CHAPTER 21: HEIDEGGER TAKES CHARGE
In which the Turks must come to terms with a change of direction, and Aviva is rescued from certain death by a tall, handsome stranger

Veld had been relieved of his command.

The Turks were stunned. They'd been expecting some kind of disciplinary action over their failure to find and silence the leak, but this was crazy; this was too extreme. To cut off their collective head, and hang it, metaphorically speaking, like a trophy from a boardroom battle! Was the Old Man going senile?

Veld broke the news and then left quickly, advising them (since it was no longer his right to give orders) that they should all get some rest: they were expected back at work tomorrow morning, same as usual. But nobody could think of sleeping. By common consent they retreated to the lounge area to discuss their situation and see if they could find some ray of hope. Reno dragged the beer crate in from the kitchen; Rosalind put the coffee on.

"What's going to happen to Commander Veld now?" asked Aviva. "I mean – he lives here. Will he have to leave, sir?"

She put the question to Tseng, who was standing by the window, arms folded, his weight thrown onto his back leg, looking as perfectly in control as he always did. The Turks were glad of his presence. Having him with them was a reassurance that their world had not been turned completely upside-down.

"He hasn't been sacked," Tseng explained. "He's still on the Board. The President's keeping him on in an advisory capacity. He'll stay in his office. But he no longer has clearance to be on this floor or involve himself in our work in any way."

"Well, that sucks," said Skeeter. "Aren't we even allowed to see him?"

Rosalind sighed. "How will we manage without him?"

"Are you taking command of us now, sir?" Cavour asked Tseng.

"For the interim," he replied, "Until one of the other Directors is given responsibility for this department."

"Who?" asked Aviva.

"Lazard would make sense," said Rosalind.

Tseng shook his head. "I doubt it will be Lazard."

"But who then? God – not Scarlett – "

"Talk about a choice of evils," said Reno.

"We don't know, so it's pointless to speculate," said Tseng firmly. "You are working yourselves up for nothing. In any case, whoever it is, we will do what it takes to forge a successful working relationship with him, or her. It's what Commander Veld would expect. We're still his Turks," Tseng's voice softened a little, "And whatever we do reflects on him. Let's give him reasons to be proud of us."

"Or he'll have our skins when he comes back," said Mozo, making them all laugh. Aviva said wistfully, "Oh, do you think he will come back, really?"

Mozo nodded. "I'll bet you anything. The Board want to give him a good slap on the wrist. But nobody can run this department like he can, and the Old Man knows it. He'll be back inside of a week, you mark my words."

The Turks were not allowed to grasp this shiny wire of hope for long. Next morning, as they sat listless and bleary-eyed at their desks, the door hissed open and Director Heidegger came in, accompanied by four of his blue-uniformed troopers and followed by an expressionless Tseng. The Director was looking extremely pleased with himself; his little eyes glinted like the black bead eyes of a stuffed toy, and his beard seemed bristlier than ever. At the sight of him, every Turk heart sank.

Little Aviva in particular shrank back, ducking her head. Rude quietly rolled his own chair forward to conceal her from view. But the blizzara he'd slipped into Heidegger's whiskey must have done the trick, for though the Director paused before speaking to take a good took round the room, he gave no sign that he recognised her.

"Attention, Turks," Heidegger boomed. "You've been nothing but a pain in the arse since the day Veld hired you, but starting today that's all going to change. I'm in charge now, and I'll see to it that you make yourselves useful. Tell me, what's my title?"

"Don't you know it, sir?" asked Reno, his face innocently bland.

From across the room Tseng shot him a warning look.

"Stupid Turk! That was a rhetorical question. Director of Public Safety Maintenance, that's who I am. Public Safety. Shinra's top priority. Don't any of you forget it. And don't make the mistake of thinking I'm a soft touch like your old boss –"

From across the room came a strangled cough.

"Tseng!" barked Heidegger.

"Just clearing my throat, sir."

"Three of you are missing. Where are they?"

"Knox is in the infirmary. He was injured in the recent action against AVALANCHE. Mink's at the branch office in Junon, working on Turk recruitment. Skeeter's on patrol in Sector 8."

"Recall him. Sector 8 is no longer Turks' jurisdiction. My army will be keeping the peace in all of Midgar from now on. And get the woman back here. I'm not wasting money recruiting more Turks. There's too many of you as it is." Heidegger paused. "Knox can stay where he is, for now. As for the rest of you, I'll let you know your orders as soon as I can think of some use for you good-for-nothing lot. That's all."

Heidegger about-faced and strutted from the room, chuckling to himself. The four grunts followed. The door slid shut.

"Prat," said Mozo.

Aviva had covered her mouth with her hands, shaking her head and muttering, "Oh, god, oh, god, oh…."

"Was that for real?" asked Rosalind, "Or did I just dream it?"

Rude reached over and laid a gentle hand on Aviva's shoulder. "It's OK," he said.

Leaning forward in his chair, Reno stared across at Tseng, who was studying the pattern of the floor tiles in a calmly thoughtful kind of way. Reno searched that impassive Wuteng face for some hint of what was going on inside, but Tseng, as ever, was unreadable. You might have thought he didn't give a damn, yet Reno knew that wasn't true. Frustrated, he exclaimed, "Boss, are you just going to stand there and take that shit?"

Tseng was a long time answering; so long, in fact, that Reno was beginning to think he hadn't heard the question, and was about to repeat it, when Tseng lifted his head and said in his coldest voice, "You shouldn't have provoked him. It was inappropriate and foolish. Fortunately for you, our new Director is somewhat… obtuse. Don't do it again."

"But the man's an insult – "

"He's our Director. We will show him all due respect."

"I'm not taking orders from Heidegger. He fucking hates us. He wants to cut us out of all the important stuff. You heard him. He's going to have us stuffing envelopes and rescuing old ladies' cats from now till the day we die, and he'll be rubbing our noses in it the whole time. What crap kind of way is that to reward our loyalty?"

"Calm down," said Rude.

"No, I fucking won't. People have died in this department protecting Shinra. Nats died. Remember? Knox nearly died two days ago. We all have scars. We get the job done and we don't expect thanks, but I'll tell you what I do expect – I expect the Old Man to have a bit more respect for what we do for him than to replace our Chief with a twat like Heidegger – "

"Reno," said Tseng, "Shut up."

At the sound of those words, anger took hold of Reno completely. He had been through so much in the last few days, and now to be silenced by Tseng when all he'd done was voice aloud what they were all thinking – it was the last straw.

He stood up. "That's it," he said. Tearing the goggles from his head, he threw them onto the desk. "The rest of you can lie down and take this crap if you want. But I quit."

He was already heading for the door; he couldn't see their faces. He could hear Rosalind, though: she was tittering in a slightly panicked way. Why was she laughing? Did she think he was joking?

"You can't quit," said Tseng calmly.

"Oh yeah? Watch me."

The force of his anger carried Reno out the door and halfway to the elevators before cooler reason began to reassert itself. Was he actually going to go through with this? Ride down that elevator, go through those front doors, walk down those steps, turn his back on all of this forever?

His hasty footsteps slowed their pace. Where was he planning to go, exactly? Where could he go? What would he do? Beyond these walls, without this suit, who would he be? Who, in the world outside Shinra, gave a shit about him? Without Rude, without Mozo and Knox, without Roz and Veev - without Tseng, damn him, and the Commander, he was nobody, and he had nobody. This job was his life. Was he really going to throw it all away because of Heidegger?

Reno stood still for a moment, thinking.

If he left, how would Cissnei know where to find him?

Anyway, he didn't have much money in his pockets, only twenty or thirty gil, and half a pack of cigarettes. That wouldn't get him very far. Maybe the best thing would be to go up to the 64th floor and run on the treadmill for a while, until he'd calmed down enough to think clearly –

"Having second thoughts about your grand gesture?" said Tseng from close behind.

Reno turned round. Tseng was holding his goggles out to him. But Reno wasn't ready to roll over just yet. He made no move to take them.

"Maybe," he said. "And maybe not."

The ghost of a smile touched Tseng's lips. "Don't let me stop you."

"Don't give me that. You wouldn't just let me leave. Would you?"

"How far do you think you'd get? Our enemies are everywhere and you are - conspicuous. Midgar's full of people with a grudge against Shinra who would love to take a pot-shot at an ex-Turk. Without that suit to protect you, you'd be dead by the end of the week."

"Yeah – well, maybe I'll do a Charlie. Switch sides, join AVALANCHE and kick Heidegger's butt."

"A tempting prospect," Tseng agreed, which was quite an admission, coming from him. "And I'm sure they'll be happy to prepare a test tube just for you."

"All right, all right," sighed Reno. "I get the point."

"I don't think you do. My point is not simply that you need us. We need you. I need you, now more than ever. I understand why you're angry, and I don't like the situation either, but we have no choice. We've been deliberately made to look incompetent."

Reno's ears pricked up. "Deliberately? You mean, set up?"

"The information leak. Don't you see? It's aimed at us. Someone at the top wants us out of the way, or at least rendered ineffective."

"You think it's Heidegger?"

"We still don't know. Whoever it is, though, they have us where they want us now, and if you walked out on us you'd be playing into their hands. Our only hope is to stick together. The Commander's taken the blame for our failure on himself in order to keep the department intact. He's put his faith in our ability to cope without him. I intend to make sure that we all get through this together, intact, so that when the Commander comes back – and he will come back – he has a team to return to."

"Well now," said Reno, "That's a chocobo of a whole different colour. There was I thinking the Old Man was treating us like crap 'coz he despises us, and now you're telling me the whole thing's a conspiracy by our enemies to destroy us. You know what, Boss? If you'd shared that with me in the first place, you could have saved me from making an ass of myself back there."

"You'd only have found some other way. Let's hope you've got it out of your system now. Could you take these things?" Tseng held up the goggles. "You look strange without them."

Reno snapped the goggles into place. The familiar pressure of their elastic strap felt good, felt right, around his head – like he was himself again.

"The Chief has a plan, right?" he said to Tseng. "To get us out of this mess?"

"He may."

Reno grinned. "So he doesn't tell you everything?"

"I certainly don't tell you everything," Tseng shot back. "Now get back to work, Reno. You've wasted enough time this morning.

.

Reno's return to the office was welcomed by a chorus of delight.

"Reno!" cried Skeeter. "Thank God!"

"You came back!" Aviva jumped out of her chair.

"You sure had us going there for a minute," Mozo grinned.

"Piss artist," laughed Rosalind. "When you threw those goggles down, I thought you really meant it."

Reno looked across at Rude, who was saying nothing. He didn't need to voice his thoughts aloud; Reno could see in his face that they were thinking the same thing: It's not just because we have nowhere else to go. It's because there's nowhere else we'd rather be.

Rude had never doubted for an instant that his partner would be back.

"Aw, give me a break, you chumps," laughed Reno, rolling his greeny-blue eyes at them. "I was just winding Tseng up."

.

Later that afternoon Reno found another postcard in his pigeonhole. This one had a picture of Sephiroth posing in front of the historic Nibelheim reactor. She must have bought a set of the things before she'd left Midgar. As with the previous card, there was nothing to indicate where it had been posted. Presumably it had come through the internal mail.

On the back she'd written: I often wonder if Tseng is getting anywhere with the Legend. Without Charlie and Nats the family feels broken. I've never got to know the rookies. It's like you've all moved on without me. Am I the black sheep now? Please don't forget me.

Meanwhile, in Tseng's office, Rufus was saying, "I'm sorry about Veld. Really, I am."

Tseng was unmoved. "You were at the meeting yesterday, he told me."

"I was, but – "

"He said you were the one egging the President on to dismiss him."

Tseng was sitting behind his open laptop, having been interrupted in the middle of reading his emails. Dark Nation lay against the closed door, purring. Rufus had been looking out the window, but when Tseng made the accusation, he turned round to defend himself.

"Do you think I wanted to say those things?" he exclaimed. "I have to follow the script I'm given, the same as everyone else. Whenever my father has to make an unpopular decision, he likes to make it look as if someone else has talked him into it. That way he always has a fall guy to blame. You know what a devious bastard he is."

Like father, like son, thought Tseng. Although it was perfectly possible that what Rufus was saying was true.

Rufus went on, "The one good thing about having Heidegger appointed to replace Veld is that he's guaranteed to make a mess of it. He's an out-and-out military man; he doesn't understand the first thing about running an organization like the Turks. It won't be long before he shoots himself in the foot, and then my father will see he's made a mistake and reinstate Veld. It would have been worse if he'd assigned someone who might actually make a half-decent job of directing this department. Someone like Scarlet, for instance. Or – "

A sudden thought, the suggestion of a probability, crossed Tseng's mind. "Did you think it would be you?" he asked.

Bull's-eye. Rufus stammered, faltered, and fell silent. A dark blush spread across his face, right to the roots of his hair. Tseng was surprised to see it. He hadn't thought it possible ever to put this boy out of countenance.

He said, "If you grow up to be half the man Commander Veld is, you might just be fit for the post, some day. Don't try to run before you can walk."

"Actually," said Rufus, cheeks still burning, "I was expecting my father to appoint you."

"I would not presume to step into the Commander's shoes. Now, as you can see, I'm very busy – "

"Can't I stay here? If you're using your laptop I could work on your other computer."

"Work?" Tseng raised an eyebrow.

"I've written a new hack program. I want to see if I can break into the First Midgar bank site. I know you've already got a program that does that, but I want to try to do it myself. I promise not to disturb you."

Something about the boy made it hard to say no. Maybe it was because Rufus was so impatient to grow up and do something; Tseng could sympathize with that. By the time he was Rufus' age, he'd already been working as a Turk for three years. Or maybe it was simply because Rufus' attempts to impress him flattered his ego, reminding him of his own younger self, hungry for Veld's approval.

In any case, wasn't it better that Rufus remain here under Tseng's watchful eye, than be off making trouble somewhere else?

"All right," said Tseng. "If you work quietly."

Rufus settled himself at the console; Tseng returned to his emails and tried to concentrate. He did not really like having other people in his space when he was working, and the sound of Rufus's fingernails clicking as they flew over the keys was distracting him. The boy typed very fast. He was sitting straight up in his chair, not slouching as most people did; his elbows were tucked in neatly and his head was slightly inclined, his fair hair falling over his forehead. In his pristine white suit, with his polished shoes and his pearl cufflinks, he was the very epitome of gilded youth.

Looking at him made Tseng feel old. When had the soft-cheeked child in the sailor suit, peering in fascination down the barrel of Tseng's gun, become this lanky, elegant adolescent? Yet there were some things about Rufus that never changed. His determination to have his own way - and his beauty; yes, even Aerith, as a child, had found Rufus' beauty irresistible. Where did those good looks come from? Lazard's long face was intelligent rather than handsome, and as for the Old Man – surely he had never been much to look at, even before age and the corruption of power had robbed him of whatever charms he'd once possessed. Tseng had not known Rufus' mother, who had died when her son was born, but according to Veld she had been lovely, so presumably it was from her that he'd inherited that silky hair and petal skin, those refined features, those cobalt blue eyes.

Do I have a weakness for beautiful things? Tseng wondered. Is that why I put up with him? There's little enough in the way of beauty to be found round here, god knows…

On the fifteenth day of his reign as Head of the Department of Administrative Research, Director Heidegger received a warning from the Military Academy's intelligence unit of suspicious activity in the Junon area. He immediately put every available Turk into one helicopter (disregarding Veld's ironclad rule of no more than three Turks to a chopper, lest half the department be lost in a single accident) and shipped them down to Junon with vague orders to split up, patrol the city, and report any concerns to him immediately. This, as Reno was not slow to point out, was the kind of work any sharp-eyed child of ten could do.

Tseng did not seriously expect trouble, and he doubted whether Heidegger did, either. These rumours were merely an excuse to get the Turks out of Midgar. Barely a fortnight had passed since the destruction of AVALANCHE'S northern base. They could not possibly have regrouped in such a short space of time.

So he thought. But he could not have been more wrong.

AVALANCHE launched their attack with precision timing, advancing into Junon from every side in numbers that defied all probability. Tseng's phone was jammed with incoming calls: Aviva at the harbour, Reno in lower Junon, Rude in upper Junon, Mozo by the submarine docks, Cavour at the airport, all of them simultaneously asking for help that he could not provide. Within minutes the situation had turned desperate.

Swallowing his pride, Tseng dialed Heidegger's number.

Their new Director had promised he would send in his army at the first sign of trouble. That would have been bad enough – the last thing poor beleaguered Junon needed was another pitched battle running through its streets. But when Tseng called for help, Heidegger's response was to do nothing. His troops sat tight in their fortified barracks, watching through their windows while Junon was overrun – waiting, on Heidegger's orders, for every last Turk to be exterminated. That must be the truth of the matter, Tseng now realized. No other explanation made sense.

It was all coming clear to him. Heidegger was the one who had set them up. He was the leak, the mole, the enemy. Reno had had the right idea: get out while the going was good. But he, Tseng, had talked him out of it. What a fool he'd been! Why had he summoned Skeeter back from Sector 8 on that morning when Heidegger took charge? Why hadn't he told the boy to find somewhere to hide? And Mink – he could have warned her. He could have said, run, run anywhere, but don't come back to Midgar. But what had he done? He'd obeyed their new Director, and ordered her home. Heidegger's accomplice, that's who he'd been.

He had been given leadership, and he had led his team astray.

In desperation he dialed Veld's number.

"We're all going to die here!" he shouted down the phone. "Help us!"

He hadn't heard from Rude or Rosalind for over twenty minutes, and believed they were both already dead.

"What do you think I can do?" demanded Veld. "Don't do this to me." Before Tseng could speak again, he hung up.

Tseng tried calling the others, but they didn't answer. If they were still alive, their hands were full. He was on his own. Staying alive was the priority now; Tseng wanted desperately, passionately, by any means, to live, so that he could get back to Midgar and kill Heidegger with his own hands.

Coming upon a lone AVALANCHE operative who had unwisely ventured up a dark alley, Tseng snapped his neck, put on his uniform, and took his weapons. Then he tacked himself on to the tail end of an enemy unit heading up towards the airport. In this way he managed to pass through three roadblocks, and was coming to the service lift when he felt his phone vibrate. Looking both ways to make sure that nobody was watching, he nipped in through the door of the nearest house, and found himself in somebody's living room. Four terrified pairs of eyes stared at him over the back of a sofa.

"There's no cause for alarm," Tseng told them as he took out his phone. "I'm with Shinra."

"That's reassuring," muttered one of the pairs of eyes.

"Tseng?" said the voice at the other end of the line, the voice he'd longed above all others to hear.

"Commander!"

"That's right. I'm back in charge. President's orders. Now listen closely, here's what I want you to do…"

Nor was this the only white rabbit their magician of a Commander pulled out of his miracle hat that day. Aviva, having thrown her last knife and used all her materia, was running for her life when she rounded a corner of the harbour wall and came face to face with a tall stranger in a dark blue zippered suit who was, without doubt, the coolest person she had ever set eyes on in her entire life, even counting Reno. He had long reddish-blond hair, thick sideburns, and dark sunglasses, and he was standing quite still in the midst of all the chaos, chewing ruminatively on a smouldering cigar. In one hand he held what looked like a chain of small grenades strung along a fuse. Raising the end of the fuse to his cigar, he lit it; then he took the cigar out of his mouth and smiled at her, "Hey, cutie. Are you on my team?"

Breathless, she nodded. "They're right - behind me -"

Three AVALANCHE operatives came pelting round the corner, saw the stranger, and stopped.

"Present for you," he said, tossing the string of grenades in their direction. Then he grabbed Aviva's hand and told her, "Run!"

They didn't quite get far enough. The force of the blast threw Aviva onto her face, skinning her chin, rupturing her spleen, and fracturing her right femur in two places. Gobbets of AVALANCHE flesh showered down on her. "Ah, sweet," said her saviour.

He bent over her and pushed her hair back to look at her face. She heard him say, "Is the old boy snatching them out of the cradle?"

"My leg's broken," Aviva groaned.

A hail of bullets fell around them. "Can't stop now," he told her. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder; the pain was so intense she screamed. He spat out the cigar, and with his teeth pulled the pin from another grenade, throwing it forward to clear a path and diving for cover behind an empty cargo container. At this point Aviva realised she was about to pass out. But first -

"Who are you?" she gasped.

"Some people call me the Legend," he said. "But you, doll-face, can call me Charlie."

Whatever it was that Commander Veld said or did to make the President change his mind, the Turks never found out. He didn't tell them, and they, of course, didn't ask. Tseng waited to be told (he did not presume to expect) but Veld's silence on the subject was absolute. It was as if he'd never been away.

Charlie was more forthcoming. "He begged me," he told Tseng. "He said if I didn't get over to Junon and save your skins, you'd all die. Never thought I'd hear the old boy grovel like that to anyone. He was practically weeping. Finally I had to say yes just to make him stop. So then he said, 'Go outside', and I went outside, and what did I see? A chopper, coming down to get me. He must have sent it for me at least an hour before he picked up the phone."

They were sitting together in one of Charlie's old Sector 8 haunts, tucked away along a back alley and down a dark flight of stairs. A bar of sorts, with no name, but known as Augusto's after the owner, it was in fact the owner's small front room, where his pretty daughter served the drinks. Charlie and Tseng were the only customers. Augusto, who knew the score, had cleared everyone else out and locked the door. They were drinking dry, dry sherry, grown on the southern slopes of the mountains between Costa and Corel. Tseng had wondered how such a tiny bar could make a living, until he saw the price of a single glass of the ruddy nectar.

"The old maestro played me like a violin," Charlie added, eyes crinkling with amusement. "He knew all along I'd say yes."

The room was dim, lit by the sallow glow from a single old-fashioned gas lamp set on the table. Charlie had pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. The flickering light sunk the two men's eyes into darkness and carved shadows under their cheekbones.

"We owe you our lives," said Tseng. "You turned the tide yesterday. AVALANCHE recognised you, of course."

"It looks like the Legend's not quite the washed-up has-been you thought, doesn't it?" Charlie smiled at Tseng and lit another one of his cigars. Tseng preferred them to Reno's cheap cigarettes; their aroma was rich and sweet. The Legend had always had expensive tastes.

"It's good to see Moe and Roz and Rude again," said Charlie. "And Reno's grown up, eh? What hard eyes he's getting. Your new kids have a lot of promise. I liked that little one. Feisty. How is she? Any word?"

"They had to put two pins in her leg to keep it straight before they could Cure her. You were right not to, Charlie; you'd have lamed her for life."

"Old Charlie knows what he's doing."

"I wish you'd change your mind and stay."

Charlie chuckled. "That's something else I never thought I'd live to hear. I appreciate it, kiddo, but it wouldn't work. Too much water under the bridge. And that office isn't big enough for the both of us. It'll be better for everyone if I stay in Junon and take my orders straight from Veld. Special missions. Lone wolf. That's my style."

"I can't argue with that," said Tseng. "Still, the mere fact that you're back on board will make a big difference. Our enemies have perceived us as weak. That should change now."

"When Veld called me," said Charlie, leaning back in his chair, "He said 'the war's not over'. Is that what this is, Tseng? A war?"

"To the death, I think," Tseng replied.

"Ah. Good." A broad grin creased Charlie's tanned face. "Because that's just the way I like it."