Colors of War, Chapter 8: Careless Hands
Diera was up and about sooner than the doctor had predicted. He hadn't taken into account the strange chemical cocktail that Shinra's scientists had dribbled into her system, and she was content to let him overlook that minor detail. No need to burden the whitecoat with things he probably wouldn't understand. Zack might be able to handle it, but she had other plans for him.
Besides, with the war that Shinra was currently cooking up, coupled with the enhancement program that SOLDIER was currently implementing, the world would know about enhancements soon enough. What they didn't know couldn't hurt anyone but the unfortunate country that Shinra selected for its object lesson to the world.
Diera had no particular fondness for anyone but her own, but the prospect of an entire country being crushed… much as her training protested against interfering in what must be a well-made decision, she had to go find Uncle Iri and somehow persuade him to default on the contract with Shinra.
Yeah, right.
"You're going already?" Zack said disappointedly, cutting into her dark reverie.
She snagged her mount's reins before it could scamper away and turned reluctantly to face him. In the short week she had been with him, he had squirmed into her affections. The boy (that was her impression of him although he was obviously more than a bit older than she was) had a knack of alternately looking soulful and cheerfully bossy that was hard to resist. "I'm going. I was supposed to be home long ago, and they were pretty upset when I called them last."
'Upset' was putting it mildly. Uncle Iri actually threatened to give her a lengthy suspension spent in the oh-so-sunny Costa del Sol department. He actually seemed to think that it would be the most prudent course of action. Please. Of course, the del Solan department was known for its wealth of near-retiring age veterans, who were enjoying their last years, months, days in comfort before Uncle Iri gave them the writ of honorable discharge, or something like that.
(Whatever the 'writ of honorable discharge' (or whatever it was) was, the Turk dropped completely out of sight after Uncle Iri issued it. Like, no more contact, not even visual contact, no more communication. Once you weren't a Turk, you were really not a Turk. No getting around that, at least not that Diera had ever seen or heard. Whenever she asked anyone about it, they just got really sad-looking and avoided the subject. She'd given up on asking after a while. Losing friends was always painful, she supposed.)
She'd remembered that they weren't actually given immediate discharge because of their valuable knowledge. Turk ethics forbade the wastage of precious data in any way, shape and/or form, because their trade was in data and details. Killing was a sideline. Knowing exactly where the target would be at any given time was their true advantage. If she somehow managed to get all the information they had to pass on, further promotion was almost certainly guaranteed. She might even persuade Uncle Iri to give her a job. She really wanted to test her skills on something.
"…Yo, kid- man, you're creepy…" He was waving one hand in front of her face, looking horrified. "You zone out so fast. You said you don't do that much? I don't buy it." She scowled at him and half-raised her foot in warning. Wisely he backed away. "All right, so you're going back now. So give me your address or something."
Diera looked at him like he had suddenly sprouted bunny ears and turned into her backpack. "What do you want my address for?" Not to mention that anyone could trace it if it got out. Vincent said so. Zackary isn't even a Candidate yet. "Not to send junk mail, is it?"
Zack looked injured, which was disturbingly cute for a gangling horseface. She quickly concentrated on her bird, which was warking with impatience. Ignore it, ignore it. He's just another pawn. There's always another one to use. "I was just wondering if we could be pen pals. I mean, ma and pa always want me to get out more, but there aren't many people my age around. Besides, you're flat, but you seem pretty grown-up."
It took a moment for that to sink in. "Did you just say I was flat?" she repeated slowly, one eyebrow sliding upward of its own volition. "Zackary Horizon, did you just suggest that I was a flat grown-up?"
He smiled nervously, obviously only now realizing that his comment had been somewhat tactless. "Uh- maybe. But I didn't mean it that way."
She sighed, defeated. Zack managed to make all her pique melt away like cotton candy under tapwater. Hurst had squashed her arguments with the sledgehammer of authority; this bumbling boy did it with a tilt of his head and a funny expression. I have to work on mastering my emotions. I really am going to work on them. "It's cool." I haven't used 'cool' in nearly two years. Vincent said it was unprofessional. "I guess I am flat," she added, patting her chest. The medics had marked her for an early bloomer, but she was only getting the inches- the other female things had yet to show up. Oh well. "All right, you got something to take it down with?"
He grinned with startling whiteness and whipped out a tiny pocketbook. The little bastard. She had to respect the deviousness of it all. Get her riled up, then toss in a cute look and get the address. What a Turk he would have made. Hmmm. She gave him one of the false addresses that the Turks used, which would be picked up weekly and redirected to the appropriate people. It was a tidy arrangement, especially when you didn't want people to know that you were a Turk. Messed up contact relations something awful. Uncle Lancir had come back swearing after a leak once…Back to the job, Dia. "There. You better not send any weird stuff, Horizon. They'll chew me out if they find any monkey business."
Zack waved a dismissive hand. "Chill! Do you always use people's last names?"
She gave him another 'bunny' look. "Is there anything wrong?"
"Not really. It's just creepy, that's all."
"Creepy?" Her forgotten eyebrow inched higher.
He reached over to tweak her nose. "Whoever raised you got to be cool, kid. You talk almost exactly like the coppers from those old theatre productions."
"You got theatre out here in the ass end of nowhere?"
"Hey!" Zack bristled slightly. "Well… I suppose Gongaga's far out, but you'll keep those smart remarks to yourself, kid." He showed her a large and somewhat threatening fist that she had every confidence of beating in a fight. But she wasn't here to get in a fight with him, so she let him have his moment. "We used to have a homemade theatre company staying here. They'd give us performances whenever someone threw a party." His smile became wistful. "They closed down a few months back. All their lead players went down to old age."
"Ah," Diera said flatly. Old age was a mystery to her. She had no conception of the rationale that made people retire. So they got wrinkled, so what? Didn't affect their competency, did it? But people did it anyway. "So I talk like a copper." Too close for comfort. "So… see you around, Horizon." She swung up into the Chocobo's saddle, her performance interrupted only slightly by the bulky saddlebag that she had to clear with a lifted leg. All right, so it wasn't very graceful, but she managed to get it done without much more than a snicker from her self-appointed 'pen pal'. Giving him a cold glare, mostly feigned, she kicked her mount sharply and held on for dear life as it launched itself directly down the path leading out of the Gongaga area.
Somewhere in the wind of her passing floated a yelled "Seeya, kid!".
She grinned to herself.
--
The Corel Base was usually busy, but this was a new high. She couldn't even squeeze into the main office because of the sheer volume of people crammed into it, yelling in code to each other and waving sheets of paper around. Diera stood behind the wall off backs, hot and annoyed and feeling left out. Pulling the blue bird's reins lightly, she gave up on trying to enter by the main door and went to stable her mount in the town's stables.
Dressed in a set of clothes that Zack's enthusiastic parents had procured from a neighbor (since her own uniform had been soaked and ruined three ways to Sevenday), Diera blended right into the town life. Well, she lacked the ample bosom that the previous wearer had apparently been endowed with, but safety pins were a wonderful invention. Just an extra pleat on either side of her back and she looked as normal as any other girl. If your idea of a girl was one that was absolutely flat-chested. She'd hit the 150-cm mark some time ago, and by the bone-deep ache that accompanied her everywhere, things were set to continue growing.
Forced into washing up for the first time in months (due to her very thorough drenching in that blasted rain), Diera had grudgingly admitted that regular hot baths did have their merits. She'd actually seen the layer of accumulated dirt peel off under Mrs Horizon's determined efforts. Her skin was still Mideelan gold-brown, her hair still true black, but the skin was just a few shades paler than it used to be, and now her hair gleamed not with grime and grease but the true gloss of cleanliness.
Oh, hell. She liked baths now. Sure made her hair lots easier to handle. Although she was reasonably sure that it would fizz and crackle in Corel's colder climate. Dredging up a smirk at the thought of Vincent going 'bzzt' after a bath, she put an extra spring in her step and managed to grab the last stall in the local stables before a group of Contresieran travelers rode in. They swore good-naturedly at her; she called something acidic back in their bubbling language, and it was all right. They had to have been countryside stock; the city-bred ones took insults very seriously. These ones acted like life was one huge ongoing joke. Diera personally agreed with them. Why take life so seriously?
Because life depends on getting out alive, that's why.
She winced as the remembered reprimand rang ghostlike in her 'ears'. Vincent-damn-him had the strangest way of popping up where he was least expected. Even in her memories. Yeeeeesh. Shaking her head to try and put it out of her mind, Diera reached up and started unsnapping the buckles of her mount's halter. Stripping the tack took only a minute, and getting enough greens and grain from the storage bin in a corner took less than fifteen minutes. All in all, she was quite satisfied with her working speed.
No, she didn't just walk off after that. Vincent had trained her in the courtesies of paying, after all. She even treated those Contresieran travelers to a round of beer, to apologize for stealing the last lot, and struck up a conversation with them. (No, she didn't drink either. It tasted funny. Besides, she'd never managed to get dizzy or even light-headed. It just made her go to the toilet a lot.) But that wasn't the point. The point was, these travelers were country nobles, and they were migrating from their motherland.
La Contresiera, the golden city beyond the Nibel Mountains, was reputed to be the Golden Land as well. Contresierans were all so ultra-civilized that they thought of any other land, town or city as inferior to their own. That was what Diera had heard from her uncles and aunts, including the Contresieran ones. It wasn't arrogance, or even pride; it was just hard to think quite so well of anywhere else once you had seen the lush green of their land and the archaic spirals of their fairytale architechture. (After visiting Contresiera, Diera had conceded their point.) In any case, Contresierans rarely left their country, and even more rare was the migration of a single noble family, let alone an entire group of young ones, heirs and second children who were highly prized by their nobility.
THE POINT BEING, these were only the ones being told to move- right now- by their stern parents. How many others were trickling out, by sea and land route, for whatever reason? Not only the nobles- the peasants, too. La Contresiera had found out that they were in a hole deeper than money could fill. And, if Diera had the right of it, their doom would be at the hands of one of their own people.
Shinra.
She chatted with them for some time, careful to nudge aside any unwelcome overtures, and dug for what she could, then left as they began looking for more mature female company. By then the sky had darkened to red, and she found herself needing the toilet fiercely. Teach her to match them drink for drink. It had seemed like a good idea at the time…
When she tried getting into the office again, it was deserted. At least the entrance was. Not a light on. By the vibrations in the concrete- she blinked as it actually shifted a little under her feet- they seemed to have shifted their arguments into the depths of their mountain base. Nature called, however, too strongly to ignore. She hurried off to the toilet. It had nice acoustics anyway. Dimly, she could hear voices echoing down the air vent to the ladies' room, voices raised in argument.
Something big. About the Contresiera situation? She made her toilet call as swift as she could and, remembering the press of people from before, grimaced, reaching for the laces of the dress. Underneath them, she wore a tight halter top and shorts, her gear of choice lately. Good enough to crawl in dirt with. Which was exactly what her newest course of action entailed.
Desperate situations, desperate measures. Phooey.
--
About two doors down from the main office area, which was where most of the paperwork got done, was a storage room, mostly used to store janitorial items. Yes, there were janitors among the Turks. Helped with infiltration. It was also a popular form of detention for green recruits. (She knew about it, having been on the receiving end sometimes.) In any case, the air vents from there connected to those over the office area. What better place to listen in if you couldn't get into the office proper?
Here was to hoping that nobody else was listening from up there.
Knowing her fellow greenhorns, they probably had one or two up there with broadcasting apparatus. She grinned mirthlessly and put her folded dress in one of the cabinets, kicking off the girly shoes. At least she wasn't wearing socks. They would only get dirty, and climbing into a ceiling vest is a neat trick if you have socks on. Never believe anyone who claims they can get up there in socks without shoes. Socks slide everywhere. You'd be lucky to get away with a bruised ass. She grinned again. Uncle Jasson had been her infiltration tutor, a mousy-faced nondescript man with hands like a monkey's. He had been an expert in getting into unbelievable places. And if he said socks didn't cut it, she didn't want to test his theory.
The vent she was aiming for was conveniently spaced, right over a broom cabinet that was, even more conveniently, solid heavy iron and bolted to the wall. She climbed carefully up to the top, squeezed in the space between cabinet and vent grille, and pushed. It swung upwards with a protest of hinges, vengefully disgorging a load of dustballs. Diera hacked and coughed miserably, working her way up and into the vent.
Nobody had accessed this vent, this way. They hadn't come by this section of vent, either, not for months. If they had, there would be less muck up here. She snorted the worst of it out of her abused nose and crawled along the vent, feeling oddly secure in this close, two-way-only environment. The shafts were cut into the stone, and her passing raised no more than a few scraping noises. She could have pretended that the other people didn't exist, but the debate in the main office was heated, and drew her.
Onward ho. She scrambled grimly towards the source of the shouting.
--
Author's note: I wrote down 'argument' in my story planner and now I'm stuck with it. This is going to be a key turning point in the story, so I need pointers from all of my three lonely reviewers. (begging) How do you take a bad order? How do you keep faith and ethics, especially if you didn't think you had ethics before then? How do you take down an argument if you arrive at the end if it? Is Diera turning out to be too unrealistic? Come on, tell me if I'm doing something wrong.
Oops, I seem to be giving away too much. Oh well. Someone review this thing? I need at least one more review to keep me going, especially since I've got something called Real Life and it's kicking me right now. To all those lovely people who reviewed- thank you. Really very much. And I hope you stay tuned to every new chapter of this monster.
Hermitcrabbing,
Akishira