Colors of War, Chapter 3: Premonitions
"That's quite enough," he said quietly, stopping at the door to the indoor greenhouse, which had been shut and presumably bolted. He didn't really know for sure that it was his charge inside, but he could hear breathing and this door was usually never shut. "It's going to look odd if you disappear without saying something to them."
A clear 'hmph' drifted under the door. "Got nothing to say to them."
So it was her in there, after all. Vincent changed tack. "At least fake a little so that we can apply properly for your discharge leave. I have to send in our reports anyway."
"...you promise?" It was small and startlingly childlike. She hadn't sounded like that in what seemed to be forever. No, of course she had grown out of it ages ago. Didn't children do that just before they turned eight?
"I promise." Play along with it. Maybe she was catching a flu. She came out then, dressed in one of the frilly white Contresieran dresses that the disguise department had cooked up for her. Distinctly dingy and definitely ragged in places where she had carelessly scraped the material against walls and floors, it added an element of tomfoolery to her now-forced jester's mask, but he didn't really care what she looked like as long as her brain was mostly intact, since that was the most valuable part of her.
Taking her firmly by the hand, the older Turk led her back down into the basement, noting, with grudging approval, that she was keeping her smart remarks to herself. Not two years ago she would have been howling about the injustice of it all, attacking him with especially barbed bluntness. He'd broken her jaw when she called Lucrecia a two-timer, even though he knew it was true- she was cheating equally on him and Hojo. Diera didn't understand how words hurt people... but she seemed to be learning. "Dia had something to do elsewhere," he announced shortly, ushering them both into the lab. "So she's here to say goodbye." Silence. "Aren't you?" He nudged her with a foot.
The girl jumped guiltily, having been matching glares with Hojo, who was sporting a cast on his broken shin. "Uh-- yeah. Goodbye. Sorry." Shooting the Wutaian another hate-filled glare which he returned with gusto, she ducked under Vincent's arm and disappeared up the stairs again. Vincent shook said arm reflexively and went to his usual post in a niche by the door.
She knew where their papers were, how to write her own report, and where to get transport.
She would be fine on her own.
--
Indignation aside, Diera dutifully did what Vincent expected her to do, setting off for the main headquarters in the Corel Range with the local dispatches in her innocuous bunny backpack. Nibelheim's sparse Turk office was mostly grassroots network. Most of the people weren't even aware that they worked for the Turks (for free too). One of those contacts had an investment in Chocobo Bill's, in any case, and it was the simple work of a sob story to procure a blue bird suitable for crossing the numerous streams in the path of her conveyance.
Of course she also went through the reports. The only way any small fry like herself could stay ahead of the big operatives in the line of duty was to know everything about anything in her reach.
La Contresiera was engaged in feeble attempts to build up its military defenses, recently distracted from its petty games of honor. Even Diera, who lacked real battle experience, could see that it wasn't working. Too long a time spent lax. But why the sudden need to beef up? She frowned in concentration and read on, not noticing when her mount slowed by the Nibelheim-Cosmo ford, warking to itself and rooting around for greens to snack on.
Shinra... Shinra was rattling spears with the Wutai shogunate and the Contresieran royalty.
A weapons company indeed.
A weapons company with Mako superpower backing it.
So that meant... "War," the cadet whispered, folding the report back into its envelope. Suddenly the prospect of war looked huge. Would she be posted to fight in it? She hadn't been in a real, tactics-driven battle before- she just eliminated anyone in her way- but suddenly here was an opportunity to be commanded. Would the Turks be fighting with or against Shinra? Depended on which way Iridalan's decision turned, but she didn't want to go up against Shinra's Mako power. On the other hand, Wutai boasted a considerable battle history and fantastic martial exponents. Neither power was one she cared to test herself against.
Taking her Chocobo's reins firmly in both hands again, she kicked it into a slow run along the shallow waters of the Nibelheim-Cosmo delta. Time for a visit to La Contresiera. Uncle Iri could jolly well wait for his reports. She had to ask Uncle Arvill something.
--
La Contresiera was considered even by the Turks to be one of the most disgraceful places on the Planet. Yes, it was filthy rich, but it was still disgraceful. All kinds of prostitution; the Turks acknowledged the necessity of the 'service' industry, but some of it was just plain gruesome. It was one of the reasons why the Turks had moved to the Coral Mountain base. That and the exorbitant bribes the authorities charged to register under their official rolls.
Diera entered this vile city with the general air of a tourist going out. Her uncles and aunties had had photos of its archaic architecture and spiralling flute towers, a sight to inspire longing in any child. As a precaution, however, she kept her gun and dirk handy, remembering their warnings of slaver gangs grabbing children for child prostitution. One could never be too careful.
A number of pimps met bloody castration that day, and Diera was cheerfully bloody by the time she stepped into Arvill Mclachlan's office. Arvill was one of her favorite uncles, a deceptively gruff hands-on kind of person who could be trusted to tell her things she needed to know, a useful thing when people either saw you as an adult with responsibility, a baby, or something to be ignored. "Hi, uncle!" she called, grinning at his quizzically raised eyebrow. "Got a camera handy? I saw this really funny Chocobo dance-"
He put down the papers he had been reading, changed his mind, and smacked her over the head with them as she moved into reach. "Nobody raised you to go cavorting in Contresiera without a guide," he told her sternly, matching her glare for affronted glare. "Look here, even if you do see those thugs about, you've no call to butcher them that way. And don't," he warned as she opened her mouth, "tell me you haven't. No other part of the body bleeds that way, and that much. Who showed you how to do that anyway?"
Actually it was the detailed books on anatomy Vincent made her read to 'keep her out of trouble', but she wasn't about to give nasty Vincent any credit. Rubbing her crown, the slender cadet climed up on his leather chair, spinning it around in lazy circles. "They thought I was easy prey. I did what I saw fit. And that's a secret." Diera waggled a finger at him. "You people raised me that way. Besides, I don't have a PHS, and you didn't know I was coming." Smugly she put her feet up on the edge of his expensive teak table and steepled her fingers in a blatant imitation of some third-rate cartoon detective.
Who was letting her watch that kind of trash? Mclachlan thought grimly, smacking her again. "You could have just given a warning shot, and DON'T SIT IN MY CHAIR LIKE THAT!" Diera's smirk faded into a thwarted pout, and she put her feet down properly, crossing her arms in a defiant way. "Nobody taught you to do a lot of what you do, so keep a lid on it."
Hopping off the swivel chair, she shrugged. "I repeat- that's the way you people raised me."
Arvill rolled his eyes. "Yeah, blame it on the babysitters, what else is new? More importantly, what in the seven hells are you doing here? Shouldn't you be hanging around Valentine and V2 in the Nibel area?"
"I got new orders," she replied nonchalantly, rooting around in the bunny backpack.
He took one look at the envelope she waved in his face and made a grab for it. She skipped away nimbly, laughing. "Not so fast, not so fast. I got to ask you something." Suddenly intent, all smiles gone, she put the report behind her back and leaned slightly forward. "How long's our deal with Shinra? What's the details?"
Arvill scowled at her. "That's confidential information, pest."
"Believe me, I've been into the classified files already. I won't blab, Uncle Arvill, so trust me. Please?" Trying for 'cute and innocent', she was rewarded by a sigh and shake of his greying auburn head.
"Our contract with Shinra lasts until the end of next year," Arvill told her resignedly. "The contract's too long for me to recite offhand, but it books out complete loyalty to Shinra for three billion girl worth of weaponry, delivered in installments over our three-year contract."
Diera looked stricken. "That's the most unreasonable contract I've ever heard of! Why-"
Taking her shoulder, Arvill plucked the report from her unresisting hands. "Don't ask me, princess, ask Iridalan. He's the one who signed the contract, so he's got his reasons. Now, why are the reports with you, and why are you here?"
"Vincent told me to deliver the reports to Corel," she said numbly, her mind caught in the implications of this new concept. "I had to come and ask." Seeming to shake herself awake, she tugged at his hand, retrieving the report deftly. "Now I've asked. I'll- go. Have a good day-"
Arvill grabbed her long braid before she could stumble out like a sleepwalker. "Not with your dress like that, pest. I'll ring Corel to expect your delay, not that Iridalan doesn't know everything anyway. You're going down to supplies to collect a shirt and shorts, then wash up, and I'll detail one of the others to get your sorry ass out of the city gates."
She glanced up with a flash of her old, impious humor. "For the safety of the gangsters?"
"For the safety of the gangsters," he agreed solemnly. "Now go and clean up."
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