A Shine Like Gold
Chapter Six: The Whisper of an Answer
Stupid Hyne-damn ass-monkey mother-fucking son of a hooker -
Snap! The T-Rexaur's paralysis wore off and Quistis leapt back quickly, narrowly avoiding the wild lash of its tail. Just her luck: she'd been calmly (well, relatively) perusing (swearing at) her neatly organized report (now strewn across the floor) when a wild Rex had squashed most of Trailer C. Fuck. Her instincts had thrown her into the battle without so much as a thought - and that thought would have been appreciated, since she was now wearing fleece pants and slippers in the Trabian tundra. Grasping her whip. And swearing up her own Trabian storm. Luckily, that first instinct had included a Stop spell, which had given her enough time to gather her wits (well, relatively) and order everyone else away from Trailer C with a loud yell to the general Trabian public.
She wasn't worried - Rexaurs were hard, but she knew how to deal with them; and she was more than a match for one once her adrenaline began to rise - she was more pissed. The report had been long and inconclusive and profoundly irritating. And now this big stupid fucktard had decided to crash the party. Literally. The poor beasts had nowhere to go once Trabia's Training Center had been blown to smithereens; they'd been left hanging around the rubble, hoping for some food. Apparently Trailer C had looked to the Rex like a gigantic Bite Bug Sandwich with extra mayo.
Quistis felt the anger rising in her blood and embraced it, willing it to come forth. She was angry as hell and wanted nothing more at this point than to watch the T-Rexaur vanish in a little puff of Blue Magic. Hell, she'd probably play with it for a little while just to watch it writhe. A little bit of something fire-related to warm up her goddamn feet before she went Degenerator on its ass. Hyne, her Blues were the best gift a girl could have...
Out of the corner of her eye she caught movement - a cadet running to her aid. "Hold up!" she snapped, gesturing; the cadet froze, eyes wide, as the Rex took a dangerous and nearly fatal swipe in his direction. Quistis's eyes fluttered as she briefly scanned her own magic; she drew back her energy, focusing, and finally let the Blind spell loose.
It caught. Quistis spared a glance at the stunned cadet. "Is everybody out of the trailer?"
He blinked and shook red hair from his eyes. "I - I don't know," he stammered.
"Go," Quistis ordered. The boy blinked; "I've got this covered," she growled, turning back to the beast and narrowing her eyes. The ground was cold and her toes were probably blue and her nipples were about to fall off and she was surrounded with people who were stupid enough to run toward a Rexaur without a Blind spell thirty seconds in front of them-
The final wall broke, and adrenaline and magic rushed through her veins. She closed her eyes in bliss, arching her back, arms crossed dangerously before her face, fingers outstretched with the magic itself. Quistis let the Fire Breath roar, feeling herself hiss like a dragon as the spell raked the Rex. The beast shrieked, but without its vision, it was fumbling blindly.
Even the damn Rex can't put up a good fight. Riding the magic high, Quistis sorted through her techniques - each the result of a dedicated study of some particular monster's ability. An academic to the last. The Rexaur roared and in a final burst of irritation she let Degenerator loose, swallowing the ugly beast into some dimension where - she could only hope - the bastard would run into Ultimecia.
The battle ended and she came out panting slightly, her clothes stuck to her body through a thin layer of sweat. She snapped the whip once, feeling a strong surge of satisfaction as it cracked. She then allowed herself to look at the destruction of Trailer C.
Damn that Sorceress. The only reason the Rexaurs were roaming free was that their Training-Center-cage had been destroyed in the blast. Quistis mentally ran through every curse word she'd ever heard and a few that, in a sudden creative fit, she and Xu had thought of back in their second year. Trabia didn't need any more destruction - any more setbacks at all. And neither did she.
With a resigned sigh, she broke out of her frozen stance, the adrenaline and stress seeping into her muscles, tightening them into knots. Damn. She shook her head absently, feeling wet hair gently slap her neck. The first thing she had to look for in this mess was something with long sleeves - as the battle-high faded, reality surfaced. And reality in Trabia was damn cold.
"Sweet Daughter of Hyne, Trepe," said a voice behind her, as something settled around her shoulders. Quistis jumped, startled, and she heard Headmaster Shain chuckle as he gently patted the dry towel around her shoulders and lifted his hands, palm out, as if calming a wild creature. "Quite a show. Think we could tempt you into Instructorship?"
She was not in the mood to joke, but she did appreciate the towel. "I'm only here to help," she shot back, muffled by the violent drying of her face. Once she had emerged from the towel, she straightened up, wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl. "Anyone hurt?"
Shain shook his head. "Fortunately there was no one staying in Trailer C but you."
Fortunate, yes - fortunate that I know how to deal with a Rex on my own. She began to pick her way back toward the wreckage that used to be her comfortable room, looking for the suitcase she knew had a sweatshirt in it. She bent down quite ungracefully, her muscles tight with the aftermath of battle and Blue Magic, sifting through a pile of sodden papers she only assumed were hers.
"Stefen, Margo, help Trepe gather her belongings. Rahine and Tor - secure the area, please." Headmaster Shain paused, and Quistis looked up briefly to see his brilliant gaze scanning the crowd. "Jae, head back to my office and tell Cassie we have to file another incident report." Quistis paused as she realized that Shain knew every student by name. What an affectionate touch for a Headmaster. The word crowd floated through her mind briefly, looking for something to connect with.
Stefen had located her suitcase, and Quistis dove for it gratefully; it had survived the attack in wholly decent condition. The top layer was soggy and chilled, but the top layer had been the soggy Seed uniform, so that wasn't much of a loss. She pulled out a thick gray sweater with Balamb Garden across the front in blue and tugged it on over her head. The hood came up to hide the soggy mess of her hair. She turned to thank Shain - and the word crowd finally caught up to her slowly thawing brain.
"Oh my," Quistis said aloud as she looked at the couple dozen students who had gathered in the clearing beside Trailer C's remains. The students were listening to Shain's orders with about 80-percent of their concentration; Quistis found herself the recipient of furtive glances containing admiration, disbelief, awe. She awkwardly adjusted the hood around her face as she sloshed across the ground to Shain's side (realizing belatedly that she hadn't removed the soggy slippers).
Shain broke off mid-sentence and looked at her, smiling. "There's finally some color back in your face, Trepe," he said. "We were starting to worry."
"It's quite a we, Headmaster," Quistis returned under her breath. "Shouldn't the students have been running the other way?"
Shain's face became slightly more serious. "Stefen hit the alarm after you told him you were taking on the Rex alone," he replied. "And Trabia has learned the importance of responding to an alarm."
An awkward silence settled for a moment where Quistis - suddenly and surprisingly - felt chastised. She looked out at the students, most of which suddenly became strongly interested in their feet. "I still admire the response," she said quietly.
"Come on, Investigator Trepe," Shain said with a grin, breaking the moment: "How often do the young SeeDs get the chance to see a brilliant and beautiful blonde take on a T-Rexaur in her pajamas?"
Quistis tried to giggle nervously, but failed as usual (her sarcastic snort was well-known). "Why do I feel like the center of attention?"
"You should be used to that, Trepe," Shain murmured under his breath. "Devon - gather up a ten-pack and prepare to start damage control directly after we get Miss Trepe's affairs in order."
Quistis delicately chose to ignore Shain's comment. "What can I do, Headmaster?"
"Go see Cass and warm up," he replied. "Trabia's used to damage control - and besides, you've done enough for today."
Sensing her hesitation, he placed a firm hand on her back and gave her a gentle shove. "That's an order, Quistis. Go put on a pot of coffee, would you? I'll need it."
"Yes, sir," she said with barely a hint of sarcasm.
Quistis let herself into the main trailer which housed Shain's office and located the coffeepot; the coffee itself proved slightly more difficult, but with Cassie's help she located Shain's secret stash ("Oh goody," said Cassie with an evil grin, "this is the good stuff") and set the pot going. Quistis relaxed into the chair in the corner of Shain's office, a big padded leather deal with an extendable footrest. The coffeepot gurgled happily and Quistis felt a sudden wave of relaxation. Maybe it was exhaustion. At this point in her life, the two were easily confused. Her eyelids fluttered. She was warm.
"Agent Trepe?" Cassie's voice chirped from the hallway. "I've found it."
"Excuse me?" Quistis asked, her voice vague with confusion.
Cassie wheeled herself around the corner, a stack of printouts on her lap. "Well, I cross-referenced Elsevier for you earlier this afternoon. Just did a broad search on the network, gathered some general information using the Garden search engine."
"Wow," Quistis said, trying to gather the energy necessary to sit up. "Thanks, Cass."
"Well, Shain suggested it, and he's horrible with computers, so I did it," the girl replied. "He's not as bad as he looks - not like that's bad at all," she said with another wicked grin. Quistis chuckled.
"Anyway, I don't know if it will be helpful at all, but here you go." She held out the stack of papers and Quistis took it with a grateful smile.
"Background information always helps," she said, rearranging herself in the grand chair. She eventually curled up in the chair, tucking her long legs almost beneath her and resting the stack on her thighs. She had every intention of attempting to nap again, but she was touched by Cassie's work, and figured she'd give the information an attempt.
But as her eyes briefly scanned the paper, she found herself intrigued. Cassie had downloaded a bunch of information from the public Elsevier website - the usual political nonsense expected by a research facility. Here at Elsevier, knowledge is number one, and other such precious descriptive gems. There were links to the major inventions Elsevier had copyrighted or patented - the kind of things Odine would have rattled off without a thought (and Zell would have had trouble pronouncing correctly). The information was actually relatively bland, which surprised her; she read on.
Next was a sample paper Cassie had downloaded: The Principles of Neomagic and their Relation to Source Magic. Quistis had read something by the same authors in her own experience at Garden; she remembered it being something equivalent to a load of hogwash. This paper was an eloquently written statement on the development of neomagic and its inherent flaws, something Quistis had been interested in at the beginning of her studies. Her quick eyes began to devour the paper in front of her.
The authors were arguing that neomagic - the physical manifestation of magic, manufactured by the earth and its monsters and harvested by humans - was a weak, cheap imitation of the more vague spiritual powers of sorceresses. Because neomagic was a technique designed by humans, they argued, instead of a naturally occurring force of nature, neomagic was weak. Quistis wasn't sure of the wisdom of this argument coming from a scientific research community who made its living designing neomagic-related research. It made an interesting viewpoint nonetheless.
For example, consider a well-trained Sorceress and a well-trained Neomage. Because the Neomage must obtain his magical powers externally, he lacks the advantage of the Sorceress. The Sorceress can generate her powers at will, wherever and whenever she wishes, whereas the Neomage is dependent on the availability of his magic and his own performance strategy. A Neomage consumes, whereas a Sorceress generates. And more of the same.
Quistis tapped her fingers on the paper in thought. Elsevier certainly held the Sorceresses in high respect. But what would make them lean so far as to act against Garden? Garden was a passive threat - designed to protect and defend. It wasn't as if Garden was out hunting the Sorceresses actively...
The next section made her sit up straight in her chair. It was the log of a political journal, dated perhaps six months ago. Neomagic Branch Breaks from Elsevier, read the headline, followed by Are the others far behind? Apparently one of the research branches, based in Argun (a city-suburb of Esthar), had split from the central organization of Elsevier, citing the business-related version of "artistic differences". A rogue branch...
Her fingers drummed a rigid beat. So now she had an idea. A rogue branch of a scientific organization - with the publicity and funding from said scientific organization - led by some misguided twit who had decided that Garden was an enemy. Oh goody.
The existence of the Sorceress has been central to much of the controversy and conflict in modern history. Do those who defend - even worship - Sorceresses have a right to express and practice their beliefs? Yes, practice - with questionable research money. The Argun Southern Chapter, formerly of Elsevier Science Inc., led by D'hun Dregatta, has severed all legal ties to their parent company (said Elsevier Science), citing discriminatory events. Argun Southern has threatened legal action, but has yet to make any claims.
"Many of us find ourselves in this field of research because of our beliefs," said an unidentified research assistant. "You follow the things you're passionate about. Environmentalists go into conservation because they believe in the life of the Planet. Many of us have taken this path because we believe something - a lot like that. Are you going to throw us all in jail because there's a connection between belief and business? Bankers believe in money, soldiers believe in war. It's the same thing."
However, President Dregatta cites otherwise. "Scientists with dreams are little better than dreamers. I have no quarrel with beliefs - but beliefs do not belong in the laboratory. These men and women are wasting government grants on personal pet projects when they should be using the money on very specific problems. This is illegal - and also wrong."
Quistis sighed. What were the beliefs? No where in the article did it take even a moment to talk about what was actually behind this ... revolt. Quotes with no substance and phrases with no context. She never would have let something like this pass through her class. Journalism school apparently was where Garden drop-outs ended up.
"What has you so engrossed?"
But would this branch still go by the Elsevier name? Or was it the larger organization that was involved? Or was the smaller branch trying to frame the larger? Or a third party, who had closed in on this as a perfect scapegoat, knowing it would get someone like her tangled and twisted in politics while they called the shots from some abandoned treehouse... All they had was a name. A name. And a city now. It was better than a shot in the dark; even Irvine didn't have night vision...
"Um."
She looked up, startled. Shain was standing there, pants soaked to the knees, his nose bright red from the cold. She noticed that he had helped himself to the coffee - when did I miss that? - and that his fingers were curled around the cup like a lizard on a sun-covered rock.
She grinned, sheepishly. "Sorry about that."
"Lost in dream land?"
"I wish," she said almost ruefully. "Cassie pulled some things off the 'net for me," she said, glancing back at the paper. If the Elsevier lead were only true...
"Ah, the computer whiz at work," he said, heading for his desk.
"You know," Quistis mused, "Selphie's good with computers, too. Is it a Trabian thing?"
"Computers are huge here," Shain replied. "We're out in the middle of nowhere - it's the only way for most people to keep in contact. Phones are expensive, letters take too long. Net is cheap and easy."
"Huh." She thought for a second.
"So what did she find for you?"
Quistis smirked at the paper. "A lead, I think. I'm not sure. But if Elsevier is really connected with this - the name, I mean - I think I know where to look."
"What do you mean, 'the name'? You think someone's just tossing titles around?"
He was quick, she admitted. "Well, there was a split in policy a little while back - one branch declared itself independent. It had a lot to do with Sorceress ideology, apparently. I'm hoping someone there can give me answers."
"So you're really asking me to order you a train ticket."
Quistis bristled. "I know how to do it."
He laughed. "I know, but Headmasters get privilege. I can get you out this afternoon if you've already overstayed your welcome."
"No offense, Headmaster, but I'm not here for the welcome."
He nodded and turned to the computer. "Aptly put. Where to?"
She flipped through the paper. "Argun Station, Esthar?"
"Oh, Hyne, Quistis," Shain said abruptly, pulling back from the computer and looking her directly in the eye. His scrutiny made her nervous; she caught herself chewing on her bottom lip.
"What?" she asked finally, more bluntly than she wanted. "Why is that some horrible breach of etiquette?"
"You've never heard of it," Shain said almost incredulously. "Bloody Ifrit, Quistis. Argun is the low-life capital of the world. It's a hell of a dirty city - it's the gutter. Thick with traitors and thieves."
"Sounds exactly like what I want," she said deliberately. Who did he think he was? He certainly wasn't her boss. And although he was taller, she had the feeling that his in-the-field experience was lacking. In a fight between the two of them, the odds were on herself, and she wasn't the betting type.
"No, Quistis. Look. Send in a squad, an agent. You've got the money. Don't dive in there yourself."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
Shain, to her surprise, stood up and stared her down over the desk. "This is a mess, Trepe," he said strictly. "Pure ghetto. You walk in there with your blond hair and your heels and your pretty little face and you'll be gone before you can blink."
"Do you believe me unable to handle myself - Headmaster?" Part of her was seething with rage at the fact that Shain would dare presume that she, Quistis Trepe, was in danger from anything less than Ultimecia's wicked stepmother. The other part of her was seething with rage at the fact that she was getting a little nervous.
"I am giving you a friendly warning - Instructor." There was nothing friendly about his voice any more; Quistis noted that his eyes had an uncanny spark in them. Concern? Fear? Insolent prat.
"Warning taken, Headmaster," she snapped, and then bit her lip: it was still bad form for her to insult a Headmaster. Even if she was trying to be one, eventually. Especially if she was trying to be one.
"Quistis," Shain said, with a little more emotion in his voice. "Look. I've read your file. I know you're qualified. But - Argun doesn't play by anybody's rules. Don't go alone."
"I have to go alone," she replied.
"Don't go too deep, then."
Straightening to her full height, she looked him right in the face, a daring move even for her, and something in his shining eyes struck her. A wave of heat swept up from her belly through her heart and settled into her cheeks momentarily. No, she thought. I'm not going off this lead because some good-looking man made puppy-dog eyes at me.
She buried the rush as she turned to (unnecessarily) arrange the stack of papers. "I will be fine," she said, and told herself that she didn't sound like petulant, four-year-old Squall.
"You'd better be," he said, but the intensity was gone; his voice was joking once more. "Who's gonna save us from the next T-Rex if you're not?"
She tucked golden hair behind her ear. "I'll be going now - thank you for your hospitality."
"Oh, wait." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, messily. "I'll get you that ticket. Tomorrow morning, then?"
The Headmaster arranged both a train ticket into Esthar and a cab ride to the station. Tucked safely away in Trailer B (well, she hoped it was safe), Quistis separated her stack of papers into neat little piles on the bed. The report from Xu, underlined and cross-referenced. The stack from Cassie, divided into archives even Ambrosia would have been proud of. Filed, even without a filing cabinet. Queen Quistis reigned over a paper kingdom.
She sighed. She was still fuming at Shain, both for her comments and because he had actually made her rethink her own abilities. If she could take a Rexaur, she could handle herself in the gutter of Esthar, right? It was almost an insult.
She thought back. So far, everyone who had been trying to 'help' her (Maxus, Shain) had ended up driving her crazy. She worked best alone for this very reason; no emotions, no pretensions, just simple facts. Answers. Now that she was alone, maybe she could get her thoughts straight.
Something was driving her towards Esthar. Somewhere in Argun, this dirty city, this gutter, was something she was looking for. Some sort of organization using Elsevier's name that was pro-Sorceress to the devotional point of being anti-Garden. Her brain tweaked at the thought - there was something she should do before she left. Instinct alone prodded her, the feeling of something magnetic gathering behind her eyes. Quistis skimmed her eyes over the papers, trying to determine exactly what the feeling was pointing to. She picked up the small phone, dialed Balamb Garden.
"Hello?"
"Commander Leonhart's extension, please." Her voice was calm.
There was a soft click as the call was redirected, and then Squall's low whatever voice came over the line. "Leonhart."
"Trepe," she said as a greeting. "How's Balamb?"
"Same," Squall said. "Selphie's gone nutters over the Festival, Irvine's got some secret up his pants, and Zell - is Zell. How's the mission?"
He managed to be so flat in his delivery that it took Quistis a moment to realize that Squall was being sarcastic. "Interesting so far." She paused, trying to put the magnetic feeling into words. "Look, Squall, I've got a bad feeling about - something."
"Is everything alright?" She heard him shift. "Mission in jeopardy?"
"No, no," she reassured him. "It's not that at all. Look - is Rinoa there?"
This time there was a long pause before he responded. "Not 'here' in this room, but 'here' in Garden, yes."
The instinct and the magnetic feeling seemed to pulse, as if in response. "I've uncovered something interesting," she began, not wanting to divulge too much of her discovery (in case it was a dead end). "It's not a big deal - but there are hints that there's a faction out there who wants to get their hands on Sorceresses."
She wouldn't have heard Squall's breath had she not been listening for it. "Continue."
"Hints of a pro-Sorceress faction, but it's about as nutters as Selphie," she said dryly. "They're pro-Sorceress powers - they want to use them. I don't want to raise a false alarm - I just want to - well, keep an eye on Rinoa for the time being. And Ellone too, for that matter. Where is she?"
"Elle? Out on her ship, traveling the world and caring for orphans," Squall said. "But I'll call her just in case."
"Really, Squall," Quistis said seriously. "Don't make it official - just between you and me, alright? Something's not really right here, and it won't hurt to keep your eyes open."
Squall let another moment drag along before he said, "Will do." And anonther pause, and then; "Thanks, Quistis."
Against all odds, she smiled into the phone. "Trepe out," she said and disconnected.
Cameos from Hitchhiker's Guide as well as a reference to Robin McKinley's The Hero and the Crown in the last chapter that I forgot to credit. Don't want sued for creative borrowing.
Sorry for the absence. I hate unfinished stories, so you'll have to take my word that this one will reach a conclusion. It's not entirely my 'type' of fiction per se, but now that the idea is in my head I do aim to finish. My writing is usually much more fantasy-oriented than either 'Gold' or 'Sincerity Cowboy' are. This is like the practice run with the characters before I dive into the massive project I have planned after I finish this one ...
Anyway. I'll try to be a little more rigorous with my schedule. If you're still reading, drop me a line and let me know ... I'd appreciate it...