chapter three: fear in a handful of dust
"What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust."
--T.S. Eliot
"She is sublimation
She is the essence of thee
She is the root connection and
She is connecting with thee..."
--Patti Smith
Hojo shifted thoughtfully in his seat, regarding the culture plates before him with silent indecision. The plastic dishes sat in neat rows, ready to be used at any time, bearing their neat, short strips of tape with varied, typically cryptic inscriptions: "LB/Jen" or "LB/amp/Jen", or any number of others. They looked so innocuous, so sterile, so scientific. He only wished he could be sure.
The cultures were really beginning to develop now, but they had yet to make any true sense of the findings. The Jenova cells had completely transformed the E. coli bacteria with which they had been mingled, and eventually the hosts had begun, curiously, to bear a peculiar resemblance to the viral cells... but without sacrificing their own functions, and in fact seeming to perform those functions at unbelievable efficiency. They also reproduced more Jenova cells, of course; but oddly few of these emerged, and the viruses never killed their host cells. It appeared, really, to be more a mutualistic relationship than a parasitic one...
But then how do you explain the rat, Simon? Don't allow enthusiasm to blindside you; Jeffrey's already warned you about that.
Yes, there was the rat. One of the interns had reported it dead the other night; it was an unfortunate and puzzling development. The three Jenova rats had been in perfect health since their injection; autopsy of the deceased animal had shown that it was, in fact, still in perfect health.
Except that it was dead.
The other two were still alive and well, and of course the bacteria were happily growing and consuming their media in perfectly ordinary bacterial fashion. So what had killed that rat?
Well, Hojo supposed it could have been something unrelated to the injections: an accident of some sort, a blood-clot or aneurysm or similar biological arrhythmia. Quite likely, really; that was why they were using several animals, and kept control rats too, wasn't it? Small creatures like that must frequently be subject to such phenomena, especially in closed environments like this, labs with all kinds of potential toxins floating about...
Still, it troubled him. It troubled him a great deal. Particularly in the context of the research of his own that he hoped to pursue.
"Simon?" a very familiar voice spoke from the doorway, and he looked up with a small smile to see Lucrecia standing at the edge of the lab.
"Present. Where have you been?" He stood and went to her side, exchanging a brief kiss. "I thought we planned to do some observation this afternoon."
"I know," she replied apologetically, brushing a bit of something absently from the shoulder of his coat. "I just thought I might stay behind a while, and--do another test."
"Really?" He paused, attention focusing suddenly on the words. She nodded briskly, with a little smile. "What were the results?"
Lucrecia looked down at her hands for a moment, quite unusually subdued; her eyes fixed briefly on the slim gold ring on her left hand, before returning to meet his.
"Positive," she said at last, simply, and her face lit into a smile all at once, like the sun breaking through clouds. "I'm pregnant."
Hojo stared for a moment, then caught himself again. "You're certain?" She nodded quickly. "This--this is wonderful. Well--we'll have to discuss it more, of course, but--we could start right away, if you're ready--"
She caught his hands, laughing a little, before he could go pacing off across the lab in excitement. "Of course, I'm ready, Simon," she told him with patient humor. "And of course I'm still sure I want to do it, if that's what you're trying to ask. I'm as excited about this as you are, and I want you to start whenever you're prepared to."
Hojo placed a swift kiss on her mouth, mostly out of relief, and then drew away to gather some instruments and supplies. "Then we can start right now," he announced decisively, pushing his previous doubts out of his conscious mind. "I'll prepare the injection, you sit." She did so, watching his movements around the lab with a little half-smile. "How are you feeling, by the by?"
"About the same as I did this morning," she replied drily, quirking an amused eyebrow in his direction. Hojo chuckled slightly, realizing his own excess of energy.
"You mean you haven't developed a radiant maternal glow yet?" he returned sardonically. Lucrecia made an inelegant sound.
"Don't be ridiculous, Simon. The only thing that would make me glow is a sprinkling of phosphorescent bacteria."
Hojo returned her smirk, filling a syringe from a stoppered flask of Jenova samples and returning to her side. "I'm sure that could be arranged." He looked into her eyes then, and dropped abruptly back into seriousness. "Let's give this a try, and see what happens," he said quietly. "All right?"
"I already said it was," she reminded him patiently, smiling. "So let's give it a try."
And if there was any flicker of unease in that smile, in his enthusiasm and the fascinating new puzzle of the injections, he never noticed it.
*
Dimly, distantly, Kal became aware that it was morning.
He hadn't slept at all, of course. He didn't sleep anymore; his body no longer seemed to need it, and the dreams that emerged through the voices were far worse than staying awake. Claiming illness, he had removed himself from the lab without difficulty; now he only lay in bed, and listened to the voices. The voices spoke to him all the time. The more he listened, unguarded his mind to their words, the stronger they became. The more they demanded of him. And the more they demanded of him, the more they persuaded, the more he felt almost ready to comply; the more it began, slowly, to all make horrible sense, to be reasonable, even right, to take lives, punish those around him. To cleanse with fire.
Kal had never considered himself a man of strong will. He studied science because his parents had thought it would be a good career for him. He had gone to college where he had been recommended, continued working for a doctorate because his professors advised it, was perfectly content to work on the project under the direction of Gast, who was equipped with considerably fewer years of experience and credits to his name than Kal was. Kal had always been at peace doing what he was told and what was expected of him; he was well aware of that, and had at times almost been peculiarly proud of it. However, it left him poorly equipped to fight off an invading presence in his mind. It left him, in fact, much as a lamb trussed for slaughter; and with almost no course of action but to bow and obey.
Almost.
Kal sat up slowly in his bed, taking great care to think nothing, letting no plan of action even begin to cross his mind. He sat at the edge of the ugly double monstrosity upon which he had once--in what seemed to be a completely different life--slept, under the ceiling's sweeps of graceful and almost elegant cobwebs, a scientist of thirty-five years in only pajama pants and somewhat seedy blonde beard, ignoring the voices in his mind that clamored and howled of blood, death, fire. In time he would begin to change, he knew; if she wanted him to, then he would change to serve her best. And by then it would already be too late.
He had never been a man of strong will. But at least he was strong enough to know it.
There was a steak knife on the bedside table; he had taken it from the kitchen days ago, without allowing himself to think of any purpose for it at all. He picked it up absently, touching the point and edge with idle fingers. It was very sharp, and he nodded thoughtfully. Good. That was good. Steak knives were supposed to be sharp.
Kal turned the knife around in his hands, resting the point against his belly. He did so casually, thoughtlessly, barely even noticing. By the time the voices at last saw his intentions, with time only to let out a wordless burst of startled dismay, the blade had already pushed up into his flesh.
He died smiling.
*
It was late afternoon by the time Ellis came down to the lab; he was getting used to the evening shift he was working, and knew the crowd to expect. Ruth and Emerson, invariably, cleaning up from the morning and post-noon's usual flurries of activity; Mike tending to the animals, and occasionally providing some amusement by giving the rats a run around the lab floor or the library; and Gast, maybe, or--often--Hojo and Lucrecia. It was usually a thin crowd by five o'clock, one that left him to do routine check-ups and research in relative peace, aside from Ruth's occasional amiable obscenity or Mike chasing down a specimen.
However, today Ellis walked into a rather more sizable gathering, and stopped in the doorway in surprise. The entire research team--except, he noticed, for Kal, but he hadn't been well lately anyway--was collected in the room, seated on stools, chairs, or, in places, the edges of tables. The other interns had also been assembled, and the whole group looked quite uncharacteristically somber, with anxious gazes trained on a shadow-eyed Gast, at the head of the room. Most turned when Ellis entered, including the senior scientist.
"Good, you're here," Gast acknowledged him quietly. "Have a seat, Ellis. We weren't certain you'd show up."
Ellis frowned, sitting on an unoccupied stool at one corner of the room. "I'm sorry; I didn't realize you were waiting. What's going on?"
"I was just about to explain that," Gast replied. He pulled off his glasses abruptly, rubbing the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. Very bad, in fact..."
"Would you rather I told them?" Hojo asked quietly from where he sat at Gast's elbow. The elder scientist looked at him in mildly surprised gratitude, but shook his head.
"No, thank you, Simon. I'm fine." He replaced the glasses, closing his eyes for only a moment longer before folding his arms and continuing.
"As most of you already know, Dr. Darmin has been having some... personal issues, of late," he stated matter-of-factly, with an air of deceptive, scientific calm. "Apparently, however, none of us had any idea to what extent. He... Dr. Darmin was found in his room today, having passed away earlier this morning. At this point, the cause of death seems to be suicide; the Turks are investigating the matter in greater depth."
Silence. No one spoke; no one could speak. Ellis could feel himself staring at Gast as though the scientist had just stated with the same detached aplomb that Jenova was actually a kind of peculiar prehistoric jukebox, and he planned to pop a record into her mouth to prove his findings.
"How was it done?" Wil asked softly, leaning forward on the main table from his seat beside Fred. "I mean... I realize it's a gruesome question--but what did he..."
"Hara-kiri," Hojo replied, perhaps a bit shortly. Lucrecia looked down at her lap, closing her eyes, and his hand closed almost automatically over hers. "He appeared to have disemboweled himself with a kitchen knife."
There was no audible reaction to that, but Ellis thought he could feel the room recoil, nonetheless. A few of the scientists even looked a little ill; Mike, he saw, had his arm around Ruth, but it seemed to be more for Mike's comfort than Ruth's. She just looked bewildered, and upset. Ellis felt much the same way.
"Was there a note?" he asked after another short silence, groping for some kind of sense. Why? Why would he... It's just--so unlike him. Kal--suicide--
Gast shook his head. "No," he answered. "We looked, of course, but we couldn't find a thing."
"Isn't that unusual?" Emerson's low, brooding voice drifted across from his corner of the lab.
"Yes, it is," the head scientist confirmed. "That's one reason the Turks are looking into it." He pushed his glasses up on his nose, regarding them all with candor and dignity.
"This is a blow to all of us, both personally and professionally," he announced quietly. "Kal was a good man, and a good friend to many of us, and he was also a brilliant scientist who was a tremendous asset to this project. He is, of course, irreplaceable, and we will all miss him a great deal."
He gazed around at the others, one by one, meeting each pair of eyes in the room for a brief moment; as he passed Ellis, the younger man thought he could see in Gast's eyes the strain this put upon him, and the pain he was holding back in order to support the rest of them. He didn't think Gast would break... but he was clearly bending very, very far.
"But," Gast said at last, straightening above the table, "we still have work to do; and I believe Kal would have wanted that to be our first priority." He paused. "Thank you for coming. We'll have to be very supportive of each other in order to make it through this; but I believe we can do so. Take the evening to relax, please."
And with that, he nodded to all of them and left the lab--and the others, still half-shocked--sitting in his wake.
*
Hojo excused himself gently to his fiancee and followed Gast into the hall. The older man paused near the stairs, and Hojo caught him up in a moment, coming up cautiously behind his shoulder.
"How are you holding up, Jeffrey?" he asked quietly. Gast turned back to him after a long moment, looking troubled and pensive.
"All right, I think, actually," he said at length, slowly. "Just--feeling at a bit of a loss. I don't understand it, Simon." He ran his hands through short dark hair, turning to pace in absent frustration. "Why? Why the hell would he do it?"
"We knew he wasn't well," Hojo reasoned calmly, resting against the bottom of the staircase. "Granted, we had no idea how unwell, but it was obvious he was having some problems."
"I know." Gast shook his head. "But it's not enough. Kal... Kal wasn't like that."
"Apparently he was."
The older man fell silent again at last, leaning on the nearby wall. "It bothers me, Simon," he said quietly. "It bothers me a great deal. It's like that rat turning up dead; it just doesn't make sense."
That gave Hojo a bit of a nasty jolt; he disguised it as well as he could, shrugging a little. "Not exactly," he pointed out. "The rat had nothing wrong with it that we could find; Kal wasn't in nearly such good shape. He did seem to have some rather serious personal issues, you may recall."
"But killing himself?" Gast shook his head. "It just strikes me odd. What could have gone so wrong with him so quickly? He had no history of any kind of mental illness or even instability, personal or family."
"These things do happen." Hojo stood up straight again, wandering around the base of the stairs. "We both know there are a lot of good reasons that someone can experience some sudden psychological instability. A tumor, perhaps, or particularly serious sleep deficiency; it could have been just a chemical imbalance of some sort left alone for too long. But we'll never know now, and though losing Kal is a very sad thing, it isn't of any particular use to us to know why. The proverbial horse has already escaped; there isn't much sense in inspecting the lock on the barn door now."
Gast sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You're right. Of course I know you're right. I just... wish I understood it better. God, what a waste."
Hojo nodded slowly, solemnly. "I'm sorry, Jeffrey," he said quietly. Gast looked back up at him, again with a second's surprised bemusement.
"Thank you, Simon." He shot a glance up the stairs. "I think I'm going to go rest for a little while. It's been... a rather difficult day."
"Good idea." Hojo gave him a single brief, slightly awkward clasp on the shoulder, and then turned to head back to the lab. Gast looked after him for a moment, smiling slightly, unconsciously; then he turned himself, ascending the stairs, and was gone as well.
*
Ellis was still sitting at the table when Hojo returned; all the other scientists except Lucrecia had already gathered up to follow Gast, shuffling out the door like shell-shocked refugees. The interns had formed into their group automatically, starting the evening's work despite Gast's admonition to relax, but with none of the cheer or energy that usually characterized their nights on the job. Ellis supposed he should head for the library himself, but couldn't seem to exert the necessary energy, still trying to wrap his mind around everything it had been given and mostly failing.
"I just don't understand it," he said aloud, to no one in particular, staring down at the tabletop. "Kal--why would Kal do this?"
"Why would anyone?" Ruth countered, almost absently, reaching up to store some clean glassware. Somehow the question did not quite seem rhetorical, and Ellis thought for a moment, at last sighing and rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand.
"I see your point, of course. But--" He struggled for words. "It's all so--abrupt. All of a sudden he's suffering from psychological problems, and then all of a sudden he's killed himself. It doesn't make sense."
"That seems to be the general consensus." Ellis raised his head to see Hojo in the doorway, his expression rather forcefully neutral as he walked back into the room. "But it seems to me that either we make it make sense, or we spend the remainder of the Project lying about and obsessing over the issue; and I think that choice is no choice at all."
Ellis made an undefined, noncommittal sound, pushing back slightly from the table. "I think you're probably right," he agreed. "But I still find it very upsetting, and very troubling."
"We all do," Lucrecia said softly. Hojo reached down from where he stood above her shoulder, and clasped her hand; she took it gratefully, getting to her feet. Ellis stood then too, at last, rounding the table toward the library. As he approached the tank where Jenova was held, however, he paused, gazing up through the thick glass, pensively.
"Does it occur to you that this might be more trouble than it's worth?" he asked quietly, addressing the room. He could almost feel Hojo's frown.
"What do you mean?" he asked, a bit edgily. Lucrecia added her voice, with a skeptical tone.
"I hardly think we can blame the specimen for a suicide on the project," she pointed out. Ellis shook his head slightly.
"I know. But can we truthfully say this would have happened if we weren't working on the Project?"
Silence in the lab. Even the other interns had gone quiet. After a long pause, Ellis went on, still staring reflectively into the glass, at the warped humanoid face of Jenova.
"I know it's a ridiculous conclusion to draw, and I'm not trying to do so," he said matter-of-factly, almost to himself. "It's just... this creature is very alien to us. That means nothing in and of itself, of course; it's a dangerous crime to fear all the unknown, and much of it is very good... but much of it can be bad, too. I think that, particularly as scientists, we tend to forget that--until someone brings it up right before our faces." He paused for a moment, then began quoting, softly, almost rhythmically. "'Son of man, you cannot know, or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images... but I will show you something different from either your shadow at morning striding behind you or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.'"
Another beat of silence.
"Jeffrey mentioned you were a lit minor as an undergraduate, but isn't this a bit excessive?" Hojo's voice inquired, with arid humor. Ellis chuckled, almost startled into it as he shook off the momentary reverie.
"Maybe a bit," he conceded, turning back to the others, with a last glance at the tank. "Jenova was discovered by a mining operation, wasn't it? What do you suppose they thought when they first dug that out of the ground?"
"Probably, 'Oh good, it's a big ugly lump of goo, we can sell it to the Science Department,'" Mike put in with very slightly forced cheerfulness.
Ellis smiled. "I suppose so." He cast a glance at Hojo then, raising a brow. "Do you know if there's a report from the excavation around anywhere?"
"I believe so. Probably." He shrugged eloquently. "If there is, it's bound to be in the library. I'm sure you're welcome to have a look at it if it's there."
The younger man nodded, thoughtfully. "Maybe I will," he said, again almost to himself. "It could be interesting. I ought to head in there at any rate. All of you take care of yourselves this evening, please."
On that note, he turned and walked abruptly into the library, pushing the door gently back toward its jamb as he entered. Hojo and Lucrecia, after a moment's hesitation, also left the lab, following the researchers' exodus to the hall; and once again the interns were abandoned to their own company, and the strange, somber quiet that had subdued them.
*
MEMORANDUM
TO: President Shinra
FROM: Excavation Operations Director Colby
RE: Status of dig site #SEPC100638
Sir:
I am pleased to report that the dig is progressing on schedule, and will be completed within the month. Figures for current quantities of extracted resources are attached; we are expecting these numbers to be approximately doubled by the conclusion of the operation.
In addition to fuel and mineral deposits, crews also seem to have uncovered a petrified (possibly fossilized) organism in one of the lower geological strata. The organism is quite clearly of prehistoric origin and may be of interest to the Science Department. Should we contact Professor Gast for his opinion?
Director Colby
MEMORANDUM
TO: Professor Gast
FROM: Excavation Operations Director Colby
RE: Possible research specimen
Sir:
Under the direction of President Shinra, I am contacting you to inform you of a recent discovery made at dig site #SEPC100638, in the lower Great Glacier region. We believe our crews have unearthed a prehistoric organism which may be a potential asset to your department. The president has expressed his desire that this organism be shipped to you post the conclusion of the excavation. Is this satisfactory?
Director Colby
*
Ellis pulled off his glasses and set them on the table with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He'd found the report, shelved (oddly enough, and erroneously to say the least) among about ten on the subject of proper maintenance of carburetors; well, at least he'd found it. However, it was really less a report than a scrapbook, so far, a jumble of crumpled carbon copies of memos, sheets of numbers, dry journal pages, and a few scattered and cryptic diagrams. His own work had gone neglected for nearly two hours as he sifted through the early pages, trying to put them in some kind of order and make sense of them, reading and re-reading pages as if in the hopes of unlocking some deeper meaning than the sterile corporate terms first revealed. He supposed he should return to work on his thesis; but he was suddenly seized with an undeniable and unaccountable desire to know more about that creature floating in the specimen tank, where it came from, where it had been. And his mind seemed to want to wander, anyway.
Should have, would have, could have. He picked up his glasses, held them reflectively to the dim light of the table lamp, then grimaced slightly. Couldn't have. We should have known what was going to happen; we would have done something to help Kal, to save him--but we couldn't have done a thing, really. Maybe a psychiatrist, a crisis counselor, but not us. All of us men of intellect, of education, of theoretically infinite knowledge in our hands, and something like this is still miles out of our depth. Madness isn't medicine. Suicide isn't science. Lament as we like, we couldn't have done a damn thing. And if that's the case, what are we here for? What am I here for?
"Hey, Sawbones."
Ellis glanced up at the door, startled out of his thoughts, sliding his glasses back onto his face like a narrow barrier. Ruth stood in her customary position in the doorway, still a little more serious than usual, head cocked and jacket on. Most of the lights were off in the lab behind her, and the lamplight cast a delicate pattern of shadows across her face. Those darknesses touched off an odd, disquieted feeling somewhere deep in Ellis, and he blinked a few times, uneasily, to rid himself of that peculiar sense of premonition.
Ruth tossed her head to one side, indicating toward the main door of the lab. "Mike and I are gonna go out to the bar and drink ourselves stupid," she told him pleasantly. "Come with."
Ellis half-smiled ironically, rubbing at his forehead with one hand as he shuffled the papers on the desk before him. "As enjoyable as that sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to decline," he replied drily. "I still have a lot to work on this evening..."
"No," Ruth cut him off patiently, "you don't get it. I'm not asking you. You're coming with us, even if we have to tie you up, drag you to the bar, and shove booze in you. You need a break right now, not at two in the morning like usual; it's been a shitty day, everybody's a mess, especially you, Dr. Frank told us to take a rest, and you are gonna come get piss-ass drunk, whether you like it or not."
Ellis looked back at the friendly belligerence in her bright brown eyes for a moment, in mild surprise and amusement, and then chuckled, spreading his hands in concession as he got to his feet. "How can I argue with that?"
"Aw, damn, we don't get to tie him up?" Mike's voice complained cheerfully from beyond the doorway, just before he appeared behind Ruth's shoulder, tucking longish brown hair habitually behind his ears. She shrugged, smirking back at him.
"Not unless he asks us real nicely," she answered airily. Ellis only laughed, and shook his head.
"I can see this is going to be an interesting evening," he said with slightly grudging good humor, and clicked off the lamp, leaving the report and his own studies behind him as the three strolled together out of the lab, their voices fading into the dark hallways.
*
The bar was quiet, almost empty, when the three interns arrived; it was therefore less strange than it might usually have been to see the dark-suited trio of figures sitting at the bar, two drinking with thoughtful steadiness, one brooding over an apparently untouched glass of something yellowish and evil-looking. Mike and Ellis might have hesitated--but Ruth charged ahead with characteristic cheerful abandon, grinning affably at the Turks and claiming a stool next to them, and the other two followed largely out of habit. The first triad turned almost as a man to the newcomers, first surprised at being approached and then amused when they recognized their visitors. Vincent smiled and nodded a brief, silent greeting; Megan quirked an eyebrow in their direction and returned her attention to making short work of the shot in her hand. Rip--Jacob "Rip" Thelan, to be more precise, current head of the Turks: a hard-lined, narrow, intimidatingly tall man with almost militantly short blonde hair, a goatee that should have been scruffy but wasn't somehow, and an unmistakably deadly grace in every movement--even turned on his stool to face them, with a tiny, sardonic smile.
"'Evening, kids," he greeted the interns customarily, pleasantly enough. "How's life in the basement?"
"Can't complain," Ruth replied.
"Well, actually we can, but we try to do it quietly," Mike interjected cheerfully. "How's life upstairs?"
"Suddenly a lot less boring," Megan said drily, with a handful of bills and an imperious gesture extended to the rather edgy-looking bartender. "I assume you've heard about Darmin?" They nodded nearly in unison, sobering abruptly. Megan shook her head slightly, and tossed back another shot. "Been checking it out all day. Damn weird shit."
Rip looked suddenly thoughtful, and leaned back again as she spoke to aim a finger at Ellis. "That reminds me--you're Maseke, right?" The younger man nodded slightly. "Thought so. Gast said you're a med student--closest thing to a real doctor we got around here, I guess."
"Yes, that's true," Ellis affirmed, a bit warily.
"Okay. We got our investigation done in the room and everything, but we still need an autopsy on the body. You're the only one qualified as far as I know."
The casual words were, technically, no more than a statement of fact; but from Rip they carried the subtle but unmistakable weight of a command. Ellis hesitated, reluctant, for only a second--then nodded.
"All right. I'll get on it as soon as possible."
"Good." Rip stood then, briskly, sliding his glass away across the bar. "Okay, lady and gentleman. We better get out of here, before one of the monkeys stops drooling long enough to put together where we're s'posed to be and where we're not."
"Watch as I quiver in terror," Vincent deadpanned, eyes fixed in space. Megan laughed and stood up as well, kicking her stool absently back into position.
"C'mon, Vince, you heard the boss. I get the feeling our presence isn't quite appreciated around here anyway." She dropped a sardonic wink in the direction of the bartender, who managed to pretend not to see it. At last Vincent joined them, pushing back his still-untouched drink, and with an automatic ammo-check and another rueful smile and nod to the interns, fell in behind the other two as they sauntered out the door. Ellis thought he could see the bartender and the scattered other patrons physically relax at the Turks' exit, and the strange quiet that had taken over the building evaporated, slowly, in their formidable wake.
*
And so the night went on, round by round. The three drank just about everything the little bar had to offer, each picking up the tab for the others by turns. They talked good-humoredly enough, as associates and companions, discussing work, college, the others on the Project, and cheerfully engaging in occasional vulgar humor at the expense of any number of high-ranking Shinra executives... but at length, inevitably, the conversation subdued again, and turned slowly back to the darker matter that was Kal's death.
"I should have done something," Ellis said suddenly, out of a long silence that followed a portion of this discussion. The other two looked at him with peculiarly similar puzzled frowns.
"What do you mean?" Mike asked, uncertainly. Ellis shook his head, staring into the empty glass in front of him.
"Rip said it as well as I could. I'm the closest thing to a medical doctor on the Project; if anyone's to help a member who's unwell, it has to be me. But I didn't, did I?" He tented his fingers before his face, resting his chin on laced thumbs. "Kal's dead. And I should have been the one to prevent that."
Mike and Ruth cast an uneasy glance at each other; at last Mike sat forward, leaning on the table. "You can't blame yourself for a suicide, Ellis," he said quietly, in atypical earnest. "That doesn't make any more sense than blaming Jenova for it."
Ellis shrugged, a bit morosely. "Doesn't it? I might have done something for him; I should have at least tried. Isn't inaction sometimes the most detrimental form of action?"
"You didn't know," Ruth argued vehemently, almost angrily. "Nobody did. It just happened; you know that."
He shook his head. "We knew something was wrong, and as medical personnel, anything affecting someone's health should be my responsibility. What I knew isn't the point. In all honesty, if I can't stop a man dying two doors away, what kind of a doctor am I?"
"No kind, yet," Ruth returned bluntly. "And if you're gonna ask me what kind of med student then, a really young one, who doesn't have a lot of experience. Stop pickin on yourself, Sawbones. I'm not gonna listen to it. You didn't know what'd happen with the doc, and you couldn't have. And you're not a shrink; it wasn't your job to take care of him. So no more of your 'it's-my-fault' crap. Got it?"
Ellis met her gaze, startled for the second time that night by this heretofore unseen protective side, and smiled a little, ruefully. "I suppose so," he relented. "And I apologize for being such a melancholy drunk."
Mike chuckled. "Hell, we haven't got you half liquored up enough to tell what kind of drunk you are." He stood then, tossing a few bills on the counter and pushing in his stool. "I think, however, my associate here is going to have to do the research for both of us; I've got to run. Places to go, vermin to feed."
Ellis raised his drained glass to the other man in a kind of friendly half-salute. "Tomorrow, then."
"Catch ya later, Rats," Ruth put in companionably.
Mike grinned and ruffled her hair briefly. "Catch me anytime you want, babe."
She made a mildly rude gesture in his direction, and swatted at his hand. "Eh, get outta here." Mike laughed, and strolled easily out of the bar. The other two both watched him go for a moment, before turning at last back to the bar and each other.
"He's a great guy," Ruth commented idly. Ellis nodded.
"One of the best, I think."
They were quiet for a little while, aside from the ordering of fresh drinks, and just sat together in a comfortable, oddly peaceful silence. Then Ruth turned to him, a little half-smile on her lips, resting her head on one hand with her elbow on the bar.
"If you could be any kind of animal, what would you be?" she asked abruptly. Ellis frowned for a moment, a little taken aback.
"A snail," he replied at length. Ruth grinned, sloshing at her Scotch--heavier than she'd been drinking earlier, he noticed, though she still seemed completely unaffected--with a fingertip.
"Yeah? Why a snail?"
Ellis shrugged, with a slightly mischievous little smile. "They have their domiciles on their backs, and their reproductive organs on their heads. How much more convenient could life get?"
Ruth came dangerously close to spraying the bar with alcohol, but managed to choke down her mouthful before she burst out laughing, and landed a playful punch on Ellis's shoulder. "I'm serious, you git," she admonished, not very convincingly, then eyed him in amusement. "They really do?" He nodded, returning her smile, and she shook her head with another chuckle. "Man, that's a trip. Gives 'dickhead' a whole new meaning, huh?"
Ellis laughed, in wordless agreement, before lapsing into deeper consideration of her question. "I'm not sure what I'd be," he said reflectively, at length. "I'm fairly satisfied with being human, really. Though I suppose, if I had to choose, I might like to be a wolf. I've always been interested in their society." Ruth nodded, thoughtfully. "And you?"
She smiled and leaned back on her stool, closing her rich brown eyes. "A swan," she said with peaceful assurance. "When I was a little kid, we had this big book with pictures of birds... I always wanted to be a swan. All you'd have to do all day is just swim around a nice little pond somewhere, and look pretty... and if you wanted, you could just fly away anytime you felt like it." She spread her arms for a moment, as if they were wings, and Ellis realized something very alarming: he thought he was falling in love with her.
Then she sat up again, dropping them back to her sides, and grinned ruefully at him. "Goofy, I know," she said in a tone of concession.
Ellis shook his head immediately. "Not at all," he answered simply, softly. She glanced over at him once, then only gave him a warm little smile.
"So what are you going to do when we get out of all this?" she asked, rather than continuing to pursue the subject. "Go set up a practice somewhere, or something like that, right?"
Ellis's eyes dropped toward the bar, his good humor ebbing gradually away at the new line of questioning. "Actually, I'm not certain," he answered honestly. He saw her frown from the corners of his eyes.
"What d'you mean?"
"I mean..." He shrugged a little, still staring down at his hands. "I've just--seen and heard so much, of late, about all of the corruption within Shinra, the politics and the greed... Even on the Project, which is supposed to be pure scientific research, there's just no way to escape it. You've seen how little help Professor Gast has received in investigating Kal's death, aside from a quick once-over by the Turks. This is not a good place to work. And... I'm not certain that I can really go or practice anywhere outside this influence. Even beyond Shinra, their control is more or less total by now, as we're all fully aware... and who's to say, even if I were to escape them, conditions would be any better anywhere else I chose to practice? And that, after something like this, what I could give would really be worth it?" He looked up, across the bar and into space, with a small, silent sigh. "I'm just afraid that one way or another, whether I know it or not, I'll end up hurting someone," he concluded. "And that's the last thing I should ever do."
He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he expected--but it certainly wasn't the one he received. Even as he watched his hands, where they lay on the bar, one of Ruth's fell on the nearest of his own, clasping it.
"Lemme tell you a story," she said quietly.
"You're from around Midgar, right? Ever been to the low side of Sector 2?" He almost began to answer, but she shook her head, cutting him off. "No, course not. Nobody goes there. The people who live there call it the Neighborhood; but what it really is is hell. It's where I was born.
"Girls aren't much like me down there. They aren't s'posed to have loud mouths or talk about stuff like guys do, or really even get jobs if they can help it. I think I kind of confused everybody around there, especially my family, and they didn't really like having me around too much. So I went to school, and I really worked my ass off; I didn't touch drugs, and I took care of myself, and I didn't get pregnant. And I wound up getting a scholarship. I went to college, and got my internship. I never told anybody that story; but that's why I'm here. I got out. Just about nobody does that. They live and they die and they never have a single goddamn minute where they see something besides dark and gray. I'd never even seen a real swan before I went to the university. They're mean little bastards, you know that?" She smiled briefly, then went on, though every word seemed harsh, difficult. Then again, Ellis reflected numbly, he didn't imagine she shied from difficulty...
"I knew a lot of people down there who had problems. My dad had two fingers missing by the time I was born. He lost them working at the factory; some asshole let one of the machines slip. He could've saved them if anybody'd known how to put the damn things back on. And my best friend in high school--she was the sweetest girl I ever knew. She helped everybody out if they had a problem she could do anything for, no matter how much it put her out. When we were seniors, some guy raped her--knocked her up, gave her some virus too. Kind of thing happens to anybody. She might've been able to get through okay, but she got really scared. She killed herself. I think there's a lot more than that, but I can't even remember them all."
Ruth caught Ellis's gaze firmly, holding it, looking squarely into his eyes. "Maybe you would get stuck working for somebody like Shinra," she said simply. "Maybe not. But it wouldn't have to be for them. You understand? There are other people you could help, my kind of people. You could save some of them. Fucking people might be Shinra's business, but it sure as hell doesn't have to be yours, even if they sign your paychecks." She squeezed his hand briefly. "You're one of the good guys, Sawbones," she told him gently. "I know you, and I know you're better than that. You're not gonna hurt anybody."
"But what if I can't help it?" Ellis asked quietly, finding his voice at last as he stared back into her eyes. "What if I already am, and I don't even realize it?"
She smiled, sadly. "We all do, sometimes. And we learn from it." Her hand reached up then, suddenly, to cup his cheek lightly--to Ellis's surprise. "You're one of the good guys," she repeated. "You deserve better than to get bogged down with this shit."
They sat like that for a long time. Finally, Ellis covered her hand with his own, perhaps a bit awkwardly, and smiled a little.
"And what are you going to do when this is all over?" he asked. Ruth returned the smile, stroking his fingers slightly with her thumb.
"I figured I'd go be a swan for a while," she replied comfortably. "Just to try it out."
Her hand slid down to wrap around his, caressing it silkily; the quality of the touch changed swiftly, became a little more dangerous and a little sweeter all at once. Ellis's eyes caught on Ruth's again, and this time it was more than just a thought; he was almost sure he in love with her.
"Want to walk me back to my room, Sawbones?" she inquired, with a kind of innocence behind which hid an enormous depth of invitation, of insinuation. Ellis only nodded his response, mute.
At her door they kissed once, lingeringly, and she guided his hand to her breast. It was soft under his fingers, warm. He could feel her heart beat, faintly, her body peculiarly welcoming. Then she asked him if he wanted to come inside, and he said yes; and, for perhaps the last time, there was peace that night.