~x~
Final Fantasy VI: The Sands of Time
Book 1: The Beginning
Chapter 1 - Pandora's Box
Part 1.6 - Figaro On the Move
Back in the infirmary, Dune recalled Mae's gaze fondly and for the moment his mind and body were eased as he thought about seeing her once more. His quiet reminiscing was abruptly disturbed by the door suddenly swinging open and the doctor walking in to do his daily check up. The doctor was a tall, tan man with a pair of glasses resting on his forehead, and short well-kept grey hair. His appearance belied his relatively young age, much like Dune and his own grey-white hair and gaunt appearance. In appearance he was indeed very similar to Dune, but his personality was as far from Dune's as could be imagined. He always seemed in a rush and in a bad mood, and his bed-side manner left much to be desired. He was exceptionally good at what he did, though, and thoroughly enjoyed being a doctor and having the power of life and death over his patients. In regards to his job then, he and Dune were also the same in a twisted sort of way. Ever since Dune had been recovered from the storm the doctor has been in high spirits, most likely owing to him finally having something more than scrapes and sunburns to deal with.
"Aha! I see my miracle patient is back with us! You know, Dune, based on everything I've experienced with lightning strikes, you really should be quite dead right now. How do you feel?" The doctor said with a twisted sort of relish, as if he was hoping to hear Dune complain.
"I'm feeling much better now, Doctor Atma. Thank-you for tending my wounds, it couldn't have been an easy task. I apologize for my rashness back in the desert. I should have been more careful." Dune said this with some effort, although the words came much easier now than the night before.
The doctor looked at him and smiled his thin, cruel smile. "No worries, Dune! It was my pleasure. Although I'm afraid it wasn't as much work as I had hoped. Your wounds are healing faster than expected, and you should be fit for active duty by the time we reach Narsille. Hm, well at least you gave me one good bit of practice on this bore of a trip. Sometimes I wish I had enlisted as a military doctor instead...war is always good at providing ample practice for people like me." he looked up and his smile widened, then turned into a tight-lipped frown and he added, "Not like there are any wars anymore, thanks to that blasted Committee. There's just something not quite right about a civilization with no war, no poverty, no crime. Utopia means 'nowhere' for a reason, you know." He continued grumbling and frowning as he looked over Dune and replaced his bandages. Dune didn't dare interrupt the doctor during his rants against the Committee, not when he was the one who ultimately determined Dune's well-being. The doctor had just finished dressing Dune's bandages when a voice, the Captain's, was heard over the intercom.
"All hands, this is the Captain. We will be leaving the Thanas Desert shortly and returning to Narsille. Make the usual adjustments and prepare for departure in half an hour. Over and out!" There was a moment of silence, and then the Captain added, "Oh, and would Dune report to the bridge as soon as possible. I think there's something you should see up here..." The intercom went silent again.
Dune glanced at the doctor questioningly and wondered what it was the Captain wanted to show him.
"Don't ask me. I'm just the doctor on board, I don't pay attention to what goes on up there," the doctor apathetically pointed to the ceiling, where three floors above the Captain was waiting, most likely impatiently. "I'd better escort you, though. You are in no condition to be walking around by yourself. That brash 'Captain' of yours probably didn't even think of that. I don't know who he thinks he is here; just because he wants us to call him Captain doesn't mean he actually is the one in charge around here. You have as much pull on this vessel as he does, you know that, right?" He looked at Dune, a mutinous glare in his eyes. The doctor liked the Captain about as much as he liked the Committee.
"That's alright Doctor. I don't mind how the Captain runs things. He's much better suited for commanding the Figaro than I am, anyways. I've never been much of a leader, and I really wouldn't know the first thing about commanding a vessel such as this. We'd better get going or he won't be too happy when we get there. You know how the Captain is."
"Yes, I know all too well how the Captain is," the doctor spat the last word out like poison. "You are entirely too easy-going, you know that Dune? You should stick up for yourself sometimes, show some grit." He sighed, thinking about the unpleasant task ahead of him. "Well...I guess we should get going, then. Wouldn't want to upset the 'Captain'. Here, get in this." He pulled out a collapsible wheelchair from under Dune's bed and unfolded it, motioning for Dune to try and get up. He had to almost lift Dune into it, but after some struggling Dune was sitting in the chair, and they were ready to leave. As they were leaving the room, Dune jerked his head back towards the remains of his shirt still sitting untouched on the chair. He remembered the dream and its message, and couldn't help but feel another strange chill run down his spine.
"Eh, something the matter Dune?" The doctor was suddenly drawn from his sour mood, and looked at Dune eagerly, hoping for a sudden relapse of some kind.
"N, no...I'm fine doctor. Please continue." Dune said apprehensively, something weighing on his mind, urging him not to leave the room.
"Well if there's anything wrong, anything at all, don't be afraid to tell me..." the doctor said in a sickeningly sweet tone. He resumed pushing Dune out of the door and down the corridor towards the stairs. Directly to the right of the stairwell was a lift, used for moving large objects easily between floors. The doctor pushed Dune onto the lift and pressed the button for the bridge. With a slight creaking sound the lift slowly proceeded to rise alongside the stairs, and in a moment they were on a small, unlit foyer outside the bridge. The sliding doors to the bridge opened and Dune's vision was flooded with sunlight. The warm morning sun was a welcome sight after the darkness he had been subject to for so long.
Dune scanned the room for a sign of the Captain. The bridge was a large, wide room with hardly any walls, about ten meters long and fifteen meters wide. The entire room was encased in a long curving pane of sturdy glass, save the wall separating the foyer, giving the crew a 180 degree view of the surrounding land. There were numerous workstations scattered about the bridge, and due to the impending launch many of them were occupied with workers bustling to and fro, an uproar of voices, machinery and beeps filling the room. The doctor weaved Dune through the crowd of people and eventually managed to make it to where the Captain was standing, right at the very front of the bridge, not without 'accidentally' bumping into more than a few of the busy workers, though. Hoping to create more work for himself, perhaps?
The Captain did not notice them enter, and was fixedly staring out at the desert outside the window, his hands folded behind his back. The doctor cleared his throat disapprovingly, causing the Captain to start and swivel around on his wooden leg to face Doctor Atma, holding Dune in his wheelchair in front of him as if to form a barrier between him and the Captain.
"Ah, Atma, I thought that was you. Thanks for bringing Dune up here. That'll be all for now." Atma turned and quickly walked away, muttering under his breath the entire length of the bridge. The crew had learned their lesson from his entrance, and quickly swerved out of his path as he rushed back into the foyer and down the stairs.
"Well, Dune, I see you're feeling better. Good, good. Wouldn't want you to miss this before we shove off." He gave Dune a pat on his bandaged back, which hurt Dune quite a bit. Dune just forced a smile and nodded.
"Take a look out there Dune, and tell me what you see."
Dune carefully surveyed the desert that spread out in all directions before him. The bridge was almost fifty meters from the surface of the desert and it allowed Dune to see the shifting sands before him for miles. He again saw the waves of sand playfully vibrating in the heat of the sun, and the little islands of rock jutting out of the surface. He even thought for a moment he could see the very shattered rock he had pulled the mysterious crystal from. He saw something else now, something that had not been present before - signs of life. Yes, flitting warily above them some distance away Dune could just see a large black bird of some kind circling around an invisible focal point. After a few glances in various directions, he noticed more of the same birds circling their own imaginary centers. He now looked more carefully at the desert floor for more signs of life. Unless his eyes deceived him, there were the faint beginnings of plant life sprouting up from some of the rock formations. How had this happened? This desert had been dead for centuries, but now it was springing to life, as if a long-standing curse had been lifted from it. Dune was awestruck at the transformation these meager apparitions of life made on the desert's appearance. It no longer looked like a barren wasteland, but almost friendly...happy even. It was as if the entire desert was rejoicing at this new turn in its fortunes and was in a great hurry to restore the area to its former beauty, thought lost in the sands of time.
"It's something else, ain't it?" The Captain's voice raised Dune from his stupor, and Dune turned his head to face the Captain.
"What is going on in this desert? I had hoped to find out why it was so devoid of life when I was assigned here, but it looks like nature straightened out that problem on her own. She has a way of doing that sometimes, heh. Like she's just toying with us scientists who work so hard to unravel her mysteries, only to have them unraveled of their own free will right before our eyes. I guess I'll never know what happened here now. Maybe its better that way." The Captain returned his gaze to the desert, his thoughts on the mystery he wasn't meant to solve.
Dune had an idea, though, but he hardly believed it himself. He kept his thoughts silent, and let the Captain enjoy his ignorance to what had really happened down there for a little longer. He wanted to put this experience behind him and get back to Narsille now more than anything. He couldn't believe it, but he had actually had quite enough of digging and deserts for the time being, and enough storms for a lifetime. He just wanted to go home, to Mae.
The Captain, his thoughts seeming to be one with Dune's, suddenly turned around once more and faced the crew, preparing to make the announcement to leave. The crew, instinctively aware of the Captain's change in countenance, stopped what they were doing and looked attentively at him. The adjustments were done, and they were ready for the Captain to give the word.
"Alright, listen up!" The Captain's gruff voice echoed through the now silent bridge, and all eyes and ears were on him. "We've been in this wretched desert long enough, and it's time to head back to Narsille, to our homes and families. Have all the adjustments been made?"
"Yes, sir! Everything is ready. Just give the word and we can start the engines."
"Well then what are ya waiting for! Let's move it!" The Captain was getting impatient. He wanted out of this desert almost as badly as Dune did.
With a flurry of activity, the crew rushed to their assigned workstations and busied themselves with the launch sequence. Dune was amazed at how well-trained and organized everyone was, but he guessed that was what was to be expected when someone like the Captain was in charge. He briefly wondered what things would have been like if he had decided to be the one giving orders, but put the thought past him as an idle fancy. Dune was no leader. He was happy to let the Captain assume his accustomed role as commander of this, his ship of the desert.
Dune's thoughts were broken by a sudden jolt and roar of the grinding of many gears below him. The mobile base, Figaro, was on the move. He imagined what must be happening, five floors below him at the base of the structure. The myriad steel supports that had anchored the camp to the desert floor were quickly being pulled up and replaced with the enormous treads lining the inner walls of the camp. The engineers must be running back and forth, making sure all the devices involved in the transformation were working properly. At any second an error could arise that could compromise the safety of the entire structure, and they needed to be ready. The replacing of the steel pillars with the treads was an intricate dance of machinery and man, and required a level of synchronization only an unbroken wall of concentration could achieve. One, two, three, four...the treads were slowly pushing their way out of the sides of the camp, and the steel pillars quickly disappearing back into the bowels of the Figaro. It looked like this dance was going to be another success.
With a huge plume of sand erupting from the desert floor, momentarily blinding the bridge, the Figaro lurched forward and began its slow crawl north to the utopian metropolis of Narsille, nestled at the foot of a vast mountain range. Dune was going home, at last.