Disclaimer: Final Fantasy X, Final Fantasy X-2, Spira, blitzball, and all related characters and locations are owned by Squaresoft, with the exception of a few original characters who will be noted as such. This is a work of fanfiction, meaning that it is both created by a fan for no purpose other than entertainment, and it is fiction, meaning that all characters and events are purely fictonal and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Bigger update just so everyone knows I'm alive, yay. This fic is long, though. --;; It seems like there's always something going on on Bikanel. Don't sue me now or I'll never get through it all...

Author's Note: The narrator of this story is Al Bhed, and some dialogue and idiomatic phrases have not been translated into English. Translations of all Al Bhed phrases can be found at the end of the chapter in which they appear.

Green Eyes Plays Dress-Up

by flame mage

spherechange 12: Mounted Assault

"Nhadala," Benzo called, "we've got company."

"Yeah?" I yelled back. "I'm on my way." Please, please be anyone other than Gippal.

I jogged over to the gap in the barbed wire fence where Benzo was standing alone with his back to me. When I came around, I could see that he wasn't really alone; he was actually facing two bright green Cactuars. They looked like they were dancing, and I could hear them chattering away.

Benzo turned to me. "They're saying that Marnela wants to see you again."

I raked my fingers back through my bangs. They were sandy and stuck up almost straight afterwards. "Can it wait? I'm kinda busy here."

The interpreter looked at the Cactuars, who started flailing around and chirping again. After a few seconds, Benzo looked at me and shrugged. "Apparently it can, but they wouldn't recommend it. She's very eager to open official diplomatic contact. Sometime soon we're going to have to find an ambassador; preferably someone who's affiliated with our operation but not on our payroll."

"For what? Why can't you be the ambassador?" I asked.

"They want someone who can represent us, but won't be overly partisan. At least, I think that's the idea."

"All right, fine. Looks like the Gullwings are doing more scutwork in this operation than anyone else. Let's go see what Marnela has to say."

Marnela looked glad to see me--at least, as glad as a Cactaur can look, which means she was sorta quivering and glowing more brightly than usual. And she talked like she was glad. "'It is good to see you again, Nhadala (and me too),'" Benzo translated. "'You have not come a moment too soon. The fiend beneath us grows ever stronger. The Ten Gatekeepers have left us to train, and without them, the barrier has weakened. Soon the full power of the fiend will be unleashed, and it will wreak its vengeance upon us.'"

"Marnela, I can turn into a pop idol wannabe and produce a magical sword that I can't use. As far as I know, no one else in the camp is armed. How are we supposed to fight this fiend?" I sighed.

She swished her arms together violently and chittered at me. "'It is not necessary,'" she said, via Benzo. "'You must find the Ten Gatekeepers scattered throughout Spira so that they may summon the Great Haboob.'"

"The whaa?"

"She's doing the cactus equivalent of rolling her eyes right now," Benzo explained. "She says, 'The magical barrier that will seal the fiend away.'"

I looked at Benzo. "Tyssed. Who are we supposed to send, Picket? I can't leave this island, and we just can't spare any of the workers at the moment."

"'It need not be done today. But please, you must hurry. If the fiend is freed, it will destroy us and come for you. Your lives as well as ours depend on its defeat.'" Benzo paused to listen. Marnela's tone had changed. "Oh," he said in a minute. "She's knows who's been camping out in the Oasis. 'They arrived here a week ago. They were not prepared for desert work--they were dressed all in hot outfits that hid their faces, and they brought with them strange mechanical snakes. No other equipment was brought, and they came on foot. These intruders used the snakes to begin digging in the ground. This was most dangerous, for they damaged the root structure of several of our number, which can be fatal to a cactus. I believe they were sphere hunters, but it would appear that they did not find that which they were seeking.'"

"They wouldn't," I muttered. "When's the last time humans were in the Cactuar Nation?"

"'A small group visited us two years ago, but other than that, I cannot say. None in my lifetime, which is to say the last few centuries or so.'"

"Then they wouldn't find much." I was trying to recall history class when I was a kid at Home. We'd had to do a semester of Bikanel history. How long had this island been a desert? It had been more like Besaid or Kilika before that. Any sphere records here might have been made before the Zanarkand-Bevelle war, but I was pretty sure recorders hadn't been invented more than a century earlier. For most of the time I could remember from class, Bikanel had been pretty much empty except when the Al Bhed had lived there. What could there possibly be spheres of here?

"'If you see them,'" Marnela was saying, "'please ask them to refrain from digging in this area.'"

"I'm gonna ask them to refrain from digging in any area, from the Cactuar Nation to their vegetable gardens," I growled. "I thought sending the Gullwings out there would be enough to send them packing. Hey, Benzo, you up for a little deep frying?"

"Why do I get a bad feeling about this?" he moaned, burying his face in his hands.

I waved goodbye to Marnela and headed for the hover. "I dunno. Maybe you're smart."
I circled around once and headed back to the southern half the desert toward the Oasis. The hover barely managed to outrun a sandstorm as we crossed the machina graveyard to the east, but I was expecting it and swerved over the center of the island until we were safe. As we got nearer to the Oasis at the tip of the island, I could see that something was definitely going on there. I picked up on the color before anything else--bright magenta tents popping out against the gleaming white sand made the place a huge eyesore. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen this place sooner.

"Oh, no," Benzo groaned as soon as they came into our line of sight. "It really is the LeBlanc syndicate. Looks like they've set up a camp of their own."

I glared at the huge pink circus tents. "We have exclusive digging rights in this desert. Whatever they find here, we can legally confiscate."

"Legally, yes, we can," he agreed, but I could already hear the 'but.' "Practically... well, we'd have to go through their goons."

I shot a sideways glance at him. "You armed?"

"No."

"Get that way," I ordered, hooking one foot into the strap of my gear bag and kicking it into his hands. "There should be a garment grid and some spheres in there." I'd had to explain the whole system to him once he'd found me dressed up in Naaga's clothes, and once he'd gotten the hang of it we'd figured out that he was an Alchemist.

"Well," he sighed after he'd found them and dug them out, "this is going to be a bit uncomfortable." I adjusted my goggles so the flash of light didn't hit me as hard, hoping that the sphere wouldn't default to Bickson's image, and if it did that I wouldn't have to explain it. When I glanced over, he was dressed like Rin. Luck of the draw.

"Oh, so you do have a face. I wondered," I said. "You should work on that tan, though."

"I look like Rin...a Gun Mage?" he was musing. "That's odd." I was still looking at his face. No, he definitely wasn't a kid. He had that kind of air, but he was probably about my age, early twenties. Not a serious looker, but his appearance matched his personality: pleasant and agreeable, with a sense of calm intelligence. It wasn't until the words 'Gun Mage' that I picked up on the large, very sci-fi-looking weapon he was holding.

I reached over with one hand, keeping the other on the joystick. "Here, hand me that thing. The master's about to get to work." Somehow I didn't think Naaga's little pop-star pipe dreams were the kind of impression I wanted to make on these people, but the Crusader act might not be bad. I still had no idea how to use Miyu's broadsword; come to think of it, I'd never even tried to see if I could lift it. But hopefully I wouldn't have to, and intimidation factor counts for a lot in my business. I leaned back so Benzo could reach the joystick if it looked like we were about to crash our well-clad little asses into a dune, and spherechanged.

When I snapped out of it, I was plated to the nines in full Crusader regalia, looking for all the world like a Miyu cosplayer. I even had the metal mask. With one hand, I tested the sword experimentally. Like the costume, it must have shrunk a little to fit me proportionally, and so it was heavy but manageable. I traded it to Benzo for the joystick and took us down right next to the camp.

I was rushed immediately by two guys--at least, I assumed they were guys or very masculine-framed girls--in dark spandex-type body sock things. They had strange head coverings and little flaps of fabric covering their faces. "What business do you have here?" one of them snapped.

"We're here to have a chat with your boss," I replied. "Leblanc, am I right? She around?"

Polyester-face answered, "At the moment, she's in Guadosalam, but her lieutenants are here."

"Great."

"--but you can't see them without a good reason," he finished. I couldn't see his face, but I was willing to bet he was scowling.

"I have a very large sword." I gestured with it for emphasis. "You don't. Good enough for you?"

"Sorry, no." Rrreoow, rreoow. "Now why don't you beat it, before we have to beat you?"

"We've fried bigger fish than you," Benzo jumped in bravely, waving his gun around a little too violently. "This island is our turf."

Wow, I never knew he had it in him. Good for Benzo. "And that means that if you don't swim off now and get your boss's buddies, little fishies," I added, getting into it now, "we're gonna make surf 'n' turf outta you."

"I'm sick of your little word games! Let's go!" the guy yelled, lunging for me.

"What is all this racket?" a foppish voice sounded from somewhere off to my right. Polyester-face turned in mid-lunge and tried to pull back, ending up falling on his face. Major loss of intimidation points there.

"Yeah, we're tryin' to sleep!" The second voice, lower and meaty-sounding, came from the same direction.

I turned to see the main attraction of this circus: its freak show. The two men standing before me actually would have been okay-looking if you'd put them together and averaged them out into one man. The first was very tall and rail-thin, with elegantly-slanted eyes. The second was short and even more roly-poly-shaped than Ihu, Tuc and Dnac. As it was, they just looked weird.

"So these are the right-hand men, huh?" I sized them up. "You'd think the mighty Leblanc could afford 60 IQs."

"Who are you?!" the tall one demanded.

"The name's Nhadala." I said it easily that time. "I'm in charge of the Machine Faction operations on Bikanel Island. Technically, your digs are illegal--this is Al Bhed land. That means that you need a permit from the Machine Faction to be here, and I'm pretty sure you don't have one. So we'll be taking whatever you've found and you'll be leaving."

"Oh, we will, huh?" The short one was crossing his arms in front of his massive stomach-- they barely reached--and trying to look tough. It just wasn't coming off right. "Well, you're gonna have to do a little convincin'!"

I sighed and rubbed my temples with the hand that wasn't gripping a wicked broadsword. "Look," I said in my best come-on-level-with-me-here voice. "I already sent the Gullwings out here for me--we're really busy and we just don't have time to send our own personnel out here for petty hassles like this. I don't know how many more times I have to say this, but I'll do it again in words of one syllable: You. Give. Me. Stuff. Then. Leave."

The tall one removed a fairly nasty-looking gun from a holster at his side. "I don't believe we will," he sneered. He seemed to do a lot of sneering.

That gun was creeping me out, but then again, I had a bad-ass sword and there was no sense putting all that bravado to waste. I just had to take the chance that the thing was loaded and he had good aim and he was willing and ready to put a nice fresh bullet through my brain. "You guys really aren't getting this the way I'd hoped," I sighed again, shaking my head. "Benzo, help me out here. Maybe you can translate this into some language they'll get. What do sand worms speak?"

"How cute." The tall one was looking down his long, delicate nose at me. "However, your misplaced arrogance will be of no use to you. Our efforts here have been quite lucrative. I'm afraid we have no interest in departing."

Benzo stepped in--maybe he was immune to sarcasm and thought I was serious about translating. "I'm afraid you'll have to," he said, stepping forward. He was trying very hard not to look like an out-of-place dork despite the fact that he was dressed like Rin, but he sounded tougher and more in charge than I did. "My forewoman is right; I'm fairly certain that you don't have a permit to dig here."

"Here's our permit!" the short one yelled in a baritone squeal. As Benzo and I watched with total bewilderment, he started pirouetting in place, spinning until his portly body was just a top-shaped blur. All of a sudden, his huge shield came flying out at us. The edge had been filed until it was razor sharp. I was suddenly aware of the fact that Miyu's Crusader armor is designed to protect her torso and leaves her neck painfully unprotected; the thing could easily take my head off my neck without losing speed. Benzo and I both threw ourselves in different directions and the shield swooped between us inches from my face and returned to the short one's hands.

"Or," I huffed from the ground, suddenly a lot more serious about the whole thing, "we could do it this way." I launched myself onto my feet and charged at them, sword swinging. It occurred to me about halfway through the leap that I had no idea how to do this. Okay, just like the melee back at the Mushroom Rock gate; slash like crazy and hope you hit something. I flailed the sword wildly in both hands as I came down almost on top of the tall one, and I could feel the sick cutting sound more than hearing it as the blade dragged a path through fabric and flesh. I was still wincing by the time I landed.

I hit the ground and flattened myself. I was still an easy target for bullets, but the only way to hurt me with the shield this way was to roll it along the ground like a hoop. The tall one had yanked up the sleeve of his long, expensive-looking coat and was staring at the gash in his arm like he'd never seen blood before. He recovered quickly and was leveling his gun to fire at me when there was a small explosion and the thing zinged out of his hand and clattered on the ground next to me. Benzo was still standing there, but this time he had his own gun still aimed at the tall guy, one eye shut so he could aim better.

The tall one recovered quickly and dove for the gun--the short one was spinning around uselessly, muttering to himself. I scrambled along the ground like a crab from hell, totally forgetting the sword as I stretched my hand out for the other weapon. We reached it at the same time, but my hand hit underneath his. I reared back face-up, aiming the gun at his face, as he reached out to claw me with fingerless-gloved hands.

"Nhadala, duck!" Benzo shouted. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the shield whizzing toward me again. I snapped backwards and spread myself flat on my back on the ground. It skimmed so closely over me that I swear it took some skin off my nose, but on its return trip it slammed into the sword, which was jammed in the ground. The shield fell, but now the tall one had ducked through the chaos to grab the sword and was standing over me, looking straight down and poising the blade directly over my stomach.

Benzo and I both started firing wildly. The tall guy got caught a little off-balance, but he still drove the sword down and clipped my side. Totally by accident, my trigger finger spasmed and I hit him hard in the chest with a bullet. He must have been wearing armor under the coat--which looked like silk, so getting even a bullet through it would be tough--so he probably didn't take any damage worse than a bruise, but he reeled backwards and fell over. The short one was racing for the shield, but the little translator practically flew at him. Another explosion hit the hand on the sword. The short guy howled and stuffed his fingers into his mouth, sucking them and moaning. I knelt next to where the tall guy was lying and pressed the barrel of his gun into his temple, motioning for Benzo to keep his weapon trained on the short guy. Time for the tough act again.

"Now," I said as calmly as humanly possible, "Benzo here and I are pretty nice people, you know? I still think we can have a healthy exchange. So here's how it's gonna work. You two are gonna get up slowly, without making a grab for weaponry of any kind and without calling your goons on us. While we watch--guns aimed, safety off--you're gonna give the order to everyone here to pack it in. Then you're all gonna sit down in a nice big circle on the ground until we're in the air, and when we're gone we'll give you until nightfall to grab everything you can carry and scat. When it's dark, we'll be coming back here, and we'll be happy to give a little helping hand to anyone who's still around. This isn't the way I would have preferred things to happen, but we've got enough threats out here without worrying about violent competition, okay?" I stood up and backed slowly toward the hover. "Let's go."

For once, they actually did what I told them, and five minutes later Benzo and I were in the air. I could already see movement in the camp as the goons rushed around packing all the equipment. As we neared our own camp, though, we could see a different kind of motion flurry going on. There seemed to be a lot more people than normal.

"Well, finally," Benzo said, smiling as he changed back into his normal clothes. "The new diggers are here."