Chapter 9: Firmament Branford and the One-eyed Monster

You know how sometimes things seem an awful lot smarter in your head than they do on paper? That header up there is a perfect example. In my defence, however, it must be said that if the sense of humour in Imperial Intelligence had ever progressed beyond that of sex-crazed teenagers, then maybe, just maybe, Agent Gagnon would have been given a new nickname more along the lines of ooh, say, 'Cyclops'. Sure, as nicknames go there aren't many that are less original, but at least it evokes the right sort of imagery and people would've been able to talk to him without sniggering behind his back.

Don't think, however, that I'm actually sympathising with that half-crazed monocular psychopathic rabid son-of-a-diseased-duck-billed-platypus torturing bastard. I'm just covering my own back.

Still, that's by the by. I thought that we'd take a short break from The Exciting Adventures Of His Royal Highness King Edgar And That Damn Handsome Sentinel so that I can vent! Isn't that just grand? Anyway, what I want to whine about today are the total bloody reprobates who queue up every other day outside the aid station demanding that I immediately devote all of my magical resources to treating their sniffles or their halitosis or to make the man of their dreams fall in love with them. Sorry, madam; I can certainly shoot your intended with a bow and arrow, but then he'll probably be spending too much time being dead to get to know you and your five hundred cats any better. Next!

This, I suppose, is something that should really be taken from the top. As everyone knows, thanks to relatively recent events we still have a severe shortage of skilled tradesmen who, critically, also happen to still have a pulse. Unfortunately, since our attempts to tap the pulse-free demographic have hitherto been unsuccessful (not to mention grisly) everyone who can is expected to wear as many hats as possible until we're back up to strength. In my case, this means that I have to trek endlessly back and forth between Figaro Intelligence and the recently rebuilt waterfront aid station in order to fulfil my duties to both His Majesty's Government and the Sentinels. Now, while I'm perfectly happy being the Sentinel attaché to the Intelligence services (barring the occasional period of aching, aching boredom), I have to admit, based on my current experiences, that I'm not cut out to be a front-line Sentinel.

It's a personality thing, really. You see, the sort of Sentinels who man aid stations are kindly, patient folk who like to listen to people go on and on and on about their various woes. As you have probably worked out by now, I am...not. On the better days, when the coffee machine is working, I can smile and nod patiently while Mr. Bloggs 'umms' and 'aahs' his way through his shoulder pain and the entirety of his life up until this point. This is useful, because the longer he talks, the longer I have to turn my senses loose and find out exactly what the damage is. On those dark, dark days when we're out of coffee, however, it gets grim. If someone should commit the cardinal sin of coming to see me, I'll give them a glassy smile, shake their hand and say something like 'Hurt your shoulder, Mr. Bloggs? Nasty case of gonorrhea, too.' As it turns out, people don't like you overruling their opportunity to vent, they don't like you telling them what is wrong with them (although I was given to understand that that was, well, my job) and they certainly don't like coming in with a frozen shoulder and leaving with a leaflet on venereal diseases. That sort of manoeuvre gets complaints.

Still, it's nothing compared to the number of complaints I get for not waving my hand and immediately resolving their extremely annoying and most awful case of the sniffles. The problem? I'm not allowed to do that. My magical abilities are considered to be a limited resource (like the MRI, only on two legs and a coffee drip) and so they require some very senior signatures and are only used on people who would otherwise not live to see Tuesday. Of course, explaining this to the general public doesn't stop them from bloody trying to wheedle and cajole it out of me, does it now. I know it's annoying that I can't fix your broken leg on the spot, but maybe you'd like to go and explain to little Molly why it is that I can't treat her dad's end-stage glioma. No? Didn't think so. Next!

My word, that went on a little bit longer than I intended to, but I certainly feel a lot better! I just wish I didn't have to recount this next bit...

Compared to the excitement that had resulted in Edgar and myself being on top of the Hotel Royal, getting down was positively dull. We had, as the king had suggested, simply transitioned from roof to roof until we found a fire escape that looked like it was still in good repair. From there, it was simply a matter of a stomach-churning descent to ground level and we were free to stagger off into the night, towards the outskirts of town and, according to Edgar, our safe haven.

"I don't get it," I said, once we had reached what I thought to be a safe distance.

"Get what?" wheezed Edgar. His skin had paled considerably during our escape, and his breathing was harsh and laboured. Another reason for moving quickly, I decided.

"I don't understand why Imperial Intelligence has been acting so...odd," I said, "They had heavy weaponry, well-trained men, and an eight-to-one advantage in numbers; why would Jumbo throw all that away just so he could have a climatic roof-top showdown? I would've just riddled us with bullets and gone home early."

"He did say he wanted all the credit," said Edgar, "I'll admit; I don't know enough about his kind to say if that's a good reason or not."

"Nope," I said, and laughed humourlessly, "He would've gotten a lot more credit for actually completing his assignment. Still, I suppose we're still here because of his stupidity, so I hope they continue being crazy."

"Along the lines of Golems in sand dunes, you mean?"

"Bad example... but you know what? It does feel a bit like that, doesn't it? I can very easily see Kefka jeopardising an operation just 'cause he thought it'd be more entertaining."

"However does a man like that get so much-" Edgar stopped, and then added brightly, "Ah, we're here!"

I had to admit, I felt cheated. From all of Terra's awful spy novels, I had assumed that a safe house was some kind of high-tech steel structure filled with big, thick doors that could only be opened by people with the right kind of eyeball and had wall-mounted machineguns to neatly fillet everyone else. This safe house, by comparison, was extremely boring, and to add insult to injury it looked about as safe as skinny-dipping in a piranha tank.

At some point, presumably before the discovery of fire, it had probably looked like a perfectly normal Figaran town house. Unfortunately, the ravages of time, weather, and possibly a madman with a wrecking ball had reduced the pristine white stonework to a cracked and pitted mess of seriously dubious structural integrity. Between them, the windows possibly had enough glass to fill a single pane, and the door itself was a pile of dust held together by planks of rotting wood. I gave the doorknob a rather half-hearted little jiggle, and was not entirely surprised when it came off in my hand with a faint 'ping' of snapping metal.

"Budget cuts again?" I sighed.

"Well, it's not the suites at the Royal," Edgar said, with rather forced brightness, "But I'm sure it'll do for the night!"

There was a 'crunch', and the door disintegrated into a pile of splinters and mould.

"I'm sure it will," I said shortly, and stepped over the debris into the hallway beyond. It was a tiny, cramped space, filled to bursting with old, decaying furniture that stank of mould and was covered in a thin film of dust. "In fact, it's positively lovely in here."

A tile snapped loudly under Edgar's boot as he entered behind me, "Are we sure this is the place? It's so dark, and...and..."

"Charmingly antique."

"That's very...charitable of you," Edgar said, eventually, "But in any case, where have Locke and your sister got to?"

"Not sure," I gave a chair an experimental prod, and backed up quickly when something inside chittered furiously at me, "Are you sure that this is the right condemned house?"

"Oh, Locke gave me very specific instructions."

"Good for him," I pursed my lips, "Look; I reckon that we're probably safe here, at least for a little while, and your chest wound needs immediate attention. We can look for them in a little while."

"I can keep going!" protested Edgar, his hand moving protectively to cover the bloodstain on his shirt, "It's not as bad as it looks."

"Yeah, that's 'cause I'm holding it shut with my mind," I pointed out, "If I lose control, you'll soon discover how bad it really is. Now sit!"

"B-But that chair..." the king gave it a nervous look, "It looks...inhabited."

"Then sit on the floor!" I snapped irritably, "Good lord, you're alright with heavily armed Imperial assassins but rats are too much for you?"

"Do you know how large rats in Figaro can get?" said Edgar, tartly, "They might be rabid, too."

"I'll be rabid in a second if you don't find somewhere to park yourself!" I snarled, and then stopped myself, "I'm sorry, it's-"

"It's okay, Firma," Edgar said, "Incidentally, have you noticed how clean the floor is? It seems odd, don't you think?"

He was right, and it was odd. While the furniture looked like it hadn't been moved in years and probably supported a thriving ecosystem, the floor itself was almost clean enough to eat from. The tiles gleamed.

"That's...a little weird," I admitted.

"Oh, it wouldn't do to have our safe house all dusty now, would it? If it were, there'd be footprints leadin' right to the secret entrance. Any ol' fool'd be able to find it!"

"That's...a good point," I frowned, "And a really good impression of Locke, your Majesty. I didn't know you did accents."

"He don't," Locke growled, right behind me, "Evenin', pals."

"Good evening, Locke," said Edgar, "Where in the world did you spring from?"

"The cellar," he said, "We had this place done up so's you can only get to it through a false wall."

"Of course you did," I smiled glassily, "You sure took a long time to show yourself. Is...is Terra okay?"

"Oh, she's fine," Locke said, but then his expression darkened, "Sorry about waitin', Firma, but we've already had...visitors, tonight. Had to be sure you were alone."

"Imperial Intelligence?"

"Good guess."

"The dramatic pause was a dead giveaway," I paused, "Are you sure it was them?"

"Well," Locke cocked his head, "I could see that they was armed, an' one of them was definitely from East Vector - y'know, rhymin' slang and everything. Not really sure who else'd fit the bill."

"Oh," I said, and felt a little embarrassed, "Guess we weren't as safe here as I thought, Edgar."

"Never mind that, now," Locke said quickly, "We'd better get you two down where it's safe. What in the world happened to you, anyway? It looks like you've had a pretty exciting evening."

"Well, we had...visitors too," I said, and helped Edgar to his feet, "Things got more than a little hairy."

"I'll go put the kettle on, shall I? This sounds like it should be good," Locke turned to leave, but looked back over his shoulder, "I told you that you could handle 'em, eh?"

While the house itself had been a bug-infested heap of masonry the secret room was, I was pleased to discover, a rather well appointed little place. Sure, there were no windows, and what furniture there was was rather functional in nature, but it was large, cool, and actually felt safe. On one side there was a space for preparing food, with a large wooden table that was presumably for eating it. The other side contained six hard-looking beds and a large pile of bags that, rather depressingly, represented most of our worldly possessions.

My sister was waiting at the base of the stairs with an intent expression, which rapidly melted into relief as she saw Locke and I helping Edgar down into the safe room.

"Firma!" she cried, and caught me in a bone-grinding hug, "You're safe! And alive! And...what happened to your face?"

"Well, I-" I started.

"Good lord!" Terra gasped, having caught sight of Edgar's blood-soaked shirt, "Whatever happened to your chest, your Majesty?"

"He got shot," I said, and added in a slightly hurt tone, "My face is fine too, thanks."

"Well, why is he still moving around?" Terra glared at me, "He needs medical attention!"

"I...but...he-" I spluttered, and gave up, "You know what? You're right. Edgar? Shut up and lie down on that table."

"But I haven't said anything!" the king protested.

"Well, now would be a really bad time to do so," I said ominously, "Put the kettle on, Locke, and I'll tell you how our evening went."

In the absence of assassins and nervous, shadowy alleyways, Edgar's injury suddenly seemed rather less life-threatening and more of a minor irritation. Okay, yes, the idiot had been shot in the chest, and yes, the only thing keeping his blood on the inside was my magical botch-job, but these were trivial problems to a magically enhanced surgeon, especially when he wasn't about to dance the bullet fandango. Still, I was tired, and dealing with Edgar's wounds as well as the constant distraction of Locke and Terra's interrogation was more than a little wearing.

"Okay, there's something I still don't understand," Terra said, once I had finished an only-slightly embellished description of our climatic rooftop showdown, "You said he was short, yeah? Shorter than me?"

"...yes?" I said, a little wearily. I knew where this one was going.

"So why did they call him Jumbo, then?" she asked irritably, "That doesn't make any sense! If I were in charge, I'd have called him something like 'Tiny' or...or 'Mr. Small'! At least then people would know what to expect!"

There was a brief silence, and then Locke coughed.

"Well...ignorin' that fer just a minute," he said, giving Terra a slightly puzzled look, "I want to hear more about this eye that yer took."

I winced, "Yes, I thought you might."

"Mmm...y'see, I heard that there were a real bastard in Imperial Intelligence who lost an eye a couple of years back. I didn't realise that that was because of you."

"Well...it was a trying situation," I said, and added quickly, "I don't really remember too much about it."

"Yeah, right," he snorted, "If I half-blinded someone, I'm pretty damn sure that I'd remember it."

"I'm really glad for you," I said, feeling a little annoyed by his frankness, "Still, that doesn't mean I remember my run-in with Agent Gagnon, y'know."

"We've got plenty of time, Firma," Locke replied, with the air of someone who was settling in for the duration, "I'm sure it'll all just come floodin' back to you."

Okay, Locke, I concede this point. While I can happily report that I have not knowingly blinded anyone else throughout my rather hi-octane career, I will admit that I can remember Gagnon's ruined face (and the events surrounding it) in quite frankly nausea-inducing detail. Before you attempt to seize on this admission, however, I would like to point out that it does not validate any of your other, crazier ideas. For a start, I still refuse to accept that there could possibly be a huge population of so-called 'monsters' camped out on the moon. I mean, look at it! Where, exactly, on that dull, lifeless, airless ball of rock are they hiding, precisely? Keep in mind that if you come back with something like 'oh, they're under the surface where we can't see them!' I will ask Celes to tie you down and beat some sense into you. From what I hear, she'd rather enjoy that.

Anyway, on that intensely awkward note (and having just signed my own death warrant) I suppose the rest of you can join me on another highly exciting trip to the past! This time, we'll be looking at the month or so after Terra and my sixteenth birthday, which we had celebrated by having an absolutely stinking row after which we had promised never to talk to one another again. You know how this sort of thing goes, I'm sure.

If there's one thing I remember about that particular winter (besides our blazing argument) it was that Wareydon was freezing. While winter in Wareydon was normally a pretty unfriendly affair, this time the region had been favoured by a cold snap that looked set to be an all-time record breaker. The icy weather, with the associated blizzards, had the rather unfortunate effect of firstly driving everyone up the wall with almost unbearable cabin fever (which certainly contributed to our fight) and prevented us from getting much-needed space in which to cool off afterwards. As a result, the ongoing conflict between Terra and me escalated to the point where Cid had to step in to calm things down before the blizzards were replaced with a short-lived thermonuclear heat wave, and to this end he dragged us separately into his office to see if he could get to the bottom of the row.

Cid's office was a small, rather poky little affair that he had been given during the short periods of time he was at the base. I had been here before on a couple of occasions, mainly to sit awkwardly on a rickety chair while he gave me a stern lecture about one thing or another. This time, however, his severe stare had been replaced with one of genuine concern, although from the way he was nervously drumming his fingers on the table I could tell he had no clue how to go about broaching the subject.

"So..." he began, "I understand that you and your sister are a little...stressed."

There was a long period of silence, broken only by the howl of the snow-laden wind outside the window.

"Is there...perhaps...anything that you'd like to talk about?" he tried again.

Once again, I remained silent. The professor's gaze bored into mine, and finally he gave a long, tired sigh.

"Very well, Firmament," he said eventually, "You know, I received exactly the same response from your sister. You two can be far too proud for your own good."

"We are not!" I flared up suddenly, before correcting myself with, "Well...I'm totally not, anyway."

"Oh?" Cid smiled faintly, "If that's the case, then I'm sure you won't mind apologising to her. We'll be able to put this whole sordid chapter behind us and-"

"Me? Apologise to her?" I laughed shortly, "Do you know what she's done?"

"Well, she-"

"-decided that Imperial Intelligence wasn't right for me? Went behind my back and talked to the Sentinels about selecting me for their cadet training program? She just can't handle the fact that Imperial Intelligence chose me over her!"

"I think there may well be an element of that, yes," Cid said, after a short pause, "Heaven knows Terra is a very competitive young woman. Still, I don't believe that jealousy is the only reason for her actions."

"Oh yeah?"

"Your sister is worried about you," he said, gravely, "Very worried, in fact."

"...yeah?"

"Firma, listen to me," Cid was clearly aware that he was starting to lose his audience, "I have to spend a lot of time with people from Imperial Intelligence, and I can assure you that they are not pleasant individuals. I have to ask; what do you hope to get out of Imperial Intelligence?"

"What?"

"Why are you so interested in working for them? Are you not happy in the Air Force?"

"Well...I..." I smiled crookedly, "You have to admit, they're kind of dark and mysterious. The girls love 'em."

"I beg your pardon?" Cid looked genuinely surprised, "You want to stay in intelligence in order to get girls?"

"I'm sixteen."

"Very true," he agreed, "But...is that it?"

"Well..." I slumped down in the rickety chair, "I'm a failure, Cid, even with my magic. I'm just no good at...well, anything. I was hoping that, y'know, joining Imperial Intelligence would toughen me up, or something; make me into someone like...like Magnus, y'know."

"And would you like to be like Private Ironsides?"

"Yes! No...I don't know!" I spread my hands helplessly, "It's just...what's the point of a Mage Knight who's no good at being a soldier?"

"Oh, I think I understand," the professor smiled easily, "Listed, Firma, I know how frustrating it is to struggle fruitlessly while your peers seem to just breeze through everything. When I was young, I wanted to be a chemist so badly...and all it got me was years of struggling and self-loathing while my friends breezed their way through one module after another..." he shrugged, "Eventually, I transferred to physics and realised that that was what I really wanted, and everything seemed to fall into place."

"That's very nice," I said tartly, "What's your point?"

"My point is that maybe you should stop struggling and try something new," he sighed, "When I look at you, I don't see a soldier or an Intelligence operative. I see a kind, gentle young man who tries to conceal that fact behind a smokescreen of irritation and rather bad sarcasm. I think your sister saw that you were struggling and tried to...help, in her own way."

"Oh, yeah?" I said, with just a trace of sarcasm, "I bet you wouldn't be so understanding if it had been your life she'd tried to upend."

"I agree, her methods were wrong," Cid took a long, deep breath, "But I have to say that I agree with her."

"What?"

"Maybe the Sentinels wouldn't be such a bad place for you," he pressed, "You have a tremendous gift for healing magic, and I think they'd match your temperament far better-"

"You're suggesting that I should just accept that Terra went behind my back and go with it?"

"I'm not saying that what she did was right, Firma!" Cid slammed a hand down on his desk, shocking me into silence, "But I think her heart was in the right place. You may not be happy to hear this, but I've...taken the liberty of discussing the matter with Master Sentinel Peron here on base. From what he says, the prospect of you joining the Sentinels has some senior members of their order very interested."

"Is that an order?" I had to admit, I was not particularly happy to hear that Cid was taking Terra's side.

"No," he said, "But I would like you to at least consider it."

"Does Anceleti know?"

"Major Anceleti is aware of a great deal that goes on in this base, through various means," Cid said, "In my various discussions with him, he has raised a number of objections to your posting in Intelligence, although that is probably due to his own unfavourable experiences with them. I'm sure that he would strongly support any transfer that would take you out from under their wing."

"...okay, I'll think about it," I said, grudgingly, "Are we done here?"

"I suppose we are," he said, "And Firma? Please try and talk to Terra. I know that she can be frustrating to deal with at times, but I also know that she loves you very much."

"Yeah? Well, she's never said it," I muttered rebelliously.

"I'd be surprised if she's realised it herself," Cid smiled another brief smile, "But still, this...rift between you is causing her a great deal of pain."

"Okay, okay - fine, I'll try and talk to her," I said irritably, "Is that everything?"

"I suppose I should also remind you to turn up to your next Magical Studies class, but there's a fair chance you'll just ignore me," Cid said, and gave me a severe look, "Will you talk to Peron?"

"I said I'll think about it," I said, and slouched out of the office, slamming the door behind me.

The wind hadn't let up by the time I got outside, and I trudged through the swirling snowdrifts with my hood up, thinking dark, rebellious thoughts as I struggled back to the comparative warmth of my room. The Sentinels! A bunch of crazies worshipping some long-dead goddess, only good for the people who were too cowardly or too weak to be actual soldiers! Real men stood shoulder to shoulder with their comrades on the front lines, not miles behind in some nice cool tent! Still...it had been Sentinels who had tried to save Elli, and Cid was right; I did have a knack for healing magic. Maybe I would be better off with them, but that would mean admitting that I wasn't strong enough to be part of Imperial Intelligence. It would also mean that I was too weak to be a real soldier in the Imperial Army.

I shook my head and strode onwards through the snow. No, damnit! I had been hand-picked to join Imperial Intelligence, and that meant that I had to be strong enough to be with them! Terra was just jealous! I was going to see this through to the end, and I'd show them all who was the genuine article around here!

Lost in my thoughts, I was far too preoccupied to notice the steadily-closing ring of shadows emerging out of the snow-drifts around me, and the first warning I had that anything was wrong was when a cloth, soaked with a sweet-smelling substance, was clamped tightly across my mouth and nose. Caught off guard, I bit my assailant's hand as hard as I could and followed up with an electrical discharge powerful enough to bring him to his knees. As I turned to confront him, I was struck across the back of the head and wrestled to the ground by another attacker. Almost frozen with panic, I struggled futilely, but was rewarded with another wallop and then a sharp prick at the side of my neck. A moment later, a chilling, deadening sensation began spreading through my muscles, and then everything went black.

When I came to, I was lying on a hard metal floor. My head throbbed and waves of nausea crashed over me, made worse by the bright, unfriendly light that was stabbing through my eyelids. Despite the pain, my mind raced; how long had I been out? How far was I from IAF Wareydon? What the hell was going on?

Well, I could start with the basics; I was obviously lying on a metal floor; ridged, too, from the feeling under my fingertips. That meant that whoever wanted me here wasn't overly concerned about my comfort, which in itself was not particularly promising. Even less promising was the fact that they had managed to sedate me, which meant that they had used one of the few knockout drugs I was vulnerable to. That, in turn, meant that they were either insanely lucky or had access to some pretty private information. Given the situation, I was definitely more inclined to believe the latter.

Still, I wasn't tied down. That was a bright spot, although it could just mean that they knew that my magic wasn't going to be sufficient to get me out of whatever pickle I was in. Still-

The sudden, burbling whimper of a man in pain derailed my thought process. A moment later, a door banged open by my head and admitted a pair of male voices, who were conversing so quietly that I had to strain to hear.

"I trust he will recover?" one of the voices said, and my heart gave a little leap. It was Agent Gagnon! Clearly, Imperial Intelligence had gotten wind of my kidnapping and had saved me...before dumping my unconscious body on a hard metal floor and leaving me to recover? I had to admit, something about that didn't quite fit.

"He's fine, sir. Minor burns, but he'll heal. Mad as all 'eck, though."

"He knows what Operative Branford is capable of. Perhaps next time he'll be more careful."

My heart plummeted as quickly as it had risen. Not only had Imperial Intelligence not come to my aid, they'd been the ones who had sedated me and spirited me off to god only knows where. That made...more sense, admittedly, although their actual reason for doing it still eluded me.

"Yes sir," there was a pause, and then, "Are...are you totally sure that this is wise, sir? I mean, he's only a kid!"

"Perhaps not," said Gagnon, "But we have orders from the General. Besides, if you'll recall he's not the youngest we've tested, and she - oh, do be quiet!" this was apparently directed at the whimpering man, and was followed by what sounded like a vicious blow to his stomach. He wailed, and I felt my eyes tearing up in sympathy.

What was going on here? Gagnon mentioned being tested, but then...what was the purpose of the man? What was going on here? There was nothing for it; I opened my eyes, and found myself lying on the floor of a small, windowless room, lit by a single fluorescent light ensconced in the ceiling. From my position, I could see that the walls and ceiling were covered by strange foam spikes for an unknown reason. Twisting my head, I saw that the room contained two tables, one that appeared to be covered in a white table cloth, and the other-

"Ah, he's awake," Gagnon said. A pair of boots appeared in my vision, and I was hauled roughly to my feet, "Good evening, Operative Branford; how do you feel?"

Now I was standing, I could see that there was an array of glittering metal implements laid out across the table cloth, although their presence and combination was confusing. As far as I could tell, some of them seemed to be surgical instruments, while others I had last seen wielded by the dentist. Still others had no purpose that I could divine, but their strange, twisted designs sent a chill running down my spine.

"I asked you a question, Operative Branford," as always, the threat of violence was just lurking beneath the surface, "How do you feel?"

I felt like hell, but I wasn't about to admit that under the circumstances, "Well, sir, I am a little confused...about the kidnapping and all?"

"Yes, I rather thought you would be," he sounded amused, "It is...traditional, in our organisation, to 'kidnap' an operative who has reached a certain level and administer a test to see if he is truly capable of joining our ranks."

"A test?" I asked nervously, "What kind of t-"

The rest of that sentence lodged in my throat as I caught sight of the whimpering man. Whatever had happened to him, it had been truly awful. He had been stripped to the waist, and was covered in ugly blue-black blotches, angry red burn marks, and several long, weeping cuts that ran almost from shoulder to stomach. His mouth fell open in another pained gasp, and through the blood I could see that his teeth had been smashed to pieces.

"Oh gods..." I said, quickly coming to his side. Now I understood; this man was one of their deep-cover operatives, and my test was to treat his injuries without his cover being blown! "It's okay...I can help him, sir."

"Eh?" the other man, whose presence had barely registered in my mind, grabbed my shoulder and spun me round to face him, "What d'ya mean, help him?"

"Well, look!" I said, shaking off his grip. Why had they kidnapped me then, if not to heal him? "He needs medical attention!"

"And medical attention he shall receive," said Gagnon smoothly, "Now that he has favoured us with the location of the bombs he and his dissident friends have planted in Vector."

"But...look at those wounds, sir!" I pressed.

"None of them are fatal, I assure you," he said, and smiled the single most terrifying little smile I had ever seen, "Inconvenient, certainly, but not fatal."

"But how can you...oh," finally, the penny dropped, "Oh no...no! You didn't! You couldn't have!"

"What did you think was going on here, Sparky?" said the other man, roughly, "You'd think we'd invite a bomber in for a cup o' tea and a nice little chat?"

"But this is against the law!" I protested, "You can't be doing this?"

"Operative Branford," Gagnon said dangerously, "I believe that you'll find that here, in this little soundproofed chamber, that we are the law. And, I might point out, you are too."

"Huh?"

"We've taken this particular case about as far as we feel is necessary," he said, "However, our commanding officer feels that this would be an excellent time for you to demonstrate how your...abilities can be used to truly serve the Empire."

"But if you've already know where the bombs are, then there's nothing more you need! He should be in a hospital!"

"Oh, but I want more," Gagnon was suddenly far too close for my liking, and his eyes burned, "I want to know if he has a mother, or a father, or a brother, or a sister. I want to know where they live, Operative Branford. I want to know who their children are and where they go to school. I want to what pets they keep, what their favourite flowers are, their allergies, their fears, all their little annoying quirks. I want to know it all, Branford, and you are going to make him tell me or I will make an example out of you that will never, ever be forgotten!"

With that, I was thrown in front of the badly wounded man, who looked up at me with pleading in his swollen eyes. Gently, I took his hand in my own and fought a sudden urge to vomit as his injuries poured into my mind. Gagnon had left no bone unturned in his almost clinical hunt for the truth, and I could feel every sliced tendon and shattered joint as if it were my own. Overwhelmed, I gasped and staggered back into the unkind hands of Gagnon's number two.

"C'mon, Sparky!" he whispered into my ear, "Jus' a little more and this canary'll be ready to sing! We've hooked him-" he added, and pushed me back over their victim, "-now land him!"

What could I do? Agent Gagnon and...the other man were right at my shoulders, and there were probably god only knows how many others waiting beyond the door. All I had to do was to get this man to talk a little and I'd be free! I'd have proven to everyone that I was fit to be in Imperial Intelligence! Suddenly, however, that didn't seem like such an attractive goal. Standing here, over this bloodied, beaten man, all I could think was that this was a line that I couldn't afford to cross. More than ever, I began to wonder what it was that they had ever seen in me.

"Well, Operative Branford?" Gagnon's voice stole into my thoughts. While it was pleasant enough, I had no doubt that given half a chance he'd be at my throat once again, "Perhaps you'd like to show us what a Mage Knight can accomplish?"

This wasn't right! I knew this wasn't right...but what could I do? I could always spit in Gagnon's face and go get help for this poor man, but then...what would they do to me? What would they do to me if I didn't do anything? I felt boxed in, forced to choose between a brave, but probably useless gesture and a cowardly, horrific act that would at least mean I saw tomorrow. Slowly, I reached out and took the man's hand once again, trying to get a sense of the full extent of his injuries.

"Branford."

"Don't rush me," I said quietly. Now I could really feel the extent of his injuries, I felt a surge of raw, cold anger well up from deep inside me, burning away the fear of the heavy-set man and my thin-lipped, psychotic instructor. Between them, they had taken this man off the street and done...this...to him with all the cool, clinical skill of a medical examiner. From the sense of it, it had probably taken them several days to do it, too. How dare they! How dare they do this to another human being?

"This man has suffered enough," I said eventually.

"I beg your pardon, Branford?" Gagnon said, coldly.

"I said, this man has suffered enough," I repeated, almost perfectly matching Gagnon's tone. I wasn't afraid anymore; I was far, far too angry for that, "So here's what I'm going to do; I'm going to take him to the base hospital, and then I'm going to alert the local authorities about this operation of yours."

"Is that so?" from the tone of Gagnon's voice, it sounded like he almost couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

"It is," I said, turning to face them. Mentally, I was already getting a solid grip on a number of choice items inside the room, "And you are going to let me do it, or I will make an example out of you that will never, ever be forgotten. Nobody touches him, not unless I say they can."

There was a short pause, and then Gagnon shrugged and said, "A pity."

With that, Gagnon's heavy lunged towards me, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand. I was ready, however, and in a flash the white tablecloth had whipped itself off the table, wrapped tightly around his head and arm, and slammed them into the wall with bone-cracking force. There was a terrible silence, and then the cocooned man slumped limply to the floor. Gagnon was already backing away, desperately trying to clear his pistol from its holster as I stalked towards him.

"Very...very impressive, Branford," he said, and there was a nasty 'cl-clack' as he cocked the firearm, "He was one of my best men."

"I only broke his arm," I said, coolly, "Considering what you two've done to that man, I'd say he got off comparatively lightly."

"How...precise," Gagnon's lips quirked, ever so slightly, "But why, Branford? Why did you choose this man - a proven terrorist, I might add - over your fellow intelligence operatives?"

"Why? Why? Just look at him!" I hissed, and for a moment thought I would lose control entirely, "You know...I thought that Imperial Intelligence was some kind of cool organisation where you defused bombs, saved really, really pretty women and swapped one-liners with mad scientists before kicking them in the shark tank! This..." I waved a crackling hand in the direction of the tortured man, "is a godsdamned abomination."

"It is necessary, Branford," Gagnon said, with impressive calm, "This man was going to kill countless innocent people! We had to act!"

"For something so urgent you sure took your bloody time over it, sir," I said icily, "Some of those injuries are days old. Did you get what you were looking for and then just keep going for the hell of it?"

"We-"

"I don't care what your answer is," I said, and took a long, deep breath, "I know what people say about me, y'know, and I know that I'm never going to be a great soldier or a commander or an assassin, but what I do know is that there is no chance in hell that I'm going to stand by idly while you and your friend over there get your jollies out of hurting the defenceless, no matter what you think they might've done!"

"A noble sentiment," Gagnon sneered, "And if I were a Sentinel, I might be impressed. However-"

He fired twice, and I felt rather than heard the gun's retort as it sent two bullets singing towards me. The first shot went wide of its mark, while the second impacted my shields and immediately disintegrated into a spray of red-hot shrapnel that cut painfully into my face. Half-blinded with pain, I lashed out and struck him across the face with a fist crackling with barely contained magic. There was a crack of discharging electricity, and the pungent stench of burned flesh filled the air. Gagnon screamed, and as I wiped the blood from my eyes I could see why; my uncontrolled blast had reduced half his face to a charred, bloodied mess, and even as I watched his fingers began to quest tentatively towards the misshapen white mass that now occupied his destroyed eye socket. Inwardly, I shrugged, and turned back to their torture victim. How in the world was I going to get him out of here, through the-gods-only-knew how many intelligence agents, without breaking him any further?

"Hold on," I said quietly, "I-"

The words caught in my throat as a long, drawn-out wail pierced the air. Looking around wildly, I spotted a small device with a blinking red light lying next to Gagnon's trembling fingers, and realised that any chance I had of escaping with their victim had evaporated the instant he'd triggered that alarm. Once again I felt the rage pouring into me, and before I really knew what I was doing I had whirled around and hauled Gagnon to his feet. There was nothing stopping me now; his heavy was unconscious and Gagnon himself looked like he barely comprehended what was going on. I could just take his gun and...and...do what?

I looked at Gagnon. His single, terrified eye looked back at me, and for a long moment we stood there while I struggled with myself. Eventually, and with more than a little regret, I let the intelligence operative sink back to the floor, where he immediately curled up, whimpering, into a protective foetal position.

"I could have killed you," I said, looking at him disdainfully, "Just...just you remember that."

With that, I opened the door and ran.

The awful, deafening hooting continued as I sprinted down the long, long corridor. From somewhere behind me, I heard a distant yell followed by the heavy clang of boots on metal. At the end of my flight there was a large, heavy steel door, which I grabbed and wrenched open with a strength borne of pure adrenaline, and felt the brutal slap of a Vectoran winter hitting me full in the face. Shocked by the cold, I staggered out into a featureless, snow-covered field just as a sharp gust of wind slammed the door shut behind me.

"They had an underground complex?" I said, and laughed a nasty, rasping little laugh, "That's so cliché."

Cliche or not, I was still sufficiently compos mentis to know that my situation had gone from bad to worse. It was night, it was at least ten below freezing, and I had no protection or any idea where I was. On top of that, I was sure that any moment now Intelligence operatives would come boiling out of that complex like a swarm of hornets, and after what I'd done to Gagnon and his heavy I would be lucky if they merely shot me on sight.

Scanning the darkness, I could just about make out the dark shape of a nearby forest. I would be better concealed there, and maybe I could find a burrow or something to hide from Imperial Intelligence until dawn. To be frank, I had no idea how wandering around in daylight would help my chances, but at this point I just had to be as far away from this complex as possible. Grimly, I set out across the snowfield, keenly aware of the extremely obvious footprints I was leaving in my wake.

The forest was a dark, forbidding place that looked like it had been drawn straight from a fairy tale. Tall, gnarled trees stood close together, their twisted, knotted branches blotting out the dim starlight and casting what little that could be seen in unpleasant shades of grey and black. With a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold I stepped under the canopy, my boots crunching noisily in the oppressive silence. A moment later I heard an echoing 'bang' in the middle distance. Whirling around, I could see a forest of flashlights emerging from the underground intelligence complex. After a brief moment of apparent indecision, one of them played across the large, deep furrows that I had left behind me, and in an instant, every one of them was on my trail, surging across the snowfield towards the forest.

There was nothing for it; without another backwards glance, I turned and bolted into the darkness.

The next half hour was an unpleasant one. In a state of near panic I ran through the forest, only a few minutes ahead of the dreadful searchlights. Branches and brambles ripped and tore at my clothes and skin, leaving great tears and gashes that burned in the freezing air. My breath came in short, ragged gasps, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to run for much longer. It was only going to be a matter of time before my more seasoned, better equipped pursuers caught up with me and...oh, gods...

Caught up in my momentary nightmare, I failed to spot the treacherous tree root poking out through the snow, and with a yelp I fell head over heels down a long, deep furrow, eventually sliding to a halt under the relative concealment of an overturned tree. My entire body ached in a way that I had never felt before, and as much as I tried I simply couldn't find the strength to get back up.

A few moments later, a searchlight appeared at the top of the furrow, and appeared to look around in some confusion. I watched, with my heart in my mouth, as the beam slowly played across the ground towards my general location. Any moment now he was going to spot me, and then-

"Why have you stopped?" another searchlight had joined the first, "Is there a problem, mate?"

"I've lost him. I don't bloody believe it; I've lost him!" the first searchlight said, with some annoyance, "Up 'till here he was leaving a trail that even these idiots could follow, and now? Nothing! The Monster's not going to be happy."

"He never is."

"True enough," there was a pause, and then, "Did you see what Branford did to his face? No wonder he wants him dead."

"And now you've lost him," said the other, "Don't worry, mate; I'm sure one of the other trackers will pick up the trail."

"Don't make me laugh," said the first, contemptuously, "Most of those idiots couldn't track an elephant through wet mud. He's gone to ground, alright, but he's nearby. I'm sure of it."

"Is that so?"

There was a sudden, brutally organic noise and a strangled cry cut through the chilly silence. One of the searchlights winked out, and a moment later a body came tumbling limply down the furrow and slid to a halt a short distance from me, steaming blood gushing from a hole in its neck.

"Firma?" the voice called, softly, "Firma? You can come out now; it's safe. You're safe."

I remained silent. Nobody I knew was so casual about jamming knives in people's necks.

"It's me," there was a rustling of fabric, and then the voice returned with somewhat more clarity, "It's Anceleti."

"What the-" I whispered, before I could stop myself. Immediately, the flashlight flicked over to my position, and then I thought I heard an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

"Good gods, Firma," with practiced ease, Anceleti slid down the hillside and crunched over the snow towards me, "What have you managed to get yourself tied up in? You look atrocious."

Despite the pain, I tried to give him my best reassuring smile, but then, suddenly, I found myself dissolving into floods of tears and deep, wracking sobs as my suppressed emotions flooded to the surface. Dimly, I was aware of being helped into a sitting position by the major, who alternated between patting me awkwardly on the back and scanning the surrounding forest for any other hopeful operatives.

"Don't worry, Firma," he said, gently, "You don't have to say anything. I know all about Gagnon's little...rituals."

"I...I couldn't do it," I said, between sobs, "They had a man who they'd tortured and they wanted me to hurt him and...I couldn't...but then they attacked me...and...and..."

"It's okay," he said, as I broke down again, "From the sounds of it, you gave them exactly what they deserved."

"But...why are you here?" I sniffed, wiping at my eyes, "How did you-"

"Terra begged me to come," Anceleti said, simply, "She came bursting into my office babbling incoherently about how someone had seen you being dragged off and how she was sure that something terrible had happened to you. Once I'd calmed her down, it was a simple matter of putting two and two together and, well, here we are."

"Just like that."

"Indeed," he said, "She saved your life, Firma."

"So did you," I said, and took a deep, shuddering breath, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Anceleti ruffled my hair, "You know; the first time I saw you I knew you'd be trouble."

I smiled, weakly, "Did you have to kill that...that..."

"Amateur?" he shook his head, "You know, if you'd pulled this stunt back in my day you'd never have gotten this far."

"Mmm," I paused, and then, "So, back in your day, did you have to..."

"Can you walk?" he said, suddenly, "I have a jeep positioned near the edge of the forest."

Slowly, and with some assistance from Anceleti, I managed to clamber to my feet. My left leg screamed for my attention, and the major caught me as it buckled.

"Easy," he said, "It's not far."

"Okay," I nodded at the crumpled operative, "What are we going to do about him?"

"Nothing," the major kicked some snow over the body, largely concealing it from view, "They can find him in the spring."

With Anceleti leading the way, we slowly crept through the forest watching carefully for the searchlights of our hunters. In the wake of my sudden, emotional outburst, I felt a detached calm descending over me. None of this could actually be real, I decided, as I watched myself stumble along behind the major. For a start, the cold...didn't really feel cold anymore, and the branches and brambles tearing at my skin barely registered, even though I could see my blood beading on my skin. Even the fear of being found by Imperial Intelligence had gone; who cared if they found us? I'd probably just wake up safe and sound in my bedroom...

Eventually, we emerged from the forest onto another largely featureless snowfield. Part of my brain noted, with some interest, that there was a small mound close to the forest edge that billowed and moved oddly in the wind.

"I assume that's your jee-"

"Quiet!" Anceleti snapped, and pointed back in the direction we had came. A short distance away, amongst the trees, I could see the blue-white halo of a spotlight slowly scanning towards us.

"Oh," I heard myself say, "That's problematic."

"Yeah, it is," he said, giving me an odd look.

"Would you like me to deal with him?"

"I'd rather you didn't," the look intensified, "On the other hand, if we try and leave with him still around we'll have Intelligence down on us in no time flat," he paused for a moment, and then seemed to reach a decision, "Wait here."

"Sir."

With barely a rustle, Anceleti vanished into the undergrowth. There was a long, tense moment, and then I heard a very faint, strangled cry. The searchlight went out.

"I have to say, standards have really slipped at Imperial Intelligence," Anceleti whispered, as he came crawling back through the snow, "It's disgraceful, really."

"Mmm."

"How're you feeling, Firma?" he asked seriously.

"Fine."

"You've...been very quiet."

"Would you like me to be louder?"

"For now? No," Anceleti inclined his head toward the jeep, "Help me get the tarpaulin off; we're getting out of here before any of that operative's friends come looking for him."

"Very well," again, I watched as I got a good, firm mental grip on the tarpaulin. There was a spray of snow as I launched it into the air, and then folded it as it fell so it landed in my outstretched arms as a small, rectangular lump of cloth, "Shall we go, sir?"

"Yeah," Anceleti turned away, and I heard him mutter something under his breath, "Let's get out of here."

With a screech of tyres and a crunch of snow, the jeep rumbled away from the forest and the questing glare of the searchlights. For a while we bounced across the snow-covered countryside until, finally, we crested a hill and saw the light-studded expanse of IAF Wareydon spread out before us.

"Your sister's waiting for us in our hangar," Anceleti said.

"Okay," I said, and wondered idly if I was meant to be feeling anything at the moment.

"She's very worried about you," he added, clearly attempting to elicit a response.

"I know."

"I-" Anceleti began, and apparently thought better of it. Instead, he shook his head and set the jeep rolling gently down the hill towards the snow-dusted runways. In the distance, I could see the warm, welcoming light of the Blue Meteor's hangar, and somewhere inside I felt a slight flutter of hope. It was gone almost as soon as it arrived.

"Imperial Intelligence will be coming after us," I commented, "Gagnon's not going to let this go without a fight."

"I know," the major said darkly, and added, "Don't worry; we've made preparations."

"Good," I replied. As we drew closer, I could see that there were a great number of people bustling around near the entrance to the hangar, and as we drew closer still I began to get the distinct feeling that there was more than just random milling around going on here. For a start, most everyone seemed to be prominently displaying a pistol or, in a few cases, a rifle slung across their back, "What's going on?"

"Gagnon has a major weakness, although I'm not sure many people realise it," Anceleti said, "Whenever he gets really angry, he tends to revert to being a schoolyard bully. When he works out where we've gone, I fully expect him to turn up here with a bunch of heavies and try to force us into handing you back over."

"I...see."

"It won't happen, Firma," he said, in what he probably meant to be a comforting tone, "You'll see...ah, there's Jade."

A figure was waving at us from just inside the hangar, and with a casual flick of the wheel Anceleti brought the jeep around and came to a halt with a sudden crunch of snow. Quietly, I disembarked and, in the absence of any orders, stepped over to join the major and his second.

"So, it looks like you were successful-" Jade paused as I stepped into the hangar, "Good heavens."

"Is everything ready, Jade?" said Anceleti briskly.

"I-yes," she said, tearing her gaze away from my impressive collection of injuries, "All our boys are here, and I managed to convince the Third and the Twelfth to join us as well. Malley and Song would like to talk to you about all this, though."

"I'm sure they do. Have you sent the runner yet?"

"No," Jade replied, and added, "Look, sir, you're asking us to take a lot on faith as it is. I wasn't going to involve anyone higher up until we knew more about what was going on."

"...fine," Anceleti sounded unhappy, but let it slide, "Anything else?"

"Um...you'll need to sign some overtime sheets. Quite a lot of overtime sheets, actually."

"Oh?"

"Well, when I said 'convince', I actually meant-"

"You bribed them?"

"More or less, sir," there was a pause and then, "Probably more rather than less, if you get my drift."

"I believe I do. Anything else?"

"Master Sentinel Peron arrived about fifteen minutes ago. He's waiting for you upstairs."

"He doesn't miss a trick, does he?" Anceleti's lips compressed into a fine line, "Firma, go and get your injuries checked by Peron. I'd imagine he probably wants to talk to you, too...although maybe that should wait for another time."

"Sir," I nodded shortly, "What should I do then?"

"Stay upstairs and keep your head down," he said, and squared his shoulders, "This could get ugly."

I drew an awful lot of stares as I threaded my way through the throngs of visibly armed airmen, and I heard a dark, nasty little murmur ripple across the crowd. I had no idea what Jade had told these people, or even what Anceleti had told Jade, but from the sympathetic looks and sense of righteous indignation filling the air, I got the feeling at least some of them were fairly well up-to-speed on the sorts of evil, nefarious things that Imperial Intelligence was up to.

High above me I heard a sudden 'bang!' as the door to Anceleti's office was nearly thrown off its hinges, and Terra came hurtling down the stairs, taking them two at a time in a madcap dash to the bottom.

"Firma!" she cried tearfully, and caught me in a hug that almost knocked me flat, "Oh gods, Firma! I thought they were going to...I thought that..."

"It's okay, Tee," I said, a little dully, "I'm okay."

"No...no, you aren't," Terra stepped back and gave me a worried look, "Something terrible did happen, didn't it? What was it? What did they do to you?"

"Easy, my dear," a rather portly man with thinning white hair was slowly descending the stairs from Anceleti's office, "Your brother's had a rough night."

"But-"

"He needs rest, Terra. Surely you can see the poor lad's in shock, now," the man, who I decided had to be Master Sentinel Peron, "Everything will be alright, lad. You're safe now."

"Is that so?" I said, looking meaningfully at the small army assembling in the hangar, "Anceleti clearly doesn't think so."

"Which is why he's made preparations, lad," said Peron, "Now, I think it would be a good idea for us three to step up to the office and have a nice cup of tea. What do you say, eh?"

"I...suppose."

"Grand," he smiled broadly, "If you don't mind me saying so, you look like you've been in the wars. I should probably have a look at some of your injuries."

"I'll heal," I said, a little brusquely.

"That's what Professor Chere tells me, certainly," he said, "It seems to me, however, that when the dust settles you're going to want to have an independent record of what happened to you tonight."

"Why?"

"You'll see, lad. You'll see."

Despite my best efforts I was unable to stop Terra from half-pushing, half-carrying me up the rather shaky metal stairs to Anceleti's office. Once inside, I flopped down gratefully on one of the cheap folding chairs while she stood and fidgeted anxiously by the window. Despite her nervousness, I felt my muscles begin to unwind. In here, the hubbub of preparation was muted and far away, and the cups clinking and teabags rustling as Peron made tea seemed refreshingly dull.

"Oh, blow," the Sentinel said, eventually, "It looks like we're out of milk. Terra, could you be a dear and get me some out of the fridge downstairs? I believe Jade said she had some we could borrow."

"Right! I'll be right back!" Terra blurted out, and was gone in a flash. The Sentinel watched her go, and then turned to me with a wide grin.

"She'll be a little while, I expect," he said, "Now, I believe we weren't properly introduced; I'm Master Sentinel Peron."

"I guessed you were, sir," I said, and shook the proffered hand, "I'm-"

"I know who you are, lad," he snorted, "I suspect everyone in the Empire knows who you are. Now, the reason why I wanted to talk to you on your own was because of...discussions that I have been having with Professor Chere."

"Yes, I know," I said, with a hint of irritation, "You all want me to join the Sentinels."

"Actually, that couldn't be further from the truth," Peron leaned back, "Personally, I think you're too young to be joining the Sentinels, or any organisation for that matter. However, it looks like I've been...overruled."

"Excuse me?"

"It's all politics, lad," he continued, "When Imperial Intelligence got a hold of you, all the papers were goin' on about how we was going to have super-powered magical assassins cutting huge, bloody swathes through all those terrorist groups. I think the Father Superior would quite like to get some of that publicity for the Sentinels. Recruitment levels have been down, you see."

"So you want me as a...a publicity stunt?"

"I want you to have another couple of years to decide what you want to do with your life, but it seems like neither you or your sister are going to get that chance," he shook his head, a little sadly, "The Sentinel trainee program isn't easy, Firmament, especially for someone as young as you. I'm not sure you'd be any happier with us than with anyone else."

"You'd prefer it if I refuse?"

"When all this is over, I'd like you to give it some deep, serious thought. I want you to be entirely certain of what you're getting yourself into this time, Now, let me take a few notes about all these cuts and scrapes of yours..." his gaze shifted slightly, "That was fast, Terra; did you manage to find some milk?"

"N-no," Terra said, and from the tone of her voice I immediately knew something was wrong, "Jade sent me back up here. She says that there're some men wearing black gathering outside."

"Well then," said Peron, perhaps a little sadly, "It looks like your commander was right, Firmament."

"It seems so," I said, and tried to clamp down on the sense of rising terror, "Are they armed?"

"Yeah," said Terra, "Or at least Jade said they were."

"Should we go and help them?"

"What would you do, Firmament?" Peron asked, quite seriously, "Are you going to give yourself up?"

"No!" I said, surprising myself at the forcefulness of my statement, "I'm never-"

"Then stay here, lad," he said, apparently unconcerned by my outburst, "Your presence down there would only make things worse. Best to sit this one out, I think."

He was right, of course; going down there would probably prompt an all-out firefight, especially if Gagnon had recovered enough to take revenge personally. Still, it chafed a little to stay up here and watch through the grimy window as the squad of beefy, heavily-armed men strode confidently into the cluttered hangar, weapons clearly cocked and ready to use. All around them, the airmen melted away into the shadows, clearly intimidated by the show of force and the cold-blooded willingness to use it. Only Anceleti remained, apparently totally unconcerned by the sudden arrival of this group of men or the mass desertion of his own force.

"Gagnon," he said convivially, as the lead operative approached, "It's been a while. Can I just say how much I like the eyepatch? Very intimidating."

"Where is he, Anceleti?" Gagnon growled, "Where is that blasted Mage Knight?"

"I assume by 'that blasted Mage Knight' you mean 'Cadet Branford', yes?" Anceleti reclined against one of the sky-jets, "I haven't seen him."

"Is that so? He's your cadet."

"He's also your cadet, Gagnon," said the major, "I have to admit, I'm curious why you're searching for him with a full complement of operatives. I do hope he hasn't done anything too drastic."

"He took my eye, you bastard!" Gagnon snarled, and lifted the eyepatch for just a moment. Anceleti winced.

"My word, that does look bad," he said, without much sympathy, "But that doesn't sound very much like the Branford I know. Whatever did you do to- oh, of course," he snapped his fingers; "You decided to try your little ritual out on him, didn't you. Get him to commit a little atrocity, and then he's all yours, right?"

Beside me, Terra gasped.

"We-"

"Don't bother saying anything, Gagnon, it's no real secret what you and your henchmen get up to in your little underground base- ah!" Anceleti held up a hand as one of Gagnon's goons raised his gun, "I don't think you'll be wanting to do that in here, my friend. You're not exactly on home turf."

The operative looked at his fellow men, and then, slowly, lowered his weapon.

"Much better," said the major approvingly, "Now, Gagnon, I'm still a little bit confused as to why that would lead to you losing an eye, unless...he refused to play your little game. If he had, well, we all know what happens to operatives who don't play along with your rules, don't we!"

An angry murmur rippled through the shadows behind the sky-jets, and suddenly Gagnon's men seemed far less at ease.

"I don't know!" Terra whispered, "What happens?"

"They die," I said, hollowly.

"Bit off more then you could chew, eh?" Anceleti continued in the same conversational tone, "That's the thing about those Mage Knights; they seem totally harmless until they aren't, and when they aren't, well, you'd better hope that you're not the one they're mad at. You're lucky to escape with just your eye missing, mate. He could've killed you. Truth be told, I think there's a lot of people who'd view that as a bit of a missed opportunity."

"Enough, Anceleti!" Gagnon snarled, "Where is he?"

"No idea," said Anceleti, cheerfully, "Why are you so sure he's here?"

"We lost him in the forest, along with two of our men," Gagnon glowered at the major, "Still, there's no way he could have slipped through our net. Not without help."

"Is that so?"

"He's just a boy!"

"A boy who took your eye, escaped your compound, killed three of your trackers and escaped into the night," Anceleti shrugged, "If anything, you should be proud of him."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and then Gagnon chuckled quietly. It was not a pleasant noise.

"Three of our trackers? However did you know that, Anceleti?"

"I- well, damn," the major, at least, had the good graces to look embarrassed, "That was stupid of me."

"I knew it," Gagnon growled, "No more playing around, major; where is Branford?"

"Around," Anceleti said, "But as far as you're concerned, he may as well be on the dark side of the moon, 'cause there's no way I'm going to let you leave IAF Wareydon with him."

"He killed three of my men!"

"Actually, I killed three of your men," said the major, "Or rather, I killed three unidentifiable, heavily armed individuals who were themselves attempting to kill a cadet under my command. Between you and me, Gagnon, I have to admit that if those were your men I'm a little disappointed in your current training methods. I think a review is probably in order."

"How dare you!" Gagnon gestured, and the operatives behind him took aim, "I'll-"

Suddenly, the hangar was plunged into darkness, and then with a flare of light four spotlights came to life, producing a narrow circle of light barely large enough to accommodate Gagnon and his team of operatives. Anceleti was nowhere to be seen.

"You'll do what, precisely?" the major's voice could have come from anywhere in the darkness, really, "Incidentally, I would advise against any of your men leaving that circle. If they do, well-" the sounds of weapons being cocked was deafening, "-it might be unpleasant for the rest of you."

"Your men couldn't hit the broad side of a barn, Anceleti!"

"I'll admit, some of them could probably spend more time at the range," said Anceleti, "Still, I'm sure that even the worst of them could hit a clearly illuminated target over a distance of about ten meters. Feel free to try your luck, though; I'm sure that my men would be happy to accommodate you."

"This is madness!"

"No, Gagnon, it isn't. Would you like me to tell you what is madness?" the major's voice was cold, deadly, "Madness is plucking a sixteen year old IAF cadet out of the snow and trying to force him to commit atrocities under pain of death, and then admitting this inside a hangar full of airmen. Firmament is one of us, and nobody here worth their wings is going to stand idly by while you drag him off to one of your little torture chambers."

"You're not going to get away with this, Anceleti!"

"Oh, good, I was wondering if you were going to say that," Anceleti laughed nastily, "You see, the way I think this happened is that a bunch of heavily-armed thugs gate-crashed our late-night inter-wing meet up. Of course, they couldn't possibly be part of Imperial Intelligence 'cause they're on our side, so they couldn't be trying to shoot up an IAF hangar, would they? No, they must be one of those insurgent groups that our brave intelligence operatives keep trying to warn us about. Still, I'm sure we'll all be very sorry when your corpses are identified, but hey, it wasn't us who charged in here pointing guns every which way.

There was a long silence, and then, in the distance, I thought I could hear the faint wail of approaching sirens.

"Of course, there is another way out," Anceleti remarked, "I took the liberty of sending someone to alert the brass about you and your little posse. All you have to do is stand right there until they take you into custody, and I'm sure that you'll be able to straighten everything out with the base commander. It might be a bit embarrassing, but hey, you'll be alive, right?"

"I-"

"Just throw down your weapons if you're ready to surrender. I made certain that they know that you're armed, so they'll probably be responding in force. You wouldn't want any of your boys to get shot by accident, would you?"

There was another pause, and then a clearly reluctant Gagnon gestured to his men. Slowly, and almost unbelievingly, they slowly lowered placed their guns on the floor and kicked them away.

"And the rest of them, Gagnon," the major sighed, "Come on, I wasn't born yesterday."

With a clatter, a small pile of pistols, knives, and other, more esoteric weaponry joined the rifles at the edge of the light.

"This isn't over, major," Gagnon spat, "Nobody embarrasses Imperial Intelligence like this and just walks away, you know."

"Oh, I know," Anceleti almost sounded like he was enjoying this, "I can't imagine what your superiors are going to think of you once they hear you got outgunned and outwitted by a bunch of IAF airmen. Very embarrassing, wouldn't you say?"

Whatever Gagnon's reply was, it was lost in the screech of wheels from outside. There was the distant slamming of doors, and then a host of heavily-armed, heavily-armoured military police poured screaming into the hangar, surrounding the beleaguered intelligence operatives and forcing them to the floor with barely comprehensible orders and a few well-placed rifle butts. Within a few moments, it was all over.

"Very cunning," Peron remarked, stepping away from the window, "Your commanding officer has a sharp mind, lad."

"I know. I should probably go and kiss his feet, or something," I said.

"Later, maybe," said the Sentinel, "I think he'll have his hands full for a little while dealing with this mess. Leave him be for now."

"If you say so," I sighed wearily, and sank back down onto the rickety chair, "Well, Tee? It looks like you were right about Imperial Intelligence, like usual."

"Maybe," Terra smiled, ever so slightly, "There are more important things than being right, though."

"Huh?" I frowned, "That doesn't sound like you. That doesn't sound like you at all. Did Cid tell you to say that?"

"He may have pointed it out to me," my sister paused, and then rushed on, "Firma, I'm so sorry! I...it was arrogant of me to try to organise your life for you, and I knew it was wrong, but I...I couldn't back down. I should've done, but I didn't. I just couldn't stand the thought that-"

"It's okay, Tee."

"No, it's not! I'm..." Terra stopped, and shook her head, "I'm doing it again, aren't I."

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"Oh, stop apologising!" I said, "You weren't the only one being arrogant and prideful, Tee. I wasn't behaving any better then you were, and you at least were right. I'm not cut out to be part of Imperial Intelligence."

"I know," she said, and patted me on the shoulder, "You may be a jerk from time to time, but they're bastards. I hope that the commander puts 'em through the ringer."

"If he doesn't, I'm sure Gagnon's superiors will," I replied, "Anceleti's right; they don't like being embarrassed."

There was a long silence.

"Um...Firma?" Terra said, a little tentatively, "Do you...um...want to talk about tonight?"

"Not now, Tee," I said, and ran my fingers through my hair, "All I want to do now is go home and get some sleep."

"Well, you know my door's always open," she said, "I mean, it's always open 'cause I still haven't managed to get the lock fixed, but, um, I-"

"I get the picture, Tee," I smiled, "Thanks."

"No problem. I'm going to see if I can get someone to give you a lift back to your quarters," Terra moved towards the door, but then turned back to face me, "Oh, and Firma?"

"Mmm?"

"I've always been proud of you. You know that, right?"

"R-really?" I blinked. Like most of Terra's comments, that one came straight out of nowhere, and in my current, rather fragile emotional state, it was all I could do to avoid breaking down in tears on the spot.

"Yeah. I'm not worried about what you're going to do, either, 'cause I know that whatever you do, and wherever you go, I'll always be proud of you."