![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Fanfic Post - Nameless, Chapter 15
Title: Nameless
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: June 29, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: None this chapter.
Genre/Continuity: AU (alternate/divergent universe) set in the first animeverse.
Disclaimer: “Fullmetal Alchemist” belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Square ENIX, Studio BONES and various other parties.
Author’s Note: Thanks to everyone who has been following this story. And, as always, constructive criticism on my plot, characterization and even grammar is welcomed.
Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist
Chapter 15: Check It Out
July, 1884
Maybe his head hadn’t cleared by the time he reached Liore because Ed wasn’t prepared for them to shoot at him. The car had died a mile out, whether from lack of fuel or abuse he couldn’t tell. And, he had transmuted Hakuro’s stupid uniform into a semblance of his usual clothes. Really, nothing about him said “military.”
It was a surprise to learn that they didn’t shoot at him for being a State Alchemist. They shot at him for tampering with the transmutation circle that was going to kill them all.
“Protect the city?” Ed yelped as the scowling men dropped him unceremoniously on the floor at the back of a shuttered house turned rebel base. “Your whole city is at the center of the transmutation!” He squirmed into a sitting position, straining at the ropes around his torso. “If it were used—!”
Tense faces relaxed imperceptibly.
“Glad to see the ‘People’s Alchemist’ is still on the right side,” said a large, bearded man, dropping into a crouch in front of Ed. “But, you got it wrong, Kid.”
Ed frowned. “What?”
“That circle.” The man leaned forward. “It works the other way around. It doesn’t affect what’s inside. It’s going to protect Liore.”
“And, wipe out the military,” said another man with an ugly grin. “We got an alchemist to make it for us.”
“An alchemist?” Ed asked mechanically as his mind dredged up every detail of the circle from the aerial photograph. Had he missed something? It was the array for a Philosopher’s Stone, yes, but could some twist in the construction formula direct the reaction out rather than in? He was still turning it over in his mind when a new voice broke over his thoughts.
“I designed the array.”
Ed looked up to see a young woman with chin-length dark hair stepping out of the crowd.
“Lyra?” he asked, recognizing her vaguely from their two, brief encounters. “I thought you were in Dublith.”
Lyra’s face softened. “Lady Dante was very old… She passed away shortly after you left.” The man stood and moved away so Lyra could kneel by Ed. “But, she taught me many things, and I remembered what you told me in Youswell. Alchemists serve the people. So, I came here to help.”
“With a transmutation circle for— like that?” Did she know what that circle was for? And, where did she learn it?
“Yes.” Lyra’s dark eyes were solemn. “It’s very dangerous, but there’s no other way. The military means to make an example of Liore.”
“But, that’s—! Even if the array does work like you plan, you’ll be—!”
Lyra looked away, and Ed searched the crowd. Hard men with harder eyes. Hard, desperate men, clutching weapons with whitening knuckles.
“Even if everyone here were to surrender,” Lyra continued, “no one would be spared.”
“Which is why we’re going to kill them first,” said the bearded man.
“But, you can’t just—”
Even that idiot Hakuro had a wife and children. And, the circle… He could still see it in his mind. Match it against the one at the Fifth Laboratory. They were identical.
“Who are you to tell us we can’t?”
“Do you know what they’ve done?”
The room erupted with angry shouts. But, the bearded man quieted them with his own shout and reached down to haul Ed up by the ropes binding him.
“You’re a good kid,” he said, eyeing Ed consideringly as the alchemist stumbled to his feet. “But, if you’re not with us, we’re going to have to keep you quiet.”
Then, he was being propelled through the crowd. He twisted to try and find Lyra one last time.
“Lyra! That array around the city – who taught you that?” He had to tell her. The array was the same as the one etched into the floor at the Fifth Laboratory. There was no difference. “You’ve got to listen to me! It doesn’t work the way you think!”
A large, sweaty hand covered his mouth, and Ed fought to breathe. He jerked his head, opened his mouth. Teeth sank into dirty flesh until it was yanked away with a curse.
“The reaction won’t go out! The city—!”
His teeth snapped together as something hard and heavy collided with the back of his skull. Light exploded across his vision, and his legs tangled around one another. Rougher hands were on him now. Cloth was forced into his mouth, pulled tight.
The world fading in and out around him, Ed was dragged forward. His fogged mind struggled to assess the situation. A good whack to the head, ropes. Perfect. Well, not perfect – the room was a blur and the men’s numbers seemed to have doubled. But, it was predictable. Perfectly predictable. Now, if they would just leave him in a locked room somewhere…
His eyes caught a flash of bright color, and he followed it.
A familiar face swam into his vision, dark-skinned and framed by pink-dyed hair. With wide eyes that stared at him in fear and horror.
“Rose?”
Somewhere, a baby was crying. Far away, at the end of a long, long tunnel. But, he was falling away from it, down into a darkness that swallowed all light.
----------------------------------------------------------
Leaving Youswell was an interesting experience. After his call to the Colonel, Heymans Breda was ready to leave the next morning with the first train out of town. Collecting his suitcase, he made his way down to the inn’s main floor for breakfast. This time, he was served by Halling’s son, Kyle. Kyle, it turned out, was easily the size of his father but far less subtle.
“Are you a State Alchemist?” he asked while offering a plate of sausage.
Breda nearly choked on the drink he had just taken. “A State Alchemist?”
“You came here looking for some crook using alchemy, right?” Kyle asked. “And, you don’t wear a uniform. Some of them don't, right?”
True enough on all counts. Setting his coffee mug down, Breda considered his words. These were good people. And, some of the few he had ever met who said “State Alchemist” like it wasn’t a curse. That Fullmetal guy had left a lasting impression. One he didn’t want to ruin.
“No, I’m not a State Alchemist,” he said at last. “I just work for one.”
Kyle’s eyes widened. “Do you work for Ed? Did he send you here?”
“Ed?”
“Oh.” Kyle grinned. “I guess he’s General Elric or something now.”
It took a minute to put together.
“You mean Fullmetal.”
Kyle nodded. “He saved me with that automail of his. Twice.”
Breda fought the urge to shake his head. Did everyone in this town have a Fullmetal story? Realizing that Kyle was looking at him expectantly, he chose another careful truth.
“Let’s just say “Ed’s” involved. Though he has no idea I’m out here.”
Kyle’s smile split his face. “Tell him we still remember him. Would you?”
“I’ll pass it along.”
Standing at the train station, Breda hoped he would be able to keep that promise. He thought he was reading the Colonel right on this one. Fullmetal wasn’t a rival or a threat, just a mystery. And, stepping back to let a dark-haired woman with a wide hat board ahead of him, Breda wondered where the mystery would take him next.
By late afternoon, he had one answer. He rendezvoused with Major Armstrong in Samsun, the closest town to Ishval and Liore on the regular line. From there, he transferred to a military train and traveled to new depths of excruciating.
Major Alex Louis Armstrong wasn’t bad company per se. In fact, so long as you weren’t trying to keep a low profile, he was great to have along on field work. From the single, blond curl atop his otherwise bald head to shoulders so wide they barely cleared doorways, Armstrong was a mountain of a man. What's more, he was a State Alchemist. The aptly named Strong Arm Alchemist. If this little excursion went south, at least Breda had the advantage of a one man artillery unit on his side.
The problem started when you made the mistake of grunting in a way that could be interpreted as curious instead of politely uninterested. In which case the Major was thrilled to, “alleviate the dull monotony of travel with a selection of the stories passed down the Armstrong line for generations.”
With the Armstrongs, everything was passed down for generations. And, most of them liked to tell you about it. At length. Except the Major General, who saw no point in wasting time telling you that her sword was a family heirloom when she could use the time to gut you with it instead. Listening to Alex drone on, Breda wondered what life had been like with the mismatched pair growing up in the same house. Violent probably.
He quickly dismissed the mental images and instead leaned his head back to try and see past Armstrong’s mammoth shoulders. Yes, he could still just make out a head of dark hair up in a clip toward the front of the train car.
“Major,” he said quietly, interrupting the saga of Odysseus Telemachus Armstrong somewhere in its fifth recitation of begets, “you notice the lady a few rows up?”
It would have been hard not to notice her. She was only the only woman in the sparsely populated car carrying military personnel to the occupied Ishval region.
Something in Armstrong’s blue eyes sharpened at Breda’s words, and he loudly finished his last sentence. “…and thus emboldened by his ancestors’ words, Odysseus Telemachus Armstrong defeated the one hundred and eight suitors to claim the heart of his lady,” he said. Then, in a surprisingly soft voice, he added, “A dark-haired woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties, yes.”
“Yeah, she got on the train with me in Youswell.” Breda leaned back and crossed his arms. “And, she wasn’t wearing a uniform then.”
“Hmm,” the major rumbled, his bushy, blond moustache twitching. “She may be returning from leave.”
“Yeah,” Breda looked out the window to his right, “maybe.”
Except, sometime during the long night ride, the dark-haired woman disappeared. Completely. The train, primarily a supply train, only had two passenger cars. And, when they reached the military outpost in the remains of the Ishvalan capitol, a few discreet inquiries turned up several people who remembered seeing her, but none who saw her disembark.
Breda didn’t like it. And, the long train ride and rock hard mattress waiting for him that night did little to improve his mood.
“There was one stop to take on water and coal,” Armstrong offered the next day as the pair walked toward the base’s small motor pool.
“But, what would be the point of sneaking off the train?” wondered Breda, quietly cursing the necessity of his uniform. Despite the season, it was uncomfortably hot even with his jacket unbuttoned. “This is the only place out in this wasteland.” And, why even the displaced Ishvalans would want to visit was beyond his understanding.
“Ah, good morning, Sir!”
Breda very nearly tripped over his own feet. There was a woman standing at attention by the motor pool. Her dark hair was pinned up neatly, her uniform was crisp and her blue eyes were far too familiar.
“Clara?”
The woman looked from side to side and, seeing they were alone, immediately dropped all pretense of formality.
“It’s so good to see you again, Mr. Breda,” she gushed. “I’m sorry I had to deceive you. Although,” she wagged a finger at his uniform, “I see you weren’t entirely truthful yourself.”
Breda sputtered. “No one ever asked me about—!”
“It’s alright,” Clara cut in. “I forgive you.”
“You… what?”
“As for my own deception,” she clasped her hands in front of her chest, “when I heard you were going to Liore, I had to do something!”
Now, exactly when had he mentioned going to Liore?
“You know this woman?” Armstrong asked, a frown wrinkling his shiny forehead.
“We met in Youswell.” Where her hair had been blonde, and she had had a job distinctly not in the military. Forcing the scowl off his face, Breda addressed Clara again. “Okay, I don’t understand. You… had to do something?” he asked slowly.
“Yes.” Clara nodded her head fervently. “You see, my entire family used to live in Liore. Until…” She dabbed at the corner of one eye. “Well, it’s been so many years, but I wanted to pay my respects.”
Breda struggled to find words. Armstrong had no such problems.
“Miss Clara!” he bellowed, engulfing the much smaller woman in a hug. “Allow me, Alex Louis Armstrong, to extend my condolences on the loss of your family in such a tragedy!”
Was Armstrong crying?
“Such devotion to your long departed loved ones!” he gushed. “Such incredible bonds of kinship that tie you together across time itself!”
Somewhere in the midst of that declaration, Clara had squeezed free of the giant’s grasp to instead take his huge hands in hers. “Yes,” she said tearfully, “we were very close.”
“And, it shows!” Armstrong wailed. The burly man mopped at his eyes.
Clara wordlessly offered him a handkerchief.
It had to be the heat, Breda decided. It was affecting his mind. That was the only explanation for what he was seeing. Because the only thing that could make this nonsense more surreal would be if Armstrong abruptly decided to rip off his shirt.
“Considering your situation, Miss Clara, would you care to accompany 2nd Lieutenant Breda and I to Liore?”
Or do that.
Well, Breda thought, rubbing his aching head, at least it was one way to keep an eye on her. Because he had never heard a story so fake or a lie so bald. Assuming, of course, all of this was real.
----------------------------------------------------------
It was real. The sun was blinding. It was blazing hot. There was sand in his hair, his teeth and his pants. It was either real or the most detailed nightmare he had ever had.
Slowing the open car as it rounded one last dune, Breda tuned out Armstrong’s current recitation and Clara’s quiet comments from the passenger’s seat. Instead, he focused on his first sight of Liore.
Sand, sand and more sand. Only a few crumbling walls stood as a silent reminder that this had once been a city. The sight quieted even Armstrong, who reached from the back of the car to lay a gentle hand on Clara’s shoulder.
Breda just scowled grimly. He had no idea what the Colonel expected him to find in this wasteland. Bringing the car to a stop, he stepped out and surveyed the scene.
“Hmm,” Armstrong rumbled, freeing himself from the car with surprising grace. “It’s just as they say. Truly an incredible tragedy.” His voice became thoughtful. “The only structures that remain appear to have been along the edge of the destruction.”
Breda’s eyes narrowed, and he took in the ruins of Liore again. Armstrong was right. The only surviving hints of civilization fanned out along the edges of the flat plain on which the city was built. Possibly the outer edge of the munitions explosion that had destroyed Liore.
Except, unless that sand was covering a lot more rubble, detonating every armory in Central wouldn’t reduce a city to dust.
“A circle,” Clara’s voice was soft as she slipped out of the car and moved to stand beside Breda. “The rumors said the military destroyed Liore with alchemy. I thought they meant State Alchemists. Like in Ishval.”
Breda started to answer and stopped. A circle. While it was impossible to say for sure given how few there were, the broken walls did seem to follow a sort of curve. And, alchemists did use circles. The regular ones drew their circles. Casual practitioners who didn’t decide to tattoo one on their hands or wear gloves and gauntlets like most of the State Alchemists. But, the range of even the Colonel’s gloves was limited. He could set a neighborhood ablaze in a single snap, but not an entire town.
“A transmutation circle drawn around the city?” Armstrong vocalized the thought he had been working toward.
Yeah, that would probably do it. But, how on earth could you draw a circle around an entire town - a town in open rebellion against the military – without being seen?
Clara seemed to be thinking even further ahead. “But, what kind of transmutation could—?” Her words trailed away as she began to walk toward the weatherworn stones.
Letting her go, Breda waited for Armstrong to join him and then spoke quietly. “The Colonel sent me here because a State Alchemist he’s taken an interest in came here once when there was still something to visit.” His eyes swept over the landscape. “No idea what he thought I’d find, but I’m starting to think this alchemy idea might be it.”
Armstrong frowned. “Who is this alchemist?”
“Goes by Fullmetal. Proper name’s Elric.”
“Mmm.” Armstrong shook his head. “I’m not familiar with the name.”
“Most people aren’t,” said Breda. “He was a Drachman POW for ten years, and he’s never been right since. Anyway,” he nodded toward where Clara was walking slowly through the sand in her borrowed – stolen? – military issue boots, “what do you make of her?”
“Miss Clara?”
“Yeah, Miss Clara, who was an alchemist’s assistant back in Youswell.” Breda looked up to give Armstrong a cynical smile. “And, who seems to me to be more professionally interested than mourning out there in her family’s last resting place.”
“Er…” It was weird for anyone that large to look that sheepish.
“It’s not a problem,” said Breda. “Probably. I’m just not sure what it is.”
The men stood in silence for several minutes.
“What’s the Colonel’s interest in this Mr. Elric?” Armstrong asked as Clara drifted farther away.
“I think it’s more that he’s trying to figure out what Brigadier General Grand’s interest is,” said Breda, turning his head slightly to catch a faint breeze. “He’s had the Colonel and that Fullmetal guy pulled off on some special project for the last two months. Something to do with amplifiers for alchemy.”
Armstrong inclined his great, nearly bald head. “Because of the Fuhrer-Elect’s talk of disbanding the State Alchemists?”
“Most likely.” Breda frowned, watching as Clara made her way toward the center of what had once been Liore. “But, there’s more to it. Somehow, Fullmetal wound up in the hospital, and the Colonel’s been digging for answers ever since.”
“Some sort of rebound during an experiment perhaps?” Armstrong mused.
“I wouldn’t know,” said Breda. “But, it’s not a simple research assignment. Not anymore.”
“Well then, I’ll see if there’s any further information I can gather here,” declared Armstrong after a moment of thought.
Stepping away from Breda, he first made his way to Clara, who was kneeling in the sand with one hand pressed to her chest. Breda watched as the giant man touched her shoulder, and she looked up quickly.
“Mr. Armstro—”
The rest of her words were quieter and swallowed in the distance between them. They were probably just pleasantries anyway. Nodding in response, Armstrong moved on toward the closest decaying wall. Unsure what he should do, Breda followed Armstrong. He wasn’t an alchemist and clues a layman could see were probably destroyed decades ago. But, there might be a hint of shade over there, and he would take whatever he could find.
Clara let her hand slip from her chest as the two men walked further away. A gusty breath washed over her lips. That had been close. With her concentration caught in the subtle transmutation that would alter the air just enough to help sound carry over hot desert sands, she had almost missed Armstrong’s approach.
But, she had heard enough. Most of it was nonsensical and of no particular use. Generals and projects to save the State Alchemists. Nothing that mattered to the likes of her. But, it was interesting about the Fullmetal boy. Alchemic amplifiers, hmm?
“Just answer me one thing. If you’re an alchemist, you must have heard about the Philosopher’s Stone.”
Not the question she had expected of a fifteen year old boy. And, the burning in those strange golden eyes made that moment fresh even now.
Perhaps it was time she visited Central. It had been years after all.
Clara glanced down the front of her “borrowed” uniform where pitted, tarnished silver caught the sun for an instant. Besides, she had such an interesting new toy.
Three days later, on the military train returning to Samsun, Breda finally breathed a sigh of relief. The sunburn was fading. His clothes were sand free. And, they had gotten Clara through the occupied region without problems. Armstrong’s rank and presence had kept anyone from looking too closely at their odd little trio. And, Clara was surprisingly good at military protocol. Even her uniform was legitimate – though there might be a corporal in nothing but his drawers somewhere.
Which brought up his remaining problem. With a jaded eye, Breda watched Clara chat with Armstrong about everything and nothing. They were almost back to Samsun, where he and Armstrong would pick up their journey back to Central. And, Clara would, presumably, return to Youswell.
The woman had been oddly quiet on the return trip from Liore. She had thanked Armstrong for using his alchemy to create a memorial to the citizens – and wouldn’t the brass love that – and then she had gone silent for the rest of the drive. Her behavior had led Breda to reassess his impression of her again and again. Maybe she really had had family out there. Or maybe she was depressed over not finding any leftover valuables or good dirt on the military out there. All of the above was an option too.
The train’s whistle sounded. Breda looked out the window to his left to see the Samsun station around a bend in the track. Whatever Clara was up to, he had to decide now if he could just let her go. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, aside from impersonating a soldier and sneaking into a region off limits to civilians.
He was still debating the matter as they disembarked. Which was why he was completely unprepared when Clara, who had stepped off ahead of them, abruptly spun to hug first him and then Armstrong.
“Thank you so much!” she said. “Both of you. For putting up with me and letting me see Liore one last time.” She stepped back, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief again. “I’ll never forget you. Truly.”
“Miss Clara….” Armstrong started.
Clara was already thirty feet away, waving her handkerchief. “I wish you both the best!” she called. Then, she was gone, weaving through the light crowd past the freight cars.
Breda could only stare. Okay, that was more than slightly suspicious.
“Major, we should—”
Armstrong was sniffling again. “Ah, poor Miss Clara,” he said.
“I think she’ll be fine,” said Breda dryly.
“For now,” Armstrong replied. “But, what of her future? She’s nearly destitute.”
“Destitute?” Breda stared up at him. “She was working as an alchemist’s assistant in Youswell and seemed to be doing pretty well to me. What did she tell you?”
He really shouldn’t have tuned the pair out on the train ride. He just didn’t think he would have survived another saga of the illustrious history of the Armstrong line.
“Well,” the larger man hesitated, “it wasn’t words so much as the fact that she seemed to feel the need to avail herself of my personal effects.”
It took Breda a minute to translate Armstrong’s euphemism. “You mean she picked your pocket?” he yelped. He immediately felt his own pockets. Except they weren’t there. His searching hands found only smooth cloth where there should have been openings. Smooth, flat cloth.
And, all the pieces finally came together.
“Major, we’ve got to find her!”
“2nd Lieutenant,” Armstrong began, “if it’s such a great loss, I can reimburse—”
“Not that!” yelled Breda. “She’s the one who had Lieutenant General Northup— Nevermind, I’ll tell you later.” He scanned the station before bolting in the direction Clara had taken. “First, we’ve got to catch her!”
Reaching the rear of the train after a few minutes’ frantic search, Breda looked across the tracks. Flat scrubland stretched out before him. Nowhere to hide there. He turned back to the station, bustling with a small midday crowd waiting for the train back west.
“Just great,” he muttered.
The train whistled shrilly, and shouts echoed through the open air station. With a ponderous groan, the car beside him lurched forward.
“What th—?”
Stumbling off the tracks, Breda looked to see workers scrambling away from the train. He grabbed one as he passed.
“What’s going on?”
The man shook his head. “Something about a State Alchemist commandeering the train.”
“State Alchemist?” It only took a second for the facts to click this time. Breda released the man and swung around. His eyes found Armstrong’s unmistakable form. “Major, your watch—!”
“Here.” Armstrong held up the silver pocket watch, tiny in his huge hand.
“Then, who—?”
The train was starting to pick up speed. Breda made a decision.
“Major, we need to be on that train!”
He had only just started to move when Armstrong caught him under one burly arm. One burly bare arm. Where on earth had the man’s shirt gone?
“Leave it to me, 2nd Lieutenant!” Armstrong boomed.
He drew his free arm back, metal gauntlet flashing. And, as the ground underneath them exploded in blue light and heaving earth, Breda wondered what he had gotten himself into.
----------------------------------------------------------
It's a wonder Armstrong went that long with his shirt on. You know it is. And, I imagine "stories passed down the Armstrong line for generations" read a bit like epic poetry with long recitations about Something Something Armstrong, the son of Somebody Somebody Armstrong, from the Northwesternmost East part of Amestris, who once slew ten boar/pomeranian chimera with a broken spade.
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: June 29, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: None this chapter.
Genre/Continuity: AU (alternate/divergent universe) set in the first animeverse.
Disclaimer: “Fullmetal Alchemist” belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Square ENIX, Studio BONES and various other parties.
Author’s Note: Thanks to everyone who has been following this story. And, as always, constructive criticism on my plot, characterization and even grammar is welcomed.
Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist
Chapter 15: Check It Out
July, 1884
Maybe his head hadn’t cleared by the time he reached Liore because Ed wasn’t prepared for them to shoot at him. The car had died a mile out, whether from lack of fuel or abuse he couldn’t tell. And, he had transmuted Hakuro’s stupid uniform into a semblance of his usual clothes. Really, nothing about him said “military.”
It was a surprise to learn that they didn’t shoot at him for being a State Alchemist. They shot at him for tampering with the transmutation circle that was going to kill them all.
“Protect the city?” Ed yelped as the scowling men dropped him unceremoniously on the floor at the back of a shuttered house turned rebel base. “Your whole city is at the center of the transmutation!” He squirmed into a sitting position, straining at the ropes around his torso. “If it were used—!”
Tense faces relaxed imperceptibly.
“Glad to see the ‘People’s Alchemist’ is still on the right side,” said a large, bearded man, dropping into a crouch in front of Ed. “But, you got it wrong, Kid.”
Ed frowned. “What?”
“That circle.” The man leaned forward. “It works the other way around. It doesn’t affect what’s inside. It’s going to protect Liore.”
“And, wipe out the military,” said another man with an ugly grin. “We got an alchemist to make it for us.”
“An alchemist?” Ed asked mechanically as his mind dredged up every detail of the circle from the aerial photograph. Had he missed something? It was the array for a Philosopher’s Stone, yes, but could some twist in the construction formula direct the reaction out rather than in? He was still turning it over in his mind when a new voice broke over his thoughts.
“I designed the array.”
Ed looked up to see a young woman with chin-length dark hair stepping out of the crowd.
“Lyra?” he asked, recognizing her vaguely from their two, brief encounters. “I thought you were in Dublith.”
Lyra’s face softened. “Lady Dante was very old… She passed away shortly after you left.” The man stood and moved away so Lyra could kneel by Ed. “But, she taught me many things, and I remembered what you told me in Youswell. Alchemists serve the people. So, I came here to help.”
“With a transmutation circle for— like that?” Did she know what that circle was for? And, where did she learn it?
“Yes.” Lyra’s dark eyes were solemn. “It’s very dangerous, but there’s no other way. The military means to make an example of Liore.”
“But, that’s—! Even if the array does work like you plan, you’ll be—!”
Lyra looked away, and Ed searched the crowd. Hard men with harder eyes. Hard, desperate men, clutching weapons with whitening knuckles.
“Even if everyone here were to surrender,” Lyra continued, “no one would be spared.”
“Which is why we’re going to kill them first,” said the bearded man.
“But, you can’t just—”
Even that idiot Hakuro had a wife and children. And, the circle… He could still see it in his mind. Match it against the one at the Fifth Laboratory. They were identical.
“Who are you to tell us we can’t?”
“Do you know what they’ve done?”
The room erupted with angry shouts. But, the bearded man quieted them with his own shout and reached down to haul Ed up by the ropes binding him.
“You’re a good kid,” he said, eyeing Ed consideringly as the alchemist stumbled to his feet. “But, if you’re not with us, we’re going to have to keep you quiet.”
Then, he was being propelled through the crowd. He twisted to try and find Lyra one last time.
“Lyra! That array around the city – who taught you that?” He had to tell her. The array was the same as the one etched into the floor at the Fifth Laboratory. There was no difference. “You’ve got to listen to me! It doesn’t work the way you think!”
A large, sweaty hand covered his mouth, and Ed fought to breathe. He jerked his head, opened his mouth. Teeth sank into dirty flesh until it was yanked away with a curse.
“The reaction won’t go out! The city—!”
His teeth snapped together as something hard and heavy collided with the back of his skull. Light exploded across his vision, and his legs tangled around one another. Rougher hands were on him now. Cloth was forced into his mouth, pulled tight.
The world fading in and out around him, Ed was dragged forward. His fogged mind struggled to assess the situation. A good whack to the head, ropes. Perfect. Well, not perfect – the room was a blur and the men’s numbers seemed to have doubled. But, it was predictable. Perfectly predictable. Now, if they would just leave him in a locked room somewhere…
His eyes caught a flash of bright color, and he followed it.
A familiar face swam into his vision, dark-skinned and framed by pink-dyed hair. With wide eyes that stared at him in fear and horror.
“Rose?”
Somewhere, a baby was crying. Far away, at the end of a long, long tunnel. But, he was falling away from it, down into a darkness that swallowed all light.
----------------------------------------------------------
Leaving Youswell was an interesting experience. After his call to the Colonel, Heymans Breda was ready to leave the next morning with the first train out of town. Collecting his suitcase, he made his way down to the inn’s main floor for breakfast. This time, he was served by Halling’s son, Kyle. Kyle, it turned out, was easily the size of his father but far less subtle.
“Are you a State Alchemist?” he asked while offering a plate of sausage.
Breda nearly choked on the drink he had just taken. “A State Alchemist?”
“You came here looking for some crook using alchemy, right?” Kyle asked. “And, you don’t wear a uniform. Some of them don't, right?”
True enough on all counts. Setting his coffee mug down, Breda considered his words. These were good people. And, some of the few he had ever met who said “State Alchemist” like it wasn’t a curse. That Fullmetal guy had left a lasting impression. One he didn’t want to ruin.
“No, I’m not a State Alchemist,” he said at last. “I just work for one.”
Kyle’s eyes widened. “Do you work for Ed? Did he send you here?”
“Ed?”
“Oh.” Kyle grinned. “I guess he’s General Elric or something now.”
It took a minute to put together.
“You mean Fullmetal.”
Kyle nodded. “He saved me with that automail of his. Twice.”
Breda fought the urge to shake his head. Did everyone in this town have a Fullmetal story? Realizing that Kyle was looking at him expectantly, he chose another careful truth.
“Let’s just say “Ed’s” involved. Though he has no idea I’m out here.”
Kyle’s smile split his face. “Tell him we still remember him. Would you?”
“I’ll pass it along.”
Standing at the train station, Breda hoped he would be able to keep that promise. He thought he was reading the Colonel right on this one. Fullmetal wasn’t a rival or a threat, just a mystery. And, stepping back to let a dark-haired woman with a wide hat board ahead of him, Breda wondered where the mystery would take him next.
By late afternoon, he had one answer. He rendezvoused with Major Armstrong in Samsun, the closest town to Ishval and Liore on the regular line. From there, he transferred to a military train and traveled to new depths of excruciating.
Major Alex Louis Armstrong wasn’t bad company per se. In fact, so long as you weren’t trying to keep a low profile, he was great to have along on field work. From the single, blond curl atop his otherwise bald head to shoulders so wide they barely cleared doorways, Armstrong was a mountain of a man. What's more, he was a State Alchemist. The aptly named Strong Arm Alchemist. If this little excursion went south, at least Breda had the advantage of a one man artillery unit on his side.
The problem started when you made the mistake of grunting in a way that could be interpreted as curious instead of politely uninterested. In which case the Major was thrilled to, “alleviate the dull monotony of travel with a selection of the stories passed down the Armstrong line for generations.”
With the Armstrongs, everything was passed down for generations. And, most of them liked to tell you about it. At length. Except the Major General, who saw no point in wasting time telling you that her sword was a family heirloom when she could use the time to gut you with it instead. Listening to Alex drone on, Breda wondered what life had been like with the mismatched pair growing up in the same house. Violent probably.
He quickly dismissed the mental images and instead leaned his head back to try and see past Armstrong’s mammoth shoulders. Yes, he could still just make out a head of dark hair up in a clip toward the front of the train car.
“Major,” he said quietly, interrupting the saga of Odysseus Telemachus Armstrong somewhere in its fifth recitation of begets, “you notice the lady a few rows up?”
It would have been hard not to notice her. She was only the only woman in the sparsely populated car carrying military personnel to the occupied Ishval region.
Something in Armstrong’s blue eyes sharpened at Breda’s words, and he loudly finished his last sentence. “…and thus emboldened by his ancestors’ words, Odysseus Telemachus Armstrong defeated the one hundred and eight suitors to claim the heart of his lady,” he said. Then, in a surprisingly soft voice, he added, “A dark-haired woman, perhaps in her forties or fifties, yes.”
“Yeah, she got on the train with me in Youswell.” Breda leaned back and crossed his arms. “And, she wasn’t wearing a uniform then.”
“Hmm,” the major rumbled, his bushy, blond moustache twitching. “She may be returning from leave.”
“Yeah,” Breda looked out the window to his right, “maybe.”
Except, sometime during the long night ride, the dark-haired woman disappeared. Completely. The train, primarily a supply train, only had two passenger cars. And, when they reached the military outpost in the remains of the Ishvalan capitol, a few discreet inquiries turned up several people who remembered seeing her, but none who saw her disembark.
Breda didn’t like it. And, the long train ride and rock hard mattress waiting for him that night did little to improve his mood.
“There was one stop to take on water and coal,” Armstrong offered the next day as the pair walked toward the base’s small motor pool.
“But, what would be the point of sneaking off the train?” wondered Breda, quietly cursing the necessity of his uniform. Despite the season, it was uncomfortably hot even with his jacket unbuttoned. “This is the only place out in this wasteland.” And, why even the displaced Ishvalans would want to visit was beyond his understanding.
“Ah, good morning, Sir!”
Breda very nearly tripped over his own feet. There was a woman standing at attention by the motor pool. Her dark hair was pinned up neatly, her uniform was crisp and her blue eyes were far too familiar.
“Clara?”
The woman looked from side to side and, seeing they were alone, immediately dropped all pretense of formality.
“It’s so good to see you again, Mr. Breda,” she gushed. “I’m sorry I had to deceive you. Although,” she wagged a finger at his uniform, “I see you weren’t entirely truthful yourself.”
Breda sputtered. “No one ever asked me about—!”
“It’s alright,” Clara cut in. “I forgive you.”
“You… what?”
“As for my own deception,” she clasped her hands in front of her chest, “when I heard you were going to Liore, I had to do something!”
Now, exactly when had he mentioned going to Liore?
“You know this woman?” Armstrong asked, a frown wrinkling his shiny forehead.
“We met in Youswell.” Where her hair had been blonde, and she had had a job distinctly not in the military. Forcing the scowl off his face, Breda addressed Clara again. “Okay, I don’t understand. You… had to do something?” he asked slowly.
“Yes.” Clara nodded her head fervently. “You see, my entire family used to live in Liore. Until…” She dabbed at the corner of one eye. “Well, it’s been so many years, but I wanted to pay my respects.”
Breda struggled to find words. Armstrong had no such problems.
“Miss Clara!” he bellowed, engulfing the much smaller woman in a hug. “Allow me, Alex Louis Armstrong, to extend my condolences on the loss of your family in such a tragedy!”
Was Armstrong crying?
“Such devotion to your long departed loved ones!” he gushed. “Such incredible bonds of kinship that tie you together across time itself!”
Somewhere in the midst of that declaration, Clara had squeezed free of the giant’s grasp to instead take his huge hands in hers. “Yes,” she said tearfully, “we were very close.”
“And, it shows!” Armstrong wailed. The burly man mopped at his eyes.
Clara wordlessly offered him a handkerchief.
It had to be the heat, Breda decided. It was affecting his mind. That was the only explanation for what he was seeing. Because the only thing that could make this nonsense more surreal would be if Armstrong abruptly decided to rip off his shirt.
“Considering your situation, Miss Clara, would you care to accompany 2nd Lieutenant Breda and I to Liore?”
Or do that.
Well, Breda thought, rubbing his aching head, at least it was one way to keep an eye on her. Because he had never heard a story so fake or a lie so bald. Assuming, of course, all of this was real.
----------------------------------------------------------
It was real. The sun was blinding. It was blazing hot. There was sand in his hair, his teeth and his pants. It was either real or the most detailed nightmare he had ever had.
Slowing the open car as it rounded one last dune, Breda tuned out Armstrong’s current recitation and Clara’s quiet comments from the passenger’s seat. Instead, he focused on his first sight of Liore.
Sand, sand and more sand. Only a few crumbling walls stood as a silent reminder that this had once been a city. The sight quieted even Armstrong, who reached from the back of the car to lay a gentle hand on Clara’s shoulder.
Breda just scowled grimly. He had no idea what the Colonel expected him to find in this wasteland. Bringing the car to a stop, he stepped out and surveyed the scene.
“Hmm,” Armstrong rumbled, freeing himself from the car with surprising grace. “It’s just as they say. Truly an incredible tragedy.” His voice became thoughtful. “The only structures that remain appear to have been along the edge of the destruction.”
Breda’s eyes narrowed, and he took in the ruins of Liore again. Armstrong was right. The only surviving hints of civilization fanned out along the edges of the flat plain on which the city was built. Possibly the outer edge of the munitions explosion that had destroyed Liore.
Except, unless that sand was covering a lot more rubble, detonating every armory in Central wouldn’t reduce a city to dust.
“A circle,” Clara’s voice was soft as she slipped out of the car and moved to stand beside Breda. “The rumors said the military destroyed Liore with alchemy. I thought they meant State Alchemists. Like in Ishval.”
Breda started to answer and stopped. A circle. While it was impossible to say for sure given how few there were, the broken walls did seem to follow a sort of curve. And, alchemists did use circles. The regular ones drew their circles. Casual practitioners who didn’t decide to tattoo one on their hands or wear gloves and gauntlets like most of the State Alchemists. But, the range of even the Colonel’s gloves was limited. He could set a neighborhood ablaze in a single snap, but not an entire town.
“A transmutation circle drawn around the city?” Armstrong vocalized the thought he had been working toward.
Yeah, that would probably do it. But, how on earth could you draw a circle around an entire town - a town in open rebellion against the military – without being seen?
Clara seemed to be thinking even further ahead. “But, what kind of transmutation could—?” Her words trailed away as she began to walk toward the weatherworn stones.
Letting her go, Breda waited for Armstrong to join him and then spoke quietly. “The Colonel sent me here because a State Alchemist he’s taken an interest in came here once when there was still something to visit.” His eyes swept over the landscape. “No idea what he thought I’d find, but I’m starting to think this alchemy idea might be it.”
Armstrong frowned. “Who is this alchemist?”
“Goes by Fullmetal. Proper name’s Elric.”
“Mmm.” Armstrong shook his head. “I’m not familiar with the name.”
“Most people aren’t,” said Breda. “He was a Drachman POW for ten years, and he’s never been right since. Anyway,” he nodded toward where Clara was walking slowly through the sand in her borrowed – stolen? – military issue boots, “what do you make of her?”
“Miss Clara?”
“Yeah, Miss Clara, who was an alchemist’s assistant back in Youswell.” Breda looked up to give Armstrong a cynical smile. “And, who seems to me to be more professionally interested than mourning out there in her family’s last resting place.”
“Er…” It was weird for anyone that large to look that sheepish.
“It’s not a problem,” said Breda. “Probably. I’m just not sure what it is.”
The men stood in silence for several minutes.
“What’s the Colonel’s interest in this Mr. Elric?” Armstrong asked as Clara drifted farther away.
“I think it’s more that he’s trying to figure out what Brigadier General Grand’s interest is,” said Breda, turning his head slightly to catch a faint breeze. “He’s had the Colonel and that Fullmetal guy pulled off on some special project for the last two months. Something to do with amplifiers for alchemy.”
Armstrong inclined his great, nearly bald head. “Because of the Fuhrer-Elect’s talk of disbanding the State Alchemists?”
“Most likely.” Breda frowned, watching as Clara made her way toward the center of what had once been Liore. “But, there’s more to it. Somehow, Fullmetal wound up in the hospital, and the Colonel’s been digging for answers ever since.”
“Some sort of rebound during an experiment perhaps?” Armstrong mused.
“I wouldn’t know,” said Breda. “But, it’s not a simple research assignment. Not anymore.”
“Well then, I’ll see if there’s any further information I can gather here,” declared Armstrong after a moment of thought.
Stepping away from Breda, he first made his way to Clara, who was kneeling in the sand with one hand pressed to her chest. Breda watched as the giant man touched her shoulder, and she looked up quickly.
“Mr. Armstro—”
The rest of her words were quieter and swallowed in the distance between them. They were probably just pleasantries anyway. Nodding in response, Armstrong moved on toward the closest decaying wall. Unsure what he should do, Breda followed Armstrong. He wasn’t an alchemist and clues a layman could see were probably destroyed decades ago. But, there might be a hint of shade over there, and he would take whatever he could find.
Clara let her hand slip from her chest as the two men walked further away. A gusty breath washed over her lips. That had been close. With her concentration caught in the subtle transmutation that would alter the air just enough to help sound carry over hot desert sands, she had almost missed Armstrong’s approach.
But, she had heard enough. Most of it was nonsensical and of no particular use. Generals and projects to save the State Alchemists. Nothing that mattered to the likes of her. But, it was interesting about the Fullmetal boy. Alchemic amplifiers, hmm?
“Just answer me one thing. If you’re an alchemist, you must have heard about the Philosopher’s Stone.”
Not the question she had expected of a fifteen year old boy. And, the burning in those strange golden eyes made that moment fresh even now.
Perhaps it was time she visited Central. It had been years after all.
Clara glanced down the front of her “borrowed” uniform where pitted, tarnished silver caught the sun for an instant. Besides, she had such an interesting new toy.
Three days later, on the military train returning to Samsun, Breda finally breathed a sigh of relief. The sunburn was fading. His clothes were sand free. And, they had gotten Clara through the occupied region without problems. Armstrong’s rank and presence had kept anyone from looking too closely at their odd little trio. And, Clara was surprisingly good at military protocol. Even her uniform was legitimate – though there might be a corporal in nothing but his drawers somewhere.
Which brought up his remaining problem. With a jaded eye, Breda watched Clara chat with Armstrong about everything and nothing. They were almost back to Samsun, where he and Armstrong would pick up their journey back to Central. And, Clara would, presumably, return to Youswell.
The woman had been oddly quiet on the return trip from Liore. She had thanked Armstrong for using his alchemy to create a memorial to the citizens – and wouldn’t the brass love that – and then she had gone silent for the rest of the drive. Her behavior had led Breda to reassess his impression of her again and again. Maybe she really had had family out there. Or maybe she was depressed over not finding any leftover valuables or good dirt on the military out there. All of the above was an option too.
The train’s whistle sounded. Breda looked out the window to his left to see the Samsun station around a bend in the track. Whatever Clara was up to, he had to decide now if he could just let her go. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, aside from impersonating a soldier and sneaking into a region off limits to civilians.
He was still debating the matter as they disembarked. Which was why he was completely unprepared when Clara, who had stepped off ahead of them, abruptly spun to hug first him and then Armstrong.
“Thank you so much!” she said. “Both of you. For putting up with me and letting me see Liore one last time.” She stepped back, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief again. “I’ll never forget you. Truly.”
“Miss Clara….” Armstrong started.
Clara was already thirty feet away, waving her handkerchief. “I wish you both the best!” she called. Then, she was gone, weaving through the light crowd past the freight cars.
Breda could only stare. Okay, that was more than slightly suspicious.
“Major, we should—”
Armstrong was sniffling again. “Ah, poor Miss Clara,” he said.
“I think she’ll be fine,” said Breda dryly.
“For now,” Armstrong replied. “But, what of her future? She’s nearly destitute.”
“Destitute?” Breda stared up at him. “She was working as an alchemist’s assistant in Youswell and seemed to be doing pretty well to me. What did she tell you?”
He really shouldn’t have tuned the pair out on the train ride. He just didn’t think he would have survived another saga of the illustrious history of the Armstrong line.
“Well,” the larger man hesitated, “it wasn’t words so much as the fact that she seemed to feel the need to avail herself of my personal effects.”
It took Breda a minute to translate Armstrong’s euphemism. “You mean she picked your pocket?” he yelped. He immediately felt his own pockets. Except they weren’t there. His searching hands found only smooth cloth where there should have been openings. Smooth, flat cloth.
And, all the pieces finally came together.
“Major, we’ve got to find her!”
“2nd Lieutenant,” Armstrong began, “if it’s such a great loss, I can reimburse—”
“Not that!” yelled Breda. “She’s the one who had Lieutenant General Northup— Nevermind, I’ll tell you later.” He scanned the station before bolting in the direction Clara had taken. “First, we’ve got to catch her!”
Reaching the rear of the train after a few minutes’ frantic search, Breda looked across the tracks. Flat scrubland stretched out before him. Nowhere to hide there. He turned back to the station, bustling with a small midday crowd waiting for the train back west.
“Just great,” he muttered.
The train whistled shrilly, and shouts echoed through the open air station. With a ponderous groan, the car beside him lurched forward.
“What th—?”
Stumbling off the tracks, Breda looked to see workers scrambling away from the train. He grabbed one as he passed.
“What’s going on?”
The man shook his head. “Something about a State Alchemist commandeering the train.”
“State Alchemist?” It only took a second for the facts to click this time. Breda released the man and swung around. His eyes found Armstrong’s unmistakable form. “Major, your watch—!”
“Here.” Armstrong held up the silver pocket watch, tiny in his huge hand.
“Then, who—?”
The train was starting to pick up speed. Breda made a decision.
“Major, we need to be on that train!”
He had only just started to move when Armstrong caught him under one burly arm. One burly bare arm. Where on earth had the man’s shirt gone?
“Leave it to me, 2nd Lieutenant!” Armstrong boomed.
He drew his free arm back, metal gauntlet flashing. And, as the ground underneath them exploded in blue light and heaving earth, Breda wondered what he had gotten himself into.
----------------------------------------------------------
It's a wonder Armstrong went that long with his shirt on. You know it is. And, I imagine "stories passed down the Armstrong line for generations" read a bit like epic poetry with long recitations about Something Something Armstrong, the son of Somebody Somebody Armstrong, from the Northwesternmost East part of Amestris, who once slew ten boar/pomeranian chimera with a broken spade.
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B