Another long hiatus. I've rearranged my schedule to try and provide some more time for myself in general. This should include writing. This chapter was kind of a doozy to write anyway. Lots of things happen.

Hopefully the next will be back sooner.

Seventhe

A Shine Like Gold

Chapter Seven: The Wisdom of Fools

Hyne, this was a dirty city.

Quistis curled her arms around herself involuntarily. It wasn't cold in the sense of Trabian cold - it was the cold of chill, an emotional wasteland. She sensed almost immediately that she would never find a warm soul - if she could find her way out again. Quistis had always prided organization above everything else. To an untrained eye, yes, her office looked busy - but everything had a proper place and, more importantly, was in it. No matter what excuses you made clutter was clutter and Quistis was in the middle of a mess. Literally.

It felt as if there were a permanent haze of grit between her eyes and the rest of the world. She hated to admit it, because it felt like defeat; she was always looking for the good and noble parts in everything. Plus, it meant that Shain had been right.

Why would a (relatively) upstanding research community like Elsevier found a branch in this hole in the ground? Easy, cheap grunt labour, she thought. Reclusive. No journalist or politician is going to hunt you down in this mess. Plus, what a motivational view.

It had taken her a couple of minutes to adjust her eyes to the strange cloud that seemed to hang like a curtain over the city - much like Esthar's shield, except gone wrong. Argun looked like the drain through which everything washed out of Esthar and into the desert and wasteland. Bits and pieces of grit and grime and occasionally humanity got stuck in old streets and broken-down buildings. Occasionally cultures grew like mold between the cracks.

She had been rather uneasy about finding a hotel room. The second she got off the train the wind of desolation hit her and she realized just what kind of city this was - the kind that everyone reads about all the time and thinks they know about, but really don't, at least not until they visit. It was also the kind of city that nobody really visited. They ended up here. They were swept here. Down the drain from Esthar.

So Quistis had grabbed the first hotel room she could find in the first hotel she could find - meaning, the first hotel to have a sign which was legible from ten feet away. The hotel was dingy and dark and gritty as well, but it had walls - almost like protection. She'd gone to hook her computer up to the wall only to notice that the phone jack had been torn out of its socket. She dug out her (unused) lock and chained the laptop to the bed.

She had left most of her things in Trabia, electing to bring only a small daybag with essentials and her briefcase. She'd worn her battle-gear. She didn't think Argun was the kind of city where you tried to look nice anyway. No ballgowns here. Not as if she owned one, anyway.

Her hotel was in what she assumed could be called the 'upstanding part of town' - the sidewalks and the roads were actually two different colors. She'd asked the young woman at the hotel desk where she could find the research facility. The woman had said something in a very heavy Estharian accent and gestured down the road. So Quistis went.

Her trained eyes noticed that she wasn't the only one armed.

As she walked her disconnected mind began to put the pieces together. Esthar's brilliance had to have come from somewhere. She noticed empty warehouses, abandoned factories, broken-down nuclide plants. Argun had been a step along the road of Esthar's development. She knew the city ran completely off of solar now; so if Argun had been developed during the nuclide age, that made it one of the earliest. Which made sense. Argun was dead and still dying at the same time.

Her road connected to another road; at the corner, she offered the man with the guitar some money and got directions to the Argun Southern Center of Elsevier Science Inc. Take this road here down two blocks, then take this other road, you won't miss it, thank you ma'am. The Argun Center, he called it, with a glint in his eye. She didn't like glints.

As she walked her brisk pace down the road, she wondered what she would say to Shain. Yeah, Argun looked like the garbage dump, but look at me, I'm okay? She wondered if Squall would have expressed the same (slightly degrading) concern, or if he would have just let her go. Why were Shain's words eating at her - that look on his face?

She shook her head slightly. She was in charge of this mission. She wasn't here because being a Headmaster had been dangled in front of her on a stick. There were terrorists and saboteurs out there - and this was something she could take care of.

She rounded the corner, and her eyes fell upon what could only be the Argun Center. Her hopes immediately crashed. This place was a wreck - even worse than its surroundings, and that meant something in Argun. It slightly resembled Trabia Garden after the bombing.

Hesitantly (and mentally curling her hand around her whip's handle), she approached the complex. Miraculously, it still had power; she could see the dim golden glow of nuclide lamps through the cracks in the glass door. She hesitantly pushed it open.

A rustle in front of her - she leapt through the door, threw her back against the nearest wall, and flashed her arm out before her, ready to summon up a spell; the other hand had flown to the hook on her belt on which her whip rested. A voice chuckled. The chuckle was dirty and gritty just like the building, just like Argun. Her blood raced.

"You're a jumpy one," the voice said. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the dimmer light, and she could see - a desk? Yes, a desk. A receptionist's desk. With a small lamp glowing nuclide golden, and a plant, and a stack of papers. She even saw a can of soda.

"But we often get the jumpy ones in this city," it continued. She saw the figure behind the desk now. Male, slight build, hunched shoulders. Her eyes strained to track his moves, wondering if the Barrier spell on her fingertips would be faster than the gun he could pull from - pretty much anywhere.

"May I help you, my dear?" There was a venom on his voice that she did not like. For the moment she deigned to lower her casting arm and peered at him. Yes, tall, and dark. Thin, with squinty eyes. Too typical of this city. Her alarms were all blaring, but the detached part of her mind began to notice things. He wasn't looking at her as if she were a threat. He was looking at her as if she were (her eyes focused) a panicked young woman, lost in a dirty city. Well, that was a part she could play, if only to buy herself time. Time before what?

"I -" she panted a little. "The building looked totally empty - I'm sorry, sir, you scared me."

He nodded as if he scared young women on a daily basis. From the looks of his teeth, he probably did. "A caster, are you? Young. Magic-trained?"

Shit. But she'd known that in a place like Elsevier they'd know all about magic. They'd probably even have a thing or two to tell her about her Blues. Magic trained - wait. A couple pieces fell in place, and a plan appeared.

Calmly Quistis lowered her arm the rest of the way and said in what she hoped was a tentative voice, "I'm from Garden."

She was watching for it, so she saw it: the man's eyes blazed up with expectation. "I thought as much," he said, the venom now greedy. "Come to join our ranks?"

This was more than she was hoping for. "Maybe," she said cautiously. "I'm actually looking for the man they call Grey."

The blaze was smothered by suspicion. Her mind noted each and every emotion. "Why are you looking for him, little girl?" The man leant conspiratorially over the desk. "He eats little girls for lunch."

Quistis managed to look duly shaken, although inside she was noting in triumph, Aha. So there is someone in this organization who goes by that name, and who would be very interested in young cadets from Garden. "I - I have a message for him."

There, the cards were on the table. She'd placed a couple of very important bets. First, that she was in the right place - that this Elsevier was involved with the one she was looking for. Second, that Garden was important enough to her Elsevier that it could get her through security. Third, that she could pass for a timid Garden novice and not seem like a threat. And fourth, that all of her other assumptions were right and this man wasn't going to shoot her on sight.

The fact that the man had recognized the name Grey meant that Assumption Number One was probably correct. And there was no barrel pointed at her face, so Number Four seemed okay. For now. He was looking at her now, his eyes fighting hers for information. Quistis put on her best Timid Cadet costume and waited.

The man stood up. "How much do you know about Grey?"

Quistis bit her lip, trying to buy herself time. How much did she know? "Not much," she ventured. Hyne, she was almost enjoying the game. "I just - I need to tell him something." And then, to confirm Number One: "Am I in the right place?"

"Grey isn't here." He walked around from behind the desk, and Quistis tried hard to look intimidated (instead of being intimidating, which she had more practice at). "He's never here. We never see him. He is far too important."

"Um." Her mind raced. "Where is he then?"

The man walked right up to her and looked her in the eyes. It was the kind of look that was supposed to dive deep into your soul and scare you. For a moment Quistis panicked: she was too tall for this, she stood too straight, the man would see right through the facade and discover her. But being tall was ingrained in her soul, she couldn't slouch, she just couldn't...

She was trying. And he could see she was trying at something, but he thought she was simply trying to be brave. He looked away, walked across the room.

"Grey is the man who leads us. He is the one who gives us the directions."

"Okay," Quistis said. But where is he?

"No one talks with the leader."

"But - but I need to."

He turned back to her. "What is so urgent?"

Bet Number Two surfaced. "I can't tell you," she said. "I have to - I can only tell Grey."

The man shook his head. "I can take you to someone who will listen," he said. "Someone who speaks with Grey."

Quistis's trained ears caught a lie.

She tried to filter through the words to figure out what was wrong. Her alarms had gone off again. Had they figured her out already? Were they taking her to jail? She weighed the unknown dangers of following the man with the chances that it would get her somewhere.

But she was already too far in. She'd have to see what they were going to give her. She could handle it. If they thought they were going to take her in the back and slit her throat, then they'd be surprised when they tried it.

"Okay," she said.

The man turned and opened a door, gesturing for her to follow as he headed down a hallway. The entire thing was lit with the nuclide lamps; Quistis hadn't seen nuclide since her childhood. Their old vacation home, a house on a lake somewhere, had been lit with nuclide. Golden. The man's shoes made little click-click noises. She tried to remember to make noise herself.

As they walked she tossed the facts around in her mind, hoping a plausible story would emerge. Young girl from Garden, sent to the boss, with some sort of urgent news. The Kinneas-Tilmitt mission. Botched cover. Bingo.

What had the girl's name been? Vanesa. Thank Hyne for Xu's thorough reports. She'd have to play Vanesa's best friend. Or not even. Vanesa's other friend, who didn't know as much. Then she could get some background. Everything fell together.

"So," she said in a voice she only hoped was timid, "How fast can I get a message to Grey?"

The man only grunted. "I don't know."

Quistis guessed that avenue of information had been closed. The man had seen something in her - suspicious or urgent, she didn't know - and was pawning her off on the higher authorities. Higher was good, though. As long as the higher authorities didn't turn out to be Ultimecia's wicked stepmother.

He opened the door to what looked like a small office. Another man sat behind a desk; he looked up abruptly as the door opened. This man was a little bit stocky, kind of like Cid, but instead of looking dumb and kind he looked dumb and sinister.

"She's here from Garden," the first man said to the second man, and at the look on the second man's face Quistis felt the first little chill of panic run up her spine.

"Thank you," said the second man; he stood up more gracefully than she would have expected and closed the door as the first man left. This new friend looked fat and poisonous, like a chubby slow snake that would prefer to squeeze its prey rather than chase it. Her mind detached and whirring, Quistis did the calculations and adjusted the game accordingly. She replaced the look of fear on her face with one of admiration: the Flatter the Fat Man game, one that worked all too well.

"Yes, calm down," Fat said, and smiled. His smile looked like a snake too. "You're safe here. Nordic can be a bit - intense. But that's security's job."

His condescending tone made her want to vomit, or unleash Shockwave Pulsar, or maybe both. "Have a seat," he said, and gestured to a chair behind her with faintly gross upholstery. Quistis sat, and looked at him.

"You say you're from Garden?" he asked.

Flatter the Fat Man, she thought. "Are you Grey?" she asked, trying to sound scared and incredulous all at once.

Fat laughed, obviously pleased. "No, not at all, girly. My name is Dulle, and I'm Director of Security Recruitment. Basically, my job is to find young folks like you with a good head on their shoulders who believe in something more than money, and open their eyes to what we stand for."

Slightly confused; "I - I have a message for Grey, I'm not here to... well, maybe... I need to talk to Grey, I was told to talk only to him..."

Fat's eyes gleamed, a snake sighting his prey. "Your message is safe with me, sweetie. From me it will go straight to my supervisor, who is Director of Recruitment, and one of the few who has ever spoken to Grey in person."

"You don't know who he is?"

Fat bristled. "Of course I do! He is just - not readily available. Someone as genius and as valuable as Grey must be kept safe. It's ingenious, really - not even under the severest of tortures can I give away my leader." He looked almost proud, and Quistis saw the first indication: a blind, mindless follower, lulled into obedience by a false sense of belonging. This she could milk for all she was worth.

"So... Grey keeps himself safe by never meeting anyone?"

Fat nodded eagerly. "Those who cannot trust in him do not belong in our ranks," he said.

Quistis bit her bottom lip. A look of sadness and regret flickered across her face, slow enough that Dulle the Dumpling would catch it. "I need to speak with him," she whispered.

Fat folded his hands and looked at her, his eyes alight with fervor. "You can't, my dear, but may I -"

He didn't finish, because Quistis leapt out of her seat, her hands clenched. "I promised! I promised her I would only tell him! I told her, I swore I'd tell him about -" One hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide, her voice clamping down on the words. Fat's eyes lit on fire as they narrowed.

And for a second Quistis thought she had blown it - here she was, standing before this man: one of the six most famous SeeDs, wearing the battle gear she had worn to defeat Ultimecia. But there was no recognition in his eyes, and she remembered that the picture of her that had been splashed across the 'net and the telecom was one of her in her glasses and SeeD uniform, looking serious and tall and old. He was looking at her as if he had found a treasure.

"You promised who, what?"

Quistis sat back down, her eyes still wide. "Vanesa," she whispered; as she lay her last card on the table.

"What relation are you to her?" he said, his eyes narrow, his voice sharp. The snake was waking up.

"She didn't tell me - she didn't tell me anything!" Her voice was fervent. "She only said that she was going to do something she believed was right, and if anything happened to her, that I should come here and ask for Grey and tell him..."

"Tell him what?" Each word was a hiss, a punctuated arrow.

"I promised her," Quistis whispered. "I promised I would tell only him. And she's gone now..."

She dropped her eyes to her lap, not wanting to watch as her gamble won or lost. She could almost feel his slow thick thoughts permeating the room.

"You look very upset," his voice began, low and honey-coated.

She looked up, surprised, and blinked.

"Can you tell me what happened to your friend?"

She swallowed. "They took her," she said.

Fat leaned forward over his desk. "What happened to her," he asked almost gently.

"They - they framed her," she continued. "Her and her boyfriend. They trapped her in some mission and sent her to the Desert Prison. Hurt her really bad, too," she added, her mind flickering across the line in Xu's report about Selphie's violent Quezacotl reaction. "And now she's gone, and all I have is this promise." She clenched her fists again, staring down at them. "I have to keep it."

"You must be furious," the man continued, and Quistis managed to not blink in surprise.

"I am," she replied, curious but willing to play his game nonetheless.

"Would you like to avenge your friend?"

Oh, it couldn't be this easy. Quistis allowed a fire to light her own eyes and hissed, "Yes, I would."

"I could make you a trade," Fat said, and her heart leapt. "I am not in a powerless position, as you may think."

"No, sir," she said timidly.

"I am, in fact, partial to key information. Information that can help you."

"Of course, sir." Quistis saw the bruised ego and decided to milk it. Fat wanted to prove his worth to her, and so she would let him.

"Elsevier is a broken organization," he began, taking a deep breath as if to prepare himself, and Quistis leant forward, eagerly soaking in the information. Finally! Fat folded his hands on the desk before him, and said suddenly, "What's your name, child?"

"Athaena," she said quietly. Only a small fib. Quistis Athaena Trepe.

"Well," he said, smiling back. "Athaena. Elsevier once was the leading organization in magical research. I do not mean neo-magic, the science you learn in your studies. Pure, unadulterated, unrefined magic. Real magic. We looked for the Sorceresses, and for their powers, and for the uses of their powers. And we found an answer."

His face and voice grew more passionate as he spoke. "We are the only people who understand," he said. "Let me ask you a question, Athaena. If you knew of a power so great, so wonderful, that it could heal all of the problems of this world, wouldn't you want to use it to help people?"

Quistis nodded, eagerly.

"What if you yourself could not use this power, but you knew someone who could?" he asked then. "Someone who could right evils, cure diseases, heal the earth and the seas? Someone who was willing to do this? Would you believe in them? Would you help them complete this task, protect them as they did it?"

He paused, and she went to nod, but then he continued violently: "Or would you lock them away, seal them and send them to outer space, even kill them, because you are afraid of their powers?"

And Quistis understood - finally. This branch of Elsevier had gone mad. This was Adel they were speaking of, as if she was a benevolent fairy, some sort of angel who would content herself with sprinkling rain on a farmer's land or healing a plagued village. She wondered if Adel could even lay claim to a single healing spell.

And then she remembered Rinoa's new limit break: the one she had called Angel Wing, a young girl's desperate attempt to make light out of darkness. Yes, Rinoa erupted in light and stars and feathers and emerged with luminous wings - but in that state, the sorceress could access only her darkest magic, cast only the spells created for pain. Not all beings with wings are Angels.

But Fat was looking at her, awaiting an answer, and Quistis nodded slowly, knowing something was expected of her. "What powers are you talking about?" she asked. "Has no one else discovered a power this great?"

Fat grinned at her, his teeth gleaming. "Of course they have. But they fear it, they lock it away, they wage wars against it. And those who bear these powers are forced to defend themselves, to use them for evil rather than for good. Would you protect these powers?" Fat fingers drummed a quick salute on his desk.

"What I offer you is this," he said, leaning even father over his desk. "This is a chance to save your friend - to retaliate against the brutal forces who have punished her for doing what she thought was right. It's a chance to be a part of something bigger. Join us - sign your name to our ranks. We could use someone of your training and talent. You would work directly under me, I could arrange it." And something darker flashed into his eyes for a second; something Quistis chose to ignore with a deep shudder.

"I - I haven't graduated," she said, stalling, waiting to see what would be offered.

A thick smile spread over Fat's face. "And I will tell you where you can find Grey."

Her eyes flew wide, and this time she wasn't pretending - this was ten times better than she had hoped. "Really?" she whispered, gratitude spreading across her face.

"I can understand about promises made," Fat said. "And your intense desire to keep this one makes me believe that you could be that devoted to something else as well."

Quistis flicked her eyes down and back. "How - how do you know where to find Grey?"

Fat wriggled proudly in his seat, trying to sit up straight. "My supervisor told me," he said. Suddenly hesitant: "I don't know exactly. But I know where he can be found with very little searching."

"You swear?" she asked, direct and fierce. She didn't want to be led on a wild chase by some fat man in a suit.

"Yes," Dulle said, his eyes bright. "My supervisor let it slip once, and he is never wrong. Sign with us, and I will direct you to Grey, and you can keep your word to your friend."

"What do I need to do?"

From that moment on it was easier than anything. Fat gave her a large stack of papers which required identification and your birth certificate (ha, she didn't have one anyway, orphans didn't get them) and your signature beneath seventeen heady paragraphs about belief in Sorceress's Deity and other Random Bullshit. Quistis took them eagerly: Evidence.

Then Dulle proudly directed her to a row of apartment complexes. He even drew a map. "Grey's hideout is in one of these," he said . "Top floor, where he can see all of Argun. He is always moving between apartments, but he cannot leave the city, for his people are here. You will know him when you see him: he wears a grey coat, which is what gives him his name."

Quistis pictured a tall man in a dark coat and a fedora, someone out of a sleuth movie, and tried not to giggle. Instead, she gave Fat an incredulous gaze, which he just soaked up. "How did you learn this?"

"My supervisor learnt it from someone and told me," Fat said. "A few people know it. We all keep an eye on it - protect it from people who would do our leader harm."

And so Quistis headed out into the dusty dirt of Argun, fueled with her clues and her recent success, high on her ability to manipulate fat men. She walked to the apartment complex - also dusty and dirty, and spotted with seedy bars - and stared up at it, as if her problem was solved.

By the end of the day she was fuming.

The apartments were pieces of junk or worse. No one sane would live here, she thought, especially not the head of a huge terrorist organization. And yet: desperate, she had entered one of the bars and asked casually for the man called Grey. Everyone there said he was in one of the buildings as well.

Confused beyond belief, Quistis went back to her grungy hotel room and slept. She woke up three hours later to the tune of squeaky bedsprings and a slamming headboard. Stuffing a pillow over her head, she grimaced: of course she would pick the kind of hotel that rented by the hour.

The next day she awoke early and went hunting again - first for a cup of coffee. She bought one from a street vendor with a cart full of day-old pastries. The coffee still had grounds in the bottom. More caffeine for my money, she thought with a laugh as bitter as the dregs, and downed the cup.

Then she headed back to the apartments. A little less distracted and a little more focused, she quickly skimmed the two buildings she had covered, confirming their lack of grey coats. She moved on to a third, wandering into the lobby as if she lived there herself; she took the elevator straight to the top and worked her way down. Nothing, although an elderly lady commented on seeing a man in a grey coat the week previous. "He had visitors often," she said. "He was never alone. He wasn't here long, was he, dearie? Would you like a cup of tea?"

Smiling grimly, Quistis declined.

At the fourth building, she hit paydirt.

"A man in a grey coat - couldn't be more specific, could you, baby?"

The receptionist was eyeing her. Quistis clenched a fist. "I mean a noticeable grey coat."

He bit his tongue and she slammed some money down on the desk. "He stole my stuff," she said randomly, "the bastard. Let me know where he is."

"There was a guy came in a little while ago," he said to her cleavage, "with a couple other guys - a big guy and a little guy, since you like descriptions. Big and little guys came out a while ago. Long grey coat - must be upstairs somewhere."

Quistis took off.

She gathered her thoughts in the elevator. Continue to play Stupid SeeD Girl? Or should she just jump in and take prisoners? Her GFs were brimming with anxious energy, as were her muscles; she knew she'd be a match for three men. She guessed. There was a sound - even the ding of the elevator was somehow dirty - and the doors opened before she had a chance to make up her mind.

She took one cautious, silent step out, and scanned the area both with her eyes and her mind. (Siren, finding no hidden Drawpoint treasures, sighed sulkily and went back to sleep.) She was standing in the middle of the hall, barely breathing, when she heard it: a slight muffled curse, around the corner to the left.

She took another cautious, silent step towards the noise, everything she had ever heard about stealth fresh in her mind. Paused again. Nothing. She noticed that Save the Queen was already in her hand, and sighed; so much for Stupid SeeD Girl. Not even a street junkie could mistake Save the Queen for a beginner's weapon. Everything about the whip screamed Expert. And Death.

Her choice being made for her by her instincts, Quistis took the last couple steps toward the end of the hall as silently as she could. She then braced herself, thinking rapidly, detachedly. With the hallways this long, she would have to throw herself around and then flatten against the next wall, in case whoever was up here had a gun. Too bad she hadn't thought of a Protect spell, but casting now would be a dead giveaway. She'd have a couple seconds of surprise during which she could judge the threat. She didn't want to waste a spell on another old lady tea junkie anyway.

And with expert poise, Quistis peeled herself away from the wall, whirling so quickly around the corner that even she was impressed, her whip already snapping upwards to interrupt any threats that were a little too close to home. Her eyes trailed the ground momentarily to calculate her safety zone, and then they flicked upwards and landed on Seifer Almasy's face.

Quistis's shock was so strong that she forgot all about poise and expertise and slammed into the wall across the hall. Her shoulder would be bruised from that, some part of her mind distantly pointed out. She noticed that Save the Queen had wrapped itself around a very familiar blade. Gunblade. Hyperion.

Of course it's familiar. You trained it, you idiot. You trained the man who is about to kill you.

Like hell he's about to kill me, Quistis thought, giving her whip a quick tug - yes, Hyperion was secure. For now. But her whip was occupied. They were at a stalemate, she and Seifer.

She noticed briefly that Seifer had looked just as shocked at the sight of her face. Seifer. Seifer Almasy, her old student. Seifer was here, hiding out in the top floor of an apartment building - strange place to run into -

Grey coat -

No.

"Fancy meeting you here, Instructor," he said in a cold voice, with a sneer that seemed to light every nerve on fire.