by K.A. Rose
-----
Flash Fifth
Veld frowned at the dial tone.
"Bombing again," he said. "Seems we've lost the
signal."
Rudolfo de la Cal Fernández Esperanto Delgado
Galván Sanz was over by the picture window with Rufus Shinra, squeaking
a doggie toy in the teen's disinterested face. Apparently latest efforts
at entertaining the child were still not going over too well.
Artemus Veld possessed an office half a soldier's
library and half an elephant graveyard, in that this was often where Turks
came to die, as chance had it. At the moment there was just him and his
books and paperwork --he'd forgotten how much paperwork there could be
until Tseng wasn't around to do most of it-- and 100% of his available
fighting force offering squeaky toys to a 14-year-old boy. By their feet
were abandoned board games, coloring books, Army Action Sephiroth dolls
with kung-fu grip, and a host of other failures. Who would have thought
baby-sitting would be this impossible?
Squeak. Squeeeeaak.
Right now, Veld thought, Tseng was probably praying
to gods he didn't believe in to let him come back to this shit. Artifice,
was what it was, a fake city, with arbitrary rules and accommodations,
and the president shifting his kid onto his secret service while he went
to dinner. The City Watch was thinking it owned the streets when all it
did was shout its murders louder.
There was the thing that was really itching in Veld's
skull. They screamed about the atrocities of deaths Over There when something
ten times worse was going on just in the alley by their apartment. War
was only different because it had rules, and the brass liked to think their
soldiers over there were playing by them.
Tseng hadn't mentioned if he'd gotten heat yet.
Or what the turn-out had been. It wouldn't be the first time he'd kill
someone but the connotation was far different now...
Squeak.
"This is stupid," Rufus Shinra informed them. "What
d'you think I am, five?"
"Don't you have friends you could be spending time
with, sir?" Veld tried, helplessly.
"Everyone my age is an idiot," the boy sniffed.
"And everyone older's gone and enlisted. When is Tseng coming back?"
"I'm anticipating delays now."
Squeeeeaaak.
"Rude," said Veld.
"Sorry," said Rude. He dropped the toy.
They walked the corridors, on Rufus's prodding.
With the Guard taking over most of patrol Veld and Rude were reduced in
their active capacity, so it was more management now, and more time, and
less of an idea what the hell to do with themselves.
If nothing else, they already had a baby to take
care of. But that baby was away in war, and he'd taken their paper clerk
with them.
You think he'll die? Rude had asked when
they were seeing the plane off at Junon.
We deal with death on a daily basis, Veld
had answered. That's why they pay us so much. And why we never bother
to use any of it. No, you don't want to think about it.
"Look," Rufus said, stopping them at a window.
There was a riot down on the streets below, a swarming
mass of bright bodies surging against a line of City Guard police. Maybe
three or four hundred in all, most with signs or banners, chants lost through
distance and the glass.
It was a sad sight. Sad, poor, pathetic sight. They
would be college students, most of them, the poor and thought-they-were-educated.
They'd never get drafted, or need the money enough to enlist. They didn't
know the kind of hardship that pushed a lot of those soldiers to go where
they did. All they knew were rights and ideals, without any comprehension
how little any of that applied outside of a damn textbook.
A glorious way to live, maybe. But not the way the
world was choosing to work.
While they watched, a few other employees on their
floor wandered by, paused for a few moments, and moved on. One stuck around,
his suit jacket shabby and big shucks of paperwork under his arms, a bit
like a folk singer would look if you tried to give him a job.
"Sick, isn't it," the secretary from Urban Development
murmured.
"It's all sick to you," Veld told him. "You built
this. Any movement but what you intended must looked like a clogged artery."
"I'm sorry that I've built this, then," said Reeve
Tuesti.
"You're sure you want to tell that kind of thought
to me?"
"They'll turn on the hoses soon," Reeve tossed out
instead, still watching with his nose pressed to the glass. "You ever been
a father and watched your kid grow up as a monster, 'cause you weren't
careful enough what you gave him?"
Veld wasn't caring to answer. "Reeve," he said.
"Yeah?"
"You will take off that peace button."
"Freedom of expression, Art."
"No such thing when you're corporate. We're not
students anymore, Tuesti. We can't afford to toe lines that don't serve
us."
"And I know the books in the false walls of your
shelf," the secretary told him, eyes sliding over. "I think maybe I gave
you some of those."
Veld said nothing. He was aware the boy Rufus was
staring at them.
"Where are your men, Art?" Reeve asked. "Off fighting
for our freedom by slitting wute throats, like the rest of them?"
The license we take with old classmates...
"Find somewhere else to have an agenda, Reeve."
Down at the gates, the head of the Guard made a
signal and sicced the hoses on the crowd. It was like watching the scurry
of ants after you kicked the hill apart. See them run, struggle, go in
circles and tear away.
Next they'd start arresting people. The fighters,
usually, the ones that stuck it out, struggled through the spray shouting
slogans, hair in their face, peace symbols splashed on their cheeks like
running warpaint, bloody knuckles and rings and clanging necklaces, kicking
and biting and screaming insurrection.
They had a few girls in there, Veld could see even
at this distance. Tough, lithe little figures with their beaded hair flying,
those picket signs of theirs they swung around like paper morning stars.
The guards went after them last. They always did. It looked bad on the
news.
Veld looked over at the others. Rude appeared disconcerted,
but that was his soleil values talking. Reeve, Veld didn't care how indignant
he looked, he knew he wasn't going anywhere with it.
Rufus was absolutely enraptured.
Puzzled, the chief of T.U.R.K.S. looked back to
the scene.
There was a single girl down there now, the only
one left. A lone fighter female with auburn hair, with that warpaint bleeding
down her skin, silent animal howl at her lips while she kicked a policeman's
head in with her heavy snow boots.
Not the Palmer's daughter type, but Veld supposed
it had to happen eventually.
"You know," Rufus said, so suddenly the sound made
the others' ears twinge. "How come no one asks me what I think? I've got
thoughts about war too."
"It must be great being young in this age," Reeve
Tuesti sighed at the glass, as the police at last hauled the girl into
the back of the van. "When every thought's on fire in your head. You remember
the war with del Sol when we were undergrads, Art? Now you've got a soleil
on your payroll. But we've had a Little Wutai in Midgar for as long as
we've had a city. They built the trains. Their kids fill our universities
and design all our computers and weapons systems. And we go out into the
jungle to cut their throats for our 'freedom.'"
"What do you think about this, sir?" Veld humored,
instead of answering Reeve.
"I think we're bored," said Rufus. "We started a
war because we're bored and we like the movies too much."
The Sector 1 jail was full up again, so they moved
the kids to a cell block on the Sector 2 plate. They stuffed them in fifteen
or twenty to a cell and let them squat around hunkered and sober in their
drenched tie-dye and smeared face paints, burning jungle of greens and
pinks and blues. They taunted from the bars, jeered statistics and insults,
or chanted, deep tribal voices and stomping their feet in time on the rotted
cement floor.
The girl, more young woman, with the wild burnt-red
hair, sat on the cot with five others, slapping knees as they sang.
Her voice could go deep and matched the men's if
she wanted, as they chanted through the old protest tunes. Guitar barely-rhyming
solos they'd heard until memorized, could march and breathe to, and breathed
to now 'cause they could and fuck anyone who told them to shut up. If they
were planning to shut up they'd have gone back to their schools and classes
and jobs, but they were here and alive and on fire and no pig with a hose
could douse that out, goddamn. So they sang.
"You put a gun in my hand and you hide from my
eyes."
"Dun, du-dun-dun."
"And you turn and run, Father, when the fast
bullets fly."
"Dun, du-dun-dun."
"You fasten all the triggers for the others to
fire."
"Dun, du-dun-dun."
"And then you sit back and watch, while the death
count gets higher."
"Dun, du-dun-dun."
"You hide in your mansion while the young people's
blood..."
"Dun, du-dun-dun."
"...flows out of their bodies and's buried in
the mud."
"How long'll they keep us?" said Shears beside her.
"They didn't even give the charges. Fuck free assembly, man."
"It was worse three years back in Kalm," Elfe answered.
She flexed her knuckles. They'd gotten bloody by the end. "University students
doing a demonstration in front of the admin tower. They got the City Watch
together and opened fire on all of 'em. Six dead and eight wounded, and
no one even told a cop to fuck off."
"Shit," hissed another, adjacent. You shared conversations
in a huddle like this. "And they think they can get away with this. We've
got our rights."
"No one stands up, this's what happens," Elfe said,
resigned, letting arms fall between her knees. "ShinRa's getting Domino
to sign shit that ain't even legal, his staff's not even reading it before
they pass it into law. You and I know more about it than they do. They're
approving all of ShinRa's budgets, all the action plans, defending every
bit of shit someone catches them for. Violating basic Midgardian rights
and spying on their mail, on their work, on their kids. You could do jack
shit all day and your name goes through thirteen different computer systems,
and why?"
"Fake war," said someone in a corner.
"Fake war," the others chorused.
"Seize their property, take their money on jack
taxes. Sell their kids to the war and sell us to the hive." She stood up
and spread her bangled, braceletted hands. "Burn out history and steal
our lives! Take all we're proud of as humans and cut it out from under
us! Sexist, racist, classist dogs-- Fuck them!"
"Fuck the pigs!" they chorused.
"We are freer in this cell than we've been in our
lives!"
"Goddamn right!" was the shout.
"Renee," said Elfe, "how're those bars coming?"
The beglassed woman didn't have the opportunity
to respond, the start of her answer interrupted by the thunder of keys
in the far hall door. She abandoned the nail file and scooted into a retreat.
"This one," came a voice, just down the row. A kid's
voice.
Elfe leaned forward, over Shears's shoulder.
A boy, teenaged, but only barely. He was soft-skinned,
dressed in black turtleneck and a white duster, and he had the kind of
rich strawberry-blond hair you could swear couldn't exist in real life.
He looked a bit unreal himself, actually. Like a
minor angel, full of holy righteousness he was just being too precise
about to let out just yet.
"Fuck me sideways," someone from near the back said.
"Is that..."
"All of these," the boy continued to the warden.
"They're free to go."
Some more murmurs.
"Hey, kid," Elfe warned, not too unkindly, "no one
likes a crusader."
He looked straight at her. She hadn't met many men
who could do that, much less little cherubic choir boy types. His eyes
were so big it oughta be funny.
"I'll be one if I want," he answered her. "Open
up," he added to the cop.
The pig grimaced and tried to turn it into a sneer.
"Or I 'spose you'll go to your dad?"
And the boy was looking straight at him now,
too.
"I won't need to," he said quietly.
The warden opened the cell.
Outside the station, Elfe wrung the last of the water
out of her hair and accepted the handkerchief Rufus offered to wipe the
paint off her cheeks.
"You know it's pretty big of you, sticking your
neck out for us punks like that," she told him, walking to stretch her
legs some. The rest of the kids were sauntering off, trying to look aimless
or headed for homes, though they all going to the same place in a few minutes.
"But stick it out too far and your head'll fall right off your shoulders,
kid."
He came up about level with her nose. It was funny,
really, the way he was trying to strut, but she had enough decency left
not to laugh. Anyway, he might be the fickle type. No sense getting arrested
again in a hurry.
"Yeah, well," he was saying. "I saw you on the street,
and... Well, it was completely wrong, what they did. I couldn't just stand
by, you know?"
She laughed. "So you're the white knight type. Well,
we're grateful." She passed the handkerchief back, smeared red and blue.
Her skin still had a bit of a hue to it, and fever-pink from the water,
but a lot more civilized now, if that was a good thing. Human. Beautiful,
but with a sort of stylization that made you forget it, just as the other
protesters seemed to forget it. The way a sword was beautiful but you still
only really saw how sharp the edge was.
"But," she said, "you oughta run back to your pops
before he gets worried. This isn't the kind of gig you wanna get tied up
with."
"My father thinks I'm with my tutors," Rufus told
her. "I haven't seen him for more than ten minutes in the past three weeks."
Elfe grinned. "My dad thinks I'm studying biology
at Junon State right now. Actually I doubt he even remembers that much.
He hasn't seen me since I got shipped off to boarding school. Too busy
working his big ShinRa job, I guess."
"Do you know where he works?" the boy asked. "I...
Well, I'm at the ShinRa Building sometimes, maybe I could..."
"Nah. Nah, I think I'm better off." She looked over
at him. "Some lives just don't mesh. There's things we're meant for and
things we aren't, and he just wasn't meant to have a kid. Hey, better abandon
me than tell me what to do for him. Your dad got big plans for you and
stuff?"
Rufus appeared to think about that. He was a thoughtful
kid, wasn't he.
"He does, but it seems a sort of contingency he
feels he has to plan because he just does. Does that make sense?"
"I get you. So you're the rebellious type, came
down here for a taste of spite?"
"Oh, no," Rufus said, so quickly Elfe wanted to
laugh. He saw the amusement and corrected himself. "No, no, I'm just, you
know--" he straightened up "--really big on civil rights and all that.
I mean, every citizen's duty to care about his community and all, right?"
"Oh," Elfe said, in a lighter tone. "So I suppose
you know about us, then."
"Definitely," the boy said readily, still puffed
up. "I've done a few protests myself, but, you know, nothing very major."
"You'd know where we meet, then," Elfe said, gesturing
down a random street. "The old church."
"Of course," said Rufus, straightening his jacket.
"I practically live there."
"Really." It was growing increasingly difficult
not to fall apart into giggles. "Well, then I guess I'll be seeing you
there tonight," she suggested, hiding her mouth when it started to betray
her.
The kid started to backpedal. "Oh, I mostly go on
Tuesdays."
"But you'll go tonight, won't you?" She was going
to some kind of hell for this meddling. Teasers never prospered. Or whatever
her prep school used to say. "It's going to be a big howdown, after
what happened today at the gates. Come on. I'll introduce you to all the
right people. We need guys with your kind of spirit on our action committee."
"Well, I..."
"I just love guys into politics. Taking initiative
for the community, citizen's duty, just like you were saying. Constant
vigilance. Or do you have some homework you should be doing?"
The boy flushed bright red. "No, of course not.
I mean, who wants to submit to a flawed system of indoctrination anyway?"
He swallowed. "You're going that way yourself right now, right? I mean,
we could go together if you wanted."
"That's the spirit," Elfe said warmly.
Well, hell. They needed people, and this kid was
gonna be a big help if she played it right.
No one should have eyes that bright anyway. Really
she was doing him a favor.
Veld and Rude were gone on evening patrol when Rufus's
car returned to headquarters, so they weren't around to see that the boy
was missing. Were the conscientious Tseng around they might have remembered
to call in to check, but as it was they assumed, and forgot, and went on
with their route.
With the Guard taking over the majority of hands-on
work, this evening once-over was the best T.U.R.K.S. could manage for their
own separate sweeps. It had been a good number of years since Veld had
been required to do the beat so their progress was slowed now and then
as he caught his breath, and with the plates scared silent from the afternoon's
riot, the patrol was reduced to a stroll and an excuse to watch the stars,
so few as they could see from down here.
Artemus Veld smoked a cigar and felt the rivets
beneath his soles and thought about what Tuesti had been rambling about
earlier. He'd always told the guy that ShinRa was the wrong place the work
if you wanted to be righteous. You could have all the morals you wanted,
Reeve, you just couldn't take them to the office with you. But the guy
never listened. He was the goddamn father of modern Midgar and he was sick
of everything it contained.
...Whereas Veld signed away murders and kidnappings
and said it was a small sacrifice for justice. And the President was fighting
a war when no one could remember how it had started.
"How long have you been on the force, Rude?"
"Five years, sir," Rude answered dutifully, tapping
his nightstick on a shop door to see if it was locked.
"So little. You took to it from the first day, you
know, like a natural."
"Thank you sir." They moved along down the next
street. "Tseng was a good partner."
"Do you think at all, about what Tuesti said back
there?" Veld asked, tipping his nightstick over his shoulder at the far
glow of the ShinRa tower. "About the children we make, that for all our
intentions fall away from us?"
The soleil shrugged. "I wouldn't know about it,
sir."
"No. I suppose you wouldn't." Veld kicked the empty
bag by his feet into the gutter. "Is, there, er. Anyone?"
"No, sir."
"Ah." Pause. "You're very short with your engagements,
aren't you, Rudolph."
"Sir."
They covered the beat in silence until Dylan Avenue,
checking the alleys with flashlights and meeting sullen night watchmen
coming the other way. At one point it began to drizzle and grow cold and
Veld was on the edge of some light complaint, but thought about Tseng and
the jungle and decided it would be in poor taste.
"Next week..."
Veld looked up. "What?"
Rude scratched at one of his earrings awkwardly.
"Next week. Reno's one-year anniversary with T.U.R.K.S.. I'd thought we
could have..."
He went quiet. His commander watched him with something
approaching wonder. In the few seconds before reality crept back in and
darkened his expression.
Still, Veld tried, "We can see about that when he
gets back."
Rude shook his head. "He's not coming back."
It didn't mean death. There was more to a person
than just his vital signs. And in all his years Veld never once had seen
a boy go off the war and come back with any of that still intact.
"...I should have gone instead," Rude said to the
pavement.
"You served yours already," Veld reminded him firmly.
"He'll be fine. Tseng's looking after him."
Come to that, he wondered how Tseng was faring through
any of this. That was one thing they'd never talked about at all in their
correspondence. It wasn't exactly the easiest subject to broach. The boy
played so close to the chest he couldn't tell his own cards sometimes.
There was the thing, of course. Whatever he liked
to think, he was a boy too. And that wasn't going to come back from the
jungle either.
Veld made a face. His cigar was wet.
"Tuesti."
The chief of Urban Development peeked his head through
Reeve's office door. The secretary's fingers froze on his keyboard.
"Yeah, boss?"
"Memo's just gone out through the division chairs.
You seen the head of the Science Department around since last week sometime?"
"Doctor Nii? Nope. Sorry, sir."
"'Kay. Word from the high-up says he's gone missing,
assistants too. Keep an eye and ear out?"
"Yes, sir," said Reeve, resisting the urge to add
an editorial on how this might actually let them divert some funding for
once. "Is that all?"
"Oh, uh." The chief looked at the paper in his hand.
"Rufus Shinra, you seen him around?"
"You might want to call up to Veld about that,"
Reeve volunteered.
"I did, he's out. The prez says no worries or whatever,
but let someone know if he turns up, 'kay? He missed his pony lessons or
whatever and the missus is losing her skirt over it."
The mental image hit him. "God almighty."
"Keep it in church, Tuesti," the chief remanded,
ducking out of the door.
-----
Next chapter coming soon!