Costa del Sol. One of the many things the government of Junon controlled, Yuffie Kisaragi learned, was who could travel across the Mediterranean Ocean; not that they particularly cared, to her surprise. Booking passage by a passenger liner to Costa del Sol wasn't just cheaper than she expected, it took less time: a clerk in the black uniform of the Junon Navy stared at her through the ticket counter's glass window, raised one of her eyebrows, then slid back her passport, printed a ticket from under her counter and stamped it with green ink.
"That's it? You don't need to…get clearance from some admiral somewhere?" she asked skeptically.
"This isn't the air force, miss," the woman behind the counter jeered shortly. "Next!"
She learned the context of the joke soon after: there was no major airfield at Costa del Sol, and no civilian seaplanes with long enough range to cross the Sea of Glass, which she suspected was owed to Junon's known seizure of civilian aircraft. Thus, commercial crossing was mostly limited to a few different shipping companies, namely the Green Star Line, the Junon State Mail Corporation, and the Shinra Transport and Shipping Corporation. All of these corporations, with the obvious exception of Shinra, had served transoceanic routes including the legendary Junon-Wutai route before the start of the first war, under familiar sounding names. More than a century later, there wasn't much risk of being torpedoed by a submarine and sunk by a dive bomber, she thought.
Even if that wasn't true, I don't like relying on Reeve for everything. She heard, a hundred years ago and before Imperial Wutai crossed the Sea of Glass, transoceanic travel was relatively common, the sort of thing the average person might do at least once in a lifetime. By Shinra's time after decades of war, it was largely the domain of the wealthier classes, and of Shinra's employees on business. Transcontinental air travel was almost exclusively used by the highest military and corporate leaders.
"Good morning, the Oceanic will be departing for Costa del Sol's Westport in two hours. Boarding begins in forty minutes."
Now, that meant two groups: the leaders of the World Regenesis Organization, and the Polaris Air Force. Remnants of Shinra's worldwide Peace Preservation forces.
Going with the W.R.O. would've been more convenient. She'd always traveled light; the TC-5500 reel-to-reel was an unusual case. Crammed into the same carrying case were what paper notes she had, scrawled out in her own messy handwriting. A loose sheet's corner stuck out from underneath the lid; after sitting down on a bench near the arrivals, she opened the lid and pulled out of her papers and attempted to organize them again. At the top of the first sheet on the stack, a handwritten question: Who is Thomas Kessler really?
At least I don't have to deal with that jerk. She was still smarting over the weapons demonstration she'd been tricked into witnessing by the Junon Navy. Of course, she'd "made her report" to Reeve; or in her case, she'd left an angrily-shouting voicemail with his office with a rough description of what she'd seen, man-portable guided missiles capable of tracking and downing a cargo aircraft. Reeve knew better than to respond; there'd be a clandestine investigation by professionals in the W.R.O., and since there was currently nothing illegal or treaty-violating about such a weapon being developed, that was all that could be done until the W.R.O. could take some more drastic measure, like change the law. They can change the law, or they can try and develop their own missiles. The later was a realistic solution, it just happened that Edge was at a disadvantage in this particular area, whereas they could otherwise out-research, out-design and above all out-spend the State of Junon. The whole point of seizing half of Shinra was that we'd never have to purchase anything from the other half ever again. If there's one thing Junon's probably losing to us in, it's political incompetency. She had to unclench her jaw at the thought.
"Uh, excuse me, ma'am?"
She returned to mundane reality and looked over her knees to see a steward in the uniform of the Green Star Line corporation staring up at her from the promenade deck.
"What?"
"Ma'am, you can't be sitting up there," the young man explained in a tone suggesting the reason why was self-evident. "Safety regulations," he added nonetheless.
Yuffie stared down at him, remembering where she was: sitting atop the third in the long row of wooden-hulled lifeboats that lined the beginning and end of the promenade deck's starboard side. She sheepishly lowered herself from the high vantage point atop the lifeboat and back onto the deck, looking back and forth. "Hey, how many of these things do you have?"
The steward raised his eyebrows at the question. "Lifeboats, ma'am? We have twelve of these, six on either side, and four collapsible boats in storage."
She smirked. "That's a lot. How many people can each of them hold, like fifty?"
"Sixty adults, ma'am." He guessed her next question from her expression. "When this ship launched before the war, its maximum capacity was closer to two-thousand passengers and crew. Of course, we don't actually carry that many people."
"What exactly were they afraid of? Icebergs?" she scoffed.
He sighed. "Not at this latitude ma'am. More like a serious hurricane or tropical cyclone." He paused. "Or a submarine attack. There are still a lot of submarines in service even today."
She laughed loudly, catching the steward off guard. Joke's on them then. After the Hundred Years War, Wutai didn't even have any more submarines. Even she was aware of that much. She'd been on a submarine, a consequence of AVALANCHE's hunt for Shinra's weaponized materia at the conclusion of the Jenova War, one of the oceangoing Type UV submarine cruisers that Shinra used as transports after the war. She remembered the surprisingly wide corridors, lined with creaking pipes and annoying fluorescent lights; she remembered the nausea sitting next to Cloud Strife in the heavily-computerized control room. There was an unpleasant feeling in her stomach and she had the overwhelming desire to climb off the lifeboat.
The rest of the traversal of the Mediterranean Ocean was as uneventful as intended, with the sole interruption of the rendezvous with a W.R.O. Coastguard cutter barely a day out of port, a usual display of jurisdictional pride that the Junon Navy also engaged in. The three-day traversal brought the ship across the equator and into the northern hemisphere and eventually to Costa del Sol, on the eastern tip of the Zapada Peninsula.
"Welcome to Horizon Seaport at Costa del Sol. The local time is 6:40 PM, please follow the marked path to the Arrivals Center and have your customs and-or immigration paperwork at hand. Thank you for traveling with the Green Star Line."
Yuffie couldn't prevent giving an annoyed grunt. Maybe we needed to bring down Shinra and all, but I don't think letting Costa del Sol have its own government was such a good idea. But then, in the absence of the Shinra Corporation, the establishment of a local government for the whole Zapada Peninsula was probably inevitable. The real issue was that it was one uncooperative to the W.R.O., thanks to the influence of the Junon Navy, the influence she could see even before disembarking the Oceanic.
To start, a pair of Junon Navy submarines were surfaced and moored at the pier past the Oceanic, pre-war designs built by Shinra sometime before she was born, of the Type B2 submarine model. Even before the retirement of mako energy, the navy had gone back to thin, sleeker, and less capable underwater cruisers propelled by diesel engines. Sailors in the same white-and-blue uniforms as she saw on the other side of the Sea of Glass scurried around carrying crates or food or supplies, or flirting with bikini-clad tourists while their ranking officers ground their teeth impatiently. "No escaping you guys, is there?" she muttered under her breath.
The military presence aside, Costa del Sol remained just as she remembered it from three years earlier: that sunny seaside resort town removed from the melancholy of the rest of the world. There were longer beaches, a few more bars, and a larger hotel, the uncreatively named Hotel del Sol; apparently, a surefire way to mark out tourists was how they pronounced the word "hotel" in the name, and not whether or not they knew that comparatively modest Shinra Villa was part of that establishment.
"Hey, marshmallow men. Where's the travel office?" she snapped at a pair of Junon Navy sailors in matching uniforms, catching them off guard.
It was a rare break of good news: Costa del Sol was home to the best travel agencies in the region, possibly the continent. She had enough money to make the necessary arrangements to travel inland to the west, underneath the Sunset Mountains, and into the Corel Valley, the largest population hub in the western continent.
Not many reasons to stay in Corel. There are plenty of stories from people wronged by Shinra in the most obvious ways, and some people even willing to share them, but it's nothing people haven't already heard. Besides, with the Gold Saucer dominating the entire non-rentier economy, it's not exactly easy to distinguish between who had their lives destroyed when Shinra razed Corel, and who just got their butt thrown out of the Gold Saucer by angry bookies.
Deepground hadn't taken much interest in Corel. Probably because the population was largely rural and concentrated near the Sunset Mountains, unsuitable for their trademark smash-and-grab tactics. Those who had been abducted might not be reported for months.
Monopolizing the small table in the travel agency's office, Yuffie traced an index finger across the unfolded paper map across the eastern half of the western continent. "From Corel, take the only civilian train through the Polaris-controlled Alps, exit at the old Nibel train depot. Check in with August at that creepy ghost town, then it's a straightforward hike to the Mt. Nibel Reactor."
Behind the front desk, a wide-eyed travel agent in jean shorts, a bikini top and a conspicuous tan pulled her sunglasses over her forehead. "Uh…ma'am…?"
"'Gotta see if they have reliable train schedules in Corel Township yet," she muttered, rising to her feet and putting a hand on either hip.
"Ma'am?"
What, cashier bimbo? "What?"
"I'm supposed to warn you…if you're traveling west of Corel Township, you'll be crossing over out of W.R.O. jurisdiction and into disputed foreign territory…"
"…controlled by the Polaris Airbase, yeah, I know. Do your job and print the ticket." Her eyes wandered to her traveling case, and a thought occurred to her. "How has business been anyway? Since Junon took over, I mean."
The travel agent still looked a little bewildered, but sat down behind her desk, crossing one leg over the other. "Well, it hasn't fully recovered since the Deepground…thing. But I don't think that's necessarily the military's fault. Really, business was already starting to turn down as we got fewer refugees on their way west. We do actually get a decent amount of business from the military, mostly sailors on leave."
"Mostly?"
A look of concentration descended on the woman's face, in contrast with her leisured appearance, as she took a packet of papers from underneath her desk and folded them into a pamphlet. "Yeah, it's weird. You think with all those ships and planes and submarines, the Junon Navy wouldn't need to hire out travel companies. I guess they're short on trains. You know there are two submarines docked at the pier right now?"
"I noticed," Yuffie replied suspiciously, taking the pamphlet. Apparently Junon has money to burn if they can't move enough of their own men around.
"That'll be seven thousand two hundred gil, Miss."
"What?" Yuffie gawked at travel agent. "For a bus pass and a train ticket? That's practically extortion!" Even before the travel agent could offer a rebuttal, she gave as growl and began fishing currency out one of her vest pockets: a 5,000-gil bank note, a 1000-gil bank note, and for silver-colored holed coins, and barely resisted the urge to throw it in a handful at the agent, instead slamming it on the table and leaving in a fury.
"Thank you for your business!" an unsteady voice called after her.
It would've been cheaper to bribe the military for a ride, she thought. I should've gotten Priscilla to quote me the rates. Travel papers jammed in one pocket and luggage slung over her shoulder, she plopped down on an empty bench and gave a sigh. Expensive bus tickets. A train ride through Corel Township, Barret's hometown before Shinra had destroyed it and sent him running to Midgar to join a revolution. Nibelheim, the hometown of Tifa and Cloud; she'd given no indication to either of them she'd be going there. Barret wouldn't be surprised; it was practically impossible for anyone to travel to the western continent without stopping in the Corel region, at least any civilian. But Tifa wouldn't be so understanding about Nibelheim. Cloud would just be Cloud.
"I was born in Junon. I fled with its refugees through the Marches when it fell to Wutai. I was conscripted into the Grand Army of Midgar as a teenager, and fought at Fort Condor, Fortress Junon, Corel, and Nibelheim." Victor Io's soft, storytelling voice echoed in her mind. She would've like to have gotten that on tape, but at the time, Io was just some strange vagrant lurking in another man's backyard. All those hometowns, excluding Fort Condor, sites of battles fought before any of them were born.
Still sitting on the bench, she took out her PHS and flipped it open. A single text message was waiting for her. "Want to talk, call me when you're free." From the boss, Chairman Tuesti. Another sigh. Gawd, I hope he doesn't ask me any questions about the missile tests, she thought while she picked out Reeve's number with one hand and put her forehead in the other. Even she knew her report-writing was questionable at best.
The long-distance call was connected swiftly. "Reeve? It's Yuffie."
That familiar, fatherly voice answered, the picture of reasonability. "Yuffie, thank you for calling it, I'm sorry to interrupt your work." A gracious pause. "How's the weather in Costa del Sol? Better than here, I hope."
She scowled. "How'd you know I was in the west?" Still, she thought about it: it did seem to constantly rain at the W.R.O.'s mountain headquarters. Even in the winter, when it ought to snow presumably.
She could practically hear Reeve holding back laughter. "Don't worry, Yuffie, I'm not having you followed. We wouldn't really be doing our jobs if we couldn't do something as simple as trace PHS calls, and Shelke's work has made it a great deal more efficient. I'm thinking of sending her to work in the Directory in Kalm, but she's not impressed by the idea."
"Yeah, can't imagine why," Yuffie replied, putting as much evident boredom in her voice as she could manage.
"But you didn't call me to hear about my problems. Listen, I…I heard you might be on your way to Nibelheim, is that true?"
Suspicion replaced boredom. "You're sure you're not having me followed? I wasn't gonna' defect to Polaris if that's what you think," she chided him.
"I know, I know! August Fitzroy checked in after you left Junon. Listen, Yuffie…" An uncomfortable pause. "…I know you need to do things your way. I've always respected that, even back in when we were in AVALANCHE."
She rolled her eyes as he continued. "I trust that you know what you're doing. Actually, I just wanted to ask you for a favor if you were going up that way." Another gracious pause. "I know you've heard we've been busy with talks with the government in Junon."
"Yeah, how's that been going?"
A gracious chuckle. "Not well, unfortunately. Don't worry, it's probably not your problem. But there was a telefax from the Junon Foreign Ministry that brought up an unpleasant reminder: do you remember the Shinra Mansion? In Nibelheim?"
"Sure I do. What, does Vincent need me to save his life there again? I'm seein' a pattern here."
A hollow chuckle. "No. Since you and Vincent chased out the Deepground Army, it's been occupied, or 'administered' as they would put it, by Junon's collaborators in the west, the Polaris Air Force, citing the presence of the old mako reactor and their alleged treaty obligations, along with Shinra's estate. You're familiar with the second one, I know. What I don't think you know is that the military out there has been using it as a branch office, along with holding one political prisoner."
She remembered Kessler's unsubtle hinting. "Ilyich?"
"The very same." Reeve sounded impressed, though she wasn't sure why; the name alone was memorable. "He was always a person-of-interest but was swept up in the Deepground abductions, probably coincidentally. Since then, the military's kept him under lock and key but his name comes up in the diplomatic circles periodically. It's not that we're sympathetic to his politics…"
"But he's got followers in Junon and that makes him useful?" she asked, unimpressed.
"Potentially yes. Yuffie, I'm not asking you to do anything foolish, just…check in on him. See if he's even still there. If they're feeding him. If he's still writing; he used to be a prodigious writer. You know how political prisoners worked under Shinra, we don't really expect it to be all that different under the military, but we're not getting any information anymore. He's not a young man either." A pause. "Who knows. If you're actually able to talk to him, he might make for a good interview."
She sighed. "So, Tifa told you? Why not, I don't have anything to hide. Want me to send you my manuscript when I'm done?"
"Come on, Yuffie. You don't have a manuscript."
"You know me too well," she mumbled.
"Just ask to see him. Or don't, if you don't need to. You don't need me to tell you how to do your job, of course not." A thoughtful pause. "We just want to confirm if Ilyich is there. It'd be a big help, and we know we can depend on you. I know we can depend on you."
After sighing again, she flipped the PHS shut and tapped it against her forehead twice. Reeve knows me too well. She never liked that about him, especially before they'd met after the destruction of Midgar and Shinra, but for some reason it had only started to genuinely bother her in the wake of what happened with Deepground. What he was asking for wasn't unreasonable; she'd been in Nibelheim anyway, led on a probably foolish goose chase by Barret's alleged contact, if anything it gave her an opportunity to do something that might be useful. But she didn't like it. Maybe it was the quarrel with Junon over the weapons inspectors and now their new antiaircraft weapon, or maybe it was the scandal with Hart. If Reeve her better than she knew herself, than she had a problem.
Despite herself, she regretted hanging up. I should've asked him who Aske was.
Author's Notes:
Another update later than I'd like, but frankly not as late as my other stories. The pace at work is shifting and, accordingly, I have more time to write assuming I don't squander it watching YouTube (I usually do), but on top of that I'm also juggling three other stories of varying degrees of difficulty to write. I have been looking forward to bringing Yuffie to the western continent, even if this was another transition chapter (though at least this one was relatively short, which has always been a problem for me). I believe this is also the first conversation of substance we have featuring the man himself, Reeve Tuesti; how did it sound? As usual, feedback is much appreciated—for a story that feels "about halfway completed", in particular (hopefully I'll be mindful enough to increase my pace of writing, and it doesn't take three years to finish, something I can't necessarily say about my other stories. Still haven't played the remake on my PlayStation 4, but I have more games that I have time for (I'd like to finish Halo Infinite, The Medium, Manifold Garden and CrisTales, just to start). Please don't hesitate to leave me a review, and thank you for reading!