The flower garden was sparse. Three slightly uneven rows of white and blue flowers set beneath the window of the house, a small white picket fence, a fence low enough for an adult to step right over, surrounding it. There was too much space between the plants, as if the gardener was trying to fill out the area with more flowers than she had. One wouldn't go as far as to call the plants wilted, but they did have a slightly droopy look to them. And in spite of the fact that the gardener was on her hands and knees at this very moment weeding through the flowerbed, it still looked as if the weeds had a good chance of winning this battle.
Cid, of course, was no expert on plants himself, having had a hand in unintentionally killing more than one of Shera's houseplants in his lifetime, but even his untrained eye could tell this flower garden needed some help.
His eyes shifted from the garden to the gardener, who now paused in her weeding to sit back on her heels, her gloved hand coming around to her back to try to work the kinks out of it that came from working for hours on hands and knees. She wasn't facing him. He had come up the road to the house from the opposite direction. Now he stood there, his arms folded across his chest, looking at her carefully.
"Lordy lordy, look who's forty," he muttered.
Tifa's head spun around, the slight intake of breath giving away her surprise, but her eyes lit up when she saw the pilot standing behind her.
"Hi Cid," she exclaimed, pulling herself to her feet. "Where did you come from? I didn't hear a plane. And did you HAVE to remind me of how old I am?"
"Well, now that they actually have an airport here in Kalm they kind of prefer planes landing there instead of just in any open space," Cid replied. Stepping forward he took hold of her hand and gave her a greeting kiss, which she warmly returned.
"As for your age," he continued. "Well, it IS your birthday after all."
Tifa felt her cheeks flush slightly, though she had no idea why. She was long past the age where she looked forward to birthdays. At this point she was more than willing to let them pass unnoticed.
"Don't remind me," she said softly.
"What are you talking about?" Cid replied, throwing an arm around her shoulders and giving her a wink. "It's not like you're OLD or anything. You don't look a day older than you were the first time I met you."
That obvious lie got her to smile a little bit. She pulled off her gardening gloves and ran a hand through her shoulder length hair. She had cut it long ago. Looking back on it now, she could hardly believe she had kept it long for as long as she had. It had many years ago become more trouble than it was worth. Lately she had seen a few gray hairs creeping in among the brown. She was covered with dirt from working in the garden all morning, which she was certain didn't do anything to enhance her looks. She hadn't been expecting company. She was by no means feeling very attractive.
She looked at Cid and couldn't help feeling just a wee bit jealous. He was more than ten years her senior. His hair had skipped gray and gone straight to white. Age lines ran near his eyes and on his hands, and his skin seemed tough, almost like sandpaper, yet he still managed to maintain a youthful air. He was well muscled and still deeply tanned from working outdoors with his beloved aircraft all day long. He still looked good. Damn good. Why did men always seem to age more gracefully than woman?
"I must have looked pretty old when you first met me then," she retorted.
"Nonsense," he replied. "Gorgeous then, gorgeous now."
"Oh stop it."
"It's true!"
She didn't respond to that. He may be full of shit, but his words still made her feel a little better about the whole thing.
"Would you like to come in and have some tea?" she asked, trying very hard to keep the skeptical look from her face.
He nodded, as she knew he would, and followed her as she led him into the house, through the living room and into the kitchen. Placing her gloves on the counter she pulled the teapot off the shelf and began to fill it with water as Cid made himself comfortable at the kitchen table.
"So where are Shera and Sydney?" Tifa inquired.
"Shera was feeling a bit under the weather," Cid replied. "She really wanted to come. She asked me to apologize that she couldn't make it."
"Oh you know no apology is necessary," Tifa answered immediately, turning to look at Cid."
"That's what I told her too, but she insisted," Cid said.
"Is she ill?"
"She thinks it's just a touch of the flu," Cid replied.
"Maybe you should have stayed with her," Tifa suggested.
"She'll be fine," Cid replied with a wave of his hand. Obviously he didn't think it was anything serious. Still, Tifa gave him a long look for a moment. Even after being married to Shera for all these years, Tifa had still noticed that he tended to take her and her problems a bit... lightly at times. Old habits died hard, she supposed. At any rate, she saw he did take note of her look and his expression changed.
"Don't worry, I took good care of her before I left," he said. "I gave her medicine and tucked her in bed. She is fine."
Tifa continued to look at him for a moment, then, appeased, gave a nod and turned back to the tea.
"And Sydney?" she questioned.
"My daughter went out looking for your son actually. She was pretty sparse on the details."
Tifa nodded ruefully, her back still to Cid. It was a problem every parent had, or so she had been told. It was like the most horrible fate that could befall a teenager was to have to tell their parent what they were doing, or where they were going. Zangan had told her he was going over his friend, Conway's, house, but where he went after that was anyone's guess. She knew from experience the boy didn't tell her anything more than the absolute minimum that was necessary to get himself out of the house. He had gotten into more than his share of trouble, in fact, it seemed to be his main goal in life, but what could she do? She had tried punishing him, grounding him, yelling at him, and nothing helped. As soon as he was allowed he would go out and do it all over again, as if nothing she said to him sunk in at all. She had been told this was pretty normal but she couldn't help but think Zangan was worse. It couldn't be this bad for everyone or all parents would be insane by now, and the older he got, the worse it seemed.
"She seems to know more about his whereabouts than I do," Tifa stated.
"Heh, yeah," Cid replied. "Teenagers aren't exactly a font of information for their parents are they?"
She turned and glanced over at Cid again. Was that a smirk she saw on his face? She couldn't help but think this is exactly how he had acted in his youth. She had hardly disobeyed her parents at all when she was young. Of course, she had been pretty young when they had died...
The teapot began to whistle. Tifa turned back toward it and lifted it off the stove. Her lost youth was all water under the bridge now. There wasn't anything she or anyone else could do about it. Some people got to grow up with the parents and others didn't. It was just her tough luck she was in the latter class.
The funny thing was though, she had lost her parents early, and would have given anything to have changed that, but the kids who did have their parents, they didn't seem to appreciate them at all. Guess it really was true what they say, you don't realize what you have until you lose it.
Course, it wasn't like she and Zangan were a complete family either...
But no, there was no point in going there.
She put out cups for herself and Cid, poured their tea and took a place in a chair opposite him. The pilot took a sip from his teacup, then looked at her.
"So how have you been?"
Out of all of her friends, Cid was the only one she saw with any regularity anymore, and she had a feeling some of that had to do with the friendship between their two children as much as anything else. They were all so busy these days, all her friends. It was kind of funny how almost every one of them had grown up into such positions of responsibility. Red was the universally respected leader of Cosmo Canyon now. Barret was mayor for life of Corel. Aeris and Reeve were, respectively, the heart and mind of Ifalnia, the old city of the Ancients that was now the fastest growing city on all the continents, filling once again with Cetra as more and more were born to human parents. Even Yuffie had given up her old ways to settle down as leader of Wutai after Godo had died three years ago. Vincent... well, Vincent was an exception perhaps. Living quietly in Nibelheim but still crafting world renowned weapons in his gunshop. Of all of them she thought Cid had changed the least. Still living in Rocketown, which, by the way, might as well be known as Highwind City, still working on his aircraft. He had never cared much for politics and that certainly hadn't changed, but he was still a tremendously respected member of the community and no one would think of making any significant changes in Rocketown without first seeking out the cranky old pilot's approval.
Of all of them, she was the only one who had faded from the spotlight.
Not that she minded that, of course. She was more than happy to see the spotlight disappear. It hadn't been what she'd wanted in the first place. No, all she had ever wanted was to settle down and live a simple life with the man she loved.
All chance of that had come crashing down of course, crashing down on that fateful day when Cloud had cut his hand and become contaminated with the Cetra plague. It didn't hurt humans, but now he was a carrier, cursed with the possibility of infecting any Cetra he came into contact with with the deadly, to them, disease. With more and more Cetra being born into the world each day, he had deliberately removed himself from society so as not to be a threat to anyone.
So as not to be a threat to his own son.
She hadn't seen him in... well, she didn't know how long now. Occasionally he used to contact her, used to come around, somewhere out of town where she could meet him. For years they had met, clandestinely, in dark out of the way places, places where no one else would wander, always hoping she would have news for him, news that someone had found a cure for his affliction, that he would be able to rejoin his family, but every time she had disappointed him. Every time she had no good news to give him. In recent years their trysts had happened less and less often. Now... now she couldn't remember the last time she had seen him.
"Hello?"
She looked up and saw Cid looking at her, the expression on his face making it obvious that she had been ruminating to herself for far too long.
"I didn't think that was a difficult question," he commented.
"I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I'm fine, really. You know, same old same old."
"Yeah, same shit different day," Cid nodded. He lifted the teacup, idly swirling it in his hand, seeming to pay great attention to the pattern of ripples inside that this created, but in truth he was looking at Tifa. He couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Cloud had gotten the Cetra plague sixteen years ago. Tifa had had a long time to adjust to life without him, but he could tell she hadn't. It was obvious to all her friends now that she never would. Not that that came as a big surprise to anyone. Love was a strange thing, different things to different people. Cid had learned long ago not even to try to figure it out. He loved Shera, he knew that and so did everyone else, but it was still different from the way Tifa loved Cloud. His and Shera's love, it was more... subtle? Sure, he loved Shera with all his heart but he loved other things too. She was a big part of his life but she wasn't EVERYTHING. It seemed to him that all that Tifa had ever lived for was to be with Cloud. That kind of all consuming love, in his opinion, burned hotter but also often seemed to burn out quicker. The kind of love Tifa had couldn't sustain itself. It either evolved into something a little less passionate but longer lasting or it flamed out completely. He suspected the former in Cloud and Tifa's case but they had never been given the chance to find out. Sixteen years. Sixteen years since Cloud had got the plague, since he and Tifa had been apart. Tifa didn't talk about Cloud, hadn't in a long time, probably because it was too painful for her. She never mentioned if she saw him at all, but Cid suspected she did, hoped she did. She was human, and a woman, with all a woman's wants and needs. Harsh as it might sound, Cid often thought Tifa would be better off just forgetting about Cloud, moving on, finding someone else. It was weird even thinking about her with someone else but he knew he would get used to it given time and he would never blame her, unfair though it might be to Cloud. But the whole situation was unfair. He knew she'd never do that though, that the thought of choosing someone else probably never even entered her mind. He had to admire that and thought that she had more resolve than he ever would. By the same token, keeping that love and yet not being able to be with Cloud all these years, well, he couldn't see how it hadn't driven her crazy.
Zangan probably had something to do with that. No matter how she might feel, Tifa had to hold herself together for his sake. Even with Cloud gone, with Zangan she still had a part of him. He was sure that had to be some comfort to her. Without her son, she might have thrown in the towel long ago.
Of course, Tifa was human, Cloud was no threat to her. If they didn't have Zangan, Cloud and Tifa could be together. It was because of their son that they were forced to be apart. The whole situation was just one big mess.
He still didn't know what to make of the Cetra thing. In the beginning, only a few children of humans had been born Cetra, but now every single child born to human parents was a Cetra. They had been told the human race was an aberration, a devolution of the Cetra, and now they were just evolving back to their natural state, that this was inevitable. There were plenty of people who seemed to agree with that sentiment, plenty of people who considered what was happening to be a blessing, who were happy to have their children come into the world as Cetra. At the same time, there seemed to be just as many people out there who considered this to be a disaster of apocalyptic proportion. The end of humanity, even the end of the world. He'd heard plenty of fire and brimstone from both sides on the issue. Some people had even come to blows, vowed never to accept what was happening. Cid could only laugh at that. Whether you were a proponent of what was happening or not didn't matter in the least since there didn't seem to be a damn thing anyone could do about it. Human parents were giving birth to Cetra. No one could change that. Like it or not there was nothing anyone could do.
As he suspected was the case with most people, Cid wasn't really all that sure what to make of it all. Okay so maybe technically it was the end of the human race. Sydney could very well be part of the last generation of what could be considered REAL humans, but so what? Was it really so bad to be born a Cetra? He had to admit there were certain advantages to that over being a human. They were much more in touch with the planet and the lives around them. Cid could think of worse things that could happen than being born Cetra, a lot worse.
And if it really was true what they said, if the Cetra and Human races once were one, then what difference did it really make? Cetra or human, a baby was still a baby.
At any rate, it just gave him a headache to think about. This was something that was beyond his control, and things like that he had found best just not to worry about. His more immediate concern was for the welfare of his friend.
"So, what do you have planned for the big event?" he asked.
"What big event?"
"Your birthday, of course," Cid replied.
"I don't have anything planned Cid. I'd just as soon forget about it."
"C'mon, you're only forty once," Cid exhorted. "I knew I should have gotten everyone together for this..."
"And I'm glad you didn't!" Tifa exclaimed, looking around for a moment as if she expected all her friends to suddenly appear out of the woodwork.
"So you're not celebrating at all?"
"I don't have anything to celebrate."
"Oh stop it. It's your birthday. I don't care how old you are that's reason enough to celebrate. C'mon, let me at least treat you out to dinner."
"Cid, I..." she began but then the front doorbell rang.
"I'll be back in a second," she finished.
She walked back into the living room. Cid got up and followed.
"If you don't want dinner we could just stay here and get drunk," he suggested.
"Cid!"
It wasn't really a suggestion he would ordinarily make, but for some reason it seemed like something she needed to do. She was always so serious these days.
"What's the big deal? It's your BIRTHDAY. There's nothing wrong with having a little fun on your birthday. If not now, then when? When was the last time you had any fun?"
"I don't have time for fun."
"Oh c'mon Tifa..."
He stopped as she pulled open the door to see a man standing in the entranceway.
A man in a police uniform. The man stood there for a moment, an almost apologetic look on his face.
"Hello Mrs. Strife," he said slowly.
The tone of his voice made it apparent he had talked to her in the past. Cid saw Tifa's shoulders slump.
"Hello Troy," she said with a sigh. "What has he done now?"
Kalm Community College stood on a bluff overlooking the ocean just north of the town that begat its name. As the first institute of higher learning that Kalm could call its own, the city fathers had wanted to make a good impression with it, and for the most part they had succeeded. Set deep in a coniferous forest, the tops of the buildings could be seen from a distance sticking out of the trees for quite a distance, many of which had been left standing even on the campus grounds themselves, the overall look providing a rather rustic small town appearance, which was exactly what the architect had been striving for.
The college had opened to the public over a year ago, even before construction was complete. In fact, there was still construction going on, and probably would be for some time to come as new buildings were added to those already there, all of them built to add to the down home aesthetics of the place. No expense had been spared and it showed in the architectural design of the buildings and indeed, the grounds themselves. The fact that the campus was high on the bluff with a wonderful view of the beach and water below had obviously been another reason why this particular site had been chosen. A long concrete staircase, its metal railing gleaming in the sun, wound its way down the bluff in long curves until it reached the beach below, a pathway used for those students wanting to refresh themselves in the ocean during the warmer months of the school year.
The small group of teenagers standing at the head of the stairs were not there for the swimming however, nor the view, nor for that matter, for an education.
No, they are all here to see me fail, Zangan thought.
He was sitting on the ground, on the top stair, fitting the rail runners onto his footwear. Rail runners were metal plates with straps on them that tied around your shoe. They were the latest rage in extreme sports and with teenage males and were used to grind down railings, having replaced the skateboard as the instrument of choice in doing such things. The long metal railing at the college here was ideal for such an activity.
Ideal and extremely dangerous. Rail running was an extremely difficult sport to master. Plenty of kids had been injured doing it. In fact, the activity had already been banned in a number of cities. Which just make kids of a certain nature all the more anxious to try it.
And Zangan, of course, could be numbered in that group.
At school they said it couldn't be done, which was what had first attracted Zangan to the conversation. The hill was steep here, and consequently the railing along the walkway. Though there were no ninety degree angles there were still some rather sharp curves that would be difficult to negotiate. Large rocks jutted up amongst the scrawny shrubs that grew along the slope, rocks that could easily kill someone who lost control and flew off the railing. They had all heard stories about kids who had done just that, with horrible consequences. Some of the stories Zangan thought parents had made up, just to keep kids from doing this, but other stories were well documented. Even under controlled conditions kids often got hurt. Out here, on an untested railing with nothing between the railer and the rocks but his own skill, it was suicide. No one had ever even attempted it.
Which was, of course, exactly why Zangan said he would.
It was a stupid moment of boastfulness. He hadn't even seen the railing in question when he said he would do it. He'd come to check it out, of course, and soon as he'd gotten a chance and, looking down at it, his bravado had immediately diminished. He felt it again now as he looked at the railing snaking down the hill, that doubt gnawing at his stomach, that fear that this time he had finally bitten off more than he could chew, but of course, there was no backing out now, not with all the doubters from school here to watch. Changing his mind was inconceivable now, even though he was quite certain the real reason they were here was to see a spectacular crash. He looked around at the faces surrounding him. There was only one person he had asked to come who he knew wouldn't want him to get hurt, and it looked like she might not even show up. The others, well, the only reason they were here was to see him fail.
Well, they weren't going to get that, not this day. He'd show them, he'd show them all.
Having completed the process of strapping on the runners he looked them over with an expert eye. There were two basic methods of rail running. A lot of kids took a file and roughened the bottom of the runners. This caused greater friction and a more controlled, though slower, run. The real reason they did it, however, was because this method left a shower of sparks behind the person as he rode down the rail, a light show that made the feat look quite impressive, though it didn't do anything for the railing itself, often leaving it pitted and scarred, which was another reason people of the older generation frowned upon the activity. The second way was to leave the runners smooth and untouched, which didn't leave the visually impressive shower or sparks but was the style of choice for those who's only concern was pure unadulterated heart stopping pursuit of velocity.
Zangan was in the latter group.
Finding the fit to his liking, he stood up and started to clomp over to the railing. He could see quite clearly down the slope now, the silver glint of sunlight off the railing as it snaked down, the sharp rocks on one side and the unforgiving concrete of the steps on the other. He'd railed before but never something of this magnitude. He felt fear slowly seeping back into him. The truth was, he wasn't sure he could do it.
He'd been scared before, and it hadn't stopped him. It wasn't going to stop him now. He placed his hand on the railing. It was cold to the touch. He glanced at the others. They were all staring at him, all, no doubt, wondering if he would really go through with it, and if he did, if he could make it to the bottom in one piece.
They were all looking at him, standing in front of the railing. He was only one facing the other way, facing back toward the college, so he was the first one to the flashing lights as a patrol car abruptly rumbled out of the trees toward them.
"Oh shit," he exclaimed.
Other heads turned at that, similar exclamations followed. Another patrol car appeared, coming down the road from the opposite direction. The first one had already stopped, the doors swinging open.
"Run!" someone shouted.
They all scattered. Running off in different directions, knowing this would make it nearly impossible for the cops to capture all of them. They all ran, except for Zangan. The runners on his feet were great for rails, but made running, or at least the kind of running he needed to do now with any hope of escape, an impossibility. He either had to pull off the straps, and looking at the cops now running toward them he could see he would not have time to do that and get away, or...
He grabbed hold of the railing, leapt up on top of it and almost instantly he was plunging downward.
Just as quickly, the cops were forgotten. They had no chance of catching him now. They were no longer a factor. Now he had other things to be concerned about, like trying to stay alive.
Only seconds after getting on he was rocketing down the stairway with frightening speed. The cops behind him stood at the head of the stairs now, watching helplessly as he plunged downward, their cries for him to stop blown away by the wind that roared in his ears.
As if keeping your balance on a curved railing three inches wide when your only contact with it was a metal plate wasn't difficult enough, there were two other obstacles that also had to be mastered. The metal posts that supported the rail ran up to a metal clamp that held the railing in place. Running into one of these clamps would instantly stop the progress of his runners and send him flying off the rail. Each one had to be jumped over. Since he was flying down the railing at a ridiculous speed, the clamps, though far apart, came at him alarming rapidity. Just staying on the rail took a tremendous amount of concentration, jumping over the clamps, landing again while all the time keeping his balance took every bit of attention that he possessed.
Even so, he knew he would have to be even more attentive if he was going to succeed, for now the second complication raised its ugly head, for the first turn was now rapidly approaching.
Going at this velocity, the only way to successfully negotiate a turn was to lean into it. The faster you were going, the more you had to lean. Going fast enough, you had to lean so far as to be almost parallel to the ground. The exact angle of the lean was a fine art. Lean too much and he would fall off the rail to clatter down the concrete steps, too little and he would go flying off the rail onto the unforgiving rocks on the other side.
He didn't have time to ponder exactly what to do, how far to lean, how to keep his balance. He was going too fast. He really didn't have time to think at all. Once you got on the rail instinct took over and you just reacted. If you had to spend time thinking, you were a goner.
The first turn wasn't really that bad. Even though he was going what a normal person would consider absurdly fast it still wasn't anywhere near his top speed yet. He had done this before, albeit on shorter rails. He wasn't an amateur. He'd done this plenty of times, more than enough to negotiate the turn that he now passed through. A piece of cake. The second turn as well, and the third. Now he was rocketing down the rail so fast that there were only seconds between each clamp, and he found himself getting ready for the next jump almost as soon as the prior one was completed. He was more than halfway down now and if he looked up, he would be able to see the end of the rail and the beach approaching, but he didn't look up. He didn't dare. His eyes were glued to the railing in front of him. His concentration was completely focused only on that.
He was going faster now, much faster. Although he couldn't see anything but the small part of the rail right in front of him he could tell he had already gone much farther than he ever had before. He had no idea how fast he was going but he was certain it was a much faster speed than he had ever attained. The turns weren't easy anymore, no, now they took all his concentration. He went through another turn, and this time he leaned a little too much and nearly lost it, somehow managing to pull himself back up at the last moment. Up to this point he had felt in control, but now he was suddenly teetering on the edge of disaster. One small mistake, but at this speed, there was no time for mistakes. That split second it took to recover left him with that much less time to react to the next obstacle, and he was going so fast now there was almost no time between them. As a result of that first mistake, he wasn't quite ready for the next clamp, and the next turn after that. He could feel himself losing control. The errors were compounding, building up slowly, each one leaving him with less time to react to the next obstacle. Jumping over another clamp he leaned back too far, landing on the rail with his arms flailing. Somehow he managed to stay on, but just barely. He felt his heart thudding in his chest. To his horror, he saw ahead of him what he had been dreading, a clamp placed in the middle of a turn. It was the most difficult maneuver for a railer to perform. Even the best had trouble doing it. He'd done it a few times himself, but had failed far more times than succeeded. His worse injury had come, in fact, attempted to perform just such a feat.
That had been on a short railing. He hadn't been going nearly this fast. Under the best of conditions it was nearly impossible, now, going faster than he ever had, barely in control of himself, he knew he couldn't make it.
He didn't have time to think about it. The turn, and the clamp, were upon him almost before he had a chance to see it. In the split second before he hit the clamp, he knew he could never get past it.
Using all the strength in his legs, he launched himself into the air. It might have been a stupid thing to do, but he really didn't have time to consider his alternatives. He knew he was too out of control to make it over the clamp. He would have hit it, or gone off the rail anyway, would have been totally out of control. At least this way, he had some control over himself still.
Not much, however. For the first time he looked up, saw more than just a few feet of rail in front of him, and found himself flying through the air, the railing tailing off to his right and a jumble of jagged rocks directly in front of him.
He twisted in the air, as best he could, trying desperately to avoid the peril in front of him. The world spun around, he felt something slap against his foot, and then, then he was past that rock, safe from that particular danger but the inexorable forces of inertia and gravity made it inevitable that he was going to hit SOMETHING at a very prodigious rate of speed with almost certain unpleasant consequences.
His head had twisted as he tried to avoid the rocks, and he was looking right down at them as he flew past, the stones passing merely inches from his face. Now he tried to turn to see what was ahead, to see what doom lay in front of him, but before his head could turn his body slammed up against the next obstacle with a force that rattled his brain and knocked the wind out of him.
Knocked the wind out of him but, fortunately, little else, for he had been nearly at the end of the railing when he had jumped and his leap had carried him over the last rocks to slam into the soft sand of the beach beyond. There was a moment of furious action as he slid through the sand before he just as abruptly came to a halt. He lay on the ground, stunned and choking on the sand his explosive landing had thrown up in the air, but he was alive and, apparently, not severely hurt.
He pulled himself to his knees, looking around, still dazed, spitting grit from between his teeth. He looked down at himself and could hardly believe he was still in one piece.
He lifted his head, looking up at the slope above. He was at the bottom. He had done it. He had really done it!
He looked around wildly, searching for some sign of his friends. He could see the police clattering down the steps far above, but none of his companions. They had scattered to the four winds, vanished up on the top of the bluff. He had made it. He had actually made it all the way down, and none of them had seen!
He heard a shout and turned his head, then cursed under his breath as he saw more police running along the beach toward him. There was a road down to the beach for those who didn't want to take the stairs. They must have come down here as well. How many of them were there? They were just a bunch of teenagers trying to have a little fun. With all the police that were here, you'd think they were a gang of murderers.
Turning his head and looking the other way down the beach, he saw the way was clear.
Still in a sitting position he quickly he reached down to undo the straps that held the rail runners on his shoes. At the same time he bent his knee to bring his right foot closer and immediately groaned in pain. Looking now he could see his sock was covered with blood. Although he hadn't felt any pain when it happened, he obviously hadn't made it over the rocks as unscathed as he had supposed. In fact, now his foot was beginning to throb quite painfully, as if it had only been waiting for him to notice.
Ignoring the pain as best he could he hastily pulled the rail runner off his shoe, then the other one. He didn't have time for this. The police were fast approaching, and if he didn't get out of here real soon he would be caught for sure. In his mind, getting caught was a far worse evil then getting hurt.
His shoes finally free of their burden he pulled himself to his feet. Again he let out a groan and nearly fell down again. The foot was hurt much worse than he had thought. He could barely stand.
Not good. Not good at all.
He started off, running as fast as he could away from his pursuers. Farther down the beach the slope was covered with tall shrubs and scruffy beach trees. If he could reach that area he might be able to get away.
Very soon, however, he realized it was a losing proposition. His injured foot severely retarded his movement. In spite of his attempts to ignore the pain he felt himself sucking in his breath with each step, the pain so severe now he thought he was going to pass out any second. He looked back at the cops, then at the shrubs ahead. His heart sinking he realized he would never make it to safety in time. Looked like he was going to end up hurt AND caught.
And then something else caught his attention. The whine of an engine, rapidly growing louder, and it was from no car.
He lifted his head, looking up, just as a small plane roared into view above the bluff he had just descended. It was flying low, just about tree top level. As the bluff dropped down in front of it the plane dipped as well, diving down toward the beach. He saw the police that had been coming down the stairs stop, looking up, a few of them involuntarily cringing as the plane flashed by right above their heads. It leveled out again, now just above the beach, racing out over the water, it's wings dipping as it circled back around. Zangan recognized the aircraft as soon as it came into view, it's shape and light red color unmistakable. He'd seen it a hundred times. The Bronco.
She had come!
The sight of the plane gave him renewed hope. He got up once again, and stumbled down the beach as best he could, heading away from the police and waving his arms, hoping that the pilot would see him.
Apparently she did, for the plane dipped again, turning in his direction and flying right over head, its wings waggling as it passed. It sped down the beach, right over the cops running there, then circled around and, passing the cops one more time, dropped lower with the obvious intent of landing.
The cops behind him redoubled their efforts to catch up, well aware that they would have no chance of detaining him if the aircraft reached him first. Fortunately for Zangan, the soft sand of the beach was less than ideal for running, and hindered them somewhat. Zangan only hoped the sand was not so soft that the Bronco's wheels would sink in and get stuck.
The plane hit the sand between Zangan and his pursers, coming directly at the teenager. Seeing its momentum would carry it past him before it stopped, Zangan kept on going. A moment later the aircraft passed him, slowing down rapidly. So rapidly, in fact, that it was only a few meters in front of him when it came to a halt. Zangan pushed himself the last short distance, his foot throbbing, then finally reached the plane. Pulling open the door he threw himself inside. Almost before he was in he heard the engine roar again and the plane started forward.
Zangan pulled himself up and into his seat, closed the door then grinned at the blonde in the pilots seat next to him, but she was concentrating on the controls and the beach in front of them. He turned his head, looking behind. For a moment he saw the police running toward them, so close they could almost touch the plane, but then the aircraft pulled ahead, rapidly gaining distance. As it lifted into the air he saw the police stop running, looking up in frustration.
The plane safely in the air, the pilot turned to look at him, her eyes giving him a reproachful look from behind her glasses.
"Hello Zangan."
"Hiya Syd," he replied. "You're late."
She continued to look at him for a moment, then turned forward again.
"Seems to me that I got here right on time," she replied.
'Yeah I guess so," Zangan agreed with one last glance at the beach and the police behind them. 'You missed the big spectacle though."
"I take it you went through with your suicidal plan?" she questioned.
"Yup!" Zangan replied proudly. "You should have seen me. I was great! It was incredible! I think I broke the sound barrier, I was going so fast! I'll bet no one's ever done ANYTHING like that before! No one at school is going to believe it."
And then he stopped. His friends had run away. None of them had actually SEEN him go down. Without witnesses he was right, no one WOULD believe it.
"Damn," he said, much less enthusiastically.
"What?" Sydney questioned.
"The police chased everyone away. None of my friends saw me go down. No one will believe I actually did it."
"Just show them your foot," Sydney commented. She hadn't failed to notice his lack of running ability as he had scrambled to the plane.
"That doesn't prove anything," he retorted. "I could have done anything to have caused that. Hell, I could have hurt it just trying to get ON the rail."
Sydney just glanced at him again, then shook her head. She did not share Zangan's predilection for doing incredibly dangerous (some would say incredibly stupid) stunts. She had enough excitement in her life to keep her satisfied. After all, here she was only eighteen years old and already she was flying planes all by herself. Of course, she had considered herself capable of flying solo since she was twelve. Not surprising considering that she had spent her whole life around planes, hell, had been BORN in one, and who her father was. She might not go as fast in a plane as Zangan did on his rail thingies, or at least, it might not FEEL as fast, but it was plenty fast enough for her. She considered herself extremely fortunate, in fact, being able to do what she could do. She didn't know anyone else anywhere near her age who could fly a plane!
Zangan didn't have that outlet. His father was gone. His Mom, well she was into that martial arts thing, which some kids might find exciting, but not Zangan. It wasn't fast enough for him. He found the training boring. As soon as he discovered it was more about mental discipline than breaking things, he had lost interest.
"I'll just have to do it again," she heard him mutter.
"What?"
"I'll just have to do it again!" he said, much louder. "No one saw me do it. Without a witness I can't prove I went down! I'll have to do it again in front of them to prove it."
"You nearly killed yourself this time!" Sydney couldn't help but point out.
"But I didn't," he retorted. "If I can do it once, I can do it again."
"And maybe break more than just your foot this time."
"It isn't broken!"
"You sure?"
Instead of answering Zangan inspected his foot. There was a gash right above his ankle bone that was at this very moment swelling up and turning a nasty shade of purple. It was sore to the touch, and he could barely stand on it. It could very well be broken but he certainly wasn't going to admit that.
"Now you sound like my mother," he grumbled.
"Well maybe your mother is right!"
Zangan just glared at her.
"All right, all right, I'm sorry," Sydney said, trying to sound contrite, realizing that was not the right thing to say right now. She was well aware of the often contentious relationship Zangan had with his mother, having seen it first hand on more than one occasion. "I won't get on your case about it. Not when you're going to hear it all from your Mom anyway."
"I won't hear anything if she doesn't know about it," Zangan replied.
"You're not going to tell her?" Sydney questioned, realizing after it had come out what a stupid question it was.
"Of course not!" And then; "are you?"
Sydney couldn't help but give him an unforgiving glance. Was he questioning her loyalty? How many times had she covered up for him in the past?
"No," she snapped.
He sat there for a moment, then his face softened and he nodded.
"But how are you going to explain that foot to her?" Sydney questioned.
Zangagn just sat there.
"Maybe she won't notice," he said finally.
Sydney's mouth fell open.
"Won't notice?"
"Well maybe I can..." he began, then stopped. He had been thinking maybe he could hide it from her, maybe get in the house without her noticing, but he realized that was just wishful thinking. He knew his Mom better than that. She'd notice. She noticed everything.
"I'll come up with something," he continued. "I'll tell her I tripped... umm... getting in the airplane or something."
"No."
"No?"
"You want to make up a story that's fine, I'll back you up all the way but don't involve my airplane in this," she stated firmly. "It took my dad and me weeks to convince my Mom that I was old enough to fly solo, I'm not going to do anything to screw that up."
"But it has nothing to do with your FLYING," Zangan protested.
"I don't care," Sydney retorted. "Come up with any cockamamie story you want but leave my plane out of it!"
Zangan opened his mouth, then shut it. From the look on her face he knew he wasn't going to change her mind. It didn't matter anyway. He didn't need to use the plane as an excuse. It would be just as easy to make up some other story.
'All right, all right," he agreed, thinking quickly. "I'll say that I... uhh... I don't know. I'll just tell her I fell."
Sydney just looked at him.
"You fell."
"Yeah."
"And you think she's not going to ask how it happened."
"I'll come up with something," he said irritably. "Maybe she won't even notice at all."
Sydney had no reply to this, and instead just shrugged. Knowing his mother, Sydney was quite certain she would notice, and knowing Zangan, she suspected he would come up with some lame story that his mom wouldn't believe for a second which would end up getting him in more trouble than if he just told her the truth.
She knew, however, that it would do no good at all to tell Zangan that.
It didn't matter anyhow. It was none of her business. She would play along with whatever story he came up with because he was her friend, but she couldn't protect him from himself.
She looked down. They were right over the center of Kalm now. She could see Zangan's house, near the north edge of the town. Kalm had grown quite a bit in the last few years but was still considered a small city compared to a lot of others. The college was on the outskirts of the town and it had only taken a minute to get here. When she had flown here earlier with her father they had landed at the brand new airport, which was proper protocol these days but that was quite a distance from Zangan's house and his foot being the way it was she thought him in no condition to walk very far. She pushed the stick forward and the Bronco obediently dropped lower in the sky as she prepared to bring then in for a landing in a small field just behind Zangan's house.
"Well, whatever you are going to come up with you better think fast because we are about to land," she warned him.
Zangan nodded, having noted the plane's descent and their proximity to his home. He thought furiously, trying to come up with some good excuse for his injury, but as usual when he needed it most, his mind was blank. Finally, with a silent sigh, he gave up. He was going to catch hell for this and he had a feeling there was no escaping it.
As the plane touched down he thought once again that his mother might not notice.
Yeah, and maybe pigs could fly.
He had been hoping to at least get into the house and maybe be able to sit down before he had to contend with his mom, but even that faint hope was dashed as Tifa and Cid, obviously having heard the plane land, emerged from the house almost before he and Sydney had even gotten out of the aircraft.
"Where have you been?" Tifa asked as the two adults came up to them.
Zangan looked at his mom. The question hadn't held any accusation in it, yet still he had to wonder why she asked. Was she starting in with the third degree already? Wasn't that just what he needed.
"At my friends," he replied. "I told you."
"And what were you doing there?"
This time he paused before answering. She often asked questions but this time he had told her who he was going to be with and where he would be. He had lied but that was beside the point. Or was it? She didn't usually ask questions like this unless she knew something. He decided on the safest answer possible.
"Nuthin, we were just hanging out."
"Hanging out?"
"Yes. Goofing off. You know."
"Where?"
"Just around."
"Around where?"
"Lots of places."
Tifa folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with her gaze.
"Did one of those places happen to be the college?"
Zangan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn't a place she would guess. He had rarely gone there before. There was only one reason she would mention the college....
Tifa nodded back toward the house.
"Officer Daniels is in the kitchen," she informed him. "He'd like to have a word with you."
Cid, of course, was no expert on plants himself, having had a hand in unintentionally killing more than one of Shera's houseplants in his lifetime, but even his untrained eye could tell this flower garden needed some help.
His eyes shifted from the garden to the gardener, who now paused in her weeding to sit back on her heels, her gloved hand coming around to her back to try to work the kinks out of it that came from working for hours on hands and knees. She wasn't facing him. He had come up the road to the house from the opposite direction. Now he stood there, his arms folded across his chest, looking at her carefully.
"Lordy lordy, look who's forty," he muttered.
Tifa's head spun around, the slight intake of breath giving away her surprise, but her eyes lit up when she saw the pilot standing behind her.
"Hi Cid," she exclaimed, pulling herself to her feet. "Where did you come from? I didn't hear a plane. And did you HAVE to remind me of how old I am?"
"Well, now that they actually have an airport here in Kalm they kind of prefer planes landing there instead of just in any open space," Cid replied. Stepping forward he took hold of her hand and gave her a greeting kiss, which she warmly returned.
"As for your age," he continued. "Well, it IS your birthday after all."
Tifa felt her cheeks flush slightly, though she had no idea why. She was long past the age where she looked forward to birthdays. At this point she was more than willing to let them pass unnoticed.
"Don't remind me," she said softly.
"What are you talking about?" Cid replied, throwing an arm around her shoulders and giving her a wink. "It's not like you're OLD or anything. You don't look a day older than you were the first time I met you."
That obvious lie got her to smile a little bit. She pulled off her gardening gloves and ran a hand through her shoulder length hair. She had cut it long ago. Looking back on it now, she could hardly believe she had kept it long for as long as she had. It had many years ago become more trouble than it was worth. Lately she had seen a few gray hairs creeping in among the brown. She was covered with dirt from working in the garden all morning, which she was certain didn't do anything to enhance her looks. She hadn't been expecting company. She was by no means feeling very attractive.
She looked at Cid and couldn't help feeling just a wee bit jealous. He was more than ten years her senior. His hair had skipped gray and gone straight to white. Age lines ran near his eyes and on his hands, and his skin seemed tough, almost like sandpaper, yet he still managed to maintain a youthful air. He was well muscled and still deeply tanned from working outdoors with his beloved aircraft all day long. He still looked good. Damn good. Why did men always seem to age more gracefully than woman?
"I must have looked pretty old when you first met me then," she retorted.
"Nonsense," he replied. "Gorgeous then, gorgeous now."
"Oh stop it."
"It's true!"
She didn't respond to that. He may be full of shit, but his words still made her feel a little better about the whole thing.
"Would you like to come in and have some tea?" she asked, trying very hard to keep the skeptical look from her face.
He nodded, as she knew he would, and followed her as she led him into the house, through the living room and into the kitchen. Placing her gloves on the counter she pulled the teapot off the shelf and began to fill it with water as Cid made himself comfortable at the kitchen table.
"So where are Shera and Sydney?" Tifa inquired.
"Shera was feeling a bit under the weather," Cid replied. "She really wanted to come. She asked me to apologize that she couldn't make it."
"Oh you know no apology is necessary," Tifa answered immediately, turning to look at Cid."
"That's what I told her too, but she insisted," Cid said.
"Is she ill?"
"She thinks it's just a touch of the flu," Cid replied.
"Maybe you should have stayed with her," Tifa suggested.
"She'll be fine," Cid replied with a wave of his hand. Obviously he didn't think it was anything serious. Still, Tifa gave him a long look for a moment. Even after being married to Shera for all these years, Tifa had still noticed that he tended to take her and her problems a bit... lightly at times. Old habits died hard, she supposed. At any rate, she saw he did take note of her look and his expression changed.
"Don't worry, I took good care of her before I left," he said. "I gave her medicine and tucked her in bed. She is fine."
Tifa continued to look at him for a moment, then, appeased, gave a nod and turned back to the tea.
"And Sydney?" she questioned.
"My daughter went out looking for your son actually. She was pretty sparse on the details."
Tifa nodded ruefully, her back still to Cid. It was a problem every parent had, or so she had been told. It was like the most horrible fate that could befall a teenager was to have to tell their parent what they were doing, or where they were going. Zangan had told her he was going over his friend, Conway's, house, but where he went after that was anyone's guess. She knew from experience the boy didn't tell her anything more than the absolute minimum that was necessary to get himself out of the house. He had gotten into more than his share of trouble, in fact, it seemed to be his main goal in life, but what could she do? She had tried punishing him, grounding him, yelling at him, and nothing helped. As soon as he was allowed he would go out and do it all over again, as if nothing she said to him sunk in at all. She had been told this was pretty normal but she couldn't help but think Zangan was worse. It couldn't be this bad for everyone or all parents would be insane by now, and the older he got, the worse it seemed.
"She seems to know more about his whereabouts than I do," Tifa stated.
"Heh, yeah," Cid replied. "Teenagers aren't exactly a font of information for their parents are they?"
She turned and glanced over at Cid again. Was that a smirk she saw on his face? She couldn't help but think this is exactly how he had acted in his youth. She had hardly disobeyed her parents at all when she was young. Of course, she had been pretty young when they had died...
The teapot began to whistle. Tifa turned back toward it and lifted it off the stove. Her lost youth was all water under the bridge now. There wasn't anything she or anyone else could do about it. Some people got to grow up with the parents and others didn't. It was just her tough luck she was in the latter class.
The funny thing was though, she had lost her parents early, and would have given anything to have changed that, but the kids who did have their parents, they didn't seem to appreciate them at all. Guess it really was true what they say, you don't realize what you have until you lose it.
Course, it wasn't like she and Zangan were a complete family either...
But no, there was no point in going there.
She put out cups for herself and Cid, poured their tea and took a place in a chair opposite him. The pilot took a sip from his teacup, then looked at her.
"So how have you been?"
Out of all of her friends, Cid was the only one she saw with any regularity anymore, and she had a feeling some of that had to do with the friendship between their two children as much as anything else. They were all so busy these days, all her friends. It was kind of funny how almost every one of them had grown up into such positions of responsibility. Red was the universally respected leader of Cosmo Canyon now. Barret was mayor for life of Corel. Aeris and Reeve were, respectively, the heart and mind of Ifalnia, the old city of the Ancients that was now the fastest growing city on all the continents, filling once again with Cetra as more and more were born to human parents. Even Yuffie had given up her old ways to settle down as leader of Wutai after Godo had died three years ago. Vincent... well, Vincent was an exception perhaps. Living quietly in Nibelheim but still crafting world renowned weapons in his gunshop. Of all of them she thought Cid had changed the least. Still living in Rocketown, which, by the way, might as well be known as Highwind City, still working on his aircraft. He had never cared much for politics and that certainly hadn't changed, but he was still a tremendously respected member of the community and no one would think of making any significant changes in Rocketown without first seeking out the cranky old pilot's approval.
Of all of them, she was the only one who had faded from the spotlight.
Not that she minded that, of course. She was more than happy to see the spotlight disappear. It hadn't been what she'd wanted in the first place. No, all she had ever wanted was to settle down and live a simple life with the man she loved.
All chance of that had come crashing down of course, crashing down on that fateful day when Cloud had cut his hand and become contaminated with the Cetra plague. It didn't hurt humans, but now he was a carrier, cursed with the possibility of infecting any Cetra he came into contact with with the deadly, to them, disease. With more and more Cetra being born into the world each day, he had deliberately removed himself from society so as not to be a threat to anyone.
So as not to be a threat to his own son.
She hadn't seen him in... well, she didn't know how long now. Occasionally he used to contact her, used to come around, somewhere out of town where she could meet him. For years they had met, clandestinely, in dark out of the way places, places where no one else would wander, always hoping she would have news for him, news that someone had found a cure for his affliction, that he would be able to rejoin his family, but every time she had disappointed him. Every time she had no good news to give him. In recent years their trysts had happened less and less often. Now... now she couldn't remember the last time she had seen him.
"Hello?"
She looked up and saw Cid looking at her, the expression on his face making it obvious that she had been ruminating to herself for far too long.
"I didn't think that was a difficult question," he commented.
"I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I'm fine, really. You know, same old same old."
"Yeah, same shit different day," Cid nodded. He lifted the teacup, idly swirling it in his hand, seeming to pay great attention to the pattern of ripples inside that this created, but in truth he was looking at Tifa. He couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Cloud had gotten the Cetra plague sixteen years ago. Tifa had had a long time to adjust to life without him, but he could tell she hadn't. It was obvious to all her friends now that she never would. Not that that came as a big surprise to anyone. Love was a strange thing, different things to different people. Cid had learned long ago not even to try to figure it out. He loved Shera, he knew that and so did everyone else, but it was still different from the way Tifa loved Cloud. His and Shera's love, it was more... subtle? Sure, he loved Shera with all his heart but he loved other things too. She was a big part of his life but she wasn't EVERYTHING. It seemed to him that all that Tifa had ever lived for was to be with Cloud. That kind of all consuming love, in his opinion, burned hotter but also often seemed to burn out quicker. The kind of love Tifa had couldn't sustain itself. It either evolved into something a little less passionate but longer lasting or it flamed out completely. He suspected the former in Cloud and Tifa's case but they had never been given the chance to find out. Sixteen years. Sixteen years since Cloud had got the plague, since he and Tifa had been apart. Tifa didn't talk about Cloud, hadn't in a long time, probably because it was too painful for her. She never mentioned if she saw him at all, but Cid suspected she did, hoped she did. She was human, and a woman, with all a woman's wants and needs. Harsh as it might sound, Cid often thought Tifa would be better off just forgetting about Cloud, moving on, finding someone else. It was weird even thinking about her with someone else but he knew he would get used to it given time and he would never blame her, unfair though it might be to Cloud. But the whole situation was unfair. He knew she'd never do that though, that the thought of choosing someone else probably never even entered her mind. He had to admire that and thought that she had more resolve than he ever would. By the same token, keeping that love and yet not being able to be with Cloud all these years, well, he couldn't see how it hadn't driven her crazy.
Zangan probably had something to do with that. No matter how she might feel, Tifa had to hold herself together for his sake. Even with Cloud gone, with Zangan she still had a part of him. He was sure that had to be some comfort to her. Without her son, she might have thrown in the towel long ago.
Of course, Tifa was human, Cloud was no threat to her. If they didn't have Zangan, Cloud and Tifa could be together. It was because of their son that they were forced to be apart. The whole situation was just one big mess.
He still didn't know what to make of the Cetra thing. In the beginning, only a few children of humans had been born Cetra, but now every single child born to human parents was a Cetra. They had been told the human race was an aberration, a devolution of the Cetra, and now they were just evolving back to their natural state, that this was inevitable. There were plenty of people who seemed to agree with that sentiment, plenty of people who considered what was happening to be a blessing, who were happy to have their children come into the world as Cetra. At the same time, there seemed to be just as many people out there who considered this to be a disaster of apocalyptic proportion. The end of humanity, even the end of the world. He'd heard plenty of fire and brimstone from both sides on the issue. Some people had even come to blows, vowed never to accept what was happening. Cid could only laugh at that. Whether you were a proponent of what was happening or not didn't matter in the least since there didn't seem to be a damn thing anyone could do about it. Human parents were giving birth to Cetra. No one could change that. Like it or not there was nothing anyone could do.
As he suspected was the case with most people, Cid wasn't really all that sure what to make of it all. Okay so maybe technically it was the end of the human race. Sydney could very well be part of the last generation of what could be considered REAL humans, but so what? Was it really so bad to be born a Cetra? He had to admit there were certain advantages to that over being a human. They were much more in touch with the planet and the lives around them. Cid could think of worse things that could happen than being born Cetra, a lot worse.
And if it really was true what they said, if the Cetra and Human races once were one, then what difference did it really make? Cetra or human, a baby was still a baby.
At any rate, it just gave him a headache to think about. This was something that was beyond his control, and things like that he had found best just not to worry about. His more immediate concern was for the welfare of his friend.
"So, what do you have planned for the big event?" he asked.
"What big event?"
"Your birthday, of course," Cid replied.
"I don't have anything planned Cid. I'd just as soon forget about it."
"C'mon, you're only forty once," Cid exhorted. "I knew I should have gotten everyone together for this..."
"And I'm glad you didn't!" Tifa exclaimed, looking around for a moment as if she expected all her friends to suddenly appear out of the woodwork.
"So you're not celebrating at all?"
"I don't have anything to celebrate."
"Oh stop it. It's your birthday. I don't care how old you are that's reason enough to celebrate. C'mon, let me at least treat you out to dinner."
"Cid, I..." she began but then the front doorbell rang.
"I'll be back in a second," she finished.
She walked back into the living room. Cid got up and followed.
"If you don't want dinner we could just stay here and get drunk," he suggested.
"Cid!"
It wasn't really a suggestion he would ordinarily make, but for some reason it seemed like something she needed to do. She was always so serious these days.
"What's the big deal? It's your BIRTHDAY. There's nothing wrong with having a little fun on your birthday. If not now, then when? When was the last time you had any fun?"
"I don't have time for fun."
"Oh c'mon Tifa..."
He stopped as she pulled open the door to see a man standing in the entranceway.
A man in a police uniform. The man stood there for a moment, an almost apologetic look on his face.
"Hello Mrs. Strife," he said slowly.
The tone of his voice made it apparent he had talked to her in the past. Cid saw Tifa's shoulders slump.
"Hello Troy," she said with a sigh. "What has he done now?"
Kalm Community College stood on a bluff overlooking the ocean just north of the town that begat its name. As the first institute of higher learning that Kalm could call its own, the city fathers had wanted to make a good impression with it, and for the most part they had succeeded. Set deep in a coniferous forest, the tops of the buildings could be seen from a distance sticking out of the trees for quite a distance, many of which had been left standing even on the campus grounds themselves, the overall look providing a rather rustic small town appearance, which was exactly what the architect had been striving for.
The college had opened to the public over a year ago, even before construction was complete. In fact, there was still construction going on, and probably would be for some time to come as new buildings were added to those already there, all of them built to add to the down home aesthetics of the place. No expense had been spared and it showed in the architectural design of the buildings and indeed, the grounds themselves. The fact that the campus was high on the bluff with a wonderful view of the beach and water below had obviously been another reason why this particular site had been chosen. A long concrete staircase, its metal railing gleaming in the sun, wound its way down the bluff in long curves until it reached the beach below, a pathway used for those students wanting to refresh themselves in the ocean during the warmer months of the school year.
The small group of teenagers standing at the head of the stairs were not there for the swimming however, nor the view, nor for that matter, for an education.
No, they are all here to see me fail, Zangan thought.
He was sitting on the ground, on the top stair, fitting the rail runners onto his footwear. Rail runners were metal plates with straps on them that tied around your shoe. They were the latest rage in extreme sports and with teenage males and were used to grind down railings, having replaced the skateboard as the instrument of choice in doing such things. The long metal railing at the college here was ideal for such an activity.
Ideal and extremely dangerous. Rail running was an extremely difficult sport to master. Plenty of kids had been injured doing it. In fact, the activity had already been banned in a number of cities. Which just make kids of a certain nature all the more anxious to try it.
And Zangan, of course, could be numbered in that group.
At school they said it couldn't be done, which was what had first attracted Zangan to the conversation. The hill was steep here, and consequently the railing along the walkway. Though there were no ninety degree angles there were still some rather sharp curves that would be difficult to negotiate. Large rocks jutted up amongst the scrawny shrubs that grew along the slope, rocks that could easily kill someone who lost control and flew off the railing. They had all heard stories about kids who had done just that, with horrible consequences. Some of the stories Zangan thought parents had made up, just to keep kids from doing this, but other stories were well documented. Even under controlled conditions kids often got hurt. Out here, on an untested railing with nothing between the railer and the rocks but his own skill, it was suicide. No one had ever even attempted it.
Which was, of course, exactly why Zangan said he would.
It was a stupid moment of boastfulness. He hadn't even seen the railing in question when he said he would do it. He'd come to check it out, of course, and soon as he'd gotten a chance and, looking down at it, his bravado had immediately diminished. He felt it again now as he looked at the railing snaking down the hill, that doubt gnawing at his stomach, that fear that this time he had finally bitten off more than he could chew, but of course, there was no backing out now, not with all the doubters from school here to watch. Changing his mind was inconceivable now, even though he was quite certain the real reason they were here was to see a spectacular crash. He looked around at the faces surrounding him. There was only one person he had asked to come who he knew wouldn't want him to get hurt, and it looked like she might not even show up. The others, well, the only reason they were here was to see him fail.
Well, they weren't going to get that, not this day. He'd show them, he'd show them all.
Having completed the process of strapping on the runners he looked them over with an expert eye. There were two basic methods of rail running. A lot of kids took a file and roughened the bottom of the runners. This caused greater friction and a more controlled, though slower, run. The real reason they did it, however, was because this method left a shower of sparks behind the person as he rode down the rail, a light show that made the feat look quite impressive, though it didn't do anything for the railing itself, often leaving it pitted and scarred, which was another reason people of the older generation frowned upon the activity. The second way was to leave the runners smooth and untouched, which didn't leave the visually impressive shower or sparks but was the style of choice for those who's only concern was pure unadulterated heart stopping pursuit of velocity.
Zangan was in the latter group.
Finding the fit to his liking, he stood up and started to clomp over to the railing. He could see quite clearly down the slope now, the silver glint of sunlight off the railing as it snaked down, the sharp rocks on one side and the unforgiving concrete of the steps on the other. He'd railed before but never something of this magnitude. He felt fear slowly seeping back into him. The truth was, he wasn't sure he could do it.
He'd been scared before, and it hadn't stopped him. It wasn't going to stop him now. He placed his hand on the railing. It was cold to the touch. He glanced at the others. They were all staring at him, all, no doubt, wondering if he would really go through with it, and if he did, if he could make it to the bottom in one piece.
They were all looking at him, standing in front of the railing. He was only one facing the other way, facing back toward the college, so he was the first one to the flashing lights as a patrol car abruptly rumbled out of the trees toward them.
"Oh shit," he exclaimed.
Other heads turned at that, similar exclamations followed. Another patrol car appeared, coming down the road from the opposite direction. The first one had already stopped, the doors swinging open.
"Run!" someone shouted.
They all scattered. Running off in different directions, knowing this would make it nearly impossible for the cops to capture all of them. They all ran, except for Zangan. The runners on his feet were great for rails, but made running, or at least the kind of running he needed to do now with any hope of escape, an impossibility. He either had to pull off the straps, and looking at the cops now running toward them he could see he would not have time to do that and get away, or...
He grabbed hold of the railing, leapt up on top of it and almost instantly he was plunging downward.
Just as quickly, the cops were forgotten. They had no chance of catching him now. They were no longer a factor. Now he had other things to be concerned about, like trying to stay alive.
Only seconds after getting on he was rocketing down the stairway with frightening speed. The cops behind him stood at the head of the stairs now, watching helplessly as he plunged downward, their cries for him to stop blown away by the wind that roared in his ears.
As if keeping your balance on a curved railing three inches wide when your only contact with it was a metal plate wasn't difficult enough, there were two other obstacles that also had to be mastered. The metal posts that supported the rail ran up to a metal clamp that held the railing in place. Running into one of these clamps would instantly stop the progress of his runners and send him flying off the rail. Each one had to be jumped over. Since he was flying down the railing at a ridiculous speed, the clamps, though far apart, came at him alarming rapidity. Just staying on the rail took a tremendous amount of concentration, jumping over the clamps, landing again while all the time keeping his balance took every bit of attention that he possessed.
Even so, he knew he would have to be even more attentive if he was going to succeed, for now the second complication raised its ugly head, for the first turn was now rapidly approaching.
Going at this velocity, the only way to successfully negotiate a turn was to lean into it. The faster you were going, the more you had to lean. Going fast enough, you had to lean so far as to be almost parallel to the ground. The exact angle of the lean was a fine art. Lean too much and he would fall off the rail to clatter down the concrete steps, too little and he would go flying off the rail onto the unforgiving rocks on the other side.
He didn't have time to ponder exactly what to do, how far to lean, how to keep his balance. He was going too fast. He really didn't have time to think at all. Once you got on the rail instinct took over and you just reacted. If you had to spend time thinking, you were a goner.
The first turn wasn't really that bad. Even though he was going what a normal person would consider absurdly fast it still wasn't anywhere near his top speed yet. He had done this before, albeit on shorter rails. He wasn't an amateur. He'd done this plenty of times, more than enough to negotiate the turn that he now passed through. A piece of cake. The second turn as well, and the third. Now he was rocketing down the rail so fast that there were only seconds between each clamp, and he found himself getting ready for the next jump almost as soon as the prior one was completed. He was more than halfway down now and if he looked up, he would be able to see the end of the rail and the beach approaching, but he didn't look up. He didn't dare. His eyes were glued to the railing in front of him. His concentration was completely focused only on that.
He was going faster now, much faster. Although he couldn't see anything but the small part of the rail right in front of him he could tell he had already gone much farther than he ever had before. He had no idea how fast he was going but he was certain it was a much faster speed than he had ever attained. The turns weren't easy anymore, no, now they took all his concentration. He went through another turn, and this time he leaned a little too much and nearly lost it, somehow managing to pull himself back up at the last moment. Up to this point he had felt in control, but now he was suddenly teetering on the edge of disaster. One small mistake, but at this speed, there was no time for mistakes. That split second it took to recover left him with that much less time to react to the next obstacle, and he was going so fast now there was almost no time between them. As a result of that first mistake, he wasn't quite ready for the next clamp, and the next turn after that. He could feel himself losing control. The errors were compounding, building up slowly, each one leaving him with less time to react to the next obstacle. Jumping over another clamp he leaned back too far, landing on the rail with his arms flailing. Somehow he managed to stay on, but just barely. He felt his heart thudding in his chest. To his horror, he saw ahead of him what he had been dreading, a clamp placed in the middle of a turn. It was the most difficult maneuver for a railer to perform. Even the best had trouble doing it. He'd done it a few times himself, but had failed far more times than succeeded. His worse injury had come, in fact, attempted to perform just such a feat.
That had been on a short railing. He hadn't been going nearly this fast. Under the best of conditions it was nearly impossible, now, going faster than he ever had, barely in control of himself, he knew he couldn't make it.
He didn't have time to think about it. The turn, and the clamp, were upon him almost before he had a chance to see it. In the split second before he hit the clamp, he knew he could never get past it.
Using all the strength in his legs, he launched himself into the air. It might have been a stupid thing to do, but he really didn't have time to consider his alternatives. He knew he was too out of control to make it over the clamp. He would have hit it, or gone off the rail anyway, would have been totally out of control. At least this way, he had some control over himself still.
Not much, however. For the first time he looked up, saw more than just a few feet of rail in front of him, and found himself flying through the air, the railing tailing off to his right and a jumble of jagged rocks directly in front of him.
He twisted in the air, as best he could, trying desperately to avoid the peril in front of him. The world spun around, he felt something slap against his foot, and then, then he was past that rock, safe from that particular danger but the inexorable forces of inertia and gravity made it inevitable that he was going to hit SOMETHING at a very prodigious rate of speed with almost certain unpleasant consequences.
His head had twisted as he tried to avoid the rocks, and he was looking right down at them as he flew past, the stones passing merely inches from his face. Now he tried to turn to see what was ahead, to see what doom lay in front of him, but before his head could turn his body slammed up against the next obstacle with a force that rattled his brain and knocked the wind out of him.
Knocked the wind out of him but, fortunately, little else, for he had been nearly at the end of the railing when he had jumped and his leap had carried him over the last rocks to slam into the soft sand of the beach beyond. There was a moment of furious action as he slid through the sand before he just as abruptly came to a halt. He lay on the ground, stunned and choking on the sand his explosive landing had thrown up in the air, but he was alive and, apparently, not severely hurt.
He pulled himself to his knees, looking around, still dazed, spitting grit from between his teeth. He looked down at himself and could hardly believe he was still in one piece.
He lifted his head, looking up at the slope above. He was at the bottom. He had done it. He had really done it!
He looked around wildly, searching for some sign of his friends. He could see the police clattering down the steps far above, but none of his companions. They had scattered to the four winds, vanished up on the top of the bluff. He had made it. He had actually made it all the way down, and none of them had seen!
He heard a shout and turned his head, then cursed under his breath as he saw more police running along the beach toward him. There was a road down to the beach for those who didn't want to take the stairs. They must have come down here as well. How many of them were there? They were just a bunch of teenagers trying to have a little fun. With all the police that were here, you'd think they were a gang of murderers.
Turning his head and looking the other way down the beach, he saw the way was clear.
Still in a sitting position he quickly he reached down to undo the straps that held the rail runners on his shoes. At the same time he bent his knee to bring his right foot closer and immediately groaned in pain. Looking now he could see his sock was covered with blood. Although he hadn't felt any pain when it happened, he obviously hadn't made it over the rocks as unscathed as he had supposed. In fact, now his foot was beginning to throb quite painfully, as if it had only been waiting for him to notice.
Ignoring the pain as best he could he hastily pulled the rail runner off his shoe, then the other one. He didn't have time for this. The police were fast approaching, and if he didn't get out of here real soon he would be caught for sure. In his mind, getting caught was a far worse evil then getting hurt.
His shoes finally free of their burden he pulled himself to his feet. Again he let out a groan and nearly fell down again. The foot was hurt much worse than he had thought. He could barely stand.
Not good. Not good at all.
He started off, running as fast as he could away from his pursuers. Farther down the beach the slope was covered with tall shrubs and scruffy beach trees. If he could reach that area he might be able to get away.
Very soon, however, he realized it was a losing proposition. His injured foot severely retarded his movement. In spite of his attempts to ignore the pain he felt himself sucking in his breath with each step, the pain so severe now he thought he was going to pass out any second. He looked back at the cops, then at the shrubs ahead. His heart sinking he realized he would never make it to safety in time. Looked like he was going to end up hurt AND caught.
And then something else caught his attention. The whine of an engine, rapidly growing louder, and it was from no car.
He lifted his head, looking up, just as a small plane roared into view above the bluff he had just descended. It was flying low, just about tree top level. As the bluff dropped down in front of it the plane dipped as well, diving down toward the beach. He saw the police that had been coming down the stairs stop, looking up, a few of them involuntarily cringing as the plane flashed by right above their heads. It leveled out again, now just above the beach, racing out over the water, it's wings dipping as it circled back around. Zangan recognized the aircraft as soon as it came into view, it's shape and light red color unmistakable. He'd seen it a hundred times. The Bronco.
She had come!
The sight of the plane gave him renewed hope. He got up once again, and stumbled down the beach as best he could, heading away from the police and waving his arms, hoping that the pilot would see him.
Apparently she did, for the plane dipped again, turning in his direction and flying right over head, its wings waggling as it passed. It sped down the beach, right over the cops running there, then circled around and, passing the cops one more time, dropped lower with the obvious intent of landing.
The cops behind him redoubled their efforts to catch up, well aware that they would have no chance of detaining him if the aircraft reached him first. Fortunately for Zangan, the soft sand of the beach was less than ideal for running, and hindered them somewhat. Zangan only hoped the sand was not so soft that the Bronco's wheels would sink in and get stuck.
The plane hit the sand between Zangan and his pursers, coming directly at the teenager. Seeing its momentum would carry it past him before it stopped, Zangan kept on going. A moment later the aircraft passed him, slowing down rapidly. So rapidly, in fact, that it was only a few meters in front of him when it came to a halt. Zangan pushed himself the last short distance, his foot throbbing, then finally reached the plane. Pulling open the door he threw himself inside. Almost before he was in he heard the engine roar again and the plane started forward.
Zangan pulled himself up and into his seat, closed the door then grinned at the blonde in the pilots seat next to him, but she was concentrating on the controls and the beach in front of them. He turned his head, looking behind. For a moment he saw the police running toward them, so close they could almost touch the plane, but then the aircraft pulled ahead, rapidly gaining distance. As it lifted into the air he saw the police stop running, looking up in frustration.
The plane safely in the air, the pilot turned to look at him, her eyes giving him a reproachful look from behind her glasses.
"Hello Zangan."
"Hiya Syd," he replied. "You're late."
She continued to look at him for a moment, then turned forward again.
"Seems to me that I got here right on time," she replied.
'Yeah I guess so," Zangan agreed with one last glance at the beach and the police behind them. 'You missed the big spectacle though."
"I take it you went through with your suicidal plan?" she questioned.
"Yup!" Zangan replied proudly. "You should have seen me. I was great! It was incredible! I think I broke the sound barrier, I was going so fast! I'll bet no one's ever done ANYTHING like that before! No one at school is going to believe it."
And then he stopped. His friends had run away. None of them had actually SEEN him go down. Without witnesses he was right, no one WOULD believe it.
"Damn," he said, much less enthusiastically.
"What?" Sydney questioned.
"The police chased everyone away. None of my friends saw me go down. No one will believe I actually did it."
"Just show them your foot," Sydney commented. She hadn't failed to notice his lack of running ability as he had scrambled to the plane.
"That doesn't prove anything," he retorted. "I could have done anything to have caused that. Hell, I could have hurt it just trying to get ON the rail."
Sydney just glanced at him again, then shook her head. She did not share Zangan's predilection for doing incredibly dangerous (some would say incredibly stupid) stunts. She had enough excitement in her life to keep her satisfied. After all, here she was only eighteen years old and already she was flying planes all by herself. Of course, she had considered herself capable of flying solo since she was twelve. Not surprising considering that she had spent her whole life around planes, hell, had been BORN in one, and who her father was. She might not go as fast in a plane as Zangan did on his rail thingies, or at least, it might not FEEL as fast, but it was plenty fast enough for her. She considered herself extremely fortunate, in fact, being able to do what she could do. She didn't know anyone else anywhere near her age who could fly a plane!
Zangan didn't have that outlet. His father was gone. His Mom, well she was into that martial arts thing, which some kids might find exciting, but not Zangan. It wasn't fast enough for him. He found the training boring. As soon as he discovered it was more about mental discipline than breaking things, he had lost interest.
"I'll just have to do it again," she heard him mutter.
"What?"
"I'll just have to do it again!" he said, much louder. "No one saw me do it. Without a witness I can't prove I went down! I'll have to do it again in front of them to prove it."
"You nearly killed yourself this time!" Sydney couldn't help but point out.
"But I didn't," he retorted. "If I can do it once, I can do it again."
"And maybe break more than just your foot this time."
"It isn't broken!"
"You sure?"
Instead of answering Zangan inspected his foot. There was a gash right above his ankle bone that was at this very moment swelling up and turning a nasty shade of purple. It was sore to the touch, and he could barely stand on it. It could very well be broken but he certainly wasn't going to admit that.
"Now you sound like my mother," he grumbled.
"Well maybe your mother is right!"
Zangan just glared at her.
"All right, all right, I'm sorry," Sydney said, trying to sound contrite, realizing that was not the right thing to say right now. She was well aware of the often contentious relationship Zangan had with his mother, having seen it first hand on more than one occasion. "I won't get on your case about it. Not when you're going to hear it all from your Mom anyway."
"I won't hear anything if she doesn't know about it," Zangan replied.
"You're not going to tell her?" Sydney questioned, realizing after it had come out what a stupid question it was.
"Of course not!" And then; "are you?"
Sydney couldn't help but give him an unforgiving glance. Was he questioning her loyalty? How many times had she covered up for him in the past?
"No," she snapped.
He sat there for a moment, then his face softened and he nodded.
"But how are you going to explain that foot to her?" Sydney questioned.
Zangagn just sat there.
"Maybe she won't notice," he said finally.
Sydney's mouth fell open.
"Won't notice?"
"Well maybe I can..." he began, then stopped. He had been thinking maybe he could hide it from her, maybe get in the house without her noticing, but he realized that was just wishful thinking. He knew his Mom better than that. She'd notice. She noticed everything.
"I'll come up with something," he continued. "I'll tell her I tripped... umm... getting in the airplane or something."
"No."
"No?"
"You want to make up a story that's fine, I'll back you up all the way but don't involve my airplane in this," she stated firmly. "It took my dad and me weeks to convince my Mom that I was old enough to fly solo, I'm not going to do anything to screw that up."
"But it has nothing to do with your FLYING," Zangan protested.
"I don't care," Sydney retorted. "Come up with any cockamamie story you want but leave my plane out of it!"
Zangan opened his mouth, then shut it. From the look on her face he knew he wasn't going to change her mind. It didn't matter anyway. He didn't need to use the plane as an excuse. It would be just as easy to make up some other story.
'All right, all right," he agreed, thinking quickly. "I'll say that I... uhh... I don't know. I'll just tell her I fell."
Sydney just looked at him.
"You fell."
"Yeah."
"And you think she's not going to ask how it happened."
"I'll come up with something," he said irritably. "Maybe she won't even notice at all."
Sydney had no reply to this, and instead just shrugged. Knowing his mother, Sydney was quite certain she would notice, and knowing Zangan, she suspected he would come up with some lame story that his mom wouldn't believe for a second which would end up getting him in more trouble than if he just told her the truth.
She knew, however, that it would do no good at all to tell Zangan that.
It didn't matter anyhow. It was none of her business. She would play along with whatever story he came up with because he was her friend, but she couldn't protect him from himself.
She looked down. They were right over the center of Kalm now. She could see Zangan's house, near the north edge of the town. Kalm had grown quite a bit in the last few years but was still considered a small city compared to a lot of others. The college was on the outskirts of the town and it had only taken a minute to get here. When she had flown here earlier with her father they had landed at the brand new airport, which was proper protocol these days but that was quite a distance from Zangan's house and his foot being the way it was she thought him in no condition to walk very far. She pushed the stick forward and the Bronco obediently dropped lower in the sky as she prepared to bring then in for a landing in a small field just behind Zangan's house.
"Well, whatever you are going to come up with you better think fast because we are about to land," she warned him.
Zangan nodded, having noted the plane's descent and their proximity to his home. He thought furiously, trying to come up with some good excuse for his injury, but as usual when he needed it most, his mind was blank. Finally, with a silent sigh, he gave up. He was going to catch hell for this and he had a feeling there was no escaping it.
As the plane touched down he thought once again that his mother might not notice.
Yeah, and maybe pigs could fly.
He had been hoping to at least get into the house and maybe be able to sit down before he had to contend with his mom, but even that faint hope was dashed as Tifa and Cid, obviously having heard the plane land, emerged from the house almost before he and Sydney had even gotten out of the aircraft.
"Where have you been?" Tifa asked as the two adults came up to them.
Zangan looked at his mom. The question hadn't held any accusation in it, yet still he had to wonder why she asked. Was she starting in with the third degree already? Wasn't that just what he needed.
"At my friends," he replied. "I told you."
"And what were you doing there?"
This time he paused before answering. She often asked questions but this time he had told her who he was going to be with and where he would be. He had lied but that was beside the point. Or was it? She didn't usually ask questions like this unless she knew something. He decided on the safest answer possible.
"Nuthin, we were just hanging out."
"Hanging out?"
"Yes. Goofing off. You know."
"Where?"
"Just around."
"Around where?"
"Lots of places."
Tifa folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with her gaze.
"Did one of those places happen to be the college?"
Zangan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It wasn't a place she would guess. He had rarely gone there before. There was only one reason she would mention the college....
Tifa nodded back toward the house.
"Officer Daniels is in the kitchen," she informed him. "He'd like to have a word with you."