Colors of War, Chapter 9: Sorry Don't Cut It
"-you bastard, you knew this was coming!"
Diera crouched just shy of the office vent grille, careful to keep from blowing dust all over the people below. There hadn't been anyone else up in her side of the vent system, which was nothing short of suspicious. Still, she ignored it in favor of listening to the heated debate below. Although it seemed to be winding up, things still seemed to be quite emotional. Now, just drop some nice juicy facts…
"You're right, I underestimated their ambition, but it's not like you love that hellhole anyway."
"Stop acting like a goddamned ass, Iri! You're the one who keeps saying Turks have our own morals. Are you going to take it back?"
There was a long, angry silence. Diera backed away, ever so slightly, even though she was well out of sight; the hostility seemed to overflow into her hiding place, it was so thick. Suddenly she knew why the other greenies weren't here. They'd been sent elsewhere, out of the way of their seniors' fight; to Cosmo Canyon, perhaps, for last-minute training for whatever it was that they were yelling about. All the battle-proven members had been called back to headquarters, but she hadn't known, because she had been caught sick. She'd called on the night of her arrival at Gongaga. The transfer orders must have come out when she was down with fever. Oh, damn.
Finally, someone sighed, a loud, harsh sound filled with bitter frustration. "I'm sorry. But a deal is a deal."
"You're sorry?" The other man seemed to be equally frustrated. "Sorry doesn't cut it, Iri, sorry means nothing. You're the boss, BE a boss for a change! You're making a big mistake here, you fool. We'd all file for discharge once this job's over. That includes me. Who else is going to take my place? A Recruiter isn't trained lightly, and I'll take more than half the force with me."
Recruiter? It was the first she'd ever heard about that job. Did a recruiter induct people into the Turks? Didn't Uncle Iri do it himself? She strained to catch more of the conversation. Why was the Recruiter so important? Once the people were in the company, all loyalty went to the boss, didn't it? Then why was… Diera slid herself slowly to the edge of the vent grille, peering through the thick muffling dust trails at the heads below. She didn't usually recognize people by the tops of their heads, but it would help if a name was mentioned and she had something visual to go along with it.
Her nose twitched at the dust- and at a strangely familiar smell. Come to think of it, the arguing voices had seemed strangely familiar too. One was Iri, the other… she had heard it before, and recently too. This smell… soap?
Oil?
Winter Doros?
Shi-iiiit. His albino white hair showed startlingly white against the blue carpet of the office. He was standing point at the crowd of dissenters.
Winter Doros was the Recruiter.
She'd never known. Never even suspected. The Recruiter had to be someone who faded into the background? "Shit," she whispered, backing off.
"I won't grant it, Doros, I'd do it over my dead body." A heavy, realizing silence leapt upon Iridalan's heated words.
Someone stepped forward, loafers scruffing the thin carpet. She was willing to bet that it was Doros, and it was him who spoke next. "I won't kill you, Iri, but you'll understand that death is the only way out sometimes. The only way out, remember? That's what you said when you recruited me. 'Say yes and you get the job; say no and you'll go to heaven.' No way out except death. Well, this is the last favor we're doing for you. After that, you'll have to clean up your own mess."
Iridalan laughed, a brief humorless bark. "I always do it, don't I?" He paused, and the silence was heavy, sad. Tired. "It was good while it lasted, Doros. Now while everyone has their fricking orders, take them, grab some grub, and meet outside the town before dawn. We move when dawn breaks. Full fighting gear. Forget the uniform, tomorrow we dirty ourselves. It's not about Turk honor anymore. It's about showing the world that we can do what we said we would. You want to hate anyone, hate me, hate Shinra. When the three years are up, we bust their ass. Whoever's left after we finish this, I don't care who you are, remember that. Bust 'em. Pass that to the greenies when they come on. Understood?"
Diera backed away from the grille as Doros' voice rang out in a shattering roar, angry and thirsty. The people behind him took up the cry, and as she crawled as fast as she could, back the way she had come, she felt the rock of the ventilation systems thrum under her hands and feet. They were so angry. And she was going to get a piece of this cake before Uncle Iri disappeared into his office again. She had to.
--
Uncle Iri didn't seem very happy to see her. In fact, his first words were, "What the hell are you doing here?"
She gave him her best innocent look. It had taken her ten minutes to calm herself down this much, to be able to shift her expression the way she wanted to. Ten years of training and one might think it would be easy, but it wasn't. "I wasn't updated enough." Which was technically true. "You didn't tell me about this when I called. In fact, you specifically told me to come to the headquarters, quote, 'ASAP', unquote. So," she smiled brightly at him, "I'm in on your little fix now. Feed me."
He stared at her with tired, dead eyes that held the echoes of an anger not so long past. "This isn't a game, girl."
"I didn't say it was." Silly of her to get defensive, but she did anyway. All the projected cheer leaked away like water out of a broken cup, leaving something tight? wooden? trained (that was what it felt like anyway), on her face. She was trying to climb the ranks of fishdom, dammit. "I didn't say it was a game. I'm not with the greenies in the Cosmo area. I'm here, Uncle Iri, and I want in on your little do. It matters to me."
His eyes went cool, hard. "And just how old are you? How much experience do you have? None, girl, nothing to prove that you can do it."
"I don't need to prove myself, Uncle Iri. All you need to know is that I can do it. I will. I heard all about your mess," she crossed her arms, lightly skipping over the fact that she hadn't yet found out what they were all worked up about. "I want a job. You got a job. I'll do it."
Iridalan laughed suddenly, and Diera involuntarily took a step backwards at the look of absolute darkness that closed tight over his face. "You'll regret this later, girl. You'll regret it, and remember me, and hate Shinra. Have it your way, then- the orders are on my desk. There should be a copy of it somewhere, and you'll find it by the date."
"Tomorrow," she said softly, glancing down at last. She'd never been able to out-stare Uncle Iri, not even when it hadn't been serious. Now it was serious, and she was discovering that she wasn't as advanced as she thought he was. It was not a comforting discovery. "I'll be there tomorrow. We going on foot?"
"On Chocobo. You have a mount, don't you?" There was only tiredness in his voice now, like the debate had sapped the life from him.
"Yeah, I do. And Uncle Iri…" she raised her head, allowing a thread of uncertainty to creep into her voice, "what happened to Vincent and Uncle Lance?"
He looked at her, his face devoid of emotion. "What makes you think something happened to them?"
"They weren't downstairs, and Vincent would have gotten in your face for whatever reason. Since he's not here, and everyone else is here, something must have happened. Or did Shinra refuse to let them go?"
Silence again, thick and horrible. Iridalan stared at her, his jaw working as she stared back and thought of a thousand different scenarios. But nothing could soften the blow as he said, finally, "MIA. Both of them. Shinra doesn't know where they are. No guns recovered. They just disappeared off the face of the Planet." Diera's mouth opened, closed, and she went through another few more rounds before giving up and keeping her mouth shut. "You were with them until recently, but not recent enough, so you wouldn't know what happened-" He stopped as her mouth firmed, and she went over to rummage in his desk. "Do you know something?" he demanded suspiciously, blocking her as she went for the door.
"I'm not sure. Move, Uncle Iri." She shoved him aside, revealing for once the enhancements that she kept under wraps, and left in a small storm of black.
It was too pat. Too coincidental. But nobody could tell, not with Hojo around.
--
Much as it was tempting to stay up late and find out if her theory matched, she was tired, and tomorrow would be a long day.
She couldn't sleep.
The orders had been simple: Destroy La Contresiera, down to the last baby.
It was burned into her brain, words edged in fire that showed up on her eyelids when she tried to sleep. It was unreasonable, brutal and irrevocable. And she knew that Shinra was entirely capable of it. They already had money, power. What they needed was land, lots of it, and the reputation to keep other townships or independent territories from springing up. It was only sensible, but as she lay in the darkness and pieced together the pieces of this awful puzzle, she knew why her seniors had argued all day.
Because she knew that if she did this, something in her would break. And this was just one of the small steps on her way to bigger, better, whatever.
Her last thought as she fell asleep was that there would never again be anything more impressive on her résumé.
--
It seemed as if she woke up just after she closed her eyes- the alarm clock was ringing, her neck was stiff and she really didn't want to wake up, but her standing within the Turks depended on this. She was in her old room again, the tiny cubbyhole she'd grown up in, and though it was cramped she had the pick of her own limited closet. Black slacks, halter top and denim jacket was the order of the day, plenty of room to hide the long slender dirk that was her weapon as a fledgling, and the heavier Valken that she was required to carry for ID purposes. Extra knives, of course, and extra bullets, but over the smell of metal and gunpowder was the acrid taint of something else, nervousness and guilt.
It's not a game. It never has been. What's wrong with me now?
--
She managed to get her mount and scoot out to the town gates half an hour before the deadline, catching the main movement of her seniors. A good thing; most of them looked at her in disgust and an argument started over whether minors should be allowed on missions like this one. Iridalan gave her an exceedingly dirty look that she did her best to ignore, but she kept her mouth shut and eventually she was allowed to go with them. Most of them simply forgot about her. Uncle Iri didn't. He gave out job allotments in a voice meant to carry, virtually announcing her portion in a bellow.
He'd given her a share of the dirtiest work. Once the drug had passed through the city's water systems, they would go in and slaughter the sleepers, and she was to be a part of that termination force. Iridalan's vengeful look in her direction was enough to say, you wanted a job, fine, here's the deep end. She felt vaguely nauseated, but there was no backing out now.
In streams of three and four they slipped past Nibelheim to gather near the Golden City, seeking cover close to the mountain ranges. The advance party went on ahead, carrying the canisters of the drug solution that would mix with the water in the city and reduce competition considerably. Diera took advantage of the lull to press up against Iri's mount, glaring at him with her own anger. He glared back, gesturing for her to rejoin her squad with an abrupt movement of his gauntleted hand. She shook her head shortly, giving a gesture of her own that was definitively crude.
"I gave you what you wanted. Don't complain!" he hissed as the others around them politely moved away.
"Why the drug? Why not just poison?"
"Nobody would drink if they started all falling over dead," he retorted acidly. "Is that all? Are you getting squeamish?"
Unable to stop herself, she snarled at him. Soft, but it was there. "You're pissed, fine, don't pin it on me."
"It's my business," the graying leader snapped. "Now go and do your job. Don't get squeamish."
Shortly she spat an angry sound and held her fist out. "Salute." He stared at her hand.
"Who taught you?"
"Lance. Hurry up." Reluctantly he clashed knuckles with her, then slapped the back of his hand against hers. It looked easy, but there was a trick to it, like hitting the target on a bell. If you slapped the wrong spot, the real Turk would know. Diera grinned smugly at Iri's suspicious look. "I'm here whether you like it or not," she called over her shoulder as she wheeled her bird and rode away.
She missed seeing him look down onto the hand she'd slapped, eyes filled with sudden intent.
If she had seen, she would have hit him. Because Diera, above all, hated for people to interfere with her life.
--
La Contresiera was rarely all silent. There was day life and night life, each taking over as the sun moved from horizon to horizon. But now, in the height of noon, everything slept.
Diera drew her dirks as she followed her group in, her mind going curiously blank. She'd killed before, she told herself, strangely detached. This time would be no different. The group spilled apart, picking up speed; she headed directly toward the spires of the Palace. There might be people there who did not sleep, so it was the most likely area for resistance. Somehow… the thought of killing an opponent was less distasteful than the prospect of killing a sleeper on his or her bed.
As Iridalan had predicted, there WERE guards- veterans from their grizzled look- who had not been drugged, but panic made them clumsy. Her seniors went on ahead as Diera gutted them deftly, leaving the reeking corpses behind her. Sleeping guards littered the path; she cut their throats with only a faint feeling of guilt. It was a job, and she was five all over again, being instructed in the intricacies of throat and gut. Her poniards bit and slid through skin, flesh, thicker things, hissing with the curious sound of metal in meat, grating as they met bone, cartilage. It didn't bother her to kill sleepers after a while, she discovered. Some part of her that said she should feel guilty, bad, ashamed of her actions, but it was like hacking through just so much meat, something like that.
Her seniors had disappeared. A trail of bodies and blood showed where they had gone. She went where the trails didn't, cleaning up on sleepers they'd missed in alcoves and closets. The thready wail of an agitated infant drew her into a richly, almost gaudily appointed room.
It had a burbly red face, stubby body and small grasping hands, singularly unlovely though someone had swathed it in lace-trimmed cloth. She didn't like the effect anyway. And its voice grated on her brain through the grayish focus unpleasantly.
It was just part of the job.
The knife rose, fell, and the wail was quiet.
She jerked backwards as the tiny body convulsed in its final throes, suddenly clumsy and horrible. The comfortably distance disappeared abruptly, and she smelled, really smelled for the first time, the blood and outhouse stench that coated her arms to the elbow, splashed liberally across her body, dripped down the point of her weapon. Her eyes fixed on the blood, saw the spasmodic thrashing of the still-warm corpse, traveled to the other bodies that littered the corridor outside.
And then, for the first time in her working life, Diera Raistlorne screamed.
But it was too late to regret.
--
They found her in the Crown Prince's nursery, huddled against a wall, curled up in a tight ball and screaming her throat raw. Silk knocked her out and carried her back to the Turk encampment, dark circles highlighting his eyes; he had been ordered to kill his father. Gently. It couldn't be helped. Diera didn't know, didn't care. It was his own personal nightmare, just like every other nightmare that everyone else held deep in their bloodstained hearts.
She never cried, only screamed. And she wasn't the only one.
Just the only one to scream out loud.
--
A/N: This took so long, I'm surprised anyone reviewed. But someone did! (jumps around waving pompoms) I want more! More! More! Vincent's out of the picture, so I can take liberties with the storyline. YES! (more pompoms) But never fear, the original character thing only continues for about two more chapters. After that, it's canon all the way… mostly.
Teaser: Seph! Seph! Seph!
Yes, I know it's not a teaser, but he IS making a stage appearance fairly soon. Go Seph! (dances away with pompoms)