XIV

CHAPTER XIV

RIDDLES ON THE SUNSHINE COAST

"You're stowaways, right?"

"Well, uh..." stammered Cloud, his voice hesitant behind the visor of the stolen soldier uniform.

"Don't worry, I'm used to them," laughed the young crewman, setting the crate he carried down by a stack of pallets at the head of the broad concrete pier. He stood up and stretched his arms, wiping the glistening sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, his white naval cap hanging limply to one side on his dark hair. "Truth is, before I worked here, I was one of the best. The least y'all could've done was help offload this stuff."

The sailor grinned, his handsome blue eyes sparkling in the glorious golden rays of the scorching sun as he stepped from the shade between two towering steel hulls of adjacently-docked vessels, F-59 Fahrenheit and uS-02 Celsius. He was the same young lieutenant Cloud had conversed with hours earlier, shortly before the intruder alarm had sounded, though significantly more sober now that the morning was underway. The party had followed him from the frigate, his willingness as a bribed escort alleviating the suspicion around their unfamiliar appearance.

Strangely, neither he nor his shipmates had displayed any form of reaction to the horrific events that had occurred in the engine room during the night, worsened by the fact that a senior Navy officer had been murdered by Sephiroth under their noses. In the wake of Cloud and Barret's battle against the hideous mutating limb of Jenova, the group had confined themselves to the storage chamber for the short remainder of the voyage, the hopelessness of how ill-equipped they were for such an encounter suddenly a very real prospect. It was only when the Fahrenheit had arrived in harbour and its anchor was released that they unsealed the hatch, constantly apprehensive and preparing themselves in any way they could for a return of the man in the black cloak which never came.

"How did you guess?" Aerith asked timidly, anxiously watching the deckhands as they swarmed back and forth between the quay and the ships' respective cargo bays.

"It was the way you snuck around, I suppose," he snorted, gesturing towards Barret. "An' the boys all know each other, so it's kinda easy to spot someone who shouldn't be there… 'specially someone as big as you."

"Were there others who shouldn't have been on board?" posed Cloud.

"Doubt it," shrugged the lieutenant. "We don't care, though. We just make sure things are in order an' spend the time listenin' to each other's stories. Well, when we're not on the old whisky that is."

"Do y'all hear much 'bout what goes on?" frowned Barret, exchanging a fleeting glance of concern with Cloud, the coffin-shaped casket supported across his powerful shoulders.

"Bits and pieces," he answered vaguely, "but there's rarely anythin' worth hearing. This is only a freight liner, not one of those fancy leisure cruises. Even the emergency drills last night were excitin' by our standards."

"Drills?" repeated Tifa, perplexed.

"Don't tell me you slept through them?" he chuckled. "Cap'n told us that the sirens were just a random system test. The order came straight from General Heidegger apparently."

"Heidegger?" choked Barret.

"Yup," the sailor nodded. "Sounds fishy, don't it? Why would he have the Navy going through protocol manoeuvres at that time?"

"Maybe it's connected to the President's plans to cross the ocean?" mused Cloud, cautious of the men striding past. "You know anything about that?"

"Us Merchant Navy guys don't usually get included in the political stuff," he lowered his voice, leaning closer, "but I was playin' poker at Bar ΣΠΟΤ in Junon a few days ago, an' overheard this big bald dude on his cellphone talkin' 'bout Rufus flying to Costa del Sol on business. The Shinra family owns a villa mansion outside of town where his father stayed sometimes, so I guess it could be true. That would make this his first official visit since taking over the Company."

"Maybe he intends to set up a base here?" Aerith suggested, piecing together the boy's ramblings. "Away from Midgar."

"Who knows?" he grunted. "I'm so jealous of him I could spit. We're both about the same age, but I'm stuck toilin' away on a godsdamn boat while he pretty much rules everythin'. Folks like him wouldn't understand what it's like for a bunch of hardworkin' deckhands, gazin' up at the eternal skies that just seem to go on forever…"

"We better get out of here," Cloud broke in as the lieutenant trailed off, motioning for the others to follow him towards the main wharf; he was yet to shake the feeling that Sephiroth was still in their midst. "We don't wanna get caught after coming this far."

"Okay, then," he acknowledged, saluting them in a casual manner. "See you around, mateys."

Swiftly turning and staggering a little, the young sailor marched off in the direction of the wide gangplank that extended from the pier into the Fahrenheit's cargo hold, visibly swaying as the cruel effects of his imminent hangover descended. With the crate-wielding Barret and the girls at his heels, Cloud brushed through the crowds of the bustling quay, the rowdy seamen paying no attention to them, eventually emerging from the shadows of the ships onto the principal concourse of the port. The relentless glare of the morning sun beat down on the crown of his metallic blue helmet, trapping the searing air inside and making it difficult to concentrate.

Situated on the easternmost realms of the Continent, the paradise town of Costa del Sol was globally renowned as one of the Planet's hottest destinations, in respect to both temperature and fashion. It lay almost perfectly on the equator, sheltered from the buildup of tropical rainclouds by the dozens of miles of pale limestone cliffs that snaked north along the coast of the Grangalan Peninsula.

The antiquated resort was a haven of perpetual summer, and home to the wealthy minority, though it was by no means exclusive. People travelled from the furthest corners of the world to sample the legendary surfing spots created by the channelled wind, the finest cocktails served in the lavish establishments, and the beautiful bikini-clad women or chiselled male bodybuilders who collected on the sandy beaches. It was also a customary holiday retreat for Shinra, Inc.'s employees, with legions of off-duty soldiers and division heads alike filling the countless guesthouses.

A flock of shrieking gulls swept low overhead as the group crossed the lengthy harbour, their cacophony high and sharp, circling the mesh baskets of aromatic fish freshly caught by the trawlers. A network of yellow lines and hazard bollards marked the designated pathways between various loading zones, yet few shipping containers were to be seen, instead presenting an unobstructed view of the nearby marina.

A dense assembly of tall masts bobbed in the lapping waves that danced around the foundations of the jetties, the haze of movement mesmeric. Schooners and skiffs of all shapes and sizes nestled together on the pristine waters, dwarfed by the luxury yachts that were docked in the guarded private section. Beyond them was a solitary lighthouse, lofty and valiant against the clear heavens as it gazed out over the calm cyan ocean, topped by landing beacons for the neighbouring helipad. However, the only visible aircraft was a red Cessna seaplane moored at the heart of the marina, its twinkling frame plain but for the 'VII' emblazoned beneath the cockpit.

The port itself was bound by a high wall of grey stone, the words 'Welcome to Costa del Sol' painted in white across the largest segment. A broad staircase had been cut from the slabs, leading to a golden-coloured road of broken pavement, adorned on either side by luscious palm trees and verdant lawns. To the west, the sloping clay-tiled rooftops of interconnected buildings spread out like a maze of mango, revealing the labyrinth of the town's streets. Pausing to check their immediate surroundings were deserted, Barret gently lowered the casket to the ground, allowing Red XIII to clamber out, his panting heavy and frequent.

"Damn, sure is hot here!" exhaled Barret, unbuttoning the collar of his naval uniform. "I'm sweatin' so much, I'm soaked down to my underwear. I can't wait to say goodbye to this costume."

"Oh, that's too bad," Aerith giggled teasingly. "I think it makes you look so cute."

"What d'ya mean 'cute'?"

"Barret, why don't you use the suit as pyjamas?" chimed Tifa, struggling to control the smirk that was spreading over her lips.

"The hell's that s'posed to mean?" he growled. "Maybe I'll go see Marlene in this an' show her that her daddy's not all guns an' fightin'. Anyway, it happens to be very comfortable, so shu'up."

"You look like a bear wearing a marshmallow," she erupted with laughter, quickly joined by Aerith. "Right, Cloud?"

"Keep your mind on Sephiroth," he answered sternly. "We're not safe yet; he could be anywhere. This isn't a vacation."

"I believe the humidity may be affecting my mane," moaned Red XIII as the fiery fur on his neck began to frizz. "I need to rest somewhere cool."

"Alright," Cloud agreed, stooping to gather the Buster Sword and his belongings from the crate. "We'll take a break here to recover and plan our next step."

"I think I'll go swimming," deliberated Tifa, casting her eyes towards the shore.

"Sounds good to me," Aerith grinned. "Maybe I should get a tan for a change. Once we find a hotel, I'm heading straight for the beach!"

"Don't wander too far off," instructed Cloud.

"And be sure to mingle like regular folks," added Barret, his attention drawn by the loudening hum of a distant military hydroplane. "Don't want no Shinra spies recognising us."

"Could we kindly hurry?" proposed Red XIII, crawling on his underbelly. "The heat is drying up my nose…"

Rufus Shinra felt the familiar wall of intense warmth slam against his face as he stepped from the air-conditioned cabin of the Gelnika, descending the mobile stairs towards the runway. Tucking his white trenchcoat under his arm, he strode purposefully across the tarmac to where General Heidegger waited alongside a helmeted SOLDIER and a handful of infantrymen, the ferocious gusts generated by the aeroplane's wing-top propellers blowing his blonde locks over his face. The men all stood to attention as he approached, clicking their boots together and adopting their respective salutes.

The low rumble of a wS-20 saloon car's engine drew his focus momentarily from the subordinates, tracing the beige sedan's motion with his narrowed gaze as it sped towards them. He allowed himself a sardonic grin, acknowledging that the obese weasel had finally done something right; this model was so new it had not yet been placed on display at the showroom of Headquarters. The vehicle cast long shadows across the remote Company-owned airfield, its fresh paintwork gleaming in the burning sun, and its wheels a blur amid the quivering heat waves as they bounced off the asphalt.

"What a long ride that was," Heidegger broke the silence, his coarse voice muffled through his thick and greasy beard as he attempted polite small talk. Rufus stared at him blankly before turning to address the SOLDIER.

"What's your name, boy?"

"SOLDIER First Class Luxiere, Mr. President," he answered formally, completing the saluting ritual once more. "At your service."

"Luxiere," Rufus nodded thoughtfully, "please take your men and create a perimeter around the aircraft. I wish to speak with the General alone."

"Yes, sir," affirmed Luxiere immediately, clicking his fingers to spark the privates into action. "Right away, sir."

"And hurry up!" spat Heidegger.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, and good work everyone…" Rufus added as the soldiers divided to take up their new posts, his tone oozing anger, only continuing once they had passed from earshot, "except you."

"M…me?" gulped the hulking Director of Public Safety Maintenance.

"You know exactly why, don't you?" growled the President, his jaw clenched.

"The Fahrenheit cargo frigate…?" Heidegger mumbled, almost inaudibly.

"It's been reported that Sephiroth was on board!" snapped Rufus, struggling to retain his composure.

"Yes…"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"A Navy officer and three lieutenants were murdered," he snarled. "What do you have to say about that?"

"I ordered the ship's captain to communicate directly with myself," Heidegger puffed out his mammoth chest. "He has been instructed to mislead his crew regarding the matter."

"So, the truth about Sephiroth's appearance has been contained?"

"For now…"

"And, am I right that you also ordered a postponement on outbound activity for the freight carriers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you aware of the economic consequences of this?"

"Yes…sir," he stammered, shrinking again.

"Well, on top of all that, it would appear that AVALANCHE was involved too."

"Once we locate them," boomed Heidegger, "we'll crush them."

"They all slipped through," sighed Rufus, shaking his head in disgust, "and the congestion at the port is a disaster. You messed up big this time, Heidegger."

"I'm ashamed of myself," he said, pressing one hand against the rank-decorated breast of his emerald green suit jacket.

"Is that all you can do?" the President bellowed, overwhelmed by abhorrence, unflinching as the military escorts each gawked upon him with surprise. "Give generic answers and apologise for everything? Even Dark Nation is more useful than you."

"Your guard hound?"

"Remember, you impudent fool," he hissed through gritted teeth, "things are different from when my father was in charge. You only get one mistake. Next time something like this happens, you might soon find yourself wearing work duds and scrubbing toilets in the Slums. Director of your department is only one position, but there are many who could fill it. Looks to me like you need some more practice at your godsdamn job! With things running as badly as they are, you better be prepared for pay cuts."

"Leave it to me, sir," Heidegger insisted doggedly, emitting a raspy guffaw as he watched the wS-20 sedan slow and glide to a halt close by, tapping his foot tensely. "I'll address the Sephiroth and AVALANCHE situations personally. We won't let them get in our way."

"I thought I told you to stop that stupid horse laugh…?"

"Ready for departure, sir," called the driver as he emerged from the car, shouting above the residual drone of the Gelnika's quadruple engines. Rufus responded with a wave, and barged past Heidegger, pausing briefly aside the passenger door of the saloon.

"Do something!" he barked, glaring furiously into his aide's eyes, his expression severe. "I'll be expecting results."

Cloud gasped as the tap water hit his face; it was much colder than that of the shower. He clutched at the towel, feeling his way around the cramped en suite bathroom, and dried himself. The blue tiled floor felt refreshingly cool against the bare soles of his feet, the relaxing sensation a rare luxury. Pulling the towel around his waist with one hand, he opened the door with the other and slipped into the bedroom. Only Red XIII was present, sprawled beneath the whirling ceiling fan, his breathing rhythmic but laboured. Cloud lay down on his allocated mattress, his muscles tender as his body sank into the soft chequered duvet. He rested there for a while, his pounding mind dissecting the previous night's encounter with his former colleague and hero.

"Aren't you going to the beach?" Red XIII enquired eventually, still panting. His coat had become matted to his robust figure, his spiked mane sagging atop his tattooed shoulders.

"I hate beaches."

"A mutual sentiment," snorted the beast, scratching behind his silver hooped earrings with his paw. "Then, what are your plans?"

"I want to leave as soon as possible," said Cloud. "But, we're running short of provisions. I'll have to stock up on what we need for the journey ahead."

"Then, you may wish to get going."

"Now?"

"Barret is waiting for you downstairs," he replied, glancing towards the hallway. "I expect he would like to join you on your procurement quest. I, however, might take my leave, and enjoy the shelter of our lodgings."

Cloud groaned, fighting the urge to remain horizontal, and sat up on the bed, peering through the angled window onto the marketplace below the inn. Dozens of tourists drifted between the vibrant parasols of makeshift stalls that encircled the court's pallid cobbles under the carefree gaze of the terraced limestone buildings, inspecting their ware of exotic potions, replica gold bracelets or grilled seafood. Local music reverberated from every corner of the bazaar, the tinny upbeat sound of hands drumming on hollow sahagin shells a large part of the region's heritage. Across the broad plaza, beyond the island of palm trees at its centre, a group of topless men had congregated below the famous 'Surfing/Suntan' signpost, the majestic and multi-coloured boards they bore pointing high into the air.

Surfing the towering waves of Costa del Sol was one of the many attractions of the holiday resort. Competitions were held annually, luring professionals and amateurs from around the Planet to participate and be crowned champion of the sport. Of the contenders, the snowboarders of the Northern Continent were renowned for their abilities, hailed by all others as the surfing elite. Now, as their tanned, athletic physiques glistened at the edge of the piazza, they caught the eyes of the young scantily clad girls that strolled through the crowds, an unspoken invitation to join them at the bars later.

However, the province boasted more than just a fantastic area for water sports. It was home to a stretch of white sand beaches known as Los Playas as well as several cool, turquoise lagoons; a tropical paradise. The utopian shores trailed the Grangalan Peninsula's coastline to the north, gradually merging to form the scaling bluffs that looked to the archipelago of islands a few miles east of Cape Antiguo. The Magia Isles were legendary among certain traditional sects for the mysterious Cetran-carved Materia Pillar that existed there, often the site of many sacred pilgrimages to worship the deity, Ifrit the Hellfire Demon. The seaside town itself was surrounded by a rolling landscape of fertile pastures, their sources of sun and water almost unlimited, and to the west grew the bleak Corel Mountains: the gateway to the Continent.

Cloud exhaled slowly as he climbed to his feet, and got dressed in his regular attire, having already discarded the private uniform. As he made his way to the stylish partitioned doors, he fleetingly glimpsed the picturesque canvas of the fabled islands on the wall, their forested plateaus engulfed by dusk. The party's dormitory was on the first floor of the Sunshine Inn, directly opposite the spiral staircase. Trotting down to the lounge, he surveyed the room as it came into view; most of the hotel's interior was garnished with pinewood while its floor exhibited a beautifully assembled mosaic depicting the cosmic migration of stars during the calendar year. A billiard table dominated the sunken chamber adjoining the reception area, the sibling innkeepers, Julia and Rose, hunched over it, casually slotting the balls into the pockets. He found Barret near the check-in desk, slumped at one of the lounge's round dining tables, nursing a mojito.

"The hell took ya so long?" he grumbled, springing to life as he noticed Cloud. "Aerith just phoned…we need to get to the waterfront right now!"

"Why?" frowned Cloud, instantly apprehensive. "What did she say?"

"I dunno," he said, finishing his drink in a single swig, "but it sounded urgent."

"Then, c'mon."

Darting through the main entrance of the tavern, the pair were met by a blast of heat and dry air, and a hubbub of activity. The lively square seemed impenetrable, hordes of people flocking back and forth. Some chatted indistinctly or scurried to buy from the cheerful vendors, or sipped elaborate cocktails from crystal glasses, while others playfully kicked a soccer ball around. A bald and sweaty overweight man called frantically to them, gesturing to a handwritten sign nailed to his dated caravan which simply read 'Butch's Souvenirs'. They ignored him, instead pushing their way through the mob past the offices of the Meteorological Bureau and towards the compact lane that led to Playa del Sol.

Despite its slenderness, the broken-paved street was one of the widest in the municipal, accompanied on both sides by rows of bars and restaurants as it arced down to the seafront, and cluttered by empty kegs as well as tables and chairs used for al fresco meals. Waiters at almost every doorway hollered to browsing patrons, competing to promote the fine wines or chef's specials on offer at the various establishments. Dainty bay windows protruded overhead from the parched and cracked walls of pallid stone, many decorated by hanging flower shelves or intricate wooden shutters, often attended by attractive women fanning themselves in the sweltering afternoon temperatures.

A selection of alleys deviated from the boulevard, some of which contained the narrow concrete stairwells that scaled the incline to the elevated promenades of the resort. These were often filled by illegal street performers or beggars, for the stable climate and lenient policing meant that the homeless faced lessened hardship in Costa del Sol. As they passed a shadowy ingress, Cloud spotted the portico of the notorious Club Duel, tracked by the unwelcoming stares of its two bulky bouncers. It was a seedy and undesirable institution, regarded as the roughest of the underworld fighting culture, and frequented by lowlife thugs and big-spending gangsters alike.

The thoroughfare finally brought them to a lengthy esplanade that ran parallel to the immaculate shoreline, overlooking the glittering sands of Playa del Sol, the most popular of all the beaches. The high tide of the sparkling azure ocean had driven hundreds of people in bathing suits closer to the raised pedestrian zone, cramming them into a space no broader than fifty feet. Numerous blue-and-white-striped umbrellas covered picnic areas and resting children while their parents sunbathed on reclining deckchairs, oblivious to the frisbees being tossed to and fro across them. A party of snorkelers floated aimlessly a short distance into the bay, admiring the glamorous fish that zipped beneath the surface, and far beyond were the surfers, riding the waves with unmatched elegance.

From their vantage point, Cloud could see Aerith loitering barefoot by the base of the public steps to the beach, her expression displaying an unusual edginess as she clung to the shade of the palm leaves. She carried her worn boots in one hand and her red denim jacket in the other, her dress unbuttoned lower than normal to keep her delicate skin exposed to the faint breeze. Striding along the walkway and hastening down the stairs, they were quickly upon her. She glanced up as they approached, brushing her dishevelled bangs from her forehead.

"Oh, Cloud!" she gasped, straining a smile as she threw her arms around him.

"Aerith?" he stammered, withdrawing slightly. "What's wrong?"

"It's…him…" she whimpered, clearly troubled.

"Sephiroth?" Cloud gulped, reaching for the handle of the Buster Sword as he swiftly scanned the area.

"No…" she hesitated, suddenly grabbing his hand and guiding him hurriedly across the beach, scrambling through the haze of bodies as if possessed by an invisible force. Dismissing his attempts to slow her and obtain information, Aerith charged on, marching between an elderly couple as they shared a romantic moment. Halting abruptly a few feet from one of the standard parasols, she held a finger to her lips, reducing her volume to a whisper. "Look!"

Squinting against the blazing sunlight, the heat warping his vision, Cloud soon realised what had disturbed her: Professor Hojo, the recently-resigned Head of Shinra's Science Department and the man responsible for Aerith's imprisonment as a child, lay atop one of the white plastic loungers. The pasty skin of his scrawny torso was already turning a deep pink, while the rest of him was protected by the stained laboratory coat he still wore. Cloud gaped in bewilderment as the scientist groaned, the young female by his side pulling teasingly on the snorkel strapped to his face, pinning down his sleek black ponytail. Helping himself to the bowl of fresh olives on the neighbouring stool, he rolled over to feed them to his mistress.

"Hojo?" coughed Barret. "What's he doin' here?"

"Only one way to find out," said Cloud.

"You're gonna go talk to him?" Aerith spluttered.

"Maybe he knows something about Sephiroth," he answered, starting forward.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Aerith and Barret scampered behind as Cloud advanced around the abandoned oars of an old rowing boat and below the umbrella to loom over the sunbed. The roar of an engine caught his attention, drawing his gaze towards the water as a pair of jet-skis shot past, thrashing spray into the sky as they zipped above the waves. Turning back, he was met by the suspicious glower of Hojo's escort, her bronzed complexion a stark contrast to the professor's.

"What do you want?" she hissed fiercely.

"To speak with him," Cloud said firmly, folding his arms. The woman scowled, her uncompromising façade wavering as she noticed the weapon on his back and the gatling-gun attached to Barret's bulging limb. Reluctantly, she leaned over and tapped Hojo on the shoulder.

"What is it?" he muttered, stretching as if waking from a dream.

"Professor, these scary people want to talk to you."

"Can't they see I'm busy right now?" he moaned petulantly.

"Too bad!" barked Barret.

With a deep sigh, Hojo leisurely sat up on the lounger, removing the snorkel mask and calmly slipping his round spectacles from the breast pocket of his coat. His studious, snake-like glare swept across the three, the cogs of his brilliant but fanatical mind grinding behind dark and sunken eyes. His conniving features were as gaunt as ever, a leering grin shaping on his twisted mouth.

"It's been a long time, Cloud," he said eventually, his drawling voice laden with sarcasm. "And you brought your friends too, I see? You sure are brash."

"Hojo...why are you here?" asked Cloud, motioning to the surroundings.

"Sometimes you just have to do something like this."

"An' what's that?" grunted Barret.

"Isn't it obvious?" he sneered. "I'm getting a tan."

"Answer the question!" Cloud snapped. "Why did you leave Shinra?"

"Alright," he agreed disdainfully, pausing for a moment as if to select his words. "I believe you and I are after the same goal."

"You mean Sephiroth?"

"Did you see him?"

"Briefly," nodded Cloud. "He was carrying Jenova's remains."

"That's one theory," Hojo said under his breath. "Are you sure it was him?"

"Positive…but, he didn't recognise me."

"And that bothers you?"

"We served in SOLDIER together, but he looked at me as if I was a stranger."

"I see…" the professor fell silent, his brows furrowing as he was consumed by his own musings. After a minute, he peered up at the trio again, a peculiar expression on his face.

"What is it?" Cloud demanded.

"Oh, nothing," smirked Hojo, stroking his slender moustache, "I just remembered a certain hypothesis."

"A hypothesis?"

"You were in SOLDIER with Sephiroth, yes?"

"Of course I was!"

"Well…" Hojo murmured to himself, scheming. "This is interesting. Very interesting indeed."

"What is?" he countered, his patience wearing thin.

"Cloud, have you ever had the feeling someone is calling you?" pried the scientist excitedly. "Or that someone is speaking to your mind?"

The voice...

"No," he denied, shaking his head vigorously.

"What about sensing you had to visit some place?"

"I'll go anywhere Sephiroth is!" spat Cloud, his fists clenched. "To beat him and put an end to all this."

"Really?" Hojo chortled menacingly, clasping his hands together with perverted glee. "Yes, this could be very interesting. Would you like to be my guinea pig?"

"What?" he roared, drawing the Buster Sword.

"Yo, Spiky," Barret raised an arm in protest, "it's a bad idea to kill him!"

"Cloud, don't!" pleaded Aerith. "I know how you feel, but you mustn't. If he dies, we won't find anything out."

"Oh, put that away, boy," Hojo scoffed, casually reaching for another olive. "Listen to your friends. There are children on this beach and Shinra spies around every corner. We both know you wouldn't risk murdering me here."

"Don't be so sure next time…" Cloud retorted, grudgingly lowering the weapon.

"Now, as for you, my dear," he said, shifting his crooked and haggard body to address Aerith, "aren't you the Ancient?"

"After everything you've put me and my mother through," she growled with loathing, "the least you could do is remember my name."

"Your mother?" he repeated, temporarily perplexed. "Oh, you mean Ifalna. Yes, yes, of course. How is she?"

"Professor…she died fifteen years ago…" Aerith replied slowly. "You didn't know?"

"I see…" he responded absently, as if entranced, shaken by the news.

"I want you to tell me something, professor," requested Aerith, her hands trembling as she distractedly played with her hair, only proceeding when he gave a single nod. "I know I'm a Cetra. My mother told me, but...what about Jenova? Is she Cetran? Is Sephiroth Cetran? Do we all have the same blood…?"

Hojo stared at her blankly, indifferent to the screeching gull as it swooped to poke its beak at a nearby rotting crab shell. Looking out to sea, his jaw contorted in a curious fashion, he began to whisper inaudible calculations, causing even his mistress to lean in inquisitively. Pressing the snorkel over his nose once again, he eventually lay down on the sunbed, but offered little in the way of an answer.

"Take the southwest road...past Mount Corel..." he mumbled resentfully. "That's where you'll find Sephiroth…"

"You know where he's headed?" gasped Cloud.

"A genius like me always has his theories," Hojo snickered, arrogantly motioning for them to leave. "Now, go away…I have no further desire to converse with you."

"How dare-!" yowled Aerith, stamping her foot in a tantrum.

"C'mon," Cloud exhaled, obediently retreating, "it's no use. You won't get anything more out of him."

"I-"

"He's right, let's just get outta here," Barret agreed. Observing her deflated posture, he placed a comforting arm around Aerith's shoulders, leading her under the parasol and back towards the main stretch of Playa del Sol. However, as they wound between the jumble of towels and basking individuals, he soon stopped in his tracks, frowning as he searched the expanse. "Hey…where the hell's Tifa…?"

Tifa smiled gratefully as the middle-aged cocktail barman placed the strawberry daiquiri on the polished pine counter in front of her, bowing politely as he moved to serve the next customer. Sipping on the drink, she admired the selection of rums and other liquors on the shelves behind him, identifying a small number she had once procured for sale at Seventh Heaven. The dimmed cerise bulb overhead cast a spectrum of shades on the glass bottles, in turn reflecting on the timber walls to her right, notably the décor of a model anchor, a child-sized life ring, and fragments of damaged surfboards.

The resident flamenco-dancing waitress of Bar del Sol caught her eye as she twirled her flamboyant dress in time to the opening guitar chords of 'Goodnight until Tomorrow' when it started on the jukebox, one of The Moogles' older and jazzier tracks. This was followed by applause from the rowdy teenagers at the closest tables, unwittingly spilling some beer into the plant pot of an artificial cactus. Her wandering gaze settled on the illuminated advertisement poster hanging on the opposite wall, endorsing the coastline nirvana of Cape Antiguo.

"…I really like this town, Chico," a high-pitched Midgar accent suddenly reached Tifa's ears through the clamour of the saloon. She glanced up impulsively, realising the words had been spoken by a muscular man at the end of the counter, topless and oily, with a dark handlebar moustache. "You can walk around nearly naked and no-one will look twice at you."

"Totally," replied his blonde bodybuilding companion, whose tone was significantly deeper. "This is a long way from the Slums. The winter is hitting the city pretty hard this year."

"Oh, bubby, it's not the weather that bothers me," sighed the moustached man, swirling his beverage with a straw. "It's those damn refugees from Sector7. Ever since they set up the emergency camps, Wall Market has just plummeted into absolute chaos. And with Don Corneo gone, the whole place's been taken over by Shinra's police. I had to get outta there…"

"I hear ya, Mukki," said the other, ignorant of Tifa as she gritted her teeth, outraged by such a contemptuous and disrespectful attitude. "But, those folks have sure been through a lot…"

"Don't get so uptight, bubby," Mukki joshed, tapping his friend friskily on the wrist. "Loosen up, I'm just being a bitch. They say youth is so long, but so short. Why don't you stick around and play a bit?"

"I dunno," shrugged Chico, gyrating on his barstool, "I'm sick of surfing. Snowboarding is what's big this year. A lot of the guys from Big Bro's Gym are gonna catch a ship to the Bone region and head for the Great Glacier slopes."

"But, daddy'll be so lonely…" Mukki whined jokingly, pouting.

"We're thinking of taking a trip to the Gold Saucer next week," continued Chico, dismissing the comment. "You should come. I'm gonna make a tonne of money at the chocobo races…"

"Eavesdropping, are we?" came a familiar voice from behind Tifa. She spun to see Johnny, her young friend and former Seventh Heaven regular, and stood to greet him with a tight and lasting embrace. His bright red punk hairdo was as well-maintained as ever, but he had lost weight, and bore a weary mien. "Whoa there, tiger, everything okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered quietly, loosening the hug and gesturing for him to pull up a seat beside her. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"You know me," he nodded, sliding onto an adjacent stool as she summoned the barmaid, "I couldn't possibly say no to a saké."

"Coming right up…"

Tifa had randomly encountered Johnny hours earlier while she was perusing the cornucopia of stalls at the marketplace. Through the throngs of tourists, she had spotted the stitched skull on the back of his black leather jacket, giggling to herself in disbelief that he would wear such a heavy garment out in the scorching midday heat. He had been accompanied by his new girlfriend, a brunette who seemed none too impressed by the accidental rendezvous. A lot had happened since the night he had said farewell during Barret's birthday celebrations, but she took solace in the fact that exactly one month had passed, something she secretly believed to be more than simply chance.

"Thanks," Johnny accepted the shot of saké when the waitress finished pouring, grimacing as he gulped it whole.

"So, you have a special lady in your life now, huh?" pried Tifa, opening the conversation. "Not the type to get jealous of you hanging out with a female friend, is she?"

"She doesn't know I'm here," he responded sheepishly, lowering his eyes. "We're getting along pretty well, but I'm not good enough for her. I'm such a pitiful waste. I don't know what to do…"

"You shouldn't think like that!" Tifa scolded shrilly. "You're a great guy."

"It's just…" Johnny bit his lip, his demeanour growing sad. "The last time we spoke, I told you that you'd inspired me to leave Midgar…to do new and exciting things, and return home a better man. But, my parents died when Sector7 collapsed a few days later and now, I have no home…no-one to return to. I'm a traveller with no real destination..."

"Johnny, I'm so sorry…"

"We've known each other for two years, Tifa," he exhaled despondently, "and I don't even wanna talk about this with you. I just met this girl last week, so imagine how much I don't wanna talk to her about it. I've been pretty depressed. I don't think she's ready to see that side of me yet."

"Give her a chance…"

"Maybe I should," he considered, dreamily gawking at the flamenco dancer. "Maybe I should just stay here for a while and start a new life. I could buy an old skiff and go into the tourist business. I mean, how hard can it be to sail one of those things for amateurs like me?"

"Sounds good."

"The thing is…I'm not that headstrong," he moped, his tone turning sarcastic. "Not like that childhood friend of yours."

"Yeah, well, Cloud's not perfect either," muttered Tifa, slurping the dregs of her daiquiri.

"He's such a playboy," Johnny allowed himself a smirk, his handsome features lighting up. "I'm pretty sure I saw him near the Honey Bee Inn wearing a dress…but, then again, I'd had a lot of alcohol…"

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Tifa cleared her throat.

"Won't he be worried that you're out alone?"

"Nope," she snorted, brushing aside her fringe as it fell across her face. "He's not the emotional type. And, anyway, what does it matter? Cloud and I aren't an item."

"Don't lie to me," chuckled Johnny, rolling his eyes. "I've seen the way you look at him."

"Shut up!" she insisted, blushing as she kicked his shin harder than intended. "He's just someone I grew up with."

"Okay…okay…" Johnny winced in pain, clutching his leg. "I believe you. But, still, you have to admit there's something weird about him."

"He has his problems," Tifa granted wistfully. "Same as everyone else. I just don't understand him sometimes; his memory is so disjointed. I wish I could dive right in there and rearrange the mess, but I'm afraid of what I might find. I want to help him…but I don't know if he wants me to."

"I'm sure if anyone can do it, you can."

"However," she held up a hand to change the subject, "I didn't come here to chat about Cloud. You and I haven't seen each other for ages and it'd be fun to talk about old times for a change."

"That calls for another drink."

"We're leaving early in the morning, so I'd better not stay too late."

"Of course," smiled Johnny, meeting her striking gaze and lingering there for a moment. "But, hang in there, Tifa…it'll work out alright in the end. And remember, you were my Angel of the Slums, so you're destined to be happy…"

Cloud lay awake that evening, the reappearance of Sephiroth and the exchange with Hojo replaying over and over in his consciousness, desperately trying to find some meaning behind it all. Although the respective interactions had only lasted a few minutes, they had raised several unnerving points. Why didn't Sephiroth know who I was? Why was the professor so interested in me hunting him? Why did he ask about my past with SOLDIER? And what was it about Aerith's questions that made him so uncomfortable?

He's hiding something…

Cloud sat up in bed, staring out of the window at the night sky, dotted with a plethora of twinkling stars. The fan above his head had switched itself off and he was starting to feel the warm air of the room pressing down on him. Raucous laughter could be heard on the plaza below, the drunken youths bragging to one another about their surfing achievements as they made for the bars and clubs. Faint music filtered up from the lounge area of the Sunshine Inn, Barret's booming voice reverberating through the walls at certain intervals.

After what seemed like hours of thinking about Hojo and their journey ahead, Cloud spun around as the bedroom doors opened. In the lamplight from the hallway, the outline of Aerith materialised, dragging her feet tiredly along the floor and slumping onto the mattress next to his own. For a while they both remained there in silence, her soft breathing caressing the atmosphere soothingly, until finally she spoke.

"Hey, Cloud?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you see that huge airship at Junon Airport?"

"You mean the Highwind?"

"I only got a glimpse of it from the pictures on TV, but it was really something, huh?" she sighed light-heartedly. "Do you think I'll ever get to take a ride on it?"

"Doubt it," he said bluntly. "The Highwind belongs to the Shinra Air Force."

"Oh…" she trailed off, hesitating as she carefully contemplated her next words. "So...I…uh…I have something to tell you."

"Yeah?"

"Promise you won't get mad."

"How can I promise if I don't know what it is?" grunted Cloud.

"I suppose," Aerith deliberated for a second. "Okay, then I order you not to get mad."

"Spit it out already!"

"Meanie…" she whinged teasingly as she reached into the pocket of her jacket and grabbed a small trinket. Holding out her palm, she revealed a silver pendant with a ruby orb approximately two inches in diameter. A thick crimson mist churned inside the glassy locket, hypnotic and sentient.

"What the hell?" Cloud gasped in shock as he accepted it from her, studying the sphere. "That's a Summon Materia! Aerith, have you any idea how dangerous that is? Where did you get it?"

"Priscilla gave it to me."

"Pris…what?"

"After you climbed the high-voltage tower," explained Aerith with a casual shrug, lying back on the bed, "she made me take it in secret. The others don't know. I think she liked you but was too shy to give it to you herself. Anyway, after saving her life, she wanted to repay you with a gift worthy of her knight in shining armour. Maybe she hopes that when the time comes for you to choose a wife, you'll see this and consider her."

"She's only a kid."

"A very sweet kid."

"But, why did she have it in the first place?" frowned Cloud, gawping at the Materia. "This is rare and powerful magic. I can't even begin to imagine what Aeon it can summon…"

"Shiva," Aerith answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "The Ice Queen."

"Huh?" he choked. "How…how do you know that?"

"I've spoken with her."

"Wait a minute," Cloud paused sceptically, "you can speak to the Gods too?"

"Well, this Materia only contains a few fragments of her consciousness," she clarified, fidgeting uneasily at his reservations. "It's like I can hear some of her thoughts. Similar to a Planet reading, except I didn't mean to communicate this time. I wanted to give you the pendant just like Priscilla asked, and not get attached. But, I guess I can't switch it off…"

"Because you're a Cetra?"

"Right."

"This is…well...unexpected," he puffed his cheeks, his tactical brain already formulating a plan. Following Sephiroth's ominous demonstration of strength aboard the Fahrenheit, the group could have been forgiven for yielding to the perils of their crusade. However, they had suddenly been presented with a unique advantage, one which Cloud could not overlook if they were to maintain their pursuit of the man in the black cloak. "Aerith, do you think you could learn how to call on Shiva if we ever needed her help?"

"I could try," she gulped with uncertainty, "but I've been feeling a little troubled since I received the Materia."

"About what?"

"There are so many things I can't quite figure out," she confessed, rolling over to face him, subtly encouraging him to offer his reluctant attention. "Listening to the whispers of the past or sensing the struggle in nature or experiencing a lot of stuff for the first time…it kinda makes me aware of how different I am. Cloud, what do you think of me?"

"Huh?"

"Y'know…what goes through your mind when you see me?"

"I don't understand..."

"I suppose you're right," she nodded, sniggering gently, her large green eyes piercing his. "I don't even understand myself, so how can I expect you to? It's just...with all this going on, I've been wondering which part of me is Cetran? What is a Cetra supposed to be like? It's a strange thing to have to consider, isn't it?"

"Aerith, I-"

"I just don't get it," she lowered her head, her voice quieting as if it had become remote. "And now, I'm going in circles. I dunno if I'll ever find the answer to any of this. Everything's so complicated..."

"Yeah," Cloud agreed, watching her usual optimism fade as her expression became deep and pensive.

She sank into her pillow, pulling the duvet over herself as she turned away. Overwhelmed by a swift urge to let her be, and realising he was not in a position to comfort her, Cloud glanced once more out of the window, still clutching the crimson orb, unresponsive as he heard the first of her muffled sobs.

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