Chapter 1: Collector
"When my wife asked me to marry her, I told her that she could make many more prudent alternative decisions. She responded, 'You're too weak, and I'm too lazy, so we'll never use knives. That's why this'll work.' Then she poured two glasses of Mideech and got me intoxicated enough to agree. She was half right."
-Kane Tuetsi, Vice President of Shinra Manufacturing Works
At the start of the war between Gold Nation and Wutai, there were two large power companies; neither of them were Shinra. One was called "Nibelectric Corporation," which ran out of Nibelheim, exporting mainly energy from the coal mines in Corel, where much of Gold Nation found employment. Lizveta Palmer worked as the company's CEO and President. The second company, translated roughly from Wutai dialect to "Mideel Light, Incorporated" was run by Ruigo Ran. The smaller company focused on wind and solar energy.
Kane Tuetsi started his career as a research assistant in the theoretical sector of Mideel Light, so he found himself privy to much suspicious information surrounding the start of the war. The small size of Wutai did not allow for the placement of massive solar panels and windmills that would allow Mideel Light to expand, so they'd pressured the Pagodo gods to push into the central continent. Gold Nation—perhaps even Nibelectric—wouldn't allow such a thing to go unchecked, so they also sent their forces, and war had been the inevitable conclusion.
A few years after the war began, Catherine Drake of Shinra Manufacturing Works developed the Drake Weapons with materia slots in them and sold them to Gold Nation for more and more money as they continued to ask for additional arms. The massive profit had left The President of Shinra Manufacturing Works greedy for more innovation. He'd used his money to scout minds all over the world to do anything at all—as long as it made him rich. This is how he became interested in the energy business, its power, and, more specifically, Kane Tuetsi.
Kane Tuetsi got little recognition for his theoretical work in farming. He thought it possible to build biological engines, fed by the crop boom that occurred during the war, but Mideel Light had considered the idea dangerous because of the volatile nature of the harvest and the mounting demand for energy to power private homes. Instead, President Shinra had gone after him. Tuetsi's new wife, Ruvie, could not move to Icicle because of a delicate health condition, so he had unwittingly bargained himself into the Vice President position of the company.
"So how'd you get this job if you're a research guy?" Paer spoke through narrowed eyes as he sipped from his beer. It had taken the two week trip on the steam engine from the southern coast of the East Continent to Icicle to get the large man to loosen his lips around a Wuteng like Kane. Tuetsi noticed, however, that once he started talking, he didn't shut up.
"I kept saying no until The President offered me a salary almost as large as his to grow crops in a field that's barely fertile and splice animal genes. I swear I don't know what I'm doing, and he's made a gamble that won't payoff, but my wife wants a baby someday. Besides, if The President cannot buy the man he wants, he tells me I'm his best option."
Paer grinned and wrapped a lanyard of Phoenix feathers around his index finger. "Oh? Not as bank as he thinks you are? Who's he really after?"
"Johannes Bugenhagen," Tuetsi said, running his hand along his chin. "That is, I believe, where you come in, though I suppose I should allow The President to explain himself."
"If he wants me on PR, he's an idiot."
Kane couldn't agree more. "That isn't it exactly, but far be it from me to try to understand his methods. PR isn't his strong suit; he isn't known for good decisions in that area. His son, I guess you could say he's the de facto Vice President, starts many debates over it."
"So that wife of yours?"—Tuetsi could tell that business talk did not interest Paer Rolfe much—"Did she come with you to Icicle?"
"She's still in Mideel. She has plans to move to Kalm after the war ends so that visiting her will be more convenient."
Kalm, as Kane had already explained, had been settled by the Leviathan people on the east side of the Wildlands. The people of Wutai had been surprised to find natives worshipping one of their gods, and had struggled against the idea of slaying their own kin. Instead, they had developed a treaty to protect that particular tribe over others. Kane Tuetsi did not believe those creatures to be Leviathan. Pollution from the steamboats and the coal drills used to make windmills on the eastern side of the Wildlands had started to turn the lake the creatures resided in murky, and their once blue bodies were graying, desiccating. It happened so fast, by all accounts, that Kane had begun to wonder whether or not it had anything to do with the people moving away, hardening without their gods. The Ancient text Gast Faremis had been excavating—
Feet thundered down the iron steps to the hull where Kane and Paer sat, drinking at the only wooden table in a long-stretching bar. A man in a red waist coat appeared and saluted Kane Tuetsi. "Sir, we'll be pulling into Icicle within the half hour. Please prepare to come above."
"No kidding?" Paer downed the last of his beer and stood. He had to hunch over in the hull, the ceiling came down so low. "I better pack. See ya up there, Chivy."
Tuetsi supposed that all men needed to cling to something in order to feel relevant. "Of course," he said.
Unimpressive. President Shinra had invested so much Sno—Icicle currency—in human capital that it left the décor of Shinra Manufacturing Works with much to be desired. It looked as impressive as the plywood crates that transported the Drake Weapons. Steel paneling, grimy from dirt and snow clinging, melting, and dripping, wrapped around the whole thing like a sheet. The rectangular building had three floors: weapons labs in the basement and the first floor, break and lunch facilities on the second, and administrative offices on the third. Much of the other research, like Kane's own work, took place outside the premises on the Icicle University campus.
A square etching of the words "Shinra Manufacturing Works" stood directly over the window-less double doors. Kane pulled one open and motioned for Paer to head inside. As they walked through the halls, Kane paid close attention to Paer's eyes, inspecting the dust, the closed offices and laboratories, and wondered that this world might seem less colorful and less fantastic than either Junon or its plains. Perhaps an architect like Paer would begin to understand the need for someone intimate with intention in design.
"It isn't very…" Paer scratched the back of his neck. His wrist pointed awkwardly toward the ceiling.
"Grand?" Kane offered. "I suppose it isn't."
"Your boss has the wrong idea. I get how someone who builds forts and military bases might seem—but I wouldn't build a corporate headquarters like this."
"The President understands that." Kane eyed Paer as he prodded one of the potted plants in the hall, a limp rhododendron that had no business near arctic climes. "Your work in the Wildlands and your designs in Costa del Sol all showcase very different talents, but have one thing in common; they emphasize functionality and purpose. You're a man who knows his clients, who knows precisely how they'll use what you design for them, and that's what The President wants."
A swift clacking down the hall dragged Kane and Paer from their conversation. Every employee of Shinra Manufacturing Works knew the walk better than the person to which it belonged. Its concise rhythm never faltered as heels packed down the linoleum. Each step came drawn out like the tide. Tuetsi could visualize Catherine Drake before she rounded the corner, weighed down by thick white folders.
A red suit jacket split open around collar bones and long neck. She let her blond hair fall around her shoulders, down to her hips. Her curves belied the rigidity of the cracked glass inside. She forced a pair of spectacles further up her nose as she spotted Kane. "Ah, Vice President," she said, holding out the files, "are you heading upstairs?"
As Catherine held out the stack of files, Paer extended his hands and took them from her as if this were the most natural thing. She spared him one raised eyebrow before her attention returned to Kane.
"Yes, I'm taking Mister Rolfe to meet The President."
Catherine's lower jaw dropped, but not enough for her lips to part. "Oh? I wasn't aware that Mister Rolfe hailed from the Wildlands." This time she looked straight up at Paer, trailing her eyes over his chest.
"I don't," Paer said. "I've just spent a lot of time there recently, Miss—?"
"Doctor Drake, please." Her attention returned to Kane as she tapped the foot closest to Paer, signaling the end of their side conversation.
To Kane's surprise, Paer snorted. At first, Catherine paid this no mind, but then the snort turned into a deep laugh. He shuffled the folders into his left arm and lifted his other hand to clap Catherine on the back, crumpling her shoulder pad. "I owe you the worst year of my life," Paer said. "Who'd think I'd meet you as soon as I walk through the door? You're full of yourself, aren't you?"
"If anyone has a right to be, it's me." Catherine crossed her arms, but she did not hide the smile pulling her lips. "Did you gather it by behavior or reputation?"
"Experience." Kane did his best to suppress an eye roll at Paer's answer.
"Delightful," Catherine said, revealing a few teeth. She looked to Kane again. "You don't suppose The President would be willing to transfer me down to Nibelheim with him?"
"I'm sure The President would do anything you ask of him." Kane took a step to the left indicating that he intended to circumvent the Head of Weapons Development. "Now, if you excuse us."
Catherine turned to head back to her office, from which Kane guessed she had come. "Be sure to deliver those, Mister Rolfe. I hope I'll be seeing more of you."
"I hadn't expected her to be Catherine Drake," Paer mused. He licked his lips, as if missing a joint. Kane knew that The President would have all sorts of smokables in his office prepared for the meeting.
"Too young or too attractive?"
Paer's long stride forced Kane to put effort into walking without looking flustered. As the Vice President knew his way around the building, it annoyed him that Paer wanted to take the lead.
"Nah, nothing like that." Paer made to open the cover on one of Catherine's folders, but Kane put a hand on his arm to get him to close it again. "You said she'd be young. Her guns are honest and imposing, but she's scared as a kid in the deep end."
"If you say so." Tuetsi shook his head. He paid Paer little attention as they approached the stairs and headed toward the third floor. Spending time thinking about Catherine Drake always struck him as a waste. She had too much of a knack for manipulating people. While none of Catherine's behavior in the previous exchange made her appear fearful, it would not surprise him to learn that she had intended to leave such an impression on Paer.
Kane would rather prepare himself for the upcoming confrontation with Simon Shinra. He expected to open The President's door to find his son leaning against the wall. Simon had lost his title to a theoretical energist from Mideel whose only administrative responsibilities consisted of escorting brilliant minds across the ocean when The President could not do it himself. Simon knew this. Kane knew this. The President had to know it, but he remained ignorant of conflict regarding the future of the company.
Kane also knew that, as soon as Simon found a way to prove himself to his father, he would lose his high salaried position and return to tinkering at formulas in anonymity. Then his wife would find herself neglected and disappointed instead of just the former.
When Kane reached the door bearing the plaque of "President Jonathan Shinra," Paer raised his hand to knock before the Vice President could stop him. The secretary seated at the desk outside the door stood and smoothed out her skirt, apparently as frustrated with Paer's ignorance of protocol.
"Hello?" The President called in an aging voice as limp as the rhododendrons of the hallway.
Paer appeared as if he wished to make his own introduction, but the secretary raised her hand to silence him. "It's Vice President Kane Tuetsi, returned from Fort Condor in the Wildlands with Mister Paer Rolfe to see you, Sir."
"Ah yes, please send them in."
The secretary wrinkled her nose when, instead of waiting for her to walk around her desk, Paer opened the door to Jonathan Shinra's office and showed himself in, nearly closing the door in Kane Tuetsi's face behind him.
If anyone would expect The President's office to contain more elaborate garnishing than the rest of the building, they would find themselves disappointed. He had a window which allowed him to look out at the other buildings of Icicle Mecha, most of which were taller than Shinra Manufacturing Works. One could at least obtain a view of the iced road and freckles of snowflakes drifting to dirt. The President sat at a mahogany desk, a black model of a pyramid from one of Doctor Faremis' most recent excavations acted as a paper weight tamping down the clutter.
As Kane had expected, Simon Shinra also sat in the office. He occupied the chair across the desk form President Jonathan Shinra, his hands folded under his red waistcoat in his lap. The young man had taken to cultivating a wisp of a blond mustache, which often twitched when he saw something displeasing: Kane, for example.
"Ah, Tuetsi." Jonathan's hairline had begun to recede, leaving time bites behind on his forehead, but he still possessed the thick arms and broad shoulders of a young man. Kane would not dare to guess his age beyond 'older than me.' "I see you've brought him." The President stood and offered a hand to Paer Rolfe, who shook it heartily, before resuming his seat. "You may call me Jonathan," he said.
"Paer." Rolfe cracked the same easy smile he had when confronted by Catherine. It seemed that he only frowned at the Wuteng.
"Well Paer," Shinra said, "I take your presence as indication that you're interested in joining our company."
"Yes, Sir," Paer said.
He at least had the sense to acknowledge a superior.
"Excellent," The President said. His eyes scratched Kanes's. "Has my Vice President told you the details? What figure did he have to offer you to get you to accept?"
Paer shook his head and scratched the back of his neck again. "It seems I've been away from civilization for too long. I'd forgotten about that dance, but I'd like to be expensive, as long as you're asking."
The President's smile reminded Kane of Da Chao's in both its width and its superiority. Simon frowned as Jonathan began to speak again. His father had hired another PR disaster.
"I wouldn't expect anything else." Jonathan pulled a drawer out from his office and produced a case of Corelian cigars and a large glass cylinder with a woman's waist full of platinum sponge and hydrogen. "I'm afraid we can't get our hands on anything but tobacco up here, but I've heard you've been living with a group that enjoys a smoke."
Paer placed a cigar in his mouth, leaned forward, and unlatched the stopcock, releasing a small burst of blue cornea burn. Kane flinched every time anyone used one of those volatile flint cans. Simon, who had been watching Kane, grinned.
Paer shook his head appreciatively. "It's different," he said, "but I knew I'd have to kick the Madroon eventually."
"My secretary can discuss your salary with you later." The President waved his hand as if this matter held no interest for him. "Your assignment, on the other hand, is urgent. You'll be heading to Nibelheim with my son, Simon Shinra."
Dutifully, Simon stood from his seat, inclined his head, and shook Paer's hand. "I want you to build Shinra facilities there. A mansion and a laboratory. The rest of the details are up to you, but I have a specific man in mind." Shinra took a deep breath for dramatic effect. When he did so, Kane thought he might breathe fire like the lighter. "Have you heard of Johannes Bugenhagen?"
Paer shrugged. "I can't say I have. Should I?"
Jonathan smiled Da Chao's smile once again. "Such honesty. Not to worry, I am certain you will get along well with him. He, like my dear Doctor Tuetsi, is a highly educated Energist, only he's most famous for being old. Nearly 100 years they say, and almost ready to die, but he gets smarter with each passing moment. Some say he's discovered something big, and I want it at any cost.
"We're branching out so that we can woo him. Us old men tend to be quite opposed to change, and that's the problem with Johan, but I can't pass up the possibility—imagine something even more impressive than the Drake Weapons!"
As he spoke of Bugenhagen, Kane always noticed that Jonathan Shinra leaned further forward on his desk until it pressed his stomach to his spine. For this, The President would leave creases in his suit. Paer, by contrast, breathed from his cigar, letting his eyelids cover half his pupils.
"So I build a couple things, and we're smoothed?"
Simon's mustache twitched. "If at all possible, my old man is interested in putting you on permanent salary. I think we should give you a trial first. If you prove to be too disagreeable or troublesome—"
"Simon," The President said, "please don't second-guess me in front of Mister Rolfe for at least another month." Laugh. "You've made your concerns clear, but we can trust you, can't we, Mister Rolfe? You're the best, after all."
Kane knew President Shinra enjoyed that particular tactic. "You're the best in the business, Tuetsi, and I'll do anything to have you." It took the new Vice President only a week after accepting the final offer to realize that another hand stood primed at his throat.
Paer opened his mouth to speak, but The President cut him off. "The secretary understands everything. She'll get you smoothed on the details." He waved toward the door, and Kane, knowing that Paer would not get the hint well enough from the mere gesture, stood and opened the door to The President's office for him. As Paer walked out, still meditating on his cigar and looking more confused than ever, Kane closed the door behind him.
"This way, please." The secretary's voice grated through the door, and footsteps faded down the hall.
"What's your impression of Mister Rolfe, then, Kane? How much will it take to buy his loyalty?"
Tuetsi remembered Paer Rolfe—a crack in his forehead, the Madroon joint limp in his mouth—when he had told him he would have to either watch the Phoenix or all of Gold Nation's forces die.
"Paer Rolfe doesn't strike me as the kind of man to understand the concept of loyalty, Mister President. He abandoned the Phoenix tribe of the Wildlands without me offering him so much as a single Sno. If there's anything that will make him stay with Shinra Manufacturing Works for an extended period of time, it isn't money."
The President looked to his ceiling, a bare and crooked collection of corrugated tile. "There's always something. Young men are disagreeable at first, but they cement swiftly enough. Isn't that right, Simon?"
The President's son snorted. "If you say so."
"Simon was just telling me that Miss Tinning's most recent assignment is sure to be a public relations fiasco."
"Tinning's assignment, Sir?"
Erda Tinning was The President's first acquisition after Catherine Drake's breakthrough. He bought her employment even before the first exports left Icicle. Simon Shinra had insisted that a good product needs a good face, and President Shinra had agreed, but Kane would daresay that Miss Tinning had been far from what Simon had had in mind.
Tinning looked like a woman born from one of Wutai's great volcanoes. Igneous rock pushed free and cooled until it became solid, sharp, and shining. Unlike Catherine, she always pulled her hair up in a pair of Wuteng hair sticks, stretched across her scalp to the point where Kane thought it looked painful. She only wore solid colors—brown—and pressed suits. She shellacked her nails.
Miss Tinning took up all of a chair when she sat. She got in a person's face and blew smoke rings. She laughed, belittled, and fidgeted. When she left a room, however, it remained clean. One needed to struggle to remember if she had been there, to bring her face back into focus. Even the smoke and ash would seem to disappear.
One could not approach her, and one could not get along with her.
But she was attractive. But she was responsible for teaching the world how to use the Limit Break. Five years before the war started, Erda Tinning, an Icicle resident and breeder of domestic Bandernatches, discovered how to tap inner wells of adrenaline and unleash desperate energy when death seemed imminent. Kane had never tried it, or bothered to ask Tinning how she had gotten the idea, but the news spread to the world's military powers and women's self defense classes to the point where everyone in the world at least knew how to activate it. By the next generation, it would be banal.
Tinning had not made any money from the idea—until The President had decided she would serve as the perfect figurehead for his company. She had given away her Bandersnatches and purchased a large apartment on the tenth floor of an expensive complex in Icicle Inn. She bought suits, diamonds, cigarettes, and black glasses.
"I sent her to the great pagoda in Wutai to discuss the sales of Drake Weapons to members of their military."
At once Kane understood the problem. For the past year, Gold Nation's military had been the sole buyer of Drake Weapons. If Shinra Manufacturing Works were to sell the weapons to Wutai while the two countries still fought over the Wildlands—
"It's going to ruin the confidence of our clients." Simon folded his hands. "At the moment, they're eager for more products from us, and the aristrocrats of Gold will buy anything, but if we sell to the chivies too"—Kane wondered if he only imagined the emphasis on the slur against his race; from Paer who had a shortage of clearly hateable enemies, Kane had not felt the bite as much—"why would they be so—"
"Where else are they going to get the goods we make here?" The President interrupted. Both he and his son had folded their hands on his desk. They wore identical expressions, and Kane imagined he could see Simon's metamorphosis into Jonathan in slow motion. His hairline would be the first thing to go. "Meanwhile, the Wuteng are able to pick our weapons up from the ground and use them for free. If things continue as they are now, Gold will begin to think we're selling to the Pagoda anyway. We might as well commit the crime before we're accused."
"That's just like you, President." Simon cleared his throat. "Once you crack the ice on the pond, you might as well fall through. We can't always make products like the Drake Weapons. We sell regular muskets, swords, clubs, knives—what will happen to these sales? It's true that none of our competitors have discovered the technology for manufacturing the Drake Weapons yet, but these items have also increased the sales of our other products."
"Who cares about those?" The President pulled a cigar from his drawer and lifted the stop cock on his lighter. A brilliant flare sent shadows hiding under his chin. "The things that this company will make with people like Drake, Tuetsi, and Bugenhagen! That Gast boy, too. He has potential. Who wants to sell sticks and slingshots when we could be powering nations more efficiently than coal allows?"
Simon's eyes grazed over Kane. "Be reasonable, President. Why are you so sure you can land Bugenhagen or that what he's hiding is any good? If it were, wouldn't Nibeletric be reaping the profits already?"
Chewing on his cigar, The President appeared to have forgotten to take a breath. Since Tuetsi had become the Vice President, he had been privy to many such arguments. Kane always felt like Simon had something else to say, something that struggled to use the rings of his throat as rungs on a step ladder.
"What is it that you think, Kane?"
Many of the younger Shinra's concerns made sense. About seventy percent of revenue came from products other than Drake Weapons. This number had started to rise since Gold had exhausted much of its materia resources. There were traders in Icicle willing to sell Gold exclusivity on muskets, Winchesters, and throwing knives. Kane could not tell whether the increased profit from selling the Drake Weapons to the Wuteng would make up for the loss in other sales. As for The President's attempt to innovate himself into the energy business—Leviathan supposedly only granted one miracle every one thousand years, and the Drake Weapons were enough.
"Whatever you think is best, President."
Simon turned a moment to twitch his mustache at Kane Tuetsi, stood, and smoothed out his suit. "I'm done here." He pushed his chair back in and followed out the door through which Kane had entered.
"Anything else?" President Shinra always asked Kane Tuetsi this question before dismissing him from his office.
"I wouldn't tell Mister Rolfe about Tinning's assignment. He's liable to over-react."
The President dragged on his cigar. Smoke came from his nose like moth pheromones, commanding Tuetsi's trust. "He'll find out eventually, but I won't tell him. The reason I sent you, to be truthful, is that I hoped getting to know you would make him hate your race less. We can't afford to have bipartisanship on this staff. You are dismissed, Doctor Tuetsi. Let me know if you make any progress in your research."
"Of course." Tuetsi bowed his head—a habit from Wuteng culture—and left the office.
It had not occurred to Kane Tuetsi until that moment that The President could have considered his race a boon in employing him.
Please take a moment to review. This chapter feels like an info dump to me, so any thoughts are appreciated.
Beta: Clan Dragoodle