The Safest Place in the World

I put on a light military fatigue. There was no need for me to display authority. The place that I would visit needed neither the sight of my cape nor the presence of my insignia. It would be a visit to childhood that wasn't mine. Opening the folder that Professor Brown gave me, my eyes went straight to the fourth page--a page I added after a quick visit to the Library of Records. It was a copy of a very old news article dating nearly twenty years back. The article was about the reopening of an orphanage after an extremely generous donation by Emperor Gestahl himself. It had pictures of the emperor during the ribbon-cutting ceremony surrounded by the happy children of the orphanage. The Emperor looked so serious and out of place among the children. His looks never passed for a father figure. Just a grave, authoritative figure like he had always been wherever he went.

What really caught my eyes were the other photos. It had a view of the entire orphanage from the front. The building was not what one would expect from an orphanage. It wasn't at all a humble structure. Instead, the building looked like a dormitory of a school. After reading the article, it was actually both… and more! The orphanage had two great halls as sleeping quarters with sturdy beds, warm mattresses, and clean blankets. The orphanage remained warm during the winter and cool during the summer because of a climate control system that never faltered.

Annexed to the building were three wings. The east wing was the orphanage's exclusive school. It was fully staffed with real, dedicated teachers. The children were provided with all the school supplies that they'd ever needed. The north wing was the health center, staffed with experienced doctors. Emergency medical supplies and children's vitamin supplements were always in full stock in the cabinets. The south wing was a recreational center where children painted on canvases, played musical instruments, read books, or simply ran around in the indoor playground.

The entrance was located on the west side of the building. The whole place was surrounded by protective red brick walls and a swinging gate. The iron bars were bent and shaped to resemble letters and welded on the gate itself. The letters spelled "V.V.O." To my disappointment, the article neglected to reveal the meaning of the letters. But that wasn't important. According to the article, behind the gate was a beautiful garden of flowers, hedges, statues and fountains. The place sounded more like a rich man's mansion. It was a place that was supposed to have existed only in dreams.

The neighborhood itself was a safe haven. Next door to the south, was the local police station. To the north, was the fire department. Across the street was a small trauma center. To the north of the trauma center stood a long line of houses of Vector's veterans. To the south was a small recruitment office for the Vector military. I found the office a bit out of place in the neighborhood. In retrospect, I found the whole arrangement of facilities to be suspicious also.

Clearly, it was the safest place in the world for children. Except for the sad fact that they were orphans, the children must've been happy and carefree most of the time within the walls, protected and cared for by trained teachers, pediatricians and caretakers--all expenses paid for by the generosity of the emperor himself. Though it would sound selfish of me to say so, I might've envied the children that lived there had I been aware of its existence during my years with my aunt.

The avenues of the old veterans' neighborhood were resilient. The homes and streets were clean. It was one of the healthier districts in Vector as if it had been purposefully secluded from the bustling city life. In fact, the place was what I would've consider completely isolated had it not been for a train route that connected it to the city and to the Bronze Compound. I wondered briefly who the city planner was and did a bit of research while I was at the library. I had asked the librarian to find me a map of the area. I needed it to find my way to the orphanage. The map given to me had captured the visual peculiarity of how secluded the place was.

At the center of the map was the swell of steel and concrete structures better known as the City Circle. The area was roughly circular in shape, centering on the busiest commercial sites. To the north of the swell was a moon-shaped area, hugging the top section of the circle. It was what was called, the Industrial Metropolis. Factories of many kinds were located there. A smaller circle on top of the metropolis laid the Bronze Compound like a cherry on top of a scoop of ice cream. Suburban areas lay scattered around outside the boundaries of the City Circle. Most of them were concentrated on the east and west sides of the Circle. However, the Veterans' village was located on the south side--a tiny, out-of-the-way dot. No other villages were near it.

Looking at the map gave me a curious sight of the developmental layout. It seemed to me that the Veterans' village was purposefully developed to be on the opposite side of the Circle relative to the location of the Bronze Compound. If I were to draw a line starting from the center of the Bronze Compound, to the center of the City Circle, and to the center of the small Veterans' village, the sum would more or less be a straight line. I also observed that the Veterans' village was the farthest suburban area from the Bronze Compound.

But these were mere observations, curious as they might look or sound. They provided me with very imaginative thought as the train traveled through an entire diameter of the City Circle. The train stopped at the lonely station. I was the only passenger left. The rest had already gotten off before it left the Circle. I was not at all surprised to see nobody hopping aboard either as I got off. The station was quiet and almost deserted. A ticket attendant sat behind a ticket counter, yawning. The arrival of the train seemed to have awakened him. I felt guilty.

Shaking off the unwarranted sentiment, I started off toward the exit and onto the sidewalks. The brightness of the sun hit me as the clouds parted overheard. It was high noon. I set off walking towards the orphanage, admiring the view on the way. There were plenty of trees along the sides of the streets to provide me shade as I made my short journey. The atmosphere was utterly refreshing.

**********

The line of trees and the well-kept front yards ended abruptly in a shoddy-looking brick house that was the police station. An old man sat on a rocking chair with his feet up on a rickety stool. He was slouched with his arms across his chest, snoring in the heat of the daylight. There was no mistaking his uniform, however. He was a senior peacekeeper. I didn't stop my pace. I knew that immediately past the station was the orphanage itself.

I was wrong. I did not see the wall that was supposed to surround it, nor the gate with the letters "V.V.O." Instead, I saw a big old house besides a rundown brick building. The front yard, though vast, was dry and barren. Neither grass nor shrubs grew. There were no hedges, statues nor fountains. It felt eerie standing there, looking at the forlorn house as if I had just discovered the edge of the world. Scratching my head, I turned to my left and looked across the street. Houses were right across the police station, surrounded by trees. A small white building that was the trauma ward stood there still. Beside it was a smaller structure that was the recruitment center for the Imperial Military. It had a rotting signboard nailed to its door that said, 'PERMANENTLY CLOSED.'

There was no mistaking it. The house I was looking at across the barren yard was the orphanage. But I still could not believe what I was seeing. I opened up my folder again and picked out the article. Holding the article in front of me, I compared the photograph of the orphanage to the real thing--the differences were staggering.

The manor in the picture was no more. Replacing it was a forgotten dwelling with deteriorating roof and corrugated sills. The paint was a sickly color of yellow and peeling. According to the article, it once had a vibrant marigold color. The brick structure was crumbling slowly but surely, weathered by the elements. It was the recreational wing no longer annexed to the poor house. The north building was nowhere to be seen. In its place was rubble. I crossed the front yard to get a closer look. It looked like the north wing had burned down many years ago. The rotting beams and the blackened bricks were proof of that.

But I could not believe that of all the disasters that befell the north wing, it had to be fire. After all… the fire department was right next door--or not!

The lot where the fire department was supposed to be was just disturbed, open ground on which no grass grew. It might have been decommissioned, demolished, and bulldozed clear out of the area prior to the fire. The thought was tragic.

My eyes went back to the house. It still stood, but I doubted that it would last for more than a few more years. The east wing was behind it. From my point of view, I had no way to do a visual update unless I went around the rubble and the house. I wanted to do just that when the thought finally fought its way out of my initial shock.

Is the orphanage still open?

I shuddered at the thought. From a glorious haven to a dilapidated dwelling, I felt pity now for those who would possibly be living in the house still. I felt the urge to run up the short steps, break open the door and rescue the poor wretches within from the tragedy that was poverty, if not from the deprivation of their natural parents. I reprimanded myself for even envying them during my stream of thoughts as I read the article.

Instead of running up the steps, and kicking the door open, however, I retained my calm and walked. The door was closed--nothing out of the ordinary there. The windows, I noticed, were barred with iron. I noticed that this was poorly done as if the bars were just carelessly added there. The bars of the closest window had the letters "V.V." It was when I realized that the bars were originally from the iron gate. The "O" had been cut off from the whole picture. I was about to knock on the door when a voice from behind me stopped me in urgency.

"Halt!"

I turned around and saw a woman of about forty, dressed in a smart, black police uniform, carrying a bouquet of yellow flowers--marigolds. Streaks of gray were visible on her short, black hair. Wrinkles were visible on her forehead, and her eyes shone with intelligence and energetic disposition. She stood straight and strong.

"Who are you, and what is your business here?" she asked with a commanding voice. The old man sleeping on the rocking chair in front of the police station woke up with a start and saw the woman. Following the woman's stare, the man spotted me. He stood up, and then he ran to stand behind the woman as if backing her up.

I made no threatening gesture. I walked towards them casually, introducing myself. "My name is Celes," I said. "I've come to talk to the new matron of the orphanage."

The two people glanced at each other quizzically and returned their puzzled looks toward me. "And why would you do something like that?" she asked. She seemed to be in the mood of interrogating me like a suspect. I couldn't really blame her. It was in her blood. I recognized her face as soon as I stepped close enough.

Her name was Jennina Stromsburg, Chief of Police. I saw her face on the picture of a more recent news article about the explosion that killed Colonel Blaey and Colonel Ranger, and their men. Twenty years into the past and a hundred miles away from the Bronze Compound, still I find the missing threads of fate that vaguely connect once incident to the other. How very interesting! How does she fit into the tapestry?

I ignored her question, smiled, extended my hand, and asked, "What's your name?" I only asked the question to stop her from treating me like a suspect to an unsolved crime.

"I am Stromsburg. Jennina Stromsburg. What--"

"Ah!" I exclaimed, interrupting her before she could ask another question. "Chief of Police, Stromsburg. It's such a surprise to see you here. I was not expecting to meet with you in person so soon."

What I said threw her off. Her chain of interrogatives had been broken. She was confused and felt as if she was on the defensive. Her opponent knew something about her but not the other way around. It made her feel vulnerable.

"I-I'm sorry," she said, slightly flustered. "Do I know you?"

"Most likely," I replied with an amused smile. "My name is Celes Chere." I paused to see a reaction from her. However, it was the old man who reacted first.

He raised his eyebrows and then saluted to me. "G-general Chere! I did not recognize you at all. Please forgive me," he said quickly. His salute quickly told me that he was a veteran. Though, no longer in active service, the salute was both formal and traditional. I saluted back with a warm smile. He didn't really need the acknowledgement from me.

"Quite alright, sir…" I said.

"Clive Omil, Lady Chere," he introduced himself. "I was a soldier in my days."

I smiled politely and continued. "I came to this town on a personal undertaking." My eyes went back to Stromsburg. She made no move at all to shake my hand. Instead, she stared at me skeptically from head to toes.

"So you're the new general, huh?" she asked with a tactless attitude. "Mind if I double-check with headquarters?"

"As a matter of fact, I would," I said, still wearing the same smile I offered her. She made a sharp intake of breath, surprised at my blunt and smug reaction. We've only met, and already, I was starting to dislike her. "I'm on a personal leave from the Compound," I started to explain politely. "My being here has nothing to do with my business as a soldier… whatever it may be."

She eyed me suspiciously. My smile was starting to weaken and my patience rapidly grew thinner.

"Well… Gener--"

"Celes," I corrected, firmly. "I introduced myself as Celes. Please call me that."

"Celes…" she asserted, struggling to keep her calm. I could tell that she was also starting to dislike me. "I was going to say that being a peacekeeper, I make it my business to--"

"Celes!" This time it was the old man who interrupted her. "Would you excuse us both please for just a second?" There was no need for my permission. Mr. Omil was already skillfully leading Stromsburg away from me. She wore a mask of protest at the idea. When they thought that they were outside of my hearing range, he spoke to her.

"Nina," he said sternly, "The nice general introduced herself politely. She did not come here driving a Magitek Armor. The least you could do is hear her out before you--"

"Mr. Omil, the military no longer--"

"The military may no longer have business here. But she said she came here on a personal matter. What happened was in the past, and you cannot keep on living up to this attitude. It's unseemly," the old man whispered.

"But what about--"

"I'll take care of that. I just need a few minutes. Invite her into the station."

Stromsburg inhaled deeply and sighed. I could imagine how it would feel like to be talked to like a six-year old at that age. It wouldn't be easy. Stromsburg and Mr. Omil approached me again. I waited for them with a raised brow. I did not know what to make of it.

"Celes, Mr. Omil has just reminded me of my unfortunate temperament towards the military. I'm sorry." Her words were sincere though I did not completely understand. She sensed the question in my head, and she opted to answer it before I asked. "Ever since the lockdown, there has been friction between the Vector Police and the Imperial Military. It wears my patience out."

"I see. Well, you have nothing to worry about then, Mrs. Stromsburg. I come here as a civilian," I assured her with a smile of renewed sincerity.

Mr. Omil cleared his throat from behind Stromsburg.

"Would you care to talk inside the station? It's not always a good idea to be under the sun at this time of day," she offered.

I glanced back at the orphanage and declined the invitation. "Thank you, Mrs. Stromsburg. But I'd much rather talk to the matron of the orphanage as soon as possible," I explained.

Mrs. Stromsburg frowned. "I'm afraid that isn't possible," she said.

"Why not?" I asked, concerned.

"Lady Chere," Mr. Omil said, "the orphanage has been closed for almost five years now."

"Closed? But why?"

"The emperor stopped the funding one day. Just like that," Mr. Omil said, snapping his fingers in front of him.

"There was no warning. The children were devastated."

"How terrible!" I swallowed nervously, fearing that I may have just spoken ill of the emperor. "For the children, I mean. Where are they now?"

"The children are fine. Many people in this community volunteered to be their foster parents. The others found a new home closer to the city. It's a new orphanage. Not as beautiful as this one was, but it kept them warm," said Stromsburg.

"Who's funding the new orphanage now?" I asked.

"The hearts of good men and women of Vector."

"How sad… and utterly strange," I muttered.

"What is?" Stromsburg asked.

"That the emperor would be so generous as to build the wondrous things for this orphanage years ago and then decide to abandon it after so many years."

"Very," Mr. Omil concurred.

"Then again, some would say it was strange of him to build it in the first place," Stromsburg added. She bit her lip to prevent herself from saying more.

"What do you mean?" I asked. Even though I was one of those who found it odd, I wanted to hear her opinion.

"N-nothing, really. I don't want to be accused of speaking ill of the emperor."

"What is it that you wanted to talk to the matrons about?" Mr. Omil asked. "Maybe I can help. I remember some of their names, especially the most recent ones."

"Oh, I… er… 'most recent ones?'" I echoed in question.

"Yes. The orphanage hired a different matron every year. Replaced the previous one each time. I never much understood it myself," Mr. Omil explained.

Stromsburg continued the question. "Whom did you want to speak to?"

"I… don't know," I said. That made them both raise their brows. "I didn't know there were different ones. I tried to obtain the names of the children who lived here, but the Library of Records didn't have them."

"I'm not surprised. Those records are sealed," said the old man.

"Surely, you can give us an idea as to which matron you wanted to speak to. Do you remember the year, at least?" Stromsburg asked, trying to be helpful.

"I guess I wanted to speak to the matron who knew a particular child well--Branford. And--"

"Tina?"

"You knew Tina Branford?" I asked Stromsburg.

"Everybody knew Tina Branford. She lived in the orphanage since it was reopened. This was practically her home. Last time I've seen her, she was boarding the train with her belongings. She left this village permanently that day she joined the military. How is she doing?"

I opened my mouth to say the words but held my silence for a few more seconds. I looked into her eyes. I noticed a sparkle in them--a longing of the past, lit by the mention of Branford's name. The truth about Branford was still very much in question. I myself did not know the truth. The reason I came to that village was because of my search for the truth. I wanted to find somebody who knew her very well. I could not very well tell Stromsburg that she was doing okay, nor could I tell her that she wasn't.

"How did you know Tina Branford exactly?" I asked. Perhaps she didn't need to know. The question seemed to offend Stromsburg. "It's not like that at all," I explained. "It's just that… the message is rather personal."

"I was… one of the matrons who cared for her," she said, hoping that that would be enough to hear the news from me. It was. "For the children," she corrected.

I drew in a deep breath and looked solemn. I read her face. She was getting anxious. "Tina Branford," I said in my most heartfelt tone of voice, "is dead."