"A squad of judges has been sent to Draklor," Jules said with mock solemnity, perfectly unconcerned with their glares. "You'll find the service entrance a difficult proposition, I'm afraid."
"Your doing, no doubt," Balthier snapped. "You knew the Ministry of Law would move so you had Vaan out collecting chops until the judges could reinforce Draklor." He grimaced. "Of course. Tell me, how much did the Ministry pay for word of the prodigal son?"
Jules raised his eyebrows, but the sleepy basilisk gleam did not leave his eyes. "The Ministry? Oh, judges make poor customers, my friend. Too many rules, too many laws. Perhaps you didn't know, Master Balthier, that Draklor is a toy box these days, filled with your lord father's conceits. All developed without the Senate's knowledge, of course. Why, not even the emperor knew the full extent of Dr. Cid's operations. Now, here's the catch: Since Vayne had himself declared dictator, nary a peep has come out of that laboratory. I know people who would sell their own mum for the merest scrap of information about the goings-on inside Draklor."
Balthier crossed his arms and threw back his head. "People like Rozarrian sympathizers worried about the Empire's weapons programs, and anyone else who might be opposed to House Solidor hegemony."
Daina felt a flare of pride for Balthier. He was angry but still in command of himself. By not glancing at Ashe he had started to pull control of the situation toward himself.
"So," he continued genially, "we create a disturbance, and you get your windfall of dirt on Draklor."
Jules bobbed his greasy head. "And in exchange for your service, I've spoken to a cabbie. When he asks where you want to go, tell him: 'You know where to go.' Simple, no?"
"Ah, a deal, brokered in true Archades fashion," Balthier sneered. "Why it's just like old times, Jules. Brings a tear to my eye."
With that, he stalked away, his irritation evident in every step. Ashe went with him, giving him only one silent, meaningful look. Fran followed. After a moment, so did Vaan and Penelo, when Basch herded them along.
"Good to be back, eh?" Jules said calmly. "My regards to your lord father, Master Ffamran . . . er, rather, Master 'Balthier.' "
Daina narrowed her eyes at the streetear, but she stayed only long enough to ensure he was not going to tailgate them again. When he ignored her as blatantly as he had Fran, in a swirl of her green coat she pursued her friends.
Nobody seemed willing to break the uncomfortable silence as Balthier hailed a cab. They piled inside, Daina not without some reluctance and a deep breath before she ducked through the door. Vaan, however, lost the battle with his curiosity.
"So, this Jules," he started with uncustomary hesitancy, casting a sidelong glance at the sky pirate. "Is he some old friend of yours, Balthier? You two seemed . . . close."
"Close enough for fisticuffs," Balthier fumed. "Driver! Faster, if you please. I would be loathe to expend any of the violence in my present mood on my companions."
"S-Sir?" came the confused voice from the front of the cab. Daina saw a pair of nervous eyes study them in the rearview mirror, growing more anxious as they took in the impressive armory collected in his backseat. "Yes, sir!"
Daina felt the increase in speed and altitude, and she grabbed a hand strap with a faint groan. Ashe took her other hand, but it was Basch's quizzical look that made her straighten up and say, in an admirably normal voice, "I'm fine."
She was better, of course, when the cab deposited them in Central in front of the towering structure that housed Draklor. The driver saw them all out of his cab with relief, scrutinizing the upholstery as if convinced they had sullied it. He zoomed off with undisguised zeal in pursuit of more genteel patrons.
"Where to?" Vaan asked.
"Come, this way!" Balthier took the lead with his rangy, loping stride. Daina drew the iga blade, holding it so that it lay along her forearm. She positioned her hand so that the green coat covered the blade. Fran was less subtle, stringing her traitor's bow and nocking an arrow as she bounded gracefully after Balthier.
Their precaution wasn't necessary. Without a signal, the seven of them slowed. Then they stopped altogether, looking uneasily around. The laboratory consisted of long tiled corridors and tinted windows that opened into white rooms scattered with unrecognizable machinery. Round portals glowed with blue or red light, some of them effectively blocking off all access to the corridors beyond like bulkhead doors on a ship. Everything was sterile, completely devoid of life.
"It's too quiet," Basch murmured in his rough voice.
"Passing strange." Balthier put a hand on his hip, his betelgeuse dangling from the other. "There are supposed to be guards here."
"Maybe we're just lucky?" Vaan guessed, but Balthier humphed.
"Maybe you're just optimistic," he said.
Basch drew his sword and nodded at Ashe to do the same. "Something may be afoot. We proceed with caution."
"No time for caution," Balthier overrode him. "Step to it! Cid's chambers are on the top level."
It was Penelo who stumbled across the first cooling body and yelped a warning. Several fallen soldiers lined the corridor, blood splattered across the pristine marble tiles. Daina peered around the corner, saw no one else, and darted into the next room, which held an elevator. With an air of long familiarity, Balthier punched the button for the 67th floor. When the doors whirred open once more, he jogged straight for a door on which a plaque had been affixed, bearing the initials 'C.D.B.' His father's office, Daina realized: Cidolfus Demen Bunansa. Balthier kicked the door, which was already ajar.
"He's had visitors," Fran announced, her upturned nose twitching. "Ones lacking manners, by the look of it."
The office, a study, was in shambles.
"Someone after the nethicite?" Vaan wondered.
Overturned bookcases lay haphazardly over their shelves' contents. The desk's ransacked drawers hung at awkward angles. Loose, torn papers carpeted every inch of the floor. Slowly, Daina walked into the study, placing her boots with care. She knelt by a pile of books and began sorting through them. Indecipherable scientific terms met her eye. Some of the books had also been written in, fine, spidery letters that webbed the pages' margins.
Balthier stared down at the desk, the files strewn across its top. "The Jagd Difohr, was it?" he said under his breath, and Daina looked up. His practiced devil-may-care expression was cracking, allowing a little of his pain to leak through. "Six years, and ever since you got back, this. What madness found you there?"
