CHAPTER NINE: CUT AND DEAL
The trouble with loving a woman such as Daryl, Setzer discovered, was that it was almost impossible for him to show his affections by giving her gifts. Most of the women he had been interested in had been lavished with silk dresses, dainty chocolates, and the most exquisite jewels (some wrought by Mulciber himself). Daryl had no appreciation for any of these things except the chocolates, and the notion of stuffing the woman with sweets till the end of all time was not one Setzer desired. He really didn't care how large Daryl got, but chocolates day in and out lost novelty and meaning; Setzer was a better romancer than that.
Setzer did not know why he was so eager to give Daryl a gift, some sort of gift that she'd truly love, but he became utterly distressed. Kisses and embraces and the time they spent together, wonderful as they were, were common. He wanted to give her something really special. It was not fair for her, his dearest companion, to have nothing while his past interests had gotten so much.
But what, he often thought to himself, what could I possibly give to her? He had no idea.
Daryl herself was not much help in the matter. Whenever he asked what she most desired, she would only laugh, pinch his cheek, and say that the two best gifts she had were the airship and his love, and not necessarily in that order.
All very well and good, in her mind. The construction on the airship was going according to schedule and the estimated completion time was in the range of four or five months, just in time for his twenty-fourth birthday. But Setzer did not want to wait that long for her to receive something stupendous.
The gift needed to be practical, yet able to elicit a stronger response than, say, a new washing machine could. Nothing else was fit for his Daryl--the hitch was, what was this great present, and where in the wretched world could he find it?
In addition to his despairing quest, other troubles plagued him, most of them minor setback in the business and little financial worries. However, there was one major concern: Livius.
Livius's health had appeared to be on the rebound, but he recently begun to relapse: the annoying, dreadful cough had resurfaced with a vengeance, and now blood came up with the sputum. Livius's eyes sunk deep behind his spectacles; he was able to work for roughly an hour before he needed to take a break; and sometimes he experienced headaches so horrible that he screamed in pain and Ratchet had to be called in to administer painkillers.
Yet Livius managed to report to work regularly, avoiding exceeding his quota of sick days, and was on the brink of drawing up viable plans for the airship's main engines, the hardest problem facing the engineers. He was so dedicated and seemed to derive such joy from the work that Setzer overlooked company policy and allowed the man to stay on until he left of his own will. Setzer thought it poor compensation for his good friend, but Livius would not accept anything more.
Finally Mulciber came into Setzer's office during lunch one day and, after exchanging greetings and a few jokes, stated his business: "The egghead has got to go, boss."
"Come on, Mulciber, you know he's having one of his weak spells. He's not as chipper as he once was, but--"
"Little squeak always was weak. I ain't denyin' that. But I talk with him in between breaks now and then, and I know when a fella's at the end of his rope. How long are you gonna let him go on, coughin' and drivin' us mad? He's a sorry sight. It'd be best for all if you got rid of him."
"Are you sure that the end is near?"
" 'Course I'm sure! I've known the man longer than you. Why, the first day he came into my shop lookin' for a job, I took one look at him and I knew right then he wouldn't last. To tell you the truth, I'm kinda surprised he made it this long. But now it's all up."
"And that doesn't bother you?" Setzer asked angrily. "After he's worked for you for so long and hard!"
"He ain't the first worker I've lost. I treated him fair and babied him here and there, the squeak. But now it's all up," Mulciber said quietly. He paused for a moment and continued, "Little bugger sure loved his work, though. Have to say that for him. Let me tell you, boss, I wouldn't be in your shoes right now, not for a mint of money. Gonna take away all a man's ever had and all he ever was. But what're you gonna do, eh?"
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," Setzer answered coldly. "I'm keeping Livius until I deem that he is too sick to work. My decision--no one else's. Capeesh?"
"You're the boss."
So Livius was kept on the force for a little longer, and it was enough time for him to perfect the design of the main engines. That was both good and bad for Setzer.
The good thing was that the most difficult and intricate element of the airship was now over; everything else would seem like smooth sailing from thence on. The bad thing was that Setzer could hardly face up to the task of firing Livius. It had seemed like a horrible chore to do before, but now it seemed sinful: he had callously waited for Livius to do all the dirty work and was going to cast him out since the business had no more use for him.
No successful businessman ever got ahead by being totally straight and fair with the workers, customers, or anybody; Setzer was no different. To his credit, he had never intended to fire Livius immediately after the completion of the engine's design, to flick the engineer away like a scab and snatch the rewards. Often Setzer contemplated using a pocket veto on Mulciber's demands and 'forget' to call on Livius until the man had died happy at his workbench.
Then the complaints came from the airship team--not many but very vocal and strongly worded. Livius's coughing grated on the nerves of the workers and broke their concentration, he dragged himself around and slowed down the action, and he rarely conferred with the other engineers, instead keeping to himself, hunched and wheezing. Always wheezing!
Right on the bulletin board in the workers' lounge, someone who managed to keep anonymous posted up this message: "How does Mr. Gabbiani expect us to work at our best when our director isn't strong enough to support us?" Setzer finally had to admit that Livius had to go. He could not stomach a mutiny.
So Setzer dispatched a summons for Livius to report to the president's office at once. The hell of it was, the young businessman knew that his engineer did not expect in the least to be sacked. He had heard the gossip spreading in the break rooms: Livius knew that the men were becoming more and more displeased with him, but that he expected Setzer to cover for him. Livius ever did believe very strongly in the sanctity of friendship.
Most unwelcome information, that! Setzer had wanted to forget it soon after leaning of it. Unfortunately, he did know, and wretchedness squirmed and wriggled in his brain while he waited for Livius to lurch in. Livius had been his right arm for years, a very long time in his youthful reckoning, and now he was about to shear it right off, withered and crippled though it was--
"You called for me?" Livius wheezed from the door, what remained of his voice cheery.
Setzer could not smile. He gestured for Livius to enter and close the door, and, without any pleasantries, for small-talk would only bait his doomed engineer; he hooked his hands together and tilted his neck a few degrees to the left, gazing at the corner of his desk.
"Do you know what the airship team is saying about you, Livius? They tell me, and others, too, that you cannot support the workers a you once were able to."
"I've been doing poorly as of late," Livius smirked ruefully.
"Yes, and that is a matter of concern to me. Livius, I have decided to let you go."
Livius stopped his coughing for one flickering moment. His fragile body swayed and his shoulders went rigid.
"Hasn't my work been satisfactory?"
Setzer leaned across his desk, took in his hands Livius's face, and forced himself, to look into the spectacles. They could have been basilisk's eyes, they hurt so.
"Livius, your time is done. You are too sick. I won't have anybody in my business work himself to death."
"Of all the times I helped you, talked with you when nobody else would, gave my all for you--and you fire me!" Livius cried; his eyes glared and his labored breathing came faster and faster. Red froth fleck his pinched lips.
"Livius, calm down and listen. You are my friend, and I am grateful for everything you've done for me. I would never let you go unless I had irreproachable reason. Don't you realize you are dying, Livius?"
"But I can still work!"
"Please, Livius, don't make this any harder than it already is. Be sensible, man. I should have put you in a hospice months ago, but I broke company and legal rules because I know how much this place means to you. We can't pretend any longer. You are too sick to work, and that's that. I am sorry."
Livius bent down on his knees before the desk and whispered, "Please, sir, please. Don't let me go. I couldn't bear it."
"Gods, Livius," Setzer cried. "Don't. Get up."
"Who will take my place?"
"Daryl." The word slipped out mechanically, and Setzer knew what had heretofore been merely a small undercurrent of desire inside him: Daryl had been intended for the position all along, the very moment Livius had been marked down for then pink slip. It was his gift to her. Did not she, who had thrown her back and soul into the airship's completion, deserve to direct, plan, and fly it? Nothing else would do. Perfect! Something good could come out of this.
"Why am I not surprised?" Livius sighed.
"She's worked just as hard on the airship as you have. Don't think that casting aspersions will do you any good."
Setzer immediately regretted his words; he went around his desk and threw an arm around Livius's shaking shoulders. "I'm very sorry. But I'm not going to throw you out in the cold. There's a hospice I know where you can go, a gorgeous place where you can relax for once. I'll pay--"
"Forgive me if I decline the generous offer, Mr. Gabbiani," Livius said. "Since I am neither wealthy nor in your bed, I expect no special treatment."
"All I want to do--!"
"I know, sir. I am sorry if I offended you. I'll be going now," Livius spoke quietly, bowing his head, and slipped out the door, closing it silently behind him.
Reaching inside one of the desk's drawers, Setzer pulled out a flagon of whiskey and poured himself a glass. The drink sat in his stomach like a cold bulb. He went over to his office window and looked out through the blinds.
He saw Livius talking with Ratchet not ten feet away; they must have bumped into each other. Ratchet looked to be listening to whatever Livius was saying, no doubt about the dismissal, nodding his head every so often and taking long drags upon his cigarette all the while.
Ratchet leaned forward when the talking had stopped, laid a hand on Livius's shoulder, and whispered something. He straightened back up, shaking his head at something, and then turned away, inadvertently puffing a mouthful of smoke in Livius's face.
"Son of a bitch," Setzer swore. He waited until Livius departed and yanked open his office door and spoke in a rather harsh voice: "Ratchet, please get Daryl. I want to talk to you both in my office as soon as possible."
Ratchet carried out his orders, and soon enough Setzer had the two before him.
"Daryl," he said to her, "I have welcome news for you. You're the new head engineer. The airship is yours, all yours, to tinker on and finish. Isn't it good news? Do you like it? Please tell me!"
She inhaled a sharp breath, and her eyes grew wide and round in her incredulous face. "Why, Setzer, I don't know what to say," she said slowly, looking discomfited and a bit frightened. "I mean, I would love to become head engineer, it was my dream when I first came, but...I thought that Livius held that job."
"I fired him," Setzer answered miserably. He felt ill, and the cold bulb of liquor seemed brackish and toxic, the fumes curdling his innards and drying them up. "He was so sick, you know it, Daryl. You both know it. But I will give him severance pay, and check him into a hospice, if his family wants it. None of them will lack."
"Setzer!" she gasped. Her face grew white; Ratchet blew a smoke ring up towards the ceiling.
"What?" He nearly began to shout. "What? Do you think I did him wrong? I told you both that he'd be compensated. More than compensated! I'll move the whole family into a godsdamned mansion if they so wish."
"Ah, yes, the dream of every poor person is to get a good house out of a sick father," Ratchet intoned, regarding his cigarette almost wryly.
Daryl gaped at Ratchet, at Setzer, and at the room at large. Setzer desperately wished for her to say or do something. Finally, she took up his hands and looked into his face.
"I would be honored to be the head engineer. But I can't do it to Livius. I know he's sick, but that just entitles him even more to what makes him happy. He's been so nice to all of us. I will not accept the job until Livius goes, either by choice or when the sickness takes him."
"What should I do? Call him back and beg him to take back the job? Would he do it, Daryl? I don't know what to do. I want everyone to come out of this content. I've given him such a scare--"
"Please, Setzer, call him back. It's not fair," Daryl cried, looking near to burst into tears. "Do it quickly!"
"Yes, I'll hurry," Setzer answered; the cold bulb in his stomach did not feel so heavy. He turned to Ratchet. "You were talking to him a few minutes ago. Did he tell you where he was going?"
"Oh, he didn't say he was going anywhere," Ratchet said. "He told me that he'd been fired, of course, but nothing other than that."
"You spoke to him; I saw you. What did you say, Ratchet? Now!"
Flicking the ashes from his smoke, Ratchet answered with a slight twitch of his upper lip: "I said to him, 'Isn't that a pretty state of affairs, old boy? You won't go to a hospice, I'll wager, and you certainly can't work here any longer. You might as well go and shoot yourself, for all anybody cares.'"
"What! Ratchet, why did you say that? How could you have said that? He's your friend, dammit!"
"It doesn't matter to me what he does with himself. But if I was Livius, I'd have gone to the Armory by now." The Armory was a name the workers had given to the rooms where finished weapons were stored before shipping.
Daryl gave a loud wail, and Setzer cuffed Ratchet's ear, shoving the man against the wall and said, "Shut up!" He gave Ratchet a slap for good measure and took Daryl's hands in his.
"We still have some time," he whispered to her, "I'll go ahead to the Armory and see if he's there. You go and tell Mulciber what's happened. He'll help you search."
"All right, all right," Daryl gasped, "but we must hurry!"
Setzer reached to stroke her cheek and whirled around and burst out the door. He ran down through the halls and workshops that lead to the Armory, calling out "Livius, Livius!" at intervals. The workers he passed looked at him as if he'd gone mad, but Setzer didn't even know that they existed: all he was aware of was the beating of his heart and the sick icy weight in his stomach.
He reached the Armory and yanked on the door, but when he looked in, he saw nothing. "Oh, gods," he whispered, wheeling around and backtracking in a mad, frantic sprint. Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes. He couldn't remember where he was going or what he wanted to do. Sometimes he forgot who he was looking for. He stumbled over everything in his path as he went, pirouetting like an elephant in a ballerina costume, and crashed into walls.
He flailed his way out the back entrance of the building, circled around, and reached the front walk. A crowd had gathered around there, all of them congregating around one certain spot that seemed to be of most catastrophic importance, just like watching a cock fight.
Daryl stood on the front steps of the building's main entrance; her hands were cupped around her mouth and nose, and she was weeping hysterically. Setzer ran up to her and asked, "What is it? Livius?"
"Yes!" He could hardly understand her through her sobs. "Everybody I talked to said that he had gone to the Armory, but that they had seen him leave a few minutes after. Nobody knew where he was, so I ran out here to see if anybody out on the street had seen him, and then I saw--I saw--" She began to cry harder, nearly bending double; she probably would have collapsed if Setzer hadn't caught her.
"He'd taken a gun and shot himself in the head," she bawled, "and there was blood everywhere, and he looked so pitiful. Oh, he was always so nice to me!"
They threw their arms around each other, and Setzer felt her nails digging into his back as he buried his face into the thick mane of her hair that always smelled like oil, breathing the scent like it was the only thing that kept him alive.
"I didn't know he'd take it so hard," he whispered to her. "I didn't know it meant so much to him."
Daryl collected herself, stopped crying, and slowly drew back, wiping her eyes. "I want to go home," she whispered.
"Yes, I think that's what everyone here needs. I'll give the employees leave to go home and take the rest of the day off without a pay deduction. You can take the carriage back to the house. I'll catch a ride later. I need to stay here and see to things. But before you go, Daryl, please send Mulciber out here. Tell him to bring out some of his men."
He kissed her over the eyes and watched her depart. Daryl looked very pale and shaken, but recovered enough that she didn't need an escort hovering over her. He knew she would do as he asked.
Many and many people were streaming in from the streets and nearby buildings, inquiring about what had happened and who was hurt or dead, and the lines grew thick. When Mulciber and his choicest helpers, all of them agitated and nervous, came to Setzer, he met them almost gladly.
"Have you heard what has happened?" he asked. They all nodded.
Setzer pointed out to the crowds. "Get rid of them," he ordered softly. "Get them out. Don't be too rough, but if they give you crap, give them a bloody nose or two."
"It's a damn shame." Mulciber shook his head and bared his ugly teeth at the unwelcome intruders. "Come on, boys."
A handful of men breaking up an assembly of hundreds seems a very difficult task, if not nigh impossible, but Mulciber made short work of it. He and his entourage pushed and bellowed threats at the people as they drove the flocks on their speedy way, at times pulling off their thick leather belts and thrashing the backsides of the more stubborn spectators with the buckled ends. The sight was actually quite enthralling, if you were into that sort of thing. Setzer watched it with a mean sort of satisfaction.
Lying in the emptiness left by the crowd's departure was Livius. A thick shadow of blood, smeared and scattered by the feet of the people, unfurled itself from behind his head, and the shattered remains of his glasses had fallen off his nose into the crimson. The upper half of his body lady straight on the ground, but somehow his spine had twisted, and his legs were one their sides. One leg had twitched and was curled up tight, almost up to his chest, and, in the dripping, gape-mouthed face his eyes were squinted shut, not by his eyelids, but almost as if his whole face had shifted up the skull.
Setzer had seen sparrows that had crashed against windows or doors and died; Livius, without his glasses, looked almost birdlike.
But now was not the time to think on such maudlin things. Setzer beckoned to a worker whom he knew and trusted and gave these instructions:
"Please announce that all work is suspended for the remainder of the day, but there will be no cut in pay. Take some helpers with you so that they don't stampede. I want it orderly."
"Yes, sir. But what'll I tell them?"
"Tell them that someone has committed suicide on the premises, and that I don't want them tangled up in boring legal procedures. If they ask for names, tell the truth, but try not to give any nasty details."
The worker said that he would do his orders at once; Setzer warmed up to the somber but not sentimental man. This was a good worker! He could not help but open up to him a little, for anybody else would either be too indifferent or too full of tears to listen.
"I suppose," Setzer said feebly with a helpless glance at his companion, "that I must go to his house and break the news to the family."
"Oh, you don't need to mind about that," the worker answered. "Ratchet's already set out."
"Ratchet!"
The worker looked flummoxed. "Oh, yes. You probably didn't know because we haven't had someone croak since you became boss. We've always used Ratchet when this sort of thing happened, 'cause he never seems to mind."
"I've heard enough. Off with you, my man. Take the help you want, just get everybody out of here."
The man looked happy to go away--indeed, Setzer's workers were of the type that like their bosses to be solidly set in their acts and words in tough times, never equivocal or contradictory. Anything else upset them.
Inside of him, the queasy cold bulb had risen out of his stomach and into his throat; a bitter taste rose in the young man's mouth, and he felt diseased to the heart. Setzer put his hands on his knees and leaned over, spitting onto the ground.
As he straightened out, he noticed the workers were filing out from the doors, streaming out in all directions. Some went over to where Livius lay, but Mulciber and the others quickly formed a protective ring around the corpse to prevent it from being jostled any further. A curse word or two and a glare was all that was required to send the curious off.
One man did break through the guards. After only about ten minutes everyone had set off towards their homes, and Mulciber had dismissed his assistants; Coroban suddenly came up, brushed past his uncle, and stood over Livius's body, looking down on it.
"The sap," said Coroban. He was a distance away, but Setzer heard it as clearly as if he had been standing right next to the speaker.
Setzer knew Livius's marrow was cold and heart limp, but to hear a dead man being called a sap threw him into a rage, as if something very fragile and beloved had been thrown onto the floor and smashed. Insulting a dead man became a capital crime in his book at the moment, and he wanted Coroban dead. Setzer reached for the pistol in his pocket...or perhaps the razor-sharp glass darts made in the shape of cards that he had requested Mulciber make about a year ago. Setzer could throw the sharp cards with deadly accuracy, and he started calculating how hard and at what angle to throw them as to sever the jugular vein.
Mulciber had heard Coroban's remark, too. Poor people in Vector had a healthy respect for their dead. Life was brutish and ugly, and death as the only way for a man to escape, which gave the deceased a morbid sort of dignity. And to slander that dignity was intolerable.
The dwarf limped over and stood right before his nephew, one arm raised up, the hand clenched into a horny fist.
This is it, Setzer thought. He's finally gone too far. He's a dead man.
Coroban obviously thought that as well, for his dilated pupils looked nothing but frightened, yet he did not make a move against Mulciber.
"Don't hurt my nose, Uncle, it's busted enough already without you."
Mulciber looked long and hard at him, and then dropped his hand and heaved a sigh. "I don't have anything to say to you, boy. Get yourself away from here and never come back. I don't want to see you again."
Coroban went, inched away and disappeared down an alley.
Setzer never understood why Mulciber didn't kill Coroban that day. Perhaps the old love for his estranged wife stopped him. Perhaps Mulciber thought that such a wretch was not worth the effort. Or perhaps he was just tired of fighting.
Many times, when he had been with Livius or Daryl, Setzer had made fun of his former boss, mocking his limp and his ugly face. Yet as he watched Mulciber stoop down and carry off the body, handling it so gently in his metal-pounding arms, Setzer felt proud of his worker.
It would be very nice to say that the two men became great friends, brought together by death and two acts of kindness, and they learned and grew from each other, rich and poor mingling. Very fitting and good.
Nothing of the sort came ever about. Still, Setzer stopped making fun of Mulciber after that.
************
"My dear, we've got to stop moping around like this," Setzer later told Daryl, leaning in close to her ear while they reclined together on the grassy slope of their hill. Ever since Livius's death, the two of them had hardly kept their minds on their work. Progress on the airship had slowed down to an unacceptable rate, and, as much as he would have liked to sit around and feel sad, Setzer knew that a great boost in morale was needed. "We must work hard again."
"I know, Setzer," said she, "but I can't help feeling awful. Why should I be happy and work after all that's happened?"
"You talk as if we killed him."
"Sometimes it feels like that."
"Good gods, woman," Setzer swore, "men get sacked all the time, and they don't shoot themselves. I didn't point the gun to his head, nor did you. He was deranged from his sickness. That's what the inquest said."
"I still don't feel right about it."
That was understandable; a few times, in the deepest and darkest hours of the night, Setzer had found himself waking up from a deep slumber, and, staring into the darkness, the image of Livius, his leg curled and eyes squeezed shut, would coalesce in the abyss, and then the pool of blood would turn into jagged shard of glass--terrible, terrible images in the night, not so horrible in the day. All the bad memories in his brain had been brought forth by the wretched affair, for he had not dreamed of shattered windows for a very long time. It terrified him and wrenched his heart. But he couldn't let her know that! He had to be strong, like a good gambler and entrepreneur.
"I understand," he soothed, running a hand through her hair. She smiled weakly.
"Most of the time, though, I feel sorry for his family," Daryl told him. "Have they come to you yet?"
"Yes. Don't worry. Whenever they are pressed and need aid, I'll be there for them. They won't lack, I promise. I've already sent them new clothes and gold at their asking."
"That's good."
"Liar. You think that I shouldn't have offered my help, then?"
"Whenever my family had to live off charity, I hated it!" Daryl answered vehemently. "I'm sure that the Savaunts feel the same way. It's a horrid feeling. I can't describe it. Listen, when you get approached by some high and mighty people throwing their second-hand clothes at you, and when you have to go to the charities and beg for your food, see how you like it. Nobody understands it who hasn't been there. I know what they're going through."
Setzer rolled up into a sitting position and glared down at the grass. "No matter what I do, I can't seem to help anybody when I want to," he grumbled. "When I try to give something, nobody takes it. I haven't made them beg. You know I wouldn't treat Livius's family like that."
Daryl sat up and put her arms around his neck, giving him a squeeze. "Of course. Just treat them fairly and don't sneer at them, and I'll say you're doing the best you can."
"See?" he asked her, smiling and resting his finger on the tip of her nose. "We're feeling better already. Now, Daryl, won't you please take the head engineer job? Can't work without one. I need an answer."
"I would take it," Daryl said slowly, "but it seems like I'm doing him wrong."
What an oddly sentimental woman she was at times! "Daryl, stop dwelling on it. How on earth can you harm a dead man? Life's done its worst to him. We've got to carry on, or else we'll be dead before we know it, too. Take the job and you can honor him by doing it well."
"All right, I'll do it."
************
Construction on the airship returned to its original pace. All of the truly difficult problems had already been worked out and tricky parts designed, so that very little was left to do. In a matter of weeks, all was completed.
The airship was christened the Blackjack. Daryl had wanted to name the ship the Savaunt after Livius, but Setzer vetoed that. Not only did he think that it would have embarrassed Livius, ever an unassuming man, had he been alive, Setzer doubted he could made himself look at the airship and not hate it.
No drastic changes had been made to the body or internal workings of the ship part of the Blackjack, except that Setzer had decided to build a whole new floor above the cargo hold. This new area was filled with ballast and weights, for he intended to use the new section as a sort of living quarters, complete with roulette and blackjack tables. Transporting goods was very well, but he wanted to have fun, too.
Unfortunately, the new floor made the ship much heavier, and the canvas gas bag needed to be made bigger to give more lift power. The final bag was so big that, fully inflated, the airship could not fly out of the hangar doors. This irked Setzer to no end because he knew that, in spite of their protestations to the otherwise, Daryl and the other workers were laughing at his lack of foresight when he wasn't looking.
He quickly devised a way to free the Blackjack, however. The canvas could be easily deflated and spread over and across the deck; it was the body that was the main concern. In the end, having argued and haggled with various transportation-service companies, Setzer managed to procure a small army of movers to load the airship onto a special carrier that was normally used to deliver military machinery in bulk; from thence the ship would be taken to the nearest location that was suitable for taking off. The whole affair cost him more than 30,000 gold pieces, and Setzer never failed to look back on the proceedings without feeling like an idiot.
But the Blackjack did eventually get tugged and grunted out of its hangar prison, and, following several thrown-out backs and hernias, loaded onto the special transport, an engine-propelled machine with a humongously wide and long trailer bed that just about took up the whole street. Everything had to be done in the dead of the cold night, or else the Blackjack never would have gotten through the daytime traffic.
Setzer directed the cargo to the hilly outer fringes of the Vector suburbs, choosing a wide, flat stretch between two softly rising humps of earth. He gave the order for the gas bag to be inflated, and the Blackjack soon revealed itself in all its zeppelin-like glory to the spangles of dawn that crept up on the eastern winter horizon.
A small audience had gathered near the airship, most of them workers from the airship crew, but a few other people from the factories had come to watch, Mulciber and Ratchet included.
Setzer smiled and waved to the spectators. "Well, men, this is it!" he cried. "I'm either going to go smoothly or blow up in flames, but either way you'll have fun watching!"
For a moment, he scanned the crowd, and he saw Daryl's face, flushed and alert and bursting with vivaciousness. They exchanged winks and she blew him a kiss before he turned around and ascended a ramp that folded out from the airship's underbelly.
The shiny boards of the deck glistered in the pale light of dawn, sleek and without a splinter; at the middle loomed the main controls, a steering wheel built in the same manner as a sailing ship's, an ignition and speed controls, and a small panel to monitor the engine function and gas levels. There were also two groves cut into the floor right before the wheel and, around the base of all the steering equipment, a leather harness that fastened around the waist. The Blackjack had the ability to attain great speeds, and any fool who just stood about on deck while zooming at full speed would have gone tumbling off to earth in seconds and broken his body on the rocks.
Setzer grasped the knobs of the wheel, shaping his hands to the wood, and settled his feet into the grooves. Yet...he felt as if he did not know her. He had worked long and hard days and nights on her, cursed her, loved her, and he and Daryl had spent countless hours in an IAF simulator, getting used to the feeling of flight, but he felt an awkward feeling of strangeness. No, it was all out of joint.
Surely he did not fear to die! He was sure he was not going to die. Everything had been checked and tested twice over, and he knew what to do. Even if he did fail and die, what did that matter, really? It would be a glorious way to go.
He sighed and attempted to gain his bearings. Another deep breath--one, two--and he let his gambler's heart and blood pound through him, heating his temples and palms with the love of dreadful risk to come and illuminate the darkness of his ignorance.
And then he remembered: the docking plank! He had left it up.
Drawing in the plank was not an arduous task by any means, but it left Setzer very cross with himself, more out of his genteel compunction than anything else. He went down and immediately corrected the problem. As he made sure the door was securely locked, a noise sounded out amongst the bags and chests of ballast in the ship's main hold. What in Stray's name! He glanced about, listening very carefully.
Ah! His ears, honed to detect the smallest cough of an opposing poker player, picked up another small sound, coming from a closet on the other side of the hold. Setzer clambered and hopped towards the closet and tugged on the door.
"Good gods!"
Black, red, and gold all came hurtling down at him; Setzer gave another yell and only in the nick of time scrambled out of the assailant's trajectory. When the hurly-burly was done, he stared down at the floor, upon which a depressingly familiar red coat and black boots were spread-eagled.
Daryl reached up and pushed back her coat collar, previously draped over her face, and she looked up at him.
"Hi!" she said.
"I knew it!" Setzer yelled, and stamped his foot down. He should have expected this. He really couldn't bring himself to be angry at her, only at his carelessness and woeful ignorance, but he yelled nonetheless. "Daryl, be so kind as to remove yourself from the ship immediately."
"Never! I helped work on this thing too, you know." She reached out and clutched onto a bag and a chest. "I'm staying. Try and make me get off. I dare you."
"Daryl--" he huffed slowly, grabbing at her coat and struggling to pull her up, "this is--oof!--too dangerous--arg! You could die."
"I don't care about that," she cried.
"But I do. If something happens, Daryl, someone must take over. Besides, how do you expect me to steer the Blackjack at my best with you on board, worrying me? I won't have my mind on my driving, and I'll make mistakes."
"Setzer, I know the dangers just as much as you do. I may be a woman, but I've got the blood and stomach of the toughest man alive. I'm not afraid, nor could I ever build a new airship without you. It's double or nothing here, and just try to change my mind."
"All right, stay then! What's the good?" Setzer wheeled about and marched up on deck, Daryl righting herself and trotting behind.
Setzer tended to the very final checkups; looking up from the gauges, he saw his most cheeky head engineer had swung both her legs over the balustrade, her expectant face turned to the sky.
"Daryl, come over here and stand behind me," he called. "I'd feel better and not have to worry as much if I knew you weren't actively trying to kill yourself."
She complied this time, and stationed herself at his back, wrapping her arms around his middle. He was still annoyed with her and a shade ashamed--why could he never be firm in these situations?--but having her nearby was also fortifying.
"Kiss me for luck, devil-woman," he whispered. They kissed quickly, and he diverted his attention to the wheel before him, strapping himself in and donning a pair of goggles to shield his eyes from the wind and the occasional insect. He glanced at the gauges once more, and, reaching out his hand, brushed the ignition switch with his fingers.
The deck thrummed and shivered beneath their feet and a deep rumble erupted from the bowels of the Blackjack, gears and pipes whistling below. The engines above hummed and started to emit exhaust from the turbines. All was well so far. Setzer pulled on the accelerator, and, with a soft lurch, the airship rose up a few feet and hovered in place. Setzer did not feel any elation; until they were safely up in the air, he could not bring himself to experience any sense of triumph.
Yanking down harder on the accelerator, Setzer brought the airship forward, skimming over the ground faster and faster, the watchers growing smaller and smaller. He gave the wheel a swivel and turned a dial, and again the deck shuddered. Daryl's grip tightened around his ribs; he could hardly breathe, and for the most dreadful of moments he had though they were lost.
But no! The engines didn't explode, nor did the ship fall right to piece beneath him--they were rising up and up at a fantastic rate, the sky swallowing them up and filling Setzer's vision till it was all he could see.
"Daryl?" he said softly; he did not know what else to speak. "Daryl?"
There was no pressure around his middle where her hands once were, only a deep bruised sensation from where the harness was cutting into his skin.
"Daryl!" She had gone. Setzer nearly let go of the wheel; but a rich, boisterous laugh sounded out from the stern.
He must have accelerated too abruptly and caused her to lose her balance, for Daryl was clinging to the balustrade in a ridiculous position, one leg very close to dangling over the edge, the muscles in her forearms bulging, and her back hunched forward. Yet for all that, she was laughing and laughing.
"Higher," she shrieked in a freak of ecstasy, "higher!"
The laughter and joy of her voice filled his beating heart and made him drunk. All the commercial and scientific uses of the invention disappeared; the only thing he wanted now was to do anything, anything at all to keep her screaming and laughing with delight. So higher and faster they climbed, and only when he felt the air grow thin around them did he bring the airship to a halt. Daryl finally scrambled back up onto the deck, whirling around, her hair and clothes blown about and disheveled.
"Oh, gods, gods!" she repeated over and over, stretching out her arms and looking wildly about; she then rushed over to him from behind and embraced him, lifting him up above the deck. Setzer nearly got sick and his heart pounded close to bursting.
"We've done it, you and I," he whispered, turning towards her; if he hadn't been utterly paralyzed by the beauty and liberty of the air and the vessel of joy he held in his arms, he might have very well taken her right there and then on the deck, with naught but air and sun around them. But he could not move.
"Come on," she urged, "let's not stop now. She needs more of a workout."
So he took the Blackjack down, putting her through sharp curves and dives at such a speed that the sky and land blurred and fused together; he could not tell which was which, nor where he was, as if that mattered.
The remainder of the first flight went on in the same strain: sometimes Setzer was at the wheel, sometimes Daryl, and they screeched and wheeled all about for hours. It would be too tedious to tell what aerial maneuvers they performed, for, unless you actually experience flight yourself, one dive and turn is like another.
Eventually Setzer broke out of the spell of his divine drunkenness to say: "We shouldn't overwork her, at least not on the first day. I'm going to bring her down."
As can be expected, the hullabaloo that greeted them when they disembarked was something astounding. Setzer received more pounds on the back and handshakes than he would have liked, and the shouts and praises showered upon him made his ears ring. Everything was wonderful and pride surged through his veins, but it soon became very boring, and Setzer simply wanted to be alone with Daryl. He politely pushed his way through the people, holding on to Daryl's hand and dragging her along, nearly losing her grip once or twice through the tumult. He finally emerged to approach Ratchet, who stood apart from all the others and seemed to be the only one who had any self-possession at all. Setzer had never found cynicism so agreeable before.
"I would congratulate you," Ratchet said, indicating the ruckus with a jerk of his head, "but it seems you've had your fill."
"My back is going to be sore tomorrow, that's for certain," Setzer grinned ruefully.
"One sheep does not do any harm, but when you run into a whole flock, they can trample and smother you to death. They seem to be having fun, though."
"Yes, yes," Setzer said hurriedly, "but I need for you to do something for me. Nobody else will listen to me."
"What do you wish?"
"Deflate the Blackjack and get the loading crew to get it back on the machine and tack it back to the hangar. Lock everything up when it's put back, and assign some guards to watch the place. Tell all the workers that they have the rest of the day off and send them home. I'm bloody likely not to be at the office today!"
"Leave it to me."
"Good man. Now if you'll--"
"Wait just a moment," Ratchet's voice cut in smooth and cool as a steel knife; Setzer and Daryl halted, and the former gave a grunt for the seven-fingered man to continue. "You cannot expect to go gallivanting all the way up there without being noticed, do you, sir? From what I've heard tell, half the city thought that Alexander was coming to bring down the Day of Doom on them."
Setzer couldn't help but chuckle at the image of people getting down on their knees and praying to Alexander for absolution; he wondered how many elderly people had grabbed at their chests and pounded on their arms at the sight. Ratchet dignified his chief's jocularity with a raised eyebrow.
"What has happened?" Setzer managed to ask, still shaking.
"Nothing serious. You won't get arrested, even though you so richly deserve if for spooking so many people. However, a courier from the Imperial Palace did approach me and asked me to give you this." Ratchet reached into a pocket and pulled out a creamy-gold piece of vellum rolled up into a dainty scroll and tied with crimson satin.
"Is it what I think it is?" Setzer sighed, taking the scroll and breaking the seal.
"No doubt."
"What? What are you talking about?" Daryl interjected in an annoyed voice; Setzer raised a hand to calm her down and unrolled the scroll, scanning it quickly.
"I am to report to the Emperor for a private audience tomorrow morning," he announced. "Damn it! The old buzzard's ruined everything." He had wanted to celebrate for a day or two in perfect freedom, but now everything was sullied with the dread of having to report to His Imperial Majesty. Yes, he did dread the audience, for Emperor Gestahl had a reputation for being a formidable man, but he was more disappointed than anything.
"You are lucky that no loyal person heard that, or else, sure as I'm missing three fingers, your head would be on a pike by next evening," Ratchet said, waggling a finger. Daryl glared up at these words and tugged on Setzer's sleeve.
"Shut your hole, Ratchet, and do what he says. Come on, Setzer."
They made a mad dash for the company carriage, hurdling over and slithering commando-style under the innocent well-wishers that unknowingly plagued them, and once safety was reached Setzer ordered the driver to make a course for the Gabbiani estate.
The chauffeur whipped the chocobos up into full speed, but the trip seemed overlong to Setzer--he often wanted to tell the man to go faster only to remember that the poor beasts were being driven as fast as health allowed. The gates of his land rose up in the distance and soon they had entered the grounds. He gave the order to stop and jumped out, stopping only to help Daryl, and broke into a run, clutching her hand.
Setzer and Daryl ran and did not stop until they reached the hill, their hill, whereupon they collapsed into a heap at the summit, both of them hot, sweaty, and out of breath. Following a bit of turning and shifting, he had untangled their arms and legs, and pressed up close against her, his face next to her ear. He encircled one arm around her waist and stroked her hair, almost absently, with his free hand.
Neither spoke for a very long time; there was nothing to say. As the two of them lay there together, very still, their faces turned towards the sudden drop-off, looking over the crag and into the robin's egg-blue of the winter sky, feeling the heat and internal rhythms of flesh and the effervescent fragrance of dead grass filling their nostrils, they felt strange, very strange, almost as if they didn't know the ground they walked on. True, they were not the first ones to fly, but they felt they had done something greater: they had touched with their very fingertips the edges of another world, unbound and so radically different that--that--
What it was neither of them could understand; they could only feel it in the pounding of their veins and the shamelessness of thoughts that boiled underneath. They were utterly lost in it; a person could have come by and smashed them both over the head with a sledgehammer and they wouldn't have felt a thing.
Such feelings are too rich and wild for any man or woman to experience for long without going mad, and so the sensations slowly wore of, bit by bit. Setzer blinked--how long he they been staying here? Not so long, it felt, only about ten minutes, but when he looked at his pocket watch, he found that they had been here for nearly five hours. He suddenly was aware of a thousands aches and cramps in his body, and he was terribly hungry; but he was happy.
"Daryl," he said softly in her ear, pinching her shoulder gently, "are you hungry?"
"Yes," came the slow answer, "I'm famished. Gods, how long has it been?"
"Nearly five hours."
She sat up like a rocket, almost clobbering his nose: "You can't be serious! So long? We haven't done a thing. Come on, come on, let's go to the house and have a feast. I daresay we deserve it."
Daryl jerked him up to his feet, they staggered over the fields to the house, and proceeded to kick the cook out of the kitchen to go on one the greatest pantry-raids of their lives. This unprecedented behavior brought all of the staff into a roar. Setzer explained everything, which only made them even more excited, and invited them to join in the celebration.
Food and fine wines were passed liberally around--even Benedick, who did not believe in excess, stuffed himself and could hardly get out of his chair. It was great fun.
From the kitchen the revelers made their way into the recreation room. In the middle of this room was a fine grand piano, full-sized and decorated with mother-of-pearl inlay. Setzer, who couldn't play a tune to save his life, sat down on the bench and started pounding away at the keys, practically smashing them. He didn't need to play well, only loud. Daryl then joined him, and they made twice as much racket. While they played, one of the maids went back to the kitchen and made some highballs; Setzer and Daryl both took two each, though they usually did not fancy highballs, and still pounded on and on the keys.
A slow malaise formed in Setzer's sight and his body cried for sleep, though his heart and spirit bounded with energy. It had grown late, and he bade everyone good-night, knowing that he had no intention of going to sleep. He linked arms with Daryl and they went upstairs into their room, locking the door firmly behind them.
What they did all was muddled in his mind, and he really couldn't describe anything afterwards, but he did know that it was like someone had put a stick of dynamite in his bed. Almost all the sheets and all of the pillows were thrown about the room, covering furniture or drooping limply on the floor. One little pillow even got wedged up in the small crystal light fixture, though how in the world it got up there was anyone's guess. Needless to say, he emerged from the aftermath utterly exhausted.
Setzer did remember one thing. They were both resting and drifting off to sleep; Daryl was laying on top of him, her head propped up on his chest, when she suddenly mumbled: "Can I ask you something?"
"What's that?"
"Well," she hummed; one of her fingers traced a warm pattern across the skin of his chest. "I was wondering if--if it wouldn't be possible--"
"You wouldn't be this coy if you weren't up to any good," Setzer smiled. "Ask me anything."
"Setzer, I want to be a mother," Daryl said. "I've gotten everything I wanted out of life except children. I'm not saying that it has to be any time soon, but maybe, in the future, before I'm in my grave, there'd be a little boy or girl in the house?"
The heady euphoria of the day quickly grew thin and washed out, as if it had been diluted with water. Daryl had never pressed him about marriage or pledging everlasting obedience, and he loved and respected her all the more for it--not that he ever doubted his honorable intentions towards her. He had always planned that once the edge of his youth had dulled a bit and he had sated his lust for life, he and Daryl would finally be joined in proper marriage and live out their days as peaceful, loving, and content as the summer's day was long. Yet he had never figured the prospect of children into the equation, and that did not sit well with him. Daryl loved children; he loathed them.
"Maybe, maybe," he said. "If you really want the truth though, Daryl, I'm not too keen about children. I mean, sure, we might get lucky and the kids would get all their impeccable traits from you, my superior half, but I don't know if it's a good idea to unleash my wretched genes upon this hapless world. I was a true hellion when I was a kid. I couldn't saddle such a creature like that on you."
"Come on. Children are sweet."
"Children are effusive, cruel little twits that can't do anything for themselves, or even think for themselves for that matter."
"Setzer, they're only kids. It wouldn't be any fun if they were like miniature adults. When you hold them, they feel so soft, and the sweet, sticky way they hug and kiss you--"
"The reek of their diapers--" Setzer crooned, which prompted Daryl to hit him on the head and pull her knee up dangerously close to his sensitive area.
"Really, though, I mean it. Do you think it's possible?"
"I like a well-balanced world," Setzer teased, "but when I get older and want to punish mankind's wicked ways by sending out a hellspawn to plague them, I'll let you know the minute I decide."
Daryl drew back and performed a strangle little spin off of him, hogging his covers and rolling all of the scanty bedding around her body in a richly-decorated cocoon. Beneath the sheets, Setzer felt something shaking.
"Oh, come on," he cried, "there's no reason to cry about it."
"I'm not."
He was certain she had been crying, but she said she hadn't. It was all like a drunken dream.
*************
"You think that the Emperor wants to talk with you about the airship?" Daryl asked the following morning. She lay on the bed, not feeling chipper at all, as she watched Setzer, who wasn't feeling at his best either, hunt for his clothing.
"Indubitably," Setzer grunted, working his way into his pants.
"What about?"
"Since I'm not psychic, I really don't know. But I'm pretty certain that it will have something to do with financial matters and the leasing and contracting of more airships-- namely economics, your favorite subject," he teased. Disappointingly, Daryl did not grace his levity with a laugh, or even a smile. She sat up and squinted her eyes; Setzer had the fell premonition that the chocobo feathers were just about to hit the fan.
"Stop being a wiseacre, buster. Do you mean to tell me that the Emperor is going to buy off the Blackjack and the business?"
"I expect so," Setzer said mildly. "I mean, we are under government contract. Still, I don't think that we'll be inundated with soldiers in the workshops. He'll probably want to extend the charter and commission more airships, as well as assigning missions for the Blackjack. You know, mass delivery to far-off military posts, that sort of thing." The whole atmosphere in the bedroom felt out of joint. It wasn't that he and Daryl hadn't had their share of arguments and tiffs, but most of them had been in good nature and quickly resolved with a kiss and embrace. Unfortunately, Setzer didn't think it wise to kiss Daryl at the moment.
"Like hell he will!" Daryl cried direfully. She inhaled deeply three or four times, squeezed her eyes shut, and bit her bottom lip.
"Setzer," she tried again in a softer tone, "I know I'm not as good with numbers and PR and whatnot as you are, and I've always let you alone on those matters because you knew best. And you've done a wonderful job; you got the goods. But this is different. The Blackjack is not some sewing machine you can hawk off in the market. It's beyond any price. We made it, put our sweat, blood into out--we put our souls into building the thing, Setzer! It brought us together. I can't remember how many delightful hours it gave to us, just you and me. When I worked one the Blackjack with you, those were the happiest times of my life. It's ours. We love it. You don't sell the things you love, dear."
He couldn't believe it. And from Daryl, who of all people should have known--!
"Damn." He looked at her and moved his hands around in his pockets and repeated, "Damn. Daryl, I do love the airship, and I love you. But this has got to--Let me explain. I didn't build the airship as a lark. Why would I waste so much of my time and money on a lark? Thrills aren't free. They've got to be useful for something, too. Why do you think I spent so much money on the thing?"
"I thought it was because a man wanted to fly."
"Daryl, please understand. We will fly, you and I, I promise. I don't break my promises. But it's been a mediocre year for us, and all the money I spent on the Blackjack certainly didn't improve matters."
"What? The Empire's been purchasing equipment from you like there was no tomorrow!"
"Do you know how I got them to do it?" Setzer demanded impatiently. "It's complicated, but in a nutshell, I had to lower the prices substantially to get them buy as much as they did. It's a simple demand curve once you get down to it: the lower the price level, the greater quantity demanded. And they still didn't buy as much as I'd have liked. This is the lowest profit year ever since Mulciber handed over the reins. We need all the help we can get, and I sense that the Blackjack and future airships will get us back on track."
"So that's it," Daryl sneered. "Don't be selfish."
"Who wants the Blackjack all to her little self, hmm? Who wants to be the queen of the sky?"
Daryl crossed her arms and whirled around to stare at the wall.
"Please, Daryl, don't do that. Come on."
She did not turn or speak; Setzer hated it when she did this.
"Daryl, will you kindly stop that? You're acting like a child!"
That finally elicited a response from her, though it certainly did nothing to improve the situation. "I'm three years older than you are!"
"Don't be argumentative," he warned.
"Don't be self-centered."
"Don't be so hissy."
His head engineer turned her face over her shoulder and gave him this ultimatum: "Setzer, I'm going to go get a ladder so you can jump up my ass!"
Her words were comical, but her tone was not--it smacked of doom, and Setzer did not take it lightly.
"What do you expect me to do? Go to the Emperor and say, 'Hell no, old boy! My lady Daryl won't have it.'?"
"And why not? That old buzzard doesn't scare me. I'd bash him in his one hundred and four year-old face if I thought I needed to."
"Ha! I'd like to see you so bold when he puts us both on the rack. And he's not that old."
Daryl's shoulders twitched and he saw her raise up her arms and curl her fingers as if choking some unseen enemy; she gave out a cry that sounded like "Graaaaaaagh!"
As far as he was concerned, Setzer decided that the discussion was at its close. He threw on his coat, left the room, and sent Benedick off to tell the chauffeur to ready the carriage, but he was not at all happy about it.
*************
The Emperor reserved five hours each day for hearing audiences in the throne room, judging disputes between his courtiers, listening to his advisors give their public speeches on the states of the economy, military and whatnot, and holding discussions with the courtiers. He held private audiences in his chambers, and people were only allowed to see him if they were summoned personally. It was to one of these 'privy councils' that Setzer journeyed to the Imperial Palace.
A small garrison of guards in front of the Emperor's bedchamber met the young man and one of the Imperial pages who acted as an escort for guests. They frisked him, interrogated him, and required positive proof of his identity before they allowed him access to the royal chambers.
The young page went before Setzer and announced his arrival to Vector's highest power; the boy then bowed smartly to Setzer and slipped away. He walked into the room all alone.
Gestahl sat straight-backed in a large chair of iron lined with vermilion velvet cushions. His long hair and plaited beard were deep dull gray though he was only in his late forties; long robes of red and black hung off his skinny frame, soft and frail from lack of exercise and too much rich food, like doll dressed up in clothes two sizes too large. Thin and wan as the man was, a doughty resilience clung to those sinews, the only thing that seemed to keep his body together. A tall black cap perched on his head, small links of jade beads hanging from the squared top.
Two men stood at attention on each side of the Emperor's chair. One was tall with a strong, broad-chested, garbed in a green officer's coat; the rest of his clothing was standard issue. His blonde hair was cut close save for one long section in the very middle, which he had combed over to one side. It vaguely reminded Setzer of a mohawk that had fallen over.
The other man was shorter than the first, but much more noticeable. He looked like a deranged clown gone wrong. His clothes were a riot of color and designs, mostly red, green, and yellow; a huge striped collar encircled his slender, pale neck. His blonde hair was pulled back sharply from his face, which wore several layers of makeup and sported intricate red patterns on the cheeks and temples. His red lips curled up in a smile at Setzer's entrance.
Setzer knew of these two: Leo Christophe and Kefka Palazzo, Gestahl's top generals and his kitchen cabinet. Their presence was unexpected and not particularly welcome. Setzer felt off-balance and a bit flustered; he couldn't take many more unexpected confrontations.
Emperor Gestahl finally spoke: "Mr. Setzer Gabbiani, in the flesh. I thank you for being able to respond so promptly to my summons on such short notice."
"It was no inconvenience, Your Excellency," Setzer mumbled demurely, bowing low. As he straightened up, he caught sight of something willowy and white all the way over in the far corner of the chamber.
At first glance, Setzer thought it was a marble caryatid, but some stray golden strands of hair wafted gently in the air currents, and the icy gray eyes moved. No statue but a girl, her skin death pale, stood at attention in the corner. She was quite lovely even at her tender age--she had to be in her teens--and Setzer smiled at her.
"That is Mistress Chere," the Emperor explained. "She is in training to be my newest general, and I brought her here to see how affairs of state are conducted. All of my generals must know how everything works in the palace. It keeps them on their toes. She is here only to observe, though." The middle-aged man snapped his fingers, a surprisingly loud, sharp sound that nearly made Setzer jump. The two generals flanking the throne stepped forward.
"Meet my generals, Leo and Kefka."
General Leo bowed and shook hands; Kefka regarded Setzer with smeary blue eyes and uttered a bizarre whooping giggle.
"Mr. Gabbiani," continued the Emperor, "to begin, let me congratulate you on your wondrous achievement."
"Thank you," Setzer murmured.
"Yes, yes, it was very good," Kefka said, grinning and looking to burst into a jig at a second's notice. "It must've taken a long time to build."
"Yes, very long," Setzer answered. He decided that he rather endure listening to Ratchet's nonsensical philosophy than this general's clownishness.
"And why is it, Mr. Gabbiani, that you kept the development of such a potentially useful invention secret from me?" asked Emperor Gestahl.
"It was kept under cover, Your Excellency, because I did not want anybody stealing the plans before I was finished."
"So you could be first, Mr. Gabbiani? I understand. Now forgive me, but let me be blunt. I think this...'airship' of yours will be of great service of the Empire, and I wish to purchase all rights of construction on behalf of my government. We will have to negotiate this further, but I would like an initial estimate."
"Oh, as long as I make something of a profit, I am flexible," Setzer answered coolly, even though a muted sense of anger bridled in him. One day after success, and now the Empire wished to buy all! It was a great blow to his pride and satisfaction; and there was Daryl. He thought of legions of airships blotting out the skies, and Daryl's tears. All of these things spinning in his head made him bold, and so he added: "But I have a few conditions."
"You dare make conditions to me?"
"I mean no disrespect, Your Excellency," Setzer said, bowing his head, "but, as a businessman, I cannot go about making airships just like that. I am perfectly willing to beat my body into ruins for you on delivery missions, but I require some conditions for a fair exchange."
The corner of the Emperor's mouth curled up. "Hmm! And what are these provisos?"
"There're only two, my Liege. First, I want the government to grant me the right to the production of all airships from henceforth."
"A monopoly, Mr., Gabbiani?"
"Not a monopoly! Suppose that the other great nations and cities got ahold of the technology through industrial spies? You certainly wouldn't profit from that. This way, I can monitor my workers and prevent foul play."
"And the second?"
"That I will only make one more new airship."
"Now that is a problem," Gestahl frowned. "My Empire would benefit greatly with more than two airships in the whole world."
"I assure you, Majesty, that more will not be necessary. This is further insurance against spies. Furthermore, the two ships can carry supplies in great enough quantities to your towns and ports that no-one will be in need. I can't imagine how many airships would be grounded because they weren't being used. I promise you, my Lord, the Empire will not need more than two."
"Consider it done--yet do not be surprised if I have a few conditions of my own later on, Mr. Gabbiani. For now, though, let the minor details be worked out between my officers and your lawyers. A date will be set for the meeting. You are dismissed, Mr. Gabbiani."
Setzer kissed the Emperor's bejeweled right hand and bowed his way backwards out the doors. How happy Daryl would be when he told her what he had accomplished! He fairly ran through the palace corridors. He could not wait to see her.
In the Imperial bedchamber, Emperor Gestahl stroked the ashy length of his beard thoughtfully, his unblinking stare almost penetrating through the gold and stone to keep Setzer in his sight.
"Appealing young man," the Emperor said, "and a pleasing outcome for both parties. What do you make of these wheelings and dealings, my generals? Leo?"
"In my opinion, my Liege, I think the Empire will benefit greatly from this arrangement. It will be indispensable as an efficient way of transferring supplies in bulk to our troops. I found Mr. Gabbiani a bit flighty and extravagant, but I also think his loyalties are true. It's a wise deal, Sir."
"I wouldn't know about his true loyalties," Kefka said, standing on one foot, lifting the other and contemplating the sole of his boot. "Only one new airship! He's screwing us over. He's holding back."
"I was well aware of that, Kefka," said the Emperor. "But that was only the initial agreement. Let him have his two airships for a little while; then we shall renegotiate."
"Why do we have to wait so long?" Kefka demanded. "You're the Emperor--make him cough up sooner than later."
"Patience!" Leo hushed. "If both sides are going to get the most out of this, we must take it slow."
"Ah, did you hear that? Leo's become a master of business all of the sudden! You never know when to reach out and take, even when the prize is standing smack right before your face!"
"Enough, Kefka!" Gestahl clipped. Kefka's red mouth gave a mighty sneer, but he shut up.
Gestahl lifted his pale hand towards the motionless girl in the corner. "Come, Celes, my pretty." She obeyed; he placed his palm on the top of her golden head. "Remember well what you have seen go on today. It will serve you well later, when you become a true general. You and Leo are both dismissed. Kefka, a few words with you."
The two men waited for the moment they were alone, and Kefka leaned in next to Gestahl's right ear.
"What do you make of it?" the Emperor asked. "Businessmen of his kind only want money. I have plenty of that. I am willing to accommodate his wretched demands, and he knows it. It can't be financial. Why does he falter, do you think?"
"You don't know?" Kefka whispered into the old ear, rolling his smeary eyes and clicking his teeth.
"I have my suspicions, naturally. But did you not look into his background as I ordered last night? I told you to produce his file."
"I did that, all right, and I looked through it, too. I put it on your desk this morning."
"I haven't had time to look at it, Kefka," snapped the old man. "Now enough of your insolence! Tell me."
"As you said, most wise and keen Liege, money is not an issue. The problem with Gabbiani is that, unlike most men of his type, he actually has something of generosity in him."
"So?"
"I guess that wouldn't be a problem either, except for one thing: he has a lady friend, a common little lass who's lived with him for some time. You might think he was in love with her. She doesn't care about money, the rumors say, and probably won't be too happy about this contract."
"Oho," the Emperor chuckled wryly, "that is strange. Does this woman pose any threat?"
"Not now, she doesn't," Kefka grinned, two smiles seeming to spread across his face. "But as time goes on, it's likely that he'll start relying on her more and more as they grow closer. He won't listen to us, us, us!"
"A danger," the old man muttered, tapping his fingers together. "This technology must be the Empire's alone. For now, though, only keep an eye on them, Kefka. Watch them carefully, but don't make a move unless I deem it necessary. General Leo would not approve of punishing her just because she is Mr. Gabbiani's lover."
"Leo doesn't approve of anything."
"No, he doesn't," Gestahl gave another chuckle, eyeing Kefka knowingly, "and that's why I have him out in the field half the time. My best warrior, but no political sense at all--unlike you. Go now, Kefka. I trust you will do your best."
"Anything for my Liege!" Kefka crowed. He gave a flourish of one arm, made a signal to the air, and vanished in a swirl of robe and powder, leaving the Emperor alone to ponder.
"Indeed," he grumbled to himself, "as the Emperor, I must keep my word to the man. The Empire cannot afford to further jeopardize his alliance and loyalty. However, I must do something about that minx who helps him too much."