Chapter Three: Trial and Error
Her prison cell was probably the most sterile place Tifa had slept since she'd crashed into this world. Aside from the obligatory latrine, the entire floor was covered in a soft, white padding, allowing her to sprawl out and relax wherever she pleased. What did it say of her, that she'd slept so soundly and dreamlessly in a place like this? Maybe nothing, or maybe that she was exhausted. She hadn't been mistreated. If anything, her captors seemed to take a small amount of pity on her.
Upon their arrival to this place, which she guessed was some kind of judiciary center, the Cluster police had assigned her fresh uniform clothes, escorted her to a showering room, and waited patiently for her to bathe, making no demands that she should hurry. Then, they'd inquired what kinds of food she could tolerate, and fed her accordingly. After all of that, they'd simply led her up several stories to this plain cell, and told her to rest up for her pending trial.
They had offered neither interrogation, harassment, nor torture. Apparently, the Amyntasi Clusters were very humane when it came to handling the accused, if this was anything close to the norm. If her trial was at all similar, then perhaps there was hope. Maybe she could use this opportunity to be completely honest with them, warn them about Sephiroth, and finally, obtain some kind of meaningful, official asylum on this planet. It would be pretty ironic, and maybe even a little funny in hindsight, to have to say that getting arrested on suspicion of murder was what had truly started her on the path to regaining her dignity.
Yet, it was only a precious glimmer. Damning evidence surrounded her on all sides, and pointing to a strange, otherworldly force might come off as little more than a desperate, last-ditch effort to divert attention from herself. To them, it could just be something that would needlessly prolong the investigation and preserve her life, now that she thought about it. After all, the death penalty could very well exist here. Choosing to execute a person who appeared to trigger so many unusual, grisly deaths wasn't exactly something she'd call cruel, depending on the method—it was understandably preventative, if nothing else. Cluster 100 could very well choose to terminate her, if they concluded that she was the cause of Geostigma.
Tifa rolled over and glared at herself in the mirror that made up one of the cell's walls. The scariest part for her was that she couldn't say she was completely certain she hadn't somehow caused Geostigma to surface on Amyntas. Her friends had told her that neither she nor Minerva were carriers, but in the end, all that really amounted to was reassuring voices in her head. Even if they were still real people, that didn't mean they wouldn't tell her whatever she needed to hear to keep going, or that more likely, they were simply wrong. For instance, Yuffie had been infected when she was still alive. What if the Yuffie-presence in her mind wasn't really her friend, but a well-disguised manifestation of Sephiroth's will, still entrenched within her own?
"Hey! I heard that!" Yuffie protested. "It only got to me on the outside. I escaped, and you saw it, remember?"
"Yes, Yuffie, I remember," Tifa whispered, rubbing her face into the cushioned floor. There was that one spark of clean spirit energy that had fled Yuffie's body, just after they'd fought in the W.R.O.'s underground lab. Dangers lurked everywhere, but to look to Yuffie—that was paranoid.
What had she gotten herself into this time? Someone was probably keeping tabs on her from the other side of the mirror, waiting to see what kind of ungodly, alien trick she might try to pull off. The worst they were going to catch her doing was talking to herself. Feeling self-conscious, Tifa decided not to poke at Yuffie anymore. Once that girl started yammering, there was sometimes no stopping her.
Yawning, she softly answered whoever might be watching, "Sorry to bore you. This place is pretty secure, and I really can't do any of those things. I know, hard to believe, right?"
As expected, she received no reply.
Their idea of a prisoner's uniform was odd, she mentally noted, sitting up to inspect its reflection. If the same outfit had been presented to her in any other situation, she would have assumed it was for some kind of ceremony or religious ritual. It was all white, and made of what felt like a soft cotton. The top hung loose off her arms and chest, and unless she separated the folds of cloth by hand or did a wide split, the pants hung down like a skirt. There were no identifying numbers or symbols anywhere on it.
"Maybe it means 'innocent until proven guilty'?" Aerith suggested.
"These people are equally flawed as humanity once was, including the propensity to obey their worst fears," Genesis obstinately countered, "I wouldn't count on it."
"Yeah, well, either way, we have to think of some way out of here," Zack chimed in, sounding more than just a tad annoyed with Genesis.
Her friends kept on talking and talking and talking. Tifa knew they meant well. She understood that they were only trying to help, but one voice was always conveniently absent: Minerva. Their situation could readily go far south from here, yet the so-called "Goddess" had nothing to say. On the rare occasion she did want to get a point across, she used Genesis as her sounding board. Why couldn't she just speak up and let her know the details of her plans directly? They were only living in the same head!
Lying flat on her back, Tifa sent one loud, frustrated thought inward, "Why doesn't she say anything to me?"
Cloud, Zack, Aerith, Yuffie, Cid, and Nanaki all fell silent. For a very short while, Tifa remembered what it was like to have her mind to herself. She sorely missed it.
Then, Genesis ruined the moment, "The same reason men don't share strategies with their chocobos or airships."
"What a line of bullshit!" Cid interrupted. "I talked to my beauties all the time—"
"Normal, sane men," Genesis elaborated.
For the first time since she'd agreed to help her, Tifa felt genuinely resentful toward her world's collective will. Was this some kind of twisted punishment for failing to save the Planet from Sephiroth a third time? She'd accepted Minerva's presence because she wanted to atone for all the bad calls she'd made with Eden, leading up to Sephiroth's resurrection and Gaia's physical demise. She was more than willing to take responsibility for returning what remained of her Planet to the heart of the cosmos. But one thing she wouldn't accept and didn't think she deserved was to be dehumanized; treated like a vessel in the most literal sense of the word, like a vehicle whose only purposes were to house and transport its owner.
She had thoughts, feelings, and memories of her own, damn it!
"And to the Goddess they all return when your time has waned," Genesis added. "What we are is but an expression of life's imagination, of her being. All that is born from the Lifestream returns to it. You know this."
"Forget I asked," Tifa quietly snapped.
Graciously, Genesis and the others complied.
Tifa remembered how, long ago, the cycle of life was something precious; something fragile that required their fierce protection and tender care. Even she had gone too far in that ideal, and helped AVALANCHE blow up Mako Reactor One, back in Midgar. Many, many unsuspecting people died for the Planet. If it was to protect the cycle of life, along with satisfying a personal grudge or two, anything could be justified. Cid had once compared the Planet to a scared, defenseless little kid, floating in the vastness of space. For the longest time, she figured that was why Weapon had indiscriminately attacked humanity when Sephiroth summoned Meteor. Yet, in fighting so earnestly, even when they'd all resolved to stop being terrorists, she'd forgotten—maybe they all had—that the very same cycle could sometimes be incredibly cruel.
Minerva, the will of the Planet, cared very little for individuals—Genesis and Aerith were exceptions. All it cared for was its own well-being, and its continued ability to give and take away, so that it could give and take away, again and again. Then, at last, the cycle would cease and it would return to the Promised Land, which would follow the same pattern forevermore. Perhaps a better reason for wanting to maintain the cycle so smoothly back then should have been because of how much suffering the Planet itself could bring to pass when the Jenovas, ShinRas, and Sephiroths of the universe tried to hijack it.
So, that was it. All they were ever doing was pacifying an angry, childish, temperamental Goddess. How was that really so much different from what she feared the most now? The sanctity of a single life was just make-believe; it was nothing but—
"Tifa," Cloud suddenly intoned her name, "Prison might not be the best place to mull things like that over."
"Probably not," she answered him aloud, casting aside any worries for who might be listening.
Now that she thought about it, there was one thing about her cell that seemed designed to torment: It was maddeningly boring. There was absolutely nothing to do but sleep, defecate, and wait. There were no books or magazines, no games or puzzles, nothing to draw or write with, and no devices to receive broadcasts of any type. The whole set-up seemed like it was constructed with the intent of inducing stir-craziness. And just before a trail, no less, when she was pretty sure anyone would be biting their lips or nails with anxiety to begin with! "Humane" was no longer a fitting word to describe her conditions. This was more like the treatment a barely cared-for pet might receive. The keepers had long ago lost interest, but to soothe their guilty consciences, they still made sure the poor creature was fed, bathed on a rare occasion, and had some fresh shavings in a clean cage to sleep on. Affection or toys, on the other hand, were a luxury of the past.
If this was the case, Tifa didn't want to know what the Amyntasi Clusters did to people they actually deemed guilty of a crime.
As if to answer her, the lock on the steel door clicked, and the exit slid open with a hiss. Two men wearing black police uniforms entered and wordlessly motioned for her to stand.
Tifa complied, and they bound her hands in front of her. Leaving the cell, they marched down a long, narrow hallway, and into a small, ornate, round antechamber. A gaudy maroon carpet cut through the center, leading to a much larger exit veiled in a thick, black curtain. On the walls, a mural had been painted, depicting tall columns of stone set in the midst of an unsettled ocean, each topped off with some kind of glass dome. Tifa tilted her head slightly at the subtle reminder of how very alien this world still was to her. She'd only had the chance to experience a couple of limited-means examples of daily life on Amyntas. Aside from her initial journey to city, and the rare escapade just outside the Cluster, she'd never done much in the way of exploration. For the most part, this world's history, landmarks, and basic geography were still a mystery to her.
Moving on, she attempted to step through to the next room, but one of the guards stopped her with a sharp, formal warning, "Wait until we pull the drapes. You are to meet with the Cluster's highest council of judges. Show due respect."
Wordlessly, Tifa nodded. She squeezed her hands together, feeling the apprehension building in the pit of her stomach and in the back of her throat. Come to think of it, she also knew next to nothing about this world's higher etiquette or customs. For all she knew, remaining calm and collected before the council might come across as a sign of total lunacy, given the severity of the situation. There was simply no way of knowing.
After a long, restless hour, one of the guards received a message through the same communicative wrist device Tifa had seen them use at her arrest. It was her turn. Procedurally, they loosened her handcuffs and held back the curtains for her to continue through.
Taking small, reluctant steps, Tifa crept into the next room, a grand chamber befitting a court session. The floor was made of some kind of polished black marble, and the walls were filled with huge, arched windows. Glancing out, she confirmed her suspicion that she'd been imprisoned on the highest tier—the elevator up had taken quite a while. Finally, before her, there were four elevated tables, each seating three of the judges.
A few of them regarded her with thoughtful curiosity, but most just cast sour, unimpressed glares down their noses. The latter had probably already made up their minds, Tifa considered. Lowering her eyes to the floor, she continued her procession to the far end of the chamber until she reached a small chair, set directly in front of the judges' tables. Sitting down, she waited to hear what they would first say.
And waited, fidgeting, until—
"Tifa Lockhart, you must know the charges against you. Do you not intend to refute them? Or shall we simply agree to acknowledge your guilt, and move on to sentencing?" an old, gray, balding man seated at the center of the second table spat.
Her breath hitched, and she clenched her teeth. This trial wasn't looking to be fair. Exactly how was she supposed to know the charges against her, if no one had ever bothered to explain them?
Nevertheless, she answered, "All I know is that I've been caught in the middle of some awful things. I even get how bad that has to look, I do. I'm an outsider. I don't know how this world works, and that makes it easy for everyone to be suspicious of me. I probably would be too, if I were in your place. But…I haven't killed anyone."
To her left, a gentle-faced, middle-aged woman softly cleared her throat, while the right side of the room rose and departed in a perfectly straight line. "Those are the members of the court who would have judged you under your own admission of guilt. We remaining six will determine the veracity of your claims henceforth."
"Thank you, ma'am," Tifa muttered. At least someone was willing to give her a clue.
"Of course. Now that you understand, we may proceed. Your words sound sincere and heartfelt, yet we are left with two rather obvious dilemmas. First and foremost, you agree that you are not from Amyntas, correct?"
"Yeah."
A younger woman, also on the left table, leaned forward, clasping her hands. "As you may or may not know, the inhabitants of our world, Amyntas, are its children. Our planet has raised us. While we live, we commune with it, and execute its will. When we die, we return to the soul of our world, nourishing it with the knowledge and wisdom we have acquired in life. You agree that none of those statements hold true for you, so enlighten us: Where are you from?"
Inside, Aerith jumped. "Tifa, these people really are Cetra! This world's Cetra are still alive!"
Tifa closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. If they really were Cetra in the same manner as Aerith's ancestors, maybe they'd be more likely to believe her than she'd first ascertained. She could only hope. "My world has been destroyed," she announced, a small tremble creeping into her voice. Repeating that simple fact was never pleasant. "It's gone now…In the end, all I could do was run."
The balding man who'd first addressed her snorted, rolling his eyes. He'd looked upon her with nothing but pure disdain from the moment she'd entered the chamber, and he was all too eager to make it clear his opinion hadn't changed. "Precisely how was your world laid to waste, and whatever possessed you to choose Amyntas for refuge?" he snarled, making Tifa flinch.
Where could she even start to answer him? With Sephiroth's birth? With Jenova's arrival on Gaia? With Eden's appearance, when she'd become the most intimately involved with the whole debacle? Or maybe with one of the two times Cloud had defeated Sephiroth before, to highlight the recurring nature of the danger possibly on its way?
"I—My world was visited thousands of years ago by a malicious creature. The people at that time—the Ancients—who were just like you, had to fight this thing. Most of them died before they were able to contain it. Then, people from my time unearthed and released it, thinking it was one of the Ancients. They tried to use it to create super-soldiers, but—"
"Wait, wait, you and the 'Ancients' were two separate peoples?" the balding judge interrupted. "Then, I have to assume you're trying to tell us that your people weren't originally from your world? No such thing as home for you and yours, right? This just keeps getting more and more convoluted, don't you think?"
"We weren't the same, but as far as I know, we all came from the same place," Tifa pushed back, trying so, so hard not to snap. This man was clearly not interested in anything she had to say. He just wanted his chance to berate her before passing his ill-informed judgment. "But those scientists succeeded, and one of those men couldn't handle learning how he'd been created. He decided he was supposed to be better than human, and tried to become some kind of 'god' by taking control of the Planet…and after a while, after a few tries," Tifa stuttered slightly, and blinked hard.
Rehashing even the most basic version of what had happened made her hate the sound of her own voice. If she hadn't been there to witness the whole ordeal for herself; if she hadn't been stuck right in the middle of it, what she was trying to convey to the court would have sounded rather contrived, even to her. The old male judge was being unnecessarily confrontational, but if they couldn't believe everything, she almost couldn't blame them.
"Please continue, Tifa. 'After a while—'?" the middle-aged woman coaxed her.
"He almost did it, or maybe he did…I don't know," Tifa rambled before concluding, "but he destroyed my Planet. A man named Sephiroth ended my world, and with everything that's happened, I think he might come here next."
Farthest to the right in the group of remaining judges, a younger man paused in his furious note-taking, frowning. He rose and emerged from behind his table, approaching to speak with her face- to- face. Standing before her, he kept his arms crossed, sizing her up.
"I'm deeply sorry for your loss," he sympathetically began. "It's incomparable to any other."
Tifa lost it. She hadn't felt it coming, and it was embarrassing, but a deluge of tears flooded her face, and she buried her face in the palms of her hands. This was the very first time that anyone with real authority had not only recognized her for what she was, but had also at least come close to expressing an honest belief in her account.
"The stress of learning to survive such a thing must be overwhelming," he continued.
"Yes," Tifa squeaked, still trying to rein in her emotions.
"There are probably times when you try to pretend that nothing like that ever happened. The evidence, as we know it, goes so far as to suggest that you've attempted to live somewhat normally among us for a full year now, and in that attempt, subjected yourself to some of the worst squalor that Amyntas has to offer. For that, I apologize." The young judge paused, and then turned to face the others, raising his voice, "But there are still some disturbing facts that make no sense to us. There is a second dilemma, as my colleague had mentioned: Literally every single soul in this world who has ingratiated his or herself with you has died a grotesque, merciless death. That includes the family of three who initially took you in, Tifa."
Stepping aside, he activated a small device in his right hand. A series of holographic images of Mirnu, Sailyo, and Laiyon appeared before Tifa. Nothing was left of them but corpses, fully consumed in the dark rashes and sludge of Geostigma.
She couldn't speak. What was there left to say? How could she ever prove that she didn't do this? Tifa stared in shock, shaking her head. "…too terrible," she finally uttered.
"Indeed. What you may not know is that these souls, for whatever reason, have been unable to rejoin with Amyntas. Instead, they cling to whatever fears or resentments they held in life. Somehow, your name is always spoken amongst them," he finished and stalked back to his place behind the tables.
There was no mercy left. Even the patient, middle-aged woman shot daggers at her, her lips pursed in sheer disgust before she read out the details of the deaths, "The little girl's name was Laiyon, as you should know. She literally melted to death before presumably passing the illness on to her parents. She perished only a few estimated days after you departed. The parents met with a similar demise, just three days ago."
"Sephiroth is—"Tifa tried, but the court wasn't hearing it anymore.
"If such a threat existed, wouldn't it have made more sense to warn us immediately? Instead, you concealed the deaths around you; you ran from them," the balding judge growled. "You've displayed behavior typical of a heinous murderer bent on committing further crimes!"
"I couldn't be sure, until Neyli and Vaniir—"
"Until you buried them beneath your shanty, at which point you conveniently took up residence in their home," the younger female judge finished. "I must admit, the story you tell is fascinating, Tifa Lockhart, but not because it exonerates you. Our world was also visited by a plague-bringing entity two and a half millennia ago. Our ancestors warded her off, but looking at their records of the incident, I have to say that their invader acted quite similarly to what we're seeing in you. She pretended to be one of our own before infecting her victims."
"You can't be serious," Tifa plead, sucking in even breaths to keep from panicking.
Were they honestly saying that she was just like Jenova in their eyes? Yet they ignored her, looking instead to two veiled judges at the table who hadn't spoken the whole time.
"We cannot determine her nature, but her culpability is without question," the first one determined.
"She should perish naturally in the Candlesticks, where Amyntas may receive her as a sacrifice," the other judged.
"You have to look into this a little more!" Tifa begged. "If I'm so dangerous, then why are all of you still standing? What about the police that brought me here, and the guards? Go ahead and keep me locked up if you have to, but don't do this. At least then I can try help you when Sephiroth arrives!"
The sound of her own voice sounded foreign and strained. Adrenaline pumped through her body, and her heart raced. Tifa knew she was in real trouble now. She had to try to make a break for it. But as she sprung to her feet, two guards immediately flanked her, restraining her arms from making another move. Until this very moment, she'd taken pride in the fact that she'd never had to fight one of the Amyntasi. Now she wished she had, because then she'd at least have been prepared for how strong they were.
Then, a sharp stab in her right arm alerted her to a needle forcing its way into her skin, drugging her with what she quickly found out was a strong sedative. She didn't even get the chance to try to struggle against their vice-grip hold. Her limbs were suddenly transformed into lead weights by how they felt, and her head swam with the urge to pass out.
As Tifa succumbed to the injection, the balding judge proclaimed, "Even if this 'Sephiroth' character should materialize, Amyntas will defeat him, blessed in all strength by the Place of Origin, the Universal Source."