CHAPTER 38: POISON
In which a mission provokes dissent, Rosalind worries about her sister, and Tseng pays the price of allowing himself to be distracted

"He was asking for you again yesterday," said Rosalind to Tseng a fortnight later. She had arrived early for the morning's meeting, and had found Tseng working alone in the briefing room, his head bent over his notebook, the glow from his open laptop casting blue highlights on his sleek black hair. A stack of half a dozen mission folders sat on the table in front of him.

"I've been busy," Tseng replied, not looking up.

He had expected to miss Rufus' company – and he did feel a sense of loss, a vacancy; the evenings, when time hung heavy on his hands, were the worst – but at the same time, now that the Vice-President had been removed from his space it was as if a weight had been taken off his chest that he hadn't realized was there. He could breathe freely again, and his concentration had improved.

"He really wants to talk to you," Rosalind insisted.

"I don't have time for his games right now."

Tseng had been fully briefed on Rufus' conversation with the three Turks: Reno and Aviva had come straight back from the bunker to fill him in. Hearing it once would have been sufficient, but he'd had to listen to the whole story again from Mink the next day. He hadn't felt disappointed (he was past that stage); he hadn't even felt any anger at Rufus' blatant attempt to suborn his staff. All he'd felt had been an immense weariness. Rufus would never change; it had been naïve to hope that he could.

Rosalind said, "He asked me to tell you that if you don't go down there to see him, he's going to come up here to see you."

"More of his nonsense. Make sure you keep the doors locked."

"We do. But he can pick them."

Tseng's head jerked up. "What?"

"He showed me himself. He seemed quite proud of it. Apparently Skeeter taught him. About three months ago, he said. On the door to the cooler room," Roz sighed. "I don't know what Skeet was thinking of."

Their conversation was cut short by the entrance of Hunter, her thick honey-coloured hair pulled back in its customary high ponytail, her hazel eyes shining. She sat down in the chair at the other end of the table, said good morning, and yawned deeply. The others began to trickle in: first Cavour, then Mink, followed by Aviva, and Rude and Skeeter together, and Reno with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and finally Tys, his cinnamon spikes of hair still wet from the shower. He took the empty seat on Tseng's left.

Tys and Hunter carefully avoided looking at each other, but the current of heat that flowed between them was almost palpable. Tseng wondered if he had made a mistake here by turning a blind eye. It was one of those affairs that could not possibly end well: Hunter was too self-centred, and Tys too volatile. She would eventually get bored and dump him; he, like nitroglycerine, would explode on impact, leaving his colleagues to scrape what was left of him off the walls. Tseng could see this coming as clearly as if it had happened already – which, in a sense, it had.

Veld would have seen to it that things never got that far. Tseng's own instinct was to stand back and let their passion for each other burnt out naturally, in its own good time. But time was too precious; he had little to spare. One more month was the best he could do. If nothing had changed by then, he'd have to send one of them away on a long assignment far from Midgar, to give them both a chance to cool off.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he focused on clearing his mind of all anxieties unrelated to the business at hand. Then he reached for the first mission folder, and began the morning's briefing.

The jobs on the table today were fairly routine. In less than half an hour, Tseng had worked his way down to the dossier at the bottom of the pile. At first glance the mission appeared to be a straightforward kidnapping, though its contextual details were more than usually sensitive. As part of Shinra's ongoing investment in the economic recovery of post-war Wutai, a factory had been constructed, right down on the remote southern cape of the western peninsula, for the manufacture of ordnance – specifically, ammunition cartridges for Scarlet's range of offensive autobots. To provide the labour for the production line, an orphanage had been attached to the factory under the supervision of Shinra's Social Welfare department. It currently housed just over three hundred Wutaian children, from new-born infants to teens.

On the other side of the planet, in Junon, a small but noisy group of philanthropists were demanding that Shinra close this orphanage down. Their protests were led by a widowed socialite in her thirties named Mrs. Kathleen Brand, who, according to the notes in the folder, had inherited from her late husband a successful chain of jeweller's shops with outlets in Junon, Kalm, and Midgar. The marriage had produced one child, a boy aged seven, currently at boarding school south of Costa del Sol.

Silencing the very vocal Mrs Brand would have been easy enough, but the Old Man wasn't asking his Turks to shut her up. Mrs Brand was popular and well-connected; people listened to her. The President wanted her to change her tune. He wanted to hear her singing the praises of Shinra's orphanage system, the food-for-work program, and the company's development policies in Wutai. He wanted to own this canary.

Their orders were to kidnap her son.

Mink had been sketching something on her notepad. "That's stupid," she muttered, as if to herself. The others turned to look at her, but her face was hidden behind the loose fall of her silver hair.

"I have you down for this," Tseng told her.

"It's not going to work. The Old Man's got no idea what it's like to be a mother. She'll tear this planet apart looking for her child. Any woman would -"

The pencil in her hand suddenly snapped.

Aviva broke in, "Her kid's seven years old and she's put him in a boarding school on the other side of the ocean?"

"It's a famous school," said Cavour "Very progressive. The Don sends his daughters there."

Mink ignored them. "Are we child-stealers now?" she asked Tseng. "Is that what we've become?"

"The age of the target is immaterial," said Tseng. "It's a routine kidnap. He'll be held somewhere secure while we talk to his mother – "

"Someplace secure? You mean like one of those godforsaken orphanages? When we all know that they should be shut down – "

"Wait," Aviva again interrupted. "I don't understand. This kid's seven years old, and he's being brought up by strangers. So what are you saying, Mink? Are you saying it's fine for that rich kid, but not for the orphans?"

"What?" Mink turned to her. "You're making no sense, Veev."

"If we shut the orphanages down, like what you said, then what would happen to all those kids? I don't see anyone lining up to adopt them. Are you saying they should be thrown out onto the streets to fend for themselves?"

"Of course not!" Mink replied in astonishment. "But – "

"At least in the orphanages they get food and shelter, and a chance at some kind of education."

"An education! Six-year-olds on eight hour shifts, polishing the inside of gun casings with their bare hands – "

"So? They're making themselves useful. If you're not useful, you don't eat. That's life." Aviva rose to her feet as if to gain some vantage point on an imaginary podium. "And you know what else, Mink?"

Reno leaned over to murmur in Rude's ear, "Here she goes…"

" - I hate people like this Mrs Brand. They're so fake. Patronising do-gooders, going round the planet looking for objects for their charity. Who the hell do they think they are? All this talk about caring, it's just a lie. People like her don't care about anything except making themselves look good and – and feeling good about themselves. If this woman cares so much about kids, why isn't her own kid living with her? If she has a problem with our orphanages then why doesn't she build her own orphanage and show us how it's done? She's got money. I bet her house in Junon is big enough to hold dozens of kids. So why doesn't she give them a home if she cares about them? Instead of sending her own kid away? Why does everyone always leave everything to Shinra and then complain, complain, complain? They need to get off their fat arses and do something if they care so much – "

"She's really on a roll now," Reno stage-whispered.

You should get them under control, said a voice in Tseng's head. Whose voice? Veld? Or perhaps Rufus – it had that tone. You really shouldn't allow your underlings to debate company policy so freely.

"Don't be stupid," Mink was snapping at Aviva. "The Board would never shut down the orphanages."

"How can you be so sure? Those places cost money to run. They could find other workers. And you know what the Old Man's like about bad PR. "

"Then he should make the orphanages better!"

"Oh, wake up, Mink!" Aviva was standing as if braced for battle, chin up, shoulders back. "Life's tough. The sooner those kids get used to reality the better for them. Can't you see how much worse it is when these do-gooders come in and start raising all kinds of false hopes and making all sorts of promises, and then… I don't know what happens, they just get bored or forget or move on, and you're dropped like a hot potato -"

"Calm down," Rude rasped, laying a hand on her arm. "C'mon, Veev. It's OK. Just calm down."

She choked, "It just – it just makes me so angry – "

Inside Tseng's head the voice was saying, You see what you've unleashed? All it takes is one act of disobedience, and next thing you know they're fighting among themselves and questioning every order….

He let his hand fall onto the table. It wasn't a loud noise, but it was enough to draw everyone's attention. "Aviva," he said, "You're out of order. Go to the washroom and put some cold water on your face. I'll speak to you later. The rest of you are dismissed. Mink, you stay here."

The others picked up their things and left. Tseng used the time while they were leaving to straighten his papers. Mink sat rigid in her chair, staring at a spot on the wall behind Tseng's head.

When they were alone in the room he shut his laptop with a click, and looked down the table at her. She met his gaze unflinchingly. Her eyes were stones.

He said, "I still think about Mozo every day. Do you?"

His question took her by surprise. She blinked, and her expression became a fraction more friendly. "Every day," she admitted.

He allowed several moments to tick by, to emphasise his point, before he said, "This isn't the same thing."

"I agree. This mission is vindictive and petty and beneath us."

Tseng was not inclined to argue the point. However, what he said to her was, "We don't judge our orders, Mink, we just carry them out."

"That little kid's done nothing to Shinra."

"That's beside the point. At the risk of becoming repetitive, I think I need to remind you that you understood very clearly what our worked entailed when you joined this company."

"That's true, I did," she acknowledged. "But then I didn't care."

"Care about what?"

"Anything. Myself."

Ah, yes, he thought, leaning back in his chair, that's what's different about her. It's something else I took too long to see. Rufus is right about me, I think. Damn him.

To Mink he said, "So, what happened?"

"To tell you the truth, sir, I'm not sure any more. A lot of things were made clear to me the day Mozo died. I think it was the same for all of us. Afterwards, I promised myself I'd find a way to make up for it - That if I was ever given another order I knew was wrong, I'd refuse, too. But now… I don't know. I'm not sure if that's how it was for him. It wasn't like he made a choice or… or took a stand deliberately. I think he just hit his wall. He just couldn't do what the Chief wanted. It wasn't in him. Because I can't steal that kid, Boss. You can put a gun to my head if you like. I just can't."

"I have no desire to put a gun to your head, Mink. You're too valuable a member of this team."

A rare smile touched her lips. Tseng, with his weakness for beauty, felt himself warm towards her. She said, "You probably don't remember, sir, but on the day I joined the company, that cat – Mr Rufus' cat – was here in the office. I said to Knox I was surprised we were allowed to keep pets. And Knox said, 'Oh, it works here. It kills rats just like we do.' That really struck a chord with me. I thought to myself, OK, rat extermination, that doesn't sound so bad. I can live with that."

"So you did care?"

"Looking back, yeah, maybe more than I realized. And yes, it was dirty work sometimes, but I said to myself 'it has to be done, and better me than someone who gives a shit.' But there was always a good reason for what we did. That was the thing, Boss. At the end of the day, the benefits always outweighed the cost. So I could take pride in it, and that made me feel good. Good about myself. But these days…" She paused, and then went on more assertively, "Kidnapping this kid is a huge over-reaction. And it'll probably backfire. Shutting Mrs Brand up won't change the fact that that orphanage is a disgrace. It won't silence the criticism, either. You know I'm right, Tseng, even if you can't admit it."

"I do admit it," he replied frankly. "That's not the point either. You are an intelligent woman, but you are overlooking a crucial piece of the puzzle. I don't believe these directives come from the Old Man alone. I think Scarlet is tightening our leash."

Mink hesitated. "You think she's testing our loyalty?"

"She doesn't believe we are loyal. I think she wants to goad us into open rebellion."

"Over this? Are you serious?"

"Well," he said, "It seems to be working."

That silenced her. She dropped her gaze to the table; Tseng could see she was thinking through what he had said. He let her have all the time she needed. It was several minutes before she looked up again and said, "I'm not trying to be difficult. I'm still committed to this job. I gave you my word that I'd help save the Chief and I intend to hold to that." She hesitated, and her eyes drifted away over his left shoulder as she went on, "Sir, I understand that we can't afford to do anything that might draw suspicion on us. I know we have to show the board that we're willing obey all our orders without question. But I also think we need to decide how far we're prepared to go. Is there anything we won't do to save Commander Veld? If we have to sacrifice ourselves, fair enough; that was always the deal anyway. But innocent kids?"

"We'll take each case as it comes. There's always a way. The child will not be harmed, Mink, I promise you."

"Not by me," she said firmly, "That's for sure."

"No. I can't send you on this mission now. I'm not confident you would be able to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. But there are going to be more missions like this, and I won't always have the luxury of being able to pull you off assignments you find personally distasteful. You should consider this a warning."

"Understood," Mink replied, and then added, "Thank you."

"Now, go and find Aviva. You'll be replacing her on her assignment with Cavs. Get her to brief you, and then send her to my office."

Mink nodded, rose, and left the room. He sat and watched her go, and when she was gone he continued to sit for a while, thinking about her. He had initially chosen her for this mission because her colleagues had reported that she had a way with children. Even Reno had noticed it. So how did she lose her own kid? he wondered. For it was obvious to him now that she had had one, though she had never, in all the time he'd known her, spoken of it. She wasn't tearing the planet apart searching for it, so presumably it was dead. Most likely it had died years ago, before she'd joined the Turks. She must have been very young. Commander Veld would have known about the kid, of course. Probably it had been one of the reasons he'd hired her. Veld and his obsession with lost children….

Tseng went to his office, typed and printed out a letter giving permission for 'Miss Jenny Brand' to take her nephew out of school for a long weekend, and was just forging the signature when Aviva came in. He put the letter in an envelope and gave it to her. "There'll be transport waiting for you in Costa," he said. "Take the kid and go have fun at the Gold Saucer. Call me when you get there." Aviva left. Tseng buzzed Rosalind in and got her to make the phone call to the school, putting on her best upper-class Junon accent to impersonate the boy's mother. This, in turn, reminded him of something.

"How's your sister getting along at the Academy?" he asked her when she put down the receiver. "Still top of her class?"

"Naturally. She refuses to settle for anything less. I just wish she wasn't so contrary. She's dropped the handgun as her specialty, just like that. Won't give a reason. Won't admit she needs a reason."

"She's at that difficult age," said Tseng a little absent-mindedly. He had never met Rosalind's sister, and had really only inquired out of politeness.

"Difficult barely begins to cover it," Rosalind sighed. "She's so impulsive. And so competitive – I mean, competitive to the point of sheer recklessness. She complains that she hates being compared to me, but she's the one who keeps measuring herself against my achievements. Last time I was down there she'd just beaten the Academy record I'd set for women's flyweight boxing, and she simply would not shut up about it. She nearly drove us crazy. I mean, I was happy for her – sheesh, it's not like I care about some school sports record I set more than a decade ago – but I really worry that it means more to her than it should…."

Tseng realized that he had inadvertently touched a nerve, one he didn't have time to deal with right now. "Rosalind, I have to go out – "

"I blame the Colonel. He pushed her so hard. He was forever telling her that no matter what she did she could never match up to me. To be fair, it was his way of motivating her. And even though he's dead now, she's internalized his voice. Of course I'm the last person she'll listen to. I wish you could talk to Elena, sir. You might carry some weight with her."

"Yes, all right," he said. "You set it up – "

"You need to make her understand that I'm not deliberately casting her into my shadow. It's all in her mind. If she could let go of this one-sided sibling rivalry, she'd see that."

"I will," said Tseng. "Rosalind, I'm leaving the building now and I'll be gone for a few hours. I've routed my phone line through the switchboard. I want you to stay here and field my calls, and when Aviva calls, put her through to my cell."

"Roger, Boss. Where are you off to? Junon?"

"Eventually. I need to see Rufus first."

Rosalind grinned. "Good luck with that."

The monsters in the belly of the plate were multiplying. Tseng sighted more than thirty on his way to the bunker, including several species that were new to him. Being reluctant to fire his gun down here unless it was absolutely unavoidable, he skirted round most of them, but there were two which took him by a surprise. The first, a lone grashstrike separated from its flock, came blundering at him out of a ventilation shaft; the second, a cuahl-shaped blur of purple and red, leapt from the shadows as he rounded the final corner leading to the bunker. He killed both of them using that quietest of materia, ice. When the second one was dead he took a moment to kneel beside it and examine it more closely. He had no idea what it was. Its back was ridged like a dragon's, and its teeth resembled the jaws of a steel man-trap. He took a photo with his PHS for future reference, waited until its body evaporated, and then went on in to the bunker.

The first thing he saw when he came through the door was Rufus, standing in the middle of the sitting room as if he had been watching the door and waiting. At the sight of Tseng his eyes lit up and he smiled and said, "I knew you'd come."

Tseng's heart throbbed painfully. His chest felt too tight: he couldn't breathe.

Rufus' expression changed from pleasure to alarm. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at Tseng's face. "Blood?"

Tseng raised a hand to his cheek – but it was an effort, because his limbs felt like lead and his vision had begun to swim. His fingertips came away covered in dark green mucus. "Ichor – " he murmured.

The room was turning black. He swayed; his knees gave way, and he would have hit the floor if Rufus hadn't caught him.

"Knox!" Rufus shouted, "Tseng's been poisoned. Get the first aid box, now!"

Tseng felt himself being picked up and carried, and in his dazed state he thought what an extraordinary thing it was that the boy should have become so strong. Urgent fingers prised his mouth open; plastic grated against his teeth, and a cold liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed.

As if from the far end of a tunnel, he heard Rufus asking, "Should we give him another one?"

"No, he'll be OK now," Knox's rougher, accented voice replied. "Look, his colour's going back to normal."

"How could he have been so careless?"

"Sometimes you don't feel it at first."

Tseng felt a hand pressing against his brow. "Can you hear me?" said Rufus. "Can you open your eyes?"

He could. He saw that he was lying on the purple sofa. Rufus was kneeling beside him, and Knox was looking at him over Rufus' shoulder, his grey eyes full of concern behind the glasses.

Too close - they're too close. It was hard to breathe when they crowded him like this. Rufus' hand was smoothing the hair back from his forehead. Tseng pushed it away. "Leave me alone," he muttered. "It was nothing."

"Nothing!" exclaimed Rufus. "You were green, Tseng."

"He's come through worse, haven't you, Boss?" said Knox. "Much worse. Come on, V.P., move back and give him some air."

Strength was returning to Tseng's limbs. If he really tried now, he ought to be able to master his momentary weakness. Putting all his weight onto his elbows, he struggled to lift his head from the cushions.

"Stop that. You should rest," said Rufus.

"What's burning?" asked Tseng.

"Shit!" cried Knox. "The cheese on toast!" He dashed into the kitchen.

Rufus got up off the floor and sat himself on the wooden coffee table, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His hair was mussed up, ruffled like an angry bird.

"Don't you ever do that again," he said with feeling. "God, Tseng. For a moment there I thought you were going to die."

"You don't – get rid of your – watchdog – nngh, that easily," Tseng grunted as he strove to lever himself into a sitting position. Rufus reached forward to put a hand under his elbow, saying, "Let me help you," but Tseng shook him off. Rufus sighed.

"Why can't you ever take it easy for five minutes?" he demanded. "There's no need to put on this show for my sake, you know. You may have everyone else fooled, but you don't fool me."

The glare Tseng gave him would have sent any of the Turks stepping swiftly backwards. Rufus didn't even blink.

"They're ruined," called Knox from the kitchen. "I'll have to start again."

"Can't you tell him to go?" Rufus asked Tseng.

"That – was my intention." Tseng had managed to get his feet on the ground, though he was sitting at an awkward angle, leaning into the arm of the sofa. "I need to talk to you."

Rufus rolled his eyes. Suddenly he looked very young.

"Knox," Tseng raised his voice a fraction. "Don't bother. It's only half an hour till your shift ends. I'll stay with the Vice-President until Rude comes. You can head on back to the office. Grab something to eat on your way in. And Knox – keep this to yourself. I don't want Rosalind fussing over me."

"Understood." Knox's grin was lop-sided; the knot of scars on his left cheek had pulled the muscles of his face out of true. Neither Tseng nor Rufus spoke while he gathered up his things, and when he was gone the silence continued for a few moments, before Rufus broke it by saying, "There's still the matter of my lunch to be addressed."

Tseng began to rise. Rufus put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. "Of course I didn't mean you should do it. I think I'm capable of toasting a slice of bread. I want you to stay there. I'm going to make a cup of tea for you, and I'm going to put plenty of sugar in it, and I want you to drink it."

"I hate tea. It sets my teeth on edge."

"Then I'm sure you'll derive immense pleasure from displaying your fortitude as you choke it down."

With that parting shot, Rufus got his feet and went into the kitchen. As soon as the Vice-President's back was turned, Tseng allowed his head to droop until it came to rest against the cushions, and admitted to himself it was a relief not to have to try to sit up straight any more. The poison must have been more virulent than he'd realised. He stayed in this position until Rufus returned with the tea, when he pulled himself upright again. This time it wasn't quite such hard work.

"Here you go," said Rufus, setting the mug down on the table. "Exercise your willpower on that. I'll get us both something to eat."

As he sipped his tea (it tasted to Tseng like creosote, but its warmth and sweetness were not unwelcome), he watched Rufus moving about in the kitchen and wondered, not for the first time, just what am I to him? That Rufus had an attachment to him, a fondness for him, as Mink and several of the other Turks had sometimes observed, seemed undeniable; nor should it be all that surprising, really. After the Old Man, he'd probably been the single most constant presence in the boy's life. Yet in another way it was very surprising, when one considered that Rufus showed affection for very few things. His cat was one, and before the cat, Dark Nation, and… well, he had seemed fairly fond of Aerith when they were children, though he'd quickly stopped asking for her once she was gone.

So am I his pet Turk, then?

Commander Veld used to say Rufus craved his approval, and Tseng supposed he could see some truth in that. It had always been to him, after all, that Rufus had come with his excuses and his self-justifications in the months and years leading up to Corel. But a lot of that had probably been sleight of hand, designed to distract the attention of Veld and his lieutenant away from what Rufus was really up to.

Did Rufus still seek his approval? Hard to say. There were times when he sensed some kind of need, or expectation, in the boy's attitude, but more often than not these days he seemed to exasperate Rufus (the eye rolling, the sighs of resignation, the uninvited personal observations, the sullen silences) as much as Rufus infuriated him. Nor could Tseng shake off the feeling that it was somehow because of him that Rufus was being so difficult lately – that Rufus' behaviour was aimed at him, that he was being made to pay for some real or imagined offense, something he had said or failed to say during that conversation about AVALANCHE and Scarlet back in October. Tseng had gone over and over what he could remember of their words to each other, but he still could not see how he'd offended, and Rufus wouldn't - or couldn't, or was too proud to - explain.

I've got to do better than this, Tseng admonished himself. He's all we've got. He's all Shinra's got. We can't afford for me to make a mess of him, too.

Rufus came out of the kitchen carrying two plates of toasted cheese sandwiches, and set one down in front of Tseng. The bread was the soft, white kind that came from the supermarket ready sliced and wrapped in plastic, and the processed cheese was an unnatural shade of orange.

"Who bought these supplies?" asked Tseng, eyeing his plate doubtfully. "Reno?"

"Of course. His taste buds are so corrupt. However, since toasted cheese appears to be one of the few things your men can cook, I'm beginning to acquire a appreciation for it." As if to illustrate the point, Rufus bit into his sandwich with relish. Tseng forced down a mouthful, but on top of the tea it was too much. He put the plate aside.

"I made that for you," Rufus protested.

"One poisoning per day is my limit, thanks."

Rufus laughed, took Tseng's sandwich and put it on his own plate, asking as he did so, "What attacked you? Do you know?"

"Some sort of hound monster. I haven't seen it before." Pulling out his PHS, he showed Rufus the photograph. Rufus swallowed the lump he'd been chewing, chased it down with a long swig of tea, and then said, "I don't recognize it, either. It's not in any of the reference books, as far as I know."

"It may be another new species."

"Or a mutation."

"Yes. I'll have to tell the Professor." There was something like a sigh in Tseng's voice. "He'll want us to trap one for him."

"Why are there so many of them, do you think?"

"Mutations?"

"Monsters generally."

Tseng was surprised by the question. Surely Rufus knew that the mako was responsible for the monsters; everyone with S-level clearance knew that. Exposure to high levels of mako altered genetic sequences; this was the discovery that had enabled Shinra to launch the SOLDIER program. Even ordinary citizens, raised on the sanitized version of the truth which Shinra released for general consumption, knew how dangerous it was to fall into a pit of the stuff, or to breathe its raw fumes for too long. They understood that it was for their own protection that public access to the reactors had been banned.

"Mako is the accepted explanation," said Rufus, as if Tseng had spoken his thoughts aloud. "But think about it. Mako is a naturally occurring substance. It's been around for as long as this planet has existed. And some of these animals that we call monsters are our natural flora and fauna. Creatures like wolves and dragons and jumpings have evolved over millennia and are adapted to their environment. Records of their existence go back centuries. But for many of the monsters in the bestiary – I'd say at least forty per cent, as a rough guess – there's no record of any sightings going back before about fifty years ago, which coincidentally – or not – is about the time we started processing mako. The records also show that at first, sightings of these new life forms followed a pattern consistent with reactors becoming operational. The first were seen in Nibelheim, then here in Midgar, and then in Junon – and most recently, Corel."

"You'd expect to find that pattern. We've known for decades that reactors and monsters go together. They seem to be an unavoidable by-product."

"Yes," said Rufus impatiently, as if Tseng wasn't getting it. "But why?"

"Why are you asking me? You're the one who's been working his way through Domino's library."

"Do you really want to know what I think?" Rufus' eyes had acquired that blurry, glittering look they took on when the diamond cogs of his mind were spinning fast. "I think that mako is natural, but these mutations are unnatural, and therefore it follows that it can't be the mako per se that's causing them."

"Then what is?"

"Something unnatural."

"Like what?"

"That's what I don't know."

The little cat emerged from under the table to rub itself against Rufus' shin. He picked it up and draped it over his shoulder, where it lay in supine contentment, purring loudly, arching its back against the stroke of his hand.

Rufus said, "Do you ever go out into the badlands?"

"Hardly ever. We have no reason to go there. It's PSM's job to keep the roads clear."

"Hmm. Well, next time you do find yourself there, could you do me a favour?"

"That depends on the favour."

"Oh, it's just a little thing. Don't worry, it's nothing you would disapprove of. Just a little information gathering. All I want you to do is take off your gloves and touch the earth, and then come back and tell me what you feel."

"What for?"

"Because I'm curious. And because I can't do it myself."

"What am I supposed to feel?"

"Probably nothing. I'm probably completely wrong. But I don't want your impressions to be clouded by any preconceptions I might give you, so if you don't mind, I'd rather wait until after you've done it to explain."

Tseng felt the familiar tightening of muscles in his forehead. Damn him, he thought, What's he playing at now? This conversation didn't seem to have any point…. And Tseng didn't have the time to spare today listening to Rufus hypothesize about the things he had read in Domino's dusty books.

There was a bad taste in Tseng's mouth. He ran his tongue around his teeth, furred with tannin and the cloying grease from the sandwich, and got to his feet, saying, "That cheese was disgusting. I need some water."

He went into the kitchen, turned on the water, and filled a glass. Midgar tapwater always tasted faintly of chlorine and mako, like a disinfectant. He swilled his mouth, spat into the sink, and felt cleaner.

"I have to leave soon," he announced when he went back into the sitting room.

Rufus' face fell. "You only just got here. And need I remind you that half an hour ago you were lying on this couch so weak that you couldn't sit up? Where do you have to rush off to now?"

"Junon. But there's something important I need to talk to you about first."

"This isn't going to turn into one of our little chats about Scarlet, is it? I am so very bored of hearing about her, Tseng."

"No. It's about you."

"Ah – "

"Rosalind says that you have been threatening to escape."

"Oh, she told you, did she?" Rufus was slipping into that sullen, flippant tone that never failed to make Tseng's blood pressure rise. "I suppose that's why you're here."

"I hope you were not being serious when you said it. You saw what happened to me today, and I was armed with guns and materia. You can't fight these monsters with your bare hands. Not even Rude would try to do that. If you left the protection of this bunker and tried to make your way back to the surface on your own, you would almost certainly die."

"Or maybe you were a little careless, hmm? Maybe you slipped up. Are you sure you're not exaggerating the danger? The company sends workers into the plate every day. They usually come out alive."

"They're not the future President of this company. If I thought you had any real intention of acting on these threats, I can promise you, Rufus, I would put you in a straitjacket and shackle you to these walls. Please don't think that I won't do it. I will not allow you to put yourself at risk."

"Yes, that would be rather selfish of me, wouldn't it? To deprive you of your bargaining chip."

Tseng was saved from the need to answer by the sound of the bunker door opening. Rude came in. He stopped abruptly when he saw them, glancing from Tseng to Rufus and back to Tseng, and though he did not speak his expression clearly wondered, Am I interrupting something?"

"No. I'm going," said Tseng. "Thank you for being punctual. Rufus, please think very carefully about what I said."

"I shall think about nothing else," Rufus replied with silky sarcasm.

Rude's eye fell upon the first aid box, which had been left on the table. He still said nothing, but when his eyes moved to Tseng's face, they stayed there for a while, taking a long look.

"I'm fine," said Tseng.

Almost imperceptibly, Rude nodded.

Tseng was walking out the door when Rufus called after him, "Don't forget."

Forget what? wondered Tseng.

"The favour," said Rufus.

Oh yes, the badlands. Now, what was that about?

As always, thanks to everyone for reading, and to my cherished reviewers for taking the time to give me feedback.
The chapter many of you have been waiting for is up next, probably within a few days.