dark-haired man standing just behind her. "You remember Reeve, don't you? He's come to have a look at the rocket. I thought we could give him the private tour later today."

"Yeah, sure," Cid grunts, sticking out his blackened hand again to shake Reeve's brusquely. They shake with vigor, strong, as if it's some kind of pissing competition, which it always is between them. "The other pilots are going to start the rehearsal soon, for the air show. They've been workin' damn hard at it. You'll be stayin' for a little while, right, Lottie?"

Reeve's face hardens, anger flashing in his beady eyes. "This is Charlotte Shinra you're speaking to, President Shinra's daughter and heiress to Shinra Incorporated," he snaps, straightening to his full height, taller than Cid by a few inches, and far more intimidating in all black, his hair smoothed back out of his face and his jaw set. "Have a care how you speak to her, Captain."

"It's all right, Reeve." Charlie shares a discreet look with Cid, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. "Everyone here knows that I'm heiress in name only. I'll never live to sit in the President's chair at the President's desk in the President's office." Her mouth tightens as she turns to Reeve, thin eyebrows raised expectantly. "Reeve, have my tent set up somewhere near the base of the rocket, and make sure my things are brought out. I have business to attend to."

Reeve nods curtly, flashing Cid a pointed look. He and Charlie watch as her old friend walks away from them, back towards the airship, the wind picking up his black hair in the back. His suit looks a single size too small, his arms looking uncomfortably stiff and his long strides awkward and restricted.

"So it's not just for pleasure that you're here, is it?" Cid asks, holding a hand up to his face to shield the morning sun from his eyes.

"Only partially," Charlie confesses, following Cid to a navy blue truck with an empty bed. SHINRA INC. is painted on both sides in white, and the engine is still grumbling and hot, emitting exhaust and steam into the crisp spring air. She's slightly displeased that there's no top to the truck, half-afraid of having to face the biting wind, but she isn't going to make a scene over it. Some fresh air might do her some good. "The stink of the city was starting to get to me, I think. I like it out here, in the country. It's peaceful and quiet."

"It won't be in a few hours," Cid chuckles, giving her a hand up into the passenger's seat before jumping up himself and putting the truck in gear. "Will you be able to work with fireworks poppin' and engines goin' off in the background?"

"I think I'll manage." Though Cid drives relatively slowly, the wind still makes her eyes sting and water, her white-blonde hair blowing out of her face. Charlie pulls her scarf tighter around her chin, turning to look at her companion. "Thank you for meeting us. I thought you might be too busy to escort me yourself."

"Make the princess walk all the way to base camp?" Cid smiles crookedly, the familiar way that's endearing to her. "Figured I'd help keep your boots clean."

"You wrong me!" Charlie laughs, lifting one of her legs to show him the well-worn boots on her feet. "I've come prepared and dressed completely appropriately!" Cid gives her boot a sidelong glance and smiles with her again, his teeth catching his bottom lip and chewing on it. "How have things been? No trouble with the rocket, I hope?"

"S'only been a week since you've been here. We're all doin' just fine, especially our baby." Cid looks sideways at her. "You been too busy to come visit us lowly engineers or what?"

Charlie shoots him a dangerous glare, and by the way he flinches, faltering for a moment, she thinks she's gotten her point across. Softening, she distracts herself by admiring the surrounding foliage. "I've been so busy lately. I'm in the process of moving, and yes, I am aware that the timing is horrible."

"You're movin'?"

"Yes."

"Into what?"

"A new unit closer to Headquarters."

"Is that so?" Cid scoffs, grinding his teeth. He speaks gruffly, hardly louder than the engine. "Thought someone like you would be livin' in some sort of fancy mansion that's four stories tall or somethin' like that."

She blushes, looking away completely, out over the side door of the truck towards the dense thicket of trees. "I did live in a house, but it was a family mansion, not mine really," she counters, trying in vain to avoid his face, and Cid raises his eyebrows as if her confession proves his own point. "If you must know, I decided to downsize because everyone else had gone, and just the thought of being in a big, empty house was going to drive me insane."

"Yeah? And who's payin' for that fancy unit you're movin' into?" Cid asks, and while there's a bite to his tone, he doesn't seem to genuinely mean the words. "Sure it's not bein' funded by leftover donations to our department?"

Anger flashes in Charlie's bright blue eyes. "Is that the kind of person you think I am?"

"I dunno what kind of person you really are," Cid retorts. "You don't tell me nothin'."

"You're out of line. I think you've forgotten yourself, Captain." Charlie leans back in her seat, keeping her eyes fixed ahead of them. "I'd suggest you hold your tongue now if you'd like to keep it."

The clearing that Reeve had the airship land in has been swallowed up by the tall elm and oak trees that surround them, pressing close on both sides of the dusty path, marred with tire tracks from supply trucks bringing cargo back and forth from the landing site to base camp. Dew still clings to the tendrils of grass that line the road, and drips down from the leaves. A small amount of water pools in the tire tracks, and the rest of the drive is quiet save for the engine and soft splashing when they hit a puddle.

It isn't until the trees begin to thin out that Charlie's heart leaps in her throat. She's always loved this, arriving at base camp in such a dramatic fashion, as if it's a curtain lifting on stage before a performance of LOVELESS. As Cid breaks free from the treeline, the camp is fully visible to her, basking in the light of the bright sun.

Sprawled out in a wide and seemingly endless clearing is what resembles more of a military camp than a base camp. Nearly a hundred tents cover the cleared ground, the forest their only defense from the semi-harmful animals and monsters that may lurk within the bushes. Smoke rises from the ground with gray fingers, reaching for the blue sky, cook fires still burning down to nothing from breakfast. The smell of bacon and sausage fat still lingers in the air, and the murmur of friendly conversation and muffled laughter fills her ears. There's a small, proud smile on Cid's flushed face as he slows the truck down, the road becoming more bumpy.

Charlie's eyes, however, are drawn to the main attraction of base camp, the fifty-foot high rocket ship that had been scrapped and rebuilt three times now due to product errors and the desire for everything to be absolutely perfect.

The metal exterior gleams in the sunshine, and the long wooden staircase that's been erected to reach the very top looks fit for climbing, despite looking rather ominous. Truly, the rocket really is her baby, as much as it is Cid's—she's watched it grow from nothing but sketched out plans and enthusiastic daydreams, a dream shared by both she and Cid. Sleepless nights spent by low lamplight, going through sketch after sketch after sketch, until she and Cid had finally been able to adapt their wishes onto paper perfectly.

He had been the only crew member hand-picked by Charlie herself when she had been raised to the Head of the Space Exploration Department by her father. They had worked together on the building of the Highwind, Shinra's prized airship—Cid as the chief aeronautical engineer and Charlie as the operations' manager, overseeing the entire operation at the tender age of nineteen, just having finished Shinra's best engineering program offered.

She and Cid had worked together in close quarters for months, working well together as a team, able to bounce ideas off each other with surprising ease, the both of them knowledgeable and practical and useful.

So when Charlie was handed an entire space exploration department only a few months after the completion of the Highwind, the first person she had gone to was Cid Highwind, and he had been ecstatic to be called Captain, to train as an astronaut, and to work alongside her once again. The night she had tracked him down, they had spoken all night about nothing but space, theorizing about the stars and the moon, sharing research, wondering what might be out there, never planning to return from amongst the stars.

Cid takes a hard right before they enter the base camp, and the trucks rolls off the road and into slick grass, where he parks it among three other trucks, some with empty wooden crates stacked in their beds, all similar in make. He gets out of the truck first, hurrying over to the other side to open Charlie's door and help her down. She lands in the wet grass with a soft squelch, mud lapping at the sides of her boots.

Charlie brushes herself off and fixes her windswept hair. "Rufus is coming later, did you know?" she asks, making towards the bulk of camp, Cid still at her side. "I've been begging him for weeks to come take a quick looks around before the rocket is launched, but he's just been so busy. He's ordered Reeve to be at my side nearly all the time to make up for his absence, to protect me, he says, but Reeve doesn't need another reason to protect me."

Cid casts a look over his shoulder, as if expecting Reeve to be there. "Is he always so . . . ?"

"No," Charlie answers, elbowing Cid playfully, their brief argument already forgotten. "I think it's just you. He's quite relaxed and rather funny the other ninety-percent of the time he's with me, when you're nearly a world away."

He smiles slyly, looking too smug for his own good. He takes Charlie's wrist in his tough left hand, holding out his right arm to wrap her skinny fingers around his forearm. While keeping pace with her, he puts his mouth next to her ear, speaking almost into her hair. "And what is it that you've been tellin' him that's gettin' him so worked up?"

Charlie leans into him instinctively, only for a moment. "Only that I enjoy your company, the rough and callous cowboy astronaut you are."

"Can I still call you Lottie?" Cid asks, snickering like a little boy. "Or will he put a bullet through my brain if I don't refer to you as Your Highness, the Princess Charlotte Shinra, Heiress to the Shinra fortune and business?"

She gives him a playful shrug, putting a little bit of distance between them as they wander past the first few pitched canvas tents. "I wish you wouldn't call me that," Charlie says.

"What would you prefer to Your Royal Highness?"

"Just Charlie."

"Okay, Just Charlie." Cid smiles toothily as Charlie scoffs. "How about you still let me call you Lottie? It'll be our little secret."

"Why can't you just call me Charlie?"

"Because I like Lottie." He taps a finger to his chin, chewing on his cheek. "Or what about Lettie? That's pretty, ain't it? Lettie. Can I call you that? Is that better or worse than Lottie?"

Charlie softens, suddenly nostalgic, even as she stares up at the rocket. "My mother used to call me Lettie. She was the only one, but . . ." She shakes off the feeling, smiling at him again. "Call me what you will, just save Princess Charlotte for someone who gives a damn. I promise I won't have you beheaded for using a nickname."

"My Lady is most merciful indeed." Cid gives a dramatic, flourishing bow.

Charlie rolls her eyes, laughing. "I have to meet with a few people. Do you think you could hold off the air show until my brother arrives? I'd really like for him to see it. I know it'll be fantastic."

"Whatever you say, Lottie." Before they split ways several yards into the midst of the camp, Cid catches her sleeve and gives it a slight tug to keep her from leaving. "You'll stay for a while, won't you? I've got somethin' I've been meanin' to show you, but it's gotta be night when I do. Can't do it durin' the day."

Charlie shrugs noncommittally. "We'll see."

"C'mon, Lottie, don't be like that." Cid releases her, looking disappointed. "Tonight's the last night I'll be able to show you."

Against her better judgement, Charlie says, "All right. I'll stay for a little while. Now I've got to go, really. I'll come and find you when Rufus is here for the rehearsal. Will you be prepared?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"When were the last safety tests performed?"

"Just last night. Everything came back normal."

"Do another test first thing before everyone starts branching off. I want as many eyes as possible on the test results—something may escape one person, but not all of them. Compare the results and then bring them to my tent when you're finished and I'll look them over." Charlie sighs heavily, looking around her. The rumble of a few more engines can be heard growing louder, the trucks likely carrying Charlie's things. "Everything has to be perfect."

"Don't worry 'bout that. Everything's gonna go according to plan, just like we talked about." Cid drapes an arm around Charlie's shoulders, gesturing to the camp around them and, finally, to the rocket. "Take a good long look at it. Look at what you've done. Loyal men and women working hard for a case they all believe in, and for a woman they believe in. We're gonna make history, Lottie."

Charlie shakes him off, turning around to face him. "You don't understand," she whispers gravely. "Everything must be perfect. My father is counting on this, on me. If something goes wrong . . ."

Cid looks equally as grave when he answers, his firm hands on her shoulders. "Don't worry. It'll all be perfect."

She looks up into his face, the sun behind him making it seems as if a halo has momentarily graced him. It makes his yellow hair shine golden, illuminating his short, bristly stubble, which has always seemed darker than the hair on his head. Even his blue eyes seem bluer now, far bluer than her own, making him look younger than he really is, erasing the hard lines on his face underneath the grease smeared across his cheeks from wiping sweat off with the back of his un-gloved hand.

Resigned to the fact that Cid would never admit to anything less than perfection in regards to his rocket, Charlie accepts defeat, only able to hope that he's right. "If I ask you a favor, will you accept that I don't mean to degrade you as my captain?"

Cid smiles knowingly. "What do you need, princess?"

"Coffee. Preferably decent coffee, but at this point, I'll drink anything leftover from three days ago, if that's all you have."

He lets out a bark of laughter that's sweet as can be. "I can get you coffee."

"Thanks, Cid."

Cid leaves her, heading back towards his tent. All around her, the day is just beginning. The fires are being doused with water, hissing as they go out, sending up thick smoke. Most employees are dressed by now in greasy clothing, engineers and scientists and traders and chemists, astronomers that track the progress of the stars, technicians and meteorologists.

Since the first day the base camp had been established, the amount of tents have grown tenfold. A makeshift bar has even been established in a long tent big enough for twenty people (funded after Cid had spoken to Charlie about her workers having a thirst and after mentioning the huge surplus of donations working their way into the department), and with their surplus, they had carpenters build a small mess hall (the drawings having been done by Reeve himself at her request) with some thin trees that were cut down.

In a pen, also made from the trunks of thin trees, a few chocobos graze happily, qworking as their handler throws feed over the fence for them. Over on the other side of camp, Charlie knows that there are washerwomen hard at work, scrubbing the greasy uniforms and hanging them to dry in the breeze.

Charlie knows them all.

A group of mechanics in blackened denim overalls are smoking in between two tents, drinking the remnants of their coffee. "Morning, Miss Shinra," one of them says, smiling to reveal yellowing teeth.

She slows her pace to make brief conversation. "Good morning, Mr. Craft. Did your daughter have a nice birthday?"

"She really did." Mr. Craft removes his hat to hold it to his heart. "My wife really appreciates you lettin' me take some time to visit, and Millie really enjoyed the model airplane you gave her."

"I'm so glad to hear it."

Charlie stops by the chocobo pen to pet one, just on a whim. The yellow feathers slip through her fingers like silk. She's never ridden one before, but she'd like to try, at least once. Rufus used to invite her to the Gold Saucer, when they were younger, to bet on the chocobo races, but Charlie could never bring herself to go. They always looked so queer with saddles on their backs, uncomfortable, and the thought made her cry as a child.

"Do you use them often?" Charlie asks the suntanned handler. Her face is freckled beneath her floppy hat.

"During night, mostly," the handler explains, wiping her hands on her thighs. "They're quieter than the trucks, so we can easily move about camp and move small loads to and from without waking anyone?"

"What will happen to them when our rocket is launched and base camp torn down?"

"I'll take them back to my farm, raise them with the others. I've got a green one, you know."

Charlie smiles. "I've never seen a green one, but Rufus says all kinds of colors race at the Gold Saucer."

"Terrible, isn't it? The races?"

"Yes, awful."

Cid finds her halfway across camp, handing her a warm thermos. The first sip warms her chest, the second warms her entire body. Black, just like she's always liked it. "Thank you," she tells him gratefully, checking her watch. "Make sure everyone knows that Rufus is coming today. I don't want anyone caught doing anything that would suggest we aren't taking this project seriously."

Cid gives her a gravelly chuckle. "Yeah, sure, Lottie."

The crew members Charlie has actually come here to see are in one of the biggest tents. A Mako-powered generator hums from behind it, giving life to to computers and machinery within.

There are two men inside and one woman, the oldest and most important being Mr. Roderick Leradine, a graying man who's seen much more of life than Charlie has at only twenty-two years. Completely bald on top with gray curls sprouting from the sides and his ears and temples, he looks more like a mad scientist than anyone she's ever met, even compared to Hojo, who Rufus used to say was a mad scientist in his own right.

With Roderick having developed a unique communications system for the Highwind, Charlie has recently had him working exclusively on a mobile communications device fit for the rocket, something she's very excited to try.

"Miss Shinra . . . !" Roderick stands up abruptly and claps the dust and dirt off his hands, bowing awkwardly. The fair-haired girl on his left—his assistant, Misty—and the thirty-something man on his right—Jules—both get to their feet, looking slightly harassed in their stained lab coats. "Forgive us, but we didn't expect you until later this afternoon."

"I thought I'd come early to give you a heads up. My brother will be coming today," Charlie says, waving a flippant hand and drawing nearer to the device in front of them to take a closer look. The screen is small, but she's able to see the important information—the fuel gauge, several pressure valves, a bright red and green gauge that tells Charlie how much oxygen is inside the cockpit, the pre-planned destination of the rocket ship, and, when the rocket is launched, it will show her the force of acceleration and speed. "Is it finished?"

"We were hoping to test it today during the live rehearsal," Roderick explains, gesturing for her to sit in his seat. Charlie sits, running the tips of her fingers over the many buttons. It isn't the cockpit of a rocket ship bound for space (where she so desperately wishes to be), but it's the closest thing she'll have during the actual launch. "Everything should work fine, just like the Highwind. Make sure you don't accidentally press this big red button here, that's the emergency shut-off. We also have these—" He holds up a thick and heavy set of headphones, a dark yellow color, with a hefty microphone attached. "They'll cancel any noise . . . besides maybe the rocket launch itself. But it will reduce the noise of the launch by more than half. And you'll be able to hear Captain Highwind through them, as well."

Charlie allows him to put them over her ears and, suddenly, everything goes silent. Roderick talks, opening and closing his mouth as if trying to prove his point—and he's right. Charlie doesn't hear a thing, not the tapping of Misty's pencil or the cracking of Jules's gum or the trucks driving through camp. It's unnerving. She takes them off.

"I'd like to test them all later, after the rehearsal. I should be with Rufus for the better part of the day. Except me afterwards." She examines it closer, nodding. "It does look very much like the Highwind's. Have Cid test it with you during the rehearsal and with me afterwards. Has he been briefed?"

"Yes, ma'am. And . . . there is one more feature we've added," Roderick continues, pointing to a button in the upper right corner of the small computer screen in front of her. He pushes it, but it does nothing. "This button will allow you and Captain Highwind to communicate via a private channel."

Charlie blinks in surprise. "Oh." She clears her throat. What use could that possibly have? "Thank you for telling me."

Roderick flushes a deep crimson, though whether it's due to her gratitude or lackluster thanks, she isn't sure. "It was the Captain's idea, ma'am . . . he requested it special . . . said he . . . he . . ."

"Just say it before you give yourself an aneurysm," Charlie insists quickly.

"The Captain said he wanted a private channel with you so he didn't have to . . . well . . . I believe his exact wording was so he didn't have to 'share a line with those other morons at Shinra, should something go wrong.' Begging your pardon, ma'am."

"That does sound like Cid, doesn't it?" She smiles, rising from the chair. "You've done well, thank you. Now, I have a few other people to meet with—"

"Miss Shinra!" A weary-looking engineer pops his head through the canvas flaps of the tent, his cheeks pink. "Vice President Shinra is here, Miss Shinra. I saw his helicopter, just now. They must have just landed."

"Prepare a truck. I'll drive down to meet him. Just pull up to the road outside of camp and leave it running for me."

"Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am."

Charlie steps back out into the fresh air of base camp, the scent of it tinged with a bit of grease and a bit of fuel and a bit of salty sweat. She sees the engineer pulling the truck from the grassy field in which it was parked to the narrow dirt road that will lead back to the clearing she's just come from, where Rufus is likely already waiting for a car to pick him up.

"Miss Shinra!"

Charlie doesn't have the chance to turn around before one of her scientists is at her side, auburn hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, round glasses slipping down her sweaty nose. "What is it, Shera? If it's not absolutely urgent, I must ask that you wait until after the rehearsal. I'm in rather a hurry."

"It's just—I—I have the tests, ma'am—the tests that you asked the Captain about—"

"And?" Charlie grabs them from Shera's hand when she fails to answer and gives Shera her thermos, holding the tests up side by side and sighing, holding them back out for Shera to take. The scientist fumbles with the reports and the thermos, spilling a bit of coffee down her jacket. "I don't have time for this right now. My brother has just landed. Can you handle this for me?"

Shera hesitates, looking down at the papers in her hands. "Well, I—I—"

"Are you or are you not capable of looking at the reports and determining if there is a problem?" Charlie asks sharply, stopping abruptly to turn and look at the young girl before her. Perhaps 'young girl' is the wrong term, for Shera is definitely older than Charlie by a few years, and likely much more qualified to diagnose the issues of a rocket ship. When Shera fails again to answer quickly enough, Charlie raises her eyebrows impatiently. "If you cannot handle that task, perhaps I should just ask someone a little more confident and a little more capable."

"No—no, I can do it, Miss Shinra."

When Shera lingers awkwardly, Charlie sighs. "Then go and do it," she says, dismissing her with a wave of her hand. She doesn't stand around to watch Shera run off, but instead makes quickly towards her tent again, a luxury thing double the size of the others around her, the words SHINRA INC. plastered in white on the cavas.

Reeve pushes out of the tent entrance as Charlie approaches, draining the last bit of coffee from her thermos. He rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes to no avail. "Your brother is here," he says, and Charlie nods, handing her empty cup to a passing engineer.

"Come on, then," she urges him. "I've got a truck already waiting for us."

The walk to the truck is silent, but Reeve keeps up at her side, towering over her. It's been weeks now since Rufus insisted Reeve keep a closer watch on her—there had been a small uprising in the slums recently, and one bold citizen had even forced his way to Charlie's front door before being forcefully arrested by Tseng.

The breach of her private security at home was the main reason she had decided to move, deciding on a place nearer to Headquarters at Rufus's behest.

Charlie jumps into the driver's seat of the running truck, and Reeve raises no protest, sliding in beside her. She takes the truck slow down the road, not wanting to toss them both out of the truck altogether by hitting a pothole at too high a speed. The wind isn't so cold anymore, so she doesn't quite mind the truck being topless.

When they're far enough away from the camp, lost within the thicket of trees and the canopy above blocking out the sunshine, Reeve feels it's safe enough to talk.

"Listen, Miss Shinra, I don't want to take away from what you've done, nor do I intend to . . ." he begins, and Charlie narrows her eyes, glancing quickly at him as she speeds the truck up.

"Say what you will, Reeve."

"Yes, Miss Shinra. I should warn you . . . I don't know that your brother is very fond of the work you've been doing here."

Charlie adjusts her fingers around the worn steering wheel, clenching her jaw. "Why do you say that?"

Reeve clears his throat awkwardly.

"Go on," she tells him warmly. "You can always speak freely around me, Reeve. When have I ever minded?"

"Yes, Miss Shinra. It's just . . . there have been rumors around Headquarters." He turns his head to gauge her reaction. "It's said that your brother would rather see the department shut down than continue successfully."

"I would know where you heard these rumors from," Charlie says lowly. "And I would have them stopped, immediately."

"Yes, Miss Shinra."

Charlie breathes in heavily. "Rufus loves me, and he respects my work. He's told me so himself."

"He has, Miss Shinra."

"I know Rufus better than anyone, and he would never work behind my back to undermine my dream turned into reality, despite his personal feelings about it. I know that his interest in space is minimal." Charlie grips the steering wheel harder, keeping her voice level and calm. "I should have this rumor-monger thrown in a cell for even suggesting something so cruel. Who was it?"

"Something I overheard in the lavatory one day," Reeve answers coolly, and Charlie doesn't doubt his words. He's an honest man who has only ever been truthful with her. "Low level staff, surely, looking to seem in the know. I only wanted to warn you, should you receive a welcome that is . . . less than warm."

"And when has Rufus ever been warm?" Though it's only a joke, neither of them laugh. There's too much truth behind it.

"Your brother has always been cold, Miss Shinra, even as a boy."

Charlie exhales through her nose. "I know."

They approach the clearing shortly after, where Rufus is already waiting, wearing a clean cut, perfectly trimmed, bright white suit. The wind lifts his light blond hair for a moment, the same shade as Charlie's.

Their mother used to tell them they could have been twins, and it's a shame she hadn't been around long enough to see them now, more alike in appearances than they had been as little children.

Leaving the truck idling, Charlie and Reeve slide out to greet them. Rufus is not alone today; dressed in the dark blue uniform of the Turks is a girl no older than Charlie herself, thick yellow hair pulled back into a ponytail with wide doe eyes.

Freyra, the girl calls herself, a naive thing and far too excitable for her own good. Reeve had told Charlie once that Freyra had grown up in a hunting family in Mideel, giving her an advantage when it comes to firearms. A thick shotgun hangs from a strong leather belt around her slim waist.

"Sister," Rufus says by way of greeting. Charlie approaches him and he kisses her cheek affectionately. "You look lovely."

"Thank you." Charlie nods towards the truck. "Should we get going?"

The four of them move together towards the truck. Rufus automatically jumps into the backseat, Reeve positioning himself behind the steering wheel. Freyra leaps up beside Rufus before Charlie has the chance to, and her brother gives the Turk an incredulous look, anger flashing in his bright blue eyes.

"What are you doing?" Rufus snaps, an ugly scowl on his face.

"Sir?" Freyra asks hesitantly, blinking in surprise, hovering a few inches from the cushioned seat.

"That's my sister's seat, you imbecile."

Freyra flushes brilliantly, jumping from the trunk as if it's burned her. Clambering up into the passenger's seat beside Reeve, Freyra allows Charlie to take her rightful spot, privately pleased. Reeve backs the truck up and begins the slow drive back to base camp. With the wind blowing hard in their faces, Charlie knows their conversation will not be heard by Reeve or Freyra up front.

"You know this Captain Highwind came by the hangar the other day?" He spits Cid's title with disdain, making Charlie frown.

"Oh? He didn't mention it."

"Wanting to see his ship, he said. His ship," Rufus repeats with a snarl. "It's our ship, Shinra's ship. And he has the audacity to come to the hangar dressed head to toe in filthy rags, looking as if he's never washed a day in his life. His ship, he tells me." He scoffs. "Whatever his reasons for being there, I'm certain he was looking for you, as well."

Charlie shrugs, smiling slightly, ignoring the last bit. "It has got his name on it, you know."

"If it had been up to me, it would never have been named Highwind. What a ridiculous name."

"It never would have been built without him," Charlie reminds her brother kindly, not wanting to stoke his anger further on what should be a happy day. "What do you have against him, anyway?"

"He disgusts me, in the simplest terms. He smells of stale cigarette smoke all the time, and he talks like he's illiterate. I think he is illiterate."

Charlie swats at Rufus's arm playfully. Anyone else and he would take their hand for touching him any rougher than necessary, but not Charlie, never Charlie. All he does is smooth the fabric of his suit.

"He's not illiterate, I can assure you of that. He's the heart and soul of this department. He's been flying for more than half his life, was top of his class at the academy, came with glowing references . . . and he's passionate about this."

Rufus narrows his eyes at her in suspicion. "Are you in love with him?"

"No," Charlie says, blushing heatedly.

"Good. He's positively vile."

"He's my friend," she protests firmly. "And it would please me if you would just pretend to like him today, or at least remain silent if you've nothing kind to say to him."

"Do you realize how truly lucky you are that I love you?" Rufus asks her, his tone sharp as a whip. It almost makes Charlie feel as if he's accusing her of something. "If you weren't my sister, I'd have balked."

"I'm sure you will still balk in private, despite me being your sister."

Rufus hums, staring out at the passing forest for a moment. "Cid Highwind . . ." he muses. "I should have been the firstborn," he continues bitterly. Charlie has never known anyone more bitter than Rufus. "I should have been the older sibling, the big brother, and you, my little sister, my charge. No inbred pilot would ever speak to you in that crass way of his if you had been my little sister."

It's funny, Charlie thinks, for Rufus could very well be her older brother. All of her life, or as much as she can remember of it, she had looked up to Rufus, envied his relationship with their father, envied the way Rufus had always been so involved in the family business. It had always been Rufus who stood up for her in front of their father (something that earned him some beatings when they were young), it had always been Rufus who got her what she needed via their father . . . and it had been Rufus who was chosen as Vice President.

Because he's my son, Father had told her when she finally gathered the courage to ask why she had been passed over. Regardless of President Shinra's answer, Charlie knew that the sole reason she was passed over was because she had been born a girl.

"Cut him some slack, Rufus, please. He's only excited about this project. Tomorrow he'll be among the stars, and you won't have to think of him anymore."

"You're a romantic, Charlie. There's nothing up there that's more important than what's down here."

"You don't know that," Charlie says. "Shinra is about to launch a man into territory completely unknown and unexplored. You don't know what we'll find up there." She chews her lower lip for a moment. "I wish Mother was here to see it all."

Rufus doesn't answer, only continues his silent brooding, looking at the trees thinning as they approach base camp. With a look of indifference, Rufus scans the area, taking in the sights and the massive rocket looming larger as they grow closer.

Yet instead of excitement upon looking over the sprawling tent city, she feels only anxiety and nervousness, the desire to impress Rufus making Charlie's heart pound and her palms all sweaty.

Once the truck is parked, Reeve and Freyra open the back doors for both Charlie and Rufus. Reeve places a hand on her shoulder, noticing her disappointment and clearly sympathizing.

Charlie turns towards him, placing her lips close to his ear. "Ready Cid and the other pilots for the airshow. Tell them it must be perfect, no less."

Reeve nods, standing up straight. "Yes, Miss Shinra. Right away."

"Can I give you the tour, Rufus?" Charlie asks as Reeve melts away, seeking out Cid, sticking out amongst her crew like a sore thumb.

"Very well," Rufus replies. "Let's see what Father has been funneling all his money into."