Chapter 7: Ghost In The Machine
"Esthar Airstation this is Ragnarok, Squall Leonhart commanding. We are requesting clearance for launch." Squall spoke into the microphone; hailing the airstation as he typed in the commands to start the systems checks that he knew would be required prior to launch.
The radio crackled to life and replied, "Copy Ragnarok, please commence systems check."
"Systems check initiated." Squall confirmed, reading out the data that scrolled up on the computer screen and on the various dials and gauges. Everything read out fine, and Squall reported it back to Airstation Control.
"Commence ignition Ragnarok." Airstation Control told him.
"Copy." Squall pressed the appropriate button and the engines began to power up. Glancing back over his shoulder at the rest of the crew, Squall assured himself that everyone was securely strapped in.
"Ragnarok. You are cleared for launch. Godspeed, all of you."
Squall punched in the final codes and the airship lifted itself off of the landing pad, retracting its landing gear at the same time. Once the ship had ascended high enough, Squall engaged the main rockets.
The powerful airship leaped forward, soaring through the sky, angling upward as Squall typed in more commands. The speed increased gradually and as the ship's angle approached vertical, the booster rockets engaged with a roar.
The increasing g-forces pressed Squall back into his seat and the ship went into a roll as it had done before, slicing through the final layer of the atmospheric envelope and out.
As soon as he felt the shift from crushing gravitational force to none at all, Squall cut the booster rockets and engaged the gravity generator.
"Airstation Control, this is Ragnarok. We have successfully launched and I am inputting the coordinates for the remains of the Lunar Base." Squall reported.
"Copy Ragnarok. Inform us when you've reached it. And please activate the external cameras now." Airstation control responded.
"Copy. External cameras activated. Live feed initiated." Squall said. The internal cameras were already activated, much to Squall's annoyance. He'd been told that people had wanted to see the launch from his perspective. Whatever.
Looking back over his shoulder again at the crew, Squall addressed them, "the gravity's been engaged, and we should be at the Lunar Base's last location shortly." Unbuckling his restraints, Squall stood up, stretching.
For him, the rest of this trip would be mostly about waiting. Piet and the rest of the technicians would be the ones to do the EVA's required to search the wreckage for anything that could be salvaged and to retrieve the casualties left behind.
Remaining on board with him with that part of the trip in mind was a physician and his assistant, who would be acting as both ship's doctor and medical examiner. One of the bays in the belly of the Ragnarok had been temporarily converted to a morgue to accommodate them and the bodies that they would finally be returning to their families.
Approaching the man, Squall said, "Dr. Sheppard, you and your assistant may want to go to the morgue and make sure everything's ready. Let me know if there are any problems. Better to find them out now than after we start bringing the bodies on board."
"Yes, sir." The doctor responded, saluting Squall. Then he and his assistant left.
Squall frowned after them. The "sir" part he understood. He was used to that. But being saluted by civilians? That was distinctly odd. Then again, this was Esthar. Pretty much everything about Esthar was odd.
Squall had mostly gotten used to the general weirdness, but every so often, something would come up to throw him for a loop. As an example, just out of curiosity, Squall had checked into marriage laws there… and had been surprised at how liberal they were. Any citizen who wanted to get married in Esthar could. No restrictions…. of any sort.
As Laguna's son, Squall had, unknown to him, (at least until Laguna had told him) been granted full citizenship. Even though he was only a part-time resident (less really, if one were honest). If Squall wanted to, he could legally marry Rinoa there. Or, if he wanted to, he could marry Irvine. Or…both. That concept took awhile for Squall to wrap his head around.
Not that he was at all interested in anyone other than Rinoa, of course.
That whole citizenship question did concern him a little bit, however. As a SeeD mercenary, he couldn't be seen as being tied to any given nation. SeeDs had to be neutral in order to do their jobs. If the subject of citizenship arose when applied to a SeeD, it reverted to their Garden of Origin. In Squall's case, it was Balamb Garden.
So, while Squall had lived the bulk of his life in Balamb, he was not a citizen of Balamb. He was a legal resident of Balamb, through Balamb Garden, which was based there. He supposed having been born in Winhill could technically make him a Galbadian citizen. But he'd never lived there, so he wasn't sure about that. And while he'd spent his early childhood in Centra, it wasn't even a country. It was a largely uninhabited continent. The only reason that this concerned him at all boiled down to paperwork.
He had no idea where to go to get a damned marriage license or where to file it after he and Rinoa were married. A minor detail that he'd yet to work out, and he needed to figure it out soon, because they were getting married in less than three weeks.
As little as he liked the idea, the thought occurred to him that he might have to talk to Cid about this, because all the legal niceties of citizenship versus legal residency as it applied to marriage statutes were completely beyond him. He was a mercenary commander, not a lawyer.
The idea of eloping to Trabia was becoming more and more attractive as time wore on.
"Commander Leonhart?" Squall looked up from the crew list he'd been studying. And waited. The crewmember began to look uncomfortable as the silence stretched. Sighing inwardly, he thought, it's so much easier to communicate when you don't have to SPEAK.
Finally he asked, "Yes?"
"Uh, right. When do you think we will reach the.. The lunar base location?" The man asked. What was his name? Peterson…that was it. He was one of the technicians that had survived the disaster.
Squall turned to the control panel and checked the information on the computer screen before answering, "Just a little over fifteen minutes."
Turning back to the technician, Squall added, "We'll be going over mission assignments in a half hour."
"Are we doing any EVA today?" Peterson asked.
Squall shook his head, answering, "No. We need to make sure everything is set up and ready first. I've already sent doctor Sheppard to check out the morgue. We'll start the EVA's first thing tomorrow." The man nodded and left.
Just then the radio crackled to life.
"Commander Leonhart, this is Airstation Control. ETA on lunar base coordinates?"
"Ten minutes." Squall answered.
"Copy commander."
Unwilling as yet to sit back down in the pilot's chair, Squall stood instead off to the side of it, watching as the ship's autopilot directed it to the coordinates that he had typed in. He glanced from time to time at the readouts on the computer screen, but most of his attention was directed to the view through the clear canopy above him.
"I never get tired of this view." Piet commented. Squall glanced over at where the man stood with a rapt expression on his face. Squall wondered if his own expression was that fascinated. The momentary peace was of necessity brief, since there was a job to do and preparations to make.
Squall had just turned back to reviewing the information on the crew and their specialties when the doctor's assistant returned, reporting that they had checked out the morgue and found everything that they had needed was where it should be. The doctor had also taken it upon himself to get familiar with the infirmary on board.
Squall nodded, saying, "tell the doctor to meet me in the conference room in twenty minutes."
"Yes sir." The man nodded and left.
It seemed just seconds elapsed when the autopilot notified Squall that they had reached their destination. His time was momentarily taken up by shutting down the directional rockets, making sure the forward shields were engaged to prevent any collisions with the free-floating debris, and radioing in to Airstation Control to advise them of their current status.
"Thank you Commander Leonhart." Airstation Control responded.
Standing up, he turned to Piet and told him, "Get the crew together and meet me in the conference room. We need to go over our mission assignments and make sure everyone knows what they're doing tomorrow."
"What about tonight?" Piet asked.
"Tonight's about getting prepared, making sure everyone and everything is unpacked and ready." Squall replied.
Piet nodded and left. Squall took his crew list and smoothed his hands down the breast of his blue-black SeeD uniform jacket, walking toward the conference room. He and Laguna had gone back and forth over the subject of his attire, and he was more than a little annoyed at his father at the moment. Laguna had wanted him to wear the same jumpsuit uniform that the rest of the crew was wearing, and Squall had stubbornly refused.
While he understood that he was part of the crew, he was commanding it, not working as a technician. He wasn't part of Esthar's technocracy, their military or really, even their citizenry despite the paperwork that said otherwise. He was a SeeD, pure and simple. So, while Squall had gone ahead and worn a uniform, it was his uniform.
Laguna had not been happy when Squall had arrived in his SeeD uniform that morning. The tension between them as they glared at each other, arms crossed, could have been cut with a knife and made the initial preparations for the launch very uncomfortable for the rest of the crew.
Squall was still irritated at Laguna for his presumption. Not so much about the stupidity over what he wore, more about the fact that Laguna hadn't even asked him if he wanted Estharian citizenship. That had flat out pissed him off.
So, now here he was, at the start of a very important mission, and he was angry and out of sorts from the get-go.
Entering the conference room, he gazed pensively out at the planet that rotated above the Ragnarok's clear canopy. He was early, but he needed the time to think.
"Laguna's very unhappy" Rinoa sent, worry and concern for both him and Laguna coming through clearly.
"Tough shit." Squall sent, not feeling the least bit charitable at the moment.
"Squall…" Rinoa protested, distressed.
"He didn't even ask me Rin!" He flared, then paused as he felt the pain coming from her.
"I know Squall, trust me, Laguna's been kicking himself for hours now thinking he's completely ruined things with that one, stupid, impulsive act." Rinoa sent, sadly. An image of a completely dejected Laguna watching the launch, hand covering his mouth, face etched in lines of worry and eyes deeply unhappy accompanied that statement.
"He didn't want you to leave with angry words and hurt feelings between you. He's so afraid if something goes wrong…" Rinoa sent, adding her own worry to it.
"It'll be fine. They went over the Ragnarok from top to bottom for a solid week before we launched, remember?" Squall sent, reassuring her with a quick burst of love.
"Will you talk to him? Tonight?" Rinoa asked.
Squall couldn't disguise his irritation; he knew Rinoa could feel it, pulsing along the link between them. At least it wasn't anger, not anymore. The quick burst of fear he'd sensed from Rinoa at the first warm rush of anger she'd felt from him had shocked him out of his temper. He realized that while she'd seen him angry, she'd never felt it from him. Outwardly, for the most part he was under control. But under the surface, which Rinoa finally got a glimpse of, he seethed. And while he might not give any sign of it, it took awhile for that slow burn to cool off. Squall still didn't know what had scared Rinoa so much; he wasn't that angry with Laguna.
"Squall?" Rinoa prompted, sending soothing thoughts toward him. He sighed, feeling his rough, edgy attitude begin to smooth out.
"All right, I'll talk to him. Later tonight." He sent, relenting. Her joy made him smile. And just like that, the coiled tension he'd held inside all morning faded away.
"I love you Rin. And thank you… for whatever it was you did." He added, mentally embracing her.
When the crew finally assembled in the conference room to find Squall already there, waiting for them, their collective apprehension eased when they saw a considerably less dour and cold commander than they'd expected.
Squall placed the crew roster on the table and waited while everyone sat down. He studied them all silently. Originally, they had planned on a total crew of six, but it had been revised to eight. Along with Squall as Commander and Piet as second, there was the doctor and his assistant, two technicians, Peterson and a woman named Irian, which had been on the lunar base along with Piet, and two young women from the Airstation.
"Thank you for coming. I just wanted to go over our assignments tomorrow and discuss any concerns or problems that may have cropped up." Squall said, then he turned to the doctor.
"Doctor Sheppard, I already got your assistant's report that you'd found everything in both the morgue and the infirmary. Do you have anything to add?" He asked.
The doctor looked thoughtful, then answered, "According to your report Commander Leonhart, we are expecting to retrieve six bodies. With that in mind, we have equipped six climate-controlled pods for both storage and transport. We have an additional eight pods, which hopefully we will not have to use."
Squall nodded in agreement, asking, "Is the ID database up and running?"
The doctor nodded, "We should have no trouble identifying the casualties."
"Good." Addressing the rest of the crew, Squall added, "We will be doing the retrieval in four-hour shifts. Piet will be in charge of the first shift tomorrow. Peterson, you're in charge of the second shift. You should deploy in teams of at least two."
Squall checked the crew list again before looking up and continuing, "Those of you scheduled for EVA may want to check out your equipment tonight. If anything is missing or you have any problems, tell me. Everyone on board has a suit, and there are spares in case of problems or damage, but I do want to make sure that everything works before I send anyone out. Understand?" The crew nodded at this.
"As for the rest of it… You've all gotten your bunk assignments?" Another round of nods answered that question.
"Okay, we also have rotating galley and domestic duties. Everyone takes a turn. Even me. We're here seven days and there are only eight of us, so everyone is going to need to pitch in. Any questions?" Squall asked.
One of the female technicians raised her hand, asking, "Are they going to be posted?"
"Yes, there will be a list by the galley." Squall answered.
One of the other young women raised her hand, eyes dancing as she asked, "Commander? Can you cook?"
Squall raised his eyebrows at this, somewhat amused at the question, and answered, "Yes. I guess we'll all find out how well in a couple of days." Quiet laughter echoed that statement.
Folding his arms across his chest, Squall concluded the short meeting with, "See Piet for your shift assignments for the EVA. Any other problems or questions, see me." Squall dismissed everyone after that, leaving the conference room himself. He had more than a few things that he had to do in preparation for tomorrow's work as well, one of them being to inspect his spacesuit. He may not ever use it, but he wanted to make sure of its condition to avoid any unpleasant surprises.
He spent the remainder of the day going all over the ship, top to bottom, making sure everyone had their duties in hand and checking their store of supplies and water. That was important and Squall realized that while they were in orbit, water would have to be used sparingly as it was a finite resource up there. So, no long showers. The former Lunar Base technicians may have been used to that, but this was a new experience for Squall. The thought made his skin itch.
He was in his stateroom setting up a small office when one of the technicians knocked on his door.
When he opened it, the girl on the other side seemed to freeze for a moment, staring at him as though she'd forgotten why she'd knocked on his door. Squall simply waited, watching her, until she found her voice.
"Uh, Commander… Um, we're about to eat dinner, all of us. You want to…?" she asked, hesitantly, cheeks pink. Squall frowned, wondering what her problem was. He hadn't barked at or bitten anyone. He'd thought he'd been rather… well… if not nice, at least not hostile. Or rude.
While he would have preferred to eat alone, he supposed that the close quarters that everyone had to endure for the week would be easier borne if there were at least a little social interaction. And it wouldn't hurt to get to know at least a little about the people he was working with. Besides, he had to eat.
Nodding, he told the girl, "Yes. Be there in a bit." The girl nodded and left, Squall still wondering what had gotten her so flustered. He shut down his laptop and grabbing his t-shirt off the back of his chair, he put it on and headed for the galley.
"Is he coming?" Irian asked as the girl returned to the galley.
"Yeah, he should be along in a little bit." she answered, blowing a breath out and fanning her face.
"What? Its not that hot in here." The other woman said, frowning.
"Wait'll he gets here. With any luck, he'll forget to put his shirt back on." The girl said, sighing. Irian and the other woman chuckled at that, trading grins at the image that gave them. The young SeeD was a damned good looking man.
When Squall arrived a few minutes later with his white t-shirt on, the female crewmembers couldn't help trading a glance and sighing in disappointment. Fortunately for Squall, the male crewmembers arrived after he did, so he was spared any embarrassment that might have resulted from the comments the women had made earlier.
He sat down at the table, wondering at the odd looks the women were giving him. Had he missed something?
"So, Irian my dear, what have you cooked up for us tonight?" Piet asked her with a smile, entering the galley along with Peterson, the doctor and his assistant.
"Something food-like and vaguely edible," she answered with a smirk. Piet and the other technicians laughed at this, knowing that what constituted "food" when one was in space often bore little resemblance to the real thing.
"My favorite." Quipped Peterson. The rest of the crew sat down and the food was dished out.
Squall studied what was on his plate for a moment, poking at it carefully to see if he could identify exactly what it was. It didn't smell terrible, and didn't look that bad. It wasn't terribly appealing, but Squall had seen and eaten worse. He shrugged mentally and started to eat.
A sudden silence made Squall look up to see the entire crew staring at him.
"What?" he asked, puzzled.
"No complaints?" Irian asked, eyebrows climbing toward her hairline.
"No. Should there be?" He asked, suddenly wary.
Piet chuckled, explaining; "this has to be the first time we've seen someone eat this stuff without griping about it. It usually takes a little while for people to get used to it."
Squall shrugged, "I've eaten worse." He turned back to his dinner.
"What could be worse than this?" The youngest of the women asked with a grimace.
"Burnt jelleye." Squall answered, taking a drink of water.
"Burnt what?" Peterson asked, incredulous.
"Jelleye." Squall answered.
"Ugh! Why would you eat that?" the doctor's assistant asked, making a face.
Squall shrugged, "Nothing else to eat."
When he didn't elaborate, Piet asked him, "I take it this was during an assignment?"
Squall nodded, answering, "We had to run for our lives from Timber to Galbadia Garden. No time to pack. So, we had to eat whatever we could kill that was even close to edible. Jelleye barely qualifies; it isn't poisonous at least. But it tastes terrible. Worse if it's burned."
"Ugh. Makes me sick just thinking about it." Peterson said, making a face.
"Don't tell me you cooked it," the other woman asked, looking worried.
"No, one of the other members of my team, Irvine, did." Squall answered.
"And he burned it? Yet you ate it anyway?" the woman asked, incredulous.
"Like I said, nothing else to eat." Squall answered laconically.
"Brave man." Peterson said with a chuckle.
Squall lapsed into silence, continuing to eat. Piet thought that it was a bit of a surprise that he was there actually, knowing his aloof nature. Certainly, he wasn't the most talkative of people, answering when spoken directly to but otherwise remaining quiet. And he didn't volunteer anything. He hadn't changed much from the first time Piet had met him, despite the time that had passed and the young woman that had captured his heart.
He smiled to himself at the dichotomy: to everyone else, he was the cool and remote commander. To his fiancée however, he was warm and loving. The outward displays were subtle, in keeping with his introverted personality, but the warmth in the young man's eyes was unmistakable.
Piet had worried at first about the Sorceress Rinoa, remembering entirely too many tragedies associated with sorceresses. The destruction of the Lunar Base being one of them. Piet had wanted to blame her for the death and destruction that had resulted, but even he could tell that it wasn't actually Rinoa that had released Adel from her prison. He'd watched in growing fear as the sorceress, to all appearances asleep, had flung her young knight across the room when he'd tried to stop her, nearly killing him. The fact that she hadn't was more a testament to the young man's resilience than to her restraint. She'd moved woodenly, like a puppet. It was obvious that some outside force had been controlling her.
Squall himself had eventually defeated that force, Ultimecia, and gradually, the fear over what Sorceress Rinoa would bring to the world, faded. When time passed while she remained free and nothing terrible happened, Piet, and the rest of the world, relaxed. It was hard now to remember that the sweet young woman that he'd met in the Airstation prior to launch that morning was the same girl that had been on the Lunar Base two years ago.
When Squall had finished with his dinner, he'd thanked Irian gravely, politely excused himself, and left.
In the silence that he'd left behind, the remainder of the crew looked at each other, each formulating their own opinion of their young mission commander.
"Friendly sort, isn't he?" Peterson asked, tongue firmly in cheek. Piet chuckled. Whatever adjective might be used to describe Squall, "friendly" was definitely not on the list.
"Well, he's polite, anyway." Irian said, chuckling as well. Piet smiled at her. The conversation moved away from the subject of their commander to what they would all be doing, first thing tomorrow morning. Piet noticed that the mood of the crew was one of perfect confidence. No one had any worries about their commander's ability to lead or operate the ship. Of course, there shouldn't have been; the Ragnarok, for all intents and purposes, was Squall's ship.
After he'd eaten dinner, Squall headed forward to the command center of the ship, intending to check on its status. Sitting down in the pilot's chair, he brought up the main computer and read the information that scrolled up the screen. So far, the aging ship was performing the way it should be. He transmitted a status report attesting to that fact to Airstation Control.
He considered putting a call in to Airstation Control, and then hesitated. It was well after dinnertime, and it was unlikely that Laguna was still there. Even less likely that Rinoa would be. As he sat there, undecided, a beep alerted him to an incoming call.
INCOMING MESSAGE, AIRSTATION CONTROL flashed on the computer screen as the comm. beeped.
"Leonhart." He answered.
"Commander Leonhart, we have an incoming call. Please switch to secure channel 667B." Came the disembodied voice of Airstation Control.
Squall did as instructed and Airstation Control responded, "patching through."
A few seconds of static followed, then a voice said "onscreen please." Squall keyed the command and the viewscreen came up, with Laguna's face smiling tiredly on it.
"How's everything going son?" Laguna asked. Squall frowned, taking in the background shown on the screen. It didn't look like Laguna was actually at the Airstation.
"Fine so far. I was actually thinking about calling you." He answered.
"Just as well you didn't call, you wouldn't have reached me. I'm not at the Airstation. I actually have a private comm. linkup in my office." Laguna said.
"Oh." Squall answered. Now what? He wondered, at a loss on how to proceed. Laguna smiled slightly as he saw Squall's hesitation.
"Listen, Squall…" Laguna cleared his throat uncomfortably and rubbed at the back of his neck, thinking, God, this is hard…Squall waited, silent.
Laguna tried again, "Uh… I'm…I'm sorry about…. making assumptions I perhaps shouldn't have. I should have asked you before just going ahead with the citizenship thing. It was selfish of me. I wanted to …I wanted…" He lapsed into silence. What had he wanted, exactly?
"Dad." Squall said. Laguna stopped, and closed his eyes a moment, swallowing. Okay. He called me 'dad'. So I guess that means he's not furious with me anymore.
"I was upset about it, yeah. I mean, I'm SeeD, I have to be neutral, you know that. I can't be seen to have ties to any given country. How would I be trusted otherwise?" Squall asked.
"Well, as to that son, I would think that your reputation and record would go a long way toward dispelling any concerns of that sort." Laguna replied, and then added, "You have to be from somewhere Squall. Everyone is. If you really want to be picky about it, about this whole citizenship question, then consider this: despite the fact that you've never actually lived in Galbadia, you were born there, which automatically makes you a citizen. You wouldn't be the only SeeD with dual citizenship; I'll bet if you asked around, you'll find a whole lot of them."
Squall remained silent for a moment, then asked, "why?"
Laguna sighed; you never ask the easy questions, do you son? He thought.
"You mean, why did I do this?" Laguna asked.
Squall nodded.
"Because you've never really had a home Squall. Just the orphanage, and Garden; no real place that was just yours. I wasn't there to give you a home when you were younger, but I'm here now, and I wanted to give that to you. I wanted to give you a place to belong to. A place where your family was. A place to be from." A place where you're loved, a place where you matter; where you're more than just an ID number, a weapon.
Intellectually, Laguna knew his gesture was more a symbolic one than anything else. Squall was too old now for it to matter as much to him as it would have ten or more years ago when he was still a child. He was a grown man now, getting ready to marry and, with any luck, start his own family. It might have been an empty gesture, but if nothing else, he hoped that his son might see the heartfelt reasoning behind it and at least appreciate it, if not accept it.
Squall swallowed, silent. Somehow, that quiet explanation had managed to pierce right through to his heart. Like all orphans, he'd longed for a home and family of his own; he'd just gotten better at hiding it than all the rest. Eventually, he convinced himself that it didn't matter. You couldn't miss what you'd never had. They couldn't take what you never wanted.
The silence stretched and Laguna schooled himself to patience. Words and emotions were not Squall's strength, and Laguna wanted him to work through this on his own. So despite his discomfort, he waited, and watched as Squall took a deep breath and looked away for a moment.
Finally, Squall said in a low voice, "you didn't have to do that."
"I did. For me as much as for you." Laguna said.
"No, I mean…" Squall hesitated, searching for the words he needed. Hyne, this is hard. With Rinoa, I can just SHOW her what I mean… everyone else, I have to SAY it.
"The paperwork doesn't matter. I already know where my family is." Squall said.
"Yes, Squall. You know where your family is. But do you know where your home is?" Laguna asked. The moment the words left his lips, he cringed inwardly. A little voice in his head kept telling him, don't do it, don't push. His heart told him that Squall needed that push.
But the completely lost expression on Squall's face when he asked that last question made Laguna wonder if maybe he hadn't pushed things too far.
Squall simply stared at Laguna. Do I know where my HOME is? What the hell kind of question is that? It was on the tip of his tongue to answer that of course he knew where his home was; it was where he lived, where he worked, where his friends were. Balamb Garden, of course. The only home he'd ever known. Aside from the orphanage of course, which he barely remembered. But he got the feeling that Laguna meant something deeper than that.
And while Squall wasn't always the most sensitive of people when it came to other people's feelings, he hesitated at attempting to answer that question for only one reason. If he answered honestly, he knew Laguna would be hurt by it. He found he was unwilling be deliberately callous.
He wants me to tell him that my home is where my family is. Here, in Esthar. But it's not. To me, my home is where my heart is. Home, to me, is not a place. It's a person. Wherever Rinoa is, that's my home. It could be here, Balamb, Deling City or Timber. It wouldn't matter WHERE we were, as long as she was there with me, I'd be home.
"Squall?" Laguna finally asked.
When his son's distracted expression faded and he focused on Laguna, he said, "sorry to put you on the spot like that son. Just, think about it? Okay?"
Frowning slightly, Squall nodded.
"Why don't you sign off for the night and go to bed? You're starting to look tired." Laguna said.
Squall smiled slightly, "You're starting to sound like…"
"Your father?" Laguna supplied.
"I was going to say mother." Squall smirked. Laguna chuckled.
"Raine wouldn't have suggested you go to bed. She'd have told you. And you'd have gone. End of story." Laguna told him.
Squall studied Laguna thoughtfully. He'd never asked about what his mother was like, and Laguna hadn't really spoken of her, aside from the odd comment in passing about how much he resembled her. He suspected Laguna still found it painful to speak of her, despite the passage of nearly two decades.
But, he didn't really need to ask his father about her. He'd already met her. It was an inadvertent gift that Ellone had given him while trying to prevent Laguna from leaving Raine. He smiled slightly as he realized that Laguna was right. Raine's strong no-nonsense personality would have brooked no argument.
"Anyway, have a good night son. I love you." Laguna said, thinking privately, too bad if that makes you feel uncomfortable Squall. Get used to it.
Squall frowned slightly, but aside from that, displayed no further discomfort.
"Good night dad." He replied softly.
Later that night, he finally lay in the bed in his stateroom, trying to sleep. He was tired, and should have been able to drop off immediately. Yet despite his fatigue, he couldn't settle.
Sighing, he rolled onto his side and scrunched the pillow under his head, hugging it to him. As if of its own volition, his hand reached out and touched the empty spot on his bed that Rinoa usually occupied.
"I miss you Rin," he sent to her, opening his mind and letting her see how much.
"I miss you too Squall," she responded, sending her loving warmth along with it. Squall sighed and closed his eyes, relaxing under the soothing balm of her spirit. He was asleep moments later.
The retrieval started early the next morning. Piet and Irian were on the first shift, with Squall monitoring them from the pilot's seat, watching their progress on the video screen. Both technicians were tethered to the Ragnarok with a long lifeline, and Squall was in constant radio contact so as to make any maneuvers necessary for them to complete their task.
Doctor Sheppard and his assistant were standing by with the pods. The remaining techs, Petersen and the two girls from the Airstation would be helping the doctor if he required any additional assistance.
"Irian and I have reached the first body." Piet said over the radio link.
"Standby. Retracting tethers now." Squall replied, punching in the commands and watching as the two techs were reeled in with their sad burden between them. They entered the airlock and laid the body down, immediately leaving again and sealing it behind them.
Once Squall got the signal that the airlock had re-pressurized, he notified the doctor so he could bring the body down to the morgue.
Using their directional jets, Piet and Irian moved over to the next casualty, grasping either side of it and waiting as Squall brought them back in the same manner as before.
It was slow going, searching out and bringing back the dead, but in the end, Piet and Irian had managed to bring in three of them before their shift ended.
They took a break for lunch then, and the entire crew gathered in the galley again, with Squall holding an impromptu meeting at the same time to check on how everything was progressing.
"So, doc, how're things down in the morgue?" Petersen asked with a slight smirk.
"Dead." The doctor answered, catching on to the joke. Snorts and quiet laughter responded to the comment.
Squall however, didn't react beyond raising his eyebrows and asking, "The bodies have been identified, right?"
The doctor nodded.
Turning to Piet, Squall asked him, "What were your observations while you were out there? I saw four bodies in this area the last time I was up here but you only managed to retrieve three."
"We were only able to reach three. The last one may have drifted off." Piet answered.
"We'll have to move farther into the debris field then." Squall said, then he turned to Petersen, adding, "You and your team are scheduled next, but it probably won't be for another hour or so while I get us into position for the next EVA."
"We'll be ready when you are." Petersen said. Squall nodded, then got up to leave.
"I'll let you know when we get where we need to be." He said, leaving the galley and heading toward the controls.
For the next hour, he threaded his way though the debris, scanning under high magnification to see where the remaining bodies had ended up. He searched in mounting frustration for nearly two hours before he finally located them. Fortunately, their retrieval was accomplished smoothly.
By that evening, Squall had the names of the victims they'd brought on board, and he transmitted that to Laguna so that their families could be notified.
He informed the crew as they sat at dinner after he'd sent his short message to Laguna. The sudden pall that fell over them left him puzzled until one of the girls spoke up.
"Um, Commander? Is there any way we can speak with our families?" she asked. Squall studied the other crewmembers, seeing a similar sentiment on each of their faces. And he mentally kicked himself for not thinking about that. Of course they're going to want to talk to their families. They just spent the day recovering the bodies of their friends and colleagues, who will never speak to their families again.
"Of course. I'll arrange it." He answered.
As he went forward later that evening, he was actually surprised that there appeared to be so little resentment toward him on that score. He spoke to both Laguna and Rinoa daily, although in Laguna's case the bulk of it was related to the job he was doing. Still, though nobody had come out and said it, it did seem unfair that he was able to talk to his family so often when the rest of the crew wasn't.
When he brought up that observation to Laguna, he was in complete agreement and they both got to work on arranging personal communications between the crew and their families.
Fortunately, only the first day was spent with retrieving bodies. The remainder of the week was spent inspecting the debris and bringing back anything that appeared to be salvageable. Squall thought that was rather pointless, to spend so much time basically picking up junk. But, whatever. If Laguna felt that the wreckage of the Lunar Base held anything at all of value, then Squall would do his best to bring it back.
The night before they were to return to the Airstation, Squall took his turn at dinner duties, much to the amusement of the rest of the crew.
"So, commander, what have you cooked up for us tonight?" Irian asked, eyes dancing. In spite of Squall's quietly aloof demeanor, she actually rather liked him. Efficient, capable, certainly a competent pilot and despite his youth, a natural leader, he was all of that. It also didn't hurt that he was exceedingly handsome, despite his scarred face. But she'd seen glimpses, subtle hints that behind his reserve was actually a very caring young man. Certainly, it was obvious that he cared deeply for his father and adored his fiancée.
And every so often, his sly sense of humor made its appearance. It was often so brief an appearance however, if one weren't paying attention, it would go unnoticed.
He leaned casually against the counter in the galley with his arms folded across his chest, looking darkly forbidding in a black t-shirt and jeans. The image was lightened somewhat however by the sparkle in his normally cool eyes and the slight smile that he wore.
"Something possibly edible. I have yet to get the lab results back; so don't quote me on it." came Squall's deadpan reply. Irian and the rest of the crew laughed at this, the two girls from the Airstation giggling hysterically.
He moved away from the counter and started placing dishes on the table, then sat down. He poured himself a glass of water as the food was passed around, then served himself when it came his way.
"Well, it doesn't smell bad…" Petersen said, making a show of inspecting his dinner cautiously before sampling it.
"And he didn't burn it…" one of the girls said. Squall took a sip of his water, mostly ignoring the comments beyond flicking a glance at the speakers before taking a bite of his own dinner.
"Hey, this isn't half bad!" Petersen announced, giving Squall a surprised look.
"Yeah, it… actually has flavor. How'd you do that?" Irian asked, curiously.
"Practice. And extreme boredom." Squall answered.
"Okay, I sense a story here. Tell it." Irian demanded. The rest of the crew looked on with interest, no one willing to say anything that might distract him. Most of what the crew knew about Squall had come from other sources, not from Squall himself. Very rarely did he talk about anything personal. In fact, almost never. So the girls especially were very interested in this particular story.
Squall sighed, "All right. I told you about the burnt jelleye. Well, that's pretty much when I decided to start taking turns with Selphie and Quistis on the cooking duties. I could at least manage not to burn anything." He paused for a moment, toying with his fork before taking another bite of his dinner.
"And?" Irian prompted.
Squall gave her an exasperated look before continuing, "We practically lived on this ship for awhile, before we fought Adel. There was a lot of downtime where nothing much was happening, and I can only play cards for so long before it drives me crazy. So I learned my way around this galley here. I had to eat, and much as I love her, Rinoa can't cook." The crew chuckled quietly at that statement.
" I AM getting better you know…" Rinoa sent defensively.
"I know. And I commend your efforts." Squall soothed.
"You're a man of hidden talents." Piet commented. Squall shrugged. He wouldn't know. He didn't mind cooking once in awhile, but it wasn't something he was passionate about. He could do it fairly well, but he didn't think he had any particular talent for it. His whole being from childhood on had only one focus: strength. Self-sufficiency. Anything that might be seen as a weakness was to be avoided. Fear. Uncertainty. Loneliness. Compassion, consideration, love; anything that made him vulnerable. Anything that Seifer might have seized upon to make Squall's life unbearable was studiously avoided. If you never let anyone know what hurt you, you couldn't be hurt.
So, whatever hidden talents Squall might have discovered, had he been given a chance, were excised along with the rest of what he'd considered "weakness"; the talents that he did have related mostly to his life as a SeeD. He could learn anything quickly, particularly languages. He thought fast and moved faster. Strategy and planning came as easily as breathing. He had the sense of balance that a cat would envy, which made it easy for him to learn to dance on the fly and convince a certain young woman that he'd been doing it forever, in spite of his initial awkwardness. He couldn't draw, but he could write with either hand. He couldn't create…but he could destroy with chilling efficiency. His agile mind and body had been forged into an impressive weapon.
He even had perfect pitch, though he couldn't sing to save his life.
"What's the first thing you want to do when you get home?" One of the girls asked. Squall never could recall her name.
He frowned, staring at her for a moment before turning his attention to the remains of his dinner, declining to answer. What he wanted to do was something that concerned only Rinoa and him.
"I know what I want to do," Petersen said. "Hug my wife. Kiss her breathless."
"Aww, that so sweet…" one of the other girls sighed.
"Same here," Piet agreed.
"Commander? What about you?" Irian asked. Squall shot her a glare, feeling his cheeks warm and just knowing they were a lovely shade of red. Catching the amused expressions of the rest of the crew, Squall sighed.
Finally, he gestured vaguely at Petersen and mumbled, "What he said." Quiet laughter followed, and Irian smiled encouragingly at him.
Clearing his throat, he said, "We leave at 0800 tomorrow morning, so…the commlink's free if anyone wants to use it. I'll see you all in the morning." He got up and retreated as gracefully as he could.
"I think we embarrassed him." Piet commented.
"That was so cute, he actually blushed," one of the Airstation girls sighed.
"Yeah," said the other girl, "who knew, huh?"
By six A.M. Squall was already in full uniform and seated at the control panel of the Ragnarok running the standard systems checks. And not getting results that he liked.
What the hell? He thought as the readout flickered ominously. Frowning, his fingers danced across the touch panel, reading the information that scrolled up on the screen.
Fuel. Check. No problems there.
Life support. That was fine.
Engine diagnostics came up fine.
External and internal cameras? Check.
Gravity generators, hull seals, auxiliary rockets, reserve fuel. All of it fine.
Directional controls…. wait. Squall typed in the commands on the computer again and the ship responded. Sluggishly. His frown deepened and he initiated a diagnostic scan.
Nothing.
Squall opened the commlink and radioed the Airstation.
"Airstation Control, this is Commander Leonhart. I'm experiencing a problem with the directional controls. Please advise." He told them.
"This is Airstation Control, what sort of problem commander?" came the reply.
"Response is sluggish. Standard diagnostic scans aren't turning up anything. All other systems check out fine." Squall replied.
"Run a software diagnostic on the navicomputer." The Airstation replied.
"Copy." Squall said, typing in the commands. As the computer ran its scan, the crew filed in and took their seats, belting themselves in. Squall glanced back and saw them, then returned his attention to the computer screen as the scan completed.
Typing in the coordinates that directed the Ragnarok to its point of re-entry, Squall sighed in quiet relief as the ship responded smoothly.
"Software scan completed, and directional controls are now responding." Squall reported to Airstation Control.
"Thank God." Came Laguna's relieved voice. A glance at the screen showed both Laguna and Rinoa in the control room.
"Good morning Laguna, Rinoa." Squall greeted them with a slight smile.
"I just got in son. What was all this about the directional controls?" he asked. Rinoa shot Laguna an alarmed look.
"They weren't responding right. A software diagnostic scan on the navicomputer seems to have taken care of it." Squall said.
"Well then, come on home son." Laguna urged. Rinoa smiled beside him and Squall smiled back at her.
"I can't wait to hold you again," he sent to her. Having her mind linked to his while he slept had helped, but he missed her warmth.
"Same here." She responded.
Turning around, Squall addressed the crew, "there was a slight problem with the directional controls earlier but we got it sorted out, so we'll be heading back to the Airstation shortly." A round of nods and relieved looks followed his announcement, and Squall, already noting that they'd all strapped in, turned back toward the controls on the ship and watched as it made its way toward the atmospheric envelope.
They were five minutes from re-entry when the controls failed completely.
COURSE CORRECTION REQUIRED.
Squall frowned at the red, blinking letters on the computer screen and typed in the commands. The ship continued on its current course, undeterred.
Shit.
Squall's fingers flew madly over the touch panel, trying to get the controls to respond and adjust the angle of entry. No response.
In desperation, Squall cut the engines, knowing that the ship would drift on its own momentum toward its doom, but hoping that without the extra impetus behind it, he would have a little more time to fix the problem. Preferably before they all died on re-entry.
"Airstation control, we have a problem. Repeat, we have a problem. Controls are not responding. Cannot correct angle of re-entry. Please advise." Squall radioed.
"This is Airstation control, can you get the navicomputer to respond at all commander?" the disembodied voice asked.
"Negative. System diagnostic scan is ineffective. I have cut the rockets, we're just drifting, but I can't even get the retros to fire. We're drifting toward re-entry with neither power nor control. We have three point two minutes to re-entry. If we do not correct our angle of entry the Ragnarok will break up as soon as it hits the ionosphere." Squall reported calmly. Inside however, his mind was screaming in fear.
And Rinoa heard it.
