The Grace of God
Chapter Six
"ALL IN ALL a most unusual morning, General Rurik, wouldn't you agree?"
Spring, in the Imperial capital of Vector, was an event marked by the calendar, not by the climate, and the city décor was expected to honor this rule. Emperor Gestahl's throne room was certainly not exempt. Its green and white marble, magnificent at any time, seemed luminous in the morning light among daffodils from Maranda, tulips from Nikeah, lilies from Jidoor. Several weeks ago, banners proclaiming "New Life Through Magitechnology" in beautiful silkscreened calligraphy had sprung up overnight, crocuslike, on every lamp-post; and the massive original hung in an elegant and perfect drape over the Emperor's throne itself.
Gestahl seemed unaware of the splendor surrounding him -- or of the two statue-like red-robed Imperial guards at either side, or even of the dark-haired officer in blue and silver kneeling before him. His attention was on an oblong bundle of strangely shimmering cloth that he held in both hands.
"Unusual indeed, sir," replied the dark-haired officer.
"You know, I don't think I've ever been that close to a genuine Returner before. A shame that I wasn't aware of it at the time."
"If you had been, sir, I've no doubt the man would have been dead before he touched the ground."
"Hmm." Gestahl's moustaches twitched slightly. It was the closest he ever came to a smile. "Well, perhaps. And an Esper discovered in addition. Most extraordinary."
The officer raised his eyebrows. "Then you're sure it was an Esper?"
"There's no doubt. You must remember, Dimitri, that I was present at the Great Raid itself."
"Of course, sir. I suppose I'm just amazed. After so long, to finally see an Esper in the flesh -- so to speak."
"I had forgotten how exhilarating it can be myself. Regarding the Esper, Dimitri?"
"It's been moved to a stasis tube in the MRF. Currently it's just under observation, but we're prepared to begin the draining process on your order."
"Hmm."
The Emperor was not a small man. He hadn't, as so many of his senators had, gained that gradual and inevitable stoutness that came with age and wealth and that commanded a certain comfortable respect. There was nothing comfortable about Gestahl. He had been a soldier in his youth, and had never really lost the thickness of the military in his arms, his chest, his neck; though he sat in it with natural, and surprising, poise, he had always dwarfed his throne. Yet something about the bundle he now held up to the light made him seem somehow lessened, somehow small.
"Not yet, I think," he said. "I wonder if we couldn't find more where this one came from. You say it spoke our language?"
"That's what General Chere reported."
"Interesting. Most interesting."
Slowly, with a show of caution so extreme it bordered on the ridiculous, Gestahl unwrapped the cloth bundle. A scent grew stronger in the air, mingled with the flowers -- a slightly acrid scent, as though of burning.
The cloth came free to reveal a sword -- surely ornamental, for it was so gleaming white that one wondered what metal could have possibly been used to forge it. Indeed, it looked more like it had been carved impeccably from ivory, or white glass, instead. The fabric that had been covering the blade had corroded, as if burned through.
The Emperor held the sword gingerly by the tip of its gold-and-pearl hilt and studied the ruined cloth.
"Silk woven with reflect," he said to General Rurik conversationally. "I had hoped it might last a little longer than the others. How, incidentally, are Colonel Braunstein's burns?"
"Dr. Le Vinges says he may yet regain use of his hands."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it; he was a fine soldier. Tell me, Dimitri. Do you think it's coincidence that a Returner attempts to steal this sword less than a week after the Colonel discovers it?"
General Rurik didn't reply.
"Have the Esper interrogated. No particular methods yet; I'd rather not have it damaged, if possible."
"Understood, sir."
The Emperor gave the sword a few idle swipes.
"I grow weary, butting up against the same magic wall I have been trying to break down for twenty years," he continued. "Something tells me that this sword may be what I need to crumble it at last. I'd like a special scabbard made for it -- mythril, perhaps, or crystal. Forged with both protect and shell."
"At once, my liege."
"Very well, then, Dimitri. You are dismissed."
"Oi, Benny!" It was a window washer, just arrived, ladder in hand. He wasn't much older than the newsboy. "You turning in already?"
"Sold fifty before two," the newsboy replied, a wide white grin on his sooty face. "Everybody wanted a read about that Esper."
"So I would have too. My ma was there but she says she couldn't see nothing at all."
"They got a picture." The newsboy unfolded a paper and showed him. "Somebody drew it. I bet it looks worse than that, though. They just didn't want to scare nobody. Lookit those eyes. Like a snake, yeah?"
"Garn," breathed the window washer. He took the paper in both hands. "That'd be a sight to see. What're they gonna do to it?"
"Hey, that'll be one gil, thank you much," the newsboy said, snatching the paper back.
"What if I don't got a gil."
"Then you find somebody who cares, and -- hey! Hey!"
Beyond the reach of the streetlights, in the shadows, someone had slid a paper from the stack and was walking away.
"Come back here! You gotta pay for that!" called the newsboy angrily.
"Benny, look over."
The window washer pointed. Weighing down the stack was a thick coin, gleaming in the lamplight.
The newsboy picked it up and squinted. "What's it, something foreign? I never heard of no… commonwealth in Figaro."
"Looks like gold, I think."
"C'mon, Sam, nobody pays for papers with gold." But the newsboy bit it experimentally. His eyes went wide. "Holy --"
The window washer didn't waste any time. He ran to the end of the train platform, his ladder and bucket clunking, and peered into the dusk. Whomever it had been was still walking away.
"Hey!" he called. "Hey, wait a minute! You need anything washed?"
He didn't get a reply.
In one straight path from streetlight to streetlight, without once looking up, Celes walked; shedding, as she read, page after page that blew away like leaves in the wind. Once, her pace slowed, when she found what she had been looking for, but she soon righted herself. She never stopped walking.
When Edgar opened the door of the chandlery, she swept right by him and to the stack of weapons on the floor.
"What?" he asked, watching her remove her scarves. He was trying to read her face, though he should have known better. "What's happened?"
"They've got Terra," she said.
In the silence that followed, Celes found her sword, attached it to her belt. She felt inexplicably impassive and controlled, intractable, like blue-flaming alcohol in some efficient machine. Part of her wondered, in a far-off, dreamy sort of way, how long it would be before the shock ran out and she found herself running on nothing.
"You're sure?" Edgar replied finally, his voice quiet.
"It's in the evening edition." Gauntlets were next.
"And Locke?"
A flush like a fever passed over Celes then, and she realized, after a second, that she could no longer see the laces she was tying. Thankfully her fingers seemed able to finish the job without her.
"I don't know," she said. "The front page said only that the Emperor was safe."
"We --" Edgar, staring at the table, sounded dazed. "We just -- have to find them. Terra would be in the Facility, wouldn't she. And Locke --"
Celes straightened up.
"I'll find Locke."
"Celes…"
"Yes, Edgar?" She was careful to enunciate her syllables.
He gave her a long, hard look, working through some inner struggle.
"Right," he said at last. "Right. Just -- be careful, Celes. Please."
Of everything she should be concerned about, to think that her welfare would be one of them. But she nodded anyway as she opened the door.
"I will," she said. "You too."
It wasn't until she had reached the city outskirts that she noticed the unfamiliar hilt of her sword. She pulled it out slightly: an inch of blue blade stared back at her. The Atma Weapon -- she had taken Terra's sword by mistake. But by then it was too late to turn back.
Esper form -- strange. She needed to rest her eyes before she could open them again, and she took this opportunity to try, with difficulty, to think. It seemed to her that she hadn't transformed in a long while, though she couldn't remember why that might be. Perhaps standing up would help.
Shakily, she managed it -- and, after the wave of nausea passed, her head did feel a little clearer. Focusing her eyes, she looked around. Surrounding her was a single pane of thick, curved glass, its exterior outfitted with tubes and panels, about four feet in diameter -- a cylinder, Terra realized, with her in it. With her trapped in it.
Reflexively, she pressed a hand against the glass. It didn't budge. Equally reflexively, she muttered a warp spell.
At least, she tried to mutter it. The words caught in her throat, and she coughed suddenly, violently, the sound echoing. She had to support herself against the glass until it was over.
She breathed deeply. Even the memory of the spell, the thought of it, had been faint and coarse in her mind -- trying to focus on it gave her a sudden, sharp pain in her forehead. She recognized the feeling. Someone had silenced her, and the effects hadn't worn off. But who would have, and why?
All at once she remembered.
"Locke," she said, without thinking, in the hoarse, deep, unfamiliar voice of her other self.
Even though it had been her first thought, of course he wasn't dead. Her memory was not quite cooperating at present, and besides which, those last minutes before she lost consciousness had been so frenzied and confusing that even if she were remembering, she could be remembering wrong. It would be foolish, at this uncertain point, to begin anything as overhasty as grief.
It was not quite working. Through eyes hot with tears, she strained to see more of the world outside of her glass cylinder, as though if she really wanted to she would see Locke nearby. He wasn't, of course -- all she could see were metal walkways, yards of rubber tubing, distant rows of glass cylinders like her own, all of it strangely familiar. And it was then that she finally recognized, with a chill that went from her crown to her toes, the huge, high-ceilinged containment room of the Magitek Research Facility.
For a minute it was too much for her. She had to fight the urge to beat against the glass, to ram it with her shoulder over and over, to thrash and scream and pound her way out and as far from this place of nightmares as she could run.
But it would do no good. She took deep, steady breaths, her eyes screwed shut against the silent, awful rows of stasis tubes. She knew firsthand how thick the Empire made the glass. It had taken -- what had they told her afterward -- the power of dozens of Espers to breach them? And here she was all by herself, trembling and teary and at half her normal strength already.
Besides, if she were to run now, who knew what they might do to Locke. If he were still alive.
Footsteps approached; Terra felt more than heard them. At once she closed her eyes again and slumped against the glass -- there was no reason to let anyone know she was awake and aware until it became absolutely necessary.
"…should be reviving soon. The grogginess usually wears off in about eight hours."
The voice was muffled. Discreetly, Terra opened her eyes to slits to see two men approaching. One was tall and gangly, dressed in some kind of yellow lab coat and holding a clipboard. Next to him was the handsome officer with dark brown hair that Terra recognized from the execution.
"Ah," the man in the yellow lab coat said. He was the one who had spoken. He gestured now to something on a display podium. "I believe it's waking up."
There was no use in pretending anymore. Slowly, Terra drew herself upright.
"Splendid specimen, isn't it?" the man in the lab coat continued as he studied her, sounding reverent. "Quite powerful, too, if early tests are any indication."
"Hmm." The dark-haired officer made an expression of distaste. "'Freakish' is the word I would use, personally. You're sure this tube will keep it contained?"
"Absolutely sure, General. It's not so much the tube itself as what's in it." The man in the lab coat leaned forward and flicked a switch.
At first, Terra thought nothing had happened; then she felt a shock of coldness against at her feet. A luminescent blue fluid, as thin and frigid as ice water, had begun to well up in the tube.
"Completely nullifies any magical properties," the man went on.
Terra stared at her feet. She could not quite believe what she was seeing, what the man in the lab coat was saying. The fluid, strangely light and insubstantial, was rising; it was almost up to her knees. It would continue to rise until it filled the entire tube.
She could stop it right now. She couldn't cast magic, but she could do something else -- change herself back into a woman, scream out, shock them into action -- anything, anything at all besides wait for it to happen. But she knew it would make no difference to them, that she would only be damning herself. God, if they knew she were both human and Esper, they would be beside themselves with glee -- more eager than ever to examine her, cut her open, lock her away here forever.
The fluid was at her waist now.
"Will it be able to speak?" the dark-haired officer asked. "His Majesty is keen on knowing."
"He needn't worry," said the man in the lab coat. "Professor Cid developed this solution himself, right before he died. It's quite unusual; we've been studying the formula for twenty years, but we still can't determine whether it should be classified as a liquid or a gas. Of course the composition is --"
"Will it be able to speak or not, Dr. Le Vinges?"
"Er. Yes. Certainly. If it's indeed capable of speech."
It had reached her clavicles. Terra bucked once, involuntarily, and stretched her neck as high as it would go. Futile gestures, she knew, but she could not stop herself.
It was so unfair -- monstrously unfair, that she should be forced to make a decision like this for the second time in a single day. And this time, it was harder -- there was no one to save here, only the rising fluid, her harsh breathing, and these two vile men, talking to each other normally, as though nothing were happening at all.
"It won't be damaged, of course?"
"Oh, no. The solution is toxic to humans, but quite innocuous to Esper physiology."
They kept talking, but she couldn't hear them anymore. The fluid touched her chin; she tipped her head back helplessly and stood on her toes, hands braced against the glass. The only way to survive this would be to remember. There were four sunsets; there was the Illumina; there were Celes and Edgar. There was Locke.
Liquid sloshed over her mouth and she let out a small, desperate sob. There was Figaro. She squeezed her eyes shut and took one last huge, gasping breath. There was Mobliz.
The fluid closed over her head.
Moments passed. Her heart pounded in her ears. Mobliz -- remember the mess, packing up for the feast. The excitement. Remember Duane and Katerin. Remember Suza and Ruthie and Antoine and little Eva -- Eva, four years old next week.
Terra let out a scream, and breathed in.
It was like the last instant before drowning, before death. Cold fluid rushed into her lungs; she bucked, crazily, clawing at the glass -- then the moment passed, and she was still alive.
It was the fluid. She could feel it everywhere, now -- her lungs, her limbs, her heart and hands. It made her lightheaded, tingly, as though her entire body were falling asleep.
Eyes tightly closed, she stayed huddled against the glass, taking weird, open-mouthed breaths. She felt as though she would be content for the rest of her life, just breathing.
In time, she remembered she wasn't alone.
"…assume General Chere will be conducting the interrogation?"
The doctor in the lab coat was speaking. His voice, though staticky, was otherwise clear. He must have activated some kind of intercom.
Slowly Terra opened her eyes. For a split-second, they burned as if splashed with lye. But then her vision cleared, and she could see, though everything was tinted a light, nearly imperceptible blue.
The dark-haired officer was leaning forward, squinting at Terra. On what appeared to be sudden impulse, he rapped sharply on the tube with a leather-gloved fist. The sound reverberated.
"Well, have you got anything to say to us, Esper?"
"Oh please, sir," said the doctor. "I must ask you not to do that. The instruments are very sensitive."
Terra had reached the end of panic, the end of fear: and now, saturated in cold blue nothingness, all that remained to her was a seething, growing, slow-burning hatred. Slowly, she drew herself upright and she stared, unblinkingly, into the dark-haired officer's face -- as though her eyes alone could channel everything she felt, like sunlight focused onto dry paper.
After a minute the officer drew back. "Ugh. Repulsive thing. Hmm, what? General Chere? No, not this time. The General is occupied with another task."
"Sorry to have kept you waiting, Dimitri," came a voice.
Hours later, when she was all alone and there was nothing to occupy her but her own thoughts, Terra would wonder how she could have possibly missed his arrival. Her only excuse would be that she had been so fixated on the pain, the humiliation, her hatred of the two men, that she simply did not notice the appearance of a third. Of course, even if she had, there was no telling that she would have believed it -- as the voice that she heard now, through the crackling intercom, belonged to a man long dead.
But here, there was no Kefka. There had been no Thamasa. And so --
"Always late, eh, Leo?" said the dark-haired officer with a grin.
He stepped into view; and how could it be, Terra wondered, how could it be that he had not changed at all in five years? The same fine, dusky complexion, the same serious eyes, the same manner of movement that drew the eye by its very ease, by its unthinking nobility. In the blue-tinted, watery light, it was almost too easy to believe he was only a vision, that he was just another dream.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come earlier." That careful voice. The sound of it, more than anything she had been through thus far, brought Terra closest to breaking. "The census took longer than we expected."
"Well, it's a relief you're here," said the dark-haired officer. "I thought I'd be stuck babysitting this overgrown insect."
The man in the lab coat looked hurt.
"I was referring to the Esper, doctor," said the officer with a roll of his eyes.
"Then it is an Esper?" Leo turned to look at her; Terra felt herself jump at the shock. "Remarkable."
"It has, sir, some of the highest levels we've ever recorded," the doctor put in eagerly, handing Leo the clipboard and pointing. "And equal strength in all three of the principal damage elementals; most unusual."
"I'll leave you to it, then," said the dark-haired officer, sounding bored. "Have fun, Leo. Don't forget the briefing."
Leo looked up as the man left. "I won't. Thanks, Dimitri."
Terra was breathing the fluid easily now -- naturally, without thinking. But then, she felt almost certain she had left everything real behind and entered some hypnotic dreamworld. It did, in fact, feel remarkably like a dream: like pieces from her past fitted together into a crooked, confused puzzle.
"Magnificent," Leo was still looking into her eyes. "Little wonder they're creatures of magic. General Chere told me it spoke to her?"
"She did, but…" The doctor was hesitant. "Frankly, sir, there's always been a bit of an -- unfortunate tendency to anthropomorphize Espers. None of these animals has ever shown the ability of, let alone proclivity to, speech. And General Chere is --"
"Yes, doctor?"
"Oh, it's just she, uh -- seems to take little interest in non-military matters. Particularly in the study of magic." He smiled uneasily. "I only wonder if she truly understood what she saw."
"I'm inclined to think so until proven otherwise, Jerome."
"Of course, sir."
Leo appeared to be thinking. After a moment, he straightened up.
"I am General Leo Christophe," he said, his voice raised slightly but still conversational. "I am a representative of the Empire of Gestahl. Do you have a name?"
It was easy to remain speechless.
"Can you understand me?" he went on, watching her intently. "Can you speak? Do you communicate in some other way -- with signals?"
She didn't move.
"To be honest, sir, I expected this would happen," the doctor whispered. "One might just as well expect a dog to talk."
"Mm," said Leo, obscurely.
"We haven't encountered an Esper in over twenty years, let alone one this valuable. In my professional opinion, we should hook it up to a depletion conduit immediately in order to begin studying its magical composition."
"Ah," said Leo.
"What is it, sir?"
"You didn't see that? It appeared to react to your words."
Terra had thought she'd suppressed her involuntary jerk of panic, but it seemed Leo had noticed. She could not afford another such mistake. She was careful, now, to appear uninterested, uncomprehending.
The doctor studied her, squinting through his glasses. "A reflex, most likely, to the sound of my voice. As I was saying, sir, I would advise the Emperor to rethink his position. Specimens often weaken in stasis, and their magic along with them. I do believe it would be in our best interests to begin the draining process as soon as possible."
Leo considered this, for several endless, agonizing minutes.
"Thank you for your advice, Jerome," he said finally. "But I think we'll hold off on that particular procedure for now. What time is it -- almost six?"
"A quarter to it, sir."
"Very well. If you could continue to keep the Esper under observation for tonight. I'll voice your concerns to His Majesty."
"Thank you very much, General Christophe."
After Leo had gone, the doctor in the yellow lab coat hummed a little, tunelessly, peering at the control podium, adjusting something every now and then. Once, his gaze flicked up to catch Terra watching him.
His humming stopped. After a minute, he shook his head.
"Anthropomorphizing," he muttered, as he gathered up his clipboard.