A/N: Sorry to go so long without an update -- I never intended this to go on hiatus, but what with one thing and another this chapter took me forever to write. I've already started the next, so with luck it shouldn't be nearly as long in coming as this one was. Thanks for waiting!

Chapter Two

Beclem pulled back on the reins of his chocobo as they reached the edge of the cliff. The light of the setting sun poured over the streets of Luca and the crowds exiting the blitzball stadium. Nooj guided his mount up to Beclem's side and stared out over the city. "So, now what?"

"This way." Beclem turned his chocobo to the right, away from the Highroad and the stairs that led to the central courtyard of the city. Nooj followed behind him, and the comfortable silence that had ridden with them all day fell once more. It had been a long ride, and hard -- they had stopped only twice, to feed and water the chocobos and to grab a quick bite themselves. But it had been worth it, to reach Luca by nightfall. After another ten minutes, they came to a grouping of dilapidated buildings that perched at the top of the cliff.

Beclem turned in his saddle and nodded at Nooj. "We're here." He dismounted from his bird, then held the bridle of Nooj's mount so he could do the same.

Nooj looked around at the weathered wood of the buildings and the steep street that led down the cliff's face and into an area of town that looked dark, dank, and not particularly welcoming. "And here would be..."

"Near the docks." Beclem patted his chocobo on the neck, then gathered up the reins for both birds and, with a cluck of his tongue, pulled them into a nearby pen. "Not the docks that serve the blitz stadium, tourists, and military, but the shipping docks. Where the rest of Luca's business gets done." He indicated the nearest building with his chin. "This inn isn't the fanciest place in Spira, but it's clean, and you'll be safe here. C'mon."

Once he had finished securing the chocobos, he went inside. He could hear Nooj behind him, uneven steps and the click of the cane. He approached the young woman at the counter with a polite nod; Nooj faded back into a corner of the lobby, hiding the shadows to take the most defensible position in the room. "Any rooms available tonight?"

"Yeah. One or two? How long you need 'em?"

"Two, if you have them. One just for tonight, the other for at least a week."

She glanced down at the ledger that lay open on the countertop. "Yeah. We can do that. You want dinner sent up? Bar's open all night, but the kitchen's closin' in about an hour."

Beclem glanced over at Nooj, who shifted warily. "We'll order up."

"Okay. Rooms Five and Twelve; whoever's stayin' longer should take Twelve. Got it?"

Beclem counted out the gil for their first night's lodgings with a nod. "Yes. Thank you."

"Sure." She shrugged as she handed him the keys. "Have a good night."

He went to rejoin Nooj and held out a key. "Home sweet home. At least for a week. I was going to order dinner from the tavern; any requests?"

Nooj closed his hand around the key. "As long as there's fresh meat that I didn't have to hunt and clean myself, I don't care."

Beclem snorted. "I hear you there. All right. I'll tell them to bring something up. See you in the morning." And with that, Beclem went to run his errand, cheered at the prospect of a real hot meal and his first comfortable bed in weeks.

-x-

The next morning, Beclem made his way into the tavern for breakfast and gossip. Once he had filled up on both, he went to Nooj's room and knocked on the door. "It's me."

After a moment, the bolt slid free and Nooj pulled the door open just enough to peer out. "What do you want?"

Beclem held up the tray he carried. "I brought food, and news." Nooj stepped back, and Beclem followed him into the room. There was a small table and two chairs in the corner, and Beclem took the seat furthest from the bed. Nooj took a piece of fruit from the tray and then sat, looking at his friend, impassive, waiting.

"So." Beclem poured himself a cup of coffee and sipped from it. "Word of the Operation's failure has spread pretty widely. Seems like everyone is taking the party line and blaming the decision to use machina and work with the Al Bhed. The general feeling is that the Crusaders are all but finished."

Nooj looked out the narrow window. "So. Even if I am no longer hunted..."

Beclem's answering nod was grim. "There isn't really anything to go back to."

They sat quietly and digested this new reality for a short time; then Nooj turned to look at Beclem again. "What other news?"

"Just gossip and rumor. Crusader Command hasn't been heard from, and no one knows what to make of that."

"No official statement?" Nooj leaned forward, brow furrowed as Beclem shook his head. "What of Yevon?"

Beclem laughed without mirth. "About what you would expect. The usual platitudes about honoring the sacrifice of the dead and praying for a Final Summoning to bring us the Calm, with bonus warnings about machina and the Al Bhed. Nothing about the Crimson Squad, at all -- no one I asked had even heard of it. It's like they're trying to sweep the whole thing under the carpet."

Nooj dropped the pit of his peach into a bowl with a clatter. "Figures," he grunted. "Only deaths that advance their political aims will be mourned in public."

"Exactly." Beclem set down his mug. "So. You have this room for the rest of the week at least. Will you want to stay in the city? If so, I can find you more permanent lodging. But if you'd rather disappear elsewhere, I can help arrange that, too."

"I'll need to think about it." Nooj stood with the aid of his cane and limped over to the window. "Staying put would probably be safest; I'm tempted to go home to Kilika, but with the temple there-- What is it?"

At the mention of Kilika, Beclem had taken a sharp breath. "Kilika. You can't go back, at least not right now. I guess being off in training you didn't hear..."

Nooj's hand drifted up to the window frame and gripped it hard. "Sin." He didn't bother to wait for Beclem's confirmation. "How long ago? How bad?"

"Not quite two weeks." Beclem bowed his head. "Bad. According to the reports we got, the damage and death toll were both substantial. I'm sorry."

"Ah." Nooj nodded and turned his gaze out the window. "Well. We will rebuild. That's what we do, after all. Sin tears it down and we build anew. Of course, then Sin just comes back to wipe it all away again." His knuckles whitened, and his next words were muttered under his breath. "And they wondered why I want out of it."

Beclem said nothing; he was never sure how to react when his friend started talking this way. The silence stretched to fill several more awkward moments, until Beclem turned and left the room without another word, leaving Nooj alone with whatever dark thoughts were consuming him.

-x-

Beclem strode through the narrow back streets that led into the residential neighborhoods of Luca, each step taking him closer to familiar ground. He had spent his childhood exploring these alleyways, tossing the blitzball with his brother and their friends. Reaching the four-story building that had been his childhood home, he paused, then walked up the stairs to the third floor and rapped on the door.

It opened almost immediately to reveal his mother, her jaw falling open, her eyes filling with tears. Then she threw her arms around him and pulled him back with her into the apartment. "You're alive!" He could barely make out the words through her sobs as she clung to him. "I heard-- I thought--"

"I'm fine." Beclem patted her shoulders and hugged her in return.

She stepped back and framed his face with her hands, staring up at him with blue eyes still bright with emotion. "You're sure? No serious injuries or--"

"I'm fine," he repeated. "Took a wound in my leg but that was the worst of it, and it healed well."

She patted his cheeks, then took him by the hand and led him to the couch. "It's a miracle. I almost think I must be dreaming that you survived, after all the awful stories I heard... are they true?"

Beclem nodded. "It was terrible. The most devastating battle I've ever seen." Suddenly he wished he were a young boy again, small enough to curl up in his mother's arms and let her hold him and soothe all the pain and bad memories away.

"I'm so sorry." She squeezed his hand, her eyes still glittering. "But oh, you can't know how relieved I am right now. Praise Yevon you're all right."

"Yevon had nothing to do with it." Something twisted inside him, the casual prayer reminding him of Yevon's betrayal. Part of him knew he should just let it go, but the rage boiled up once again, an unstoppable force drowning out any other impulse. "If anything, we should be blaming Yevon for the deaths instead of thanking them for the luck that allowed a few of us to escape."

Her jaw dropped open. "Beclem! Such an awful thing to say. The teachings..."

"Fiends take the teachings!" Beclem dropped his mother's hand and stood. "I'm done with them, and with the temples. Spira would be better off without them."

"How dare you?" Shock and hurt crept into her eyes. "Only Yevon and the summoners stand between us and Sin. Surely you see that now, after the failure of the Al Bhed and their forbidden weapons."

"Our failure was in trusting the maesters to protect us and stand with us." His hands balled into fists as he turned away. Even his mother, never particularly devout, was a dupe of Yevon in the end. Had the world really been so completely fooled? Could no one see the truth besides himself and Nooj? He stalked toward the door, unable to stand another minute in these rooms. Shaking off the gentle hand that fell on his arm, he walked out and let the door fall closed behind him.

-x-

He found himself in a blitzer pub, a bowl of soup in front of him and a glass of ale in his hand, wondering what to do next. But he didn't have long to wonder as a familiar voice called from across the room. He looked up and turned in his seat. "Graav?"

"It is you!" Graav slid onto the stool next to him at the bar and held out a hand to shake, and Beclem took it with a smile. "We heard about the Crusaders. Zalitz has been going crazy with worry."

"As you can see, I made it out alive. How are you? Zalitz still in the second string?" He hoped the change of subject would keep Graav from further questioning, and the gambit succeeded; the blitzer nodded and motioned to the door.

"He's fine. Getting more playing time than ever since the disaster at the Cup finals." Graav leaned forward and lowered his voice slightly. "Balgerda blew several key tackles and Bickson was not pleased, to say the least."

Beclem grimaced. "I heard about that. Sorry you broke your streak."

Graav shrugged. "Could've been worse. The Aurochs have this new forward, a kid no one ever heard of before, who pretty well carried them. He's pretty amazing; everyone's trying to figure out where they were hiding him. So, you're following the game?"

"As much as I can," Beclem replied with a nod. "How could I not keep track of how my little brother's team is faring?"

"Guess you can get the details from him yourself." Graav grinned. "He's meeting me here any minute."

As if cued, the door to the pub opened again and another young man came through it. He stood still at first, as if stunned, and then pushed his way through the tables and past the small crowd to the bar.

"Hello." Beclem stood and held out a hand to his brother with a tentative smile.

Zalitz walked past the hand and embraced him instead. "I can't believe it. I just heard from Mom, but I didn't dare believe until I saw you."

Beclem hugged him in return, then drew away. "Believe it. I'm fine, and I've left the Crusaders. So I guess I'm back in Luca to stay."

"Wow." Zalitz looked Beclem up and down. "I guess we have a lot to catch up on." He cast a glance at Graav, who chuckled.

"It's okay, we can have lunch any time. Beclem. Man, it's great to see you again! Come by the locker room sometime soon." And he sauntered off, leaving them alone.

They looked at each other silently for a moment, and then Zalitz sighed. "Okay. There's a private booth in the back that the Goers get first crack at. Graav reserved it already, so it's ours if you want to talk."

Beclem glanced around. Since this was a blitzer bar, Crusaders rarely frequented it. He'd be as safe here as anywhere. "All right." He followed Zalitz across the room and settled across from him, polished dark wood gleaming beneath his hands. A waitress followed shortly after, the food he had ordered in hand, and after exchanging a glance with Zalitz, she returned with a pint and a hearty sandwich. "So you 're a regular."

"Yeah." Zalitz took a swig of his drink. "We all are; we pretty much own the place, if we want to. But don't change the subject. What happened?"

Beclem drummed his fingers on the table. He was reluctant to tell the story -- what if Zalitz reacted as their mother had? Then again, if he could trust anyone in this world, it was his brother. So he fortified himself with a mouthful of ale, then began.

By the time he finished, Zalitz had finished his food and gotten a refill of ale. He set down the full glass and shook his head sadly. "Man. I'm so sorry. It sounds terrible. No wonder you walked away from Yevon."

"So you don't blame the Al Bhed like Mom does?"

Zalitz shook his head. "She's gotten funny about the Al Bhed. You know how it was when Dad died? It's gotten worse since you left. Won't do business with them, makes noises about how they're to blame for Sin sinking Dad's ship." He sighed. "But I just can't agree with her. We blitz together, y'know? I've gotten to know the Psyches a little, and they're good people. They care about Spira, and they hate Sin, and they love the game as much as we do. And really? That's all that matters to me."

A sudden thought occurred to Beclem as he reached across the table and grabbed Zalitz's hand. "I have a favor to ask. You can say no, and I'll understand why if so. But I don't know if I have anyone else."

"Shoot." Zalitz looked at him, eyes wide and clear, hiding nothing.

He took a deep breath. "I need a place to stay in Luca, but it's not just me. I have another friend who's left the Crusaders, and he left under far worse circumstances. I can't really go into details, but Yevon is after him, and he needs a place to lay low for awhile."

"No problem." Zalitz squeezed Beclem's hand, then let it go. "You can have my place while you figure out what you're going to do. I'll just stay with Graav or something."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Finally, Zalitz allowed a smile to cross his face. "Anything for my big brother."

-x-

Beclem settled into Zalitz's rooms that evening, and Nooj arrived the next day. Still wary of being seen, Nooj spent most of his time holed up in his bedroom, venturing out only on game days, hiding in plain sight within crowds of blitzball fans. Occasionally he would haunt the back of the sphere theater, picking up what information he could from the screenings there. Not even Beclem saw him often.

Beclem went to as many games as he could; whenever he wasn't in the stadium, he was on the streets and in the pubs, soaking up the company of his old friends and all the gossip they had to share. Most often the rumors concerned the sport and its players, but tidbits from Yevon would sneak through: first the High Summoner's daughter was set to marry Maester Seymour, then she was under arrest for trying to kill him; the Crusaders had scattered, most going home, a few attempting to re-form in the Calm Lands. He listened to everything with a skeptical ear, waiting for something more concrete to work with.

It came about a week and a half after his arrival in Luca, on a warm evening while he relaxed on a bench by the fountain and waited for Zalitz to join him for a late dinner. He had attended the morning's games, but tonight the Goers were playing the Aurochs, and watching the Aurochs in action always made him uncomfortable. Too many memories there. Instead, he sat and enjoyed the warm evening air, the buzz of activity around him fading into a background drone that he always found comforting. He leaned back, propping his elbows against the top of the bench, and looked up at the darkening sky as a few of the brighter stars popped into his view. Lost in no thoughts, he was startled when a shout cut through every other sound in the square.

"I bring news! News from Bevelle!" Beclem sat up and pivoted in his seat. Along with everyone else, his eyes fell on the messenger who stood on the step that lead from the walkway into the square. In the sudden silence, the next words rang out: "Yevon has come under attack by the Al Bhed! They broke into the city and rescued the traitorous summoner, Lady Yuna. She and her guardians murdered Maester Kinoc, then fled. Anyone with information on these traitors should contact the nearest temple or garrison immediately!" And before anyone could react, he was gone, sprinting to the stair leading to the Highroad, presumably to spread his tidings further.

Stunned, Beclem stood up and headed toward his lodgings. He'd gotten about ten steps when he saw Zalitz, changed into dry clothes and shaking water droplets from his hair.

"Did you hear?" Zalitz ran a few steps, then fell into pace beside Beclem as they walked down the streets. On Beclem's nod, he continued. "I saw the ship pulling into the dock just as I was coming out of the locker rooms. There's about half a dozen runners; I guess they want this news to get out fast. Do you think it has anything to do with--"

"I don't know. I want to go home, talk to my friend, see what he makes of it." Beclem glanced sideways at Zalitz. "Sorry, I have to cancel for tonight."

"Not a problem." They hurried down the cobblestone street without speaking, and Beclem listened to the buzz of conversation, all on the same topic for once, reactions ranging from disbelief to fury. Zalitz followed him up the stairs to the apartment; after hesitating, Beclem opened the door and gestured him in. Nooj was there, pacing the living room with ungainly steps.

"What's going on?" he demanded as soon as Zalitz had shut the door. Nooj cast a suspicious glance at his host, then relaxed a bit as he nodded to the couch in invitation.

Beclem walked over to the window and closed it. "So you haven't heard?"

Nooj shook his head with an impatient toss of his hair. "I'd reached the bottom of the stairs when I overheard someone saying that all the warrior monks have been recalled to Bevelle. Since I expect many will pass through here, I thought it best to stay out of sight for awhile."

"Got it." Beclem leaned back against the windowsill. "Runners came via ship just a few minutes ago. They're announcing that Bevelle was attacked by Al Bhed, and that Lady Yuna escaped from custody and killed Maester Kinoc."

Nooj's eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. "Kinoc is dead?"

"So they say."

"Hm." Nooj began to pace again. "Do you believe it?"

Beclem shrugged. "Who knows? But for once I don't see why they'd lie about it. It paints them in a worse light than otherwise. This thing about the High Summoner's daughter being involved, though..." He joined Zalitz on the sofa. "I saw her at Operation Mi'ihen, and it doesn't make sense. She just didn't strike me as the type to make such a bold move."

"But if she tried to kill Maester Seymour..." Zalitz began.

"I believe that rumor even less," Beclem said flatly. "What could she gain by pretending to want to marry Seymour, then murdering him?"

"It's odd," Nooj agreed. "The whole thing is a mystery. Why would the Al Bhed go after Bevelle now of all times?" He looked sideways at Beclem. "But if Lady Yuna, or her guardians, did indeed try to kill Seymour and have now succeeded in taking out Kinoc, perhaps we could consider them allies."

"Maybe." Beclem thought for a moment, then sighed. "I wish I knew what to trust."

Nooj settled down in the armchair next to the window. "We need more time. Truth will sort itself out from fiction soon enough. It always does."

Beclem glanced at Zalitz, who nodded, and looked back to Nooj. "You're right. I guess we have to wait and see."

-x-

The rumors flew like seagulls, flocks of them, soaring in from every corner of Spira. Maester Seymour was chasing Lady Yuna across the Calm Lands and over Gagazet. Their marriage had actually been a love match, and the two of them were working together to overthrow Yevon. Kinoc was secretly alive and in cahoots with the warrior monks to take over Bevelle. Maester Kelk Ronso had surrendered his title and left the capital. Mika had revoked Kelk's title because he refused to sign an execution order for Lady Yuna. An underground army of Guado had massacred the Ronso and then began hunting down the Al Bhed. Some other summoner had beaten Lady Yuna to Zanarkand and would be challenging Sin any day now. Beclem heard all the stories, and believed none.

No messages came directly from Bevelle for several weeks. When one finally did arrive, it was so incredible that Beclem immediately went back to the apartment to share the news with Nooj, and to speculate as to its meaning.

"A flying ship will play the Hymn of the Fayth, and we're all supposed to sing along?" Nooj stared out the window. "An airship," he said in hushed tones. "So it's real. I wonder if..." The words trailed off into nothing as he focused on something far distant.

Beclem looked sideways at him. "What do you know?"

Nooj shook his head, hard enough to rattle his braids. "Nothing. Just, rumors in the Crimson Squad about an Al Bhed flying ship. I'd assume this is the same one. So. Did the message tell you why we are to sing along with a flying ship?"

"Not really." Beclem shrugged. "Supposedly it has to do with fighting Sin, but I have no idea how that could even be possible. Might be some kind of loyalty test. Only Yevon would dream that up. I don't know if the ship is even Al Bhed." He snorted and spread his hands. "You know what the official line is now? That the Al Bhed came up with the story about Yuna being a traitor in order to discredit her."

"Naturally." Nooj frowned. "When did they say this would happen?"

"They didn't. 'Soon.' Like we're all going to spend every spare minute watching the sky. I bet--"

He was interrupted by a banging at the door. After exchanging an alarmed glance with Nooj, he slowly made his way there as Nooj stood as quickly as he could manage, ready to flee to the bedroom to hide if necessary.

"Beclem! It's me." Zalitz's voice came through the door. Nooj sat down but did not relax as Beclem unlocked the door. Zalitz burst through, then dropped down on the couch, breathing hard. "More news of Yevon, did you hear?"

"This thing about the airship?"

Zalitz shook his head. "There's more. Much more. Grand Maester Mika is dead. Not only that, but he's been dead all this time. He's been ruling Spira as an unsent for fifty years. But that's not even the most shocking part."

Beclem gaped at Zalitz, and Nooj leaned forward, hands on his knees. True or not, the Grand Maester being an unsent was the biggest scandal to come out of Yevon in his lifetime. What could possibly top that?

"Well. I don't know if I believe it. But this is the rumor I hear." Zalitz looked furtively around him, as though afraid he might be overheard. "The Final Summoning isn't what we always thought. It doesn't destroy Sin. It recreates it. The summoner chooses one of their guardians to become their fayth. And after that fayth defeats Sin, it becomes Sin in its place."

Beclem shook his head sharply from side to side. "What? I don't understand."

"It's a cycle." Nooj's words were low, almost a growl. "The defeat of Sin directly leads into the creation of the next Sin. If this is true..."

"Then no summoner could ever defeat Sin for good." Beclem's stomach twisted into a knot. "Everything Yevon teaches about purity and atonement is a lie, and always has been."

Nooj turned his head to the side and spat on the floor, face hard. "Everything we did. Everything we fought for. Everyone who's died. All for lies." He stood slowly and walked to the window. "I wonder what else they're hiding, in that snakes' nest we call Bevelle."

"Nothing would surprise me anymore." Beclem turned back to Zalitz. "So how do we know all this?"

"Lady Yuna," he replied. "Or so the rumor goes. She reached Zanarkand, all prepared to take on the Final Summoning, but she met Lady Yunalesca-- I know, I know." He held up his hand, warding off Beclem's question before he could ask it. "It seems impossible, let me finish the story first. So Yuna confronted Yunalesca about the Final Summoning, and when she learned the story, she and her guardians attacked Yunalesca and defeated her."

Nooj turned around at that. "So. Even if a summoner wanted to perform the Final Summoning--"

"They couldn't." Zalitz finished Nooj's sentence with a nod.

"Machina won't work, the Final Summoning won't work. So then, how does anyone propose to stop Sin now?" Beclem demanded.

Zalitz shrugged. "No one knows. Lady Yuna may have saved Spira, or she may have doomed it. And we have no way of knowing which."

-x-

Two weeks later, Beclem woke up and found Nooj in the living room, dozing in the easy chair he favored, his prosthetic leg stuck out at an odd angle. Cautiously, Beclem approached Nooj and lightly shook his shoulder. He blinked his eyes open and then glared upward. "What?"

Beclem gestured at the leg. "Everything all right?"

Nooj grunted and looked away. Beclem stood silent and waited; Nooj was stubborn and prideful about accepting help, but common sense always won out eventually. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Nooj pushed himself up out of his slouch. "The knee froze after I climbed the stairs last night," he muttered. "I barely made it into the chair. Hasn't been lubricated properly since... for awhile."

"Okay." Beclem nodded. "I'm sure I can find some machine oil at the Al Bhed docks. Unless you want me to bring one of them here?"

The look Nooj cast him was so murderous that Beclem found himself swallowing a laugh. Forcing himself not to grin, he backed toward the door. "I'll ask around. Discreetly," he hastened to add as Nooj's expression changed to one of alarm. And before he could get in any more trouble, he hurried from the apartment.

-x-

Beclem was almost to the docks before he realized that he hadn't thought to ask Nooj if he needed food or water. He considered going back, but decided that it would probably be a bad idea to return without the lubricant. Instead, he stepped up the pace, and within a few moments he had arrived at the dock reserved for Al Bhed salvage ships. As he approached, he wondered whether anyone there would speak his language, or if he would have to depend on the bits of Al Bhed he knew.

There were three people there, two men and a woman, standing on the deck of a salvage ship, talking in low voices. They looked up at his approach and stepped back, tense and nervous. Beclem spread his hands to show his unarmed state -- he had a pistol holstered behind his back, but they didn't need to know that -- and said one of the three Al Bhed sentences he was sure of: "Please help me."

The Al Bhed exchanged glances, and then the woman came down the gangway of the ship, the others falling back. "What do you need?" she asked in lightly accented Spiran.

Beclem gave the speech he'd been working on since leaving the apartment. "I was with the Crusaders at Operation Mi'ihen, and afterwards I kept my rifle. But it keeps jamming, and I'm looking for any lubricant that might help."

She looked over him, green eyes glinting with skepticism. "Our rifles don't have the sort of moving parts that jam." Her tone was flat, matter of fact. "But it doesn't matter why you need it, as long as you have the gil, and aren't just trying to get on the ship to blow it up. You aren't, are you?" Beclem shook his head and smiled, amused by her matter-of-factness. "Okay. Come with me."

He followed her up the ramp and onto the deck of the ship, where to his surprise he recognized one of the two men who were still standing there. With their blond hair and green eyes, the Al Bhed could start to blend together, but not many also sported an eye patch. The man met Beclem's gaze and started. "Do I know you?" he asked.

Beclem nodded. "We met about year ago, when the Crusaders were first making arrangements to use machina weapons. Probably right here at this dock, actually. I don't know that we were ever introduced, though. The name's Beclem." He held out his hand in the common Al Bhed manner of greeting, which he thought would be more polite than bowing. He'd lost his taste for the prayer gesture anyway.

With only a slight hesitation, the other man took the outstretched hand and shook it. "Gippal." Beclem remembered the name as it was spoken; he returned the handshake, and then pulled away. "So, what brings you here?"

"He needs some lube." The woman Beclem had first spoken to stepped between them and faced Gippal. "But he won't tell us what it's for."

"I can't." Beclem opened his arms again, this time in apology. "It's not for me, and my friend is eager to avoid notice. But I can tell you it's a fairly urgent personal matter."

Gippal jumped backward, arms flailing, eye widening in alarm. Beclem took a step back as well; he could sense Gippal's whole body vibrating with tension as he started to pace and mutter under his breath in Al Bhed. The others exchanged curious glances but said nothing. Beclem waited; the mood on the boat was becoming increasingly tense and uncomfortable, but he didn't have much choice. If he left without lubricant, Nooj would be stuck in that chair forever.

Finally, Gippal wheeled on his heel and marched straight to Beclem, staring him straight in the eye. "You. You're a Crusader?"

Beclem looked calmly back. "I was."

"Okay." Gippal walked in a slow circle, hands on his hips. "So it might be him... but it can't be. Can it?" He stopped and whipped his head around again, glare still crackling with nervous energy.

Now it was Beclem's turn to pull back, startled. Had Gippal realized that he was talking about Nooj? He thought back over all the stories he'd heard about the prosthetics, particularly regarding the rumored involvement of the Al Bhed. But this guy didn't seem like a surgeon. Hell, he was still a kid.

He sorted through his options. Nooj had been adamant -- tell no one of his presence in Luca. But these were Al Bhed. Surely they wouldn't turn anyone over to Yevon, especially not now. He weighed his options for another long minute; then he looked at Gippal and replied in a low voice. "It is."

Gippal took a deep, noisy breath and looked at his feet, uttering what sounded like a curse. The woman approached him, laid a hand on his arm, and said something; Gippal shook her off with a few sharp words. Beclem could only watch and grow ever more confused. What was going on?

At last Gippal let out another breath, this time with a shudder that let out all the tension in his shoulders. Then he turned to Beclem with an easy smile. "I have just the thing for you. It's below decks; I'll be right back."

Still confused but not inclined to argue, Beclem nodded at Gippal's retreating back, then glanced at the other Al Bhed, who had retreated to a corner, still talking softly. He looked away, avoiding their eyes until Gippal returned, a sealed tube in his right hand.

"Here." Gippal handed the tube to Beclem, who pocketed it. "He should be able to show you how to use it." Then he shifted back on his heels. Beclem could see his mind working, as if he were deciding what more, if anything to say. He had just opened his mouth when he was cut off by a shout from the other man on the deck.

All heads turned to him, and then up to follow his pointing finger. Beclem shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted at the dark speck that appeared in the distance. "What..."

"It's the airship!" Gippal bounded forward to the railing and gripped at it, tipping his head back for a better look. "And listen! Can't you hear it?"

Beclem closed his eyes and strained his ears. Faintly, over the sounds of the gulls and the waves lapping against the sides of the boat, he thought he heard singing. Was it the Hymn of the Fayth?

Opening his eyes, he looked at Gippal, who nodded at him. "The Hymn. You must have heard the same story we did, right? See a ship in the sky, sing the Hymn."

Somehow, of all the improbable things that had happened today, the idea that the Al Bhed knew the Hymn seemed the most ludicrous. But Beclem didn't have time to ask questions; he had to get back to Nooj. "Thanks," he said, digging into his other pocket for some gil; Gippal noticed what he was doing and waved him off.

"Consider it a favor." Beclem nodded, then left, running off the ship and onto the streets of Luca.

The scene that surrounded him was surreal. Everywhere he went, there were knots of people, gathered together and singing the hymn as they stared at the sky. The urge to join in was strong, but Beclem resisted -- Nooj wouldn't want to miss this, and as long as he was stuck in that chair he would have no idea. Soon Beclem reached the apartment and took the stairs two at a time, then burst in the door.

Nooj still sat in the chair, leg still frozen nearly straight, straining to look out the open window. "Do I hear singing?"

"Yeah." Beclem pulled out the lubricant and knelt next to the prosthetic leg. "It's that airship. Sounds like most everyone is playing along. Still no idea why. But first, can you show me how to use this stuff?"

Nooj reached across his body with his right hand and snatched the tube away. "I'll take care of it. You go see what's going on. I'll join you on the balcony as soon as I can."

Beclem knew an order when he heard one. Without another word, he went to the door that led out to the balcony and pushed open the curtains. And took in a sudden sharp breath at the sight that met his eyes, his hand automatically falling to the weapon at his belt. He turned around and shouted back into the apartment: "It's Sin! Sin is here!"

He thought he heard Nooj curse under his breath. "What's happening?"

"Some sort of standoff. I think -- damn, I wish I had some binoculars! -- the ship is moving away, luring Sin away from the city and out over the ocean. Yeah, that's what happening, and it seems to be working."

A creaking followed by a thudding noise, then the familiar lurching gait of Nooj's walk. Beclem turned back to the sky, grasping the railing. "That brightness off Sin's snout -- have you ever seen anything like it before?"

"No." Nooj stared into the distance. "I don't--" Whatever he would have said next was lost in a rumbling sound that seemed to come from all around them. "Careful!" The ground started to shake in the worst, most sustained earthquake Beclem had ever felt. The rattling of windows and bricks, along with a few screams, finally drowned out the sounds of the Hymn, although Beclem thought he could hear a few hardy souls continuing the song. Seized with feeling at the courage it must take for them to carry on under such frightening circumstances, he cleared his throat and, in a baritone that hadn't seen use in a decade, began to sing. After a pause, Nooj joined in, his voice clear and strong. Together they clung to the railing and sang the Hymn, projecting it toward the ship in the sky, still not really knowing why but unable to resist continuing, even after the earthquake stopped.

Squinting into the sky, blocking as much of the morning sun as he could with his hand, Beclem strained to see something, anything. He thought he saw the dark speck of the airship flying along Sin's side, hovering there. Then it pulled away, and there was a bright flash of light. Sin screamed and flinched as a piece broke off and fell into the sea, trailing millions of pyreflies in its wake.

Beclem turned to Nooj, astonished. "Did I just see that?"

Nooj jerked his head in a sharp nod. "The ship has damaged Sin. I don't know how, but-- it's leaving!"

And indeed it was. Sin was running, flying off to the north, toward Bevelle, the ship in hot pursuit. Beclem was unable to look away until both the monster and its tormenter had disappeared into the distance. The few voices still raised in song trailed off, and Luca fell into complete silence as every eye stared into the sky.

-x-

A hush fell over the world.

Hours passed as Beclem and Nooj stood and watched. Every balcony on every apartment was filled with people doing the same. No one spoke. Eventually, Beclem heard a gurgle from his stomach, and suddenly he realized that it was past noon and neither of them had eaten. It seemed somehow wrong to break the silence to ask Nooj if he wanted food, so he slipped back into the apartment and into the kitchen, where he tossed some leftovers onto a plate and grabbed a flagon of ale.

"Here," he murmured as he returned to the balcony, waving the plate under Nooj's hand. Nooj picked up a piece of meat and took a few distracted bites. Beclem ate as well, and continued to watch. Other than occasionally shifting to grab a slice of meat or bread, or take a swig of ale, he hardly moved, Nooj still as a statue beside him as he scanned the horizon for some indication that anything was happening.

Darkness fell. Beclem glanced back at the plate and realized it was empty. He was neither hungry nor satiated. The needs of the flesh seemed somehow secondary, the day a time out of time as Luca held its breath. Would Sin be defeated? Or would he be disappointed again, like almost every other time before?

"Aye!" The shout came from above him and to the right. Beclem stared, willing himself to see whatever it was he might have missed. Was there something up there, glowing brighter than the first stars of the night?

"Do you see it?" he asked Nooj, his tone still hushed.

"I don't-- there!" He pointed, a shiver running down his arm. The light was there, growing brighter, rising into the sky. And then it exploded, ripples of light and pyreflies filling the sky, spreading out over the entire canopy, drowning out the stars as the tiny lights rained down on their heads. It was a sight Beclem had seen only once, ten years ago, at the beginning of the last Calm.

Beclem's soul started to lift in his chest with equal parts happiness and disbelief. The silence was breaking, the city streets ringing with laughter and shouts of joy. "Unbelievable! I think they did it!" He turned to Nooj, eyes wide with amazement.

Nooj did not return Beclem's gaze. "So it would seem." His shoulders slumped. With relief? Or disappointment? Beclem could only watch, baffled, as Nooj backed away from the railing and disappeared into the apartment.