Author's Notes: Holidays and a job ate my life. I'm back, though, and we're going to keep moving on this story. I won't bore you with details. I bet we'd all prefer it if I was just working on this.
Hyne's War: Chapter 31
"The best way for us to keep our men alive, Nomura, is for you to stand down."
"I think we've gone over that already," Nida sighed, shaking his head. "I can't do that. Unlike you, a substantial portion of my forces aren't men. These are teens and some could barely be called that, all of them under my command because that is all what Garden has to offer. I haven't even had the chance to take on my first load of real soldiers. They're little more than kids. And when I say kids, Vernon, I'm not joking around. I'm running on a skeleton crew of some kids that don't even have SeeD credentials, civilians from Fisherman's Horizon, and a few others who would only really begin to be counted of age in the other countries. And you know what? Any of them would die to stop this war we're in. They believe in it, just like your men. The question is, I suppose, can we take you down before you damage us badly enough and take out enough people to stop the Ragnarok from flying?"
"And what do you think the answer to that is?" Vernon asked, seeming genuinely curious, if a little sad at Nida's revelation.
"The truth, Vernon? Some people don't want to hear it, no matter what they say."
"The truth, boy. I can handle whatever news you'd give me."
"Then the truth is this: I can fly this ship on my own. I only need one other person to handle the weaponry, and that only if I'm not planning to ram my ship right down your gullet. Were I to choose to rely on that one person and the weapons—which I promise are an upgrade from what you would have been briefed about—I would make you pay dearly for what you'd taken from me. So can we put aside this petty posturing for just a few minutes and talk seriously, like men?"
"Men?" Vernon laughed, but it was a short, barking, bitter kind of sound. "Let's be fair here, Nida. This isn't a conversation among men. You're, what, somewhere around 18 or 19, right? Hardly fit to call yourself a man. You are a child leading an army of children, just like your superiors. How can you expect to..."
"I've killed thirty-seven men in less than two years," Nida cut in. The way the number rolled off of his tongue so smoothly, so damned easily only made him realize that he really had been keeping count. Of all of the things in his life he could keep track of, why did it have to be that?
"At least, those are the ones I've killed with my own weapon in my hands, which is quite hefty for such a short period and me lacking a gun. Some of them were mercenaries attacking little villages that I was sent to protect as part of a mission. Others were Galbadian soldiers during various parts of the Second Sorceress War. A handful were people I had grown up knowing, who had threatened children and the chain of command during the conflict within Garden, and I killed them without a second thought. This number includes the men under Ruth's command who attacked my home. It includes Joshua, who attempted to kill me. And it includes Elijah, who was more than just my friend Vernon, and you probably know that. What it doesn't include is the number of people whose lives may have been lost through my actions as the pilot of Balamb Garden during the war, the children who died to Elijah's blade in Balamb, or the men and women I failed to save at Haven, or those who are dead because of those I helped train to kill. So tell me this, Vernon. When you know all of that, when you look at it in the light of me being the tender age of 19, in light of the fact that I have been given the rank of a three star general and told to go to lead in a time of war, do you really think I'm not yet a man? Am I not a man when every night before I go to sleep when I remember the faces of every last man, woman, and child I've seen dead by my own hands?"
That seemed to shut Vernon up for a moment, his face lined with confusion and sorrow at the information Nida offered.
"I am sorry for what you have had to experience in your life," he said at last, and he sounded quite sincere. "It is a cruel world when some would turn our children into our soldiers."
Seventy-one, a voice, Salamander's, echoed in Nida's head. For half a moment he almost didn't know just what the GF meant, and then it hit him far too hard. Elijah's own death count.
"Some? No, Vernon, you know better than that. Elijah in only three years was responsible for the death of seventy-one. He was a very competent SeeD, often in the thick of the fighting where I was not. Do you know why he killed so many? Because Boyce sent him to become a soldier, and commanded him to take lives. I can't even begin to guess at the numbers Xu or Joshua could lay claim to, and I'm pretty sure they regretted their kills far less than I do. It isn't that Gardens put weapons into the hands of children. It's that the Gardens are, time and time again, put into conflicts on a scale we were never meant for. We aren't supposed to be used primarily as anti-personnel troops. I chose to specialize in infiltration. I was going to live my life breaking into the ranks of people who did cruel things, get what information I could to destroy them, and get out. It's not the most common route, and only for those that pass some very serious psyche evals. Elijah, though, do you even know what he opted to specialize in?"
"I'm afraid I don't," he admitted, shaking his head. "Boyce was the one that took the most interest in the younger three members of our council."
"Elijah's primary training was in dispatching the most dangerous of monsters. I spent hours with him one night discussing the finer points of a mission of his to take down a group of ochus migrating into a populated area. He knew the weakest points of some of the most deadly creatures that walk our world, and knew how to get himself into place to strike them. Unfortunately the same things that make a fighter talented against the largest, smartest game also make them talented against far smaller, sometimes smarter human opponents. It meant in a pinch he was right in the thick of a fight against multiple people. That he would throw himself, alone, at a sniper perch or a mounted machine gun to try and clear the way for others. Elijah hated death, Vernon. What Boyce is driving your people to is something he could never abide."
"Nida, forgive me, but you ask me to believe all of this with no basis. I am aware that you were... closer with Elijah Zale than was openly admitted to among many parties. I expect most of those you call your allies and who serve under you were not aware of the full extent of your relationship, but I find myself hesitating to believe everything you say. What could you offer me as proof?"
And here is where I come in, yes? Salamander asked, sounding almost tired.
Where else? No, please, I can sense that you're gearing up for a lecture. I can't afford it right now.
Ask him if he has been properly polishing the carving. Linseed oil, not anything else.
Nida sent half of an annoyed feeling through the connection he shared with the GF, almost frustrated that Salamander was actively ignoring his need for information. Still, even that vague bit should hopefully be enough to assure Vernon. He hoped. But at least there was one thing he could be sure of: he had his own information sources that could help flesh out the description.
"You've been polishing your carving, yes? Linseed oil, not anything else. I can speak from experience that substituting another oil is unpleasant."
The look on Vernon's face was somewhere between baffled and amused. He recovered quickly, though, his expression hardening once more as he shook his head.
"You think that is enough to convince me of..."
"It's a start, one that goes well with this information: after his death he had his journal sent to me. Maybe you weren't aware of it, but he had been keeping one since he came to Garden. It is more than just the musings of a kid. It's his plans. His visions. The places he wanted to lead your people. The life he wanted to live. And what Boyce cost him. He sent it to me, Vernon, because I was going to try and help him. I wanted him free of what Boyce can do to your people. He..."
He put it into the hands of his second-in-command, Jason Anders, the night before his death. With orders to send it to you were something to happen to him. Tell him to ask Anders, Salamander commanded him, the words a fire in his head even as it felt like the metal that housed the GF was burning its way into his chest.
"Do you know a man named Jason Anders?"
"Yes, and obviously you do as well. He was Elijah's second. What does that have to do with anything?"
"The night before his death, the night he went to meet with the council and Boyce likely gave him orders not to return to me, Elijah put the journal into the hands of Jason Anders. He ordered Jason to send the journal to me if something happened. Elijah knew something was going to happen. He..." Nida didn't know what to say, or how to continue. This wasn't a topic he wanted to think about, a card he wanted to play, a pain he wanted to relive.
All pain passes in time, my dove, Siren cooed in his head. Let me...
No, he snapped back, his head almost aching under the force of Salamander's agreement.
"He spoke of you once."
Nida found himself looking up at the monitor again—when had he lowered his gaze—and into Vernon's eyes. Pity, too much pity, filled his eyes.
"What?"
"Elijah spoke of you once. Two years ago. It was during a short gathering of the council, when the three younger members were officially inducted to our number. Well, it was after the meeting to be honest. Xu, Joshua, they were never much of ones for talking to me. Xu was always Boyce's creature and Joshua... was more extreme than I would have liked. But Elijah... He was a kind one, more open to new ideas, to so many things. Friendly even. I was proud to hear him, to speak with him. He was going to lead us in a new direction. I swore myself to him that day, to be his supporter, to help guide him. And he smiled, insisted that that day was far away but he'd rely on me. And then he told me about someone he'd met at Garden and how he wasn't even sure how to bring it up to Boyce, how disappointed his uncle would be if he learned the bloodline would end with him.
"He was a good kid, Nida. He wanted to change things, and I wanted to stand by him."
"So stand by me then. Stand by me now. Neither of us wants this. Irvine will not stand by Boyce, no matter what happens. Nor will I. His goals are doomed. Don't throw yourselves away like this. Stand by me, stand by us, and help guide your people in the direction that Elijah would have wanted. That we both know he wanted. Please..."
"I can't."
The words were slow in coming, and pained, unbelievably pained. It was plain in his voice, to the point where Nida didn't even need Siren's gifts to notice it. It was written on his face, etched there even. Almost as if the very saying of it was actually physically painful. And to Nida it meant only one thing.
"You've been ordered to stop me."
"I have," Vernon confirmed, apologetic.
"More than ordered. Compelled."
"Yes."
"There is nothing I can do right now to make you stand down."
"No."
There was a sound, a loud and furious thump that was punctuated by the rattling of glass. It was only with the flaring of pain in his fingers that Nida even realized that he had made the sound. Now that he was looking he could see it, a minor dent in the metal of his desk. Part of him, a bemused part that was trying desperately hard to distance itself from what was going on, quietly observed that he really needed to stop punching things. The last time he'd cut his hand up rather badly, and this time he could easily have broken a bone or two, not that was sure he hadn't. Another part could do nothing but fume at the news. How could Boyce have done this? Didn't he realize that he was throwing the lives of people who looked up to him, looked to him for guidance, away? Could they really mean so little to him?
"Then why would you even agree to talk to me?" he asked, needing to understand the futility here.
"I believed in Elijah," Vernon said, shaking his head. "I believed in what he wanted for our people. I wanted you to know that."
"That isn't enough," Nida insisted, wanting to slam his fist into the desk once more. "You and I both know it isn't enough."
"I need you to ask a question I couldn't get you to ask otherwise."
"Whether you'd back down."
"Yes," Vernon agreed. "That isn't something that either of our crews need to know. And I need your promise..."
"To take the surrender if you die."
"Don't hold my orders against them."
"And how do I know it would even come?"
"You don't. You can't. All we can do is hope."
As if Nida believed in such a thing anymore. "I'll do what ever I can to protect them. That is all I can promise."
"Thank you. And Nida... There was one more thing I wanted to tell you."
"What?" Because what he needed is another unsolvable problem set before him.
"I don't think anyone has ever told you this, or that anyone's ever been in the position to. I think your mother would have been proud of you. Of what you've grown up to be. For all of the pain, the suffering, the sorrow that you've lived through, she still would have been proud."
"You knew Daphne?"
"No," Vernon said, smiling sadly. "I've never met her. Nida, I was the one who realized who you had to be. I didn't say anything to Elijah at the time, but two years ago when Elijah showed me your picture, I knew you. You have your mother's eyes, but your father's..."
All it took was a single push of a button for the screen to go black, for the speakers to go silent, for the words to stop happening. Yet after he did it almost felt like he'd spent the last several hours trying to push the Ragnarok across the sea.
It took all of ten seconds for Fujin to get through the door. Nida honestly wasn't sure which was more suspicious, the fact that it took her all of ten seconds or that she was in position at all to do it. Had she, had someone who was in contact with her, been monitoring his communication. Now wouldn't that be something? Someone sitting on the side lines hearing everything that was said. How would they have taken it all, because he was pretty sure their only option was to take it better than he had. Was there even a way to take it worse?
"WHAT?" Fujin demanded even as she was slipping past the only partially opened door.
"I don't seem to remember calling you in here. In fact, I distinctly remember placing you in control of the bridge. So what on Hyne's green earth are you doing here?"
By that point the door had closed and Fujin was striding quickly, almost nervously, towards the desk. It didn't take much to tell that she didn't like what she saw there, not with the way her eye lingered on his bleeding fist. Great, just what he needed on top of everything else.
"You wanted informed if something started to happen. We've read increased temperatures in..."
"The main cannons, yes, I suppose you would have," he said, sighing and pushing back from the desk. "I need us put on full alert. Make sure the weaponry systems that are online are ready to go. We've got a fight ahead of us."
"FAILURE?"
Nida just shook his head, utterly tired. "There was never a chance of success. He has his orders. We have our own. Now get back to yours."
"NIDA."
"What could possibly be more important than the fact that we're about to be attacked by a ship that we don't know the full capabilities for, by fanatics who will likely try to take us down to the very last man, with a crew that is no where near ready to deal with this sort of conflict?"
"CURE."
Again he looked down at his fist, noticed the blood on his hand. Yeah, she was right about that. What kind of confidence was he going to inspire like this? All it took was a the slightest brush of a cure spell, the simplest sort of para-magic, to seal the small cuts, hide the bruises, and be presentable. Yet when he reached for the magic, it almost felt like it was hovering just beyond his reach. Apparently things could get worse. For years he'd heard Instructor Aki warn them about what severe emotional trauma could do to a para-magic user. It was for that reason and that reason alone that SeeD candidates worked so hard on emotionally distancing themselves from their missions. It was that, not that they were cold or careless or inhuman. In a pinch they might need their magic to save their lives and possibly those of others. And when he stood, slowly, still staring down his fist, he had to fight the urge to laugh. It was hysteria, threatening his already frayed mental state. Aki had always told him that he'd never amount to anything magically, and for once Nida was starting to believe him.
"I can't," he said, holding out his hand towards her. "Amazing, isn't it? After everything, this is the moment where I can't..."
There was no need to say anything else, after all, Fujin had taken the classes as well. In fact, she had been one of the top students in the class. She always had a talent for para-magic, not quiet on the level that Nida learned Sephie or Quistis did, but she had a talent. Even now he could see her reaching forth, her hand glowing with the faint blue-green light of curative magic. She reached out, her fingers brushed over his wrist, and with it came the weird cool-hot tingling of a cure spell. He could feel the itching of his flesh knitting together. Then, as quickly as it came, the touch of both her skin and the magic were gone. He was left looking at his bloody knuckles, which he immediately moved to wipe off on a piece of paper on his desk.
"We don't have time for this," she said, voice barely a whisper.
Truer words had never been said.
"We need to be on the bridge. There's a storm coming, and we've got to get through it."
He pushed past her then, heading for the door, and trying his hardest to ignore the burning pain from Salamander's charm. His hand was even at the button to open the door when she spoke up again, forcing him to stop in his tracks.
"What happened?"
"The Zebalgan leader over there, Vernon... He knew my parents."
With that he hit the button and slipped through the door, striding as quickly as he could towards the lift. He was barely even halfway down the corridor before Fujin was at his side, all steel and discipline once again. It was almost as if she could flip a switch in her head, go from an ideal soldier to a soft spoken, considerate woman, and back so quickly that it could make his head spin. How did someone get that ability? What class had he missed that would have allowed him to go from unsure to confident so quickly? Or was it a talent that she was simply born with? Did it come from years of following Seifer, of having so much confidence in his ability to see things through that she just assumed that Nida could do the same? Had Seifer told her to be confident in...
"You can handle this."
Her words were a whisper so low that for a moment Nida almost wondered if he imagined them, of if they had been Sirens. But no, there was no mistaking the source once he put his mind to it. She believed in him. There was a pretty good chance that most of the people here believed in him. The problem was that Nida wasn't sure that he believed in himself, for all that he had claimed confidence before Vernon. Sure, he could handle the ship alone, like he had claimed, but...
But, but, but. It was always something, wasn't it? Why did it always have to be something? What happened to them living 'happily ever after' when the war was over? Sure, not 'happily' as it were, they were still mercs, he was still planning to put his life into danger repeatedly for other people. The thing was that he'd never intended anyone else to get hurt by his actions. Never expected people to look up at him, never wanted them to. Recognition, yes. Respect, definitely. Responsibility over other lives... Not really.
"Thanks," he mumbled, stepping confidently up to the bulkhead, pausing just long enough for the SeeD guard to open the door for them. Then it was around the corner, a few more steps, onto the lift, and riding up, Fujin at full-attention at his side.
At the top of the lift, even as it shuddered to a halt, the crimson lights and sirens erupted into a furious life. It was almost ideal, it saved Nida the annoyance of the bridge crew standing as one and saluting. In a situation such as this their duties came before the respect due their superiors. Right now what he needed were people who was leaping to their duties, making sure that they survived this encounter.
"Sir," Raijin said, all but leaping from the command chair. At least Fujin had left someone in charge. "We've got..."
"I know," Nida cut him off, striding further into the room. He didn't need to say anything more than that. People were already about their jobs, and if there was any change at all it was that they were moving a bit faster, and Nida chalked it up to Fujin's presence and nothing else. Still, when he reached his seat he came to a stop, gave Fujin a small gesture, and then straightened himself up.
A whistle, sharp enough to be heard and to cut easily through the sound of the sirens, drew all attention to him. Nida almost wanted to smile at the sound: if there was any advantage to having drawn Fujin as his second it was the fact that she could bring everyone and everything to silence by intimidation alone. It helped him do what had to be done right now. Helped him get all eyes on him.
"I know that one of the first rules of leading a military force during a war is never to apologize. Apologies come later, when things have been won, or at least when we think they've been won. And yet I find myself compelled to apologize to you all. I did my best, I tried to resolve this peacefully. I failed you there. Now I ask that you don't fail me here. We're faced with an opponent that we don't know the full capabilities of, and we don't know if they'll surrender. That being said, we aren't going to back down. Too much is riding on us. Family, friends, people we have come to care about and depend on. Now let's get back to work."
No applause this time, just nods, salutes, and people turning back to their jobs. Nida himself just sat down in his chair, pulled his display up, and started to evaluate what was going on. The answer was clear quite soon. Rather than maintaining the distance they'd both agreed to, the Zebalgan vessel was slowly circling around towards them. That was the least of the concerns, though. The readouts that he was seeing reinforced what Fujin had told him: the Zebalgan vessel was really gearing up its main cannon. It was a slow build, but Nida was pretty sure that was deliberate. Getting it up faster wasn't too hard, Esthar had achieved it long ago in the Ragnarok, but at least Vernon had given him a chance. Given them a chance to be ready to fight. Vernon had known what the cost was, that he was likely risking the lives of his people, but he'd still done it.
"What's the status on the weapon systems?"
"Eighty percent weapon system operability. Should be enough, ya know?"
Nida nodded and waved Raijin away. With a few quick button presses he was sending the machines through their paces, getting them to spew out calculation after calculation after calculation that didn't tell him anything new. There wasn't enough data, the Ragnarok had seen so little combat before, and the enemy wouldn't surrender unless their leader was knocked out. What was he going to do if...
Look closely, little hawk. See what they don't know want you to notice.
"SIR?" Fujin demanded, moving to stand at his elbow.
"Give me a moment," Nida said, waving her off even as he leaned closer to the display.
What is it I'm missing, then? Nida asked, turning the full of his attention to the screen even as he directed the display to call up the real time images of the enemy vessel. Hyne help me, Siren, I don't even know what I'm looking for.
Closer, she insisted, and Nida jabbed his thumb at the zoom option several times. Closer. Still more jabbing. There. Behind that bump thingy.
It's called an exhaust port, he sighed, zooming again. But now that he was looking, he could see what she meant. There was something... strange about the port. For one thing, it was poorly placed. For another it was...
"It's an exhaust port for the weapons manifold," he said, far louder than he expected. "Hyne damn them. It's an exhaust port. Their systems are so slow gearing up because Vernon has them venting wrong. He's purging the systems to give us time. Damn him. Damn him doesn't he know how hard this is as things already stand?"
"GENERAL?"
"I want a missile rammed into that exhaust port at our first opportunity. If we manage that we can overheat their systems. Their weapons manifold would all but collapse in on itself. We could force them to back down..."
Silence, save for the sirens. Then, even as he looked up from the display, there was a new flurry of action. Raijin shouting orders that were being quickly relayed through headsets to the engineers and mechanics down in the hold. Displays writing up orders to scramble the few fighters they could both launch and land back on the Ragnarok. Someone running for the lift to relay orders for a breaching squad to be prepared in case they managed to force the enemy vessel to the ground. And there was Nida, sitting in his chair, not fully sure what to do with himself.
You are a leader, whether you believe it or not. Such is in your blood. Step up and take charge. Make them know who you are. Make them respect you. And shed as little blood as possible.
"Who's our best hacker?" Nida asked, pushing his display aside.
"Sir?" Raijin asked, frowning pretty hard.
"I asked who our best hacker was. I know General Leonhart assigned me a few. I want to know who the best is."
Raijin spent a moment looking utterly bemused. Fujin, though, just moved. She was across the bridge in two strides, her hand on the shoulder of a young woman at a display, and with a flick of her wrist the chair was spinning, and an utterly shocked young woman who looked about sixteen at best was left staring up at Fujin with wide eyes.
"Colonel, Ma'am?" the girl asked, her voice barely squeaking out over the sirens. Or maybe it wasn't, maybe it was just Siren working her magic and pulling the words through the air to him. Why was he still junctioned with her? No, that wasn't the important thing, not with this girl looking so shocked at Fujin, and Fujin looking so proud of herself.
"Colonel Venti?"
"HER."
"You're sure?"
Fujin just nodded, tightened her grip on the girl's shoulder, and hauled her to her feet.
"Name and rank."
The girl stumbled a few steps forward, propelled by Fujin's hand pressing hard against her back. As Nida looked her over, reading all the little signs. She wasn't a career SeeD, that was for sure. Just a cadet, if her Airman First Class patch was any real sign. The look about her was nervous energy. She was scared, that much was sure, but if Fujin believed this was what he needed... He'd believe her. After all, Fujin had been the one that had spent so much time going over crew records. Nida had devoted himself to the retrofitting.
"Air... Airman First Class Russell, Sir." the girl said nervously, and all he wanted to do was smile at her kindly to push away the fear. But it wasn't how this worked. Wasn't how this was allowed to work.
"You know computers, Airman?"
"Sir yes sir."
"What experience do you have?"
"She's the one who cracked the Garden forums two years back," Raijin offered, frowning. "Three weeks suspended privileges, managed to avoid..."
"I remember," Nida said, waving Raijin off. "Tell me, Airman Russell, are you still in practice?"
"Sir?"
"I asked you whether you are still in practice, Airman. I expect a response."
"Sir yes sir!"
Nida nodded and leaned back in his chair, like he thought Squall might have in his position. "Good. I need you into their systems. I want control over their OA system. I want to have my voice heard in every damn repair rafter of that craft. And I want it to happen ten minutes ago."
"But..."
"Say 'yes sir.'"
"Yes sir."
"Good. Now get to it."
Turned to all but flee back to her seat, but Nida gestured and Fujin moved to intercept her.
"Take mine," Nida said, standing. "You won't have to override our internal security servers from this one. It should save you, what, five minutes?"
"Three at most," she said, almost smirking. Well, if thinking she was better than him—if she was better than him—made her more confident, then he wasn't going to burst her bubble.
"And her position?" Raijin asked. Nida just strode past him for the flight controls. It took nothing more than a light tap on the shoulder of the current pilot.
"Let's get this done."