Ollen70: This isn't a very good chapter. At all. I'll be the first to admit that, but I wrote it in response to a review I got a few days ago. While the story is going in the basic direction I'd like it to, I'm pretty sure a lot of the explanation leaves a lot to be desired. Well, I tried. Maybe the next chapter will be better. I really don't have a definite idea of how much longer this is gonna be, but I think I'm a little more than halfway done. Pretty odd, since I was really planning on letting the first chapter stand alone as a one-shot. Guess it kind of got away from me.


To Atari - - I've only taken biology and anatomy classes, and all I know about machines is what I've learned from fixing my own car (I'm a jobless college kid...) so I really don't know how well I'll be able to describe any of the mechanical stuff, but I'll try just the same. (Something tells me terms like fuel-injection' and catalytic converter' aren't going to help me much.) I've been brushing up by reading through auto manuals. (Yeah, I know I'm a loser...) Anyway, if Mercedes or Chevy starts mass-producing guymelefs after this, blame me.


Chapter Nine - - ...From so Boldly Renouncing the Wind?


Time was not a solid, uniform thing. Folken was continually amazed by just how much of it he must have lost whenever he had the opportunity to really stop and consider what had happened to him over the last few years. He stood now on a balcony of the Vionne, his black cloak wrapped customarily around him even though the wind's crispness, had it reached his flesh, would have been welcome.

It seemed he had gone to sleep one night and awakened in this future that he had contributed so much to, yet felt like such a stranger in. So many small things about him were different now - it was rare for him to remove his cloak for any reason in public. His hair no longer hung long and loose over his forehead. It had been cropped short, sharper now in agreement with the angles of his face.

If time had given him anything, it was simple acceptance over the changes that would have kept even his own family from calling him by name, had they seen him.

Turning away from the gentling calm, he made his way back into the honeycomb of steel that was the mighty floating fortress. The Vionne was his now, bestowed upon him by Dornkirk after the last of his projects had been successful. Like usual, the corridors were empty.

Folken went on his way, happy again for the solitude. The only people whose company didn't repulse him were Naria, Zongi, and Eriya, and occasionally the Platinum general or Adelfous, though with the increased use of the fleets of late, it was uncommon for either of the generals to be anywhere in the vicinity of the Vionne. Now that Folken was in charge of most of the fleet and troop movements, he spent weeks at a time in the floating fortress. After the successful completion of the stealth cloak, finished after six years of exhaustive research and many failed attempts, Dornkirk had decided Folken should coordinate the political maneuvers necessary for the Destiny Prognostication project. There were several key places that had to be taken and held if Dornkirk's dream was ever to reach fruition.

This train of thought led inevitably to the one person Folken detested even more than Delleva, though it had been some time since he'd seen her. The soldier Folken had found himself faced with nearly four years ago was by far worse than the manipulative cat woman in his own, more sadistic way. Dilandau Albatou was not a pleasant person to encounter on any terms. Even the thought of the silver-haired, red eyed man brought a breath filled with exasperation and contempt past his lips.

For all that, Dilandau was remarkably effective. Every task he was sent to do he eventually accomplished in one way or another, though it was almost never done in a fashion Folken would have preferred. Every battle Dilandau fought left woe for his enemies. Thus far, the soldier had not lost once. His nature wouldn't permit it. In an ordinary man, such a record would have merited honor, but Dilandau was engineered to be a warrior beyond reckoning. From the few, scattered reports he'd received when Dilandau was transferred to the Vionne, Folken had learned that much.

None of the Sorcerers deigned to discuss the situation openly with him, but that wasn't surprising now that he worked exclusively with Dornkirk. What experiments that went on in the council were no longer of his concern unless they pertained to machinery. Folken's purpose now was as the Emperor's Strategos, and with that honor' came the responsibility to accept all under his command, personal biases notwithstanding. It was interesting to him, in a callous sort of way, how much he had compromised himself over the passing years. Whatever he thought of Dilandau and his methods, he still tolerated the actions of a being who was not only unnatural and frightening, but a murderer of the very honor - the very ideals, rather - that Folken believed he was fighting for.

Of course, he quickly reminded himself that it didn't really matter what they fought for. Folken was trapped just the same, for leaving was no more of an option now than ever had it been. He no longer lied and told himself that he had some degree of control, especially with the recent prophecies Dornkirk had been spouting after the long hours he spent consulting the newly constructed destiny screen in his fortress.

This, like many advancements, had been made chiefly by the joint efforts of Folken and Dornkirk, and it functioned like most of the holo-screens in the empire, save that it amplified a certain sine wave that those who were psychic could harness naturally. Because of this, it gave unclear flashes from time to time of events that *might* come to pass and how they may possibly affect the manipulation of destiny.

It became Folken's rather arduous task to carry out Dornkirk's orders on what should be done next after these visions, no matter how unpleasant they may potentially be. As long as he was alive he would never forget the screams of horror that could be heard even from the Vionne when the mines west of Asturia fell to Dilandau's finest soldiers. The battle, lasting only an hour at the very most, had been one-sided and exceptionally bloody. After that, the memory of any battle - irrevocable as it might be - was easy to brush aside.

The tension only started to leave his arms when the familiar smell of oil and the clatter of metal on metal reached his senses. With a sigh of deep-rooted satisfaction, he pushed open the door to the largest machine bay in the fortress and stepped inside.

More vast than any in Dornkirk's fortress, the machine lab on board the Vionne was perfectly square. The guymelefs stood in long rows, each in service configuration so the many engineers could swarm them like ants, replacing broken parts and repairing the pieces that were only slightly worn. If it wasn't beneath the dignity of his new station, Folken would have very happily joined them. He had never gotten his wish to pilot one of the great war machines because of the constraints on his time and activity, rather than his disability. Still, watching the machines being reconstructed was an almost soothing activity after the rigors of the day. A messy rabble of soldiers and engineers moved around him with the tried grace of those who had performed a given task many times and could not be thrown by anything, least of all the familiar appearance of Folken.

Guymelefs appeared ridiculously complicated to the untrained eye, and they were, but the gears and belts inside each one worked on the balance-counterbalance principle more common in clocks and the like. Since each guymelef weighed around one metric ton on average, unless the balances were incredibly precise, it wouldn't even be possible for a human to operate one. Though the main point of the energist catalyst reactor in each one was to provide power to the engines and various weapon systems, as well as the smaller amenities like headsets and targeting sights, power was also run into each of the balances to keep them rigorously calibrated. The drums for the arm sand legs of the pilot allowed the limbs of the armor to be used as extensions of the human body because the armor was built with hydraulic systems that allowed it to in a sense, the whims of the pilot and make combat no more difficult than if the warriors fought with nothing more than their own swords.

[1] The actual engine of the guymelef was a carefully crafted device made of several different alloys - any one type of pure metal wouldn't hold up against the high thermal stress generated by the energist when it was in the process of rapid radioactive decay, but at the same time, it had to contain the right amount of certain metals to protect the pilot from radiation poisoning. [2] Once the energy was created, it was used to heat water which in turn created steam for the turbines within the armor and made the hydraulic systems feasible. The only problem with this was that the very steam that permitted movement, if super-heated by a strong enough charge and then contained without release, was more than adequate to let the armor tear itself apart.

Flight was accomplished by running all available power into the firing chambers created when the legs of the guymelef fused. Because of the incredible amount of energy involved, the weapons couldn't be activated without compromising the performance of both systems.

The perfected stealth cloaks were another device that had to be carefully aligned before they were used. They did not actually make matter invisible by any means; instead, the cloaks were made of thousands of tiny micro fibers that contained many of the same biological agents that color-changing fish and lizards used to stay camouflaged. Interwoven with reflective crystals, the cloaks used power from the energists to activate the necessary chemicals and then match their surroundings. In the heat of battle they were incredibly effective, but there were certain shortcomings that hampered them somewhat. For instance, it took so much power to operate one that using them during flight, when they would be the most useful, was absolutely impossible. Folken was still working on a prototype guymelef that might contain more than the usual two energists, but there were structural difficulties when too many power conduits were incorporated into one design. At any rate, many local superstitions helped propagate the rumor that Zaibach had an army of invisible giants at its command. As always, any such underlying fear was never a disadvantage.

The hangars were not the only place Folken sought refuge. His quarters were deep within the Vionne, in a dark, quiet room where few could find him. There was something about the quiet that appealed to him more with each passing day. Unlike the past, when his thoughts had screamed so loudly that he could never find peace in even the most silent of places, now he had little trouble appreciating the calm that dwelled inside him. It came whenever he called, but it never left without leaving him tinged by guilt. He really had no right to ever find peace, after the horrors his inventions had wrought on the earth and the future wrongs he knew he would eventually commit. He would never be able to touch another living thing with either arm and not think about the sacrifices that went into his rebirth.

Naria pushed open the heavy metal door to his chamber and stepped into the dark, finding him instantly. He idly admired the cat's sense of sight she was born with when she made her way to his side and her hands found his face tenderly. Dornkirk calls for you. He has details of the next mission.

He didn't know why, but she embraced him so tightly from behind when he stood that he had to sink back down for a moment. Naria and Eriya were always at his side when they could be, climbing his shoulders or curling up at his feet whenever they settled down, but he immediately sensed that there was something the matter in her touch this morning. A kind smile on her behalf was enough for her to slightly relinquish her grip and he then made his way at all haste to the Vionne's bridge.

Dilandau Albatou was there already. He sneered knowingly in Folken's direction with the kind of expression one saves for a situation when an adversary is about to receive unpleasant news. Realizing that Naria was bristling with hostility, he muttered under his breath and looked away. Determined not to let his distaste shine through, he turned instead to Eriya who stood beside the master soldier. Eriya beamed at the recognition and activated the viewing screen again. Wraith-like, an odd combination of lights that slowly became Dornkirk's face lit up the screen.

The old man acknowledged him alone. The dragon that occludes my visions still remains. Every time the pathways of the future begin to become more clear, his shadow falls and I can no longer see my path. But Dilandau has found him, and in time he will be in the hands of Zaibach. Folken could feel Dilandau's smug satisfaction with his back to the man; he found no reason to turn and face it head on. Dornkirk continued, but Folken immediately felt the world begin to close in around him before the words rang clear.

In two days you will attack Fanelia with all necessary force. The dragon must not escape us.




[1] Bad science, I know. Also, I'm aware that Zaibach probably didn't have any idea what radiation poisoning was. But then I thought hey, they're incredibly advanced, right? Safety first.'

[2] This is just me desperately trying to explain why Dilandau's armor self-destructed after he tried to spear Van with his Chlima Claw in the City of Intrigue' episode. I know my science is very incorrect here again, but please don't yell at me because of it. I've had a rough week.



Ollen70: Not a good chapter. You should probably keep in mind that I wrote this when my train got stranded for three hours in the Cascade mountains and the man next to me was snoring so loud I thought I was gonna cry.

Sorry everybody, but this part absolutely refused to cooperate with me. You probably realized that when you read it. I feel bad for putting all of you through that. I know I made myself into a liar when I said this would be up in a week, but I really needed a little break. If you feel so inclined, you might want to read Eye of the Beholder' if you like Chrono Trigger, (okay, so maybe the title's a little cliche...) because that's what I've started in the meantime and it's better than this chapter was. (Not that that's saying all that much...)