The Cold Trail
The shadows cradled me as I welcomed the underrated luxury of privacy. Perhaps it was because of the need to stay hidden, bolstered by the high granted me by the magical signature known as Invisibility. Or perhaps it was simply because of the need to stay hidden to escape the world if only for a few moments while I pondered in silence the point of it all.
I had every right to fear the unknown. To flee from it when chased me in my own personal labyrinth I called Life. And when it finally cornered me--up against the wall, up on that platform, holding the large knife, running in a killing charge--the End touched me in the tip of my nose with its bony finger and whispered to my bewilderment, "Tag."
That was not the end of the game. It started over. I was alive again. But this time, I was the chaser. I was the chaser of ghosts, of answers, of pasts, of the unknown. Intricate as life. Simple as a child's game. What is the point? The very same End that touched me, now run away from me. Why should I give it chase? Why should I pursue it, corner it, and tag it back?
Was that all there was to life? A pointless game to pass the time? Shouldn't I be worrying about escaping the labyrinth while I am the chaser? Shouldn't I just disappear into the night, escape to the streets, and leave Vector entirely? Shouldn't I just start anew elsewhere?
Leave the Empire. Leave Cid. Leave Tina. Abandon my mission. It seemed so easy to do. So simple. To give up. But I knew deep inside that it was not. I knew the reasons. I ran away because of fear of the unknown. I gave pursuit because of fear of what is known. That was the paradox of the game of life. To live was to play it, and play it for the people you cared about. I now gave chase to the End to prevent it from chasing those whom I cared about.
This door swung open without the need for Guardian's assistance. I shut it behind me softly, but I did not lock it. Back in the relative safety of my quarters, I leaned my back against the door as if to prevent the events of the day from following me inside. It was a futile gesture. I did not blame my subconscious. I was tired not in mind, not in body, but in spirit. It was an area of my being that my Transformation had no jurisdiction over. It was the part of me that I had not been completely aware of--was isolated--in my previous life. It was the part of me that I wished to conquer in time.
Still leaning against the door, my knees gave way under me. My back slid down against the door until I was in a crouching position. Alone in the silence and darkness of the general's quarters, I waited for the voice. Guardian stopped speaking to me as soon as I got out of Magitek Lab Alpha without detection. That was thirty minutes ago, and I still wore the microphone around my neck, and the earpiece in my right ear.
Was this her way of giving me time to gather my thoughts? I pondered. What was there to gather? Things only seemed to scatter apart when confronted with logic. I wasn't quite sure what happened back there in the lab. Terra. Kefka. Cid. The slave crown. Of all possible ways to make the pieces fit together, why did Cid have to be in-between them all? Oh, Cid! Whom was the slave crown for?
The door I was leaning on, the only exit to my general's quarters locked itself automatically. The click startled me. I knew immediately, that Guardian was responsible for it. She was with me again. "You lied to me," I said softly. I said the words plainly, without a hint of contempt.
Her response was prompt. "Aren't you glad that I did? Would you have discovered all the things you've seen tonight on your own had I not lied to you?"
She paused to give me time to answer those questions in my mind. Her means justified her purpose, I had to admit. It was not a method I approved of, but it was evidently effective. I felt like I should thank her.
"What I have done tonight, Celes," she continued, "was I pointed you to the right direction. Follow the trail in your investigation with caution. Do so, and you may unravel the whole truth. I will aid you."
I will aid you, I repeated the words in my mind. "For a price," I added. It wasn't a question.
"Of course. I will not lie to you about that. I am not some stranger on a mission to perform random acts of kindness."
Not that I cared if she were. Her being a stranger was enough not to trust her. "Perhaps I will not need your help at all. Have you ever thought about that? The Empire may be conspiring against me, but I'll be damned before I trust a rebel spy." My voice didn't sound angry, yet I was.
"Though, you can do great things with your new-found abilities, know that they are not permanent. They will be gone three days after the Celestial Wane. And even if they are permanent, you cannot fight two battles at once, Celes. No general can."
I closed my eyes. I wasn't used to arguing with a ghost. I wasn't comfortable about hearing voices and seeing nothing. Guardian wasn't using a computer screen this time. Closing my eyes, it was just between me and her. "You underestimate me," I whispered.
"And you are overconfident of yourself," she replied, triggering a recent memory in my head that belonged to Leo. He said the same thing about me yesterday. Twice said, and I was already sick of hearing it.
"I am still a general of the Empire," I started to say. My voice was steady. But it didn't stay steady. I was losing control of my anger. My voice trembled as it rose to a yell. "I am still a servant of Lord Gestahl. I have a duty to protect the Empire! You are still my enemy. I will deal with Kefka when the time is right. The New Military Council--"
"Was founded by General Cristophe," she interrupted, "under the direct but secret order of Emperor Gestahl, for one purpose only: to herald your ascension to generalship. Haven't you ever wondered why exactly they did that?"
"I have," I retorted, hoping to follow it up with a rebuke. But Guardian was too quick… too ready to answer.
"Then, no doubt, you also know that Leo lied to you. And if Leo lied to you then it was the emperor who gave him that order to lie to you. The emperor himself lied to you about the slave crown. And Cid hasn't been exactly truthful to you, either." Guardian's words were an affront to me. She knew that I knew these things. She knew that I was in a degree of denial about them. She was rubbing it in now.
Damn her fake voice!
She continued, "It seems to me that the Empire is betraying its very protector when it is allegedly under attack by rebels. Why would an Empire do that? Could it be because the Empire has no need of protection? Could it be because the rebels are not a threat?"
Those questions were mine alone. How dare she take them away from me and throw them at my face?!
"I am not afraid," I muttered with a tensed jaw.
"Perhaps that is the problem. You should be," she said bluntly. "With the slave crown on your head, it doesn't matter whether or not you fear death itself. You will be stripped of your will and be fully controlled by Kefka. In my opinion, that is a fate worse than death."
It was. But I did not need to be told that.
"How do I know that trusting you is safe?" I yelled, springing up from my crouching position. I paced around my living quarter. I manifested my frustration by kicking and shoving furniture that got in my way. I'd much rather have Guardian by the throat while I spoke. Instead, all I had were her fake voice and ghostly presence. "What would be your angle in this? You are so busy about telling me that everybody I know are conspiring against me that you're conveniently neglecting to tell me how you're different from any of them!"
"For one thing, you wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for me." There was no pause between my question and her answer. She was ready.
Her answer made no sense. How could she have been responsible for my revival? Was she present during the attempts? I had to call her bluff. "It was Kefka and his cult that brought me back to life."
"And that would not have been possible, if I hadn't wrested the reactor's control from him." Again, there was no pause. "The professor would not have been able to save your life. His method would not have worked on you. Your wounds were too severe. So I did the only thing I could. I shut down the lab's reactor to force General Cristophe into letting Kefka take over."
Her responses seemed rehearsed. She had planned for every possible questions or answers that I would have. I was not about to let her throw me off guard. I had to keep the questions going. "So what? Everybody in that room wanted me to live because I am useless to them when I'm dead. You saved my life because you wanted something from me. The question remains: how are you different from them?"
"I am different because I do not wish to control you," she responded with a sudden slowness in her voice. It was almost undetectable. But my senses picked it up. Even with her fake voice, I sensed it. "I am different because, like you and Tina Branford,"--Suddenly, her voice changed to that of a normal human voice--"I… want to be free."
The voice was of a living person. Full of emotion. Full of pain. There was such loneliness in her voice that my heart nearly melted. She was in distress. Her real voice had been masked all those times with a type of distorter that I had been so quick to judge her too harshly. I was beginning to think that I had been dealing with an unfeeling machine. I had forgotten that she was still human. And now she removed that mask. I did not know why, but it caught me off guard. It gave me pause. It made me ponder the words she said last. Had she said the words in her fake, electronic voice, I probably wouldn't have hesitated to scoff at her.
But this was not the time to be too trusting, either. Trusting me with her real voice was a development. I should take it as such and nothing more. It should simply serve as a reminder that she was human. I was up against a human foe. Humans erred.
"Explain," I said after a long pause. I cursed at myself for easily being distracted. She was still not to be trusted just yet.
"It is difficult. But in many ways, I am a prisoner of Vector," she replied with her naked voice. It was difficult to estimate her age at the sound of her voice alone. It was definitely feminine, strong, sad, and it still came with that unmistakable tone of loneliness that caught me off guard. It was not a voice that I was familiar with either. As far as my exceptional memory was concerned, she was still a stranger.
"Are you a criminal?" I asked. I felt like I was interrogating her like a prosecutor. Perhaps I was. If so, I certainly did not intend to.
"I am now, by your definition of crime. But prior to my imprisonment… no, I was not." I could not detect a lie from the words. She said it with much confident. Perhaps my skill in detection of lies required physically seeing the person in question.
I pressed on. She was willing to volunteer information. This chance may not come again. "Why are you being held captive?"
"My captors do not know I exist. Nevertheless, I am a prisoner here. I am trapped. I cannot break out on my own."
"I do not understand." Really, I didn't.
"I do not expect you to understand," Guardian said with a shudder towards the end of the sentence. It was the closest thing to a sob that I heard from her. She was as frustrated like I was. "The situation is a very long story, very complicated, and I have no way of backing it up."
I had all the time in the world that night. Long stories wouldn't have mattered. I had all the patience with me that night, too. No matter how complicated it was, I was sure I would've understood it all in the end. But I didn't bother to make her tell me her story because of the last thing she said. If she had no way of backing the story up, I just couldn't trust myself to accept them as they were. It would've been pointless. I was receptive, but not trusting. And so I moved on with the next question.
"Where exactly are you?"
"I cannot reveal that to you for my own protection," Guardian answered nervously. Again, I did not detect a lie from the voice. Her emotion was genuine. Her fear was real. I wanted to test this fear that existed in her world. I wanted to learn more of its nature. Very little could be done from my vantage point. But perhaps little would be enough. And so I asked in a sincere, gentle voice nobody in Vector had ever heard from me before, "If you want me to trust you, then you'll have to trust me."
The words gave her pause. Finally, it was her turn to be silent for a few moments in thought. This was something that she was not prepared to react to. The thought made me ponder upon it as well. How could she not expect this response from me? What is she thinking exactly? Is she weighing the consequences of trusting me? Is she trying to detect a hint of insincerity in my voice?
The pause finally ended. To my disappointment her voice was again masked with the usual distortion--electronic, impartial and cold. This was where her fear led her. She went in hiding again. "You will learn that trust has nothing to do with being receptive," she said. I knew that all too well. I just hadn't considered the inverse. Like me she was receptive. And like me, she wasn't too trusting. "Perhaps one day," she continued, "I will tell you the whole truth about me… when you are ready to listen--when you are ready to believe."
It was a riddle. To listen and to believe do not happen at the same time. A logical person would listen first, pause in thought, and then decide whether something was believable. When can one person be ready to listen and believe at the same time? I did not know the answer, but it seemed like she did.
"When would that be?" I asked.
"I have pointed you to the right direction. Somebody has taken away her name. Search for it! But be warned… though all questions may be answered, not all questions should be asked."
Those were her final words. I would not speak with her again for many days to come. I was on my own until perhaps there was urgency for me to contact her. I knew somehow that at any time I could pick up the microphone and call her name. She would respond to me within seconds. But that wouldn't happen for a while. My pride could not allow myself to depend so much on the words of a stranger no matter how knowledgeable that person might be.
To listen and to believe, to be receptive and to be trusting--these were the boundaries that kept me in line.
**********
Personal Log of Lady Celes Chere, General of Vector.
Day Nine of the Celestial Rise.
Timestrike six.
Though my investigation yesterday started with a few dead ends, I have learned much from the most unsuspecting persona--Guardian.
"You will learn that trust has nothing to do with being receptive," she said to me. I pondered upon those words all night. She was right. One does not have to trust to believe… or to take a course of action. Often times, one only needs direction. Guardian pointed me to the very first clue of the puzzle--Tina Branford.
The piece of the puzzle is not without its troubles. I ran a background check on the name. Tina Branford did exist in the military records. Second Class of the Third Infantry under the direct command of Captain Ronald Wells. I know him. Or rather, I knew him. Further searching revealed that Captain Wells died during the Terra Episode--along with his entire company--Tina Branford included--by Terra.
I cannot begin to describe how confusing this is for me. How can Guardian claim that Terra and Tina Branford are the same person when they were at two different locations at the same time? Terra emerged from a Magitek station that powered the Magitek Armor that shot the deadly bolt that ignited the explosives that destroyed the Magitek Warehouse that Tina Branford was in. Sounds like a song from my childhood years--only macabre. Am I hunting for a ghost? No. I'm hunting for the thief of the stolen name.
Who was Tina Branford? Who knew her? Where did she come from?
What was Wells's company doing inside that Magitek Warehouse at that time?
What were those explosives doing inside the Magitek Warehouse?
Why did General Fencross have Warehouse 5 surrounded? What made him believe that Terra was inside? Who made the report?
There are other questions, of course. Questions that concerned my most trusted friend. I will hold those questions for now. I have a trail to follow that is already beginning to grow cold. Professor Brown waits.
**********
Professor Brown's investigation team was busy. I wondered whether they were always like that. After all, I'd seen Cid with his "Look busy!" signal. Looking around me, at the scientists at work, it was difficult to ascertain whether or not they were doing it for real. A handful were reading numbers off documents. Some, still, were looking through microscopes. Others, pushed carts of records and books around. Many of them shot me both curious and nervous glances before returning to their work. I could tell that it was nervousness due to the presence of high authority. Curiosity, due to my age.
I sighed. If only the military could be like this, instead.
Professor Brown found me first. I was looking through a glass window from the corridor when I felt a tap on my right shoulder. Turning around, I saw him with a courteous smile.
"General Chere! How are you today?"
"Doing very well, thank you. Do you have the--"
Professor Brown held up a brown folder with a cryptic label on the side. He spoke as he handed it to me. "It didn't take us very long to find it. We keep excellent records of our investigations," he said proudly.
I smiled back and opened the folder. I read through the three-page document quickly, looking for a particular word. Then I found it. It was circled with red ink at the bottom of the second page. "Trinitrotoluene?"
"T.N.T.," the professor answered helpfully.
"I know what it means, thank you," I said, smiling again. He hid his embarrassment with his own. "I didn't know that Vector Military still used that compound for weapons."
"Neither did we. It was too crude and primitive. But, nevertheless, Vector hasn't outgrown its more practical uses."
"Like what?" I asked. Professor Brown simply pointed to the folder. I flipped to the last page and saw another word underlined with the same red ink. "Mining?"
"It's cost-effective," he answered.
"In the military?" I asked.
"Oh, no. Just mining in general."
"So where are they manufactured?" Professor Brown was smiling again. I looked at the last page once more and saw a couple of factories and their addresses. I double checked before I asked the next question, but I couldn't find what I was looking for. "The list doesn't include foreign sources."
"We do not have weapons trade with the outside. Not even T.N.T."
It would seem that Professor Brown had done his homework. I was very satisfied with his findings. I closed the folder and bade him good day.
**********
I stood before the ruined Warehouse 5. Nothing stood there that used to be part of the structure. It was more than a ruin. It was rubble--black and shapeless. The ground was burned with intense heat. Scraps of metal melted and fused to the concrete. Surrounding it was a yellow policing tape that forbade entry to the crime scene. The place had been left alone since after the initial search for survivors the day after the Terra Episode. There were none. Everybody in Captain Wells's company supposedly perished in the explosion including Tina Branford. Not only were there no survivors, the remains were also beyond recognition. It was impossible to count the bodies, especially if they had been blown to bits or vaporized in the inferno--mostly vaporized.
I crossed the yellow tape. My boots stepped on a muck of black ash. Rainwater had taken away some of it into the sewers. More remained, however. The only substance that withstood the raging flame that night was metal. The rest would be useless.
I turned around and saw behind me three formations of soldiers and four formations of new recruits. I had called them here today on a cleanup mission. They were to haul away the ashes and to leave everything else where they lay, particularly metallic objects. They were to be cataloged in meter square grids. It didn't matter if they were only as big as a gold coin. If it was metal, then it was to be analyzed.
In the distance, past the formations, I saw the Magitek powering station that the Magitek Armor emerged from. It was about a thousand feet away. That was a lot of ground to cover for a Magitek Weapon. But crossing the distance was not a problem. All it needed to do was shoot its beam and ignite the explosives within. The explosives have been identified--trinitrotoluene--definitely not military grade explosive. This told me many things. One: the explosives came from an outside source. Two: since there were no mining operations within the Bronze Compound, it had no business being in the warehouse. Three: there was more than enough T.N.T. in the building to destroy the bodies of the casualties beyond recognition. Four: explosives that many were transported in secret by a group of people--not just one person.
I stepped outside the yellow line again and signaled to the captains of the formations. Whistles were heard coming from the captains. The formations mobilized, scattered, and surrounded the rubble. The cleanup has begun. But this was just a ruse. I could not hope to learn much from what I would find in the rubble. I had other plans for the day, and they were something I'd be happy to do alone.