Squall's attention shifted from the monumental declaration of war to the ringing of the phone in his jacket pocket. He reached inside and pulled out the small device.
"Squall," he answered. He remained silent, listening to the other person speak, as his friends tried to read his face. "Understood," he finished, snapping the phone shut. "Cid and Mallis will be here in twenty minutes. We wait."
"Great," Seifer said, scowling. "And we thought Cid was in a bad mood before."
"What are we gonna do?" Selphie asked.
"Good question," Xu added. "Any brilliant ideas?"
"I've got one," Zell said. "Give me five minutes in a room with that Llyriance guy, and I promise he'll change his mind."
"I said 'brilliant' ideas, Zell," Xu said, scorn in her voice.
"What's wrong with my idea? We fly over there, kick his ass, and we'll be back by bedtime."
"He just declared war on us. There's a subtle difference between declaring war and challenging someone to a fist fight."
"I'm just saying that..."
"I think Zell's right," Irvine interrupted. "Assassination is the way to go. One shot, right between the eyes."
"Oh, wonderful," Xu muttered, "let's prove we aren't terrorists by assassinating this guy."
Quistis moved to the other side of the room, setting her hand on Xu's shoulder, trying to restrain her friend from escalating the situation. "Xu's right. The last thing we need to do is make a martyr out of him."
The door slid open and everyone stood up and saluted. Rather than the Headmaster, though, Rinoa entered the room and immediately crossed to Squall, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. He put his hand on her hair, trying to comfort her without words.
"What are we going to do?" she asked, words muffled by his body.
"Nothing," he answered.
"What?" she disengaged and looked at Squall in disbelief.
"Rinoa, you don't need to worry about it."
"I don't need to worry about it?" she said, her disbelief taking on a distinct edge. "My father just declared war on my boyfriend and I don't need to worry about it?"
"That's not what I meant," he replied, leaning in close to whisper, loathe to publicize their private life. "I realize this puts you in a tough spot, but it doesn't change anything between us. Okay?" She nodded and he pulled her back to him. After a moment, he spoke again. "Nida, get the Ragnarok ready. I'll need Selphie to pilot, though."
"Huh?" Nida sputtered.
"Sorry, Nida. We need you here in case Garden has to go mobile. Zell, Irvine, Seifer, grab your gear and load it onto the ship; we'll suit up there."
"What are we packing for, Squall?" Irvine inquired. "How much of my gear do you want me to bring?"
"All of it," Squall shot back. He had found a rhythm by this point. "Xu, talk to Caraway and set up a meeting. Transmit the information to me once you have it. Everyone have your orders?"
"Squall..." Quistis ventured, reluctant to break his concentration by pointing out that she, in fact, had no orders.
"I know, Quistis," he replied, crossing the room to her. He took a moment to look into her eyes, and then reached into his shirt. He produced an object from within and pressed it into her hand. "You have command."
She nodded at this charge. As Squall watched, she hung his Griever pendant around her neck, answering him in kind. "I have command."
"Okay, everyone," Squall said, moving for the door. "Let's go."
"I'm coming with you!" Rinoa exclaimed. "I know how to talk to him."
"No, Rinoa," Squall replied. "I need you here."
"Why?"
"Rinoa," Quistis said, understanding Squall's intent, "I need you to help me come up with a profile of your father. I need to know how he thinks, how he feels, anything you can tell us to help predict his actions. If we manage to get a bead on him, we might be able to stop this war before it ever starts. Okay?"
"But what if he tries to capture you guys or something? You'll need me there to stop him."
Squall tilted Rinoa's head up to meet his gaze. "He won't try anything. I promise."
"But..."
"Trust me. You have to trust me. I need you to help Quistis."
"Okay," she said, but Squall had left the room by the second syllable. "Be careful!" she called after him.
"Come on, Rinoa, let's get to work on that profile while we wait for Cid. He's going to love this turn of events."
"The declaration of war, or Squall and those guys running off without permission?"
"Both."
Quistis and Rinoa sat at the table, Rinoa doing her best to provide Quistis with information that would prove useful to SeeD. Cid arrived at the briefing room angry but left furious, promising to have the heads of Squall and his "band of renegades." Forty-five minutes passed before Rinoa thought to ask the question Squall knew she would eventually ask. Quistis knew she would ask it as well, and came up with the pretense of the profile to give Squall time to get airborne.
"Quistis? When Squall was leaving, how could he be so certain that my father wouldn't do anything to him?"
"You know Squall: he's got good instincts."
"Come on, Quistis, I'm not stupid. He had an angle. How could he be so sure?"
"You just became our hostage."
* *
He reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a slim metal case. Inside his head, he could hear his wife sigh in protest, as she'd done so many times in the past. He flipped it open and gazed at the cigarettes inside, admiring their beautiful uniformity, how they stood arrayed in a perfect row, like little soldiers. His mouth watered in anticipation at their taste, a blend of his own imagining, refined through long years of indulging his vice and custom-rolled by a usurious merchant in Dollet. Still, he thought, the money SeeD placed at his disposal more than compensated for their cost. And since Esthar had resumed trading with the world at large, he could return to his original list of ingredients, rather than relying on sub-standard materials from Galbadia.
He removed one cigarette from the case, snapping the lid shut. As he replaced the silver case in his pocket, his fingers idly traced the engraving: Esthar College of Magic and Thaumaturgy.
The engraving stirred his memory, calling to mind his days as a student, when he'd first met the woman he would one day marry. He thought of their courtship, marriage, and subsequent emigration, refugees fleeing the violence that brought about the collapse of Adel's regime. Following that, he remembered the discovery that they would never have a child of their own, and the decision that came fast on its heels: founding the orphanage by the sea.
The children came next, so many of them having lost their parents to the horrors of the Sorceress War. In some of them burned the brilliant flame of destiny, an undeniable power to remake the world. He could see it in them, and Edea, with the aid of her Sorcery, confirmed it. They found six such children, and brought them to the orphanage, and the rooms hummed with their energy. It crystallized him, gave him focus and purpose, showed him what he had to do.
He founded Balamb Garden, knowing that one day, the children would gather again. As they returned to him, he continued their training, using methods somewhat harsher, perhaps, than Edea would have endorsed, but always focusing on the greater purpose. It pained him, now, when he thought of how far his charges had strayed from the path. He'd spent so much time charting a course for them, trying to guide them, but somehow, the children refused to fall into line.
Which brought his mind back to the present, returning his attention to his cigarette. He held it upright, rotating the small cylinder as he thought. He caressed it with his mind, and the tip ignited in a burst of green flame.
Like the cigarettes in his case, he'd tried to give each child a place, asking only that they remained in order once he'd set them there. But like the cigarette between his fingers, they had left their assigned spots. And, like the cigarette between his fingers, they would burn.
* *
"There's the Tomb," Selphie said as she prepared to land the Ragnarok.
"And there's Caraway's limo," Seifer added, "with a security detail, of course."
"So, once more, just to be sure I'm not missing anything," Zell said, looking at the entourage below, "we've flown all the way into enemy territory just so we can bluff a little?"
"Yes," Squall replied, as he buttoned the collar of his uniform jacket.
"And why couldn't we do this from Garden? You know, where there's less chance of us getting shot?"
"Relax, Zell," Irvine said, smiling. "I'll bet ten hot dogs against a pizza that Squall knows what he's doing and we get out of this problem-free."
Zell's eyes lit up at this prospect. "You got yourself a bet, cowboy." Irvine grinned wider and continued twirling the revolver in his hand.
"Okay, guys," Squall said, as they walked to exit the ship, "remember the plan."
"What plan?" Zell asked. "You just want us to stand there and look dangerous."
"Exactly."
"Don't worry, Squall," Irvine said, clapping Squall on the back. "I've got you covered." Irvine finished with his revolver, twirling it neatly into the holster at his side. He opened his trenchcoat, revealing the formidable arsenal he'd brought with him. He had guns at his sides, in shoulder holsters, holdout weapons at his ankles, spring-loaded guns in his sleeves, two bandoliers of ammunition and a belt of throwing knives, all in addition to Exeter.
"Damn, Irvine," Seifer said. "Do you think you brought enough guns? You look like an assassin."
"You think I'm just a sniper?" Irvine replied.
The Ragnarok's hatch slid open with a hiss, and Squall descended the ramp, the other three men flanking him. Caraway stood at the Tomb of the Unknown King, framed in the doorway. His guards, silver and gray armor glittering in the sunlight, maintained a safe distance, but Squall could see the desire to attack etched on their faces.
"General," Squall said as they approached, his tone betraying no emotion.
"Hello, Squall," Caraway answered. "Let's talk inside."
The two men headed inside, both followed by their guards. As Squall's retinue passed the Galbadian soldiers, one of the guards mumbled under his breath, "Mercenary scum."
As one, Seifer, Irvine and Zell turned to face the man. Seifer and Irvine tensed, ready to reach for their weapons if the situation demanded it.
"What did you just call me?" Zell snarled, clenching his fists at his sides.
"Zell," Squall called over his shoulder, his voice echoing through the halls of the ancient tomb. A tense moment passed as the two groups of soldiers eyed each other warily, but the parties relented.
They continued in silence to the heart of the Tomb, where the Unknown King lay interred, his identity a mystery lost to time.
"So, Squall," Caraway said, clearly not in the mood to make small talk, "what's this about? I presume you aren't here to surrender."
"Any chance you're here to surrender?"
"No," the general answered. "There's no room to negotiate here. I don't like this situation, but I've been given my orders, and I have to follow them."
"Why?" Zell blurted out. "Why not just tell these guys that you won't do it?"
"Because Director Llyriance and the Committee of National Defense are hunting for traitors. Anyone who doesn't dance to their tune is publicly executed. The same goes for anyone who represents a link to the Deling regime."
"It's true," came a thin voice from behind them. Llyriance came walking softly into the crypt, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Sad, but true. Our young nation is beset by traitors within, and besieged by barbaric mercenaries without."
"Director Llyriance!" Caraway exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I've always had a fondness for this place," Llyriance replied, making a slow circle of the room, one hand trailing on the crumbling masonry. "In my youth, I liked to repair to the Tomb to collect my thoughts, away from the pandemonium of the city. I thought I'd take one such constitutional today. Imagine my surprise, dear general, when I saw your limousine outside. Imagine my greater surprise when I found you here with these vermin."
Squall heard Selphie's voice in his ear, listening over the communications channel. "Pompous little twit, isn't he?"
"Commander Leonhart requested a conference with me," said Caraway "I thought it would be a chance to accept their peaceful surrender."
"Of course, of course. And have you done so?" Llyriance smiled.
"He has not," Squall's voice came out clear and strong, preventing Caraway from answering, "because we have not come to surrender."
"So what, pray tell, brings the vipers from their nest? Did some unwitting fool drop the contents of his wallet on the ground? Or is this some banal parley, a tired exchange of witticisms before battle is joined?"
"Squall, can I hit him now?" Zell asked, as he stood looking down at Llyriance.
"Actually, Director, we came to inform General Caraway of a fact your intelligence networks may have missed," Squall spoke without acknowledging Zell's request.
"Do tell, Commander. If your laughable organization can keep something dark from us, I'm positively dying to know what it is."
Squall turned to face Llyriance, looking down into the shorter man's eyes. "Until the time of the Second Sorceress War, no one knew that the Gardens were built to fly. We stumbled upon that fact by accident. On making this discovery, we continued our research into the design of the Gardens.
"About two weeks ago, our technicians discovered a fully-functional weapons system built into Balamb Garden. It includes, among other things, a battery of long-range missiles. These missiles can easily strike 'Galbadia City' from Balamb, and have enough destructive force to level the city.
"On that note, Director, how are the repairs on Galbadia's missile base coming? You're still trying to restore the facility from the last time we destroyed it, I imagine."
With that, Squall turned on his heel and walked out of the Tomb, leaving the Galbadian delegation to stare, dumbfounded, at his back.
* *
As soon as Selphie started the Ragnarok on its course back to Balamb Garden, Squall seemed to sag, energy expended.
"Squall, what the hell was that all about?" Zell asked. "We have missiles? Since when? Why didn't you tell us?"
Squall and then glanced at Selphie, imploring her with his eyes.
"We don't have missiles," she supplied. "He made that up."
"Okay," Seifer said, "so now they think we're a threat. Was that the point of this little conference?"
"To find out if Caraway was behind this war or not." She shrugged. "Now we know he isn't."
"And the missiles?"
"To buy some time, for us and for them. Caraway has an excuse for not attacking us. He can keep the army tied up for weeks with an investigation on the missiles, and we can figure out what our next step is."
"Told you!" Irvine exclaimed. "Squall knew what he was doing all along! You owe me a pizza, shortie!"
As Zell and Irvine began arguing over the terms of their bet, Seifer noticed Squall slump into the seat next to Selphie. Seifer moved over to his friend and knelt down beside him.
"What's the matter, Squall?" he asked. "That was a brilliant move. You're as good a general as Caraway is."
Squall looked up, an almost imperceptible hint of sadness in his face. "That's what I'm afraid of," he replied.
"Huh?"
"Caraway was easy. Rinoa's the problem."