Purgatio

by Marcus1

Email sponger42yahoo.com for Location of Most Recently Updated Purgatio Website

7. Frustra Esse

Chapter 7:

Frustra Esse

The yellow eyes stared, unblinking, at her from the darkness behind the cavern's entrance. As the venom coursed through her body, the numbing sensation falling over her mind slowly quieted the screaming panic she felt inside. Deprived of fear, her mind became sluggishly inquisitive. What is it waiting for? The eyes did not answer, they simply stared. A new thought occurred to her. Where are they? They should be here by now… they said they'd come right back.

A shadow darkened the cave's entrance, and the glowing eyes disappeared. "Dahyte?" It was Samao.

Of all people… why is that jerk here? Where is… everybody else? Somewhere deep inside—where the poison had not permeated, something inside her screamed at her to warn him. Idly, she tried to shout. Instead, only a quiet groan managed to pass her frozen lips.

It got his attention. "Holy cow, Dahyte! You wouldn't believe it! We were all headed down to the supply camp when Taran spotted this monster Anacondaur headed up the mountain!" In the dimness, he didn't recognize the glazed look in her eyes, nor did he notice how her jaw hung slack. She had fallen against the wall of the cavern, in an almost-natural sitting position, hiding the two bloody puncture wounds on her back from Samo. "All the others weren't going to come back. They were too scared." The fourteen-year-old cadet puffed out his chest proudly. "I was the only one who came back for you."

Finally, Samo's words pierced the haze on which her mind floated. The others weren't coming back for you. I was the only one. She did her very best to scream. Nothing emerged but a quiet sob.

His eyes adjusting to the darkness within the cave, Samo—at last—noticed the awkward angle at which her right arm was twisted. How could bones do that without breaking… White rims shone around the cadet's dilated pupils as he took in the broken antivenom hypodermic needle. "Dahyte? Are you a—"

The giant snake chose that instant to strike. There was a blur of motion, a flash green coils as thick around as tree trunks, and Samo was gone. If she could have, Dahyte would have blinked at the blaze of Samo's Fire magic. Illuminated by the flames, the coils jerked as they tightened on the beast's new prey. The frilled head darted downward, striking at the boy as he was crushed by the monster's powerful body. Faster than the eye could follow, the Anacondaur uncoiled, flinging Samo's limp body across the cavern. Broken limbs flopping bonelessly, his motion was arrested by the wall against which she leaned, his right arm actually touching her left leg. The yellow eyes took up residence in the shadows once again.

Anacondaurs are picky eaters. Unlike their smaller cousins, they refuse to eat live animals, preferring to wait until their paralyzing venom eventually stops the beating of their victim's hearts before beginning their meal. This particular Anacondaur was no exception. As it waited, it stared pitilessly at the labored breathing of its two victims—watching the rise and fall of their chests—waiting for it to cease.

Incredibly, Samo was still alive, but his gurgling breaths were not what interested her—instead, her eyes were fixed upon the medical pack attached to his waist—only inches from her left hand. Rallying from the poison-induced lethargy, she willed her left hand to dig into that bag with all her might. Nothing. She tried again, beads of perspiration breaking out across her forehead with the effort of her concentration. Still no response from her paralyzed muscles. They're not coming back. I was the only one... She couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true. They had grown up together. I was the only one who came back…. They had lived together, studied together, trained together. The only one who came back for you. Taran, Gabrielle, Inita, Des; they had fought together, bled together.

It wanted to start as a whimper, but the time for that was long past. Instead, the thing became a groan, then a cry, then a shout, then a scream of pain, sadness, rage, and betrayal. If only it could have passed her lips. Instead, her chest shook with the power of the thing. They're not coming back… for you. Her left index finger twitched.

The snake had not moved a muscle. It had made no sign that it saw her force her hand into the medical pack. No recognition crept into those cold, reptilian, eyes as she had flipped the cap off of Samo's antivenom hypodermic. The monster remained quiet as she used the last of her strength to push the plunger all the way in, sending the serum flowing through her veins. Her head had rolled back then, and she had lain—needle still sticking from the side of her thigh—quiet while the haze cleared from her mind, silent while screeching pain had assailed her restored muscles.

Only when she staggered—at last—to her feet, did the monster move. Seeing the flicker of motion from the shadows, she fell back into empty air, booted foot lashing out against the impossible strength she knew would pursue her. Her blow hit nothing. Rolling to her feet—expecting the killing blow at any time—she raised her empty fists. The snake stared at her as it gently wound its coils around Samo's limp form. Its forked tongue appeared as it tasted the approaching death in the air.

And she knew, she knew what the serpent was telling her. Even without speaking, she knew that she was free to go—as long as she left the Anacondaur its prize, as long as she left Samo alone with the monster.

Without thinking, without feeling, with only her black heart to guide her, she took one step back toward the cave's entrance. The Anacondaur blinked once, acknowledging her decision.

I was the only one who came back for you. "No!" She screamed suddenly, not thinking to pick up her fallen weapon, only throwing herself at the beast. But it was too late, the choice had been made.

The blow from the serpent's tail knocked her clear of the cave's entrance. She fell, tumbling and rolling uncontrollably down the slope of loose stone and dirt. Then she ran. She ran through the light scrub, through the forest, through the fields. She ran from the screaming terror of the monster, she ran from the bone-crunching strength and paralyzing venom. But mostly, she ran from the words. I was the only one who came back for you. From only one of things she fled, there was no escape.

The rest was a jumbled mess of damnation.

"What happened up there?"

"We can't go back for him!"

"He's already dead!"

The faces of her friends turned away from her, they were replaced by the frightened masks of her enemies.

"If you're so brave, why don't you go back?"

"Yes, Dahyte, you go back!"

"No!" She screamed. "No! I can't!"

He stood alone, bewildered, in the darkness before her. "I came back for you."

"I can't go back!!" She tried to cover her eyes, but something held her arms down to her sides.

"I was the only one…" His form was changing, golden-eyed shadows scurried around it, swallowing his legs, his waist, his chest. Long, black, serpentine shadows. "Who came back for you?"

The thing holding her arms down, she could see it now—it was a rifle. It was pointed at the writhing form in front of her.

"Who came back for you!?" Samo's head demanded. His coiled body quivered in anticipation of the strike.

"No one!!" Dahyte screamed as she pulled the trigger. The weapon in her hands clicked on an empty chamber as the heavy coils whipped around her. Her body was shaken in their tight grasp.

"Wake up!" The serpent hissed into her ear as it shook her. "Wake up!!"

"No one!!" Dahyte gasped as her eyes snapped open. Automatically, her hand grasped for her sidearm. It was gone. So were another holdout pistol and a dagger that was always strapped to her right thigh. Her unsuccessful weapons check completed, Dahyte's brain at last registered the signals her eyes had been sending. As gravity untangled the last sheet that had been wrapped around her body, she noted the dull brown walls, dusty floor, and packed dirt floor. She also took in the quivering form of the old woman—now crouched against the far wall.

"You wouldn't wake up." The crone hissed. "You were shouting something, and you wouldn't wake up."

The frightened girl of the dream was gone. Dahyte was back in control. It was probably a good thing she was unarmed, Dahyte reflected, as she likely would have killed the old woman in her surprise. She shook her head. That would be unfortunate, as the wrinkled old sorceress had proven quite useful so far—first releasing her from her prison cell, then arranging for transportation to Timber. Old and feeble as she looked, this woman obviously had powerful connections within the Galbadian government—as well as powerful magic.

"I was scared." The hunched sorceress looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do."

Dahyte frowned slightly. The woman's childish way of speaking and thinking were beginning to annoy her, however. The sniper wondered if the old sorceress's mental powers might be weakening under the obvious weight of her many, many years. "How long before our meeting with the president?" Of course, Dahyte already knew they had four hours and fifty-five minutes left before they were to meet with Ferrin—newly elected president of the Independent Republic of Timber. She simply hoped the query would satisfy the sorceress of her sanity, and cause her to return to bed.

"Um… about five hours." The old woman's voice was hesitant.

Apparently, the rest of the SeeD team had been captured, and now were being banished from Galbadia. The president of the IRT—pronounced 'urt'—wanted to be present at their release. She also wanted to be present for the SeeDs' reunion. They should have killed them. They should have killed us all. Dahyte almost shook her head. This is not going to be pretty.

"Uh… are you going to be okay? Will you go back to sleep?" Obviously uncomfortable in the presence of the sniper, the sorceress began to edge toward the door of the small room in the dusty underground bunker offered them by the IRT government.

Dahyte's lips twisted a fraction of an inch deeper into the slight frown by way of reply. She still couldn't shake the feeling that this woman was not who she seemed. Her querulous attitude, her hesitant voice, these things bespoke of an inexperienced consciousness trapped in the old crone's body. Or perhaps it was simply evidence of her senility. With the slightest of sighs, Dahyte lay back on the tangled bedding.

The mother had been hysterical. It had been a horrible idea to see the bereaved parents of the dead student.

They had come for the body, they had come for the SeeD burial ceremony, they had come for closure. But the mother had not been ready for any of it. But in all her wailing, in all her crying, she never accused, never blamed, never pointed a single finger at Dahyte. She didn't need to.

After the burial—Dahyte had been volunteered by the doctor to stand in the honor guard of students and SeeDs; "It will help her cope with what happened." If only she had known the truth... she could not refuse—but after the brief ceremony the father had spoken to her.

He was much more composed than the mother. Retired from the Galbadian Armed Forces himself—"the experience will be good for him, dear, make a man out of him."—he knew the ways of such things. It was still killing him.

"You were there with him, then?" The father had asked her.

Dahyte could only nod, silently.

The father had looked away—hiding the tears behind his gaze, but not those behind his words. "It's good. It's good that he was with his friends when… when…"

She had wanted to scream. He wasn't! He wasn't, you idiot! I hated him, we all hated him! Why did you do it?! Why did you send Samo here!? Instead, Dahyte had simply closed her eyes and nodded again. He wasn't like us. He wasn't like them. Compassionate, awkward, outcast, weak, frightened but so-damn-brave Samo. He didn't belong with us, but he tried harder than any of us and I hated him for that. I hate him now!

"He wrote to us, you know. He wrote about you." The father had continued, ignorant of his own mercilessness. "He told us you were his friend…" He had drawn a shuddering breath. "It's good that when… when it happened… he was doing what was right. Helping his friend."

Dahyte had choked on her own self-loathing even as the thoughts raced through her mind. He wasn't! I wasn't his friend! Just because I didn't shit on him like all the others… Damn you, Samo! And Damn you, Sir, for sending him here! He wasn't doing the right thing, he didn't die for some cause. It was pure stupidity. He should never have come back, he wasn't prepared… The others, they made the right choice. She prayed the father would mistake the noise she made for a sob.

He did, and he left her.

But it had not ended there, oh no. There was an inquiry. She had been—after all—squad leader of the level two-survival skills exam group. She had been responsible for every member of the team, she was responsible for their actions.

Afraid for their own careers, they had turned on her. Oh, they had been supporting in their testimony, they had endorsed her decisions one hundred percent. But they had all lied.

"Dahyte did the right thing."

"There was no way even all of us combined could have fought that monster."

"We all agreed with her decision to fall back and go for help."

But it had not been her decision. The second they had seen her burst from the bushes near the riverbank—heading for the raft, already loaded and prepared to flee—she had lost control of the group. Or did they never believe in me to begin with? Maybe the decision to run had been the right one—but it had not been hers.

The worst part had been Headmaster's understanding. Of course he understood how frightening the situation had been. He knew that a SeeD had to fall back on their analytical tactical analysis of the situation, and she had done everything right by the book. But, he had told her in private conference—as if the others did not know what he was going to say, there were certain expectations made of SeeD leaders.

Dahyte had nodded numbly through all of it. Of course SeeDs had to hold together, no matter how desperate the situation became. Naturally, she understood the principle of the thing but I wonder if you really can practice it out in the field…

Before she knew what was happening, Dahyte found herself facing transfer out of the officer corps and into a specialist position. "But only if that's what you really want, Dahyte. I think it might be best for you…"

She never spoke in her own defense, she never told the truth of what happened. Not even to the Headmaster. She had been too ashamed.

And then there was the offer. Maybe she should. She could not lead, she had lost control, she had lost a team member to her own cowardice…

Dahyte had been sitting in the dimmest corner of the auditorium in the middle of the night, staring blankly at the transfer papers in front of her, when she had felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

It was Desmond. His kind eyes bespoke years of sorrow and repentance. "Dahyte… uh, we, well, we've all got something we want… I mean, some things need to be said." He had looked down at his feet. "Um… I guess we're all meeting in the garage in a few minutes. The others…" His eyes had shyly met her gaze, then darted away. "…and me, we… we sort of hoped you might come." And he was gone.

So she had left the papers lying there, unsigned, and gone to meet her friends. Hoping, wishing, for she knew not what. The oil-and-gasoline smell of the garage's semidarkness had tickled her senses as she saw the form of her friend, standing alone in the shaft of light that fell from the open hallway door. "Taran? Where are the others?" Her betrayer looked up at the words.

She never saw Gabrielle or Inita as they sprang from the darkness at her sides. Nor did she see Des slam the door behind her.

They beat her. Badly.

Through the pummeling fists and kicking boots, she heard their hissing voices as they circled, repeating the lie. Saying it again and again, until it became a sort of mantra. It was your decision, Dahyte. Your decision. Your decision.

"Say it!"

And through the blood and the tears, she had at last repeated the lie for them. Choking it out over the coppery warmth that flowed from her split lips.

When the swelling had receded and she could see again, she had signed the transfer papers. No one ever asked any questions about her injuries, no one ever said anything about that night. Her peers had judged her—even the doctors understood that this was the way of Galbadia Garden.

She had found her specialty at Balamb Garden. In the one training initiative spearheaded by NORG himself—rather than Cid—Dahyte had found her profession. No teams, no chance of betrayal. Only her orders and her tools.

As she lay on the cooling sheets, staring at the ceiling, Dahyte's hands ached for the familiar feel of those same tools. Her eyes rarely blinked as she rested. They are gone, but they can be replaced. And I still have my orders…

…

"What do you mean, they're no longer in Galbadia?" Even as he said it, Squall's mind was still reeling with the impact of the information he had received almost immediately after entering the Chief Executive Office. He had awakened less than ten minutes ago, alone in the master bedroom of the Presidential Residence. Nine minutes ago, he had been dressed and already heading toward the executive office wing. Five minutes ago he had won the hallway shouting match with the doctors, who insisted he was still physically and mentally exhausted and needed more rest; by firing all five of them. Two minutes ago, the Chief Executive Office Secretary—his secretary now that the two other members of the executive triad had gone missing—had acknowledged his order to find someone who could tell him 'just what the hell was going on.' "I didn't even know they were here to begin with!"

"Sir, you were, indisposed at the time of their capture, so of course you wouldn't have known they were being held at the Tower…" The deputy to the Commander of Internal Affairs spread his hands placatingly as he spoke.

What the hell were they doing here in Deling? Squall gritted his teeth. "Still, someone should have notified me when I was at the tower." Why would Cid send a SeeD team to Galbadia directly after signing the Dollett Accord? What could be so important that he felt he had to break the Garden's commitments?

"From what I gather, Sir, the aides present did not have time to present you with a full briefing." The deputy commander was choosing his words carefully—perhaps already warned of Squall's mood by the now-unemployed Presidential Medical Staff.

Damn it, headmaster! Didn't you know how bad this would look? Don't you realize how hard it will be for me to cover for you? A tiny thread of doubt crept into Squall's mind. Or did you just not care? Squall shook his head—partially at his own thoughts, partially for the benefit of the man standing before the Executive of Galb—his… his desk. "Okay. So brief me now."

The man relaxed visibly. "From what evidence we could gather—though, before she left, the sorceress would not allow a full interrogation of the prisoners…"

The man's businesslike tone of voice almost smoothed over the significance of his words. Squall almost nodded absently, he almost motioned for the deputy to continue. Then it hit him. she left Squall felt something tighten within him. His fingers dug into the leather-cushioned armrests of the chair in which he sat. His chest locked, and he could not draw breath. She left.

Oblivious to the change that had come over the Knight of Galbadia, the man continued. "…we have determined that the SeeDs were sent here to assassinate both you, and the sorceress Rinoa."

She left. From deep within him, he felt the stirrings of the beast he had kept chained within his heart for the past twelve years. She left. The words burned into his soul, weakening the walls of denial and self control that ringed the deep hole carved into his being. The hole where he had—as a child—cast the monster down, down into the dark, emotionless depths. She left. The howl of the thing resonated through his entire being as it drove it's frozen iron claws into the walls of its prison, and began to lift itself from the haze of forgetfulness. No! Where—as a child—he would have taken a deep breath, thrown his shoulders back, and assured himself that he would be okay without her, Squall's hands now shook with the effort of driving the nails of lies into the lid of the beast's tomb. I can't deal with this now… There are important things I have to do… I can wait just a little longer…

Face pale, Squall raised his head and forced the quivering in his arms to subside. The deputy was staring at him. The man had said something, something important. Squall was supposed to reply.

"I know, Sir. It infuriates us all that those vile SeeDs would renege on their honor so soon, but the facts are clear." The deputy commander did his best to put on a patronizingly commiserating expression.

"What?" WHAT?!! "The SeeDs…" …were sent to kill us?! Granted a momentary reprieve from the monster, Squall made an effort not to shake his head and laugh in the man's face. No, no. There's some other explanation. Damn, I wish I had a chance to talk to them… Squall grimaced. But what could I say? Any one of them could have been possessed… I couldn't risk giving our only advantage away. His heart twinged; 'our'. …is that why Ri—she sent them away? Or… could it be… could it have actually been… Could the headmaster have been possessed? Could he have ordered them to do what everyone is convinced they did? No. They would never do it. They would never shoot me. They would never turn on Rinoa. And her name had slipped out. And the lid burst, the beast was free. Squall doubled over with the pain of it, a clenched fist slamming down on the desk before him.

The Deputy Commander of Internal Affairs jumped forward, a concerned expression on his face. "Sir? Sir, are you alright?" His hands stopped, inches from actually touching the knight. "Do you want me to get a doctor?"

"No… no doctors!" Experience had taught Squall that there were no physical remedies to his condition. There was only one solution. Even as the pain of separation wracked his body, he saw the answer shining clearly ahead of him. "Tell the secretary…" Squall gasped. "…tell her to get me Delphi Matchgar."

By the time the head of the Galbadian Secret Service arrived, the beast no longer raged. Instead, it bared its rusted fangs in a smile of contentment. Its spiked claws lodged firmly in Squalls heart, its serpentine tail coiled tightly around his soul, the monster growled contentedly, and narrowed Squall's eyelids as it looked out at the man before him.

"Sir." Delphi wore an inscrutable expression.

"Find her for me, Mr. Matchgar." Said a voice quite similar to Squall's. "Find her now."

Filtered by layer upon layer of carefully regulated persona, Delphi's malicious smile appeared on his face as only the most unnoticeable twitch of his lip. "I have your permission then, to…" He trailed off, letting the Knight of Galbadia say it himself.

"Use any means necessary. Use unnecessary means. Find her." The monster purred. "I'm mobilizing the army reserves. Use them. Use every single employee of this government. Use all the resources at your disposal. Find her."

This time Delphi did smile. I so missed the old days of Vinzer's reign. Not anymore. "Yes, Sir. I understand." He paused before adding. "All the citizens of Galbadia are worried about the sorceress's disappearance." Those that aren't, will be, very soon. I promise you that. "No one will feel safe until she is found."

Before Squall—crushed beneath the talons of the monster—could wonder just what he meant by that, Delphi Matchgar saluted him briefly, and stepped lightly out of the room.

…

Through a crack in the blacktop, one of the last dandelions of summer poked its yellow starburst of a bloom. Around it, the tar holding the crushed stone pavement together was softened by the warmth of the sun of this late indian-summer day. A stumbling boot, scuffing along the gummy pavement, flattened the weed. Seconds later, a second booted foot—moving with purposeful authority—ground the dandelion's head into the black surface of the road.

Up and down the line of sandbags and barbed wire, soldiers of the Timber Armed Forces tightened their collective grips on their weapons as the Galbadian soldiers emerged from the rear hatch of the armored truck, pushing the prisoners before them. Behind the truck, the soldiers manning the Galbadian border checkpoint likewise tensed. The long barrels of the main guns of two Galbadian tanks traversed on their hydraulic mounts until they were brought to bear on the nearest of four TAF Armored Personnel Carriers. Gunners in the cupolas of the APCs placed their hands on the safeties of their heavy caliber machine guns.

Hardly anyone dared blink as the four prisoners were pushed, stumbling, halfway out between the two border checkpoints. One of the two soldiers guarding each prisoner bent down and released the shackles binding their arms. The others kept their rifles trained on the prisoner's heads as, one-by-one, they removed their own blindfolds and stood blinking in the hot sunlight.

The Galbadians backed away from their released charges, and four TAF infantrymen jogged toward the four SeeDs, rifles held at the ready.

Seeing Zell tense at the approach of the armed soldiers, Quistis spoke quickly. "Relax, SeeDs." The soldiers dropped to one knee five feet from the SeeDs and raised their weapons to their shoulders, tracking the withdrawal of the Galbadians. One of them motioned, with a free hand, for the SeeDs to move toward the sandbagged fortifications of the Timber border checkpoint. "Let's go." Quistis started forward, indicating that the rest of her team should follow.

The four SeeDs made it across the border without incident, but only after they had been spirited away by a waiting jeep did the soldiers on both sides of the crossing allow themselves to relax. Even then, all down the line of hastily erected guard towers, barbed wire fencing, and fresh minefields that marked the border between Galbadia and Timber, tired but wary eyes remained fixed on the Galbadian armor and troops that had been steadily building in number over the past weeks.

The SeeDs were taken to a camouflaged earthen bunker that served as a forward command post. As they descended the packed dirt stairs, Quistis noted the grim looks on the faces of the soldiers present. In the air hung a general sense of foreboding. The quiet conversations whispered between haggard-looking infantrymen carried the tones of those resigned to a future where all was uncertain—except for the expectation of combat.

Ducking under a heavy wooden support beam, Quistis immediately found herself engulfed in an encompassing embrace from none other than the President of Timber herself—Ferrin, formerly the leader of the Forrest Foxes. "Welcome! Welcome! All of you!" A happy—if somewhat craggy—smile split the old fighter's features. "We all feared the worst when we heard that you had been captured." She said, addressing the group. "What with the attack on the Garden and the tensions across our borders—"

Zell interrupted her. "You have news about the attack on Balamb Garden?" The SeeD's face wore an uncharacteristic expression of concern. "You know who got out?"

Despite the interjection, Ferrin didn't miss a beat. "Well, we picked up the radio transmissions from the garden's transports." She raised her hands, palms outward. "They weren't in direct contact with us, so we don't know all the details." She tilted her head to the side slightly. "I thought they'd have contacted you about it. I thought that was why…" She trailed off diplomatically.

"Before the satellite blackout, we were informed that the Garden was destroyed. That only two transports made it out." Irvine spoke quietly.

From the corner of her eye, Quistis saw Zell's hand drift unconsciously to his wrist. But of course—like their weapons—all their personal items had been confiscated by the Galbadians.

Ferrin's eyebrows shot up in an expression of genuine surprise. "Really? How can that be? In the radio traffic we picked up, there were at least ten active transmitters, probably more that we couldn't hear." Her brow creased. "We all assumed most of the students and SeeDs escaped." She paused for just a moment, then continued. "And the garden was most definitely not destroyed. We're still getting radio traffic from the Galbadians in Balamb—it sounds like they're repairing Balamb Garden's battle damage. We think they are planning to move it back to Galbadia to use like they did with G-Garden."

"I knew this whole thing was rotten from the start!" Unable to contain himself any longer, Zell blurted. "Enough of this undercover crap, we gotta go find Squall and tell him what's going on!"

"I would advise against that." Said an icy voice from the shadows of a tunnel leading deeper into the bunker.

A cold shock running down her spine, Quistis turned to face her attempted murderer. The sight of those dead gray eyes in her expressionless face froze the SeeD in place. An exclamation died on her lips as the sight of the sniper robbed her of speech.

Zell, Irvine, and Selphie—on the other hand—experienced no such problems. "Dahyte!" they shouted in unison.

Still, absolutely frigid, the sniper responded. "The same."

Irvine and Selphie stood rooted in place. Zell, however, already had his fists up. Bobbing slightly on the balls of his feet. He advanced menacingly on the SeeD specialist. "You… you…" At a loss for words, Zell instead seemed ready to compensate for his lack of loquaciousness with an abundance of action.

Ferrin interposed herself between the two SeeDs before he could. "Young man, I will not tolerate fighting in here." The elderly woman stepped nose-to-nose with the upset SeeD.

Though he took a step backward, Zell refused to allow himself to be stared down. "But… but, she—"

Ferrin cut him off with a chopping motion of her hand. "It doesn't make any difference now. What's done is done. I know most of what happened in Deling City, and I understand why your upset," Zell took a second step back, and Ferrin made the most of the opportunity, keeping herself directly in front of the SeeD—not giving him a chance to look at the sniper. "but you are all still alive. Squall and Rinoa are still alive, and fighting amongst yourselves over what might have been won't do anyone any good."

Quistis wondered—from the way she talked—if Ferrin really knew the whole story, but she found herself nodding along with the President's logic. Distracted from the memory of the eyes behind the gun that night, Quistis was able to speak once more. "She's right, Zell. Everybody's okay, so there's no need to fight." She wondered if the words sounded as unconvincing to the martial artist as they did to her.

Turning to Quistis with an incredulous look, Zell opened his mouth to speak, but was cut-off by a quavering voice. "Uh… excuse me." From behind Dahyte, a wrinkled old woman peered—no, that wasn't right, Quistis thought—peeped, peeped timorously. "Um… I know this is a bad time, uh, for this." She glanced around timidly as she took a hesitant step forward. "But, before you guys do anything, there's some stuff I need to tell you."

"Who are you?" Realizing that Quistis probably could use help distracting Zell from a fight, Selphie addressed the old woman.

Before she could reply, a shadow darkened the steps leading to the outside. As the breathless soldier all but threw herself down into the confines of the bunker, Irvine and Quistis had to dodge out of the way to avoid being knocked down as the soldier—spotting Ferrin—dashed over to the President of Timber. The SeeDs and old woman looked on as the soldier and President held a hurried and hushed conference.

At length, Ferrin turned to the assembled SeeDs. "I'm terribly sorry, my dears, but besides being President, it seems I've just become Commander-in-Chief of Timber's armed forces." She kept her tone deliberately light, but the expression on her face was one of infinite sadness tinged with weariness. "The Galbadians just bombed Timber City. Again." She sighed. "Those were dear friends…"

Shaking herself slightly, Quistis spoke. "Galbadia isn't honoring its treaties." It was not a question.

Ferrin shook her head sadly. "It looks like they've already invaded. We've lost contact with a string of border observation posts about seventy miles north of here." She regarded the SeeDs. "I have to go. Can I trust you children not to fight while I'm gone?"

Seeing the old revolutionary staring pointedly at him, Zell lowered his head and mumbled assent.

Ferrin nodded her approval. "Good." She started across the dirty boards laid into the soil covering the floor, then stopped and turned to the SeeDs once more. "I don't know what's happening in Deling. I don't know what has happened to Squall or Rinoa." She paused. "But I do know that we can't hold out here long, if the Galbadian's are serious about taking Timber back. I'm not sure if anyone in the world has the ability to stand up to them anymore. You all need to go, find out what's happening, and find a way to stop them." With that, she turned and left.

"Quistis, I think we" Irvine waved his arm, indicating himself, Selphie, and Zell. "need to have a private conference."

Quistis nodded and was just about to concur vocally, when the hesitant voice spoke up again.

"Oh please, please, I have something really important that all of you need to know." The old woman stepped forward, positioning herself between the four friends and the SeeD sniper. "I… I think you'll all want to hear it." She added, hesitantly, as all turned to face her.

"Who are you?" Selphie repeated.

The woman paused just for a moment, then said. "I am Rachel Dianne Young." She took a fortifying breath and continued. "I am a fourth level sorceress," Everyone blinked. "I am responsible for the way Rinoa acted during her induction ceremony," Zell's mouth hit the floor. "I am a white SeeD," Selphie's and Quistis's reactions were similar to Zell's. Irvine's eyebrows shot up. "and I am from the future." She finished. The corner of Dahyte's mouth twitched.

The silence lasted for a full two-and-one-half-seconds before the room exploded.

"Whadaya mean you're the one responsible for the way Rinoa acted?!" Zell shouted.

"You're a SeeD?!" Selphie and Irvine exclaimed in unison.

"You're a sorceress?!" Quistis took one step backward.

The future? More likely she's from the funny farm. Dahyte's mouth returned to it's normal tight almost lipless line as she filed away the sorceress's remarks.

Ducking her head and raising her arms as if the shouting was a physical assault she must ward off, the sorceress Rachel cried. "Please, please! Let me explain!"

Looking none too happy about it, the four SeeDs quieted.

"Ok, Ms Young. Explain yourself." Quistis said.

At the SeeDs urging, the elderly sorceress did just that. "I… I really don't know where to begin…" she began. "There's so much I could tell you, but I'm not sure if you should hear all of it. I'm not sure what will happen if I tell you everything." She paused. When no one spoke, she took a breath and continued. "I guess it's safe to start out with what you already know. You all were in my time not too long ago. I watched the video feeds from the hidden probes that survived Ultemecia's counterattack against our forces. I saw all of you enter her castle."

"You mean the floating castle that was anchored at the orphanage in Centra?" Irvine queried.

"Yes. I was twenty miles offshore in one of our landing craft when you appeared. We were waiting to begin the second wave of our attack. You…" She looked down, and her voice became a shivering whisper. "You saw what happened to the first wave." She shuddered, then continued. "We didn't know where you had come from or who you were, but after you entered the castle, the cameras picked up the flashes of magical discharges coming from within. We knew you must have been fighting Ultemecia and her monsters so we landed the second attack ahead of schedule, but by the time we reached the master chamber, you, Ultemecia, and all the monsters were gone. We couldn't believe it. How could just six people defeat a foe that had slaughtered our… our greatest fighters without the slightest effort? But then there was a slip, and suddenly those of us who survived it knew."

Quistis's brow furrowed. "A slip? What is that?"

The old woman shuddered. "Terrible, that's what it is… just terrible." She seemed to lose herself in thought for a moment. Visibly shaking herself out of the trance, she continued. "Sorry… a slip… a slip is what we call it when someone disturbs the past enough so that our future cannot exist. It happens when something in Ultemecia's time compression causes a paradox." She blinked. "I guess… I mean, what the people on Academy told us happens; the time stream tries to straighten out the kinks caused by the paradox. A few minutes up the stream, just little changes occur… but years in the future, things, animals," Rachel seemed to deflate as her head bent toward the ground. "…people disappear." Again, silence fell as the sorceress stopped speaking. When she continued, her voice was that of a ghost. "Those who remain… we know things. We know things we didn't know before, and we… we know we didn't know… before."

Zell frowned slightly, the scowl that had developed on his face broke long enough for him to scratch his head.

"After the last slip, we all knew who you were. We knew how you had saved the past from Ultemecia's time compression. We knew it like it had been taught to us in our history classes—because it had been."

"That's all great, but you still haven't told us what you meant by saying you're responsible for what Rinoa said." Zell interjected.

"I'm coming to that." The sorceress sighed. "Along with what we knew about you, we knew about what is happening now. We… we know that Squall and Rinoa are the parents of Ultemecia. We know that Odine built the machine that Ultemecia used to travel back in time to try and achieve time compression. And we know… know the focal points in time where it is possible to come back and prevent her from destroying our past—your future."

"What do you mean 'prevent'—w-wait a minute! Did you say Squall and Rinoa are the parents of Ultemecia?!!" Zell was shouting again.

Strangely enough, Rachel was not cowed by the SeeDs excitement. "Yes. Ultemecia is the child of the sorceress Rinoa Loi—well now, Rinoa Heartilly—and her knight, Squall Leonhart."

"So where do you fit in to all this?" Selphie's brow furrowed.

The old sorceress standing before the SeeDs exhaled a long breath. "I was sent here to prevent Ultemecia from coming to power. There were three focal points in history where we identified that this might be possible."

"And the first was during Squall's knighting." Irvine stated.

The sorceress nodded resignedly. "Yes." She sagged visibly. "So you can probably guess who was behind those things Rinoa said during the parade ceremony."

"You were setting us up? You were fucking setting us up?!! Why you…" Zell advanced on the sorceress.

"Zell! Back off!!" Quistis barked.

The incensed SeeD rounded on her. "Come on Quis! She tried to get us to kill Squall and Rinoa!!" He turned back to the sorceress. "She probably even ordered the attack on the Garden! She's probably the one responsible for Galbadia invading Timber!"

The old woman shook her head violently. When she looked up, Quistis was shocked to see tears glinting in her pleading eyes. "No! No! Please, I didn't do all that! I would never go against SeeD! It was all documented in our history after the slip! That's why the knighting ceremony was a focal point! After that, history tells us that Galbadia—led by Squall and Rinoa—became incredibly aggressive and powerful."

"Bullshit!" Zell stamped his foot in disgust. "Bullshit! I don't believe a word you say! You've been manipulating us from the start, and I'm not going to go along with any more of it!" He whirled and stomped toward the exit. "Come on, SeeDs! Let's go find Squall."

"Zell, wait!" Quistis placed a restraining hand on his arm. "Let's at least hear her out. If we already know she's lying, then what harm could it do?"

Zell regarded Quistis with an incredulous look. "Holy shit! You actually believe her?! Quis, we should kill her before she causes any more trouble! Why can't you see that everything she says is a lie?!"

"I know it's hard to believe her, Zell, but we have to consider the fact that—"

Zell snapped, yanking his arm out of the SeeD's grasp. "Fuck you, Quistis Trepe!" His finger shook with rage as he pointed it at Rachel. "If you're so blind that you can't see what she's doing to us, then fuck you all!" He spat the words like bullets. "I'm not going to go along with any more of this shit! I still know what it means to be a friend, and I'm not going to sit around and listen to her lie about my friends! I'm outta here, and if any one of you doesn't come with me, then to hell with you!!" With that, Zell stormed out of the bunker.

The rest of the SeeDs stood in stunned silence. Irvine cast a long glance at the doorway, but stayed put. Against the wall to which she had retreated, Rachel hung her head and cried quietly. Only Dahyte stood cool, impassive.

"I'm sorry." Rachel gasped through her tears. "Oh, god, I'm messing this all up! It wasn't supposed to be like this… I don't know…"

As the wizened old sorceress cried, Irvine and Selphie looked at each other, shuffling their feet awkwardly, but remaining silent.

Acting on impulse, Quistis stepped forward and placed a hand on the sorceress's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry. He's always like that. I'm sure he didn't mean it, he'll be back." Quistis was not sure of any such thing, but she could think of nothing else to say.

"No… no. That's not it. That's not it at all." Rachel looked up, trying unsuccessfully to dry her face with a sleeve of her dress. "I shouldn't even be here. Things… this situation should have been fixed already." She sniffed loudly, then continued. "I'm just the backup. Bor was supposed to fix everything."

Stepping back now that the sorceress was coherent once more, Quistis spoke. "What do you mean?"

"Me… me and Borland were the only two level four sorceresses young enough to make the trip back to your time. But he was almost a level five, so they sent him to the primary focal point." The sorceress said.

"Which was?" Quistis prompted.

"Oh, sorry." Rachel's voice grew quieter. "Bor was supposed to kill Doctor Odine. He went a few days farther back than I did… so that I wouldn't complete my mission if he completed his."

"Kill Odine?" Selphie exclaimed. "But that would… And, and how would you know if he completed his mission or not? Are you in contact with him?"

Rachel's voice was back to an old lady's whisper now. "I know… I know because if Bor had been successful, there would have been another slip and I… I would have disappeared." For a moment, it seemed the sorceress was about to break down crying again, but instead she began speaking very quickly. "If either of us had completed their missions, we would have both disappeared. The people aboard Academy said that there's no other way the timestream could resolve the paradox." The words tumbled out in a rush. "They said it was the only way, because we can't get back to the future—our bodies wouldn't be young enough to survive the process a second time. So it's not really like we're killing each other." Her eyes pleaded with the SeeDs to believe her. "Really, it's for the best; we're helping each other, we have to be, because… because…" Her eyes fell to the floor once more. "…because Bor is my best friend." The sorceress seemed to choke slightly as something stuck in her throat. "But if I'm still here… he must be dead."

Quistis tried to keep the old woman talking. "What do you mean, you can't go back?"

Rachel looked up at the SeeD squad leader. "Well, when we use the time travel magic, we can always jump back to our original time, even if we don't have any spells left, it's just that… well, the spells take something out of your body when you go. They speed up your—what the people on Academy call your—'lifeclock'. When that happens, you age… a lot. It kind of depends on how far in time you go, but the farther you jump, the more you age." She turned her head to the side. "We jumped about fo—oh!" The old woman's arms wrapped around her frail body. "Oh no! I almost…" She shook her head violently. "I don't know! I just don't know! They said I shouldn't talk to you too much, or I might cause a slip that doesn't fix anything. And if I disappear before I complete my mission… all my friends, everybody in the future will die!" She pressed her vein-lined hands to her temples.

Again, Quistis placed a hand on the sorceress's shoulder. She spoke in a soft voice. "Rachel, how old were you when you came back into our time?"

"I am… I was…. I was twelve years old when I made the jump." She dropped her hands from her temples and held them in front of her face. As if noticing for the first time, she shuddered at the sight of her own withered flesh. "Now I'm… I'm… old."

Even as the sorceress collapsed against her, Quistis forgave her sobs. Dear God, she threw away her entire life… Even as she held the crying girl, Quistis could see Irvine and Selphie staring at her, frowns etched across their faces. The SeeD tried to find within herself the same skepticism she saw creasing the features of her team, but she could not. She gave up her entire future to go on a mission that—even if she's successful—will kill her. Quistis looked down at the ancient young girl shuddering against her. But… "…why?" Placing her hands on the sorceress's shoulders, Quistis gently pushed herself a step back from Rachel. Kneeling brought her to eye-level with the hunched form of the girl. "Why are you doing this, Rachel? Ultemecia is dead. We killed her."

The sorceress shook her head and swallowed. "Yes, you came and saved the last of us… but you were too late. She… she…" Rachel faltered, then, closing her eyes, continued. "You can't imagine what it's like after Ultemecia. She burned entire cities with her wrath. She scoured life from the lands and boiled the seas. And those who managed to escape her… the time compression—she was using it to kill the last of us." She took a breath. "Only us… only the white SeeDs managed to stay alive because our fleet was so spread-out. But…" She paused. "Our world is dead. We have no future. The continents are burning, the oceans are sterile, and we… we have… we had nowhere to go. That's why they sent us back. That's why we have to stop her, we have to stop her before she kills everyone."

Silence fell across the underground chamber. Quistis looked over to Irvine and Selphie. The two SeeDs stood, their expressions unfathomable. They don't believe her. I can understand why not. They don't want to. I don't want to either. At length, Irvine spoke up. "Quistis, I think now is a good time for that conference." He jerked his head toward the outside light spilling from the entryway.

"Rachel, I need to discuss some things with my squad. Will you wait here for a moment?" Looking drained, the sorceress nodded numbly at Quistis's question.

The two SeeDs followed their commander out of the bunker and into the surrounding forest that lay beneath a darkening sky.

"I don't believe her." After having chosen a convenient tree to lean against, Irvine was the first to speak. "She's got no proof."

Selphie nodded. "She didn't give us any evidence to back up her claims. She's asking us to take this all on faith." The small SeeD shook her head. "I don't think I can do that." In the distance, thunder—or perhaps artillery fire—rumbled.

Quistis frowned. "Why not? I mean, I know some of her story sounds a little far-fetched, but she knows some things that she shouldn't know unless she's telling the truth. I mean, some of what she said is stuff that we never talked about. How could she know it unless her story is genuine?"

"Quis, don't tell me you're actually starting to believe her." Irvine pushed away from the tree.

"Irvine, it's the most plausible explanation of what's going on that I've heard yet. Just because we don't like what she is saying doesn't mean that she's not telling the truth." Quistis spread her hands.

Selphie's brow creased. "But… but… Squall and Rinoa would never do… I mean, I can't believe it. They're our friends." A droplet of rain struck her shoulder.

"I'm not so sure if that's true any more." I know you want to believe in them, Selphie, Irvine. I want to believe in them too. Quistis sighed. "After what we did in Deling… I just don't know." But we can't let that affect our judgment. We can't let friendships—feelings—from the past interfere with our present judgment. She almost shrugged. "Isn't it possible that what we did—or what it looked like we did—in Galbadia might have really affected Squall and Rinoa? I think the best thing to do here, is to follow the sorceress. We should find out what she's up to, find out what we can do." I… Squall, I want to believe in you. I want to believe in you so much it hurts… but… Now Quistis did shrug. "Besides, we should stay around just in case she isn't telling the truth.

Irvine had stepped forward, and was now face-to-face with Quistis. She met his gaze. "Quistis, this is the same speech you gave to all of us on the train to Deling. This is the same stuff that got us into all that trouble." The sharpshooter shook his head. "I'm sorry, Quis. I just can't swallow any more of it. Squall and Rinoa are my friends. I can't go along with this." Overhead, a breeze rustled the leaves.

I know, Irvine, I know. I feel the same way as you do—and that's the problem Sadly, Quistis turned to Selphie. I can't let my feelings for… him… interfere with doing what's right. We can't let our emotions direct us. "You feel the same way?" Quistis knew she need not have asked.

"I'm sorry, Quis." Selphie echoed hollowly.

The SeeD leader looked to the ground, feeling the stinging warmth in her eyes. "I… I understand, guys." She blinked the moisture away and looked up. "I've got to go back in there. That is my duty."

"We won't be coming with you if you do, Quistis." Selphie said, unnecessarily.

"I know." Quistis's voice was almost a whisper. She wanted to hug them both, to clasp hands, she wanted to communicate her feelings to them through some form of human contact—and maybe, just maybe, receive some understanding in return. Instead, she straightened. "Good luck, SeeDs." Back stiffened, emotions firmly in hand, Quistis saluted.

Selphie and Irvine returned the gesture. "Good luck, Quistis."

Somewhere along the Galbadian-Timber border, before the oncoming storm, four friends, at last, parted ways.

…

Squall awoke with his cheek pressing into the cold wood of the desk. As he raised his head, a few pages of the report he had been scanning stuck to his forehead. Pulling them off, he regarded the papers. Just like all the others, this report from the Secret Service staff contained no useful information. The dozens of pages of lengthy wording could all be reduced into one phrase: 'no new information.'

Squall's spine popped as he stood. Despite his stiffness, the knight did not wince. He made gesture at all that would indicate any awareness of his own personal physical situation—a situation that was rapidly deteriorating. Squall was discheveled and unshaven. His hair lay—matted and dull—lifelessly across his scalp, and dark rings encircled his eyes.

His empty stomach had long since ceased growling and now, painful pangs of hunger stabbed through him. Squall glanced at a wall clock. It was two in the morning, the kitchen staff would be gone so he could not have anything brought up to the office, yet his quick unplanned nap had convinced him that he needed some form of chemical stimulant in order to keep awake.

Squall shrugged. There was nothing for it but to head down to the kitchen and make himself a cup of coffee.

On the way, he was careful to avoid the hallway leading to the bedroom where Rinoa had slept, he took steps to stay away from the balcony where she had been attacked by the living statues, in fact, Squall did a good job of avoiding any part of the mansion that could have been associated with the sorceress in any way—until he reached the kitchen.

Squall pushed open the door to the already-lighted room, and stopped dead in his tracks. Rinoa looked up from the steaming mug she held in one hand and smiled at him. Shaking her sleep-tousled hair from her face, she leaned back, stretched and yawned. The door slammed behind Squall, and the memory disappeared.

The knight staggered back against the wall, clutching at his chest with one hand. The other softened his landing as he slumped to the floor. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Squall buried his face in his hands.

Some time later, he managed to stagger back to the mercifully memory-free sanctuary of the Executive Office. Squall did not fall asleep again.

"And what, exactly, would that mean?" Squall folded his arms across his chest.

The executive aide looked nervous. "Um… well, Sir, it would mean you lose all power over governmental functions." Feeling like he had not said enough, the aide continued in a rush. "But that's assuming, of course, that the senate votes for impeachment by a three-quarters majority. I'm sure you could prevent that by reining in the Secret Service, or maybe ending martial law. A-at least in the southern provinces." The aide hastened to add the last bit after finding himself on the receiving end of Squall's stony glare.

"So I would no longer be able to direct the search for the sorceress?" Squall asked in a dead voice.

"Well… erm, yes. That's correct, Sir." Scuffing his feet on the thick blue carpet of the Executive Office of the Presidential Mansion, the aide coughed. "Of course, you would be free to conduct your own, private, search." Looking up, but careful not to let his eyes fall on the face of the Knight of Galbadia, the aide instead stared out the large, bright window against which, Squall stood silhouetted by the light of day. "But, as I mentioned earlier, you could avoid this by taking a look at some of your other concerns…"

"THERE ARE NO OTHER CONCERNS!!" Squall exploded, flinging an arm out to the side. "You tell me that the senate wants to take away my ability to look for the sorceress? Then disband the senate."

Aghast, the aide actually looked directly at Squall. "Disband the senate?! Sir?? B-but there's no legal precedent—no, there's no legality in that at all! I mean, you can't do that, it's not legal!"

Squall's eyes narrowed. Stepping forward, he stabbed a button near a small speaker set into his desk. "Jackson. Get me General Rourk."

"At once, sir." A voice rang from the speaker.

"Wha-what are you doing?" The aide—Squall finally remembered his name, Anath Delahn—stammered.

"Making it legal."

…

Seifer sighed as Ultemecia ran her fingers through his close-cropped hair, just like she had in so many dreams before. The slightest smile crept across his face as the wonderful fulfillment her touch brought him invigorated his soul. But something was amiss. The touch was not that of his sorceress, the fingers stroking his hair were as alien to him as the thought of surrender. His eyes snapped open. A pair of lilac orbs gazed down at him.

In a flash, Seifer was on his feet, black gunblade held at the ready. Before him, the albino-haired woman reclined on a low couch. Behind her, the deep blue of a large lake or ocean sparkled through a pair of silver-gilded French doors. The walls of the room were painted a pastel blue, while several additional pieces of furniture were covered in sea foam-green upholstery. Underfoot, a deep carpet of royal lavender softened Seifer's footfalls as he took two additional steps backward. "Who are you?" He demanded.

The corners of the woman's mouth twitched downward, drawing her full lips into a slight pout. "Oh, come now, Seifer. Don't you remember me?"

"You're the one who released my from my cell at the tower prison in Deling." Seifer's eyes narrowed. "But you haven't answered my question. Who are you?"

By way of answer, the woman stretched languorously. Her ankle-length dress clung closely to the curves of her slender body. "Take a good look, Seifer." The woman yawned slightly. "Do you like what you see?" White teeth flashed in a dazzling smile. "I hope so, because I am your new sorceress."

"My new sorceress." Seifer echoed dully. Though he kept his voice even, his knuckles popped as his grip on Hyperion tightened.

Another feline grin appeared. "You catch on quick, my dear." She shook a cascade of white hair over one shoulder. "I know how you've been lost, Seifer. I know how you've been drifting without a purpose." The woman leaned back against the cushions, crossing her long legs before her. Seifer noted that her dress was slit halfway up one leg, it now slid away, exposing a small expanse of creamy white thigh. "I can give your life new meaning, Seifer. I can give you a reason to live. For I am the sorceress Sera, and I require your services."

"A reason to live?" Slowly, Seifer sheathed his weapon.

"That's right, my knight." The sorceress purred. "Serve me, and I think you'll find the rewards quite…" She paused, running her tongue over her upper lip. "…pleasing."

Seifer said nothing. The woman smiled again.

"The pieces are falling into place." Sera did not bother adding the husky undertones to her voice she had affected in Seifer's presence. Normally, she enjoyed watching—and using—men's reactions to her seductive charms, but this one was different. This one, she had found, was beyond her ability to control—in too many ways.

"I don't like it. It is in poor judgment to use the renegade in our plans." The man spoke from the shadows cast by flickering torchlight in the dank underground chamber. "We could easily proceed with the plan without him."

"Nonsense. Just because you failed to control him properly as a boy does not mean he cannot be broken to our will." The sorceress grinned maliciously. "In fact, I'd say he is already firmly in hand."

"You may think so. I thought so once. Then he escaped my grasp and wreaked havoc among my investments." Stepping out of the shadows, the man glanced furtively about. His eyes were flat, dead, calculating. "He is unpredictable."

The sorceress brushed his concerns away with a wave of her hand. "Yes, but you were a stupid Shumi then. You didn't understand human nature." Her eyes narrowed. "I wonder—if after all these years as one of us—you understand us any better." She turned away from the man. "Besides, we have more important things to worry about than that minor distraction."

"You have located the sorceress then?" As the man stepped forward, a scuttling cockroach met its unfortunate end as it crunched against the cold stone floor under his left foot. He seemed not to notice.

"Yes. As we thought, she has gone to seek out the Fate." The sorceress muttered a quiet spell, and fire burst from a pile of cold ashes set into a pit near the center of the smooth stone flooring.

"Did she choose the contest?" The man asked.

"No, she chose the penance instead." The sorceress spat in disgust. "But it will not add undue complication."

Despite the reassurance, the man paled. "But… but… during her penance, surely you will lose the ability to influence her—if you have not already."

"Do you mean control her?" The sorceress laughed. "No, without the device, she is already beyond my direct control—just as she is immune to your ability to possess her." Her eyes hardened. "But she is by no means beyond my influence."

"So, you mean to use the Leonhart?" The man shook his head. "I warn you, sorceress; do not underestimate him. I did once. It was quite nearly the last mistake of my life."

Stepping forward, the sorceress cast a handful of powdered Cockatrice beak on the magical flames. The fire changed from red to green as tendrils of an ethereal smoke immediately began curling from the flames. "Have no fear, my time-traveling companion. I have no intention of underestimating the knight." She waved a hand, and the transparent smoke ceased its aimless drifting, and shot straight to a ceiling duct where it disappeared. "Unlike you, however, I know ways of controlling others such that they never know the control is there in the first place."

"Try not to cause too much damage in the riots." The man wrung his hands nervously. "One day, this country will be mine."

"Indeed." The sorceress said, almost in agreement. Almost.

That night, a wind blew over the city. It came from no measurable direction, and blew at no measurable pace, but those caught outside under the baleful eye of the moon—reddened by the dust blowing in from the desert on the sickly warm air—buttoned up their coats despite the hot breath of the wind, and hunched over when they walked, as if bracing themselves against a gale.

The wind wound its way down dark alleys and across gritty rooftops. It danced among dead leaves and batted at rattling window shutters. Many lay sleepless that night, tossing and turning on the uncomfortably warm sheets. Those wakeful souls who held superstition in their heart shuddered at the sound of the wind moaning through bare branches, and drew the hot covers up over their heads. They could sense that an evil wind was blowing.

A nearly transparent smoke, rising from the rusted grate of a sewer drain was carried across the city by the wind. The ethereal mist was dispersed into every nook and cranny of the city. It wound its way into the people's houses and permeated their bedding, their clothes, their minds. In the souls of the people, the smoke began to sow seeds of discontent in the fertile ground of troubled hearts.

As the night wore on, more and more people threw off their suddenly oppressive bedding and made the dangerous treks to the houses of friends. In the small hours of the morning, with the wind still tugging at the last dead leaves of fall, whispered conversations progressed behind drawn curtains in nearly every home in Deling City. The plotting, the planning, the disillusionment all needed but a single catalyst to burst into the flames of open revolt.

With the dawning of morning over Deling came the news of the disbanding of the senate.

…

When Quistis returned to the earthy dimness of the underground bunker, Dahyte was gone. Only the withered form of the sorceress remained. She was huddled into a corner, her tear-reddened eyes staring blankly at the floor. Upon the SeeD's arrival, they rose to take her in. "You… you came back." Rachel seemed surprised.

"Yes. But the others aren't coming." Quistis's voice was cold.

"I understand." Rachel hung her head. "I know it must be hard for you to accept what I've told you." She looked up, hesitantly. "I… I'm really glad you came back."

Quistis placed her hands on her hips. "I came back to deliver an ultimatum." She said severely. "If you swear to me that you will do nothing more to hurt Squall or Rinoa, then I will help you complete your mission. If you refuse, then I will do everything in my power to stop you. Do you understand what I am saying?"

The girl nodded vigorously. "Oh yes! Yes, I promise!" For the first time, a small smile dared inch its way across her features. "It's perfect… I mean, it will work out that way… the next—" She cut herself off, realizing that she wasn't making any sense. "What I mean is; the third focal point, isn't something that can hurt your friends. It has to do with an object called the 'Sapphire Dream'. It's a large jewel with incredible magical powers. The Sapphire Dream is the source of Ultemecia's power. Without it, she would be no more than just a normal sorceress. But with it…" Rachel shuddered. "She is almost as powerful as Hyne himself."

Quistis said nothing. She simply folded her arms across her chest and waited for the sorceress to continue.

Rachel blinked. "Oh… yeah. What we need to do…" She seemed to shake herself mentally, then continued. "In my time, there was no way to separate Ultemecia from the Sapphire Dream. But now, I think we may be able to get to it, and keep her from ever using its magic against the world."

Quistis frowned. "How do I know you don't just want this object for yourself? How do I know you're not planning to use it against me or my friends once we find it?"

Rachel sighed heavily. "I can't give you any guarantees except a promise. I promise that all I want to do when we find the Sapphire Dream… is destroy it." She shivered, but stepped forward until she was looking directly up, into the SeeD's eyes. "Quistis, I've seen too many of my friends die because of that thing. I…" She motioned to herself. "I'm like this because of the Sapphire Dream. I hate that object more than I can say." She hung her head. "I'm sorry, I've no more words to convince you with."

"Alright. For now, I'll believe you." Quistis sighed. "So, where is this thing?"

Rachel grimaced slightly. "That's kind of the hard part…"

"What, you don't know where it is?" The SeeD tilted her head to the side.

"No… I know where it is, I know how to get to it, I can get you transportation there." The sorceress said.

"But…" Quistis prompted.

"But, it's… well…" Rachel could not think of a good way to state the problem, so she simply said: "It's on the dark side of the moon."

"My god…" Quistis was speechless.

The sorceress shook her head. "I don't even think she's brave enough to go there."

…

"What is it?!" Squall whirled from the depressingly empty map of Galbadia that had been hung against the window behind his desk. Still not a single sighting… Why is… she… hiding from me? He glared at his head aide as the man, hunched against the anger he could feel emanating from the knight, stepped into the room.

"Uh… Sir, I know you hate to be bothered with…" A hint of a sarcastic smile twisted at the corner of the aide's mouth before he continued. "…trivial matters of state, but a major situation is developing all across the country—and it's spread here to Deling as well."

"What? More protests?" Squall growled. "Very well. Authorize the army to deploy riot gear again." He waved his hand dismissively. "Now, don't bother me again unless it's news of the sorceress."

"No, sir. Things have become more serious. The citizens are in active revolt over the disbanding of the senate." The aide began rattling off problems. "Seven new rebel groups have declared the Galbadian government defunct and have been making attacks against military patrols." The aide paused to draw breath. "And… there's been some disturbances from within the government."

In the short time he had spent as head of the Galbadian government, Squall had come to recognize the deliberate understatement of bad news that came naturally to all minor functionaries. "A coup. How close to me have they gotten?"

At the knight's words, the aide's face underwent a transformation. From nervous worry, the man's expression changed to one of fatalistic resignedness that made Squall's throat tighten. "I'm sorry, Sir, I'm afraid they've reached your office." The aide said as he reached into his jacket and withdrew a snub-nosed pistol. "Sir, I truly regret this, but I cannot let you do this to Galbadia." The man continued speaking as he leveled the weapon at Squall's chest. "I've seen administration after administration abuse this office, and roll over the ideals that Galbadia was founded upon. First Vinzer, then Ultemecia, and now you." The man sighed. "I had such high hopes that order and fairness would be restored after you and the sorceress came to power. All the people did." Ever so slowly, Squall began to edge toward his desk. Oblivious, the man continued. "But what you're doing now… It's tearing the country apart, Sir! The secret service is holding the populace hostage, abducting whomever they please and terrorizing everyone. The people are stifling under martial law, while the army treads on their civil rights. Sir, this can't go on. Somebody has to stop it."

"And that somebody just has to be you?" Squall attempted to distract the man's attention.

"Who else is in the right position?" He pulled back the hammer on the weapon. "I'm sorry, Sir. This madness ends now."

Faster than the eye can follow, Squall dove toward his desk, snatching up and flinging a silver letter-opener even as he dropped behind the heavy piece of furniture. The pistol barked once—unbelievably loud in the confined space—and the window behind the desk shattered as the round missed the knight and flew off into the streets of Deling. Crouching behind the desk, his right hand lit with the swirling amber glow of a Flare spell, Squall heard the thump of a body hitting the carpeted floor. Cautiously, he stood, and peered over the his impromptu shelter.

The aide lay sprawled on the floor, his hands clutching at the end of the sharp letter-opener protruding from his throat. His breath was a gurgling wheeze, and his gun had fallen far from his prostrate form.

Squall stepped over to him, and gently pulled the aide's hands away from his throat. A small trickle of blood ran from the puncture wound the metal object had made. It bubbled slightly as the man inhaled. "I missed the carotid artery. You'll live." Squall said coldly. The man's eyes stared up at him uncomprehendingly. As the knight stood to leave, the beast holding his heart in thrall relented just the tiniest bit. Squall was allowed to cast a pitying glance down at the man. "I'm sorry." Squall paused, somehow, it did not seem like enough. "I hope things work out for you." He finished lamely.

His secretary was gone, so Squall made the call himself. "Medic to the Executive Office." He didn't bother waiting to see if anyone acknowledged his order.

The limousine was far too long and obtrusive, Squall decided. Turning away from the entrance to the garage below the mansion—where the presidential motorcade was located—he opted, instead, for one of the escort motorcycles. Levering himself up onto the bike, he donned the helmet before stomping the starter, the darkened face-guard would help him avoid unwanted attention.

The streets of Deling City were a nightmare. Broken and burning cars lay everywhere. My god, was I really so oblivious to what was happening right under my nose…? For the first time, a tiny twinge of doubt pricked at the monster locked around Squall's heart.

Occasionally, Squall passed a burning police car or APC along the side of the deserted streets—evidence of organized rebel resistance within the city. Acting on impulse, he switched on the motorcycle's police scanner.

From the myriad garbled transmissions he picked up, Squall determined that control of Deling was now being contested by four distinct forces. The first, and most powerful seemed to be the military units involved in the coup. They had already taken over the downtown district, Presidential mansion, General Caraway's mansion, and the army base to the north of Deling. The second force seemed to consist of several different rebel groups, all engaged in guerrilla activity in nearly every sector of Deling. Dispatchers also were trading rumors of a possible organized force of revolutionaries moving through the plains south of Deling, headed toward Galbadia's capitol. The third force consisted of military units still loyal to the sitting government of Galbadia. Squall imagined that this meant himself. They were disorganized and unsure of what procedures to follow, but had managed to take control of the residential suburbs and an Air Force base located on the western side of Deling. A fourth military force was holding on to the airport near downtown, and they seemed to be in control of the cities sewer and subway system, but police units were unsure of where their loyalties lay. The general standing order for the civilian police units in Deling was to try to keep peace, prevent looting, and avoid areas of armed combat.

Ignoring the red light at an abandoned intersection, Squall leaned into the road as he gunned the bike's motor into the hard left turn—and was surprised by the appearance of a Galbadian main battle tank as it clanked up the road, filling the entire street in front of him. Squall let go of the handlebars as he kicked the motorcycle's tail around. He fell onto the hard concrete and skidded to a stop. The motorcycle slid, with a crash, into the tank's forward armor plating even as the huge vehicle ground to a halt. A hatch in the cupola popped open, and three soldiers sprang from the tank, dropping to the road below and advancing on Squall, weapons held at the ready.

"Hands up!" The lead soldier shouted as the knight staggered to his feet.

Pretending to be still dazed from the crash, Squall stumbled forward and raised a hand. "Don't shoot." Just a little closer…

The soldier was not fooled. "I said, hands up!" He leveled his rifle at Squall's chest.

Reluctantly, the knight complied even while glaring at the soldiers who moved forward to grab his arms. Banking on the hope that they hadn't been ordered to shoot him on sight—if they were soldiers involved in the coup—Squall shouted as he was being restrained. "I am Squall Leonhart, Knight of Galbadia, and I demand you release me, at once!"

If Squall had hoped that the shock of hearing his name would loosen his captor's grips and allow him to escape, he was disappointed. "Well, well! Looks like that big bonus is ours, boys!" The lead soldier grinned. "'You're under arrest, Mr. Leonhart."

Squall said nothing, instead, he began to fade away.

"Oh shit! Back in the tank! It's a GF!!" There was a mad scramble for the cupola hatch. An unearthly clanging noise filled the air as the street darkened. Twin tracks of ghostly flames sprang from the concrete, and in the distance, a mournful whistle sounded, like the wailing of lost souls. The last soldier barely made it into the tank before Doomtrain slammed into the heavy machine. There was an explosive bang of colliding metal, and the rear armor of the tank dented inward in a shower of sparks as the spectral locomotive plowed through the war machine, blasting out through the other side and disappearing into the darkness.

Squall was exhausted by the time he finished dragging the last frozen soldier from the interior of the tank. Though he was tempted to leave the poisoned men lying there on the road, at the last moment, the beast let Squall relent, and he cast Esuna spells on the five man crew, allowing them to jump out of the way as his newly acquired tank—with a horrible grinding of gears—lurched off down the road.

After a few moments of fiddling with the communications equipment—difficult to reach from the driver's seat—Squall managed to establish a television contact with his own forces. It was a few more minutes before he was able to speak to someone in a position of authority.

"Sir! It's good to see that you're alive, Sir! The colonel seemed genuinely glad to see Squall.

"I'm glad someone thinks so, colonel. Can you tell me what's going on?"

The officer complied, re-iterating most of what Squall already knew, but adding one surprising detail. "Sir, the forces holding Deling's airport are being lead by General Caraway."

Squall was so thunderstruck by the news, that he accidentally let the tank crush several parked cars along one side of the narrow street he was rattling down. "What?! Caraway is back?" He shouted as he pulled the tank back to the middle of the street.

"Yessir! But he says his position at the airport is becoming untenable. He is requesting permission to fly his troops out to join our forces here at the air station." The colonel reported.

"Wait, don't give him permission just yet. Is there any way you can put me through to him?" Squall asked warily.

"Yes, Sir. I'll have you patched through now." The screen to Squall's right flickered, and the face of General Richard Caraway replaced that of the colonel.

"Squall Leonhart? Are you there?" The man inquired.

"Sir, what is more important than your daughter's card?" Squall had to shout to be heard over the noise created by the tank's treads as he rolled over a makeshift barricade of burnt-out automobiles. Bullets fired from rebels hiding among the debris scattered across the road spanged off of the tanks armored sides.

"What?" The general looked confused for a minute, then realization crept into his eyes. "Ifrit, Squall, Ifrit. But it wasn't worth the trade."

"Because you lost it to Martine?" Convinced that the man on the other end of the line really was Richard Caraway, Squall decided to reciprocate by assuring the general of his own identity.

"I'm glad you… remembered, Squall. But that's not the reason I regretted letting my daughter go…" For a moment, a distant look crept into General Caraway's eyes, but he banished it with a shake of his head. "We have more important matters to discuss, Mr. Leonhart. How quickly can you get to the Air Force base in western Deling?"

Squall spared a glance at the navigational displays located behind his head. As he did so, he heard something large crunch under the armored treads of the tank, but ignored the sound. "An hour at best, why?"

On the screen, the general shook his head. "Squall, that's not going to be fast enough. These people who have been doing… other things… are—I believe—the instigators of the coup, and maybe of the rebellion too." He frowned. "Though your running of the country didn't do a whole lot to instill confidence in the populace." He shook his head again. "But that's in the past. The problem we are faced with now is; two large divisions of troops are moving in from the west and from the north. They are loyal to the instigators of the coup, and we don't have the resources to hold them off. My troops have commandeered enough civilian airliners to get themselves and your forces out of Deling." He paused to check his wristwatch. "We're already in the air. We can pick up your troops and get out in time—but only if we do it within the next half-hour."

Squall nodded. "I understand, general. I'll transfer command of my men over to you. Let me make the connection with them now…"

Before Squall could adjust the communications set, the screen shifted back to the face of the colonel. "Sir, we've been listening to your exchange on this end. I've already given the order to prepare to pull out. We'll be ready when General Caraway lands." Again, before Squall could make a move, the screen flashed back to the face of Richard Caraway.

"Squall, I picked up that last transmission. My aircraft are landing now." He paused for a moment. "Mr. Leonhart, I've been briefed on your actions over the past few days… and…" Strangely, the general seemed to be having trouble finding the right words to voice his thoughts. "Well, I think I'm beginning to see something that I might have missed before. I think I know why you did what you did… so…" The general drew a breath. "I have a very important task I need you to complete, Squall."

Squall's eyes narrowed. What the hell is he talking about? There's only one thing I'm interested in right now…

"Squall, my sources tell me that my daughter has gone to seek out the Fate on the Mare Lela peninsula. Have you heard of this place?" The general's face was stony.

"Yes, Sir. Most of it's still uncharted wilderness, but I know the general location." Squall kept his voice carefully neutral, though he felt like shouting. At last, he had a lead.

"I don't know why she's gone there, Squall, but I think you do. This past year has taught me that I may no longer understand Rinoa quite so well as I thought I did." The general seemed to have something stuck in his throat.

I don't know why she's gone, general. I don't know any better than you. Squall's grip on the control sticks tightened.

At last, General Caraway seemed able to speak around the obstruction. "I need you to find her for me, Squall. Find my daughter."

"Yes, Sir."

"You won't make it to the airbase in time, Squall, so I'm sending a VTOL aircraft to pick you up. The pilot knows the way, but the aircraft only has enough fuel to get you within about a hundred miles of your destination—and nobody knows exactly where the Fate is. That is all going to be up to you." The general looked down.

"Understood, Sir. I will find Rinoa…" But not for you, general. The effort to keep control after saying her name caused Squall's teeth to lock together.

General Richard Caraway's eyes grew hard. "You will, Squall Leonhart. You will find her and protect her, or…" Caraway leaned in close to the camera, his voice a hissing whisper. "…or I will hunt you down and kill you."

Squall's voice became equally icy. "I understand, general." He bared his teeth. "But keep this in mind: if you've lied to me, if you've done anything to keep me from completing this task, I'll do the same to you."

The general's smile was just a shade short of vicious. "I'm glad we understand each other, Mr. Leonhart. Caraway out." The screen went dead.

The rocketman watched the aircraft as it flashed in and out of view from between the three-story apartment buildings surrounding the parking lot. Below him, bright green smoke from the landing marker the man had dropped was whipped into swirling eddies by the dusty wind. Having completed a circuit of the area surrounding the impromptu landing field, the jet aircraft slowed for its final approach.

Dodging out from the cover of the lean-to constructed on the roof of the building, the rocketman raised the long, metal tube to his shoulder, peering through the missile launcher's sight. As a solid red box appeared around the approaching aircraft, his finger tightened on the trigger.

A gout of yellow flame blasted from the rear of the shoulder-mounted missile launcher. The guided rocket streaked toward the approaching aircraft, trailing white smoke. A split-second before it impacted with the jet, the missile's warhead exploded, peppering the aircraft's air intakes and cockpit with metal shrapnel.

Trailing black smoke, the jet yawed to one side and began losing altitude. It was descending rapidly when it dropped behind a line of buildings that obstructed the rocketman's view. Seconds later, there was a loud boom, and a cloud of oily smoke mushroomed into the sky near where the airplane had disappeared.

Dropping the empty launcher, the rocketman ran over to the edge of the roof. He grinned as a half-dozen Galbadian soldiers grabbed the man who had driven the tank and dropped the smoke. He relaxed further at the flashes of Silence magic that the troops cast on the man. A second later, every muscle in his body spasmed as the black blade speared through his heart.

Had the man been alive to see it, he would have marveled as the sight of the cloaked figure jumping three stories down to the ground, cleaving a second soldier nearly in half as he landed. The rocketman would have thought the jump impossible, and he would have been right. The jump was impossible—for anyone not imbued with the power of their sorceress.

"Why are you doing this?" Squall had his own blade out now as he faced Seifer.

"Because I have to." The white-clad knight growled. "Now go! There will be more soldiers here at any second."

Gunfire rattled from across the parking lot. Squall did not move. "Why did she run?"

"I can't tell you." Seifer snarled as a bullet whined past. "Go! Find your sorceress."

Squall ran. Before he likewise disappeared into the dimness of the winding alleyways, Seifer cast a Protect spell on the knight's retreating figure. He grimaced in genuine pain as the spell sparked with the impact of a bullet a second later.

…

"Aw, come on, darlin'. An ocean cruise for two. Don't that sound romantic?" Irvine gestured for Selphie to jump down off the dock and join him in the dingy, single-masted cabin cruiser.

"Irvine, if you think, for one second, that using that stupid cowboy drawl of yours is going to charm me into setting foot on that… floating piece of trash, you're dead wrong." Selphie shouted shrilly from her perch on the concrete retaining wall.

"But, Selphie, mae little doe-eyed beauty… how else 'r we gonna get across to Esthar? The last freighter full 'o refugees just shipped out last night." Irvine stood, arms akimbo, looking up at Selphie.

"Well, if you had listened to me, instead of just picking me up and chucking me in that damned taxi after we got here, you would know." Selphie's voice softened a bit. "Besides, remember how much fun you had on the trawler we took up the coast to Dollett? How do you think that toy boat is going to feel out on the open ocean?"

At the diminutive SeeDs remarks Irvine greened slightly. "Well… I still don' see how there's any other way…"

Seeing her chance, Selphie jumped on it. "Well, just come with me, and I'll show you! Don't worry, Irvy." She grinned happily as she hauled the gangly sharpshooter up onto dry land. "I've got everything taken care of."

"Oh no! No way! Ain't no way I'm gittin' in that thing!" Irvine shook his head, and dug his heels in, preventing Selphie from dragging him any closer to the snub-nosed shape of the rocket plane, sitting on it's rusty railed launching track.

"Oh, come on, Irvy! It'll be fun, and its really fast too!" Selphie tugged harder on his arm.

"Uh-uh, darlin'. That thing there is a wreck! Look at it! It's all rusty and dirty. Looks like it hasn't flown in years." Irvine took a step backward, dragging his excited girlfriend with him.

"Well, actually mister, it's never flown." A voice from behind startled the sharpshooter. The speaker was dressed in greasy coveralls, slouch cap, boots and a wide grin. "I guess you two are the test pilots who volunteered to try the old bird out?"

"That's right!" Selphie piped up before Irvine could disagree.

"Well, okay. Here. Me an' my boys'll give you a hand getting in." The man shook his head. "Man, you kids sure are brave. Hell, I wouldn't fly in one of those things even if my life depended on it." He grinned as a pair of burly mechanics each grabbed one of Irvine's arms and propelled him toward the waiting aircraft. "We've got her all fueled up and ready to go. Now, the Galbadian's built this thing near the end of the Sorceress War, so don't expect too much fancy navigational equipment or anything on board. Just kind of point her in the direction you want, and push the 'go' button." He gave Selphie an arm up even as the other two mechanics were stuffing a stunned Irvine into the seat behind Selphie's. "Boy, if this works, won't those Galbadian buggers be in for a nasty surprise?" He grinned and took a step back from the stained metal sides of the cigar-shaped aircraft. "Ok, I guess you've already heard all this, but keep in mind, these were built to be flying bombs, so you'll have to eject before you land."

"A FLYING WHAT?!" Irvine shouted, but his canopy had already closed, sealing off his voice.

"Since you're going to Esthar, there's no explosives loaded on your rocket, but try not to land on anybody, cause there's still gonna be a pretty big boom when you come down." Even though the canopy was closed, the headphones in Irvine's helmet allowed him to hear every word the mechanic said. "Well, guess that's about it. Good luck." He waved at the couple as he backed away from the launching rails. Selphie waved back vigorously. Irvine simply sat and stared.

The aircraft began to vibrate slightly and the whine of high-speed pumps filled both cockpits. "Okay! All systems show green." From the far end of the field—where the mechanic had run, a tiny figure waved it's arms. "Are you ready to go?"

"NO!!" Irvine shouted.

"YEAH!!" Selphie yelled, and stabbed the ignition button.

There was a tremendous roar as the rocket motor on the rear of the flying bomb ignited, shooting out a two-hundred foot long tongue of flame. The two SeeDs were squashed into their seats by the acceleration of the rocket plane. Despite the weight of what felt like an Iron Giant sitting on his chest, Irvine still managed to scream in terror as the curved rail track lofted the aircraft into the sky.

Across the field, one mechanic turned to another and shrugged. "Well, it didn't blow up, but did you hear that weird shrieking noise over the firing of the booster?"

The man beside him ignored the question, he was too busy grumbling and digging for his wallet. The betting results were in, the house collected well that afternoon.

…

"Is it because you love him?"

"What?" Quistis turned her head, and suppressed another shudder. Though the sniper was immobile—strapped in to the horizontal acceleration couch—the bulbous head and huge, black eye of the polarized space suit helmet made Dahyte seem even more alien, even more dangerous and unpredictable.

"Is that why you're doing this? Is it because you love him?" The SeeD repeated her question.

In a flash, Quistis's trepidation was replaced by anger. "Why do you care, sniper? It's not like you would understand emotions of that kind anyway."

It had been meant as an insult, but Dahyte simply nodded slightly at Quistis's words. "Professional curiosity."

"No. I don't love him, and that's not why I'm on this mission." Quistis spoke as much for her own benefit as for the sniper's.

"Then why did you agree to come? Why are you helping her?" Inside her helmet, Dahyte kept her head facing forward. "You know she's going to use it against them, don't you? You can't be so blind that you don't realize that."

Even as Dahyte's words stung her, Quistis marveled at the sniper's sudden loquaciousness. "I don't think so. I'm here because it's the right thing to do."

"No you're not. You're here because your need to deny your feelings for him has overcome your judgment." Dahyte moistened her lips and blinked several times in preparation for launch.

"Why don't you just shut up? You don't know anything about it." Quistis snapped. Then, the engines ignited, and there was no more time for talk. As gravity did it's best to cling to the enormous Galbadian rocket, crushing its occupants back into their seats, Quistis assured herself. She's wrong. She doesn't know anything about it.

…

Seifer stepped through the door and into the clouds of smoke that hung low over the roadside bar and pool hall. After following Squall to the outskirts of Deling—where the knight had managed to purloin a Galbadian army motorcycle—Seifer felt he deserved a chance to unwind. Plus, he was going to need a vehicle if he was to complete the mission the sorceress had given him.

Standing in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness, Seifer took note of a group of rough-looking characters seated at the bar, laughing and drinking. On his way in, he had seen the echelon of motorcycles parked out side. It seemed safe to assume that the group dressed in metal-studded leather at the bar were the hog drivers.

At length, Seifer noted that his motionlessness had drawn the attention of the group. He chose that moment to walk forward, and situate himself at the first empty stool next to the meanest looking member of the gang. He then proceeded to order a full bottle of Pinot Noir Champagne loudly—which, he knew, of course, they would not have. Upon being informed of the establishment's lack of the requested drink, Seifer made a show of rolling his eyes and saying he would take a bottle of whatever the house reccommeneded. This request took a few moments to process as the bartender was not used such royal airs from his patrons.

The group—now on Seifer's right—snickered and made rude comments. His head turned away from them, Seifer smiled nastily.

When, at last, the bartender delivered a bottle of indeterminant contents in front of Seifer, the knight sniffed at its mouth disdainfully and pretened to cough from the fumes.

This, at last, drew a response from the scarred giant directly to Seifer's right. "'smatter, boy? Too much stronger than momma's milk?" This brought on a round of heavy laughter from the rest of the group. Seifer ignored the jab.

"Come on, yer 'onor. Why dontcha take a swig outta that bottle. Show us what a man you are." The man tried again.

Seifer continued to ignore him, turning his head away from the man.

"What? You think yer too good fer us now, Mr. Champaign?" A hint of ugliness crept into the—until now—congenial tone of the man's questions. "Can't drink our liquor, can't talk with the likes of us." He poked one stubby finger into Seifer's shoulder.

With deliberate slowness, Seifer turned to face the man. "You'll take your hands off me, if you know what's good for you." He said, evenly.

This remark brough a chorus of derisive comments from the gang. The man's face turned slightly redder, his mouth flipping into a downturned line. He jabbed a finger—hard enough to almost be a shove—into Seifer's shoulder. "You gonna make me, pretty boy?"

Seifer smiled again at this remark, and slowly lifted the bottle from the countertop. Placing it to his lips, he drained nearly a quarter of the liquid within without batting an eyelid. He then raised the bottle toward the man in a mocking salute. Then, in the space of a blinking eye, he swung the bottle over his head and broke it on the man's skull. Before anyone could react, the knights hand lashed out—palm first—and broke the man's nose by mashing it into his face. Gaining leverage by propping his body against the bar, Seifer slid off his stool and used his left arm to sweep the stunned man off his own perch.

A blast of Aero magic—emanating from the knight—sent the remaining patrons and the bartender tumbling across the floor. Standing now, Seifer placed on booted foot squarely on the fallen man's crotch. He applied a light pressure. "Keys."

With a choked cough that sounded almost like a squeak, the man held them above his bloodied face. Seifer retrieved the jingling bits of metal, then frowned. He pressed down a bit harder. "Glasses." Arms shaking, the man pulled off his sunglasses and handed them to the knight. Wiping specks of blood from the dark lenses, Seifer grinned. "Thanks."

The knight was just about to step out the front door of the bar when he heard the ominous sound of a shotgun round being chambered. "Hold on there, mister. You haven't paid for your drink." The bartender gestured toward the shattered glass with the weapon.

Behind the dark glasses, Seifer's eyes narrowed. Put it on my tab, because… "…I'll be back." He said, and melted the shotgun with a blast of Flare magic.

Feeling much better, Seifer blasted down the burning asphalt on his new bike, his eyes protected from the glare of the sun by his new glasses. He even was able to amuse himself for a few moments, blowing the remainder of the motorcycle gang off their bikes with shots of Blizzaga magic when they decided to give chase.

…

It was snowing again. Fat flakes falling from the leaden sky, drifting downward like feathers, swirling through the silent pines to land on the soft beds of needles, then vanishing as they melted. She stared out at the darkening forest, peering through the wavy glass of the windopane, her breath fogging the cold crystal slightly.

There, near the trunk of a dark pine, the small rabbit darted out of sight. Moments later, a quivering pair of light ears poked out from behind the snow-dampened bark. She noted that the bunny had already shed the fur of its dark summer coat, and now was nearly pure white—in preparation for the coming snows.

"Is it snowing again?" The voice made her start.

She glanced back at the speaker, it was—of course—Mary Wilfre. The girl grimaced inwardly. "Yes."

Waddling slightly, Mary made her way around the rough wooden bench on which the girl sat. She seated herself with a heavy sigh. "Why do you new girls spend so much time staring out the windows?" She asked in a whining, nasal voice. "Your time could be better spent making sure your tasks were done correctly."

The girl hunched away from her slightly. "I've already finished with the repairs to block seven-B."

"You're not listening to me!" Mary blew out an exasperated breath. "I said, you could take the time to do a better job of it. I saw how you were replacing those boards, and my-oh-my…" As Mary proceeded to launch into a lengthy description of just how she could have done a better job of making the repairs, the girl turned back to the window, trying to ignore the grating tone of the other woman's voice.

Eventually, the girl realized Mary had stopped talking. She was thankful.

"Well?" The woman turned toward her as best as her large girth would allow.

The girl sighed. "Well, what?"

"You never listen to anyone! I just don't know why I bother!" Mary harrumphed.

I don't know either, but I wish you wouldn't. The girl did not take her eyes from the rough window.

Of course, the girl's silence was no deterrent to Mary. "I said; do you really think he's going to come for you?" The woman's smile turned ugly. "All the new girls think that—for the first few years." She waved a hand. "I thought you might be different. I thought you might figure out that he's not coming. They never come." She smiled happily, crowing quietly, but triumphantly. "He doesn't really love you. If he did, he'd already be here." She was about to say more, but faltered under the icy stare of the girl. "You can't really hope he'll be coming for you…" She finished.

"Just the opposite, Miss Wilfre. Every day I stare out this window praying that he won't appear. Every time I glance into the forest, I feel no disappointment when I see nothing but empty trees—I feel relief." With that, Rinoa stood, and made her way down the line of bunked beads stacked along the rickety wooden walls of the Fate's servant quarters.

…

"So, why are you here?" Quistis floated upside down, one hand wrapped around the rung of the ladder leading between the spacecraft's first and second decks.

Strapped to the wall by a cocoon of elastic webbing, Dahyte turned her head slightly in order to focus on the SeeD. "This is important to my mission."

"How?" Quistis was genuinely confused. "How could the sorceress have anything to do with your orders?"

"I can't tell you." Dahyte rotated in the zero-gravity sleeping bag until her back was turned on Quistis.

"Why not?" The blond SeeD descended one rung further into the crew cabin.

"Because if you knew, you'd try to stop me." Dahyte closed her eyes.

"How do you know I won't do that anyway?" Still facing the SeeD sniper, Quistis pushed off of the last rung of the ladder and sailed across the small space to her own sleeping arrangements. "How do you know I won't try to sabotage this mission, after what you've said."

Dahyte turned to face the SeeD once more. Her piercing gaze was cold, analytical. 'I know you' it said. "You won't."

Quistis suppressed the urge to rub away the goose bumps that had appeared on her forearms as she slid into the webbing that would hold her still as she slept. As if I'm going to be able to sleep with that… thing… in the cabin. However, Dahyte eventually did turn back until she was facing away from the tall SeeD, allowing Quistis to relax slightly. Slowly, slowly, the peaceful weightlessness—coupled with the soft whir of the air recirculation systems lulled Quistis into a light doze, then a deep slumber.

On the command deck of the Galbadian spacecraft, the pilot turned to the commanding officer of the platoon of soldiers that had been assigned as escorts to the two SeeDs. "You know, I know this is none of my business, but didn't I see—on the news—that those two SeeDs had been banished from Galbadia not too long ago?"

The Galbadian Secret Service squad commander favored him with an icy stare from the copilot's seat. "You're right. It is none of your business."

The spacecraft had been coasting toward its orbital insertion point near the moon for several hours, onboard computer making periodic course adjustments, so the pilot felt comfortable taking his hands off the controls long enough to gesture with them. "Okay, okay, man. This is your show, so I'll let you handle the troops. But we've got to make a few changes in the flight plan."

The SS man's eyes narrowed. "What kind of changes.

"Well, for starters, there's the wreckage of the Eshtarian moonbase. Most of it's still in orbit in band of debris that—from what the radar is picking up—stretches all the way around the moon. Our original flight plan takes us right through that stuff, so I'm going to have to change it." The pilot replied.

"Do it." The Galbadian said shortly.

Changing the insertion orbit, it turned out, resulted in a variety of course, speed, and landing site corrections, and the exchange between the pilot and squad commander lasted quite some time. While they checked and counter-checked orders, radar imagery, and schedules, the moon swelled until it filled the entire view from the forward viewports.

After the initial burn to place the spacecraft into a transfer orbit to the moon, the booster stages of the rocket had fallen away. What remained of the craft looked like an elongated soda can with a blunt nose and stubby wings in the front, and a large engine bell and hemispherical fuel tanks in the rear.

Designed specifically for lunar landings—in order to service a base on the lunar surface that was later decided to be too impractical to build—the spacecraft would separate into two parts upon entering orbit around the moon. The forward section would use a set of small wings to take advantage of the moon's air to slow the craft after it passed through the atmospheric entry phase of the mission. Retro-rockets on the underside of the aerospace plane would set the craft down gently on a pair of skids once it descended to a point close to the insertion team's destination. The same rockets would fire a second time to lift it off the ground upon completion of the mission. A final booster pack would then ignite and send the craft back up into lunar orbit where it would dock with the second half of the spacecraft. This half acted simply as an orbiting fuel station. Upon docking, the aerospace plane would re-fill it's tanks and make a final burn that would take it into a course that ended in atmospheric re-entry over Galbadia. Provided that everything went as planned—that was.

The roar of the engine—though muted by the cabin's pressure bulkheads—was, coupled with the light touch of acceleration, enough to rouse Quistis into wakefulness. Casting about, she noted that Dahyte's sleeping webbing was empty. Moments later, a Galbadian Special Forces commando floated down through the hatch leading to the main deck. He caught himself on a convenient handhold arresting his motion several feet from the SeeD. Courteously righting himself so that he was oriented right side up to
Quistis, he addressed her. "We'll be separating from the orbital module in three zero minutes. You'll need to come up to the launch deck five minutes before that."

Quistis favored the man with a small smile. "Thank you uh, Mr. Drake." Quistis read from the commando's nametag.

"You can call me Hal—at least when the captain's not around—and you're welcome, Miss Trepe." Hal Drake said. Flipping upside-down again with practiced ease, he ascended back up to the main deck.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes and blinking in the sterile brightness of the spacecraft's internal white lighting, Quistis busied herself with the peculiar aspects of zero-g grooming in the ship's tiny galley—converted into an extra sleeping chamber for the SeeDs. The ship had been designed to carry only a single squad of six Galbadian specialists and two pilots. However, because of the nature of the mission, rather than reduce the strength of the commando force by two—to make room for the SeeDs—the ship had been crammed with extra carbon dioxide filters, water, foodstuffs, suits, and bedding. The result was that Quistis and Dahyte had to catch what rest they could in the Galley during the express moonshot.

Fortunately, the shortened nature of the mission—fuel-efficient moon missions usually took four days to transfer out to lunar insertion, the current mission would only take eighteen hours—prevented the situation from becoming too uncomfortable for the astronauts.

As Quistis finished sponging off her face, hands, and feet—the only skin she could reach as most of her, like everyone else aboard, was encased in a skin-tight pressure suit which was more trouble than it was worth to remove for a more thorough bath—she checked her wrist chronometer. It was time to go.

In the silent brightness of space, the moon lay quiescent, it's white surface glowing like polished bone. Only in the inky darkness of the deepest craters—down where the magmic heat that had triggered the last lunar cry had not yet fully cooled—did winking red eyes gaze up at the newest star in the sky. Deep groaning growls issued from between racks of razor sharp teeth. Claws like pickaxe blades left deep score marks in the crater wall as the monster thrust its way up into the light. Standing on the rim of the blasted earth, perched on the frozen bodies of hundreds of other monsters, the dragon lifted its head skyward and roared a challenge to the intruder in the sky. Across the scarred surface of the moon, the cry was taken up by hundreds of other monsters, all climbing from the dying warmth of the planet's core to scream their fury at the alien lights—now two separate sparkles against the backdrop of stars.

The two new stars chased each other across the moon's sky, turning into invisible dark spots as they crossed between the moon and the sun, and then again as they passed between the moon and the planet. Emerging from in front of the blue-and-white disc, the lights had drawn far apart. Gradually, the trailing light became brighter. Suddenly, it flared into a shooting star as the aerospace plane fell from the heavens. Howling at the flaming meteor, the dragons began to flap their leathery wings. At first, the cold stiffened their actions, the motions of their wings were jerky and uncoordinated, but as the movement heated their internal fires, several sprang from the ground, and began climbing into the black sky.

"Radar shows several contacts climbing to meet us." The SS squad commander—still seated in the copilot's seat—informed the pilot.

"It's okay, we're prepared for them." The pilot reached out with a gloved hand and stabbed a button below a darkened screen.

On the outside of the spacecraft, four recessed doors slid back—three in the front, one in the rear—and four turreted miniguns extended outward on hydraulic pedestals. The spacecraft began to shake slightly in the disturbance caused by the turrets.

The screen above the button the pilot had pressed lit up, displaying a spacecraft-shaped icon in the center of a green grid. Light yellow cones denoted the firing arcs of the aerospace plane's weaponry.

Behind the cockpit—strapped into his acceleration couch, Hal Drake twisted slightly to face toward Quistis. "Feel that shuddering? They've unmasked the gunports."

Quistis, who had been facing forward, turned her head. "What does that mean?"

Hal shrugged nonchalantly. "Probably still some monsters active after that last lunar cry. They don't like visitors. I think that's why we never built the moonbase these things were supposed to supply."

Quistis could not think of anything to say, but it turned out not to matter, as the noise from the firing of one of the forward miniguns filled the cabin, making further conversation impossible.

Still two miles from the descending spacecraft, a Blue Dragon was swatted from the sky as a stream of depleted uranium rounds sliced it neatly in half. The death of the dragon, however, acted as no deterrent to the other flying monsters , as they continued to climb—attempting to place themselves in the path of the aerospace plane.

The pilot chuckled as the computer-controlled targeting mechanism on the bottom forward minigun neatly picked off every member of a flock of Thrustaevis one mile in front of the spacecraft. "Pretty smooth piece of machinery, eh?" He elbowed the SS man gently.

"Just keep your eyes on the controls." The Galbadian squad commander was—as usual—not in a conversational mood.

As the spacecraft settled into a slow glide, the rear minigun began firing almost continuously as the flocking monsters swarmed up in the wake of the descending craft. The ground was still several tens of thousands of feet below, but already, small herds of flightless monsters could be seen gathering and stomping toward the moon's terminator—tracking the aerospace plane's progress.

A worried frown creased the pilot's face. "A lot of activity here… hope the ammo holds out." He glanced at the downward-looking radar screen. "Woa! We're gonna have an interesting landing." A gloved finger flipped a toggle.

On the underside of the spacecraft, twin folding doors slid back and three racks loaded with tv-guided glide bombs cycled into place.

"Think I'll just thin things out a bit…" The pilot reached for an arming toggle only to find his hand restrained by the SS man.

"Wait." The Secret Service agent released the pilot.

Gripping the control yolk firmly, the pilot sighed. "You guys sure like to play it close, don't you?"

Moments later, an alarm buzzer sounded in the cockpit as a Ruby Dragon flashed by the forward windscreen, spraying the outer hull of the spacecraft with its flaming breath. Unscathed by the attack, the craft shuddered as all four gun turrets opened up simultaneously when the dragon banked into the intersection of firing zones. A split second later, nothing remained of the monster but a fine red mist.

"Shit! That was too close!" The pilot exclaimed, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. "It's too active down here. I'm boosting us back into orbit." He flipped the plastic guard covering the booster ignition switch up.

Again, the Galbadian squad leader restrained him. "No. Follow the flight path. Land this spacecraft."

All four cannon now firing simultaneously, the aerospace plane wallowed sluggishly through the thickening atmosphere of the lower altitudes. In the main cabin, commandos and SeeDs alike fought down rising nausea brought on by the capricious return of gravity as the craft pitched and rolled with the pilot's attempts to dodge the thickest swarms of flying monsters. Muffled thumps of bodies hitting the skin of the spacecraft echoed through the metal hull.

The spacecraft passed across the terminator and into the moon's shadow. Abruptly, the miniguns fell silent except for the hissing of their overheated barrels. A deathly silence filled the main cabin, broken only by the moaning of the slipstream over the open bomb-bay doors.

At the edge of the light—just short of the moon's dark side, clouds of flying monsters circled, screeching furiously and fighting amongst themselves. But, though the fires of primal rage still glowed in their eyes as they tracked the receding glimmer of the spacecraft, not a single monster dared set foot, or wing over, the dark side of the moon.

"They've stopped!" The pilot checked his rear screens. "They won't cross into the darkness."

"It's too cold for them." The SS man recited from his mission book. "They can't survive without the heat of the sun."

Switching on the spacecraft's landing lights for the final approach to the target, the pilot sighed. "Well, that's a relief."

The spacecraft fell below its stall speed, an the pilot engaged the retro-rockets. A look through the forward viewports revealed eerily twisted spires of white rock that appeared suddenly out of a murky mist that the landing lights could not penetrate. As the aerospace plane descended, the dark fog thickened until visibility was reduced to just a few feet and the pilot was forced to rely on the craft's downward-looking radar to avoid collisions. Eyes glued to his instruments, the pilot switched on the intercom and began counting down the time before touchdown. "Thirty seconds… twenty… fifteen…"

Still acting as copilot, the SS man confirmed automated operations on the landing checklist. "Main skids down and locked… airspeed down to twenty…" He reached over and flicked a toggle. "Bomb bay doors closed, master arming switch off." He glanced at the pilot, but the man was too busy concentrating on landing the spacecraft to notice.

In the deployment lounge, the landing sequence was relayed to the soldiers strapped into their couches through the roaring of the rockets and the myriad whines and thumps of the spacecraft's landing hydraulics. Quistis clamped her lips down on a gasp as the lighting switched from bright white to dull red with an audible popping, while at the same time, the pilot rolled the craft to the right to avoid a rocky spire that had appeared from nowhere.

"Careful!" The SS man's composure cracked as the wing of the aerospace plane scraped loudly against the tower of stone.

"Goddammit!" The pilot was sweating profusely. He motioned toward his radar screen. "Screen's all clogged with bad echos and radar ghosts—shit!" He hauled back violently on the control yoke, bringing the craft to a standstill in midair.

"What!? What is it?!" The squad leader leaned over, but the radar screen was empty.

"There was a contact! I swear! We were heading straight for it!" The pilot stammered, pushing the yoke forward, settling the craft into its final descent.

"Damn, can't trust the radar in this stuff. We'll have to scout the takeoff area ahead on foot before we can leave." The SS man growled as the spacecraft landed with a soft thud. As the whine of the fuel pumps faded away, he unstrapped himself and ducked back into the deployment lounge.

Quistis slowly loosened her grip on the armrests of her acceleration couch and opened her eyes. She was greeted by Hal's grinning face. "Exciting ride, huh?" He reached toward the buckles to Quistis's crash harness. "Here, lemme help you with those."

She blocked him with a forearm. "No thank you, Mr. Drake."

The commando shrugged and pulled his hands back. "Suit yourself." He turned, and busied himself with his breath mask and backpack.

Quistis tried, unsuccessfully, for nearly two minutes to unfasten her harnesses, but each time, she found her hands shook too violently for her to do anything but paw ineffectively at the latches. What's wrong with me? At last, disgusted with herself, she relented. "Uh, Mr. Drake?"

The Special Forces commando had her out of the restraints and on her feet in seconds. "Don't worry about it." He kept a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Happens to everybody their first time up." He nodded toward Dahyte—who was being assisted by another commando.

Quistis gleaned some small comfort from the faintly miserable expression on the SeeD sniper's face as she leaned against the uniformed woman for support. "Why?"

Hal shrugged. "Dunno. But you and your friend didn't do too bad. Most lose their lunches on the first ride."

Quistis smiled greenly. "I believe it. Did you?"

"Yeah." The soldier shrugged. "Don't worry, you'll be fine in another five minutes."

A slight shudder ran through the craft accompanied by a noise like a giant zipper. Quistis looked up. "The cannon?"

Hal frowned. "Sure sounds like it. Sorry, Miss Trepe, but I gotta go. Looks like our landing area is a little less friendly than intel had hoped."

Quistis waved him off. "I'll be fine." By the time she finished speaking, he was already crouched with the rest of the squad at the edges of the still-closed landing ramp.

Twice more, the sound of gunfire rang through the cabin. The man Quistis assumed to be the squad leader disappeared into the cockpit for a moment, then emerged. No more gunfire sounded from outside. "The computer was shooting at sensor ghosts. We've had to shut down the cannon." The man explained. "Our zone should be clear, but use caution while securing the area."

In the bright murk beneath the lights of the spacecraft, whorls of drifting mist obscured all but the closest objects. The six-man team of masked commandos descended from the red dimness of the craft's interior and immediately disappeared into the fog. A moment later, two more figures made their way—still a bit unsteadily—down the landing ramp.

The masks the commandos and SeeDs wore were an interesting affair. Made up of an airtight clear faceplate who's molding sealed it securely to the head, the remainder of the apparatus consisted of a drapery of body armor that slid snugly down over the soldiers' shoulders, and was buckled around both legs. Packaged with the flexible Kevlar armor were battery cells, medication dispensers, communications system, miniature spotlights, and a dozen pockets for additional items or ammunition.

Quistis squinted through breath mask's faceplate, into the mist. The heads-up display built into the mask showed her the positions of the six commandos and the SeeD sniper, but beyond that, it offered little help piercing the soupy fog. Nervously, she unlimbered her weapon.

The loud voice in her ear made Quistis jump. "Everything, okay, Miss Trepe?" It was Hal again. A white box appeared around the green circle that denoted his position. "Your communications equipment working all right?"

Twisting the volume control knob down a few notches, Quistis began to nod—then realized that there was no way the soldier could see the gesture. "Everything's fine." She said, while depressing the person-to-person transmission button.

Another voice cut off Hal's response. "All units report in." It was the squad leader on the command frequency.

One-by-one the six members of the Special Forces unit reported that they were in position and had observed no activity. "Not that there's a whole hell of a lot we can see out here, Sir." Said the last commando to check in. "Infrared and motion sensors are all screwed up too. I keep getting contacts all over the range—appearing and disappearing."

"That's a negative on the interference, Ilyan." Hal's voice rang over the communications link. "My scopes are clear."

"Well, then mine must be mal—holy shit!!" The transmission ended suddenly and Quistis heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire from the fog to her right.

Wasting not a second, the SeeD—whip coiled loosely in one hand—sprinted toward the sounds of combat. A small clearing in the swirling fog ahead revealed a dark figure, crouched with his rifle held to his shoulder. The man fired again, and Quistis saw a small floating shape shudder with the impact of the bullets. Even as she skidded to a stop at the edge of her striking distance, the Red Scorpion was whistling through the air. Its barbed tip caught the monster square in its grinning face, and the floating beast was smashed to the ground where it lay, unmoving.

Quistis heard a low whistle in her headphones. A flashing icon indicated that it came from a squad member somewhere behind her. She turned as Hal strolled up. "Damn, Miss Trepe. They sure teach you SeeDs how to fight good."

Quistis shrugged slightly. "It was already injured."

"Still…" Hal turned to face the commando who was just now rising from his firing position. "You okay, Ilyan? It didn't Zombie you or anything?"

"I'm fine." The commando shook his masked head. "It was the damndest thing… that monster just floated there and shook. Didn't try to dodge, didn't fight back—it was like it was frozen in place or something."

"Maybe it was too cold." A third soldier, walking up, suggested.

"No, temperatures here are too high. Heck, it's almost comfortable outside. Almost seemed like it was too stupid to move." Ilyan answered.

"Or too scared." Someone added.

The mist closed in over the soldiers—now all assembled around Ilyan and Quistis as an uneasy silence fell over the group.

"Well, it had good reason to be." Hal said, in a tone of forced levity. "Our guest here is about the meanest fighter I've ever seen." He tried moving in to drape a comradely arm around Quistis, but she dodged him.

The SeeD was about to speak, when the squad leader's voice broke in over the radio. "We've established a linkup with the orbiting second stage. Its sensors indicate that the target is only about a quarter of a mile west our landing site."

There were numerous murmurs of approval over the open channel.

"We're right on top of it."

"Great, let's grab the package and get the hell outta here."

"Things are starting to look up."

Several minutes later, Quistis was following close behind Hal as they lead the squad—in two-man teams—toward the suspected location of the Sapphire Dream. Suddenly, he stopped, causing Quistis to nearly collide with him. "What is it?" The murky darkness that surrounded them—even enhanced by the infrared sensors of the mask—caused Quistis to keep her voice down to a whisper.

"Another Blood Soul. It's not moving either." Hal motioned ahead with two fingers.

Quistis peered into the darkness. Sure enough, ahead of them, blocking the path between knobby white stone spires, floated the small monster—permanently fixed on its features was the standard skeletal grin. But, unlike any Blood Soul Quistis had ever encountered, this one simply hung in mid-air, vibrating violently.

She was about to speak, when suddenly a deep throbbing rumble that seemed to shake the very stone upon which they stood engulfed the SeeD and commando. The lights attached to their masks faltered, plunging the pair into darkness even as the internal image-enhancers shut down. In the utter blackness and total silence that surrounded her, Quistis's panicky breathing was the only sound. It was deafeningly loud in her ears.

After what seemed like an eternity of listening to her own heart palpitating—the air in her mask growing stale—there came a quiet buzz from the circulation fan as it restarted, and a breath of fresh air brushed her cheek. She sighed in relief as the heads-up display quickly processed through it's reboot cycle. Just as her infrared optics came back online, the mask's lights clicked back on. In the suddenly bright mist, Quistis could see that Hal was crouched before her, rifle out, tracking blindly back and forth across the Blood Soul's last position. She squinted into the mist and blinked—the monster was gone.

However, the floating demon was not the only thing missing. Quistis turned to look behind her and felt something cold slide down her throat when she realized that the icons denoting the location of the other squad members, the ship, and Dahyte had all disappeared.

"What the hell was that?" Hal finally found his voice.

"I don't know, but I think we're alone now." Quistis fingered the grip of her weapon nervously.

"What do you… oh." Turning toward the last known position of the rest of the squad, Hal's fingers tapped at the communications pad strapped to his left wrist as he tried to raise the squad commander, ship, anyone. "Nothing." He said at length.

"Let's backtrack a bit. The second pair should be right behind us." Quistis suggested.

"Right." Squinting at the green directional marks at the top of his heads-up display, Hal swung about. "This way," he pointed.

After a few moments silent march, Quistis stopped. "Wait a minute." She shook her head. "This isn't the way we came."

"What? Are you sure about that?" Hal checked his bearings again. "No, we're going the right way."

"Oh yeah?" Quistis raised an arm. "Then what the hell is that?"

Hal squinted. Ahead—like a shroud being drawn aside—the mist cleared momentarily, and the pair's mask lights revealed the angular outlines of a spidery structure hunched against the rocky soil. He whistled quietly. "I don't remember passing that on the way out here."

"But we should have been heading back to the ship." Quistis's brow furrowed. "What happened?"

"That disturbance must have scrambled our suit's navigational systems." Hal looked over his shoulder into the murky darkness from which they had come. "Damn, there's no way we're going to be able to get our bearings in this stuff."

Quistis nodded toward the squat black monolith before them. "Maybe there's something in there that can help us."

Hal shrugged. "Better than staying out here, I guess."

Suit lights playing across the twisted metal of a heavy pressure door—ripped from its rails and now hanging against one wall of what appeared to be a large airlock—Quistis reached up and ran a gloved hand over the cold surface. "I guess Galbadia went ahead with this place after all."

Crouching down to inspect a set of parallel gashes rent in the metal plates of the floor of the airlock, Hal shook his head. "I don't think so. Look at the weathering on this material. These tears are all rusted out. Whatever happened to destroy this chamber, it occurred before the Sorceress War. This place is old."

Quistis grimaced behind her mask as she stepped through a gaping hole torn in the inner door of the airlock. "I hope you're right. I wouldn't want to run into whatever did this."

"Yeah, well, we probably won't have that problem, this is pr—HOLY…!" Quistis whirled at her partner's exclamation.

The commando had flattened himself against the wall of the hallway into which the airlock opened. His weapon was out, its muzzle pointed at something illuminated in the beams of his suit lights. "What… the… fuck… is that thing?!"

The SeeD peered forward and gasped. During her time as a mercenary, Quistis had seen a good number of strange monsters, but nothing she had ever encountered could have prepared her for this. Illuminated in the lights of the pair, lay the desiccated corpse of a bipedal monster. At first, Quistis had though the thing a human, but the skeletal remains of two appendages that sprouted from the beast's shoulders set that notion to rest. The extra arms faced backward to the thing's grinning skull. They were made up of long, delicate bones that swept backward and spread to the sides of the monster's body. "Almost like wings…" she breathed.

"Yeah, bat wings." Recovering his voice, Hal pointed to the tatters of leathery flesh and sinew that still hung from a joint in the crushed bones. "Looks like this thing saw some of the action at the front door," he observed.

Indeed, it did appear as if the monster had died from some form of trauma. The two wing-like structures were broken in several places, and the body of the thing was partially imbedded in a corpse-shaped impression in the metal wall. Its clawed hands were thrown back, palms outward, while it's broken jaw hung askew from a single remaining joint.

Hal felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. It almost looked like the skeletal corpse was spreading its hands in supplication to those who might find it here. "Except… where's the left leg?" Something crunched under his boot. "Oh, here it is. Damn." He took a few steps back from the leg, foot, and wickedly sharp curved claws that protruded from bones of the toes and foot spur.

"And here's the right hand." Quistis fought down the sensation of nausea that rose in her throat. The monster's claws had dug into the handle of a hatch set into the side of the passageway, attaching the hand firmly to the lever even while the body had been ripped away. "Hey, I think this is an escape hatch." She squinted at the rusting symbols etched into a plate on the door. "This writing looks vaguely familiar." She shook her head. "I can't read it, though."

Hal stepped over to the door. "Looks like you're right. I wonder if there's still a ship behind there?" He ran a finger across a claw jammed into the metal. "Well, now we know what happened to this base's inhabitants."

"You think these things killed them?" Quistis turned to him.

Hal shrugged. "Must have. See, this one was probably guarding the escape." He swallowed. "They were smart bastards." Looking around furtively, he said: "Hope we don't run into any grandkids around here."

"You just had to say that, didn't you." Quistis shuddered.

The cones of light cast by their suit's illumination were visible in the floating dust of the blackened corridor as the pair moved deeper into the abandoned moonbase. As they crept through the oppressive, tunnel-like darkness, their beams illuminated several more corpses—all seemed to have expired in a violent manner similar to the first. The infrared detectors, however, stayed thankfully blank. The base was completely devoid of life.

Suddenly, through her boots, Quistis felt a shudder pass through the flooring under her feet. The SeeD and commando froze, each dropping to opposite sides of the corridor and bracing themselves against the walls. "Look." Hal pointed at the cone of light cast by his suit.

Quistis squinted. At first, she saw nothing, then she noticed that the floating dust particles—rather than drifting in random swirls—were now drifting in uniform motion toward them. "Something down there," she waved down the black hole their lights disappeared into, "is moving the air."

The lights attached to Hal's mask bobbed as he nodded. "Do you hear that?" He cocked his head to the side, listening. A faint clicking noise filled the pair's helmets as their external microphones picked up the sound resonating through the stale air.

"It's getting closer." Quistis shook out her whip.

Far down in the dark depths of the hallway, something flickered. Hal dropped to one knee and raised his rifle to his shoulder. "Yup." He grimaced fatalistically.

Moments later, the soldier and SeeD lowered their weapons and grinned sheepishly at each other. With a loud series of clicks, some of the hallway lights had flared to life. The clicking noise was now receding back toward the entrance.

"Looks like somebody hit the lights." Hal observed, unnecessarily.

"Hey, Hal. Join the party." A suited figure with the name Arbonte sewn over his left breast waved an arm from the group of commandos gathered around the computer console. After passing another dozen or so corpses in the now-lit hallway, Quistis and Hal had emerged into the chamber that held the rest of the Special Forces team, Dahyte, and—surprisingly—a working computer terminal.

Ilyan, the team's linguist, was busily tapping away at a dusty input station. Three other commandos stood guard at the remaining entrances to the chamber, while the remainder of the team stood around the large display screen set into one wall. As was the case in the hallway Quistis and Hal had emerged from, about one-quarter of the lights in the room were working, their red bulbs casting a subdued glow over the assembled warriors.

"Fashionably late, as usual, I see." Arbonte observed, arms akimbo.

"Whatever, Dailas." Hal waved an arm dismissively. "We got caught up in traffic. Kept askin' this dead thing for directions, but he wasn't talking."

"What, you see another Blood Soul? Things're freakin' everywhere outside." Dailas Arbonte said, walking over.

"No, we saw one just before our systems went nuts," Hal shook his head. "but he left before we could get a conversation started."

"So you got that too? Any idea what caused it?" Dailas tapped at his mask.

"Nope, figure it's just like this fog over the LZ; military snafu." Hal shrugged.

Quistis broke in. "Snafu?"

Turning to her, Hal grinned and turned up the volume on his external speaker so that his voice filled the room. "Situation Normal:"

"All Fucked Up!" Came a chorus from the others.

"Ain't that the truth?" Dailas laughed. Switching tracks, he continued. "So, if you weren't talking to a Blood Soul, who else did you meet around here?"

Hal waved an arm back down the corridor from which he and Quistis had emerged. "Humanoid corpses. Not like anything I've ever seen. Got wings on 'em or something. Big claws too."

Quistis cocked her head. "You haven't seen any of them?" She asked Dailas.

The commando shook his head. "No, everybody was just talking about how empty this place was, we figured everybody got out when they shut the thing down."

"Who do you think? Estharians?" Hal looked around.

"No," came a shout from Ilyan, still hunched over the input console. "Centra."

"Wow. This place is old." Hal whistled. "I bet they got shut down when the Lunar Cry wiped out their support systems back on the planet. Well, doesn't look like they made it out. There's an escape hatch that looks like it leads to a launch area. Those monsters are all over it—like they were trying to keep the Centra from leaving. I bet the rocket's still on the pad."

"It is. Take a look." With a final tap on the keypad, Ilyan looked up and pointed to the cracked viewscreen. The image behind the glass flashed from strings of indecipherable characters to an aerial view of the layout of a building that could only be the Centra Moonbase. From a central hub, three corridors branched outward, terminating in smaller hubs that also branched out in sets of three corridors—all lined by smaller rooms. One of the secondary hubs flashed. "See, we're here." Then a side corridor flashed. "The auxiliary generator that Dahyte and Natasha activated is here." The flashing now moved to another side corridor and a passageway that branched off to a flat octagonal structure. "And here is the launch pad. If I'm reading this right, there's a shuttle all fueled up and ready to go sitting there." Ilyan shrugged. "Or at least it was about a thousand years ago. Who knows what's happened since then?"

"Pretty damn good, Ilyan." Hal grinned. "Who says the Centra dialect is a dead tongue?"

Ilyan smiled back. "But wait, that's not all…" With a flourish, he pressed a key on his console. The central hub of the base began to flash. "Here, you have your biogenetics labs, your crystal diffraction laser work areas, main power generator, and research area devoted solely to the study of a large gem called… The Sapphire… uh, Dream." He folded his arms smugly across his chest as cheers broke out from the assembled commandos.

A few moments later, Quistis, Dahyte, Hal, and Dailas found themselves in a larger, better lit, corridor, making their way toward the central hub of the moonbase. "How we lookin', Ilyan?" Hal transmitted over the newly-restored communications linkup between the Special Forces team.

"Right on course. I've got you on the station's internal motion sensors." Came the static-free reply.

Quistis looked over at Hal as she walked. "I can't believe this place is still here after all these years—and that everything still works."

The commando shrugged. "Well, the Centra built things to last, I guess. Just look at the Gardens. Those things are almost as old as this base." He was about to say more, but a voice from the group's radios cut him off.

"Ok, Hal? Natasha and Ray are in the communications room. They've already raised the ship… and our bold and illustrious leader, who just happened to stay behind—where it's safe." Even through the modulation of the radio microphone, Ilyan's voice dripped sarcasm. "Switch frequency to one-one-four-oh-point-oh to re-establish a connection."

"Right." Hal nodded to the three other members of the team dispatched to retrieve the crystal. "Everybody get that?"

The group paused for a moment, giving Hal and Dailas time to make a quick report to the secret service man who—after recent events—sounded more than a little nervous.

Breaking the link, Dailas shook his head. "I don't like the sound of that guy's voice."

Behind his breath mask, Hal grimaced. "Yeah, he's getting pretty spooked. Let's grab the package and make the extraction asap."

At length, the four-person team arrived at the end of the passageway. Before them, two enormous doors guarded the entrance to the laboratories clustered around the base's central hub.

Quistis ran a hand over the smooth metal. "Completely unmarked. These doors could have been built yesterday." She rapped her knuckles on their painted surface. The thick material barely made any noise at all. "Sounds like they're thick—really thick."

Stepping up behind her, Hal grinned. "Makes you wonder what they were trying to keep out—or in."

"Hey!" Dailas frowned, looking around at the flickering dim red lighting, the strangely built ancient hallway, and the alien characters scribed into the door's surface. "Look, I'm already creeped out enough without that kind of crap, huh?"

Hal scuffed his feet. "Alright, sorry. Just playin' with ya. He pressed a button on his wrist communications pad. "Ilyan, how do we open this door?"

"Oh, sorry, Hal. I can do it from here." There was a pause. "Before you guys go in though, you probably should know what was going on in those labs." Before anyone could protest, Ilyan's voice continued.

"The first lab you're going to enter is the biogen lab. I was hunting through the archives, and came across the research summary for it. And get this: during the last few years this base was operational, the Centra were working on a mutagenic virus they created, for themselves." The transmission paused for effect.

Deciding to humor the linguist, Hal sighed and prompted him. "Yeah? So what does that mean?"

"It means that they were trying to mutate themselves, rapidly." Came the reply.

"What the hell would they want to do that for? And what were they trying to mutate into?" Dailas placed his hands on his hips.

"Well, you know those monsters Hal and Quistis said they saw on the way in?" Not waiting for an answer, Ilyan continued. "Those things didn't kill the Centra on this base… they were the Centra!"

"Ilyan, that doesn't make any sense!" Hal said angrily. "I mean, why would any sane person want to transform himself into a monster like that, let alone an entire station full of people?"

"Think about it, Hal." Ilyan sounded excited now. "Did you see any breath masks on those monsters when you came in? Do you remember how I showed you that the filters and oxygen reserves on this base are all used up? See the connection?"

Hal took a step back from the door. "No way!" He shook his head. "So you're saying that…"

"…after the re-supply shuttles stopped coming from Centra, the base personnel—rather than take the escape rocket back to the planet—decided to try use their technology to mutate themselves into monsters that could live here on the moon; that could breath the moon's atmosphere." Ilyan finished proudly. "Although, from the images I'm seeing here, and what you described, there are some nasty physiological side effects—you know, wings and all."

"But what could be so important that they'd all want to stay here so damn badly?" Dalias asked.

"The Sapphire Dream." Quistis whispered, almost to herself, but the mask microphone picked up her words.

"That's right." Ilyan still sounded excited. "They must have thought that thing was damn important. All the files on it are so heavily encrypted, it'd take me years just to get into the executive summary."

Though Hal's mask obscured his face, his body language indicated pensiveness. "But… if those things didn't kill—"

Dalias waved his arms. "No! Don't say it! Ok? We're all thinkin' it, so there's no need to say it!"

Quistis shivered along with Dalias. If those monsters we saw weren't killed by the moonbase personnel, then what did kill them?

"Anyway," it was Ilyan again, "All the motion detectors in the labs are dead, so I don't know if anything's in there." He paused for a moment. "There is a chance that… well, these records I'm looking at indicate that the Centra mutants were projected to have a huge lifespan—they seem to have integrated a gene that prevents cellular degradation with age…"

"So we might meet some of the base's owners?" Hal asked.

"Probably not. Log's show that that door hasn't been opened for a thousand years—ever since… whatever it was… happened to this place, but you never know." Ilyan's voice was interrupted by a click. "Okay, it should be opening now."

As the linguist had predicted, the corridor began to reverberate with the low groaning of metal sliding on rusted metal. A black line appeared between the junction of the two massive doors. Dust sifted down from the ceiling as the noise intensified to a grinding screech, and the black line became a gaping maw—lined by the door's hexagonal interlocking teeth. The light from the hallway did not spill into the inner sanctum of the moonbase. Rather, darkness of the interior chambers seemed to suck the feeble emergency lighting in, and swallow it whole.

There was an ear-splitting scream of deforming metal, and the doors stopped—halfway open. Long strands of dust and detritus streamed out of the darkness toward the group, catching on the jagged teeth of the doors and fluttering in a warm gust of air that washed over them—the fetid breath from the bowls of the ancient station.

Shaking his head, Dalius stepped through the entryway, rifle at his shoulder, the light attached to its barrel sweeping through the musky darkness. "Hoo boy..."

Deep in one of the darkest corners of the laboratory, a glittering eye watched as, from the reddened opening, four figures stepped into the inky blackness. One figure turned toward the thing, its suit lights glinting dully on sharp, scimitar-like foot claws. As the person approached, iridescent rainbows washed over the frilled scales on the thing's legs, shivering across its armored hide in swirling patterns of deadly light.

Quistis squinted into the dimness. "Hey… I think I see something." She took another step forward.

As the masked figure looked up, the glare of its suit lights fell full upon the thing's alien countenance. Reflective corneas flashed in the brilliance.

"OH MY GOD!!" Quistis gasped, even as her ingrained training flicked the Red Scorpion's tail out to strike. The crack of the whip breaking the sound barrier filled the chamber, causing everyone to jump again, after the SeeDs initial exclamation.

Decapitated by the flail, the molded plastic statue tipped to one side. The head fell to the floor with a tinkle of breaking glass.

Hal stepped over to the SeeD. "Well, congratulations, Miss Trepe. I'd say you've successfully neutralized the mannequin." He chuckled, bending down to scoop up the model's plastic head. Turning the human-yet alien features toward her, he worked the hinged jaw. "I'm thinkin' that there lady's a little trigger-happy, Hal." He turned the head with one shattered glass eye toward himself. "Yup, Tex, I reckon you're right." He grinned.

Still breathing quickly, Quistis managed a faint grimace. "Real cute."

"Hey, guys?" Dalias was motioning from the doorway to the next room. "Can we get a move on? This place is really damn creepy."

"Well, I guess turning themselves into monsters didn't change their minds, if they were able to make models like that one. …hey, Ilyan, any joy with some lights in here?" Hal said, stepping deeper into the core of the moonbase.

"Negative, Hal. I think that's the least of your worries right now." The voice over the radio sounded upset, though it was hard to tell as the link had suddenly become filled with static.

"I don't like the sound of that, Ilyan." Hal stopped, and looked back toward the entryway.

"Something's interfering with radio communications. Our contact with the shuttle is breaking up. Last transmission I received… they said they were picking up some strong motion signatures moving at the limits of their range. I don't think they were talking about sensor ghosts this time—and they sounded pretty panicky too." Ilyan's voice was cut-off by a loud raspberry of static. The channel cleared a moment later. "—ost contact with the communications team. I've—"

"Okay, that's really bad." Hal turned to the rest of the team as the radio link broke down into random noise again. "Everybody back to the secondary hub. We're pulling out."

"What about the package?" Dahyte spoke for the first time in several hours.

Hal raised his hand and pointed in the general direction of the shuttle-landing zone. "That ship is our only ticket off this rock and, not that I don't place my full trust in the courage of the Galbadian SS men, but—in case our illustrious commander decides to speed up our departure timetable—I fully intend to be on that shuttle when she lifts. Stone or no stone."

The sniper's lip turned downward a hair, but the change of expression was lost behind the thick plastic of her breath mask.

"This can't be right…" Ilyan muttered to himself as he tapped furiously away at the motion-sensor display. "They can't all be going off at the same time… most of these passageways read as being sealed… no way there's something moving in there." He turned away from the computer station. "Don't ya think…" Ilyan trailed off. The commando who had been assigned to guard the hub he was gone.

Ilyan's first instinct was to call out to the man, but his training overrode it. Instead, ever-so-slowly, he reached down to the ammunition belt and grenades clipped around his waist. He removed two of the explosive devices and—still moving with infinite slowness, pulled the pins from both grenades. In a heartbeat, the bombs were in the air, and Ilyan's feet were pounding down the hallway leading to the central hub of the station. Behind him, instead of the reverberating blast of two unshielded grenades, there came two muffled whumping noises—as if the explosives had been wrapped in hundreds of layers of cotton, or hundreds of layers of flesh.

From the silent manner in which they moved, Ilyan knew what they were. When he had come across the records in the Centra database, he had skimmed the files—assuming the creatures to be long dead, or departed for parts unknown. Ilyan had decided that the mission would proceed much more smoothly if he did not mention the Fingers of God. Just as he had decided it best not to tell the others about the record that had reported the position of—not the Sapphire Dream, but rather—the Sapphire Nightmare.

…

Quistis, Dahyte, Hal, and Dalias were nearly halfway between the central hub and secondary junction of the moonbase when the sound of sprinting footfalls reached their ears. Dalias and Hal dropped to the sides of the corridor, taking advantage of the scant cover offered by the support ribs that lined the hallway—the same ribs that made it appear as if the group was walking through the stomach of a giant serpent. As they raised rifles to their shoulders, Dahyte's semiautomatic pistol appeared in her hand. She dropped to one knee and aimed the weapon into the red haze of dust that obscured their view.

Down the passageway, a running figure resolved itself from the surrounding murk. It waved its arms at them even as it sprinted. "RUN!" Ilyan screamed.

"Hold your fire!" Hal warned.

Quistis's eyes widened. Behind the fleeing soldier, something poured out of the red dimness. The thing was vaguely serpentine, while at the same time flowing like a viscous fluid, and it moved—like nothing she had ever seen. As Ilyan continued his headlong dash toward them, the thing flowed silently forward with incredible speed, pausing only a few feet behind the running man. A dark swaying pillar coiled upward to the ceiling, where it split into a dozen writhing snakes that swayed hypnotically in an unseen breeze. Faster than the eye could follow, the thing's appendages shot forward. There was a blur of motion, and Ilyan was gone. A single steel-toed boot arced through the air, landing a few feet away from the group. Quistis squinted. Not another trace that Ilyan had even existed could be found. Only the thing that now swayed from side-to-side occupied the hallway in front of them.

Closer now, Quistis could make out that the monster was jet-black. Its skin glinted like midnight opals under the red emergency lighting as it weaved before them. The entire corridor behind the serpentine extrusion that now regarded the team of SeeDs and soldiers was filled with writhing coils of the thing. It rippled in agitation at these new beings before it, the oily black mass braiding, swirling, and melting back into itself. Suddenly, the 'head' of the thing shot upward again, bursting into a flower-shaped of black petals.

"Fire!" Hal shouted as he squeezed his own trigger.

The silence of the monster was shattered by the roar of the two rifles and Dahyte's pistol. In the enclosed space, the noise was deafening.

The surface of the thing puckered as the rounds drilled into it, but the monster did not retreat. Instead, the spidery head blurred forward again, and Dalius's gun abruptly fell silent as he vanished without a sound.

"SHIT! FALL BACK!" Having dropped his ineffectual weapon, Hal was already backpedaling, his hand falling to the grenades clipped to his belt.

Quistis was well ahead of the commando. The lenses of the breath masks automatically polarized at the glare of Ultima magic that erupted around the dark form of the monster, but turned clear again when the brilliance of the spell faded as it was engulfed by the thing. Glowing a dull green, the head of the monster swelled toward the two SeeDs and soldier. They barely managed to dive out of the way as the thing vomited the flaming ball of energy back at them.

Quistis found that she had—in her mad dive away from the reflected magic—fallen next to Hal. "Nice try." He mouthed through the clear plastic.

"Get back to the hub and shut the door!!" Quistis shouted even as she pushed herself to her feet, not waiting to see if he would acknowledge the order.

The SeeD immediately had to flatten herself against the smooth metal plating of the floor as the thing repelled Dahyte's Blizzaga magic. Quistis allowed herself a slight smile as her ears picked up the sound of Hal's retreating footfalls. Moving even faster now, the monster again lunged forward, wrapping its oily appendages around—not the slender SeeD—but instead around the huge fiery demon that suddenly took her place.

Ifrit roared in wordless rage, and bolts of flame sizzled across the thing's form, shriveling the smooth opal skin wherever they touched. But still, the monster made no sound at all. A heavy spiked whip materialized from its undulating body and plunged its black daggers into the demon even as it brushed the Guardian Force into the wall of the corridor as easily as one swats a pesky mosquito. With a groaning growl, Ifrit faded into the melted metal crater its body had made in the wall.

Quistis gasped and staggered as she reappeared, the sudden cold void in her mind where Ifrit had once resided sent her reeling backward—away from the liquid monster.

With the defeat of the Guardian Force, the SeeDs ran. As they fled, the only noise in the corridor was the echoing of their boots pounding against the metal plates. Quistis could hear Dahyte running directly behind her, but she dared not turn around to see how close the silent blackness was following on their heels.

Abruptly, the duet of drumming footsteps became a solo. Quistis skidded to a halt and turned at the barking of Dahyte's .38 caliber pistol. The SeeD sniper was being lifted high in the air by a coil of six black snakes. Even as she fired her weapon into the monster with her left hand, Dahyte reached forward with her right and blasted the thing with a wash of Meltdown magic. Neither monster nor sniper made a sound. Suddenly, the thing's attacking appendage blurred, but the coils of the Red Scorpion wrapping around it arrested its motion. Boots sliding on the metal plates, Quistis flicked her wrist and the whip twisted from a pliable series of metal links into a constricting chain of a razor-toothed sawblade. She jerked the weapon, and it neatly separated the monster's appendage from the writhing mass of blackness that filled to corridor behind it.

Dahyte was running again, even as she landed and Quistis was hard on her heels. Ahead of them, the dark maw of the inner hub loomed, but the space between the metal-toothed doors was narrowing. From between the closing jaws, Hal waved at them frantically. "Hurry up!" His voice crackled over their radios. "I can't stop them!"

They were ten feet from the opening when Quistis saw that they were not going to make it. From behind the SeeD sniper, her eyes told her that the opening was already too narrow for either SeeD to fit. She had to try, anyway.

Dahyte knew she wasn't going to make it. She cursed her weakness for not being able to muster the last bit of strength needed to lunge through those closing doors. So close… And suddenly, miraculously, she was accelerating—not under her own power, but from the force exerted by a gloved hand placed squarely in the middle of her back. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, Dahyte was inside, and skidding across the floor of the laboratory on her side. She rolled to face the door even as she slid.

After shoving the SeeD through the doors, Quistis jumped. She made it—almost. Her head and shoulders made it through—scraping through a hole in the door's hexagonal teeth. The rest of her torso and hips also cleared the entryway, along with her left leg. It was only as the doors inched one micrometer closer together in the time it took for her knee and calf to clear the door that the space available became too small for the spur of Quistis's ankle bone. Her foot caught in the door. The jaws inched closer. The whites of her eyes showing with fear, Quistis twisted to look at the stuck appendage. Suddenly her faceplate was covered by a large hand, forcing her head down.

"Quistis, don't!" Hal's voice was shouting in her ear, even as she felt someone's hand flip open the controls to her medical kit.

Dahyte had jammed her pistol in the doors even as a long knife appeared in her hand and slashed down at the grasping tendrils of the black thing that piled against the door. One spiked, finger-size appendage stabbed into Quistis's trapped leg before Dahyte could sever it from the thing outside.

Quistis felt the prick in her leg at the same time as the prick in her arm from the heavy dose of painkillers the Special Forces commando had keyed into her medical kit. The medication worked instantly. Quistis heard the squeal of the metal of the pistol's barrel as it was flattened between the doors. She also heard a strange crunching noise as her leg shook slightly, but—floating on the sea of morphine—she had only a passing interest in these things.

"Why did you do that, Quistis?" Dahyte looked down into the SeeD's unfocused eyes as they blinked beneath the scratched plastic faceplate.

Hal, finished with what bandaging and cauterizing he could do, looked up at the sniper from where he sat—beside the SeeD, his arms holding her head cradled in his lap.

"Do what…?" Quistis blinked slowly thorough the poison-and-drug-induced haze.

"Why did you…" Dahyte nearly winced. "Why did you save my life?"

Fuzzily, Quistis's eyes wandered around the room in which the group had taken shelter. It was the central research laboratory of the base. Even this many rooms in, the incessant, explosive banging of the thing on the huge doors to the laboratory echoed among the laser emitters, pressurized gas systems, and machines who's purpose one couldn't even guess at. Behind the overturned workbench against which Quistis and Hal rested, thick-windowed walls looked out on a small misty inner courtyard that sat under the poisonous foggy sky. A broken airlock allowed access to this tiny walled bit of the moon's surface. "What are friends for?" A distant smile glided across the SeeDs lips, and her eyes closed as she slept again.

Rising from where she had crouched, Dahyte stood and stepped over to the windows facing the courtyard. She was joined, a moment later, by Hal.

"We're in trouble, Dahyte." He shook his head. "I can't raise the shuttle, or anyone else. Those things out there..." He paused a moment. "…they're beginning to dent the inner surface of the doors, and if they figure out that this," he tapped the thick glass-like surface of the window, "is here, we're finished." He raised his left arm and checked a gauge set into the armor. "I'm also down to less than an hour of good air—I imagine you're close to that too."

Dahyte nodded, but said nothing.

"After this runs out, the emergency recirculation system will keep us alive another hour or two, but we won't be able to stay conscious with so little oxygen."
He glanced over to where the incapacitated SeeD lay. "Quistis has about two hours left, but she's, well…"

"How is she?" The sniper didn't turn away from the dreary view.

Hal's brow furrowed. Impossibly, he thought he might have detected the slightest note of concern from the cold SeeD. He shook his head, from what little he had seen of the sniper's behavior, he had decided that she was a robot. "Not good. I've tried everything in the kit to counteract whatever poison that thing used, but it was all about as effective as that Esuna spell you tried." He blew out a quiet breath. "There's a more extensive set of antitoxins onboard the shuttle, but unless we can figure out a way past those things…" He left the rest unsaid.

As the soldier turned and walked away, Dahyte allowed herself to slide into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that faced the courtyard. The chair had been designed for a creature with two extra appendages but hunched forward as she was; Dahyte barely noticed the discomfort caused by the misshapen backrest. 'What are friends for?' The sniper rested her chin in one hand. 'He told us you were his friend' Alone, looking out on the blasted rock of the dark side of the moon, for the first time in years, Dahyte's self-control cracked. She buried her facemask in her gloves. Damn you Quistis. Damn you all for depending on me. Can't you see what I am? Can't you see that I can't help you? I can't help anyone. The iron mask clamped over her emotions noted coldly that the suit's visor was fogging over. I can't lead, I can't protect, I can't build. All I can do now… is destroy. Making a last play for control of roiling emotions she had long thought snuffed under the weight of the lead encasing her heart, Dahyte forced herself to look up. She ground the shattered diamonds of the thought into the cracks in her outer façade to which she had tried so hard to mold her entire being. You should have left me to die with that thing, Quistis Trepe. The merciful coldness slowly began to return. It was an error in judgment; trying to save me. It appears that it will be your last. But the magmic heat of her emotions refused to be frozen by the icily analytical thoughts.

But it wasn't a mistake, Dahyte. Quistis didn't make a judgmental error… and neither did Samo. The tiny voice whispered in her mind. No, they saved you because they know…

"No." Dahyte whispered, too quietly for the microphone to pick up.

They know who you really are…

Gritting her teeth, the sniper shook her head violently. "No."

They know that under the layers of steel, you're…

"No!" Dahyte whirled from the window, slamming an iron hatch down on her inner tormentor.

Hal looked up from where he lay, holding the still form of the SeeD. "What?"

Dahyte tried with all her might to keep her eyes away from Quistis's scratched faceplate, but despite her best efforts, she felt her gaze lock with that of the former SeeD instructor as the injured woman opened her eyes. …you're just as human as the rest of us. You care about everyone you've ever met, you even care about every person you've ever assassin—

"No!" Dahyte shouted again, and fled into the darkness.

Hal gazed down into the SeeD's facemask. "Well, sleeping beauty awakens. Do you have any idea what she was talking about?" He nodded toward where the sniper had stood a moment before.

Quistis smiled slightly. "I think I just might." Perhaps it was just the morphine talking, or perhaps not.

Hal tried to keep the mood light. "Well, I finally got you in my arms, babe."

"And you only had to drug me, and cut off my legs to do it too." Quistis mumbled groggily. "Nice work, soldier."

Hal covered his grimace with a snappy retort. God, I'm sorry, Quistis. I closed the doors too soon...

"Hal?" He felt a light tug on his pant leg where the SeeD's thumb and forefinger had a hold on the fabric.

He realized his mind had been drifting. "Oh, sorry." Carbon Dioxide levels must be rising already.

"It's okay." She looked up at him, and he knew she wasn't talking about his attention span.

He decided to give voice to his thoughts. "But if I had just waited a few more seconds…"

"We'd all be dead." Quistis had to pause to draw a short breath before continuing. "That thing would have gotten through, forced the door open, and torn us all apart—just like it did to the Centra."

"Now there's a cheery thought." He forced a note of levity into his voice. "So tell me, what's the difference between a—." The commando broke off suddenly and cocked his head to the side.

"What is it?" Quistis asked.

"Probably trouble." Hal answered without thinking. "Oh." He looked down. "Nothing. Never mind."

Quistis managed a slight frown. "Tell me."

Hal sighed. "The banging's stopped. Probably means that thing finally broke through, or maybe it found another way in."

Quistis blew out a painful breath. "Boy, you really are Mr. Sunshine, aren't you?"

"That's right, babe." He shifted her torso slowly until she was leaning up against the back of the table. "The glass is always half full with me. Hang on a second, I need to check something out."

A slight note of fear crept into Quistis's voice as she looked out over her immobile legs at the darkened laboratory. "Don't be gone too long."

Hal nodded slightly, and set off at a brisk walk toward the airlock. As soon as he judged he was out of Quistis's line of sight, he broke into a run.

Hal skidded to a halt on the loose gravel filling the courtyard. The powerful roaring noise permeating his suit and reverberating against the walls of the station as—high above him—the deadly fog glowed with the brilliant lights from the shuttle's landing lights. The mist around him swirled and roiled in the exhaust from the spacecraft's rockets as it glided slowly overhead. A clearing in the opaque cloud revealed the shuttle—fully illuminated for takeoff—it's lights blinding after the extended darkness of the moonbase's interior. Hal's shadow was blasted in stark outline onto the rocks underfoot. The angular shadow of his rifle being raised complemented his screams. "Come back here, you chickenshit sons-of-bitches!!"

As his finger tightened on the trigger, Hal felt a restraining hand on his arm. "Won't do any good." Dahyte had to shout over the roar of the rocket

"Shit!" Hal dropped the weapon to his side. "Hey!" His eyes widened as he pointed upward. "They didn't clear their takeoff path! They're gonna run into that mountain!" His finger indicated a tall spire of black rock that appeared suddenly through a clearing in the mist.

Dahyte squinted. "That's not a mountain."

To his infinite horror, Hal realized the SeeD sniper was right as the undulating liquid form of the black tower flexed toward the hovering shuttle. "Oh. My. God."

Apparently, the pilot of the Galbadian shuttle had spotted the thing as well, for the shuttle pitched violently to the right, and flared brilliantly as the main engine ignited, but the aerospace plane moved far too slowly and the Finger of God blotted it from the sky seconds later, plunging the scene into darkness once more.

Blind until his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Hal risked a whisper. "Do you see it?"

Dahyte's reply was long in coming. "It's gone."

"The shuttle's gone, isn't it?" Quistis looked up as Hal slumped heavily to the floor beside her.

Sparing her the gory details, he simply said: "Yup."

"Well, that's that." The SeeD sighed.

"Uh-huh." Stirring himself into motion, Hal gently picked up Quistis's armored arm. As he looked into her mask, he noted the paleness of her skin. "Are you feeling a little light-headed?"

"You mean, besides the morphine?" Quistis grimaced fuzzily. "Yes… and Hal?"

"Hmm?" He blinked.

"I… I can't feel my arms anymore." Quistis swallowed. "I think it's the poison."

"That's just because you've lost a lot of blood, but you'll be okay. The medical readout says that last antidote did the trick on the toxin." Hal lied.

"I always seem to be misplacing the stuff." The SeeD mumbled. Trying her best to cock her head to the side, she regarded the commando. "Hal, I know what's happening to me. You don't have to lie about it."

He avoided her gaze. "You're down to your last shot of painkiller. I'm going to go ahead and use a depressant that'll help you sleep."

The commando found his arm caught in Quistis's surprisingly strong grip as he reached toward the medication dispenser's keys. "Hal… don't…" She blinked clearly. "I want to be awake when… when it comes for us."

Hal took a moment to run a gloved finger down the edge of the breath mask where seal met skin. "No you don't." He whispered quietly, and pressed the button to dispense the anesthesia.

Gazing into the depths of the enormous gem, Dahyte's brow furrowed. It's crazy. Turning her head away from the pedestal on which the Sapphire Dream sat, she blinked. No… it's completely insane. She sighed. Insane in the way going back to that mountain cave had been insane, insane in the way stopping to help someone caught in the clutches of an omnipotent alien monster was insane. Dahyte knew it was suicide and would never work, but she also knew that there were no other alternatives.

Chapter Eight