6: House by the Quarry

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"Saristis, I'm sorry but this feels like it's turning into nothing but a wild goose chase. That Highwind character was no help to our cause. No one else is stepping forward in regards to what we're looking for. What left is there to do?" Emerson huffed as his gaze turned to the small oval window at his shoulder. It then snapped onto the red-haired scholar sitting at the other end of the cabin's narrow width.

Saristis himself had been looking out a window, taken as a diversion at ease during the flight. He carefully mulled over this and that, allowing each little notion to simmer and trundle in his mind. Steadily, his head twisted towards his colleague and quirked a dark eyebrow. As a closing act to his subtle motions, he shrugged.

"Anton, patience is a virtue in our profession," he said matter-of-factly. Emerson's broad shoulders heaved in insignificant exhaustion as reply. "Heh, although nothing considered helpful has yet arisen... A windfall will reveal itself in due time. Relax. We as scientists never surrender in our endeavors. We will persist down all avenues of possibility. It's in our nature, or did you forget that?"

"Not the point," he exclaimed. "We have been working this investigation for nearly a year. This creature, this undead general; they crop up, then they disappear. It shouldn't be so hard to find them. But no one will say a word. What is there to protect? Nothing, I'm sure. They don't know what we know."

"We don't know anything," Aridale interjected.

"Anything groundbreaking."

"Same difference."

"Hmm..." Saristis reached into the armrest of his chair. From it he pulled out an airphone and dialed a number to the cockpit. The scholar's thin lips pursed slightly against the receiver and voiced, "Hello, pilot? Yes... minor change in flight plan. Set a brief detour to Nibelheim."

"Nibelheim?" Emerson echoed.

"Thank you."

The phone returned to its resting place.

"Sar?" Aridale's head tilted to one side in question. Their superior only smiled, a tired display in spite of his age.

"Oh, just a stop on old Memory's Lane."

Saristis glanced at Evvey and Quelin who, as usual, sat out of the way of the main three. Evvey busied himself with his current obsession of the hour, scribbling away at his notepad and silently rehearsing old dissertations on materia. Quelin stared down into his lap, scratching at the patchy stubble of his chin and biting a hole into his lower lip.

Everyone else had to wonder how this man had gotten into their group. Then it became clear once again. Alexander Quelin was like a walking beacon. The frail scholar had survived extreme Mako poisoning at a young age, leaving him but a detached husk of his former self. Whatever that might have been. There stood the established fact that he posed as a scientist, but in reality, he was a guinea pig Emerson had rescued from questionable Shinra-affiliated labs.

He was the perfect tool to finally attain what they sought.

A way to the Promised Land.

The heart of all Lifestream.

Limitless energy.

Power.

--

The small Shinra jet streaked across the sky over the Nibel mountain range like a sole, gray hawk. Beyond the jagged peaks of age-old dolor lay Nibelheim. Altitude dropped, the aircraft's shadow growing to be more than the liberated soul of a bird. The sleepy, little mountainside town crept closer, higher. Eventually, the pilot descended along the west side where the terrain was at its most level.

At last the meager jet came to a complete stop. The sole engine powered down from a severe whine to a droning hum. The door popped seamlessly from the fuselage's side and creaked towards the ground, acting as the scholars' bridge to land. Saristis, Evvey and Aridale stepped airily from the plane, while Emerson shambled out his heft and a dazed Quelin snaked down behind him.

The pilot stood at the top of the makeshift stairs, arms crossed. "You guys gonna take long, eh?"

"Give us about two hours, three at the most," Saristis told him. "Can you handle yourself until then?"

The man shrugged. "Yah, yah, don't worry, your money's bought one of the best pilots since Cid Highwind himself."

Emerson sniveled quietly at this. That hack back in Rocket Town was one of the world's best pilots to ever grace the skies? True, he'd been good enough to have once been employed by the long defunct Shinra Electric Power Company and its specter of a Space Program. But that hardly warranted him as one of the best; he was merely one of substantial experience, to say the least. Vast prowess didn't always equate to paragon status. But knowing himself, he decided not to ponder it anymore for his own sake.

--

A scholarly bunch had curiously ambled into Nibelheim's lowly town limits; they looked so fresh beneath the glow of early afternoon sun. That sort of freshness here begged for conspiracy and other types of business. But any probing eye could see that the only business going on was that of children skipping and shouting about the water tower's stilts within the dirt and stone paved square. Amongst the gaggle of children, she stood. Her eyes narrowed accordingly, her wispy body bumped slightly by the innocent antics she somewhat oversaw.

Tifa noted the arrival of the lab coat quintet with all the processing power of a single detective agency.

She had simply filed them under the category of unsorted priority, despite this town's past with lab coats. The coats were expected for what lay in Nibelheim, but unordinary in just how... diverse they looked. What reason did they have to be in town? Unless they were the WRO team sent to clear out Shinra Mansion of its shady scientific dregs.

But they were early.

"Hmm…" The woman shook her head tiredly and glanced down at her weathered wristwatch. She turned to the frolicking children and smiled, clapping her hands to garner their much divided attention. Breathing in deep, Tifa called, "Alright, kids, I'm gonna call it a day."

"Aww, you gotta have time to play, Ms. Tifa. Why go now?"

"Um… I have things to do. You know us adults and our responsibilities. Makes us have to cut our fun short... a lot. Sorry…"

"Aww," the children groaned.

"What about Mr. Vincent?" asked one.

"Unfortunately..." Tifa nodded apologetically. "Never fear though, for tomorrow's a new day. And maybe I'll be able to bring Mr. Grumpypants along, too."

The lab coats had trundled into the inn, issuing a sigh of the tiniest relief from Tifa. Out of sight, out of mind. She smiled at the young faces huddled around her and departed for her old house brimming with sounds of life. Some of the WRO workforce had taken up residence in her childhood home, while others stayed at the inn. She didn't mind. Her home was open to anyone, though it wasn't quite her home anymore, and hadn't been so for nearly a decade.

After a minute of standing at the threshold, she went inside. The hearth burned within so she was welcomed with swirls of heat on her bared arms and legs. Meanwhile, workers shuttled between the kitchen and dining room, lounging and chattering after a hard day's work. But Vincent was nowhere to be found.

"Tifa?"

At least the very thought of him managed to somehow summon the man out of thin air.

She turned to the lofty figure standing behind her. "Oh, hi, Vincent. I was wondering where you were."

"General store."

"Oh," she exhaled. Grabbing his arm, she led him out of the foyer and into the living room. "I saw something strange."

"Hm?"

"When did you say the basement crew was coming again?"

"In another day or two. Why?"

"Hm... I saw some people in white coats outside," she said, looking hesitant. Vincent's face darkened threefold in response to her expression. "I was tempted to approach them but…"

--

"Well, I bet this place brings back memories, huh Sar?"

Aridale nudged Saristis as they stood together within the rustic establishment that was Nibelheim's only inn. The furnace off to the far left flared a deep, dusky red. The seasonable lighting and various styles of wood use was perfect— the oaken tables, the lacquered hardwood floor paneling, the tangy smelling wood burning, even the framed photos on the wall— for the rural setting. It had that air of laziness strong enough to derail the group. If not for Evvey. Evvey, always with the one track mind, ambled to the registrar's counter, negotiating prices for dinner rather than lodging. As was his task.

Saristis himself moved slowly to acknowledge his companion, shrugging shoulders in indifference. Instead, he inhaled the warm scented air and lifted his gaze towards the ceiling. With distance laced in his voice, he said, "Well, Jenna... I guess you can say that. It's been a very long time since I was last here. Not too many memories to come back to, but…"

"Right."

The history of this town swirled about the group like storm clouds. An unsuspecting town that fell victim to Shinra's games with humanity in the quest for power. It was glorious. It was despicable. It was intriguing. Saristis had to give his old employers credit. They ventured where few ever dared. They played with lives; they toyed with the blood of the Planet. All for the pursuit of happiness and power. Meteorfall had been the greatest opera ever seen.

And it was all due to the efforts of the Shinra Electric Power Company.

Emerson harrumphed, "Kit, get this show on the road, I'm starving!"

"Anton, shut up and stuff your gut back in your pants," Aridale snapped.

"I'm going to take a step outside," Saristis announced. "Call me when everything's ready."

Just as he reached the oaken doors and pulled the handle, a child sprinted inside squawking "Fweeeeow", arms extended like wings. He clipped the exiting scientist, causing them both to fly out of control, but only the boy was swept off his feet.

"Hey, watch it, Mister!" the blond-haired child exclaimed.

"Watch yourself, little one," the scholar admonished, fixing his lab coat.

The boy scoffed, rose to his knees and tardily dusted off his pants. "Eh…"

"Des! Thought I told you 'bout running all willy nilly!" The registrar leaned over the counter, shaking a warning fist at the boy.

A hush consumed the entire lobby, to which the child cast a net of chagrined glances. He muttered into his chest, "Sorry, Uncle Lovey…"

"Now I hope you try an' remember that. Run in back an' get cleaned up, supper's comin' soon."

"Okay." The child switched about and started for the front doors. But just before escaping through them, he turned back with a visage of utter brilliance. "Uncle Lovey, can I have some materia? If I did, then maybe Miss Drana would come back."

"We'll talk about that later, now git."

The boy was gone.

With that familial display over, Saristis shook his head and stepped outside. His eyes caught the small, fleeting form running around and disappearing behind the inn. For a time, he just stood at the doorway, leaning against the frame that sustained much graffiti over the recent years. From there, the scientist studied the whole of Nibelheim's town square. The afternoon sun lingered above like a stalwart drunk unwilling to leave his second home of a bar in the sky. The wind that blew down from the peaks was cool and crisp, kicking up curling clouds of dust across the ground. He was reminded of the old days when he had to traverse Mt. Nibel, as nothing more than an apprentice-aspirant, young and naïve.

"Ah, good old days, indeed," Saristis muttered to himself. "The mystery, the conspiracy, the jealousy, the hate... The people. My good old, terrible mentor…" His head sagged towards the ground, his bittersweet grin a rueful delight granted only to the mingling of dirt and limestone brick underfoot.

"... made my bug bite go away!" a voice cried. "Uncle Lovey told me I coulda died."

The scholar's ear perked at the chatter somewhere around the side of the inn. He'd stood poised at the threshold, ready to mentally record any and all lurid details.

"The bugs on Nibel are evil," another said. "You shouldn't've been up there anyways, Des."

"Hey you came with me, and so did Murry and Como, too."

"We, we wanted to find materia, too, that's all…"

"Miss Drana'll think we're awesome if we do."

"She's like an angel, but they don't exist..."

"She does, though!"

"Dad says she might be Ancient. They're more real-er than angels..."

"Oh, I gotta go. See ya, Danny."

With the scattering of footfalls off to elsewhere and that the end of that, Saristis stalked back into the inn all the while stroking his chin. The things children said often had little credibility, them being children. But the single word 'Ancient' caught his attention. This minor detail, he filed in the back of his mind. So someone here in Nibelheim was a potential Ancient. The others would love to hear this, he thought sweetly.

Before joining the others at a table, he pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed a number. "Hello, pilot? I think we'll be here for another extra hour or two. There's been a new, possible development."