It Could Be Worse 2nd Season

by Sulia Serafine

The hits keep on coming and all your favorites are back again! set in a futuristic universe Complete

3. Home For A While

It Could Be Worse (2^nd Season)

Episode 3: Home for a While

By Sulia Serafine

[Finished. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at silverwLng@aol.com, okay?]

"Funny how he finishes the work on his bike today when it's our last day," Lalasa commented as she and the others sat at a table on the balcony of the restaurant and watched the garage below. "He hasn't participated in this vacation one bit, has he?"

"No, I don't believe so," Neal replied. He finished peeling the orange on his plate and began eating.

Keladry slumped down in her chair. "Can we please change the topic of conversation?"

"Sure. So what are we doing for our last night here at Seastone?" Faleron asked.

A long debated discussion followed this question. Everyone seemed to have an idea which he or she thought was the best. Sometimes, midway through a suggestion, the idea would be dropped and replaced by another idea, by that same person. Others chose sides and listed the reasons why one thing was better than the other. Finally, they narrowed it down to two activities.

Faleron, being the mediator and not caring what they did that night, gestured to Lalasa, Numair, and Keladry. "Three for Yamani Acrobatics Show in the Auditorium. Reasons: it's famous, it's entertaining, and there is not much more to it than sitting and watching in comfortable plush auditorium seats." He then used his other hand to indicate the opposing side: Cleon, Neal, and Roald. "And three for the Close of Summer party at the Sand Piper, where all drinks are half off the usual price. Reasons: it's interactive-- meaning you actually get up and dance, there are cheap drinks, and plenty of wild strangers to bump and grind with."

"Roald!" Lalasa squeaked.

He blushed. "I didn't say that! That was Neal! You know I wouldn't--"

"Ahem!" Neal interrupted. "Can we already pick which thing we're going to do?" He put a friendly arm over Keladry's shoulders. "Now, Tough Stuff, we still haven't found you a man. You can find one there! I really think you should choose our side. Love does miracles for the heart." He paused. "I honestly don't know where I got that, but I think you should consider it."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I think you're mistaking that for lust, Neal."

He paused. "Oh, well, I guess that's another one. But come on!" He dropped his arm from her and motioned for Faleron to hurry up with the decision. "Hurry up and choose our idea!"

"Stop trying to influence him, Nealan Queenscove!" Lalasa scolded.

"Children, children. Can't we all just get along?"

"With no disrespect, Mr. Salmalin, these children have a very difficult time getting along," said an exasperated Roald. The mature two leaned back in their chairs, waiting for the verdict.

Faleron cleared his throat. He stood up and walked over to the rail, where he could see into the garage. A blotch of white-yellow caught his eye. There was Joren, straddling his Black Knight Custom without a care in the world. The mediator turned back to his comrades and smiled deviously. "I have the perfect solution."

Neal cocked his head at him. "Oh? And what's that? The divine will of God maybe, or--"

"Stop interrupting! Go ahead, Fal," Cleon waved.

"Thanks, Cleon. Okay. I'm going to shout down to Stone. If he yells at us to leave him alone, we'll go to the acrobatics show. If he insults us, we'll go to the Sand Piper."

They all started groaning and complaining. He held up his hands to tell them to quiet down. Keladry stood up and walked over to the rail. She studied her partner at his bike, uncertain. "Don't we have a better chance flipping a coin? I mean, at least that's a 50/50 chance."

He blinked at her innocently. "But, between yelling and insulting from him, that's a 50/50 chance, too."

There were quiet murmurs of agreement to the statement. Keladry covered her face with her hands. She'd seen some ridiculous things the last month, but this must have topped them all. She sat down, rattling her chair to show how she disapproved. The rest of them cheered when they saw her reluctant nod.

"All right, shall I do it or someone else?" Faleron asked.

He was met by silence.

"Chickens," he muttered and leaned out over the rail. First he made a big exaggerated deal clearing his throat, and then he began. "Excuse me! Stone, good fellow! Would you mind if I asked you something?"

Joren walked out from the garage. He shielded his eyes from the sun while looking up. His other free hand reached for his sunglasses hooked into the top of his shirt collar.

"We're all wondering if you would like to hang out at the Sand Piper or go see the Yamani Acrobats. Which would you prefer?" he shouted with his hands cupped around his mouth. He leaned out a little too far. Next thing he knew, Neal and Cleon had fistfuls of the back of his shirt to pull him back.

"Well?" he yelled again.

"Leave me out of it! Go away!" Joren shouted as he put on his sunglasses.

Lalasa grinned in triumph. "Acrobats it is."

"And while we're at it," Joren continued, "you're all a bunch of immature, undisciplined morons." He went back to his bike. Then he picked up his helmet, and went deeper in the garage until they lost sight of him.

Faleron turned around, straightening his shirt from the wrinkles received from his two friends grabbing it. He shrugged and said. "Okay, a 'go away' and an insult."

"Damn," the Carthakian woman whispered.

Numair dug around in his pockets until he came up with a coin for him to toss. Faleron examined it. He announced heads for acrobats, and tails for the Sand Piper. Everyone watched him apprehensively for the decision to be made. With a casual air, he flipped the coin up over his head and caught it. He slammed it down on his other forearm and took a peek.

"So which is it?" Cleon asked breathlessly.

~~

"What do you think of her?"

"No, no, I'm looking at that one, Red."

"I feel like doing twists and cartwheels. Hot damn, she looks fine."

Lalasa smacked the back of all three young men's heads. They all cried out and rubbed their struck scalps, except for Neal who turned and leaned forward, hugging her so tightly that she squealed and apologized. She sullenly sat on a stool.

"Stupid coin. Who wants to hang out at this rowdy place?" She looked around the Sand Piper in disgust. With all her carefree happy attitude during their stay, she had avoided this place. It was like a cheap Xerox of a club in the city and trying to put a different theme to it. They did a horrible job with decorations. She knew. After all, Lalasa had spent her whole life hanging around clubs. This one was by far the most colorblind.

"Aww, afraid that some other girls might try to steal the handsome vice president's son?" Neal whispered as he spotted a couple of girls approaching Roald from where he sat with Numair. "After all, everyone does know who Roald is. Is that the reason you didn't want to come?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. "For your information, no. I trust him."

He gave her a blank look.

"For goodness sake, I better get over there," she shakily whispered and darted away like a hummingbird.

The collection of young men chuckled. They talked for a while, actually getting into the spirit of things. Eventually, they got onto the dance floor, drawn by alluring faces and curves.

"I can't believe this is what I've been missing every time you two went down here," Faleron said loudly over the band.

"You better believe it!" Cleon grinned. He took the hand of another girl, who pulled him closer to the stage.

Elsewhere, Keladry was pretending to listen to a man-- his name began with an R, but she couldn't remember what it was-- describing his father's ranch. When they first got there, Neal and Lalasa had made it a priority to nudge her in the right direction with a complete stranger. Unfortunately for her, this had been the complete stranger. And he remained a stranger since she was neither hearing his descriptions nor remembering his name.

She cast her gaze downward and sipped some of her drink, a strawberry daiquiri. Faleron himself had come over when he saw her drinking it, and did tell her that her nose was turning red, like it did the last time they let her have some alcohol. She kindly told him that it was a blessing, hopefully to drive away interested men who had their eyes on her.

Somehow, this one hadn't been discouraged. She inwardly screamed. If only she weren't so polite and courteous, she wouldn't be standing there feigning her actions.

The nameless man laughed. For good effect, she began to frown. Notice the frown. Stop that stupid laughter. Did this man not get the clue? He was laughing. She was frowning. He or any of this get-Kel-a-date business did not amuse her. Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.

She finished her daiquiri and set it down on a vacant table beside them. "Um, excuse me, I believe my friend is calling me." She felt slightly guilty when he gave her a disappointed sigh. "It was very nice meeting you though. Perhaps I'll see you around?" No, no, no, no--

"Sounds wonderful."

Keladry gratefully walked away. She wove through the throng of people, heading to where Numair sat. Up until a few minutes ago, Roald had been keeping him company, but Lalasa had been hit by jealous paranoia (thanks to Neal) and dragged him out of sight. She took his former seat beside the Councilman. He politely nodded.

"Nice complexion."

She touched her cheek, remembering her red face. She allowed a small smile. "Thanks."

"How goes your night, Officer?"

"Fine enough. It seems to be heaven for our three out there," she looked over her shoulder where she could see Cleon's recognizable mess of red hair. "I don't know. I'm just not that excited. I mean, we're leaving here. I'll miss it. I had fun. In a month, this place began to feel like home." She paused. "The resort, not the bar."

He laughed. "Yeah, I know. I really wish we'd been able to drag Daine down here. She needs something like this." He stroked his chin, unshaved. "I ought to team up with Lalasa and Roald to plan something for next year."

She nodded. "Sounds great, sir."

"It's our last day here. Please, no 'sirs'."

Keladry repeated her nod and spun around on her stool. She watched the band for a while, tapping her foot on the stool leg in rhythm with the music. After two songs, she felt the urge to look to her right. She did. And then she could hardly contain her astonishment.

Joren sat at the end of the bar, overrun by shadows. He sipped a glass of something. Knowing him, it was probably some scotch. He preferred it for some reason, and when given a choice somewhere, he was known to order it. Keladry excused herself from the Council member and approached him steadily. The white-blonde man was staring at his glass, his shoulders hunched. In the dark, all she could truly make out was his hair, contrasting against his black clothing and his surroundings. She sat down beside him.

He glanced at her before taking another long sip of his drink. He emptied the tiny shot glass and pushed it away from him to be filled by the young bartender with muted green eyes.

"How's the bike?" she asked. It was the last night. Maybe, just maybe, he'd give permission for a conversation.

He didn't meet her gaze. "It's okay."

They sat like that for what seemed like hours. The band took a break, and all the dancers wandered off to their tables. There they drank and wet their parched throats. Keladry realized at that point that the club was very warm. She fanned herself with her hand. Why had she chosen the thick sweater shirt that Lalasa had shown her?

Because it was the same color as your uniform, she reminded herself. Not that it matters.

"Mindelan," Joren spoke up finally.

"What?"

He straightened up and faced her. "When we get back to HQ, could I work on your bike?"

She gaped at him. "Mine? Why?"

"There's nothing I can do to improve mine legally. I'm bored. I could upgrade yours. I bargained with my supplier for some extra parts. Some I'm keeping for myself. There are others I'd sell to you." His tone was fairly calm and not hostile as usual.

She wondered about his attitude. This was something new. He was actually being generous. Or at least, she thought that was what he must consider his version of generosity. Maybe this was another twisted trick he'd use to get her to show some emotion, then stomp it flat under his heel. It could be similar to that time… He reappeared after his supposed death from falling off the building with a steel-feathered bird as his cushion.

"Um, I'm not sure."

He accepted the answer. "Fine. I can sell them elsewhere."

"Hey! I never said no."

He drank some more. "Then choose one or the other. The worst quality I know of is indecision."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course."

Joren paused to squint at her. "You're all red again. Haven't I told you to stay away from the alcohol? You look like an idiot."

"You always say I look like an idiot. And why would you care anyway?"

He slouched down against the bar counter. "Because you're my assigned partner and I have to be seen with you."

She could have groaned out of annoyance. It always came back to that. They were assigned partners. And their torment of each other would only last until otherwise chosen by the Dominion Jewel Protection Force. During the first few weeks, Keladry had prayed nightly for a different partner or no partner at all. She was so desperate back then that she had not been picky. Whoever answered prayers could save her any way he, she, or it liked.

"Ya know, I think I'll have one of those," she said, frankly having a less than happy time compared to the last month. It would have been nice to see the Yamani acrobats. She yawned. "Bartender! I'll have the same as this guy." She nodded her head at Joren.

He regarded her with wary eye. "Are you trying to piss me off by getting more red? I swear, I can't even tell your freckles apart now."

She frowned. "I have freckles? Tiny ones I guess," she admitted, "if I have them. Really? I never looked."

"Figures," he muttered. "Shouldn't be allowed alcohol. Probably have one more drink before she slides off the stool."

Keladry disliked drinking. It often led to stupid, pointless things. It turned her face a crimson color. It killed brain cells. She avoided it when she could and often tried to encourage people to do the same. But just this once, she wanted to show down Joren and that disdainful scowl on his perfect pale face. A face which was by no means red.

"I can out drink you if I wanted," she challenged.

His lips curled up into a malicious smile. She wondered for a second if he was a sadist, then realized that would take her nerve away and stopped. She sat up straighter. The bartender nudged forward the glass, having watched them suspiciously before walking away.

She picked it up and held it out. "Cheers."

That evening, Faleron and Numair helped the two DJPF male officers to their rooms before they would go do something foolish. The two had been surrounded by strange but exotic looking women, and were wandering out of the Sand Piper with goofy smiles on their faces. If Cleon and Neal had been allowed to have all the fun they wanted, they wouldn't be found in the morning; the whole group would have missed the ferry.

Lalasa and Roald had not been seen since Lalasa had stolen him away from the Sand Piper to avoid other vulture-like women. Roald incessantly insisted that he was not even looking at another woman, but when a stranger walked up and planted a small peck on his cheek, Lalasa had gone ghost-white. That was the end of their stay at the club.

That left Keladry and Joren to go up to their room alone. Or at least, Joren dragged Keladry to the room. The female officer was not as red as before, but surprisingly sedated. She kept tilting her head back and gazing at the ceiling while Joren had a firm grip on her left arm. He made her constantly move around or else that she would crumple down to the ground, yawning and closing her eyes.

A maintenance man, by his uniform, was already coming up from the basement and was in the elevator when the stainless steel doors opened.

"What floor?"

"Third," Joren replied and tugged Keladry in after him. Because of the limited space to move around in, Joren was forced to keep her still. The maintenance man stepped out into the second floor. By the time they reached the third, Keladry was completely but peacefully passed out.

"Damn it," he cursed. Muffling his profanities, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her onto the third floor. To his gratitude, no one was in sight. As he slowly advanced toward their room, he thought to himself whether or not she was going to have a hangover and if this would affect his sleep.

Somehow, she always managed to wake him up. And the fact that she was asleep first was not a guarantee that she would still sleep after he had woken in the morning. He adjusted his hold on her when she slipped. Keladry instinctively rest her head at the junction where his shoulder met his neck. Her breath was warm on his cold skin.

They reached the door to their room. Here, Joren was presented with a problem. His key was in his pocket, but he couldn't reach it because he was carrying her.

"Mindelan, wake up. Wake up!" he fiercely whispered. When she did not respond, he carefully set her legs down and put his other arm around her waist. Her forehead still pressed to his neck. He reached into his back pocket and extracted the key. Then he swiped it through the scanner. The green light blinked and the door opened.

"It's about time," he muttered and put both arms around her waist to bring her in. Since his was the closest bed, he set her there and removed her shoes. As he tugged sharply at one foot, his elbow hit the phone on the nightstand off its hook. He could care less right then. Joren haphazardly folded the covers reverse so they covered her without having to pull the covers out from under her. Then Joren went to the bathroom. She could sleep in his bed for all he cared. It didn't matter to him. He was finally going to get uninterrupted slumber.

The idea was so attractive to him that he completely forgot about the possibility of her hangover. He brushed his teeth, tossed his shirt in the bag full of dirty clothing, and kicked off his shoes. If either of them tripped over the shoes in the morning, he wouldn't care. Sleep was beckoning him like a lover.

He fell onto her usual bed and was dreamless in less than a minute.

~~

Around 3:37, Joren opened his eyes. He blinked them rapidly, trying to gain some vision in the darkness. He could see the white sheets of the bed next to his get twisted as their user was tossing and turning, moaning. He forced himself to sit up and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Mindelan, hey, Mindelan. Stop that. You woke me up after all."

She groaned aloud this time, curling up into a ball and burying her face into the bedding. Through bunched up cloth, he could hear her barely inaudible voice croak, "I feel like I'm gonna hurl."

Not happily looking forward to a cleaning bill for whatever might happen if he chose to ignore her, Joren muttered more profanities. He got out of his bed somehow, still clad in black jeans and socks, tottering on his feet from exhaustion. Keladry groaned again, leaning more toward the end of her bed so she could hang her head off the edge.

He sat down beside her and tried to untangle the sheets from her body. She shivered as the cold air from the air conditioning vent above blew onto her exposed arm. Goosebumps formed on her flesh, but Joren hauled her up anyway and guided her to the bathroom. He flicked on the light.

Her head was pounding. It was like someone had kindly substituted a carpenter's nail with her head and cheerily hammered away on that. She could not for the life of her use any of her usual coordination or balance, so she leaned heavily upon her partner as he sat her down in front of the toilet.

"Here," he said coldly and lifted the lid and seat so she could lean on the bowl without the loose and shifty parts. Since the bathroom was still incredibly narrow, Joren had to stand in the bathtub so she had room to sit.

He dimly recalled the first and only time he hadn't been able to keep his liquor down. This might take a while, he thought. The drowsy young man grabbed a couple folded hotel towels to use as a pillow while lying in the bathtub. He might as well get comfortable while his partner vomited.

"That's it, keep going," he said absently to her with no changing inflection or evidence of emotion in his voice. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His hand fumbled around for another towel beside the bathtub. It was colder than he thought, and his shirt was already in the laundry bag.

Minutes passed. He didn't know how many, but he heard the toilet flush. Something warm and almost his height lied down with him in the bathtub. Vaguely, he knew it was a person, but his mind was as dead asleep as his body was. The person's head rested on his bare chest, the nose tickling his collarbone. He wanted to object, but he didn't want to open his eyes and lift a finger either. What did it matter? Whatever it was, it was warm-- and he was tired and very, very cold.

~~

"Where are they? And I thought everybody was worried that Neal and I were going to be late," Cleon complained. He drank his orange juice greedily, savoring the flavor and the pulpy content. His roommate was asleep aside him, cheek pressed against the tabletop and limbs as loosely hanging as a puppet's without its strings.

Lalasa, sitting on her beloved's lap, only shrugged and blissfully smiled up at Roald, who blushed and shyly smiled back. Numair was trying to get his coffee just right. Half an hour ago, he'd lectured a waitress on the different varieties of coffee and the way to get it just right with added milk, cream, and sugar. Of course, no one had any idea what the Councilman was talking about, and he was ignored.

Faleron realized he was the only normal person in the group right then, with his best friend now closing in on his third glass of O.J. He stood up. "I'll go get them."

When he got to the room, no one answered his knock or his intercom call. Maybe they were both still asleep, though he doubted that was a possibility. Last time he had roomed with the mostly impassive, mostly rude special operative, Joren had woken up at every little thing. Sometimes, the blonde went out on midnight walks and ended up sleeping somewhere else more remote.

Just break into their room. It's a measly hotel lock. No biggie.

He did just that and hoped no camera was watching him.

Inside, he found both beds unmade. He tripped on three shoes, two that had to have belonged to Joren, and one belonging to Kel. The light from the bathroom was on. Were they both in there? He couldn't hear anything, but the hum of the air conditioning.

Tiptoeing, Faleron entered the bathroom. He saw the toilet with both lid and seat up. He saw towels carelessly fallen onto the floor from their perch next to the bathtub. He saw Keladry and Joren asleep in the bathtub. He saw--

Wait.

He ogled at the sight of them.

And I thought I'd seen EVERYTHING…

He smirked. Then he didn't.

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

Faleron could just imagine what each of the two sleeper's reactions would be upon waking up. Something in him said that they hadn't meant for this to happen, and would have no memory of it happening. Maybe it was the slight scent of alcohol. Maybe it was his intuition. Whatever it was… advised him to separate them-- say, get Keladry into her bed-- before he woke them up.

If there is an indescribable force up there who likes to see no bloodshed, please, PLEASE keep Joren asleep! And PLEASE let this work!

He gently lifted Keladry's arms so they were not wrapped around her partner's waist. Then he moved the towel over Joren's chest as he lifted Keladry up. This way, Joren would not notice loss of heat. Keladry remained asleep as he carried her out and put her into one of the beds. If he was lucky, it was the right bed.

Now, for the final test. He walked back to the door and cleared his throat.

"Good morning guys!" he said in an exaggerated, cheery voice.

Keladry yawned. "What the hell am I doing here? This isn't my bed!"

Joren stumbled out of the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders to keep warm in the chilly room. "If you hurled there, you're paying for it."

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Stone," she protested. She suddenly touched her forehead. "Ouch. Head… hurts…"

Faleron tiptoed backwards. Indescribable Force? I hope I'm not asking too much, but could you grant me a safe exit?

"Thief-boy! What the hell are you doing here?" Joren bellowed.

~~

Commissioner Wyldon merrily strolled around the core walkways branching out from level to level. He went by the cafeteria to get some fresh grapefruit juice. He visited the Training Center to greet hard working third class and apprenticing officers. He even held a conversation with Dr. Baird Queenscove while dropping by the clinic. Everything was peaceful in the world. Officers from all over the country roamed throughout HQ, filing day to day reports on car accidents, thieves, and other offenses that concerned them.

That reminded him. Advisor Alanna Trebond and her husband were arriving in the afternoon to negotiate some second class officers to borrow for escort duty. He couldn't care. Let them take however many officers they wanted. The last major thing to have happened all month was a terrorist attempt out near Carthak, which had been cleanly dealt with via some experienced, older first class officers which had been assigned there. The vast majority of the small first class was at least in his or her thirties. It was good, to Wyldon, to see they had years of training.

Unlike the handful of first class of officers who always seemed to want to find trouble. I know they particularly didn't cause the Immortals deal, but the way it was dealt with was less than exemplary.

They could have gone without pretending to be Roger's help. That would have been fantastic.

He shrugged it off and continued on his happy way, wondering if he had time for a nap.

A third class officer was running down an escalator. He looked to be around 24 or 25 with dirty blonde hair, in a dark blue and black uniform.

"You there, stop running! This is not a playground!" Wyldon shouted in a resonant voice.

The young man headed straight for the commissioner. "Sir! I was told to come find you! I--"

"Stop! I demand that you calm down and act properly. This is not the way the DJPF act!" he lectured.

The young man nodded and started to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he stood up straight and saluted. Then he waited approval from Wyldon to speak. "Yes, sir. Uh, it seems that… that Officers Mindelan, Stone, Kennan, and Queenscove are back." The young man peered at Wyldon's unmoved face. "S-sir?"

Wyldon stumbled over to the edge of the walkway, leaning heavily upon the top rail.

"Sir!" the young officer exclaimed. "Commissioner, are you all right?"

"Does it look like I'm all right?!" Wyldon thundered. The younger officer helped him stand, with the commissioner's arm over one shoulder. "Get me… get me to Baird. I think I might have a virus…" They're back! I was having such peaceful tranquillity! Why must they be back?

~~

The next day:

"You know, life suddenly just went from Technicolor to black and white," Neal said as they sat down in the middle of the mess hall. None of them touched their food. None of them felt like eating regular standard issue food. It was so regular after a whole month of the best platters in the history of food.

Cleon stood up. "I'm going to the shooting range. At least there's something to do there."

They said bye to him, still in boring, droning voices. It didn't matter what they did. Unless something big and exciting dropped into their laps, they were likely to bang their heads against the walls.

Keladry moved the peas around her plate with a fork. "Who was it that said Tortall was overstocked with officers?"

"I believe that was my cousin. He says it a lot," a voice from behind her replied. Keladry frowned.

"Who's that?" she asked as she turned around, swinging her leg over the bench. A young man, older than her most likely, smiled down on her. She rose to greet him and shake his outstretched hand. Neal waved feebly, still feeling so bored and lazy that he could not get up.

"My cousin, Warric," the stranger said. "I'm--"

"Iden?" Keladry finished with the tiniest of doubts. "You look like Warric a lot."

"Hmm. Yes, people tell me that," Iden nodded.

"Please, have a seat. Neal, scoot over."

Neal lethargically moved over, offering space to Iden Vikison. Warric's cousin sat, folding his hands one atop the other on the table. Keladry scratched her temple. "Hmm… I think Uline told me you were… an editor?"

Iden nodded. "Yes. Actually, I'm here to see my dear Uline. Oh, and my cousin."

Neal yawned. Keladry shot him a look, telling him to be polite and look interested.

"You wouldn't happen to know where they would be, would you?"

"Um, I usually see them in the training center." She rattled off the directions slowly so he could remember it.

He stood up and bowed his head to her. There was something very out of place with his crisp dark gray suit and sapphire blue tie. Keladry wondered dimly how Warric and Iden could be related. She could definitely see Uline falling for someone so refined and sophisticated, but still…

"Good day to you… Officer Mindelan, was it? I'm sorry, I should be watching the news more often," he chuckled amiably. "And good day to you, too, sir." He bowed his head toward Neal, who once again weakly lifted his hand to wave. Iden went on his way.

Keladry sighed. "So that's who she wants to marry."

Neal snorted. "Well, if you ask me, that upper class accent sucks. He's faking it. For sure."

"You're just jealous. You can't do it, and can't use it on your ladies."

He grinned. "You know me too well."

Keladry felt a vibration from her pager. She checked it.

"What is it, Tough Stuff?"

She ignored the use of her nickname and showed him. "Wyldon wants us in his office."

Neal raked a hand through his wavy hair. "Somehow, I have a feeling this is not going to be good."

~~

Cleon squeezed off three rounds in rapid succession. All hit their mark. Someone knocked on the bulletproof glass behind him. He turned to see who it was. The shooting range attendant waved a phone in front of him. Before he'd gone into the room, he'd been required to take off certain things, one of them being his pager. He nodded, took off his headset and visor, then exited the room through the multiple security check doors.

"Who is it?" he asked the attendant, a woman with a foreign accent.

"Faleron King," she answered.

Cleon put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, don't they have com screens down there? I'm staring at a blank screen here."

"No, they don't. What is it?"

Faleron was moving something around by the sounds Cleon heard in the background. "You won't believe this, but Ms. Sarrasri is transferring to Tusaine. And she's taking all three of us with her."

"What!" Cleon exclaimed. "Tusaine's far! Unless you're going by plane…"

"Yup. You guessed it, Red."

Cleon's pager started beeping. For once, his volume was turned up and he heard it. "Wait a second." He checked the message. "Dude, got to go. Wyldon wants me in his office. Make a nice speech at my funeral, huh? I don't know what I did, but I don't think I'm gonna want to look forward to this."

~~

"Where is Kennan? I'll skin his hide if he can't get here on time," Wyldon threatened. He eyed the present three miserably.

Neal was fast asleep in an armchair set against the wall, his chin practically on his chest. He changed position from time to time, but still remained sleeping. Joren was in an office chair brought out from a cubicle outside. His feet were propped up on the corner of the desk. Wyldon would have liked to ordered him not to, but he had a feeling the operative wouldn't obey him anyway. Keladry was the normal one. She sat awake and upright, hands folded in her lap-- fingers laced. He could count on her and her over-achieving ways.

The door slid open. Cleon stumbled in, his jacket wrinkled and his hair messier than usual. He ducked his head and muttered an apology, then stood since there were no chairs left.

"Kennan, do I have to send you back to the Academy to learn how to be prompt?"

"No, sir. Sorry, sir," he said quickly. "Won't happen again."

Wyldon closed his eyes and massaged the sides of his head. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat loudly. Neal's head snapped up, his eyes wide and his mouth dropped open.

"Huh?"

"Queenscove!"

"Sorry, Commissioner."

Wyldon stood up, bracing his arms on the desk as he studied each of them in turn. "It came to my attention this morning as Chief Hennegan was talking to me about transferring officers, that most of your graduating classes have been sent out of this city. This does not include your class, Stone, but I believe you get the point." He stood straight. "With that in mind, I want to send good…" he winced "first class… officers such as yourselves somewhere where you will be needed." His brow creased in thought. "The only problem is to think of where."

Cleon's face lit up like a Yuletide tree. "Sir! Sir! What about Tusaine?"

Everyone stared.

He gulped. "Well, I just thought, um, since Stone was there for a long time, we could all settle into routine there until there's a need for first class back here or… wherever. Heheh…"

Joren glared daggers at him.

Wyldon was thrilled. "Kennan! That's brilliant. You get a raise!"

Everyone stared at him.

"Wow! Really?" And here I was aiming to stay with Fal and the rest of them. He saluted. "Thank you, sir!"

Wyldon pressed a button on his desk. "I want the transfer papers for Kennan, Stone, Mindelan, and Queenscove right away."

"Yes, sir," a nameless secretary replied.

The commissioner joined his hands behind his back. "This took shorter than I expected. With that said," his cheerful face dropped to a scowl. "Get out of here."

Keladry and Neal jumped up from their seats like frightened rabbits and moved fast to the door with Cleon. Joren rolled his eyes and stalked out after them. Wyldon let out a deep breath and walked around his desk to move the chairs. Before he knew what was going on, the doors parted and Cleon stepped back in with one foot.

"By the way sir, how is your golf swing?"

"KENNAN! GET OUT!"

~~

Days later:

"Train? But the others are on a plane!"

"Stop your whining. We're going to the same place."

Cleon sighed. He sunk down into the seat next to the window. The Tortall train station was a series of wide platforms with elegant arching roofs over them. The tracks joined at several places. Then they went off into numerous directions.

The crowd of people was thin. Mostly it was families uniting, businessmen and women talking, and a whole lot of suitcases. Steam rose up from the front of the train, which the breeze blew onto the platform. The effect created was like the black and white movies, where the guy with the tan trench coat would say goodbye to his beautiful girl, Friday.

The ticket booths were filled with tired looking employees, taking tickets, issuing tickets, and exchanging credits and tokens. The booths were painted dark green with gold patterns. Above the booths were screens showing departures and arrivals as if it were an airport.

Inside the train, the isle was narrow and padded. Keladry put herself in charge of shoving everyone's carry-on's overhead in the compartments while they sat and looked out the windows. Four seats were a group. Two faced the other two. This pattern continued throughout the train car. Between the facing seats were a rail and a fold up table, if they wished to eat. Everything was polished wood or brass. And if it was painted, it was either dark green or matching such color.

"Okay, any more bags? I'm not getting up later," she informed the three men.

Neal shook his head. "No, thank you. You got everything." He paused. "Oh, darn. Could you get my CD player?" He patted a bulging medium sized bag in his lap. "I just have the CDs."

She nodded and reached into his marked bag. She felt around until she held some rectangular device the size a little smaller than her outstretched hand. "You got the new small one? I still have the large one," she said while handing it to him.

He frowned. "The one for those 12 cm diameter CDs that was like… fifty years ago? Man! Why do you have that?" He was horrified. "You've had the same good first class salary as me… longer than me even! Where do you come off being poor?"

"I send my salary to my family, mostly. Some corporate scum fired my dad. Then he had that stroke. Now I want him to take it easy. And I can do that if I send most of my salary to help all my siblings schooling, and that includes my nieces and nephews."

Neal nodded slowly. Owen and he had always thought of asking her personal things, but she'd never responded the way they hoped. Now that she was still loose from vacation, he was getting a lot of information about her that he could never have inferred on his own. "But hey, can't your brother support his own family?"

She blinked. "Oh, he does. I'm just the aunt that spoils them rotten. It's what I do. And the same goes to my little sisters and brothers who are still in high school."

"Hmm. I thought with all your success in the DJPF, one of them would follow you."

Keladry could have laughed until her sides hurt. She sat down across from him. "Are you kidding? Do you remember how work-obsessed I was in the Academy?"

"Was? You still are."

"Exactly. I did that at home, too, during the few times I did allow myself to come home. And my brothers and sisters thought that the Academy must have been hell. It's my fault. I made it look like it was torture. Of course none of them would follow me there!" She shrugged. "Back to the subject. I went to a garage sale and got the old CD player for cheap. And a whole lot of music."

"Old music," Cleon inserted, still gazing out the window from where he sat next to Neal.

"Yeah, but some of its okay," she amended. "I'll let you guys listen sometime."

Joren came back from where he was checking out the other train cars and sat down next to the window and Keladry just as the train conductors boarded the last passengers. The whistle blew three times, ringing in their ears. Then the train began to move.

"Tell me again why we're on a train, and not a plane? Or even a greyhound bus?" Cleon grumbled. He folded his arms and puffed out his cheeks as he pouted.

Keladry crossed her ankles casually as she settled into a comfortable position. "We're being transferred. For who knows how long. Hence, packing up all possessions and literally changing addresses." She began counting off her fingers. "Too much stuff for greyhound. Plane is extremely expensive. Ms. Sarrasri can afford it and pay for Fal and Lalasa while Roald can pay for himself with his parents' money. That leaves us with the train. Rent off some extra baggage space for me and Stone's bikes, and the rest is no problem." She pointed to the window. "And besides, it's scenic. Relaxing."

"I suppose. Especially after being home at HQ for a total of what… four days and then being shipped off because Wyldon is tired of us?"

She bristled. "He's not tired of us. We're the best people he has. He just doesn't need us. Tusaine does."

Joren turned to glare at her. "You know nothing of Tusaine." He looked at all of them with contempt. "And don't think any of you are working on the stuff that I did down there. You're all sticking to residential crap."

"I thought that was for our new Section T chief to decide," Neal said. He snapped his fingers. "Damn. I forgot to change my identification to 1T now instead of 1B." He sighed. "I'll do it there."

"At least we don't have to be in uniform until we get there," Keladry spoke. "It isn't all that bad. I mean, Wyldon could have sent us to the Roof of the World with Owen."

Cleon leaned his head on the window curtain. "You know, right now, that doesn't sound so bad. Sounds adventurous."

"It sounds like a pain in the neck. Bugs, wild animals, Immortals… all this stuff with the limited technology allowed to be taken with you… I mean, they got rid of close to fifteen first class officers to use on that expedition-- including our Owen… with some of the best scientists in the world. They don't deserve this. They deserve nice quiet labs and caged lab rats," Neal exaggerated with clenched fists. "Who knows what kind of stuff is up there? We may never see Owen ever again! Oh dear God, the horror! The horror!"

Everyone stared at him, including the other passengers. Neal sat down from his outburst and sheepishly blushed.

"Plus, all that would tire me out in one week, tops," he shook his finger at them.

Joren sneered. "Pansy."

"Shut up, Blondie."

"You want to say that again? I dare you, Queenscove."

Neal opened his mouth to taunt, but decided better on it. As much as the idea of taking on Joren and paying him back for all the times he'd endured the name-calling and bad treatment, he didn't feel like fighting in an enclosed space like a train car. And besides… the only reason Neal had a chance to fight an operative of all people was because Joren was still slightly injured. The biker had tried to hide it, but it was clear that his side still pained him when he strained it. All because he insisted he did not need help. No one spoke of it though.

"Are we there yet?" Cleon moaned in agony. "I hate trains! For the love of… why aren't we there yet?" he whined.

"Some things never change." Keladry smiled.

~~

A few days later:

Tusaine. If Carthak had been Batman's Gotham City, then Tusaine was Superman's Metropolis. The skyscrapers stretched toward the clouds. The number of buildings and of people could have easily matched Tortall's, but it was like someone had drawn a distinct border and said that it was enough. No more and no less was needed.

There were homes and apartments, drug stores and malls, and every little thing you could think of-- it had its place in its own district. All the flower shops were in the flower district. The vegetables were at the open market. The fish market was beside the docks. Even the slums seemed to have its personal marked place.

As they stepped off the train, they took in the sight of their new home with awe and reverence, save for Joren. Cleon brightened up considerably. He dropped his bags beside his friends and ran through the crowd. Neal picked up the discarded things and shrugged to Keladry.

"Where's he going?"

"Beats me," she replied. She glanced over her shoulder at Joren. "Hey, they're shipping our stuff straight away to the local DJPF station here, right?" She pointed to the men in white uniforms who were handling bags and marking them for transport by truck. Unlike other countries, Mithros was a country proud for being in strict control of the transportation of people's belongings and not losing them.

He nodded. "We pick it up at the station. There are no dorms here in Tusaine. We house ourselves in a special DJPF owned apartment building reserved for certain officers and civilians. Part of the salary is cut and that is the rent. It's cheap and bad because the government owns it, and no one wants to bring up complaints when there is worse. We have to take whatever resident officer cases they want us to, though."

"Oh, right. Sure. Resident officer. Third class stuff." Neal wasn't impressed.

Cleon returned from the throng of people, each arm over a different person's shoulder: Roald and Faleron. "The Three Stooges are back again!"

"Kennan, quit that! You're messing with my hat!" Faleron protested. He finally managed to loose himself and adjust his hat with care. Cleon also let go of Roald. Not too far behind, Lalasa and Daine were walking calmly through the crowd toward them.

They met Keladry with hugs, and the rest with handshakes. Eagerly, one asked the other how the other was doing. They helped with the carry-on bags and made sure they saw their own suitcases were being transported. They moved out of the Tusaine Station and to the rented light blue van out in the parking lot. Neal related their whole trip while Lalasa did the same about the plane. She went on and on about how she'd never been on one before and how great it had been except for the part where the altitude made her ears pop.

Roald drove with Daine in the front passenger seat. In the middle from left to right were Joren, Keladry, and Lalasa. And in the back, Neal, Cleon, and Faleron sat in the same left to right order. The back was filled with chatter and the occasional sounds and smacks of roughhousing. In the front, Daine carried on a polite but friendly conversation with the other girls about the city. Every now and then, Lalasa would ask Roald something. He would reply shortly, then go back to focusing solely on driving. He'd never done it much back in Copper City, or any place his parents sent him. But with his new job under a Council member, he began to like being chauffeur.

Only Joren did not speak. He'd seen the city already. He had but one thing to think about. And it made him grimace on the inside.

~~

The local DJPF station was regulatory. The building was brown and had three stories. There was a multi-leveled parking garage beside it. Squad cars, both hover and ground vehicles, passed by. Most of them were ground vehicles that they saw. The more expensive hover ones went around the back.

Now they wore their uniforms, which fit in with everyone else's. It made them feel more at home even as they passed through a metal detector and had to be scanned by hand because of certain metal fittings in their clothes. All the divisions were marked at the front desk. There were the standard divisions for theft, homicide, and so on. Each division was equally busy as the next. With a city with so much variety, there were various cases that needed work.

"Do you think you'd be our tour guide, Stone?" Cleon asked guilelessly with a smile of awe on his face as they walked through the halls of the station behind the black clad man.

"No," he replied curtly.

They entered an elevator. It was not a clear tube shaped elevator shaft like the ones at Headquarters. They rather resembled the ones at the Seastone Resort. At the thought, Keladry made a mental note to thank her former Instructor for the free stays. When they arrived back at HQ for the four days, she'd never thought to go to the training center. And that was bad, because she needed to brush up on some of her skills with the collapsible energy glaive.

On the third and top floor, they stepped out. Joren led them past a couple of desks to an office enclosed in snowy glass where you could only make out the silhouettes of persons inside. He pressed the intercom button. When no one answered, he turned to a woman at a desk right outside the office.

"Where's Raoul?"

If his three companions had the physical fragility of Victorian housewives, they would have fainted. Instead, they gawked. Keladry, in particular, shakily lifted a hand. "Marshal Raoul Malorie?! As in, the guy who served with Advisor Trebond at the Goldenlake scandal? B-but… he's… he's almost as legendary as she is!"

The woman seated at the desk yawned. She drummed her fingers. Apparently, she was just as non-impressed as Joren was. "I'm sorry, but the Marshal and Chief Flyndon Whiteford are out right now. I'm in charge."

They looked to the name on the office door. It read, Chief Flyndon Whiteford. Joren explained.

"This is Buriram Tourakom, in charge of criminal intelligence. She's more of a multi-district officer, allied with the Feds and was my former quote boss unquote," he drawled.

The woman stood up and shook their hands. His former boss was short-- exactly Faleron's height-- as well as stocky. They could tell she carried muscle under the feminine gray suit. High cheekbones and a square chin on a seemingly serious face. The others admired her golden brown skin. She regarded Joren with level black eyes. "Well, now that you're back, Joren, it seems I am your boss again. Are you all working for me now?" she stopped them before they could open their mouths. "And by the way, call me Buri. Those who don't, eventually learn, don't they, Joren?"

He glared at her before sitting on the corner of her desk.

"Uh, Buri, ma'am, umm… Commissioner Wyldon assigned us under Chief Flyndon Whiteford. We didn't know Tusaine housed other Fed related units… besides the DJPF," Cleon stammered.

Neal elbowed him. "The Fed units are subdivisions of the DJPF, idiot. They're just really hard to get into. Mostly George Swoop picks them out. A little less harder than AA class officers."

Buri walked out from behind her desk. "It doesn't matter. Joren, I'll tell Raoul you're here when he gets back."

"Shouldn't you tell Chief Whiteford first?" Keladry asked.

"Oh, yes, I should, but whenever the Marshal is in town, he likes to take over Whiteford's job. Some stupid testosterone thing," she rambled. She clapped her hands together and pointed back down the path they came. "Now, take the elevator to the second floor. Get your files checked with Dom. Joren, make sure they meet Dom and the rest of the Riders' Own that Raoul hauls around with him." She tapped her chin. "I have a feeling Raoul is going to make an effort to steal you all from Flyn."

"Yes, ma'am," the icy blonde said sardonically. "I'll go do whatever the hell I want now. Probably get some sleep."

She nodded. "I missed that cutting attitude. Makes me feel like a good court-marshaling of random officers."

"Doesn't it?" he smirked.

"Ones with blonde hair."

"Don't forget the blue eyes," he called over his shoulder as they departed.

The rest followed, dazed by the encounter. The famed Marshal from Goldenlake actually hung around Tusaine. And he brought along his Rider's Own. The Rider's Own were rarely spoken of, not because they did not do much, but because they were just 'civilians' that just happened to be employed by the Marshal to do some extraordinary things.

In the elevator, Neal nudged Keladry. "Psst. I don't think I've ever seen him that good-natured with a superior officer. He likes to trash people with status. Can you say… 'freaky'?"

If Joren heard, he didn't act like it. He was definitely in a better mood than they'd ever seen him.

They got off at the second floor, this time passing through winding halls and walking single file past people walking in the other direction. All the persons they passed were low rank resident officers. Some had uniforms connecting them with a bomb squad, but otherwise, it was low key. After a short eternity of off white walls and the occasional door, they stopped in front of an open room.

"Dom," Joren informally called. The others were left astounded that Joren had addressed someone by what they assumed was a first name. If it was, then maybe there was trend for everyone around Tusaine's districts to use first names, like Buri had. He ushered them into the computer lab impatiently.

A man in his mid to late twenties swiveled around in a black office chair from where he sat in front of some elaborate DJPF database. He had broad shoulders, big hands, and wore his dark hair cut just under his ears. . His skin was slightly tanned, the sign of being outdoors all summer. For someone doing computer work, his appearance didn't hint at it.

"Hey," the man grinned. "If it isn't the punk ass I was so happy for Buri to send away."

"Hey," Joren said in the same fashion. "If it isn't the dorky ass who doesn't know when to shut up."

"Yes, that would be me," the man, presumably Dom, nodded with a cheeky smile. He looked past Joren and examined the others. "So what Qasim said was true. You are baby-sitting third ranks."

"Third ranks!" Neal exclaimed angrily. "We're first class, buddy!"

Dom stood. He was exactly an inch taller than Neal was. He leaned forward and squinted at Neal's face. "Hmm… I guess you are. My mistake. That's what I get for trusting Qasim's word. He didn't even see you that well from the window." He sat down again at the chair. "I wonder where he is--"

"Dom, can we hurry this up?" Joren interrupted. "Just check their files and be done with it."

The computer technician nodded. "Uh-huh. You still have no people skills. Didn't expect much from the time you were gone." He started typing on the keyboard. "I heard about all that Immortals stuff. That seems like something Raoul would get us into, huh?" He shrugged. "Not that you would participate with Buri arguing with the Marshal."

"Hey, big mouth, just work the database already."

"Stop being so rude!" Keladry hissed.

Dom stopped and spun around to look at her, more deliberately than before. "Ouch. This one's got spunk. No wonder you wanted to come back home, Joren. Well, what's your name?"

She stepped back unconsciously. "Keladry Mindelan. Formerly 1B."

He faced his computer again. "Welcome to 1T, then. If Joren hasn't already mentioned me, I'm Dom. It's short for Domitan Masbolle." He held up his finger. "First rule: if you work for Buri or Raoul, you use first names. If Chief Flyn addresses you once by your first name, you're probably good enough for him, too. Don't expect it though." He contemplated something silently, then spoke again. "Think of him as, well… if your HQ Commissioner was already acting like he had a stick up his… um, yeah… well, make it a little bit more quick-tempered and there you got Chiefy."

"You've never even met Wyldon, Dom," Joren corrected. The blonde went over to the window, lifting the blinds to see out. The others began to relax. They also took available seats where there were.

Dom snapped his fingers. "Okay… so, Keladry, you have a nickname?"

"It's Kel," Cleon answered for her. "Or Tough Stuff."

"Cleon!"

Dom laughed. "Ah. I like it. One syllable. Kel. Okay! And you are Cleon… what?"

"Kennan," the redhead answered amicably. "And the last one is Nealan Queenscove. We all call him Neal."

"That's because I hate Nealan. Reminds me of my aunt. Ugh."

"Squealin' Nealan is scared of his aunt. Always figured that for you," Joren murmured, disattached.

Dom looked fretful. "Wait. Are you related to Dr. Baird Queenscove?"

Neal blinked. "Um, yes."

"Wow!" Dom jumped up from his chair and grabbed Neal's hand. He started to pump it up and down in an enthusiastic handshake. "Hey! Dr. Baird was my godfather back when my dad was acquainted with him! You know what that makes us? Godbrothers!"

There was an awkward silence except for Dom's cheerful laughing. Eventually, Neal joined in, still a little confused, but happy to have found someone a new friend. Cleon, who was naturally happy, also grinned. Keladry smiled faintly, not really caught up in the moment since Dom still made her uncomfortable. And Joren didn't seem to notice anything Dom was doing.

"Well, sorry. 'Scuse me if I get a little rambunctious. You don't have anything to worry about. I'm probably the most optimistic and active one here in Tusaine. If you don't count Raoul."

Joren scowled. "Where the hell is Raoul? I want to talk to him. If I get placed under Flyn--"

"Then why don't you get placed with that Buri you worked for?" Neal cut in.

"Stop interrupting. I stopped working for Buri out as one of her operatives and did some solo stuff before Wyldon called me back. That's why I don't want to get placed back with her now, dumb ass."

Keladry stood up. "Hey, cut that out now. We are all very tired from the train ride, so just take it easy, Stone."

"Sit down Mindelan. I don't have a beef with any of you. Except maybe Raoul if I can't find him."

Dom finished up replacing and storing their files he extracted from Tortall's database. He spun around one final time to put his hands on his knees and face them. "If you guys just got here today, then go settle in at the building. Low class officers don't stay there. They get their own places to live. It's just mostly the Rider's Own when we're in town, and a couple of Buri's people." He gasped. "Oh wait! The bomb squad lives entirely on the bottom floor. Don't disrupt them. You'll get blown away." He laughed at his own corny joke. What was embarrassing was that Cleon laughed, too.

Joren started for the door. "Dom, where are the rest of the… rag tags?"

"It's Lerant's turn to buy us dinner. He's bound to be in late. But the rest of us are at home. Welcome back, Joren."

"Whatever," he muttered and went out the door.

"It was nice meeting you, Dom," Keladry said cordially.

"You, too, Kel. Same to you, Cleon… and you, too, Neal. When you call your dad, tell him I said hi."

Cleon and Neal both waved. They left Dom to finish his work. Once again, they went down the elevator and through the metal detector. The woman at the desk double-checked their new identifications on their wrist pagers before letting them go outside.

Cleon caught up with Stone as they left the building with carts of their stuff. They heard from the attendant at storage that he had given the address of the apartment building to the luggage people. Some of their stuff had ended up going ahead of them to their new home. Joren kept up a brisk pace as he headed for the bus stop. Daine and the others had dropped them off and returned to their own home. They were left to catch a bus to the apartment building owned by the DJPF station.

"Hey, how come you never called us by our first names?"

"Because I don't, Kennan. Now stop bothering me." He marched a few paces away from the bus stop bench and leaned against a lamp post. Cleon meant to proceed pestering him, but Keladry yanked Cleon back by his collar.

"Just leave him alone. He's known the people here for years. We've only known him for less than half a year. It might take a couple of years for him to ease up. I mean, this is him we're talking about."

"But sometimes, things happen that are more important in half a year than many years."

She didn't know what to make of that. So she just let Cleon lazily lean on her shoulder as they waited for the bus, and listened to Neal talk without really even listening.

~~

The place they were to live in was actually two buildings. A covered walkway on the second floor connected them. Large trees with the leaves already turning yellow and brown shadowed the elevated walkway and surrounded the area. The parking garage actually sunk into lower levels besides the building instead of stack atop another like they did at the station.

The building was peach colored, with ruddy colored roofs and doors. The windows toward the top of it were large and shown billowy white curtains. Most of the lights were on.

"It looks pretty nice. We should have invited the others over for our first night. Some kind of housewarming or something," Neal remarked as he scratched his scalp.

Joren walked ahead, already standing in front of a door labeled A1, Building Manager. He rang the doorbell and waited for the intercom to turn on and someone to respond. Instead the door opened and a middle-aged man with unruly and floppy brown hair to stepped out.

"What?"

"A civilian is the manager?" Cleon whispered, surprised.

"Aye, boy-o. I also be the handy-man, so you'd best shut your trap, ya hear?" he said in an accent of those of the coastal fisherman, also known for their carpentry. He noticeably rolled his R's and exaggerated vowels. His eyebrows were thick and set over stormy gray eyes. He looked them all up and down, as if sizing up a net of fish. "You the ones movin' in?"

"That's us, "Joren confirmed.

"Wrists," he demanded as he disappeared into the shadows of his apartment. They all held out their wrists. The man came back with a portable scanner and checked their identifications. All of them passed. He nodded his head just barely, and introduced himself. "Stefan Groomsman. Your stuff is 'ready here, so go on up. Here be your coding for the locks." He took their wrists again and scanned something into them. Keys were never used with lodgings of the Dominion Jewel Protection Force. Then he looked at a sheet on the wall in the shadows, telling them the apartment numbers.

"If that be all, my number's programmed into all the phones. Don't be wakin' me in the middle of the night for something a pansy can fix."

They all nodded their heads. Stefan shut the door on them, a slam, really. His was the only visible door with hinges and a doorknob instead of the usual. Maybe he'd preferred the old-fashioned door and had it changed himself. They didn't deem it something to linger upon, so they started up the elevator available just alongside the first building.

Someone was already there, about to enter as well. He was supposedly in his mid thirties, dark skinned and a nose that was blunt. Just looking at him, they could tell he was Bazhir. The Bazhir lived far south of Mithros. There had been a fair share of their kind in Tortall, but none of them had really thought about the multi-culture.

"Qasim," Joren greeted. The other, Qasim, squinted at Joren first. Then a look of understanding overcame him.

"Ah. So Buri dragged you back?"

"No. You're always misinterpreting." When Qasim politely cleared his throat and cocked his head towards the rest of them, Joren stuffed his hands in his pockets and let out a deep breath. "Oh, uh, these are just some tagalong's that Wyldon wanted to get rid of. Sent all of us here."

The Bazhir nodded. "Ah. I see. Well, nice to meet you all. I am Qasim ibn Zirhud. Mostly armory, gun smithing, and mechanics for Marshal Raoul."

No wonder Joren gets along with him. He's a mechanic, Keladry thought. They introduced themselves. Qasim shook hands with them. They entered the elevator.

"Which floor?"

"Third," Keladry answered. "So, um, if you don't mind me asking… Qasim, but what sort of people are in the Rider's Own?"

Besides Dom and Qasim, there were several others with special attributes. Not all of them were DJPF. Some had opted to completely be civilian, like Dom, and have a government label under the Feds. Others like Qasim were half and half. They'd had been at an Academy for certain things and contained a lifelong waiver to the DJPF special units.

As they went up to the third floor and settled into their rooms which contained boxes and suitcases, Qasim asked them if they wanted to have dinner with the Riders, just to get acquainted. Joren objected at first. Then Qasim mentioned that during dinner, they could discuss the Motorcross tournament passing through Tusaine. That coerced him to join in the fun.

As soon as they set their stuff down, Cleon phoned Faleron to come join. He also called Roald and Lalasa, but they were tired and just wanted to sleep.

It was the forth floor that the Riders occupied. Qasim pointed out Dom's room, and then his own.

"Did you live here, Stone?" Keladry asked. She and Joren were at the back of the group. They slowed down, trailing far behind the rest which filed into an open room. A person named Lerant lived there, if she heard correctly.

"No. I was never around here. Had my own place farther away." Shadows passed over his face, adding a haunting feeling to him.

She nodded. "Oh."

They caught up with the rest of the group in Lerant Eldorne's apartment. It was a small place. There was a single couch, and a fold-away table meant to play card games on. The bed and bathroom were through one door and the kitchen is practically what you walked into from the door.

It was there that Keladry got to meet the rest of the Rider's Own.

Prosper Tameran used to work as a Private Investigator before he realized that he couldn't manage alone. That was when he met Raoul, who offered him a job as a prime researcher and analyst, as well as an extra gun when he was needed. There were other parts of the job that Prosper refused to comment about, but he was kind. And he was also thoughtfully-- but not shyly-- quiet. He reminded her of Roald in a way. He probably could be Roald if he got his hair cut, changed his voice, and then his wardrobe.

Yukimi noh Daimoru went to the Academy of Maren for the ballistics and bomb squad in the DJPF. She found that being a full officer was not what she wanted, though. After a few months, she received a few class credits, enough for a license as a demolition expert. Most often time, joked Qasim, Yuki just liked to blow things up. Yuki was what everyone called her. Her skin was pale and she had long ebony black hair that she tied up in a bun. Her beauty at first reminded one of a fragile glass statue, but she quickly destroyed that by showing up at dinner still in dusty coveralls and dirt-smudged hands. Qasim ordered her away to wash her hands. She proudly stuck her tongue out and went over to the sink. Keladry knew she would come to like this young woman, who looked to be about Cleon's age, 22.

She was purely traditional Yamani, from a very rare location in the Yamanis. Keladry and her friends had gone to the Yamanis, but not deep enough into the heartland. It turned out that purely traditional Yamanis were far to the east, past the cities and towns. This was much farther than where the on-the-run officers had fled.

Seaver Tasride was also another extra gun for Raoul when Prosper couldn't do the job. But mainly, Seaver was good with medicine. He'd also attended an Academy, but not the one in Tortall, nor the one in Maren. He became a qualified field medic, and learned lots of self-defense moves.

The brown haired paramedic had a fascination with poisons, especially the ones that came from animals. Keladry supposed that explained the reason for bringing a snake. He kept it in a mini aquarium with the water drained out, but the colored gravel still in.

She had politely held the snake container while Seaver helped Prosper to set the chairs. But she assured herself that she'd never want to do it again. Something about the way the snake's beady little eyes stared at her made her feel like it was reading her thoughts. The idea of a snake being psychic was as silly as if it had a turban, but she wouldn't tell anyone about it anyway.

And last but not least, was Fianola. No last name. She was merely Fianola, at the age of 18, a Maren Academy drop-out after one year. She had entered reasonably early for someone such as herself at the age of 16. She excelled at archaic weapons, though no one really carried a sword with himself or herself nowadays, so she was at a loss. One advantage the short but fiery girl had was that her father, so she claimed, had been a stunt driver, and also a stunt man.

He taught her all the tricks to playing a crowd into believing she was hurt. And often, Fianola used this to her advantage. She was a tricky actress, but also a more fickle person. It didn't surprise Kel how quickly Fianola's mood changed. It was like Lalasa when the Carthakian woman was being romantic, or trying anyway with Roald's reluctant participation.

Though they were the same young age, Fianola clearly still wanted to remain 16. She had a smile, which could only be described as adorably innocent. A good deceptive tool to use against some guy in a bar who wouldn't talk to the authorities, but maybe a kind understanding face. So Fianola drove the black van the Riders held up in. And she played to the crowd as the distraction, or the diversion. And she loved every minute of it.

The girl, for that was the only way to refer to her with her youthful personality, had olive skin, puppy dog brown eyes, and extremely curly hair that was no doubt difficult to tame. You could pick her out of a crowd, if she wasn't in disguise. Qasim whispered to her that she often was… especially in wigs, for an unknown reason.

Keladry couldn't believe how Raoul had managed to keep such an unorthodox group to himself without the government disapproving of the Marshal's choice. They were not DJPF, but perhaps that was better in a way. They weren't bound to uniform and easy identification. They weren't bound to many things that Keladry was. The more freedom they had, the better the group seemed to work.

A buzz came from the door.

"That better be Lerant with the food," Yuki muttered as she answered it. And it was Lerant with the food, accompanied by Dom who had just come back from the station.

Lerant Eldorne was 23. His blond brown bangs flopped over his forehead, his hair short at the sides. He had good broad shoulders and a firm chin to go with his level eyes. In a way, they were like Dom's level eyes, well, when Dom wasn't laughing. As he and Dom entered, he held up two small white boxes with one hand and a plastic bag in his other hand full of them.

"I have Oriental takeout! Noodles over here, spicy chicken over there, the vegetables, the beef… the soup. Who wanted the soup? That's in that Tupperware looking thing," he announced. All the Riders surged around him, taking boxes and opening them to see what was inside.

Later, she would learn that Lerant had applied for many spots in the DJPF, after graduating from a distant Academy with full honors. His aunt Delia, though, had been famous for betraying the famed Marshal Raoul Malorie and Advisor Alanna Trebond, as well as now Tortall Academy Headmaster Gary Naxen at Goldenlake. Delia was court-marshaled. No honorary discharge. Just sent to serve a life sentence at Olorun Penitentiary. Still, a lot of men and women of power would not allow Lerant to serve as a full officer though he had been all too qualified. So, they allowed him some privileges, but not anything official.

Raoul Malorie had felt guilty that it was his aunt's association that did this to him. So, the Marshal brought Lerant into the Rider's Own as their best gunman, as well as finances.

After most of them sat down, Kel was still sitting where she had been before, beside Neal and Cleon as they talked amongst themselves. She laced her own fingers together in her lap, content at watching the holo-screen broadcast that day's football game. Yuki, Dom, and Seaver had begun to cheer for their favorite team. It was Seaver and Yuki against Dom alone.

A white box with a wire handle came into her line of vision. Kel blinked. "Huh?"

"Have some. I'm not much for this kind of teriyaki, but you're welcome to it," the young man named Lerant said. She gratefully took it. She also took the offered fork, since there was no way she could ever hope to use chopsticks as effortlessly as Yuki was. He smiled and went to sit by Dom so it was two fans against two other fans.

It was half an hour later when Faleron finally showed up. Cleon introduced him to everyone. The short former thief was accepted, hat and all. Then Cleon dragged his friend over to the couch to convince Neal that Veronica was superior to Betty, and that Archie didn't have a clue.

"Where are Joren and Qasim?" Keladry asked Dom after the night was over. The Riders gathered the trash into a bag and left it beside the door.

"Huh? Oh, probably in the garage, trading mechanic stories or whatever those guys do."

She looked at her pager and checked the time. "It's still early. I think I'll go down and check on my bike."

"Oh? You have one, too? You'll have to let me see it in the morning. But now, I think I'm going to crash here at Lerant's until I'm sure the holes in my windows are fixed and all the cold air from the AC isn't going out. Night before it was Prosper's turn to buy dinner, slept over at his place. Night before that, it was Qasim's." He shook his head regretfully. "I keep telling Stefan to fix it or else, but he's taking his precious time. Oh well."

Everyone was filing out the door. Lerant stayed back to put the table away and fold out the couch to form a bed for Dom. Keladry wanted to ask Dom something before she left. "Hey."

"Yes?"

"When do I meet the Marshal?"

Dom smiled. "Oh, so that's how you are. Idolizing heroes, huh? Well, I can't blame you. When he's not being completely devilish and dastardly," here Lerant started laughing in the background, "then he's an awesome guy to work for. You'll probably meet him tomorrow. I know Joren wants to talk to Raoul, so you can go with him."

"In that case, I better ask Joren. Thanks. And goodnight!"

~~

Keladry passed Qasim on the way down. She bid good night to the Bazhir as well. He carried a bag with him that made all these clinking metal sounds as it moved. She only imagined what was in there. In the garage, she found Joren sitting on a stool, gazing intently on his Black Knight.

"Hey."

He looked up. "What?"

"I want to see Marshal Raoul tomorrow. When you go, come get me and I'll go with you."

Joren let out a deep breath. "I don't care. I won't be under Flyn's authority like the rest of you anyway."

"So, are you still going to work on my bike?"

"Sure. I need something to keep me occupied."

She came closer to him so she was staring at his bike alongside him. "You wouldn't need something to keep you occupied if you hung out with the rest of us." She faced him. "I saw how you acted with the Riders and with Buri today. You've known these people for years. Although you're not as warmed up to them as I was expecting a person with years of acquaintance to be, you're… well, I don't know." Better with them than with us.

"Would you stop with the mushy stuff already? Why are you people obsessed with what's going on in my head?"

"Maybe it's because we have to live with what you do all the time," she retorted.

There went that attitude again. She didn't want it tonight. She had a good time up there on the fourth floor. It was a pleasant night with damp air under the cloudless sky. She wasn't going to spoil it with Joren's sharp personality. Why did she always have to hang around him when he was like this? Kel almost convinced herself that she was getting used to the verbal abuse.

In fact, Keladry was going on a walk. It was a good idea to explore the area around so she had a good feel for her new home. The last thing she wanted was to ruin her first night in Tusaine spending it with the jerk who didn't know how to act with people.

"Can I borrow your jacket? It's windy out tonight." She briskly rubbed her bare arms.

He gawked at her like she was a green, glowing alien. "You're going out? Now?"

She nodded. "Why not? Come on, its not like you need the jacket right now. I'll give it back to you in the morning. Okay? Just come on already."

"Fine. I don't care." He gave up and shrugged off the black leather jacket. She put it on, smiling inwardly because for once, something belonging to Joren was warm, though it was a bit big on her just because he had broader shoulders and thicker arms and chest. In the back of her mind though, she thought of a blurry time when she had felt him be warm before. Was it at Galla? Or had it been more recently than that?

She left the garage, wandering the sidewalks of Tusaine like a wanderer, a vagabond. A few minutes passed of trees and pruned hedges, of random buildings and stores, of glass windows with signs on them. The city was so peaceful at night. Tortall was always awake. In Carthak, that was when Trouble woke up and did its mischief. But here in this huge city of Tusaine, everything was tranquil at night. Undisturbed by the dark shadows or the wavering moonlight.

She turned the corner, not looking where was going. Keladry bumped into something definitely solid. She stumbled back, surprised. It was a man, who didn't stumble back at all. He stood there with lifted eyebrows, probably not expecting the collision either. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you."

The man, whom she bumped into, was also in his twenties. He had a shock of spiky white hair-- it was dark outside, though. Maybe it was actually pale blond like Joren's. And though it was night, he still had sunglasses perched on his Elven narrow nose, with circular lenses and black frame. In the darkness, Keladry could see that his eyes were bright aquamarines. He wore a dark suit, with a starch white shirt and crisp black tie.

"It's all right. I bump into people, too. Though I wasn't expecting it this late at night," he admitted with a slight chuckle. His voice. His voice was so smooth and rich. Keladry couldn't believe it with her own ears. It sounded a bit like Faleron-- with all its premeditated purpose and resolve.

"Um, yeah. So, I'll be going." She started past him, unnerved by his casual and confident demeanor. This was the sort of things that happened in murder mysteries. She never read them, and she wasn't about to be a headline on a newspaper, killed by some psycho serial killer with white hair at his youthful age.

"Can I ask your name?" he called.

She frowned and stopped. He strode back in front of her, smiling just faintly as if he were pretending to be shy and a little ashamed at the question. She worked up the courage to speak.

"Why do you want to know my name?"

"Just your first name," he assured, holding up his black gloved hands in defense. "I was curious who would have a jacket that said… Jackal just inside the collar." And he slowly pointed, so she would not use her reflexes and grab his wrist to toss him over her shoulder. She let out a deep breath. That was all. She'd noticed the weird word inside the collar before, just when Joren had come back. She had given no thought to it now.

"Oh. Um, Kel. My name's Kel." First name can't hurt. Nickname at that… "The jacket's borrowed."

He smiled and bowed like a gentleman of a delegation. The way he gazed at her while he did this made her realize something. His eyes were slanted and almond-shaped, like Yuki's were. Only his name could confirm whether or not he was traditionally pure Yamani.

"My name is Enishi Yukishiro. It was a pleasure meeting you, Kel."

She nodded. There's something about this guy. It's sort of scary, but thrilling at the same time. I think he'd give Faleron a run for his money in the smoothness department. But it's not overly sleazy. Damn, I'd better leave.

"Uh-huh. Goodbye, Mr. Yukishiro."

"Yes. Farewell," he crooned gently and walked away. She stared after him for a while until his shadow was completely out of sight. Though the stranger had been shocking and a bit weird, she couldn't help but feel drawn to his charm. It wasn't like any charm though. It was just consuming, pure… something.

Okay, get a grip. Strange guy at night comments on Joren's jacket. Drop the subject. Go home.

And she did. Her new bed was comfortable. But somehow, that didn't matter. Her dreams did. And she dreamt of the word Jackal, and she dreamt of the Rider's Own. And a big burly man who shook her hand, though she couldn't see his face. This was what she dreamed.

~~

Author:

Okay, so you're wondering… who's Enishi Yukishiro? He's not in the Tortall books. And you're right; he's not. I borrowed this amazing person from Rurouni Kenshin, a Japanese anime I dearly adore. I highly recommend that everyone email me who is even the slightest bit interested in what he looks like and his background, according to the anime. My email is at top. You already know that. No, I don't have any problem answering a ton of emails. I really wish someone would come up to me asking for a picture of the guy. He's cool. I like him.

Another thing: Seeing how this episode is super long... and people like long chapters…. I'm afraid I'm gonna have to start posting farther apart. I can't keep up this schedule the whole season, you know. So, please, please, bear with me. I need all the help and encouraging I can get. Ugh.

And also: I'm sorry, I don't mean to focus on Joren so much. I mean to focus on Keladry, but since he's also like, her co-star, it kind of happens. It will be extremely tough not focusing on him all the time now that we're in his town, his Tusaine. I'll shift over as much as I can. You want the absolute truth? I've dedicated this season to Joren, the next to another, and the ones after to the rest of the gang (the fourth season will kind of be, without the main characters and with people like the Rider's Own, maybe, or… maybe the adventures of the Three Stooges. I DON'T KNOW. I just know that each season will have different focuses. I guess. If I'm around that long.)

Remember to review! I love reviews!