Feather
Flight: What did I do to deserve this gift?(part 16)
An AU Kuja fic, shonen-ai, language
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“This information is twenty-four damn hours old!” Kuja tossed the papers aside, angry at facts he couldn’t change and too tired to be diplomatic about it. “Trying to strategize anything like this is futile, if the inputted values are irrelevant what difference does my analysis make!”
He was losing his edge. Sleep had been a long time coming, and what little he had managed only left him feeling emptier than before. Looking at the stunned group of officers, all of whom were startled to silence by his uncharacteristic outburst, he simply shrugged and turned back to the model world that dominated the room. Above the topographic map of the continent, men lay themselves out carefully on scaffolds, moving the army icons to their new position one careful poke at a time. It was beautiful, and utterly archaic. It was no way to fight a war.
The elderly duke rested a calming hand in his arm, the man a steady presence at his shoulder. “Easy, Mr.Kuja, we do what we can… it is important that someone sees the larger picture where our generals cannot. We guide them…”
“To an early death…” Kuja was in no mood to be mollified. He had been staring at the map for hours and no inspiration would come. His usual gift for planning had failed him leaving him with idiotic and unrealistic flights of fancy. Laro didn’t need speculation, he needed answers. He needed the fastest way to achieve his goals with a minimum loss of resources.
// Resources… Lives. We’re talking people’s /lives/… not dolls, not monsters… living breathing thinking people… /Laro/… Make the wrong call, and Laro could die… //
The responsibility was sickening and he didn’t understand how nobody else seemed to care. To them the pieces on the board were just that, pieces. Every time he closed his eyes, the bits of brass and pewter were substituted for minutely detailed hordes of men standing as bravely as they could against a blanketing army of insects. Somehow it was easier to think with his eyes closed. It shut out some of the distractions of the room.
He was tired, beyond tired, and knew it showed. Two days after his secret collapse and he still hadn’t recovered. His reflection was a stranger, pale and sickly. He looked sick enough that his friends couldn’t help but ask what was wrong. Delaying them with petty excuses wouldn’t work forever. It was another strategic problem for his tired mind to tackle, but not now.
// Laro… Think of Laro… //
Kuja had gotten involved in the first place because he found that he couldn’t /not/ help. Now it seemed he couldn’t help either. It was an insidious torture. His thoughts bent towards the front so often that he daydreamed of the armies, their movements, their choices. When the reports came in he compared fantasy to reality and was dubiously pleased. The Selwe were insects after all, they had patterns, predictable behavior. The longer he studied them the more he acknowledged that they were consummate conquerors. Their tactics -- while conservative -- were designed to get the job done and played always on their strengths. The genome was only grateful that their weaknesses also showed along predictable lines; in sudden surprise situations, or when environment hampered their mobility. It grew easier with each battle he reviewed. He seemed to have a knack for thinking like they did. Maybe it was just that he had something in common with them.
// After all… how many ways are there to orchestrate a war on a global conquest scale…? I had my mages, she had her drones… I had my guardians, she has her monsters, but we have… I had… the same goal… utter destruction, and the patience to let it come in its own time. //
He frowned, spinning the battlefield around in his mind until he was seeing it from the enemy’s perspective. He could imagine what elements of the army were known and unknown, how they would shy away from the mountain passes in favor of laying in ground troops in the plain around the Tower. Laro would have to take the first move, an opening gambit. The Selwe had nothing to loose in waiting, they could watch his army in the mountains until the men starved, or until the season turned cold enough that snows made staying put just as hazardous as marching into the lowlands.
//… I wonder… if she is like me… is she fighting because she wants the world? Or is she fighting because she has no choice… //
It wasn’t the first time he had played tactical games against a woman either. An edge of experience that helped put him head and shoulders above his peers at court. Admittedly the Queen was like no woman he had ever encountered, able to accept losses among what must have been her /children/ because the drones were less than sentient, replaceable. She was still distinctly feminine however, in her tactics and her plans. She was fond of slowly building pressure rather than sharp sweeping attacks. Her army would press steadily, marching always, inches at a time if need be, but they would never stop completely; were fundamentally unstoppable so long as she lived.
// So it must cost her something, to hatch new soldiers and send them off to die… She can’t be completely detached… So…What is her motivation…? What is it she gains from this action? //
// What does any woman warrior want… not glory… It’s a rare woman who will fight for something so hollow… that is a man’s habit… so what? //
The answer came upon a moment of inner clarity. He knew what drove her, it was the same thing that had convinced Brahne to be his ally, the same thing that eventually driven her daughter to be his enemy. The mother had been easy to manipulate in her sorrow and her loss. Women when hurt, were always ready to believe that attacking was the only way to be sure it wouldn’t happen again, even when it wasn’t true.
// Peace… Women usually fight so that they can have peace… and safety for their loved ones. She has decided she cannot get that safety while we live… so… she fears us? What we are capable of…? //
// She is a steady and meticulous creature… but how far does her consciousness extend…? I would need to see a live-drone to be certain… that’ll never happen… but it could be crucial… can we move faster than she can? Can we out maneuver her? Laro has in the past… can he do it again? Or has she learned from those mistakes… //
Knowing the troop placements on the map, in his head, were hours old, meaningless, he shifted the army around slightly on the presumption that Laro would make the first move. His lover was definitely the /male/ aspect of the battle. His attacks rarely came with any finesse but had a definite kinetic aspect. Blitzkrieg war; his army would dive down into the fray to wreak havoc among the orderly outer boundaries only to swing back into the mountains just as quickly. Laro would try and soften the solid wall of troops in the valley, nibble at the edges, had probably begun to already.
// It won’t change the fact that eventually he will have to commit to an assault. Any protracted attack and her army will stand ready and waiting to rip his flank to shreds. //
Eyes closed he could see it, the Kai’s impatience to get it over with, the Queen’s answering calm. It would be so easy for Laro’s army to push too far too fast and become utterly engulfed. The result would be ugly. Opening his eyes, he stared at the floor until the wave of dizziness passed.
“My lord… how fast can a message be sent out to Nazer-kai…” The formal name felt foreign on his lips.
“Six hours at our fastest.” Riquoi’s murmur sounded pleased, his prodigal son about to produce another miracle. Kuja smiled at the thought. Somehow it didn’t bother him to be the old-man’s political asset, maybe it was just that he was so used to being a tool for /someone/ that at this point anyone would do.
“A day should be sufficient.”
// At least Riquoi doesn’t beat me
when I get things wrong… and hell, did
If there had been a time when it had happened, Kuja un-remembered it. Terra didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t even have the energy to spare to curse its ruin properly. Focus, focus was what he needed. The message would have to be sent, but what else? If Laro couldn’t sit still, and couldn’t commit full forces, then what was he to do?
// Think... this is what you were trained for… two armies… one field, one goal… Laro must get to the Tower… She will wait for the slightest error… and eliminate him once and for all… //
// Two households,
both alike in dignity… In fair
The litany of the ancient play tickled the back of his mind, suddenly he couldn’t remember if it was a line from something on Gaia, or something he had recently read from Riquoi’s collection. The morbid prose seemed to have a life of its own. He shut his eyes again, preferring the silence inside his head to the murmurs of the soldiers in the room.
Behind his eyelids the armies clashed and rolled, and instead of going straight for the goal as expected, Laro’s troops folded back and over themselves, slicing off the entire eastern edge of the defensive army and folding the unsuspecting insects into a violent sea of humanity. What would keep the Selwe from positioning themselves between the men and the safety of the mountain pass when time for retreat came? From the heights, the mammoth beam cannons were positioned just /so/, hammering the hot surface of the plains below blocking all access.
// Snow… we could mix it up with some old fashioned catapults full of ice… that would definitely get their attention… Hot playing off cold, one contrast too many for their leaders to comprehend… leaders… She must have some sort of eyes on the ground, Laro described the different classes of drone… someone has to be chaperoning all the troops, it’s just more efficient… If we can find them, eliminate them… that would be a breaking point… //
The human army crushed the part it had bit off the enemy’s flank before spilling back around and taking a bite off the other side, fresh fighters from the back would take the brunt of the attack allowing the wounded to siphon off? Maybe Laro could swap armies half way to save his fighter’s stamina. It wasn’t a decision he could make this far from the front.
Silently wishing for an airship wasn’t going to magically produce one from the ether. He missed his dragon. It had been a thing of utility and beauty, even if it had been of little use as anything but a pet. This was not Gaia. He would have to work with the paltry assets he was given. He just hoped it would be enough.
“… Tell the general… that direct assault must not occur, he will be flanked and summarily crushed…” An idea tickled the back of his head. “How far away is Ibat-kai’s main attack group?”
“A day, maybe more, depends if you want to move light infantry or something more substantial.”
It took a moment to frame his thoughts into orders, his voice sounding as detached as he felt as he rattled off the steps for his plan. It was rough, but it would have to be. Laro would know best how to fill in the details based on weather, terrain and shifts in his enemy’s defensive line. “Tell Laro… Tell him that /this/ is what he should do… it will take a day, perhaps two… but the Tower will be his…”
// … from ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean…//
// It’ll be an ugly fight from start to finish, Laro… but it will be yours to win if you watch your back… //
There was nothing more he could do now. The scribes would copy down his terse orders, bundle them into the official cases, and rush them at manic speed to the front lines. That vague point in the distance where /things/ were happening and all his hopes were grounded. Opening his eyes again, he accepted the arm that was offered, leaning against it with a tired sigh.
“You should rest. You push yourself too hard, Masa…”
He smiled at the intimacy implied with the duke’s choice of name. The old man was genuinely worried about him, cared for him, even if only as a pawn. It was nice, he decided, to be cared about.
// Zidane...? What are you doing here? In thought I told you to go... //
// Wouldn't you do the same for me if you knew I was dying? //
The memory surprised him, waking from his dream like state. He would not be weak. Weakness could not be tolerated, now more than ever. If his moronic brother could pull off an impossible victory on little more than ego and divine luck, he could do the same.
// … I still don’t like you… Zidane…//
// … but I don’t think I hate you anymore… now that I know…
what it feels like to try to protect the people I… I am responsible for… I
understand… why you struggled so hard... against Terra… against
Finding strength he didn’t know he had, Kuja stood up straighter and let go of the nobleman’s supporting arm. Those among the soldiers who weren’t studying the board after his declaration were staring at him in open awe. Smirking, he bowed to his patron and quietly left the room.
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The sweat was stinging his eyes as he perched on the sun-baked rocks and watched the flow of the attack in the valley ahead. In the distance the Tower loomed like a massive black shadow, defined more by its ‘not belonging’ in the arid plain then by any easier explanation. It drew the eye upwards without a watcher even intending to, a spire in communication with the heavens. The Tower was a direct connection to the pitch darkness of space where the Queen was rumored to watch. Laro gave it his grudging respect and refused to pay it any further attention, his eyes were far more interested in the more immediate. A strike force was grazing along the outer edge of the carefully arrayed enemy line, slicing through stragglers and nipping at the corners of the formations. The tactic was effective, as far as it went.
The Selwe never could work up a way to avoid the fast-paced harassment. By the time one phalanx would move in order to confront their human tormenters, the team was gone, further down the line, or swinging back to safety. He let the current group go a little further than the last, watching the ripples of retaliation slowly percolate through the mass of waiting drones. He raised a hand to his second only when the squad ran the risk of running too far. A whistling signal called the men home again, leaving a trail of smashed husks strewn on the ground behind them. It was an annoyance at best, but gave the men /something/ to do while he contemplated the various insanities available to him.
// Split the army in half? Evacuate the mountain pass and try and work around behind? Maybe I can push them up against the mountains and pin them… but gods know what is over that set of bluffs… until the scouts come back there is no telling if I’d be pushing the army right into ‘the backup’ or not… and that would be… unpleasant. //
The understatement left him with a sour taste in his mouth. It was a waiting game no matter how he looked at it. Everything he could do was risky, and the payoff was getting damned elusive. He wondered if his old friend was having similar difficulties further north. Ibat’s most recent surveys hadn’t shown any unusually massive activity blocking his progress, just an increasingly nasty number of the larger beasts of the Queen’s army. At the moment he was effectively trapped in the highlands as he picked the massive Diggers off one at a time.
Laro briefly considered calling the older man’s army down to mesh with his own. Apparently the Selwe were either able to guess his plans in particular, or they had just decided to tear through his army first before moving on to the second one. Either possibility was worth being paranoid about, but it didn’t change the fact that he needed to /do/ something. Stalemates were meant to be broken, and the summer was already waning.
// … And I can’t very well beat them to death twenty or thirty at a time, that’ll take all year… I need something decisive… something that won’t end up with a lot of dead men on my hands… //
He stared at the barren baked clay that once used to be a fertile plain, and wracked his uncooperative brain for ideas. His best bet was to wait it out and see if the new tacticians at the capital could see something he couldn’t. The suggestions trickling down the pipe had taken a delightful change for the better in recent weeks, leaving him to wonder if they had actually found a strategist worth his spit, or if his memories of the old strategic reports had been twisted some how during his conference. If it wasn’t that his captains, and Ibat-kai, seemed to feel the same way he would have suspected the fault lay with him. Whoever it was who had taken the war so firmly in hand, he sorely deserved whatever medals could be dished out for a non-combatant. The only pity was that he or they were too far away to make more than generalized guesses as to what was needed.
// Frighteningly accurate guesses, but still… For once, maybe I’ll sit back and trust the advisors to… advise me? How bizarre… and where the hell are my scouts… ? //
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For once Clay found himself almost bumping into his Kai’s silvery lover without intending to. He had given the game up as hopeless after the near disaster only nights before, had stopped even pretending to follow his former quarry between meals or back and forth from the war room or to the college. Habit was hard to break however, and once he had caught sight of the man, he couldn’t help but observe him. Kuja was oblivious to everything, walking with painful slowness down a corridor that would eventually take him to his suite.
// Looks dead on his feet… or just plain /dead/… somebody really ought to take him to task… or to a doctor… //
It wasn’t his place to intervene. He shook his head and resolutely continued his errand. It wasn’t like they were friends. The only thing that had existed between them was make-believe, and it was a game that neither of them seemed keen to resume. The general carefully pushed the hint of guilt aside. Whatever happened, it had nothing to do with him.
// And really… if he does /die/… so what… the army looses another strategist… the court another flower… and Riquoi is out a toy… Nothing new in any of those things… the man is replaceable; it’s as simple as that. //
His stomach turned at the thought and not knowing quite why, he changed his course to take him to the war room before returning to his desk. Maybe it was just morbid curiosity, but he suddenly wanted to know what dubious scheme the pale courtesan had conjured /this/ time. Kuja’s ability to foresee the movements of troops on the table without even a hope of current information was damned uncanny. Clay at least was skeptic enough to believe that it was just good guesswork, but rumors were beginning to circulate that ‘Masa’ might have a touch of the divine after all. It was either that, or the courtesan had some sort of direct connection with the mind of the hive’s queen, he had heard both arguments repeatedly over the last few days.
// Although lately the ‘holy’ angle has been winning, given that he /looks/ the part of some suffering martyr, I’m not surprised… maybe it’s all deliberate… more play acting from a master manipulator? //
// There’s no such thing as fallen angels, after all…Those are just kid’s stories… //
He would have snorted at the obvious play on words in the man’s name, but the memory of the frightening attack left him cold. Kuja hadn’t been play-acting then. His fear, and his struggle had been very real. Prodding the problem was like poking at a sore wound. It ached and yet could not be left alone. Even in denying his obsession, he couldn’t let it go. Kuja, everything came back to him somehow. After weeks there was still no way to decode the riddle that was the courtesan, and for the moment at least, he remained the pin holding many of the most interesting groups together.
// … and it just may happen that he’ll vanish and still be just as much of an enigma as when he arrived… //
It was frustrating to the extreme. He laughed at himself a little as he pushed his way through the scatterings of officers and arrived at the inner sanctum of the army’s intelligence. The massive miniature world had changed drastically since he had left it in the morning. The area around the Kai’s army now littered with little light blue flags, anticipated troop movements. There was only one guess as to who had done the anticipating. He studied the pattern a moment, not comprehending the scattering of points before someone tapped a paper against his elbow and he was handed the notes, the key to unraveling the muddled messages of the board.
Kuja had gone one-step beyond himself, applying the Queen’s own diffuse attack style against her. The general was oddly reminded of a comment he had once heard as a child, about how only diamonds were able to grind other diamonds. The tactic was tricky, and would require a cool head from the sub-commanders as well as good instincts on the part of the officers running the drills, but it was solid. He ran the plan through from start to finish, tracing out the wave-like motion of the attacking army as it peeled away the Tower’s defense one gentle sweep at a time.
// … Brilliant bastard… I’d have never thought of that… an oblique attack, but if it goes wrong… it’ll be a mess… //
“Not to bad for a single morning’s work, don’t you think, General Gerrik?” The duke’s dry voice caught him by surprise, turning to realize for the first time that the old man had been at his elbow since his arrival. A skeletal hand carefully reclaimed the scrap of paper. “… quite impressive, I’d say.”
“Better than /you/ anyway…” He didn’t particularly feel like being polite. They both seemed to get along better when getting right to the point. The old man must have agreed for his smile, while wintery, was still a smile.
“Mister Kuja is a man of myriad talents…”
“Yes.” He shrugged, wondering where the nobleman was leading him. “I suppose he is.”
“He is also, I think you’ve noticed… deteriorating in health.”
The nuance of the statement, the stress on the ‘you’ in particular caused him to pause suspiciously. “What are you implying, my lord?”
Riquoi simply signaled him out on to an open-air veranda connecting the building with the next one over. It wasn’t until they were alone that he bothered to explain. “You watch him… most carefully…” He raised his hand. “Don’t deny it, general… as you have been watching… so have you been watched…”
“Oh…” Somewhere above his head, he could hear the whistle of the proverbial axe as it fell.
The duke simply smiled his cool smile again, “It seems of course, that you have had far better luck with your researches than my observers have had in mine… you have a slippery nature, for a soldier.”
// He’s as much as admitting that he doesn’t have anything to blackmail me with? Why give away such an advantage… He could be lying, I suppose, trying to force my hand… //
Clay chose his words slowly, hoping to catch any accidental slips before they were irrevocable. “… I might have spent some time observing him, as you say sir… but even you must admit… Kuja is hardly watched by myself alone…”
“No… you are right… he is quite a favorite… now more than ever…” The statesman’s sigh was thoughtful. “Are you in love with him, General Gerrik?”
“What?” Almost choking on his surprise, the younger man looked over at his adversary. “What in the world gave you that idea?”
“A man who watches as avidly as you have tends to have few motivations, if it is not love or simple lust, then it is something darker… you are studying him… weighing his merits and his weaknesses.”
“Maybe I am simply watching out for my Kai’s most precious possession.”
“Nazer doesn’t own /that/ one…” Riquoi laughed at his own words. “I don’t think Kuja is someone who /can/ be owned… an independent creature, is our Mister Kuja…”
“Might I ask, my lord, what it is you want from me?” The general tucked his hands in his pockets, displaying more calm then he felt. “Why bring this up now when a simple word to my superiors would have me instantly removed from your sight, and as a threat to anyone…”
“I don’t think you’re a threat.” The duke snorted lightly. “You’re too stupid to be a threat to me, boy… and far far too young…” He didn’t give the words time to sink in enough to sting. “No, what I need from you, is information.”
“Information?”
“Whatever your reasons, sir… you /do/ watch him… do you admit that much?”
“… If I must, then yes. I have watched him.”
“In your opinion, as an expert on his habits both public and private… is he loyal?”
Clay blinked at the question. “Is he not your friend that you can decide these things for yourself?”
“You see things that others do not… that I do not… so tell me… is he loyal?”
“… disgustingly so.” The answer came with surprising ease. He let his one chance to drive a wedge between the old nobleman and his favorite courtier come and go in a flash. “If he isn’t Nazer’s pet, then he is at the very least a very devoted companion…”
“… That’s a relief… I’ll need something to crush the rumors with…” A sharp eye caught him and all but pinned him to his place. “And now… tell me, physically how does he compare with past weeks?”
“… He’s sick… and getting sicker…” It was almost a relief, to be cornered and made to confess. Some of the guilt that had been pricking the back of his conscience faded as he divulged his secrets. “Tell me milord, did he dine with you this morning?”
“… No, he said he found something to his liking in the hall before he arrived.”
“He lied then. He didn’t eat in the hall this morning, nor in his room… I have taken the liberty of bribing his maid…” He said by way of explanation. “And he probably told you the same yesterday… That means by my calculation, he hasn’t really eaten a meal since… two days ago dinner… and that amounted to some bread little else…”
“Deliberately starving himself? To what goal?”
“Perhaps it’s a symptom of something else…”
“Go on…”
“I have noticed…” He winced, picking out a white lie from the truth with exquisite care. “… I have found that he has been suffering of late from a sort of attack… an extreme difficulty breathing brought on by sudden shock or exertion… I am no doctor sir, but I wonder that the man might need one…”
“… That will require the Dean’s cooperation.” The old man mused lightly. “We can hardly go and carry the man off over your shoulder to have him examined if that isn’t what he wants.”
“Wait a day longer and his illness will not allow him to protest…”
“That is one option, yes…” The duke sighed in frustration. “This isn’t good news… I will have to consult with Madam Finlay and see what course to take. In the mean time, you will continue to /watch/ Mr. Kuja, general.”
“…my lord?”
“… and will report to myself or the Dean if anything changes… understood?”
“Yes sir.”
Sharp eyes caught and trapped him once more. “The last thing we need boy, is for Laro to go off half-cocked on some rumor that all may not be well at home… got it?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good… now… go keep an eye on our mutual… acquaintance.”
With a feeling of a man who had just received a conditional stay-of-execution, Clay made a sketchy salute and escaped back into the castle. Watching his departure with brief interest, the old man smirked to himself before moving in another direction, using the breezy causeway to find the shortest route to the college. Even in the cheerful sun, his sequined black robes made him look like an ancient vulture pacing along the path.
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Knocking on the door provoked no response, the lack of reaction making him more paranoid than it should have. Clay banged again, less politely this time.
Following the courtesan as he returned from the gardens had been child’s play. Moving as if in a dream, the silver-haired man wouldn’t have noticed him if he had moved to stand directly in his path. In the lengthening shadows of the afternoon, the pale face had looked gaunt, almost skeletal. Thin to begin with, there was little margin for error in Kuja’s diet. Not eating had already begun to take a noticeable toll on his body. Clay was frankly surprised the courtier had made it as far as his room, only to be stymied by the door that was shut against him. He would need a valid excuse if he was to get past the threshold without the guards being called down on his head.
// Of course now that I have ‘official business’ being a snoop… I /probably/ won’t get thrown in jail for it… //
It was a few minutes work to slip into the hall and procure the props he would need. Bringing up a tray was servant’s work, but no one questioned his motivations. Not for the first time he happily cloaked himself in the servile anonymity of one of the Great Kai’s unquestioning loyal masses. Wine and fruit in hand, he knocked again, wondering if he would be scolded for interrupting the man’s hard-won rest. There was no reply.
He set the tray down and with patient skill tricked the bolt back in its lock with the aide of a slender dagger. Wary that the suite’s occupant wouldn’t take kindly to trespassers, he made his entrance quietly. “… Mister Kuja…?
The sitting room was as he remembered it, not a cushion out of place. With no sign of his goal, he gave up on it and moved instead for the room beyond. The courtesan wasn’t sleeping on the bed. He /was/ however collapsed on the floor.
“…Shit…”
Only the fact that he had been expecting it -- or something worse -- allowed him to react as calmly as he did. There was no response from the limp form when he lifted it into bed and tilted the head back to attempt to aid the ragged breathing. The pale man’s lungs seemed to rattle painfully with the effort. He couldn’t tell if the man was even aware of his predicament. “… You… don’t move an inch… I’m getting you a doctor…”
Darting into the hallway, he was lucky enough to catch a servant and send them racing off to the college. A second lucky catch was driven to seek out the Duke and alert him to the inevitable. Wondering how exactly he had let himself be talked into playing nursemaid, the general let himself back into the quiet suite and sat beside Kuja on the bed to wait.
“… Troublesome little thing… aren’t you…”
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Aaaaand… the other shoe drops.
Look for ch17 next month most likely… we’ve still got a ways to go before this ride returns to station.
--Lunar.