PART TWO, CHAPTER 6: A NIGHT OUT IN MIDGAR
[in which the Turks close ranks against Heidegger, Cissnei is perceptive, and the rookie redeems herself]
Some unusually gentle questioning by Commander Veld persuaded Aviva to reveal that she did not think Director Heidegger knew who she was. She also admitted that she was the one who had disabled the security camera in his office through the access panel in the ventilation shaft. Having read Reno's list carefully, and seen that there was only one sure way to win, she had gone back to the locker bay on the 64th floor where, earlier that morning, she had exchanged her civvies for the suit. Here she had put her old clothes back on, then asked the cleaning lady for directions to Heidegger's office, and made her way up there. More detail than that she was reluctant to give. Veld saw nothing to be gained from insisting.
On the whole he was inclined towards Reno's view of the matter. Aviva had only done what a Turk should do, analyzing the problem at hand and solving it in the way that seemed to her the most efficient. Whether her actions could be described as strictly necessary was another matter - but she had thought they were. And if, in the many years to come of her employment with the Shinra Electric Company, she were never to be called upon to do anything worse, well, then the world would have changed into a place Veld no longer recognised.
Heidegger's actions the next morning seemed to confirm that he had no idea his little visitor had been a Turk. He came in person down to the 48th floor, when normally he would have sent a minion, and demanded Tseng hand over the previous day's tapes from his office's camera. "What for?" asked Tseng. Heidegger muttered something into his beard about intruders and fangirls and lax security. "As it happens," said Tseng, who was enjoying watching Heidegger squirm, "The camera malfunctioned yesterday, at about four o'clock. Reno's fixing it now." He could see that Heidegger did not believe him. Too bad.
While Heidegger was attempting to browbeat Tseng, Rude went up to Heidegger's office and replaced the ice cubes in the fridge's freezer tray with specially shaped blocks of blizzaga. These, taken in a glass of the whiskey Heidegger kept at the back of his bookshelves, would quickly blur his memory of recent events. As for Aviva, Veld thought, and Tseng agreed with him, that it would be better to keep her out of the way for a week. So they sent her off to Junon with Knox, where she could attend classes at the Academy in the morning, and help with preparations for the President's visit. Her official starting date was penciled onto Veld's calendar as the 20th February, when she would begin her duties in Midgar in the traditional way, on patrol in Sector Eight.
Having made these arrangements and sent the girl and Knox on their way, Veld closed his door and enjoyed the luxury of a few minutes alone. He was thinking, as he always did when dealing with his younger Turks, of his dead daughter, who would have been twenty-eight this year, and wondering what she would be doing now if she had lived to grow up in this world he had once worked to make safe for her.
Veld's grief for his lost child was not the same in substance, in quality, as the grief he and his Turks had felt at the death of Natalya. This grief would not pass with time. It never grew less, though he had grown used to living under its weight. He never forgot to remember her. Every moment of every day, her name was the song playing in his head.
20th February, 2001. Reno was sitting alone at a pavement table outside a fashionable coffee shop on Loveless Avenue. Music and laughter, the tinkle of glasses and silver cutlery, filled the air. Although it was late, the entertainment district wouldn't be shutting down for another couple of hours. In the background, as always, hummed the steady muted throb of the reactors pumping the city's lifeblood.
He looked up and down the street. Nothing. He took out his PHS: the display read 02:05. It wasn't like Cissnei to be late. If she was planning to be a no-show, she would have called him. This rendezvous was her choice. They hadn't seen each other since she'd moved upstairs to work with Lazard, and he was missing her more than he would ever have let her know.
A woman came round the corner and caught his eye. Long legs made longer by five inch stilletoes, black mini-dress so tight it could have been spray-painted onto her curves, heavily made-up face, sparkly earrings, auburn hair twisted into a sexy mess of curls… His first thought was hooker. Then she smiled at him and waved, and he realized it was Cissnei.
"Nice duds," he said, pulling out a chair for her.
She kicked off the shoes. "I can hardly walk in these things."
"Standard SOLDIER issue?"
"I'm going to a party, so I can't stay long. Sorry I'm late, Reno."
"I bought you a coffee. But it's getting cold."
"That's OK. I don't want anything. I just wanted to see you." She reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it briefly, which was about as big a gesture of affection as you could hope to get from Cissnei. Just for a moment, though, it felt more as if she were holding on to him. He saw that the nails on her hands were long and fake and painted bright red.
"So," he said, "How's life on the 51st Floor?"
"Like being trapped inside a teenage boys' locker room, but otherwise, it's OK. Lazard's decent. They all seem to like him, because he's fair, and they respect him, because he's stricter than he looks. But he's not the Chief."
"So what's he got you doing?"
"Paperwork, mostly."
"Sounds like a blast. And how's your boyfriend?"
Cissnei gave a long-suffering sigh. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Who isn't?"
"Zack isn't."
"What makes you think I was talking about Zack Fair? Hah – gotcha!"
A motorbike came up the street. For a moment Reno's face was caught in the beam from its headlight. Cissnei leaned forward, lifting a hand to almost touch his mouth. "You're cut," she said, "What happened?"
"This? It's nearly healed."
"But how'd you get it?"
"It was nothing," said Reno, before deciding to admit, "Well - the boss and I had a bit of a fight."
"What? You and Tseng? Why, what about?"
"Why does it have to be about anything? Can't two guys just have a fight without needing a reason?"
"You, yes. But if Tseng got angry enough to hit you, you must have really pushed his buttons. So come on, spill. What were you fighting about?"
"You," said Reno, realizing, as the word left his mouth, that it was true.
"Me?"
"Yeah. You."
"What about me?"
"Well, Ciss, call me old-fashioned, but I just don't think we should be pimping each other round the building, is all. Since you ask."
Red lips drawn into a thin line, Cissnei sat back in her seat and gave him a long, thoughtful look.
She said, "It's never bothered you before."
"Yeah. Well."
"You've done it yourself. We all have."
He didn't much care for the way this conversation was going, so he took out a cigarette and lit it.
"Those things'll kill you," said Cissnei.
"If I live long enough to die of smoking, I'll call myself a lucky man."
"You're a fucking idiot, Reno, you know that?"
"Yeah."
"I can fight my own battles."
"I know."
"You don't know what my mission is with SOLDIER, so don't start imagining you do."
"Understood."
She looked at her watch, and bent down to put her shoes back on. "I really have to go – "
Abruptly he sat forward and grabbed her hand. "Ciss, there's a rave on tonight in the old warehouse across from the train station. Ditch the date and come with me."
"Aren't you working?"
"I'm on stand-by. I promise I'll only have one beer. C'mon, Ciss, you know you want to."
"Reno, listen – "
"Zack'll be there."
"I know," said Cissnei with heavy emphasis. "Where do you think I'm going? I'm working, Reno." She pulled her hand free and stood up, unsteady in the high heels. "And I'd really, really prefer it if you didn't come. See you soon, OK?"
She tottered away across the cobblestones. He watched her go, almost wishing she would fall so he could run and pick her up, help her. But she wouldn't thank him. She'd made that loud and clear.
A drink sounded good right now. A cold beer – two cold beers, and a warm nameless somebody to share them with. Somebody who didn't know what he did for a living and had never heard of Shinra. Yeah, right. Some deaf blind chick, maybe…
His PHS rang.
"Reno? It's Tseng. Are you anywhere near the Sector 8 Reactor? Good – listen, the new recruit's run into some anti-Shinra elements. We don't know how many, but more than she can handle. What weapons are you carrying?"
"Rod. Gun." Reno was already on his feet, running as he spoke. "Other gun. Boot knife. Wire."
"Materia?"
"A little Thundaga."
"It'll have to do. We think they're planning to blow up the reactor."
"Shit," exclaimed Reno. "What loony bin did these guys escape from?"
"We'll know soon. Rosalind's working on intel now. Whatever happens, don't let them get to the reactor. We're counting on you."
"Roger."
Reno snapped the phone shut and grinned. Reno to the rescue once again! The way he was feeling tonight, a hard fight was an even sweeter prospect than a cold beer.
Soon he came across the first bodies: several of Heidegger's grunts with their necks snapped, and the warm corpse of an freshly-killed enemy soaked in blood from head to foot. It seemed to be wearing some kind of military fatigues. Impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman: the face was obscured with goggles, and a hat like a pie had been pulled down around the ears, completely covering the hair. He ran on, passing more bodies and watching where he put his feet. The cobbles were slippery with blood. Obviously Aviva wasn't the tidy sort.
He found her at the entrance to the reactor. The door had been blown open, and six of the enemy were closing in on her. Three corpses lay on the ground with knives in their necks. Aviva stood empty handed, but dauntless.
"Hey rookie," he called, "Didn't anyone ever teach you that knives make crappy ranged weapons? Here, catch – "
He tossed her a ball of thundaga. She leapt into the air, twisting like an acrobat to catch it underhand, while the enemy, thrown off their stride by this abrupt turn of events, gawped open-mouthed. Still in mid-air she cast the materia: there was a flash and a roar and three of them lay dead as she landed with her feet neatly together. Reno swiftly eliminated the other three with his rod.
"Nice moves, rookie."
She was breathless and sweating and her eyes were fiercely grateful. "Thank you, sir. I thought I was dead there for a minute."
Sir! She'd called him "sir"! Suck on that, Cissnei!
He was feeling better already.
"How many got inside?" he asked her.
"I don't know, sir. A few."
Three more of the enemy came running round the corner. "You won't get away with this," they cried. "Death to the Shinra!"
"Yeah," said Reno. "That's original. Listen, kid, I'll hold these guys off. You go take care of the ones inside. The important thing is to protect the reactor." He shot a bolt of electricity at the enemy, forcing them back. "If the reactor blows, everyone on this plate goes with it, and everyone underneath. Understand? Here, take this -" he slipped his remaining materia into her pocket – "And these – " he thrust the two guns at her. "Now hurry!"
"Yes, sir! I won't let you down, sir!"
The darkness inside the doorway swallowed her up. Reno turned to deal with the enemy.
He wanted to take at least one of them alive for questioning, but they refused to yield. They fought like men possessed, forcing him to kill all three of them. It was only once they were dead that he was able to stand still long enough to take a good look at them. Who were they? Why were they doing this? Why were they throwing their lives away? And why were they all wearing blue goggles? It couldn't be easy to see through those things in Midgar's murky light. Was there something wrong with their eyes?
Mako sprang to mind. Could they possibly be some of the SOLDIERs who had deserted in Wutai the previous year? Was Genesis the one behind this attack? No, that made no sense – If they'd been SOLDIERs, he, Reno, wouldn't still be standing here without a scratch on him. Unless maybe they were drugged, or something…
"Impressive," said an unfamiliar voice.
Reno looked up. Just beyond the range of his EMR stood a man different from the others yet clearly one of them – their leader, probably. He was bare-faced, brown-eyed, dressed in a grey shirt and trousers, with a bandolier across his chest. A camoflage bandana held back his scruffy black hair. He looked young, but rough. He did not appear to be armed.
"Just what I would have expected from you – Reno, the fastest of the Turks," he said.
Reno stood up, holding his rod behind his back. Stealthily he felt with his thumb for the trigger. Click. Nothing. Shit. He was out of juice, and he'd given the last of his materia to the rookie.
This guy was big. Big and strong. Big and strong and slow, hopefully.
"You seem to know me," said Reno. "Have we met?"
The big guy chuckled. Reno felt a little unnerved. Did he not care, at all, that his men lay dead all around him?
The big guy said, "It's only common sense to know your enemy. But you don't know me. You may – briefly – live to regret that. Your speed will be no match for my strength."
"You think so, do you?" said Reno, stalling for time and trying to think of a plan. He still had his boot knife. If the guy had no ranged weapons, he might be able to nip inside his guard and take him before he had time to react. On the other hand, if the guy produced a gun, he was probably stuffed. Momentarily he considered running away, but knew he couldn't: Aviva already had enough on her hands. He had to hold this guy here and hope that no more came after him. "We won't know for sure until we test that out, will we?"
"Interesting," said the big guy. "Very well, I accept your challenge. Let's see the true strength of the Turks."
To an onlooker, the battle that followed might have looked like nothing more than Reno going round in circles. The big guy was slow, but he was level-headed. As Reno darted and feinted, seeking an opening, the big guy shifted on the spot, always keeping Reno straight in front. Every time Reno saw an opening and tried to close in, his move was blocked.
He began to get the distinct impression that he was being played with. This irritated him a little, until he understood its significance. If the big guy was in no hurry, that meant he didn't know there was another Turk inside the reactor – which meant he was trying to keep Reno busy here so that his own men would have time to plant their bomb. Well, two could play at that game. If there was one thing Reno was good at, it was running rings around self-righteous bastards.
Still and all, he'd be quite happy if the reinforcements arrived soon.
"You see," said the big guy, "You boastful Turks are nothing without your toys and your drugs and your magic. I stand before you as the Planet made me, my bare hands my only defense, and you cannot touch me."
"Oh man," said Reno, "Why do I always have to get the crazy ones?"
That seemed to strike a nerve. The big guy scowled and said angrily, "You're mocking me now, Shinra scum, but soon you'll be laughing on the other side of your face."
"When you rearrange my features – yeah, I get it."
Tseng, a little help here!
"By the time I'm finished with you, you'll be on your knees begging for mercy just like the one we killed up in Icicle Inn."
Reno skidded to a halt.
His heart was pounding. A red film seemed to have covered his field of vision.
"That was you?"
The big guy had been right about one thing: Reno wasn't laughing any more.
"She mocked us too," said his enemy. "She called us fools and said we were deluded. But she was the one who realized her mistake in the end."
"You're lying," said Reno. "Turks don't beg."
He launched himself like a lightning bolt, straight onto the big guy's left fist.
The other fist rammed into his gut. Reno staggered and fell. Next moment he felt himself being picked up off the ground by his hair and slammed into the wall. Before he had time to breathe, it happened again, and again; his head was about to be cracked open like a boiled egg -
"Sir!" a girl's voice rang out. "I've secured the reactor and – "
The big guy released him. He fell to the ground in a heap, face down.
"Run, rookie," he gasped. "This guy's trouble – "
The big guy's boot came down on his neck. He fell into peaceful oblivion…
.
… and came up again though a sea of silver needles, breaking the surface to suck in a lungful of air.
The girl was shaking him frantically. "Sir? Are you all right, sir?"
"What happened?" He tried to sit up, but his arms and legs wouldn't cooperate.
"I used one of your Cures, sir. It's OK, they've gone. The reactor's safe."
"How long have I been out?"
"Not long. Maybe ten minutes. That big guy was tough, sir. He dodged all my knives and knocked me down and I was sure I was a goner, but then one of the others came in and said they were going to Junon to regroup, and the big guy told this other guy to finish us off, and he left, and I killed the other one, sir."
She pointed to a corpse not far away, lying spreadeagled on the cobbles with a knife sticking out of its eye.
"Nice work," said Reno. "You saved my life, rookie."
"That makes us even then, sir."
He grinned. A little hesitantly at first, she smiled back. She had an appealing face, he realized: not pretty, perhaps, but intelligent and eager.
The numbness had faded to a tingling in his ears and fingertips. "I'd better call the Boss," said Reno, taking out his phone and beginning to dial. "Let him know what's happened."
"The boss? Oh, you mean Mr Tseng?"
"Yeah," laughed Reno. "That's who I mean. Hullo, is that Mr Tseng speaking? It's me, Reno. No, I did not get knocked on the head. I was just being polite, OK? Yes, she did. She was good. The sector's secure. Apparently they've withdrawn to regroup in Junon. Yes, I know the President is there. No, not good. What? AVALANCHE? What the fuck is that supposed to stand for? OK, whatever. Listen Boss, you need to know this. They're the ones who got Nats. I met their leader –"
"Shears," said Aviva. "That one I killed called him Shears."
"Apparently his name is Shears. No, we had a cup of tea together, what do you think? Yes, right away. Understood. Two more pistols and a crate of materia. Twenty minutes. Roger."
He turned to Aviva. "Well, no rest for the wicked. C'mon, kid. You and me are going to Junon."