Purgatio

by Marcus1

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

10. Socius

Chapter 10:

Socius

The moon's twin was reflected for an instant in the one yellow eye. Then, the head turned, and darkness swallowed the glowing orb. Under the sultry midnight haze that hung over the alleyway dark things scuttled in the shadows. The amber oval appeared again, and then narrowed. Suddenly, the stray cat sprang from its perch atop the rotten wood of a pile of sagging crates, landing with a dull thump on one of the scurrying rodents. Yellowed fangs glinted in the glow of a few distant streetlamps at the alley's mouth as the scruffy carnivore bit down on the back of its prey's neck.

To the feline's surprise, its victim did not squeak in terror and die—as the cat was used to. Instead, the rodent wrenched its body around—digging its sharp hind claws into the stray's underbelly while snarls of pain and rage escaped from between it's jagged and broken teeth. However, the stray had not survived this long without learning persistence, and—despite the injuries being dealt it, the cat bit down harder into the bloody fur, extending its claws and raking them down the rodent's sides.

The looming moon gazed down on the match impassively as still, the feline failed to deal a killing blow, and the rat redoubled its efforts to break free. A moment later, the life-or-death struggle was suspended indefinitely as an ancient flatbed truck rumbled into the alley. The two fighters had separated at the first hint of intrusion, and the tiny spatter of blood ground into the filthy broken bricks by the rotting tires was the only evidence that the death match had ever taken place. With the bare-metal squealing of worn-out brakes, the rust-covered lorry ground to a halt.

Damn her. The stolen eyes glared down at the scored metal. Two last dying light bulbs lit the four nonfunctional gauges set into the dashboard. Needles motionless under cracked glass, turned smoky with the passing of time, the round eyes of the gauges stared back up at the man. Damn her. How did she find out? But, Norg reflected, she had probably always known. Sera had known Cid would never give in to his mind-control if his sorceress were not taken from him first. She had known that Caraway's thoughts would be closed to him if he were ever permitted to see his daughter again. And that bitch knows that Caraway is the only one with any power I could possess now, so she has driven him from Deling in order to ensure my loyalty. It was infuriating.

Like a marionette, the arm of the man reached out, grabbing the crumbling rubber bulb at the end of the gearshift. The transmission ground horribly as the man shifted the lorry into neutral and killed the lights. A second later the sputtering engine died as he removed the keys from the ignition.

A few more flakes of rust fell from what might have been an old bullet hole in the driver's-side door as Norg swung the man's leg out and onto a warped footboard. The truck's ancient leaf springs protested as he dropped to the grimy alleyway bricks, slamming the door behind him. How could I have let this happen? Norg surveyed the dank space between buildings with just the slightest twinge of nerves. When did I allow her to take control of my plans? Though he knew he was really back in his institute—years in the future—though he knew he could shed this body as easily as a worn-out coat should the need arise, the silent darkness still unnerved the former Shumi. Never felt comfortable in the open, especially at night… He had been—and always would be—a cave dweller. But not the dingy corridors those other fools are content to live with, oh no. I once lived in the finest cave of them all. Surrounded by legions of mercenaries, I was, encased in an indestructible machine, I was. The body winced. Well, nearly indestructible… Unconsciously running a hand along the cracked sideboards of the lorry, Norg paid no notice to the jagged splinters of wood that pierced the body's skin. Now look at yourself, Norg! Look at what you've become! Errand boy to a crazy old witch. Afraid of your own shadow—for fear she might be lurking in it. The body snorted as Norg peered back at the truck's cargo of tall, dust-colored gas canisters. Two years ago from this time, with a wave of your hand you could have sent a hundred SeeDs to dispatch her, yet now you let her hold the keys to your future.

Soot from the lorry's sagging tailpipe brushed a dirty stain across the man's pant leg as he turned suddenly. Norg suddenly sensed that he was no longer alone. "Is that you?" He made the body call out softly while peering into the darkness behind a forgotten dumpster.

The voice was a startlingly close croak behind him in the night. "Do you have my supplies?" Norg jumped as he stifled a curse.

The figure was defined only by a dark space where there existed an absence of lights reflected from puddles of scummy water or rat's eyes. Sweat that had nothing to do with the close humid heat of the night broke out on the body's forehead. "Show me the sapphire."

The shadow did not seem to move, but after a moment, a cool blue glow appeared.

A dozen or so years in the future a body hooked into an elaborate device, surround by loops of tubing and wire, jerked spasmodically.

Norg bit down on the gasp. The azure lights dancing within the sapphire crystal were mesmerizing, the size and cut of the gem were incredible, but the Shumi's attention was captured by the features the glow from the jewel revealed on its holder. Though it was heavily swaddled in dirty robes, a few parts of the person's body were still visible. Norg swallowed repeatedly and tried to look away but found he could not. Instead, he stared in shock at the disfigured face illuminated in the light of the Sapphire Dream. A single mottled eye gazed unblinkingly back at him. The other eye was covered by a bulbous growth of flesh. Everything shown blue in the light of the crystal, but long trails of a viscous secretion were tinted a distinctive shade of green as they dribbled from the corners of the ravaged organ. The person's face itself was cracked and bleeding in a dozen places where something dark pushed through between patches of blotchy discolored skin. Bits of flesh peeled away from these dark masses. As those of a corpse long buried, lips like shriveled figs hung loosely from a row of skull's teeth and quivered loosely when the thing spoke. "Where are my supplies?"

Norg had to fight very hard to keep most of the disgust he felt at the sight of the thing from leaking into his voice. "In the back of the truck. The vehicle is yours as well."

Norg could only imagine what inner ravages of a person's body could make a voice so horrible. It sounded like the thing before him was nearly at death's door as the words gurgled and whistled out of the puckered cavity in the thing's skull that served as a mouth. His suspicions were reinforced by a dark bubble of blood that formed on the person's lips as it spoke again. "Good. Then hand me the keys, and I will give this accursed thing to you."

At last, at these words, Norg overcame the shock of the thing's horrible visage. Startled, he might have been, caught off-guard, he still was, a bit—but a fool, Norg was not. He might have been born north of the equator, but in the time since being deposed as Garden Master of Balamb, he had become quite familiar with the Federated Republican Islands of Southern Pella, or as it was commonly called; Pirate's Archipelago. The deal the leprous being before him was proposing was a trade he would not have trusted a FRISP government official with, let alone a decaying beast dressed in a thief's cloak. The grey, green, and black eye narrowed at the appearance of a snub-nosed pistol in Norg's hand. "No… I think not." He took a small step back from the thing—something he had been longing to do for quite some time—and motioned toward the open tailgate of the lorry. "Why don't you just place the crystal there, then go on up to the cab." Norg spread the hand not holding the weapon in a conciliatory gesture. "The keys are in the ignition." He lied.

The bruised eye narrowed a tiny bit more, then the thing bowed its head in acquiescence. Norg had just begun to smile in return when he felt something cool and moist brush his hand. He looked down.

This time, the Shumi could not stifle the exclamation of disgust as he shook the bloody bits of flesh clinging to the palm where the gun had rested moments before. It took a moment for his brain to register the fact that he was no longer holding the weapon. A split-second later, the signals from the man's eyes told him that he was no longer on the safe end of the gun. A sneaking suspicion and a lightness in his pocket—along with another prick of cool wetness indicated that he no longer possessed the keys to the lorry.

Holding Norg's weapon in a rock-steady grip, the thing wheezed quietly. "Let's not play games. Just take that nightmare and go."

Seeing that he had little choice—the crystal was now resting on the tailgate of the lorry in front of him—Norg carefully reached for it. To his surprise, he did not wake up in that sterile room many years in the future—the body within which he had taken residence destroyed—but rather, the fingers under his control grasped the large sapphire and lifted it from its perch. The weapon pointed at him remained silent.

Carefully wrapping the glowing jewel a cloth shroud he had brought, Norg chanced a smile—careful to avoid looking at the thing's face. "Well then, if our business here is finished…"

"Not quite yet." Norg heard a footfall and looked up. It took all his self-control not to pull away in disgust as the thing thrust its decaying face close to his own. "You…" It's one eye narrowed. "You are the same one I dealt with in Deling." Dead flesh crackled as its brows knit together. "You are my weapons supplier… but you're not the same person… how is this possible?"

"What?!" At last, Norg did take a step backwards. This… thing… is it the sniper the sorceress had me supply those enchanted rounds to? Norg's eyes widened. Impossible!

"Yes," The thing continued to croak. "yes, I recognize those eyes. They are a different color now but…" Suddenly, the decaying sniper took a step backwards. The hammer on the pistol she held clicked back. "Then… if you are the same person… and you are in league with the sorceress… she was…" Before Norg could move. Before he could do anything than raise his hands, the sniper lowered her weapon. "No." Bits of blood and flesh fell to the alley floor as she shook her head. "No. I have done my duty. I wash my hands of this matter."

Norg could only whisper. "You are the sniper from Deling…"

The pistol disappeared and the sniper turned. She seemed to be speaking to herself now. "If you serve that sorceress, so be it. Our business here is finished." She began walking toward the cab of the lorry.

Norg's words followed her. "The sorceress made you the way you are?"

The dark robes held stock-still in the night. "No." Norg thought he made out a shiver in the darkness. "I made myself this way." A human hand—ridges of serrated bone pushing through its knuckles fell upon the latch to the cab door.

"Wait." The hint of an idea flashed through Norg's mind. "Why are you serving the sorceress? Why did you retrieve the Sapphire Dream for her?"

"I do not serve her. I do this as a favor… to a friend." The sniper's gurgling voice was dismissive, but her had did not move on the latch of the door.

"How can that be so? You know she serves none but herself." Norg's eyes narrowed slyly as his brain quickly weighed the situation. Yes… perhaps something can be arranged… "The sorceress Sera is friend to no one."

Slowly, the sniper withdrew her hand from the door and turned to face the Shumi. "Do not move." Norg could see that, once again, his pistol had been leveled at his chest. "I have retrieved the Sapphire Dream for the sorceress Rachel, not the sorceress Sera…" She trailed off at the sound of twisted laughter ringing from the man.

…

The ballroom was silent, still, and cold. The space had lain undisturbed during the Galbadian invasion and occupation of the garden. Only a single set of footprints marred the perfect coating of dust that had drifted down over the polished marble floor tiles—shaken loose by vibrations from the recent fighting. The prints began at the gilded doors at the entrance to the room, descended the sweeping leftmost stairway, and then wound their way between the great arches arrayed around the periphery of the room. The track of disturbed dust ended beneath the enormous panes of the huge window at the far end of the dancing floor. The soft blue glow of the lights climbing between the room's arches competed with the dusky purple of evening cascading in through ceiling skylight for the right to illuminate the kneeling figure resting on the raised platform before the statue of the sorceress. His weapon lying forgotten at his side, Cid wept into the dust before the cold, stone feet of his love. He had never been a strong man, he had tried to tell her so, so many years ago when they had first met. She had laughed gently at him and told him that she knew—when the time came—he would do what had to be done.

"My love, I do not need a strong man. I need a just man, a caring man… I need the man who loves me, Cid. I need you."

"But you did need a strong man, my lady." Cid whispered the damning words. "You needed someone who could protect you… and it was not me." It was not only the sorceress who needed someone stronger than himself, Cid knew, but also the entire world. They had needed someone who would not fail the one good sorceress, someone who would not fold and give his mind and body over to a murderer from the future. Cid's hands clenched into fists. Even while possessed, he had known that a stronger man could have fought off the thing that had taken over his mind. A strong man's heart, even broken like mine, could have endured the struggle, fought off that twisted thing.

For hours Cid knelt there. The cold laughter of uncaring starlight fell all around him as the lights in the heavens pitched and wheeled with the movement of the garden. At some point during that long, silent night, golden light spilled from between the panes of the double-doors at the far end of the room. A person's shadow traced a finger of darkness through the cascade of light as they stood silently behind the closed entryway. After a while, the arrow of shadow receded and the hallway lights dimmed once again.

Xu allowed herself yet another sigh. However, unlike those that came before, the exhalation was an expression of sadness rather than relief. Her sharp staccato footfalls echoing in the deserted nighttime corridor, the SeeD's eyebrows lowered just the slightest bit. I sighed in relief when the report came through that we had retaken the Garden, then again when I learned the strike force had only taken minor injuries and no casualties, and then once more when I actually stepped off the transport and saw it for myself. Xu closed her eyes at the memory of the wave of relief that had washed over her, gazing across the scorched tiles of the quad—and later the main gate—and seeing that not a single student or SeeD uniform clad the bodies of the fallen. Unbelievable. The woman's frown deepened. Yes, unbelievable that they would leave the Garden practically undefended—unbelievable that they would chose a course that left them close enough to Esthar for our strike. Unbelievable, that is, only if you fail to recognize this for the trap that it must be. It was so obvious, she wondered what strategist could have been so naïve as to believe no one in SeeD would recognize that they had just been handed back their Garden. But perhaps it is not naivety, after all… Xu shrugged to the empty hallway. …here we are. She shook her head, clamping her teeth together in frustration. They must have recognized that we had no choice. Deprived of the garden, the Balamb arm of SeeD would wither and die, just as the Galbadian SeeD had disappeared.

Emerging into the second floor hallway, Xu paused a moment to look back at the darkened glass of the ballroom doors. It hasn't gotten bad yet. No desertations, no resignations just yet. Everyone's still in a crisis mindset, but when it finally wears off… "Cid, will you return to lead your children?"

Continuing on down the dimmed corridor, Xu was afraid she already knew the answer to the whispered question.

…

Radar Intercept Officer, Andrew McKay, noted that—once again—his butt had fallen asleep. Despite the thousands of dollars that had undoubtedly gone into the development of his padded ejection seat to prevent this exact condition, he still found himself shifting uncomfortably as he adjusted the range on the Multi-Function Display. He keyed his mic. "Gonzo, that's an affirmative, three bandits on an intercept course." McKay used his partner's callsign while addressing the pilot of the long-range jet interceptor in which he sat. "Switch your MFD to channel two to see it."

There was a short pause while the pilot of the fighter complied with his RIO's instructions. "I see 'em. Well, no wingmen for this mission. Let's see how long we can keep them away from Caraway's transports."

McKay was about to reply, but the whump of the jet's afterburners igniting—along with the three-g snap-roll which forced his helmet against the Plexiglas windscreen—cut him off.

Less than a mile behind the jet, the navigator of the lead transport craned his neck in order to shout back to the loadmaster. "Approaching drop area." Sitting in front of him, the co-pilot toggled his microphone.

"He didn't say much, eh?" He pointed as their lone fighter escort rolled out of formation and streaked off to the north.

The pilot shrugged. "I guess we're supposed to figure it out on our own. Suppose we may be in for a fight."

"Either way, looks like we're gonna make the drop before the action starts." The co-pilot flipped a toggle, extending the huge transport's flaps in preparation for deploying paratroopers. "That's what matters, right?"

"I guess." The pilot's reply was less than enthusiastic.

Fifty feet further back, Zell looked up as a red light near the tail of the aircraft began flashing, illuminating the faces of the other paratroopers around him. A moment later, the noise level in the cargo hold rose a bit more as the rear loading ramp of the aircraft opened, brilliant daylight streaming in—along with a gusty cold wind.

Taking care to ensure that the jump officer's attention was on the widening slit of daylight at the rear of the cargo hold, Zell furtively reached up and unclipped his static line ripcord from his parachute handle. I'll be damned if I'm opening my chute at over a thousand feet in broad daylight! No self-respecting SeeD would have done otherwise. "Galbadians be damned." Zell smiled to himself. He was feeling much better now that combat was close. Something in the tension building around the other soldiers aboard the aircraft was calming the SeeD, focusing his thoughts on the task at hand. In an unconscious gesture, the blond fighter nodded to himself; it was at times like this that he remembered just why he had joined SeeD—chosen the way of his grandfather—chosen the way of the warrior. The excitement, the danger, and yes—even the fear—in the air heightened his sense of being alive.

Turning away from the sight of the sparkling ocean hundreds of feet below, the jump officer bawled. "JUMPERS! STANDBY!!"

Almost as one, the paratroopers rose and readied the clips attached to their ripcords. Zell smiled as he noted their lack of hesitation. Good; veterans, we might just have a chance…

"JUMPERS! READY!!" The wind whipping through the cargo bay carried away the sound of fifty clips snapping closed over the cables that ran the length of the hold.

Holding his arms up and standing between the two rows of paratroopers, the jump officer kept a steady eye on the red light near the loading ramp. His harness firmly secured to the floor of the cargo bay, he rocked slightly as the wind from the open door buffeted him. Suddenly, both arms dropped as he shouted "GO!" The light had flashed to green.

"GO! GO! GO!" As each static line clip snagged at the end of the cable—pulling the jumper's parachute ripcord before they had fallen more than twenty feet—the jump officer shouted for the next in line to dive from the open cargo door.

In an amazingly short amount of time, it was Zell's turn. As the blond SeeD leapt out into the bright blue sky—just as he had done in dozens of training drops—instead of being clear of all thoughts; as he liked it; a single name flashed through Zell's mind. Isis "Damn!" The slipstream carried his words away.

In the blink of an eye, the SeeD streaked past the open chutes of a half-dozen paratroopers, startling them all as he dove toward the massive structure, still several hundred feet further down.

The transport aircraft had come in as low as they dared over the floating Galbadia Garden—sailing from its previous anchoring point, toward Esthar—but the division of airborne infantry they scattered across the sky still had a long exposed drop to cover before they would alight on the upper decks of the garden. Zell, on the other hand, was running out of altitude fast. The upper decks of Galbadia Garden raced up to meet him.

At the last possible second, Zell pulled his main chute ripcord. The SeeD continued to plummet toward the metal decks as his drogue chute deployed. A second later, he was jerked skyward by the acceleration of the main parachute unfolding. Zell didn't have time to catch his breath before his feet slammed into G-Garden. Knees buckling under the impact, he collapsed onto his hands.

The martial artist was on his feet before his sky-blue parachute touched the deck. There was an angry whine as a bullet zipped past his head. From where he stood, Zell could see a large number of armed Galbadians, most pointing their guns skyward—at the descending forces of General caraway. Two of them, however, had aimed their weapons at the SeeD. Zell's parachute drifted to the ground, temporarily blocking his view of the Galbadians. PUCK, PUCK! The fabric rippled with the impact of two more shots.

Zell made haste to detach himself from the parachute. As he did so, the Galbadians on the garden's upper decks began firing at the paratroopers above.

The parachute settled to the ground, and the Galbadian soldiers were once again given a clear shot at the SeeD; only, he was no longer there. In his place, a giant serpentine bird flapped its huge wings and shrieked. A thunderous blast of lightning sent the Galbadians flying, buying the airborne troopers the time they needed to land on the Garden.

Of the four-hundred jumpers, three hundred and six landed safely on deck, the rest either missed the garden entirely, or were killed by ground fire before they could land. Of Caraway's paratroop force seven broke one or both legs upon landing. Another dozen troopers misjudged their landings and ended up with dehabilitating sprains. Those still able to fight found themselves scattered across the upper decks of the garden, separated from their squads and officers. Confusion reigned.

Despite the troubles of the invading rebels, the Galbadians attempting to hold the garden's upper decks still found themselves badly outnumbered and completely surrounded. With fire pouring in from all sides, and almost no cover available on the exposed surface of Galbadia Garden, the commanders of the garden's defenders began shouting for their troops to fall back to the rooftop access hatchways.

The defender's rifle was sent spinning by a kick from the blond SeeD. Without hesitation, Zell spun—leaving the man still staring at his empty hands—and swept the feet out from under another Galbadian who had a sword drawn back to strike the martial artist. Zell turned back to the first defender only to find that an errant parachute had swept the man off of the sloping decking and sent him plummeting into the water two thousand feet below.

Despite his good luck, the SeeD realized that he was being overwhelmed as another wave of seven Galbadians charged forward. They were blown backward by Zell's last Aero spell, but immediately gained their feet and rushed forward again, swords and pikes held at the ready.

Finding his reserves bare of any spell—except for a dozen damned Scans—Zell dropped into his favorite fighting stance, preparing to meet the rush. "Yeah, I love a fair fight!" He bared his teeth.

…

Squall sat on the vibrating bench that ran along one side of the helicopter's interior. He did his best to stare out the open side hatch at the sparkling aquamarine ocean. The chopper was now an hour north of the misty overcast skies that pervaded in the area where the Naso was now, undoubtedly, laying on the bottom of the sea. After the low layer of stratus clouds had disappeared over the horizon, the sky had remained cloudless and as clear as the blank face of the ocean below.

Squall studied the 7.62 mm machine gun hanging unmanned on its pedestal—right next to the empty brackets for the sonar buoy winch—doing his best not to look at his sorceress. Staring silently at the ceiling of the helicopter, she had neither moved nor spoken since their escape from the destroyer and attacking submarines. Squall would have given anything to know what was on her mind, but something kept him from speaking. He sighed to himself. At least she was looking a bit less pale now.

It's just too much! Rinoa's eyes burned, but no tears came. So many people are suffering, fighting, dying… all because of me. She felt ready to explode, to scream, to somehow release the feelings that tore at her, but there were no outward manifestations that could convey what she felt. And poor Squall. I can feel him sitting over there, confused, alone. He knows about as well as I do how to cope with this… this… How could it be? How could one person be responsible for so much? How could it be her? I'm nobody. I mean, I wanted to be a revolutionary, I wanted to be somebody, I wanted to do something important… but not like this—never like this!

And why had The Fate refused to answer her question? Why had it told her what she had not wanted to hear? Papa, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I hurt you for so long… but you should have told me! You… I can't… I wish I could tell you so many things, but I can't. Not after what I've become. "So many people…" Rinoa's lips moved, but she made no sound at all. "…and I can't help any of them." Her eyes closed.

She had not cared that her sorcery would have killed her back on the stern of the Naso, she didn't care now. My life means nothing but suffering to everyone.

"That's not true, Rinoa."

Her eyes snapped open. Squall was kneeling beside the stretcher on which she still lay.

He shook his head. "Not to me." The staccato beat of the rotor blades drowned out Squall's voice, but she heard him nonetheless. "Because…"

Sliding an arm out from under the blanket that covered her, Rinoa held a trembling finger to Squall's lips. "No, please. Don't say it. I know you want to tell me you love me, but how can you, after all that's happened?" She didn't know if she had the strength for tears again. "I love you Squall, you're the only person who makes me happy in this world and I don't want to hurt you, but… I don't want to go on living like this." Her eyes were pleading. "I can't go on living with what I am!"

Squall felt fingers of ice wrap round his heart. Oh god, Rinoa, Please don't talk like that. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? I won't let you go, I'm just as responsible as you… and… we cannot be apart! Would she accept what The Fate had told him? Would it be enough to know of what their daughter would do? But what about Siefer? What about Ultimecia? We killed her! Rinoa, you are such a powerful sorceress but you're so fragile… And Squall knew he could never risk her life. Not for anything, not for trust, not for caring, not for truth. Thus began the lie.

"Because you are a sorceress?" Squall shook his head. "Rinoa, no. You are not responsible for anyone's death. You didn't kill the crew of the destroyer, you didn't start the war in Timber, you didn't activate the Lunatic Pandora! I won't accept that, and neither should you!"

Rinoa turned her head away from Squall's intensity. Closing her eyes, she clutched the blanket with both hands, pressing it to her face. "That's not the reason." She whispered.

Squall forced himself to calm a bit. Bending down until his lips nearly touched her ear, he drew a breath. There will be no turning back. I love you Rinoa, more than anything else. "The Fate told me about Siefer, about what he said, Rinoa. She told me about our child…" Rinoa cringed. "…she told me about Ultimecia…" a moan. "…and she told me, that it was all a lie." Silence.

"Cid's letter…"

"A lie."

At last, Rinoa's eyes returned his steady gaze. The absolute trust in them stabbed through Squall's heart. But the hope, the hope he saw gave him heart to continue. This is the only way. To hell with my oaths, to hell with SeeD, and to hell with this whole fucking world! "How, Squall?"

I'm not going to let you die, Rinoa, and I won't see you bear this burden. I'll carry it for you, even if it means I have to turn the world against us myself! "Cid wrote that letter, Rinoa. He told the same lie to Quistis, Selphie, Irvine, and Zell, then he sent them to kill us. Siefer had orders to give you the letter if the SeeDs failed to do their job. Cid set all of this up."

An anguished cry from the sorceress. "Why?"

Squall's gaze was steady, years of practice kept it that way. Betray everything you've ever believed in for her, Squall? Where's your justification? It was in the eyes of his sorceress. "Because they are god-damned mercenaries, Rinoa." Squall held his face in a rigid mask. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to believe it, but it is true."

It was true. It had to be true. She could see the pain in her knight's eyes as he revealed everything to her. As he spoke, it became too much to bear. A few moments ago, Rinoa had been sure that nothing else could touch her. She had felt so emotionally drained. Now she flung her arms around Squall's neck, and clung there for dear life as his words filtered through her broken sobs. Is there no one good on this planet? Is there nothing but evil and greed in the hearts of all men?

Squall's voice quivered with rage as he told her of Cid Kramer's plan to de-stabilize the Galbadian government. Without an antagonistic Galbadia, how was SeeD to refill their ranks and stave off bankruptcy? A stable government Galbadia would have meant the end of SeeD; a declaration of world peace, its death knell. Maintaining the massive Gardens would never be practical without major wars to fight.

But Cid had gotten more than he bargained for with the explosion of aggression from the newly-divided Galbadia. The attack on B-Garden had caught even him by surprise.

Rinoa had to ask. She swallowed her grief as best she could. "Did Edea know about this, Squall?"

Squall shook his head. "I don't know. The Fate died before she could finish telling me." She felt the muscles in his back and arms tighten. "I'm sorry, Rinoa, I could have stopped this when I was in Deling, but instead, I played right into that bastard Cid's hands!" The poisonous lie flowed more freely now, but the heartsickness he felt threatened to consume him. He knew, from this moment on, the feeling would never abate.

Sniffing, Rinoa looked up. "It's okay, Squall." She lifted one arm and ran her fingers through his hair. "I understand why you did." Her eyes dropped. "I'm spinning, Squall. I'm falling down a deep dark hole, where nothing is what it seems to be." Her gaze met his once more as her arms tightened around him. "I'm so, so glad I have one person I can trust."

Oh god! Squall jerked in his seat. White-knuckled hands clamped down on the edges of the metal bench. Mouth dry, pulse racing, Squall's gaze tracked wildly across the helicopter's interior. Rinoa was sitting upright, her gaze pierced his soul. I didn't say the lie? It was all a dream? Rinoa, did you see…? She had risen from the stretcher, and was now sitting next to him. He found that he couldn't meet her eyes.

A slender arm around his hunched shoulders, cool fingers on his shirt. "Squall?"

He had lost the power of speech.

Another delicate-fingered hand over his own—now clasped together. "Squall? I saw it all, just as you did. I know what you would have done for me." How can a lie make me happy? I don't want to be deceived anymore—especially not by you, Squall. And yet…

Something was in his throat, Squall swallowed.

I know how much you loved SeeD, Squall, and you gave it up for me. Now you would throw it all away, forswear everything you've believed in, again, for me? Somehow, it almost seemed that the sorceress's voice held a tinge of—could it be—happiness, amazement? "How can you love me like that, Squall? How could you take a burden like that for me? How is it possible that I mean as much to you as you mean to me?" How could I have been so blind? Why wouldn't I let myself believe in this man's love for me?

There was something in the knight's throat, a lump that was making it hard to breathe.

He still couldn't meet her gaze. I see it now; it's not because you were ordered to protect me, it's not because I'm your sorceress, it's because you really do… "I'm sorry, Squall. I'm sorry to tear you apart like I have." The arms around him tugged gently. "I promise, no matter how bad things get, no matter what else we find out, I won't leave you again, Squall, ever." A pause. "The future… well, I guess it will just have to work itself out." She exhaled. The decision was made.

His composure was completely swept away. There was nothing he could do, his strength was gone. As he buried himself in her embrace, for an instant, Squall gave up all pretense of hiding his heart's vulnerability from his love.

And Rinoa was happy.

…

Oily bubbles circulated slowly beneath the ramshackle wooden bridge spanning the lethargic stream. The dimmed lights of the training center were reflected in distorted pallid rainbows by the filmy surface of the air-filled spheres. Above, the stained wooden planks creaked with the passage of two pairs of feet. Nothing stirred in the murky water as the chiming of female laughter and the distinctive drawl of a certain Galbadian sharpshooter drifted through the humid air.

"'s no problem a'tall, Miss." Irvine laid on even more drawl than usual.

"Why, aren't you just the gentleman, Mr. Kinneas?" The girl, Terra, Terry, T-something, flashed a smile.

Irvine stopped himself from scratching his head just in time. Can't even remember her name, you dog. He offered up a mental shrug. Just like old times. A grin began to spread across his face. You can take the tiger out of the jungle…

Believing the smile to be for her benefit, the girl tilted her head slightly. "I really enjoyed our conversation, Irvine. I'm glad we had a chance to talk about things."

Conversation? The sharpshooter fought down a frown. She just spent the evening telling me how much she admired me. "Uh, yup. Me too." Not that I mind, or anything...

"And you are so sweet, to offer to walk me back to my dorm…"

Right now, any three of a hundred ribald thoughts should have been running through the self-styled cowboy and ladies man's head, but—for some reason—Irvine had been finding himself oddly distracted all night. "Uh-huh." He muttered absently.

"Do you think we did the right thing, Irvy?" Selphie abruptly dropped the magazine she had been pretending to study. "I mean, with Quistis and all…?"

"Selph, darlin', I really don't know." Irvine tipped his hat—once again rescued from the short brown bobs atop the little SeeD's head—back, uncovering his eyes, as he reclined on the dorm room's bed.

"It's just, it seems so strange… We all went through so much together, and now… I dunno. I guess I just hate to see everybody split up." Selphie looked like she wanted to stand, but remained seated. "I've just been thinking; it really seems like Rachel might have been telling the truth."

The corner of Irvine's mouth drew downward into a pensive frown. "Babe, I think the best thing for us to do, is to not beat ourselves up over it." He shrugged. "I have a feeling we'll find out who was right sooner or later."

"Yeah, I guess we can't… well, we can't save the world ourselves all the time." Now, Selphie did stand.

"That's right, mae little butter biscuit, that's why we're in SeeD." Irvine swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Follow orders and try to do what's right."

"But, that just seems like it… I don't know… like it give us less potential to do good or something." Already in the middle of a departure from her normal cheerfulness, Selphie added to her uncharacteristic behavior by beginning to pace.

Irvine scratched his head. "Yeah, but it also give us less of a chance to screw things up." And besides, they really were needed here, at Balamb garden.

Even now, the institution was sailing straight into the teeth of yet another battle. The use of Estharian aircraft and supplies had not been freely given. In return for services rendered, the Estharian government had requested SeeD assistance in their struggle to keep the reactivated Lunatic Pandora away from their coast. Though it was unclear what help SeeD could be in stopping the inexorable progress of the massive artifact, the garden had been asked to standby near the area where Estharian aircraft and naval forces would try to engage the Pandora and any escorts it might have.

The sharpshooter extended a long arm, snagging the hem of the short yellow jumper—of which Selphie seemed to possess an inexhaustible supply—the SeeD was wearing. "Now stop all that gol-durned pacing. I'm trying to study certain parts o' yer an-atom-ee, and you're makin' them a movin' target."

Naturally, this netted Irvine an exasperated swat, an obligatory scandalized look and exclamation of disgust. However, once these things were out of the way, a sunny giggle and flashing smile broke through the brooding clouds that had been gathering around Selphie.

Irvine realized that Tara, Tasha, whoever, had stopped walking and was now standing in a dormitory's open doorway. She was also saying something. "—happy we had a chance to get to know each other—" 'bla bla bla', the usual temporizing, 'would you like to come in for a bit' Ah yes, now we're getting to the good part, right? Still smooth as ever, Irvine, old boy. Undoubtedly, going in there would result in Irvine getting to know who-ever-she-was better in a little more… intimate manner.

However, much to his own surprise, he found himself tipping his hat and politely declining because of the lateness of the hour and a few other mumbled lame excuses. Huh, how about that?

Even more surprising, when asked when they should see each other again, Irvine spontaneously vocalized the first thing that popped into his head. "Um… never. Bye."

A few moments later, on his way down the hall leading to a certain diminutive SeeD's door—to engage in another, likely unsuccessful (somehow, his 'darlin' was always a dozen steps ahead of his fumbling attempts to disable her home-made security lock system), attempt to gain entry after-hours—Irvine frowned. Aw,dammit, Kinneas, don't tell me you've been…

Domesticated.

"Nahh."

…

Dahyte tried to control the shaking of her hands. There really was no point in being afraid, she reasoned with herself, if this didn't work, they were all dead anyway. Still, the sight of the eight-inch hypodermic needle poised above her left breast—and the thought of what she was about to do with it—provoked a involuntary reaction of visceral fear.

Her rapid breathing was loud inside the still-sealed mask. The skin-sealing headpiece was the only part of the armored moon suit that Dahyte had not shed; its flow of heavily-tainted oxygen being all that stood between her and death by asphyxiation. But that's about to change… Dahyte made a valiant effort to keep her eyes averted from the needle as she swallowed with a dry mouth. …one way or another.

The light emanating from open self-contained refrigeration unit spilled across the dusty laboratory, illuminating the decapitated Centra mannequin, counters, sinks, ancient equipment, and an empty plastic container—freshly drained of the smoky liquid that now spurted from the end of the needle as Dahyte pushed the hypodermic's plunger forward to ensure no air bubbles remained in the mixture.

The instructions on how to prepare the frozen solution for injection had been remarkably easy to follow. The refrigeration unit—amazingly still in operation after nearly a millennia—had a graphic on the front that obviously depicted the transformation of a humanoid outline into that of the mannequin that now leaned, headless, against the far wall. Inside, Dahyte had found only one small container of sub-cooled liquid. After a few moments of searching, she found the machine shown on the label of the container. Though she could not understand the words written below the pictures, a pictorial guide proved sufficient to re-heat the liquid, locate the device to be used to transfer it into the body, and…

…and find out that I have to stab myself through the heart with that damn thing. Some detached part of Dahyte's consciousness found it interesting that she should be experiencing so much fear over such a trifle—after all, hadn't the sniper fearlessly faced far more deadly situations in the name of her various SeeD missions? But this time is somehow different. Closing her eyes, she shook her head abruptly. "It's not any different Dahyte, just do it!" But it was different. For what might have been the first time, the sniper was not risking her life for SeeD or for duty, but rather for…

A friend? Resting on the floor, on her knees, she shook her head again. "No, for my own life!" She insisted, and plunged the needle into her chest.

The hypodermic was slender enough that the only pain the sniper felt was a slight pricking as the sharp metal pipe severed nerve endings in her outer and middle dermis layers. However, much more disturbing to her was the steady tugging sensation as the needle slid deeper and deeper into her chest cavity.

Self-injection is never easy, and such a shot directly into the central organ of the cardiovascular system practically unheard of. To drive the needle deep enough, in just the right spot without hitting a rib or other obstruction required more luck than skill. It was nothing short of a miracle that the needle actually managed to penetrate the sniper's left ventricle before she jammed the plunger down, forcing the contents of the hypodermic directly into her blood stream.

Ever-so-carefully, but still with great haste, Dahyte drew the long needle out of her body. Casting it into a dark corner of the room with a curse, she pitched forward, pressing both hands to the spot where the injection had gone in and gasping down great gulps of the foul air circulating inside her mask.

Cheek pressed against the cold tile flooring of the dark laboratory, the sniper continued to clasp her hands against her chest, drawing herself into a ball as a burning sensation began spreading in all directions from her sternum.

If she was hoping for the sensation to abate, Dahyte was disappointed, for the pain continued to spread throughout her body. Her vision darkened as a red haze filtered into her periphery. The burning agony inside of her intensified. Have to stay awake…! She gritted her teeth against it, and tried counting backward from one-hundred by sevens.

Dahyte had only reached seventy-two before a lance of fire seemed to be driven into her lungs. She opened her mouth to scream and a coppery, warm liquid splattered against the inside of her faceplate.

The glittering eyes of the bodiless mannequin head stared impassively at the figure lying in the strip of light from the refrigeration unit as it writhed in agony. Suddenly, the body stiffened. Back arching, it's feet kicked uselessly at the floor, propelling it into a line of cabinets as it's hands beat frantically about the seals to its mask.

The last thing Dahyte heard before losing consciousness was the cracking of her metacarpals as the force of her attempts to release the catches on her helmet snapped the bones in her right hand.

She awoke with her cheek firmly affixed to the floor by a sticky dark substance. Dahyte didn't need to look to know that it was her own blood. It was just as well, since she was having trouble seeing anyway. She shuddered, her mind calling out desperately for the cool composure—the same composure she felt when centering the crosshairs on a mark's forehead—to return. But that part of her had fled long ago.

Still, even alone, Dahyte did her best to take stock of the situation. Slowly, the realization dawned on her that her breath mask was lying some three feet away from her. I'll be damned… She had been so sure that the injection had been a mistake. Such unbelievable pain could never come with a successful operation! She had thought—before passing out—that she must have done something wrong in the preparation of the mutagen. But I didn't… it worked.. I can breathe. Another shiver raised the hairs on her exposed back. Now I'm just like those monsters, out there. The shivering wouldn't cease. She knew she must be suffering some sort of post-traumatic reaction, but residual pain still clouded her mind. She had no idea how to deal with her situation.

Breathe. Drawing on some long-forgotten piece of advice, Dahyte tried to take a deep calming breath. It was a mistake. It was nearly five minutes before her paroxysm ended. She found that she was reduced to the tiniest of pants. She might be able to breath the moon's atmosphere, but her body was still adjusting to operation with different chemicals in the aftermath of the fast mutagenic virus she had absorbed. She knew she would need to move very slowly to allow her ravaged body to recover. But I don't have time for that.

Hal had been doing his level best to stave off the carbon-dioxide induced sleep he felt encroaching on his consciousness.

For a while, after he returned from watching their only way off this rock smacked out of the sky, he had wished he hadn't given Quistis a knockout dosage of depressants. The other creepy chick had run off somewhere into the labs, and Hal was feeling more than a little discomfited by the lack of sound or movement in the room. He really would have liked someone to talk to, but speaking to the silent SeeD leaning against him served only to remind him just how alone he was. So, instead, he busied himself with checking her vital signs and attempting to measure time by the rise and fall of her shallow breathing.

It was amazing that she was still alive, he reflected. He had heard about the supposed benefits of junctioning one's mind to a Guardian Force—like protection from poison—but he now had first-hand experience with the effectiveness of Status-Junctions against seemingly unstoppable toxins.

Frightened awake by the nodding of his head, Hal tried speaking to the unconscious girl again. "You know, if this were the movies, I think this is the point where I would say something like: 'I'm sorry I got you into all this, Miss. Trepe'." He paused to think for a moment. "Or maybe it's the other way around. Yeah, I think you're supposed to say that to me." He shifted his position slightly. "Then, I'd say: 'It's okay, Miss. Trepe, it was fun while it lasted'." He yawned gapingly—a potential sign of oxygen deprivation. "Then you could say: 'Hal, since we're about to die, I suppose it would be okay if you wanted to call me "Quistis".' Then I'd say: 'Wow, and all it took was our imminent death'." He sighed slightly. "Only problem is, you're unconscious because I thought we were about to get eaten, this isn't the movies; so no one's gonna show up to save us at the last second, and from the looks of things, there's probably not a chance in hell of me getting to call you 'Quistis' instead of 'Miss. Trepe'. Let alone anything more." Inside his mask, he pursed his lips. "Well, I'm all outta ideas."

The form sitting against him stirred slightly, and Hal though he detected a noise.

How in the heck? Those drugs should have kept her out for… oh yeah, Status-J. Hal leaned forward. "What was that, Miss. Trepe?"

"I said, you can call me Quistis, if you'd like, Hal." Quistis's voice was weak, but her eyes were clear.

Hal felt an embarrassed flush begin to climb his neck. She was awake that whole time?! He tried covering with humor. "Woa, slow down, girl! I mean; we just met!"

This guy's pretty unshakable. His entire squad just met their gruesome ends, and we're next—if we don't run out of air first—and he's joking to put me at ease. Quistis favored him with a small smile even as she made an effort to use her instructor's commanding voice. "Hmph. Just because you're the only man within a quarter-million miles, don't think…" Her words trailed off.

"Don't think what, Quistis?" Absorbed as he was, Hal failed to notice the staggering approach of the dark figure. His first indication that they were not alone came with Quistis's gasp.

"Oh my god!" The SeeD's eyes widened in horror.

Hal looked up, a second later, he was fumbling uncoordinatedly for his rifle. "Shit!" It took his stiff fingers a second to wrap around the handle of his weapon, drawing it into his lap. He hadn't even begun raising the gun into firing position when Quistis's hand stopped him.

"Wait… Dahyte, is that you?"

Hal blinked and looked again. Jesus, she's right! The nondescript SeeD's face was covered in blood. Dark trails ran from the corners of her eyes, like tears, and from her nose ears and mouth. In the darkness, she looked almost as though she were painted for some strange sacrificial rite. She had replaced her armored suit, but her oxygen tanks, mask, and filtration system dangled from one hand. Her other arm was drawn up protectively against her chest. "You—you're not wearing your helmet!" He observed unnecessarily.

The sniper's wheezing voice was almost too quiet to make out as she shuffled up to the overturned table against which the SeeD and soldier sat. "I hadn't noticed."

Quick to accept the sniper's shocking change of appearance, Quistis realized what had transpired since she had last been conscious. "You found the mutagen."

Settling painfully to her haunches before them, Dahyte nodded. "Yes…" She had to pause for breath before continuing. "There was one dose left."

Quistis shivered at the idea of what the SeeD had done. "But, why…?"

The bloodied woman shook her head. "There's… no time… to explain." She dragged her oxygen tanks forward and deposited them on Hal's outstretched legs. "Purge… what's left… of my air… into your tanks." She swayed unsteadily, so great was the effort required to speak.

Hal was quick to shake his head. "No, Quistis, I'll use it to recharge your tanks. You've got the most left, so you've got the best chance of surviving until…"

The sniper shook her head, and was about to speak, but Quistis beat her to it.

"Until what, Hal? No one's coming to rescue us." She tried to wave an arm toward the squatting SeeD, but found she could not move. "I'm sure Dahyte has a plan."

The sniper nodded, careful not to shake her head too violently. "We'll use… the lifeboat."

Hal tried to smack his head, but only managed to tap his faceplate. "Of course! I had forgotten all about that! Damn!" The effort made him see stars, so concentrated was the carbon dioxide in his air. "Still, you'd both have a better chance if we purged my air and yours into Quistis's tanks."

Quistis was about to object when Dahyte shook her head again and pointed to her right hand. "Broken." "You… carry Quistis… use…" Dahyte croaked.

"Right. I'll use your air." Was I a little quick accepting that? Well, I do want to live, so sue me. Because she was turned away from him, he tapped Quistis on the shoulder to indicate he was talking to her. "It should be enough for me to carry you without passing out." He stretched an arm out and snagged Dahyte's air tanks. "Hot damn, we might all make it out of here after all!"

"No." Both soldier and sniper hesitated at Quistis's exclamation. "This isn't going to work." Her voice was carefully analytical. "Carrying me would slow both of you down." Through an effort of willpower, she managed to keep the quiver out of her voice. "With that thing loose in the station, there's a better chance of you both making it if I give my air to you, Hal. Then, you and Dahyte can make a run for it."

Hal shook his head. "Nope, sorry Quistis, only those of us with moving arms and legs are allowed to be self-sacrificing today. Looks like the rule is going to be: either we all go, or none of us does." He didn't spare a glance at Dahyte, not sure whether her expression would indicate agreement with his statement.

Disgusted with herself over the relief she felt, Quistis remained silent while Hal vented the remaining gasses in Dahyte's tanks into his own reservoir. After a few moments he spoke up. "Okay, that should do it." Quistis felt him stir as he slid out from behind her—laying her head down gently on the tile flooring. "One second, babe."

The Blonde SeeD snorted as the commando struggled to his feet. He stood swaying unsteadily for a moment. "Whoo, okay, so far so good." Dahyte watched impassively as Hal bent down over Quistis's still form. "Right, now for the fun part." He spoke while unfastening the buckles on the SeeD's armored suit.

Quistis frowned. "Ha ha. Touch anything other than that armor, soldier, and we'll see how much fun you find a shot of nonelemental para-magic."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Hal mock-saluted with his left as he slid the other arm under Quistis's waist. "Huaaaaaagh!" He grunted loudly and comedically as he lifted her into a fireman's-carry position.

Upside down and staring at the small of the commando's back, Quistis growled. "Not funny. Keep that up, and you're going to have to hope that we don't make it out of this alive."

Truthfully, the effort of lifting Quistis left Hal looking down a dark tunnel as he hovered on the edge of consciousness. It took a few moments of deep breathing to make the darkness in his periphery vision retreat. Dahyte had already left the room by the time he felt well enough to start forward.

"Look at what? Hal, I can't see anything but your utility belt." Quistis was doing her best to keep the mood light—seeing as she really couldn't do anything else in her current position.

"Sorry, Quistis. I was just remarking on how the big metal doors we shut to keep that thing out are pretty heavily dented. I'm going to try to open them now." Hal replied. There was a pause. "Hey, Dahyte, is that what I think it is?"

"Yes." Came the choked reply.

"What is it?" Quistis fought to keep from gritting her teeth. She hated being helpless like this.

"I have… the Sapphire Dream." Rasped the sniper.

"Good, now let's get the hell outta here." Hal said, reaching forward to key the massive door—leading to the rest of the station—open.

"Hal, wait a second." Quistis spoke up. "What if that thing is still out there, waiting for us?"

The blonde SeeD bounced on the commando's shrug. "Well, then we're no more fucked than we were sitting back in that lab."

Before any of the group could reflect on this statement, the two doors began grinding open with an earsplitting screech. The giant slabs of alloyed metal slid four feet apart, and then stopped.

"Good enough." Hal said, and stepped through. He was careful to keep Quistis's head pointed away from the door on which a mass of crushed tissue and bone stuck. The lights in the hallway beyond had dimmed to barely distinguishable red glimmers in their bulbs, so the group was forced to rely on their suit lights once more. "No wee beasties yet. Well, that's good news." Hal followed the silent sniper as she stepped past him.

They had been traveling for some time down the silent, darkened hallways when suddenly Hal stopped. He made no noise, but Quistis could feel the commando's sharp intake of breath. "What is it?"

The reply was long in coming. "…Nothing. Just catching my breath." Hal lied, stepping around the unrecognizable corpse crushed into the wall of the passageway, again, keeping Quistis pointed away from the dead man. Had he cared to, he could have read Illyan's name from the bloodstained nametag. He did not care to.

After a while, Quistis spoke. "It was one of your team, wasn't it?"

Still following close behind the SeeD sniper, Hal nodded quickly.

"I'm sorry."

They continued on through the deathly silence.

…

Idly, the slender, long-nailed fingers toyed with the large marble playing piece. The icon held the shape of a tapering rectangular prism. Etchings of twenty-four karat gold described the symbol of Esthar on its sides.

As the fingers released the object, it remained floating in midair. Ruby lips curled into a slight smile as the sorceress Sera's fingers traced out invisible symbols in the air. Moved by sorcery, the symbol of the Lunatic Pandora cruised slowly over the world map playing board. Suddenly, there was a silent brilliant flash. The light quickly faded, revealing a playing board devoid of the Pandora's icon.

Growing bored with her musings, Sera stood and stretched luxuriously. She took a moment to gaze out the spotless picture windows that made up three walls of the shipboard sitting room. Gleaming in the winter sun, a white helicopter rested on its pad at the stern of the ship. To starboard and to port, the endless, restless blue ocean stretched to the white sky of the horizon. At last, the sorceress's amethyst eyes fell upon a door positioned amidst the lavish decorations adorning the wall that faced toward the ship's bow. "Hm…" Her lips pursed. "Well, why not?" After all, he's performed admirably in everything else so far… She smiled to herself. There's no reason this should be any different. "And besides…" She addressed the room. "…it's always a good idea to keep the troops happy—in every possible way."

The cream trench coat lay piled in the corner of the room. The black gunblade's tip dug into the spongy matting on the floor as it leaned against a mirrored wall. Beside it, the reflection of the blond knight quivered in sympathetic motion to the shaking of the young man's heavily muscled arms. Feet splayed apart, one arm held behind his back, Siefer performed a series of one-armed push-ups. The single hand touching the ground was propped up on only three fingers. Siefer had lost track of the number of repetitions he had completed with this arm, all that mattered to him was the pain inflicted—it helped keep him distracted from other, less easily escapable torments.

A door—also covered by mirrors—swung open, revealing the sorceress Sera. Stepping into the room, she eyed the sets of weights, the discarded clothing, and the perspiring knight with amusement. "You know, Siefer, darling, all this training is meaningless since you are infused with the power of your sorceress."

Not pausing, the knight said nothing.

Walking across the padded flooring of the exercise room, the sorceress paused next to Siefer. A single ruby nail trailed down the small of the knight's back as he strained to lift himself once more. "Why don't you take a little break, my darling? You've done well."

Still, the knight remained silent in his exertations.

The sorceress turned away from the bobbing back of the knight. As Siefer lowered himself to the floor, her knees bent and she proceeded to seat herself just below his shoulder blades.

Siefer grunted as his fingers collapsed under the strain. His palm driven several inches into the spongy floor matting—burning with the pressure applied—Siefer slowly forced his arm to straighten, completing another repetition

Sera could feel the body beneath her shake with the effort of continuing, but continue Siefer did. "Do you recall when I told you of the rewards of serving me?" As she had expected, Sera received no answer. She sighed. "You're performance is most pleasing to me, Siefer." Undisturbed by the rise and fall of the knight's exercise, she inspected the fingernails of her right hand. "I wonder, if there might be a way I could please you as well."

A long silence fell, broken only by the knight's labored breathing. Finally, he spoke. "Serving a new…" Something—perhaps the effort of forcing his exhausted body to rise once again—made Siefer pause. "…sorceress is pleasing enough for me."

The corners of the sorceress's pouting mouth turned down slightly. The answer was unexpected, and she did not enjoy surprises. She began to speak, then thought better of it. No. No need to endanger his loyalty over this. She smiled to herself. Hm… perhaps he is like that. Wouldn't that be interesting? Standing, the sorceress resolved to pay a bit more attention to her new knight. Certainly, there must be something extra-ordinary about him. If there was one thing Sera was confident of, it was her own power of seduction over boys like this one. She laughed. "Very well then, loyal knight…" Her voice trailed off into quiet laughter once more as she left the room.

It was, of course, merely the effort of switching arms that made Seifer's teeth grind together.

…

"Grenade!" Four of the five rebels clustered around the access hatch on Galbadia Garden's roof dove for cover as the rounded metal object clanked to the deck. Rather than follow their lead, the fifth scooped up the explosive and hurled it back down the entryway a split-second before it detonated.

"Ha ha! Good work!" A bloodied but whole Zell clapped him on the back as the soldier joined the SeeD—huddled behind an exhaust stack next to the hatch.

The Galbadian didn't spare the blond SeeD a second glance. Instead, he unhooked a grenade from his own belt, pulling the pin and allowing the spring-loaded handle to flip open. "They won't make that mistake again." He replied while ticking off the seconds on his right hand. When the count reached three, he darted forward, and chucked his own hand-held bomb down the smoky hatch. Those nearby ducked down and covered their ears as a blast of angry shrapnel jetted from the hole in the decking.

As he watched, Zell wished—for the thousandth time—he had saved a few spells during the furious fighting that had occurred on the Garden's roof. As it was, the invasion was being held up at the half-dozen entryways by the Garden's determined defenders.

The rebels had planned to avoid this same exact situation by dropping two parachute pallets loaded with rappelling supplies but, by bad luck, both had missed the Garden and fallen into the ocean. Two shorthanded teams of engineers were working on cutting through the Garden's upper decks with a pair of welding rigs that had been dropped successfully, but the thick ceiling—reinforced against the heavy loads of sand that used to settle upon it during desert dust storms—of G-Garden's upper deck made for slow going.

Still, Zell—and the rebel officers—were pleased with their progress. It was obvious that the scale of their assault had caught the Garden's defenders by surprise, and once the cutting rigs broke through the Garden's armor, cleaning up any remaining resistance should be an easy task.

Zell was just about to say as much to the paratrooper next to him, when he heard his name shouted. "Captain Dincht!"

Zell cast about with a grin. Captain? When did I get promoted? Last he remembered, Zell had been an honorary Major. Spotting a camouflaged paratrooper waving from the midst of a cluster of soldiers, Zell loped over. "Wassup?"

Kneeling next to a squad radioman, the soldier—a Specialist, Zell presumed, badges of rank had not been available to the hastily assembled force—turned to him. "Sir, General Caraway sends his regards and tells me to inform you that our other operations are resulting mainly in successes." Zell grinned, but his expression quickly sobered at the soldier's next sentence. "He also reports that a squadron of attack helicopters has been spotted heading our way."

"That's not good." Zell might not have scored at the top of his class in tactical battlefield operations, but he knew trouble when he heard it. "Does Lieutenant Colonel Greene know about this?" Zell said, referring to the leader of the operation to capture G-Garden.

"Greene is dead, you're the highest-ranking officer here now, sir." The paratrooper spoke, then quickly turned to confer with the radioman again.

Zell frowned, he had been the third highest-ranking (honorary) officer to begin with, but that didn't mean he was in charge any part of this operation. I'm just here to fight. He sighed. Well, I guess now isn't the time to argue about it. "Alright, Specialist, is it?"

The paratrooper nodded. "Specialist Anderson, Sir."

"Right, Anderson. Do we have an ETA on those choppers?"

"Nothing solid, Sir. They could be here at any moment." The specialist anticipated his next question. "The cutting teams report that they'll need at least fifteen more minutes to secure entry into the Garden."

Zell scratched his head. He really hated command. Wonder how Squall felt when the headmaster turned the garden over to him? "Okay, do we have any anti-air?"

The specialist seemed to understand the situation remarkably well for an enlisted soldier. Zell wondered if she had somehow been on the commanding officer's staff before he had gotten himself killed. "Sir, we dropped with four light batteries of shoulder-mounted SAMs."

"Well, that's good news." Zell looked pleased. Four full batteries of three missile men apiece should provide adequate air defense.

"Unfortunately, three of them went in the drink right off the bat. The fourth battery lost two of their SAM operators in the initial combat." She looked up. "Things are a real mess here, Sir."

So I gathered. "Yeah, um…" Zell looked about, the realization that he didn't know much about their tactical situation just now dawning on him. Across the acres of roof on the upper deck of the garden, bands of paratroopers clustered at random. Radios—and officers for that matter—seemed discouragingly sparse. Large groups of soldiers crouched near the half-dozen hatches to the lower levels. Occasionally, a few would scuttle forward to trade sporadic fire with the defenders on the lower decks. Overall, Zell's intuition gave him the sense of general disorganization. "…you wouldn't happen to have a diagram of where our forces are set up, would you?"

Brightening visibly at the prospect of someone else volunteering to shoulder the burden of command, the specialist pointed to a few crumpled papers covered in scrawls of ink and the radio operator with whom she had been conferring. "We're working on that right now, sir. I'll fill you in on what we have so far…"

Zell sighed. Ah well, the ass-kicking had been fun while it lasted.

…

The pilot scanned the depressingly empty ocean once more before his gaze swept across the gages. Beside him, the copilot shook his head. "Not looking good, Sir."

"No, it's not." The pilot grunted as he unstrapped himself and twisted halfway out of his seat. Squall and Rinoa were sitting on a bench at the rear of the helicopter. The couple's eyes were closed, Rinoa's face pressed against Squall's chest, his hand—fingers entwined within her dark locks—rested on her head, his chin lay on her shoulder. Both raised their heads as he shouted to them over the thumping rotors. "This isn't looking good, Folks. We've got thirty minutes of fuel left before we're going to have to ditch."

If he was looking for any reassurance, he was disappointed, as both sorceress and knight nodded solemnly to indicate that they had heard him, but said nothing at all. Moments after he turned around, they returned to their former position.

Re-buckling his harness, he pulled down his helmet mic. "She can lift submarines. You'd think maybe she could lift this damn chopper."

The copilot kept his eyes on the horizon as he answered. "Yeah, but who knows what that would do to us." He glanced over at the pilot. "Given the circumstances, I think I'd rather take my chances and go for a swim."

"Rinoa?" A few dark strands of hair fluttered from their resting place against his lips.

"Yes, Squall?" He felt her head stir beneath his fingers.

"Would you do something for me?"

"Uh-huh." Lifting her face, she rubbed the point on her nose that had been flattened against his chest unconsciously.

"When the helicopter goes down, I want you to go someplace safe." Squall suddenly found a finger placed squarely on his nose. He stared at it, cross-eyed.

Rinoa couldn't help but giggle at her knight's expression. "Un-uh." She shook her head. "You know that I don't know how to take other people with me when I open a porthole, and I know you know." She smiled gently as Squall scratched his head in a manner very reminiscent of a certain Estharian head-of-state. "So since I know you know, I know that you want me to go without you."

The corner of Squall's mouth drew up in a small grimace. "I… uh, know." His hand clasped Rinoa's. "But… if something were to happen… I can't allow it. I have to know that you are safe."

Rinoa drew back mock-reproachfully. "Squall, I just promised that I wouldn't leave you." She frowned. "And now you're asking me to do just that."

"But… I want—"

"Me to be safe." She finished. "I know, Squall," suddenly, Rinoa dove forward, wrapping him up in an airlessly tight embrace. "I am safe! I am safe with my big strong knight to protect me!" She proceeded to squeeze said knight even harder as she snuggled up to him. "Big… cute… cuddly…"

Somehow, Squall managed to gasp out. "But, what about sharks, eels, jellyfish?"

The pressure lessened as Rinoa peered up at him with large frightened eyes. "Oh no…" She intoned.

For some reason he couldn't fathom, her seriousness had been swept away, Squall could practically feel Rinoa's happiness bubbling over, in fact, he could feel her happiness bubbling over. Uh-oh.

"EEEK! SHARKS!!" Rinoa screamed.

A bolt of piercing white lighting arced from the fingertips of an arm thrown out in mock-fright. The helicopter bounced in the sky as a tremendous thunderclap split the heavens.

"AAAAH! EELS!!" Another tremendous explosion of light and noise as lightning blazed from the open door of the chopper.

"AIEEE! JELLYFMMPH!" Now it was Rinoa who found herself wrapped up in a giant hug.

"Okay, okay, point taken." Squall smiled as Rinoa chose to nibble on the collar of his shirt rather than illustrate, again, why she was called a sorceress. The electricity in the cabin vanished and his hair stopped standing on end. Squall shook his head happily. "What's gotten into you?"

"Magic!" Rinoa chirped. Then, calming, she trailed a finger down his chest. Her head drooped with the motion of her hand. "I'm just tired of being so serious, Squall." She sighed. "Or do you prefer me all weepy and overwhelmed?" Rinoa slumped against him.

She looked up as Squall placed a hand beside her cheek. "Rinoa." Serious as always, she smiled shyly. "I prefer you—whoever you are."

He began to smile, but was suddenly cut off as she darted forward and kissed him, like lightning. Before Squall realized what had happened, Rinoa was sitting once more. "There." She smiled. "Do you like that?"

"Very much." Was what Squall meant to say—after a long, witless pause—had he not found his lips locked with those of his sorceress once again. "Vmm-mmf."

"Shut up and kiss me." Came the imperious order.

The knight obeyed happily.

His eyes returning to the windscreen, the pilot spoke. "Man, can you believe those two?"

"I think my life flashed before my eyes between those lightning bolts." The copilot hands, though firmly wrapped around the control wand, shook slightly.

"You're not kidding." The pilot's eyes fell to the fuel gage. He grunted, jerking a thumb toward the panel. "Wanna get out an piss in the tank? We're flying on nothing but…" The pilot was about to continue, but something on the horizon caught his eye. "Hey, what's that?"

…

"God Dammit!! Tell him to stop shooting!" Turning, Zell cupped his hands around his mouth. "HOLD YOUR FIRE!!" He bellowed, hoping that the few nervous missile operators he had squirreled away amongst the air ducts and rooflines of G-Garden would hear him and not follow the lead of the damned fool who had loosed one of his precious rounds at the attack choppers as they passed high overhead.

The helicopters had appeared on the horizon, moments before. But instead of charging recklessly in at low altitude—as Zell had hoped they would—the pilots had spent the past few minutes circling above the garden, just out of SAM range. Zell gritted his teeth. Spotting our positions, officers, and anti-air, no doubt. "How long 'till the cutting teams break through?"

The radio operator conferred briefly with his set. "No idea sir, they've gone through two false ceilings so far, could be anywhere from five minutes to an hour."

Zell grimaced. The news was the same as it had been thirty seconds ago. There was no way they'd be through the ceiling in time, and the crawl spaces they had cut through were only a few inches high—much to small for even a lightly armed paratrooper to squeeze into. No, they were going to have to find some way to stand their ground.

Suddenly, someone shouted. "Here they come!"

While the rest of what was left of the command staff scattered, Zell stood squinting into the sun. As troopers dodged around him, seeking the nonexistent cover, Zell bared his teeth at the oncoming aircraft. The helicopter pilots had time on their side, and they had used it to take every advantage.

As the sound of the rotor blades grew louder, their pulsating beat was interrupted briefly by the hissing roar of two Surface to Air Missiles as the inexperienced replacement SAM operators loosed their weapons at the choppers. Attracted by the blazing heat of the sun, both IR-guided missiles streaked wide of their targets, falling harmlessly into the sea several miles to the west. Meanwhile, the helicopters raked the SAM positions with volleys from their rocket pods, roaring over the fiery chaos they had created seconds later, cannon firing. Both choppers passed through the rising lead curtain of small-arms fire thrown up by the assault troops like it was nothing more than soft rain.

Passing the edge of the rooftop, the aircraft wheeled about in preparation for another pass. A finger of white smoke pointed briefly toward one helicopter before it was engulfed in flames as the final shoulder-mounted missile operator found a target. Immediately thereafter, his position erupted in shocks of flashing fire as the two attack choppers held in reserve thrashed in from the west. Both aircraft continued on overhead, and joined the rest on the eastern side of the Garden, pulling back out of range of the paratrooper's guns.

Zell had stood his ground through the brief, but shockingly vicious attack. The surface of the garden was scored by dozens of smoking bullet holes on his left and his right, but the SeeD was miraculously unharmed—just steaming mad. He stood panting, as his staff peered out from behind what little cover they had found—staring at him as if he were crazy. Of course, perhaps it was because Zell had gone a little crazy as the helicopters passed overhead, screaming, shaking his fists at them, and demanding they get 'down here and fight him, the cowards.'

Wild eyed, Zell stared back at them. Screw it! We're all dead anyway. There was no point in trying to hide. The helicopters would eventually get all of them. The attacker's last hope had been swept away in the first airborne assault. Zell didn't need to look twice toward where troops had been frantically cutting away at the garden's roof—right up to the end. No one needs to see that kind of carnage more than once.

Time was slowing down for the blond SeeD. Maybe that's what happens when your time runs out…? Even as his brow creased, even as his teeth ground together, a tiny seed of despair worked its way through the fires of his rage. Zell could make out the individual blades of the helicopters' rotors as they turned toward his position again. I can't believe it's going to end like this! The attack aircraft were nose down, flying straight at him now. Come on! I'm a hero! Right? Zell's hands balled into fists, his muscles tightened as he crouched low. Hero's don't die like this! He had no spells left. Not without seeing her again. No weapons, no armor. Near the nose of the lead helicopter, a malignant star twinkled. Bullets stitched across the decking toward the SeeD. Straining, Zell felt arcs of green fire sparking across his arms, chest, legs. Somehow, he had time for one short jerk of his neck. Not without seeing you again, Isis!

The minigun mounted under the nose of the leftmost helicopter was linked, via a high-tech helmet, to the eye movements of the gunner sitting in the front seat of the two-man attack chopper. It jerked suddenly skyward as something caught the man's attention. Above him, the canopy polarized against the brilliant flash of the Meteor Barrett microseconds before shattering. For an instant, the helicopter hung frozen in the sky, discharges of green energy dancing in the gaping hole left in the SeeD's wake.

Propped on one fist, Zell felt the heat of the explosion through the vest covering his back as he knelt. Pieces of the helicopter rained from the sky as those not still covering their eyes stared incredulously at the kneeling SeeD.

The three remaining helicopters, having broken off their attack at the unexpected loss, hovered at a safe distance, analyzing the situation, and trying to determine what had happened.

Zell continued to kneel, exhausted. Not a sound was heard from the paratroopers.

At last, the SeeD felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sir, you've got to get under cover!"

Wearily, Zell raised his head. Sure enough, the helicopters were lining up for another attack run. It was a good attempt. He shook his head. "No."

The hand was now tugging at him. "Come on! We'll die out here!"

Zell pulled away. "No! I'll face it!" I'll face my death if I have to.

The attack aircraft were coming in much faster this time. Zell imagined he could see the pilots centering their sights on him. The soldier had given up on him, and run for cover. The SeeD straightened, raising his fist at the oncoming machines. I'm no chicken-wuss!

The lead helicopter ceased to be. In its place, a ballooning sphere of Ultima turned the blinding yellow sun a dim shade of green. Zell's jaw dropped.

"That was my last one!" Squall shouted as he swung himself back inside the cargo bay. Clinging to the mounting bracket of the machine gun as the helicopter wheeled in front of the two hostile aircraft, Squall managed to pull back the slide and chamber the first round of the weapon's single band of ammunition.

"Hold on folks! We're about to take fire!" The co-pilot was shouting over his shoulder even as the knight centered his gun sight on the nearest helicopter and squeezed the trigger.

The weapon fired once, then fell silent. "Damn! It's jammed!" Pointing directly toward the open door of the Estharian naval helicopter, the miniguns of the Galbadian attack choppers began to spin. "Rinoa! Duck!" Squall struggled valiantly to eject the jammed round.

Rolling her eyes, Rinoa placed a hand to her cheek in mock-horror. "Oh no!" She raised her other hand. "Whatever…" her fingers snapped.

The crews of the Galbadian helicopters suddenly disappeared.

"…shall…" another snap.

The defenders of G-Garden vanished.

"…we do?" She smiled, and lowered her arm.

Both Galbadian aircraft plummeted from the sky.

Private First Class Rodger B. James was sitting in an endless field of daffodils. He was sitting because there didn't seem to be much else to do. As to why he was in a field of flowers; he had no idea. Private James also didn't know how he had gotten here, however, he was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that he might be dead.

It made sense, in a strange sort of way. They had, after all, just learned that their air support had arrived and was cleaning the invaders from the top floors of the garden. Rodger shrugged to himself Well, that's when they said it would happen. When everything seems to be going perfectly, you let down your guard, and then, WHAM, you're dead. He looked around. At least his surroundings looked promising; no fire and brimstone.

Something soft brushed his hand. The Private looked down. A little fuzzy white bunny was nuzzling silently at his hand. A bemused expression flitted across the Galbadian's face. This isn't quite how I imagined it would be… but, what the heck… He smiled and patted the bunny. The furry rodent looked up at him with little beady pink eyes. "You know, you're kind of cute." Abruptly, the rabbit hopped onto his arm. "Hey now, don't climb on me." The soldier admonished the little fuzzy animal. He shook his arm gently, trying to dislodge the bunny. It held fast. Private James noticed another little rabbit peering from between the stems of the daisies. Uh-oh…

Fifteen minutes later, a bunny-covered Private Rodger B. James located, what he assumed to be, the rest of his squad. Another rabbit-inundated man—looking like nothing so much as a giant white cotton ball shouted to him as he approached. "Name and rank, soldier!"

Private James was about to answer, but the sight of a dozen-odd fluffy forms all lurching about—in total disarray—changed his mind. "Ah, what's the use?" His voice was muffled by the warm, happy rodents nuzzling him. Rather than salute and report, he plopped down, and proceeded to pat the bunnies.

Rinoa giggled. "Hmm… maybe not." She snapped her fingers a third time.

Several hundred miles south of the D-District prison, the dunes of the great Shaagen Desert terminate abruptly in a line of flat, wet sand as the land gives way to ocean. It was along this beach, that a half-dozen squads of Galbadian soldiers—assigned to defend G-Garden—appeared in a flash of light, confused but completely rodent-free.

"You're sure you're okay?" Concerned, awkward, and endearing all at once, Squall hovered around Rinoa as she alighted from the helicopter.

Feeling the touch of his gloveless hands—grip as light as that which one would use to handle fine china—as he helped her down from the aircraft, Rinoa patted his hand. "I'm fine, Squall. It was easy."

Despite her words, the knight was careful to examine his sorceress for any signs that her magic had harmed or drained her. He found none. "Still, don't you think you should…"

But Rinoa's attention had already been caught by something else. "Zell!" She shrieked happily, dashing out from under the still-rotating blades of the helicopter to catch the blond SeeD up in a friendly hug.

"Hey Rinoa, huagh!" Suddenly Zell found himself lifted off his feet. "Woa! You guys happy to see me?"

"You can't imagine!" Rinoa chattered. "I'm just happy to see someone other than Mr. Gloom and Doom."

Squall frowned to himself as he trotted over. Have I been acting a little too much like a mother hen? Do I need to lighten up a little bit?

He hid a small smile as Rinoa plopped the martial artist down in front of him and announced: "Look, Squall: Zell."

"I can see that." The knight placed his hands on his hips.

"Heyah, Squall. Good to see you." Forgetting whom he was addressing, Zell stuck out a hand.

Squall shrugged and shook it. "Yeah. You too, Zell."

The SeeD's eyebrows shot up as he pulled his arm back and stared at the hand. "Wow, hey, no kidding."

…

The light beams from the holographic projection table ghosted in and out of view as curls of heavy smoke drifted across the table. The "War Room"—buried deep below Three Kings Mountain had been darkened in order to give the high-ranking military officers and governmental leaders a sharper-definition planning map. Normally, smoking was not allowed in any of the twenty underground levels of Estharian Strategic Command, however, under the circumstances, certain protocols were being forgone. Most of the personnel present had been running on nothing but coffee and cigarettes for the past forty-eight hours, and to deny them either was to risk mutiny.

The bitter sandpaper bite of the smoke irritated the back of Kiros's throat, but his mind was not on such trivial details at the moment. "How sure are we of that line?"

The five-star general he addressed pressed a small button on a remote control wand. Before them, a section of the holographic map flared a bit brighter as an ethereal wall of flashing yellow light appeared, along with a half-dozen dotted red lines—each arcing around a common trajectory, all ending over the capitol of Esthar. "There's no way to be certain, Sir." The general shook his head. "We're tracking a large low pressure zone to the west of the region. If it turns north, that line could be pushed as far as seventy or eighty miles further out." Around the smoky room, dozens of officers were using remote controls, similar to the general's, to position red and blue icons—denoting military forces—across the world map. "We'll have, at best, half a day's notice on its final position." The general pressed another button on the wand as he chewed unconsciously on the end of his long-dead cigar. A series of light blue lines appeared on the navy surface of the hologram that denoted water. "As it stands now, the Seraphim will be within range of the target for a maximum of four hours before it crosses into the danger zone." A small red pyramid appeared, its sharpest point directed at a flashing green dot traveling along one of the blue lines.

Kiros coughed slightly and leaned forward. "And the minimum?"

The general folded his arms and scowled. "Twenty minutes—unless she has a break down."

Kiros's raised his eyebrows in the dimness. "And if that happens?"

The general stepped back to give a staff member a bit more room as he adjusted the projected ground track of a few naval vessels. "None of the other modified frigates can reach the area in time."

"Then, we had better pray that doesn't—."

Just then, a large steel door at the far end of the room slid open. "Kiros!!" Light from the corridor outside spilling around him, Laguna stormed into the room. "What are you doing to my country!?" Staff members scattered at the President's approach. Like a vengeful god, the President of Esthar descended upon his Prime Minister—until he failed to notice the step down to Kiros's end of the split-level room. "Esthar's in an uproar! Bottoms are falling out of all the markets! This time you've gone—whoop!" The President stumbled, nearly recovered, and then fell flat on his face.

Kiros offered a dispassionate hand.

Laguna took it, and levered himself back to his feet. "Why, in God's name, did you decide to leak this to the public?!" Laguna brushed himself off, not perturbed in the least by his fall. "I just came from the naval air station, there's riots! Riots, man! The people are demanding—well, they don't even know what they're demanding, but we haven't had riots since…" Laguna trailed off under the steady stare of his long-time friend.

"Are you finished?" The dark man folded his arms.

Laguna sighed. Someday he would shake his imperturbable colleague, but not today. "No, but go ahead."

Kiros nodded. "Very well then. General, if I may?" The general nodded, handing his control wand over to the Estharian Minister. "As you know, Laguna, the Lunatic Pandora left it's mooring station in the Desert District of Galbadia several days ago." Kiros paused long enough for Laguna to nod. "As of…" He checked his watch. "…fifty-two hours ago, any doubt that the Pandora was headed for Esthar was erased." Something occurred to Kiros. "Oh, by the way, how did your meeting with Squall go?"

Laguna rubbed his jaw. "He hit me."

Kiros smiled. "Unsurprising." He pressed a button, the half-dozen lines terminating over Esthar began blinking. "We believe the Pandora will follow one of these routes, and be escorted by a strong naval force until it makes landfall over the western wastelands."

Laguna spread his hands. "Yeah, then it parks over Esthar and kills us all. Right, I figured all this out already, Kiros. Can we get to the crazy scheme part now?"

But Kiros was not to be swayed from his path. "The First and Second carrier groups are moving in to intercept the Galbadian fleet while it is still in international waters. It is unlikely, however, that they will be able to impede the progress of the Pandora." The Estharian Minister pressed another button on the remote, and a demonstration of the encounter between Estharian and Galbadian forces played out, the blue icons winking out with depressing speed while a large green box floating over the map proceeded directly toward Esthar. "The battle will, however, serve to deprive the Lunatic Pandora of its escort for a short time."

Laguna twirled a finger in the air. "Yay, us. Kiros, don't you think we should perhaps concentrate on defeating the hordes of monsters that are going to fall on our collective heads instead of sinking a few Galbadian ships?"

Kiros shook his head. "No, because while the Lunatic Pandora is deprived of its escort, we are going to destroy it." Abruptly, the green box winked out several hundred miles from Esthar's coastline.

The president rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah. Just like that." He mimed pressing a button with his thumb. "Boop! And the Lunatic Pandora is no more." He patted his comrade on the back. "Great plan."

Kiros nodded. "It is."

"Alright, so can we get serious, and talk about damage control now?" Laguna turned away from the strategic map as he felt a hand fall on his shoulder. "Oh, hey Ward. So, can I get you to agree with me for once?" He jerked his thumb at Kiros. "Don't you think our friend has finally gone around the bend?"

Ward shook his head. "Laguna, I'd appreciate it if you would come with me for a moment." Kiros placed his hand on the President's other shoulder.

"But, guys… we need to plan…" Laguna threw up his hands. "Forget it." He allowed himself to be marched out of the room by his two friends. "You know, sometimes, I wonder just who really is in charge of this government."

Kiros and Ward exchanged glances.

"So you're her? You're Odine's Protégé?" Laguna wasted no time in walking around the immaculately clean table and inspecting the tall woman with the lab coat. "Oooh. Very interesting! Vat are you doing here? Are you being an eemportant reezercher?"

Laguna laughed as the young woman sighed. "Yeah, I get that a lot." She smiled good-naturedly.

The President of Esthar immediately liked the young scientist. "Laguna Loire." He stuck out a hand.

The woman smiled. "Linda Lowery." Her grip was surprisingly strong. "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. President."

Acting quickly, not giving Laguna any chance to get his foot into his mouth, Kiros spoke up. "Miss. Lowery, I wish there was time for small talk before getting into more serious matters, but we are very pressed for time."

All business in the blink of an eye, Linda nodded. "Of course. Gentlemen, if you'll follow me…" She turned without further preamble and lead the heads of the Estharian government out of the spotless white-tiled laboratory.

Laguna had failed to pay attention to how many floors they had risen in the large central elevator of Esthar Strategic Command, but the large rolling metal door set into the far wall of the next—still spotlessly clean—hangar-like room that they entered gave the impression of being on or near the surface levels of the base. However, it was not the garage's doors that caught Laguna's attention, but rather the large, bulbous aircraft sitting—nose pointing toward them—on the smooth concrete floor.

"This is our secret weapon?" Laguna blinked, disappointed. "Aw man! I was expecting some sort of killer-mega-death-ray, or some sort of transforming flying super-robot." He paused, totally oblivious to whatever impact his words were having on the scientist who had spent most of her life up to this point, devising the system that now rested in front of them. "But this thing… it looks sort of like a bumblebee." The president proceeded to make a quick inspection. "It doesn't even have any guns!"

To her credit, Linda kept silent, waiting for Laguna to finish. When, at last, he ran out of steam, she began her explanation. "It doesn't have any guns, Mr. President, because it is only the bullet."

Laguna's eyes widened. "Ohhh…" He turned back to look at the large aircraft again. "Cooooool…" Laguna paused. "So where's the gun?"

Kiros put a hand over his face.

"Mr. President, I think you're missing the point. What you see here is only the delivery system. It's what is inside that really counts." With these words, Miss. Lowery stepped over the smooth skin of the aircraft and twisted a recessed handle. An access hatch slid back on hydraulic mounts. She motioned to the dark opening. "Have a look."

Laguna obliged her by stepping over, and sticking his head through the hatch. A moment later, he ducked out. "Um… I see lots of wires and lights and stuff…" He scratched his head. "But… ah, I still don't know where the gun is."

Kiros made a choked noise. Ward placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. President. This is a missile. What you just saw inside of it is a bomb." Linda's voice was quiet and flat. Her eyes didn't seem to quite focus on anything in particular. It was almost like she was talking to herself. "This is a kind of weapon the world has never seen before." She nodded to no one in particular. "Dr. Odine was a brilliant scientist, and had great ideas, but his inventions always involved one factor that made them inferior; people. I have eliminated this problem." She continued in an even monotone. "I have designed a weapon more powerful than any person, than any magic. I have designed a system which harnesses the same powers Hyne herself must have used to create this world…"

Throughout the scientist's speech, Laguna had been slowly backing away. "Ohh-kay…" He raised his hands.

Suddenly, Linda's eyes snapped back into focus. Her voice became a bit more animated. "Anyway, this should be effective in stopping the Lunatic Pandora. It is a three-step, remote-trigger, uranium CCM sub-atomic fission, plutonium gun with spherical reflectors and shaped charge plastique explosives."

Laguna's eyes became crossed. "Uh… Newtonian gun?"

Dr. Lowery shook her head. "It is an fissioning high-density metal device. I call it; 'the Atomic Bomb.'"

…

The guywires stretched back from the bow of Galbadia Garden hummed in the wind created by the giant ship's passage through the night. The sky overhead was clouded and starless, the sea below mirrored its inky blackness. The warm salt air that washed over the promenade carried with it the smell of electricity and the low hum of the garden's giant engines.

The blackout conditions prevailed across the ship as it sailed eastward under maximum power, and not a light shown all across the upper decks. As if anyone could miss the giant glowing disc we're riding on. Squall's lips tightened as he tested the balance of the sword. No, if anyone wanted to find the garden, they would not have a hard time spotting the telltale flare of its drives. Squall lunged forward, leading with the tip of the sword.

It was lighter and a good deal thinner than his gunblade, but its length was comparable. Squall pirouetted, bringing the weapon up short of a backhanded swipe. Whirling the sword over his head, he brought it down on the tiles of the promenade, striking sparks from the decking. He grimaced. It was lighter, yes. His movements were much faster, true. But this was not his weapon, it wouldn't feel right in a real fight.

Still, the knight had no choice. So, silhouetted by the hellish glow reflected off the water hundreds of feet below, he practiced with the unfamiliar weapon. As always, he found it provided no relief from the problems he had yet to face.

Not sixty feet from the knight sat the battered variable-pitch propeller aircraft that had brought General Caraway to the garden. The aircraft was tied down and had a tarpaulin thrown over it as protection against the elements. From under the tarp, came the occasional strobing of electric blue light as welders, machinists, and mechanics worked feverishly to put the aircraft back together again.

It had not been a pretty sight when the plane had come in. Both engines trailing smoke, the transport had nearly plunged into the ocean, going into a spin as the pilot lost control on approach to the deck. Only a last-second save by the sorceress had prevented the catastrophic crash. Even so, the aircraft had caught fire once down, and it had taken a half-dozen soldiers with extinguishers to subdue the flames. A stream of dirty oil seeped from under the improvised shelter, winding toward the edge of the deck.

Parrying an imaginary blow, Squall frowned. The general had insisted—and the mechanics had reluctantly agreed—that the aircraft could be repaired and ready to fly by tomorrow morning. In the mean time, Rinoa and he had gone somewhere to talk. Squall wondered if he should go looking for them. Come on, Squall. Think, what are you going to do; just walk in on a tearful reunion and stand there glowering. He struck out at thin air with the dark blade. No, I can't think of any place I'd rather not be. Still… he checked his wrist chronometer. How long had it been since he had seen her?

She wasn't going to cry. She promised herself she wouldn't break down. Feeling the hand of her knight on her shoulder, Rinoa lowered her hand as a platoon of paratroopers dashed forward to extinguish the flames engulfing the transport's left engine. The aircraft was a two-man reconnaissance turboprop. Pilot and observer sat atop the front of the fuselage, covered by a Plexiglas canopy. Through the clear dome, the sorceress could make out movement as the passenger unbuckled his harnesses. Rinoa fought down the lump in her throat as the cockpit hatches opened, and a man descended the footholds sunken into the side of the aircraft.

The general doffed his helmet, dropping it into the hands of a nearby soldier, then turned and began walking toward the couple standing a few feet away. For a second, he allowed himself to feel the goosebumps rising on his skin as he made eye contact with her, his daughter, safe once again. Then, General Richard Caraway affixed his eyes on a point just over her shoulder, set his mouth in a thin stern line, and strode purposefully toward her. Though he wished with all his heart for another way, this was how he had learned he must deal with his daughter. Though they were only a few paces apart, the distance remaining between them felt unbreachable. Right up to the very second when she ran to him.

She wasn't going to cry, but she couldn't bear to see him like that any longer. "Daddy!" For once, not petulant, not angry, not exasperated or misunderstood.

At his daughter's cry, he dared to meet her eyes again. "Rinoa?" Then her arms were around his neck. She had never been shy about letting him see her feelings, but to see tears sparkling in her eyes—aching reminders of her mother's, when she was angry, arguing with him—had always made him uncomfortable. He looked away now.

She wasn't going to cry—she wasn't! "Oh, daddy, I'm so sorry! I never knew! I never knew."

Frightened, surprised, he dared to lay his hand upon her head. Could it be? "It's okay. It's going to be okay." Was his Rinny truly back?

She pushed away from him slightly. Eyes glistening, she tried to look reproachful, but failed. "You never told me. You never told me about mom. I didn't know because…" She ignored the trails of warmth down her cheeks; she wasn't going to cry. "…you never told me what happened."

Richard Caraway couldn't imagine what he said to that. He couldn't fathom what engendered the immediate forgiveness in his daughter's eyes. He could barely breath. My little girl. I'm so proud of you. He must have been saying something, his lips were moving, but the general was lost in his own thoughts. I was always so proud of you, Rinny—the thorn in Galbadia's side you made timber; how passionately you cared for my people; how strong you were for them— but I could never tell you. He barely heard Rinoa chastising him gently even as she hugged him. And now, you're almost grown up. I can't imagine your kind of bravery, to come here after all that's happened.

He had saluted to, and then waved Squall off. The boy had looked like he would have rather been anywhere else rather than near the scene Rinoa was busily making. Satisfied, by his sorceress's behavior, that the general was indeed the genuine article, Squall had fled. Immediately thereafter, the general had managed to slip a heartfelt word of thanks to Zell—the SeeD he had heard had been so instrumental to his force's success in capturing the garden—before being dragged off by Rinoa.

"Alright, now we're going to talk!" Her tone was mock-serious, with just a hint of a quaver. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, daddy!"

The dimness of the lights of the mess hall did nothing to hide the disaster spread across seven feet of counter and two stoves. Wrappers, grease, half-used sticks of butter, and bits of ingredients littered the area. It appeared as though someone had set off a grenade made of food. Sauces and flour were splattered everywhere, and an electric burner still ticked and sizzled as it boiled away the bits of carrot and chicken that had spilled on it.

General Caraway unwrapped the tinfoil-enshrouded concoction that had been plopped down in front of him by his daughter with more than a little trepidation.

"Of course, Watts is usually the one who makes it, but I've watched him enough times to figure out how to do it." Rinoa was keeping up the constant trivial chatter that her father had learned she used when trying to skirt issues of real importance. Abruptly, her light tone shifted. "But, you already knew that…" She watched her father take a bite. "So, what do you think?"

It was awful! "It's wonderful!" Richard Caraway tried not to choke as he swallowed. "It's a bit hot still." He gently pushed the plate aside as if to let it cool down. It had been ice-cold. He paused, there was so much to say, he was unsure of where to begin. "Rinny, I…"

"I'm going to kill him, daddy." Seated next to him, she stared at the table.

Her father was shocked by her words. "What?"

"Matchgar. He's not responsible for all this, but he deserves to die anyway." Rinoa's voice was cold, detached. It made her father shiver.

He opened his mouth, but found he had nothing to say. A reflexive thought. It's too dangerous.

Rinoa shook her head. "Not for me, daddy. Not anymore." She looked up, the hardness that had crept into his daughter's eyes gave him pause. "I'm going to kill Matchgar." She repeated. "I'm going to stop the Lunatic Pandora. Then, I'm going to find out who is behind all of this."

Rinoa, you can't. You're only one person. You're only a little girl. "But, Rinoa, you're only…" He began.

"I'm only your daughter, daddy. I'm only a sorceress." Rinoa looked away before her eyes softened. "I'm tired of all this. I'm tired of running. I'm tired of being deceived." She felt a lump growing in her throat. "I'm tired of being afraid, and I'm tired of not being able to help."

Richard Caraway was about to argue, but he could feel the razor edge that the conversation balanced on—the wrong thing said here, and she might leave him. The defiant, headstrong little girl would replace his real daughter again, and that thought gave him pause. At length, he finally nodded. Then he spoke. "Rinoa." He placed a calloused hand over her fist, balled and pressing into the table. "I'm sorry."

"About mom?" Rinoa allowed him to change the subject.

"About not telling you."

Rinoa let out a small breath. "It's okay, I… I found out about everything." She swallowed, finding her next words difficult to say. "I know you loved her. I know you did it because… I guess, you love me too."

"I do, Rinoa. I don't know if either of you ever realized…" The memory of Julia—the same memory that haunted his nights, his empty bed—tightened Richard's jaw. He had to look away for a moment. Rinoa remained silent, allowing him the few moments he needed. At last, Caraway continued. "Rinoa, I'm not sure you know how fortunate I count myself to be your father." He turned his head back. "But, I want to make sure you know now, before I go, just how proud I am of you." So, he proceeded to tell her. Trying very, very hard to keep his voice from shaking, general Richard Caraway told his daughter of the admiration he had felt—locked away in his study—after every confrontation. He told her about how his chest had swelled in secret at every report of the destruction caused by the Forest Owls, even as he was silent about the way his heart had shrunk in fear for her safety. As he spoke, he found that Rinoa's hand had unclenched, and occasionally gave little squeezes, to push the tears out of the corners of his eyes.

Squall squirmed. Just seeing anyone put into a position like that; having to hear a confessional from your parent. He gritted his teeth in the darkness behind the door to the mess. Just thinking about his own elder made him ill. Having to listen to Laguna rant on like Caraway was doing would have been unbearable. Still… As he peered into the light, his expression softened. It's good to see them getting over their differences.

Finally, Caraway seemed to run out of steam. The tears in both their eyes made Squall turn away. As he watched father and daughter embrace from the corner of his eye, Squall felt the slightest touch of… what? regret. I wonder where he is right now?

…

"I'm sorry, Mr. President. That's all the information we have." The man pointed to the shaded area of the map on his computer screen as Laguna peeked at it from over his shoulder.

"Anywhere in that area?" Laguna scratched his head. "But, but, that's all ocean!"

The man—actually, the Deputy Home Guard Search and Rescue Director—nodded. "With the data we received from the Naso in her last broadcast before she went down we've calculated that Mr. Leonhart's helicopter could not have reached the southern tip of the Galbadian continent." He pressed a few keys on the computer. "Now, there's no way to confirm it. Even if we could get spy planes over the area, the chances of actually spotting the helicopter crew, life rafts, or anything in a random search photo shoot are next to none." He tapped a few more keys. "In fact, there's even a fair chance that…" He paused, pensive.

Patient as always, Laguna prompted him. "What?"

"Well, I suppose it's possible that Mr. Leonhart's helicopter might have been able to intercept the Lunatic Pandora as it passed through this area." The deputy director frowned. "In fact, it's fairly likely. I'd give it 50/50 odds."

Laguna's brow furrowed.

"Well, old friend, that puts you in a bit of a difficult position." Kiros folded his arms.

"Me? It puts all of us in a difficult position." Laguna was pacing the length of the carpet laid down between the rows of acceleration couches.

Ward, reclining in one of the Ragnarok's chairs—both arms raised to accommodate his bulk—shook his head.

The dark-skinned minister looked over at the large man, nodding agreement. "No, Laguna. This one will have to be up to you. Neither Ward nor I make this decision for you, it's not our place."

The president stopped his pacing for a moment and dropped into a nearby chair. He placed his chin in his hands. From outside, the noise of roaring pumps and shouted orders made its way through the reinforced windows of the spacecraft. The last component tests from a new upgrade to the high-tech vehicle were being rushed to completion even as an electronic command suite was being installed. The aerospace plane would act as the command post and major relay station for the naval action which would begin when the Lunatic Pandora and it's escorts encountered the Estharian fleet and air force. The armed forces would do their best to ensure that the devastating surprise attack of the last Pandora visit would not be repeated. And, up until now, I was pretty sure we could stop it… Laguna rubbed the back of his neck. I thought our little ace-in-the-hole might actually work. But if Squall's on board…

"Mr. President." Kiros's tone was formal. "You do have other options." He waved a hand northward. "The Balamb SeeD is standing by. They report that they are ready to assist us in disabling the Pandora. If enough transports got through—."

Laguna's hand was now running through his hair. "Tell me again, Kiros, what the casualty projections were for a squadron of transports to approach the Pandora."

The man's eyes dropped. "High." He said quietly. "But, Laguna, he is your son."

Laguna drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. "I know that, Kiros. I know."

"So, old friend. What are you going to do?" Kiros stood.

Laguna looked down at his hands. Underfoot, the deck shook as one of the spacecraft's giant engines began throttling up for a performance check. He shook his head. "I have no idea."

Kiros's eyes hardened a touch. "Laguna, when the time comes, that had better change."

…

"General Caraway, Sir!" Both men looked toward the door of the impromptu meeting room as the nervous airman interrupted their hushed conference. "In another twenty minutes, this thing's gonna move out of range of Stony Field."

The general waved him off. "Thank you, Colonel. Go ahead and start the engines, I'll be up in a moment." He turned back to the young knight. "There's no way you can talk her out of it?"

Squall shook his head for the tenth time. "Sir, she's your daughter. You should know the answer to that question." The fluorescent lights of the small classroom buzzed in the silence as the general's gaze became unfocused.

The former SeeD gave him a moment to think. Undoubtedly, the general was reviewing—in his mind—the distribution of those Galbadian units still remaining loyal to him.

Currently, the southern provinces were engaged in a vicious civil war with the Galbadian troops swearing allegiance to the newly-elected President Matchgar as they attempted to break away from the Galbadian state. Caraway had—at the request of the Council of Independent Southern States; a temporary governing body thrown together after 11 of the 13 states south of the Central Range had simultaneously declared their independence—assumed command of the CISS forces. Currently, CISS troops were engaged in major holding actions in the passes of the Central Range's foothills and at the three major crossings of the Red River as they fought to keep Galbadian troops from breaking out into the Santacroce plains.

Shortly after the election of Delphi Matchgar, two more Galbadian republics in the northwest had declared independence and requested assistance. Something similar to a full division of CISS troops—still wearing their old Galbadian uniforms, so new was the coalition they fought for—was attempting to break through a siege line, laid down by Galbadian reserves, between the CISS and the two new independent states.

Galbadia had been forced to divert a good bulk of its invasion force away from Timber to deal with the new threat to their South and West. The IRT had managed to repulse the remaining invaders and was fighting tooth-and-nail to reclaim the land lost in the opening stages of the conflict. Though confusion was the order of the month for CISS troop brigades, as many soldiers and machines as were available had been scraped from the bottom of the local militia reserves and sent to Timber.

General Caraway was supposed to arrive in the Independent Republic of Timber shortly before the CISS reinforcements. The southern states had formulated a plan with the IRT to use Timber as a staging area for a major offensive on Deling itself. Acting Prime Minister, Ferrin Sosare, herself had requested the general's assistance in the operation. To do so, meant that Caraway would have to leave Galbadia Garden—still steaming full speed after the Lunatic Pandora—in the next few minutes.

At length, he shook his head. "We can't give you any support, Squall. I don't know what good this garden is going to do against that thing."

Squall, of course, had already known. "We have to try, Sir. Your daughter insists."

"You don't want to stop the Pandora?" The general raised an eyebrow at the knight's tone.

Squall was stiff. "This operation puts the sorceress at too much risk." He stared straight ahead. "If it was my choice, I'd let Eshtar deal with it." I really don't know what Rinoa's planning to do. That thing is just so damn big!

Caraway's brow furrowed. "And your father? They didn't fare so well last time." Finding out that this mercenary was the son of President Loire. Now there was a surprise.

Squall's tone was wooden. "It puts the sorceress at too much risk." He repeated.

The general was not sure how to react. He scrutinized the iron-faced knight. At last, he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I know you… care for her, Mr. Leonhart."

Under his emotionless exterior, Squall was doing his best not to recoil in disgust. Christ! Just go already! There's nothing you can say to make this situation normal. I don't care what's happened in the past, you can't just show up like this and do the whole "father thing". You have no idea who she is anymore. You have no idea who I am. God damn! What is it with you people?

Unaware of Squall's anger, the general continued to talk. "I love my daughter more than you can know, Squall." Caraway leveled his gaze at the young man. "You take good care of her."

Squall stared right back at the older man. "I will, Sir." If he doesn't leave now, I'm either going to have to kill him or myself.

Caraway blinked, then he nodded—almost sadly. "I know you will." The words were almost natural, almost not forced and strained. You'd damn well better. At last, the man who couldn't belong left.

Squall stood, alone, in the empty gutted classroom until he heard the sound of the general's transport fade into nothingness. At length, his fists unballed and his jaw unlocked.

Ooh, he looks pretty grim. Hair whipping around her face from the downwash of the tilt-rotor aircraft, Rinoa ran over to greet her father as he ascended onto the open deck of the garden's roof. Well, that's what talking to Squall will get you. She smiled to herself as she hugged him. "I love you, Daddy!" She had to shout over the noise of the engines, but the effort was well worth it, for Richard Caraway immediately brightened.

"I love you too, Rinny." He looked down at her.

"Daddy…" Please don't go. Please don't be sad and alone any more. "…be careful." I want to see you again. I want you to be happy again, like you were when mom was still alive. Rinoa blinked a few times.

Caraway swallowed. "I will, Rinoa." Oh, my daughter, there's so many things I forgot to tell you. There's so little time to let you know… "Please," You've changed so much, please stop for a little while, and let me catch up. "let Squall protect you."

"General! We need to lift off, now!"

"Dad," I want you to see it all. I want you to be there when I marry him, daddy. I want you to give me away, I want you to get hugged by everybody and get to know everybody, and get to know him, and do all the father-in-law, son-in-law stuff and I want you to keep being proud of me and… She couldn't keep it up, she just couldn't. There was not time to say any of it, but it was the most important thing in the world and needed to be said. Rinoa began to cry.

"General!"

Caraway hugged his daughter once more. "I know, Rinny. I know." His own eyes were burning. He swallowed again as he wiped away one of her tears. "I love you."

Rinoa just nodded, unable to speak as he let her go. Watch me, daddy! Watch me be brave. Watch me be strong. She waved to him as the canopy closed over his head. There was a great wind and noise as the plane's wheels left the ground. Rinoa ran, pacing the aircraft as it slowly slipped clear of the Garden's decking. She caught herself up short at the edge of the roofline, waving madly, waving as hard as she felt like sobbing, waving until the transport was just an invisible speck.

She was still staring out at the empty ocean and he couldn't feel her. He could not tell what she was thinking. At long last, Squall started forward.

Rinoa did not turn as he placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She was a statue; marble, granite, and two salty trails where the wind had dried her tears.

"He'll come back, Rinoa." Squall's voice was as quiet as the hum of the garden's great engines.

As gradual as a glacier, Rinoa slowly leaned against her knight. "I know, Squall." She swallowed with a dry mouth. "But, I'm afraid it might be too late when he does."

Squall shifted his hand down to her waist as she allowed him to support her. "To late?"

The feeling was back. She was drained again. I should be happy. I got to tell him. He knows now. He should be happy too. "Bad things are coming, Squall. Terrible things." She sighed sadly. "I can feel them."

His back hardened as bunched muscle drew together. "I will protect you."

Rinoa lifted her face as she felt his arms tighten. She looked into his eyes without saying a word.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the cool breeze ran down Squall's spine. I know I can protect you, Rinoa. I must be able to. He didn't look away. He wanted her to see his confidence, wanted her to take comfort in it.

At last she spoke. "I know you will, Squall." But the sorceress was not sure.

Squall could sense her uncertainty. "Rinoa, what is it?" His brow furrowed.

She placed a hand on his chest as she turned into his arms. "Squall, please, don't worry. It's not you." Reluctantly, he released her as she backed away. "I just… I just need a little time alone."

"Okay." He frowned slightly. "It's okay, Rinoa." His lips pressed together as he nodded.

"I'm sorry." She was backing away from him, as if afraid to turn around.

Can't you feel me, my love? Can't you tell that it really is okay? Or, do I need to let you know? The smile was forced, but it wasn't too bad. "I'll be alright. I think I can handle being alone for a few minutes." Squall did his best to lighten his tone.

Rinoa smiled gratefully. "I'll be back." At last, she managed to turn away.

"I'll be here." Squall called after her, but she was already gone.

The upper deck had cleared. Squall was alone again. "I'll be here waiting for you." He whispered into the wind.

…

"Man! No news really is good news!" Laguna exclaimed.

"Actually, Mr. President, this might not be so bad." Kiros remained seated as Laguna began pacing once more. "We're not so sure Galbadia Garden is under the control of our enemies.

Laguna stopped for a moment, and turned to face his chief advisor and close friend. "Huh? What do you mean?"

The cabinet member shrugged. "Well, Laguna, we've had intermittent contact with the rebel Galbadian provinces." He folded his arms. "Last we heard, they were mounting a major operation to seize control of the garden."

"Damn it! Nobody told me!" The president smacked a fist into his palm in frustration. "I'm the damn president, you should tell me these things!"

Kiros sighed. "I did tell you, Laguna. Twice."

"Well…" the former soldier's tone was petulant. "You ought to tell me when I'm listening, then!"

The elderly warrior rolled his eyes. "And when, pray tell, might that be?"

Somehow, the president managed to return to the subject at hand. "So, it's good that CISS is in charge of G-Garden why, again?"

Kiros frowned. "Of course, we've had no word on whether they were successful, so this is all conjecture, but it's possible that they are here to help."

An idea hit Laguna so hard it made him hiccup. "H-hey! Wait a minute! Hold on!" He put a hand to his head. "Just a second! Ohh… DAMN!" He stomped a foot. "Lost it."

Kiros did his best to keep from gritting his teeth. "Were you, perhaps going to ask if—"

"Hey! Wait!" Laguna held up a hand. "What if… um…" His mind blanked again. "Crap."

"You want to know if your damn son could be on board G-Garden, Laguna!" Kiros very nearly shouted.

"Wow! That's it!" Laguna snapped his fingers.

Right now, right now is the time to ask him about this. Is he just playing stupid? Kiros's brows knit together. I've seen you Laguna, I've seen you serious. I've seen you do great things and come up with brilliant ideas. You're not who you pretend to be. But, why the hell do you keep it up around us? You've been this way all your life, but I know it's just not you! What is going on, Laguna? He did not voice his thoughts. "I've already sent an inquiry to them, but we've received no response so far. They've got problems of their own, and nobody seems to know quite exactly what is going on over there." Damn it! What is he doing now? "Laguna!"

The puffy cotton ball clouds vanished along the line between sea and land, thirty-thousand feet below. Closing his eyes, Laguna could feel the biting cold seeping in through the large window even as the warmth of the sun prickled over his scalp. The air rushing around the nose of the Ragnarok was so clear. It's so deceptive. It looks so calm, like a crystal pool, but it's really racing past at unimaginable speeds. Laguna looked back over his shoulder at Kiros's exclamation. "Don't worry, old friend, I'm listening." His voice was quiet, but it still carried the lie over the throb of the spacecraft's giant engines; Laguna wasn't listening at all. He was too busy gazing out at the peaceful scenery below. It won't be that way much longer… I'm going to have to make a decision sooner or later. The President's chest rose and fell on the wings of a sigh. Squall, where are you?

…

"I can't go on, Xu. It's up to you now." The headmaster's elbows were propped on the old wooden desk. His chin rested in his hands.

She shook her head. "No, headmaster. You can't do this to us." She leveled an unblinking stare at the huddled old man on the other side of the desk. "Not now. The garden can't take the strain." She waved an arm toward the plywood that had been slapped over the gaping hole in the window behind Cid's desk. "After all these kids have been through, you can't just walk out on them."

The headmaster closed his eyes. "You're wrong Xu. I can do just that."

"Sir, no. I've been down there." She gestured to the lift. "I've heard them talk." She paused a moment to choke out a humorless laugh. "It's funny, you know. They don't talk about the G-Garden attack, they don't grieve over friends who lost their lives in the Galbadian invasion, all they talk about is him, and how he left the garden."

"Squall." Cid let out a long, painful breath.

Xu nodded shortly. "After Ultimecia, hell, after you first gave him control of this garden, they started looking up to him. He was their in-house legend. They all have immense respect for that young man, and they're all feeling more than a little lost because he left. There's been a lot of talk about resignation going around."

"I don't doubt it." His voice was flat, uncaring.

"Sir, don't you wonder why they all haven't quit already? Don't you know why not a single person has resigned since we dropped anchor in Balamb Harbor?" Xu folded her arms across her chest. "It's because there's someone aboard this garden they respect even more than Squall." She unfolded one arm to point directly at the headmaster. "That someone is you, Cid Kramer. All of them out there, they all believe in you, Sir. They believe you will do the right thing. They believe it so strongly that they are willing to lay down their lives on faith in your decisions."

Her words had no effect on the weary man behind the desk. "I know, Xu. I know they depend on me. I know they trust in me. I know they would die for me." He opened his eyes. He pointed to the corner of the office. "Nida died right there, Xu. Do you remember him?" His eyes were unreadable. "I do. I remember every one of them, that's why I have to quit. I just can't…" Cid paused. "I just can't kill anyone else."

Absolutely earnest, Xu leaned over the desk, holding herself up on her knuckles. "No, Cid, you didn't kill any of them. You saved them." How could he say what he was saying? Her voice shook with emotion. "You have saved the entire world. Without SeeD, without your ideals, there would have been no stopping Ultimecia. Headmaster, you've saved us all."

At last, he turned his head away, his gaze fell. The world? All I ever wanted, was to save her. "I'm sorry, Xu. There's nothing left of me. I've nothing left to give."

The SeeD's expression hardened. "And if SeeD dies?"

The headmaster said nothing.

She almost didn't say it. She could never know what he was going through, but she could see the effects manifest themselves on his face. She almost wasn't so cruel as to play her final card. Almost. "Do you serve your sorceress, Cid Kramer?" Xu's voice was hard.

"No, I've killed her." The whispered reply was dry and brittle.

"Yes you do, Cid Kramer, I can see—even now—that she still calls out to you, even in death." Tears sparkled in the SeeD's eyes. I know this hurts you, headmaster. But it is the only way. "What is she telling you to do, Cid?"

The old man behind the desk seemed to collapse in on himself. Still, he said nothing.

Xu's lips tightened over her teeth. "Does she want you to give up, Cid? Does Edea cry for you to let everything you built together fall apart?" Xu turned to leave so she wouldn't have to see his reaction. "I know you hear her, Headmaster. What is Edea pleading for?"

The SeeD had reached the elevator, but the headmaster could not see her. His glasses had fogged. His head was down, hands digging into his scalp. As the elevator doors closed with a whisper, his tortured breath formed words. "Damn you, Xu."

The replacement to the old elevator always made a grinding screech as it passed the repaired landing on the second floor. Xu gritted her teeth against the noise as she quickly ran her hand through her hair. She hoped her eyes were not as red as they felt.

The first level doors slipped open, revealing half of the garden's remaining living legends. Irvine was leaning nonchalantly against a nearby railing. Early-morning light, shafting down from the windows above fell across Selphie's brown locks as she stood nearby. With measured calm, the sharpshooter pushed of the rail and threw Xu a lazy salute. Despite his apparent lack of concern, the Galbadian's voice was worried. "So… wha'd he say, mam?"

Xu smiled for the benefit of the small herd of students gathering around the base of the lift—each one of them pretending just to have been standing at their particular spot by pure coincidence. "I think I convinced him." She spoke in a voice too low to be overheard by the small crowd.

Selphie, too, kept her voice quiet enough to ensure privacy. "Is he gonna be… alright now? I mean, is this going to last?"

Xu's words belayed her smile and nod. "I don't know, Selphie. I—"

The chimes of the garden's Public Address system interrupted her. "This is Balamb Garden headmaster Cid Kramer." Everyone froze, waiting for the next sentence. "We have been made aware, by Estharian authorities, that Galbadia Garden has been spotted several hundred miles to our southeast. Eshtar has requested that we intercept G-Garden and determine their status and intent. If G-Garden is under control of the Galbadians, we will invade and occupy it. Details and stations will be assigned to students during homeroom." There was a short pause. Xu turned away from the crowd and swallowed. The headmaster's voice might have been tired, it might have been rough, but the despair was gone—or at least hidden. "SeeD briefings will take place at oh-nine-hundred garden time."

Selphie bit her tongue, she knew it was too much to hope for but… "That is all." As the chimes died away, she tried not to let her disappointment show. It really is too much to ask for a little speech for the students right now, I guess. She turned to Irvine to speak, but was interrupted by the chimes again.

"Oh yes, one more thing…"

…

It was quiet and dark in the Warriors' Chapel. The only illumination came from one round stained-glass window, set high into a faux-brick wall. The thick navy carpet absorbed the beams of light, which filtered in through the colored glass.

It was also very silent. The walls blocked the hum of the garden's engines, and Squall was the only person to disturb the emptiness. His boots dug shallow trenches in the soft flooring while his knees sank slightly into the low cushioned step on which he knelt. The point of his sword rested in the scarred wooden holder—placed next to the step for that particular usage. Dark brown hair hung before his eyes as he bowed his head, one hand resting on his left knee, the other on the pommel of the weapon.

Squall was not religious, he did not believe in the old legends; Hyne, the knights, or any of the prophecies. In fact, he couldn't remember a single line from the book of Mohr—despite the fact he had been shanghaied into taking an entire class on the damn thing when he signed up for "The History of Warfare and Warriors." He didn't remember the Soldier's Prayer or any of a dozen other mantras he thought good only for bolstering the courage of the cowardly.

But here he was. I'm not here to ask anything of anyone else. I don't need the help of some mythical deity to make me strong. I'm here to… What?

I need to know that I can protect her. I need to be sure my strength is enough. Then why are you here? What do you think you will find?

I have to concentrate, I have to search my soul to find if my abilities are sufficient for the task at hand. But that wasn't it at all.

What he really needed to know. What do I really need to know? Why am I never at peace?

The answer was about as forthcoming as the question. As Squall knelt, the only thing that grew was his frustration. The pattern of lights edged across the floor as the sun moved across the sky, but nothing else in the room changed.

At long last, no better off than when he had come, Squall prepared to stand, but the unknown question still stuck like a thorn in his mind. "…"

As silently as she had entered, she laid a hand on his shoulder; it seemed to guide him to his feet. He turned to her with a question in his eyes. She tilted her head slightly, without answer. His hand left the sword as she took it in her own, his brows drew together slightly.

She smiled at the expression, that same look which grew more familiar daily. She watched his brown eyes drop to the side as her cool palm drifted along the line of his cheek. She knew those same eyes would be widening slightly in surprise as she brought her face close to his. Eyes closed, she felt the brush of his breath around her mouth and chin. There was a sudden chill at his inhalation, then warmth again as his lips sealed with her own.

This time, it was different. It wasn't tingling with fast lightning, it wasn't a sudden surprise melting away into sweetness, it was… different. And it ended differently; there was no embarrassed turning away, no release with gentle longing, in fact, it didn't really end at all. So slowly, and so carefully, she was certain his touch couldn't have broken a soap bubble, the feathery touch of his kiss alighted upon her chin, and then she felt the tickle of his now-rapid warm breath gliding softly down her neck. She tilted her chin skyward as air entered her lungs in a gasp and left just as quickly in a breath shaking with anticipation. As if on their own accord, her hands found their way under his shirt. His jacket clinked quietly as it fell from his shoulders. Her hands had wanted to investigate every inch of his smooth, shaking, skin, but instead they had slid up to his shoulders. Under her fingers, she could feel firm muscles twitching as his own hands flew to her body. At last, this time was theirs. He was hers. Somewhere beneath the topical thrills of pleasure, she could feel something deeper, something more lasting stir. His presence set her senses alight. One touch of his skin on hers and the whole physical knowledge of him was transferred to her. Through her fingertips she felt her knight, a presence, an overwhelming strength kept carefully in check, a fiery passionate being burning so brightly it hurt to close her eyes. The raggedness of his breath bespoke the raging desires within him, and the beating of his heart—in tempo with her own—was a mirror to her own needs.

All this, Rinoa felt as she thrilled in the physicality of the moment. Every button, every clasp released shocks of electricity as he undid them. If only time would have slowed down so she could experience the exciting fire that leapt across her skin from the slippings of fabric falling away, but her every nerve ending was screaming with impatience.

His breath whistled over the tiny depression at the base of her neck as his mouth pressed against the smooth skin of her chest. Dropping from his shoulders, one of her hands tugged gently, but impatiently at the buckle of his stiff wide belts while the other guided his left hand up from where it had lain against her waist until it cupped her breast. Another shaking breath left her as his lips dropped lower.

His arms were tight as he slid one arm under her blouse and across the warm curve of her spine, drawing their bodies together with gently restrained strength. He felt her rapid breath rustle along his scalp as she buried her face in his hair. She overwhelmed him. At last, he touched his angel in the ways he had dreamed for so long. And he knew their needs to be as one. Her skin so hot, to remain in contact was to be turned to nothing but ash, yet still he yearned to clasp her to him.

The buckles of his belts released with a quiet snick at the same time as a voice drifted from the hall, through the open door of the sanctuary. Rinoa's right hand left off its work at Squalls waist for a moment as she pointed toward the door.

The entrance to the chapel vanished. In its place appeared a blank stone wall.

The interruption of the voice had left Squall frozen in a moment of indecision. Slowly, slowly, he released the gentle pressure of his arm against his sorceress's back. Rinoa's sigh came a moment before his. "I know." She whispered.

Squall looked up at last. On his lips was almost, almost a smile. Very gently, he shook his head once. "I can't. It's not right for you."

"It's not right for us." She frowned at him just a tiny bit.

"Man, didn't there use to be a door here?" Zell knocked on the solid wall. "Hello—WOA!" He jumped back as the wall suddenly bristled with spikes.

"Yeah. Us." The hint of a smile was back.

They stood there, unmoving as their breathing slowed a bit.

At length, Rinoa spoke. "Squall? You want to let go of something?" She looked down.

"Um… not really, no." This time the smile could not hide.

"What the heck is this thing?" Zell tapped one of the spikes with his armored glove.

"He's not going away." Rinoa relayed, eyes closed as she fastened one last button.

Squall smoothed his shirt. "Well, it is Zell, maybe we can just walk out?"

Rinoa suppressed a giggle. "Well, if it was your dad, yeah. My dad, no way. Zell, I don't know."

The knight frowned. "Well, we can't stay in here all…" Before he could finish, the door reappeared.

"Yow!" Zell jumped back from the sudden appearance of the entrance. "Hey! Squall! Rinoa!" He opened his mouth to say something, then his thoughts switched track. "Uh, what are you guys doing in there?" He scratched his head.

"We were trapped. That wall just suddenly appeared." Squall spoke with a straight face. Rinoa's eyes sparkled.

"Really? Huh. Hey, your faces are all red…" Zell raised an eyebrow.

Squall's voice was absolutely level. "We've been shouting our lungs out for help, couldn't you hear us?" Rinoa appeared to have something caught in her throat.

Zell stepped forward to inspect the inside of the door frame. "Huh, no. Jeeze, that's really weird." He turned to the knight and sorceress. "We ought to put up a warning sign or something."

Squall nodded. "Probably a good idea."

Rinoa couldn't help herself, she exploded with laughter. Squall placed a hand to his face.

Slowly, the befuddled expression cleared from the blond SeeD's face. He looked into the darkened sanctuary, then he looked back at the two flushed figures standing before him. "Oh, no way! In the chapel!?"

"No, we really were trapped." Squall continued to insist as Rinoa slid down the wall, helpless with mirth at his seriousness. At last, the knight threw up his hands. "Look, just, just don't worry about it."

Zell's brows drew together. "Oh man, you guys. There's something I really should tell you…!"

"We, …! , Zell!" Squall waved his hands. "Look! Nothing… Just don't worry about it!" Rinoa had drawn her legs up to her chest in an attempt to hold her giggles in check.

"But…"

"Get out of here, SeeD!" Squall roared.

Automatically, Zell threw up a hasty salute. "Yes sir!" He retreated back up the corridor.

Squall stood with his arms crossed until Rinoa was finally able to stand. She wiped the tears from her eyes and spoke. "I'm sorry… you were just so…" She began snickering again.

Whatever.

"Aww… don't be mad, Squall." She pecked him on the nose. "It makes you too cute to bear."

At last, he allowed a tiny crack of a smile with a sigh. "I guess it was kind of funny…" A shock ran up his arm as his hand bumped her hip. "Well, shall we hurry up, kill the bad guys, and save the world?"

Rinoa laughed a little, but the sound held a bit more desperation than humor. "Yes, quickly!"