Chapter Ten

The Tricks of the Trade

Quistis woke up the next morning feeling both embarrassed and sore.

The soreness was, of course, inevitable - residual magic always liked to make its presence known, even as it was fading. Her muscles were still taught with battle-stress and Sleep spells. Even her morning calisthenics didn't help as much - she fell backwards onto the bed with a brief groan.

She felt the embarrassment was inevitable as well. She had been out of line with Shain the night before. And as much as she would like to blame it on Seifer, it had been her mistake. She had just let her mouth run, something Quistis Trepe was not known for. Unless she was quoting statistics from Coulter's Handbook.

Shain - Shain of all people! She could have called Squall ...well, okay, not Squall. But Selphie, Irvine, even Zell; any of them would have been willing to listen and advise her. Even Rinoa would have been helpful for once ... but no, she had to open her big mouth to someone she hadn't known more than a week or so (a week? Just how long had she been on mission?). As if she had no better outlets for her confusion and rage...

She felt her thoughts slam on the brake pedals and backtrack through themselves, and she was momentarily pleased. At least the recovery period had allowed the small, untouchable, calculating part of her brain to start working again. She took pride in that, since she couldn't take pride in much of her behaviour since she had rounded the corner at the top of the apartment complex.

Her mind presented her with Rinoa.

Great, Quistis thought. My brain's finally working, but it's not working correctly.

She really didn't have any problems with Rinoa. It was just hard for her to see what the girl had that was so special, that drew everyone to her. Quistis had spent her life as a model of restraint, tact, and proper behaviour (at least, until the past twenty-four hours). It wasn't just her personality - it was her goal. Her way of life. Rinoa's outbursts of thought and emotion simply struck her as silly.

Yes, Selphie Tilmitt was also a very silly girl, but she was also a very silly trained mercenary with a penchant for explosives and - at the end of it all - the ability to get anything done that she wanted badly enough. Rinoa just looked to Quistis like a very silly girl. Who was known as much for whining as she was for silly useless plans.

But her mind insisted on bringing up Rinoa. She backtracked further. She'd been worrying about her outbursts, about having someone to talk to.

Someone to talk to about Seifer. Aha.

It made sense. Rinoa was probably the only other person in the world who could think about Seifer Almasy without adding the phrase "Death To" in front of his name.

Quistis bit her lip in thought. She didn't want to call Balamb, because Squall would get his belts in a bunch, and the last thing she wanted was for Squall to think that she couldn't handle herself. But maybe the next time she was there, or the next time she phoned in a report, she'd ask if Rinoa was there real quick. It would be a little strange for her to be asking for Rinoa, but maybe the young girl would have some advice on her former-boyfriend. And whether he could really be the head of an organization trying to take Garden down from the inside.

Seifer hadn't had any problems trying to feed Rinoa to Adel though.

She shook her head and stretched, feeling her muscles wince. Every part of her body and her mind just felt befuddled, and she wished that it was merely the result of half-a-dozen Sleeps. Right. She was tired of thinking and muddling and befuddling. She sat up in the bed, wrapping the sheets and the blanket around herself. Leaning precariously out of bed, she reached for the case to her laptop. She removed her notebook from the front compartment and selected a mechanical pencil from her stash.

She carefully tore out a piece of paper; resting the notebook in her lap, upside-down, she neatly creased the paper once down the middle, then unfolded it and centered it on the notebook. Brainstorming time. She found sometimes that she thought more clearly when writing, taking notes; something her eyes could help to piece together along with her brain.

Carefully, she wrote the word Evidence across the top of the paper. On the left side of the fold, she wrote "Seifer did it." On the right side: "Seifer didn't do it."

After staring at it for a while, she put quotation marks around the title. "Evidence." She didn't have anything totally concrete anyway. Not yet.

She started making neat, careful notes underneath Seifer did it, writing slowly, so as not to let anything slip past her. 1) Hints to grey coat (obvious clue). 2) Was right where Dulle (Elsevier) said he would be.

She went to write 3) Hates Garden, but then she started thinking about it. Did Seifer really hate Garden? He had spent his time there and, although he had shown a very distinct and proud lack of respect for authority, he had never shown any signs of hatred.

Well, until he had tried to kill all of them to protect his Sorceress.

Okay. Whether it was hatred or not, Seifer still had knowledge of Garden's workings and procedures. And there was someone in Elsevier - someone important, someone who was directing these strikes - that had some knowledge of Garden protocol.

Quistis thought some more, and then crossed out Hates Garden. In its place she wrote: Apparent grudge against Garden. In-depth knowledge of Garden - could be source of subterfuge information.

Linked with that thought, she wrote 3b) Has shown no real loyalty to Garden in the past either.

The thoughts of the Sorceress conflict prompted her to write 4) Shows an affinity for Sorceresses - would fit in a pro-Sorceress organization. This was at least what Elsevier saw in him, or what he saw in Elsevier, however it went. Another way they could be linked. At this point she was glad she had added the disclaiming quotes to "Evidence". None of this was really evidence. The things she was writing were the kinds of things that some nameless authority would use to argue at her about Seifer's guilt.

In her head, actually, she was arguing with Squall about him. Squall was saying things like 5) No sign of him after the War until mentioned by Elsevier and 6) Seifer is a dumbass anyway (well, no, 6 was actually more like Zell). She wasn't really sure why she was defending him to Squall - and Zell - anyway. In her head. Lying in a bed in Trabia.

In a desperate attempt to be fair, Quistis tore her eyes away and planted them on the empty right half of the page.

Seifer didn't do it.

Underneath she wrote: 1) Seifer denies knowledge of any contact with Elsevier. But that was a weak argument to begin with. Beneath that she added 1a) Seifer doesn't lie. Her mind added as far as I know.

She crossed out #1 entirely and wrote almost sternly: Gut feeling.

This list was almost useless. Next step, Quistis.

She wanted answers. And to get answers, she needed information. And to get information, she had to go back to Argun. Back to Elsevier. But how would she find out whether or not Grey was Seifer, or Seifer was Grey, or whatever? There were other facts she needed as well, but this new question had taken precedence.

But who would give her this information? She needed someone who ranked above Fat Man in both importance and intelligence. She wasn't sure how to get that. This wasn't like a restaurant, where you could ask for the manager. It would certainly send up some red flags.

And her current persona - Stupid SeeD Girl - 'Athaena' - if she gave away that she wasn't planning on joining Elsevier, she'd lose her only path into the organization. She'd gained the trust of at least one Fat Man - could she afford to blow it now, on guesswork? Why would Athaena be asking for information about Seifer? It wouldn't go over well - wouldn't be believable at all. How would she even guess that Seifer was involved?

Surprisingly, she felt her brain put on the brakes, again. Path into the organization. If only Athaena had some reason to ask about Seifer -

Hyne, Quistis, how stupid can you be?

If Athaena had, perhaps, looked a little into the clues and figured it out - or if, by Shiva, she had gone to the apartments and recognized Seifer Almasy - wouldn't she have a right to be upset? What Trabian SeeD would want to join an organization led by the man who had bombed their Garden?

Exalted at her own clever-ness, Quistis looked down at her list. Soon she could have answers to all of these questions. It was dangerous, yes - but she'd set herself up neatly to ask the exact questions she needed without raising too much hell.

She picked up the piece of paper and held it out before her, the Float spell running down her arm and out through her fingers. She removed her hand. The single piece of paper remained in midair, turning gently to the currents of magic within her room. She watched it for a second, and then reached out to touch it once again. The simple Fire current coursed through her fingertips and leapt into the paper. Her list of "Evidence" burnt in mid-air.

She watched, suddenly sobered, until the floating fire had consumed the entire list. Ashes, one by one, fell to the floor with soft noise as the Float dissipated. The scene was a darker image of the white snow which carefully fell outside her window. Magic - the world's life, the world's bane. Quistis sighed.

She pulled her things together one by one, re-packing her smaller bag. No - she didn't really want to leave her things at Trabia and come back for them - but it would be much easier that way. She would just have to ask Shain if she could leave them here - again.

With that thought in mind, she went to find the Headmaster to get herself a transport ticket back to Argun. She stalked down the hallway, her day-bag shouldered, dragging the larger wheeled case behind her, her steps the model of determination. No more indecisiveness. She'd had a mentor once, at a research job, that had told her as a piece of guidance that "It is better to ask forgiveness than permission. This may sound strange, but no one will ever fault you for trying and failing. They will only fault you for not trying in the first place. It is not doing wrong that is the crime - in fact, there is no wrong. There is only doing and not doing."

At the time, Quistis hadn't been sure whether the advice was meant or was a warning to her as to not be a lazy bum. But she'd taken the words to heart in her young adult life. The Trepe addendum to the advice was: "And while you're doing, you may as well do it perfectly."

She gave Shain's door three quick raps and - on his response - opened it to the scent of coffee and the soft sound of keystrokes. "Help yourself," Shain said, not even looking over his shoulder, "I know you want to."

"Gracious," Quistis said, and went straight for the pot.

At the sound of her bags hitting the floor, however, Shain threw a glance over his shoulder. "Packed already?" he asked.

She nodded, and swallowed. "Will you book me another transport and ticket back to Argun, Headmaster?"

Shain opened his mouth to argue, but he was slightly put off by the formal Headmaster and Quistis used it to her advantage. "Formal request, sir. The persona I've created will be expected to return, and I plan to use the opportunity to obtain more valuable information."

His eyebrows knit, his entire facial expression saying Quistis, why are you talking like a textbook? But she knew it was the only way to carefully replace the space between them. The space that had been lost. She didn't want distance - she liked him - she just wanted a nice, honest, proper space -

That's not proper, Quistis -

She shook her head and blinked. Shain's forehead was lined with his confusion and concern. For a brief second she wanted to crack some joke about that devil's city just to see him grin.

But they had shared too much, she and he, too openly and rashly (and easily). And she knew that whenever she tried to open up - or actually did open up - the door came back to slam in her face. This was a safety maneuver on her part.

She saw Shain looking at her. She watched in his eyes as he realized what was going on, and as he agreed to play the game. She watched him look at her, make sure that she was watching as he agreed. "I'll make your arrangements, Quistis. The tickets will be waiting for you at the station. Have Cassie call for a transport for you."

"Thank you, sir." A pause - she couldn't let it go so formally. "Can you keep my bag for me?"

Shain looked up at the instant change in tone. "Of course," he said quickly. "I'll just keep it in the closet in here."

"Won't that take up space?"

Shain smiled at her, an echo of his grin. "The closet's mostly empty."

Smiling in return, Quistis picked up her day-bag and headed out. Cassie cheerfully arranged for her transport to the train station, where she picked up the line into Esthar (tickets with her name on it, just as Shain had promised). She looked through the schedule: in Esthar proper she caught the transfer line out to Argun. With the packet was a pre-paid ticket coupon - to use for her trip home, she assumed. At least it wasn't already marked for Trabia. Although she'd have to go back to pick up her bag.

On the train, she took a good ten minutes trying to decide what to wear. SeeD uniform? Battle gear? She'd been wearing her tan outfit the last time; but she was afraid that the SeeD uniform was a bit too much. She opened her day-bag, looking inside, her glance going from embroidered jacket to reinforced leather ...

In the end, she just kept on what she was wearing - blue jeans, rolled slightly at the cuffs to stay out of the way of her dark boots, with a simple dark tank top and a sweatshirt (now, with Trabia's cold at her back, tied around her waist). Let them think Athaena had come running. The important part was that she didn't look like herself. Quistis Trepe hated civilian clothing and made it well known that no event was too informal for a SeeD uniform. The civvies would help her persona. She napped, and stared out the window, and napped again until the transfer line.

She stopped at the same hotel she had before (there were no bugs, she thought, and then amended - no large bugs) and only took a few seconds to drop off the bag. She had decided to leave Save the Queen in her bag - the massive whip, hanging off of her belt, would be a little obvious. But she did take the time to junction. Shiva thrilled at the personal attention - the ice goddess had always been a tiny bit haughty, which may have been why Quistis had clicked with her so well initially (although she never would have admitted it). Siren was more aloof, just a song in the back of her mind, an extra pair of eyes roaming, a wandering bardess looking for jewels. And shy but blustering Pandemona came out of hiding as Quistis and Shiva coaxed her out, lending her strength to Quistis' efforts.

Quistis always reveled at speaking with her GF allies. They sent her images that were not images, instinct and emotion that was not hers but yet was trusted implicitly. For Quistis's well-ordered mind these random impulses were conceptually hard to grasp - and yet Quistis had no problem accepting any help her GFs gave her. She'd learnt to involve the forces in her mind in her own Junctioning processes - sometimes the ancient ladies had better ideas than she did.

As for now, she thought about tactics. She wanted a balance between the raw force you needed in a one-on-one battle and the broader cunning and strength required when facing a group. She felt Shiva read through her thoughts and converse with the other two in a mystical barrage faster than lightning. Then, all three together, the GFs began piecing together what they considered to be her best defense. Shiva took command - she'd always been bossy and loved being in charge (another reason her compatibility with Quistis was so high). Pandemona offered here and there as Shiva asked, while vague Siren simply went along with the flow.

The attention gave Quistis the chills. It was thrilling and ethereal to feel the magical energies wash over her body. But then again, it only reminded her of the current dependence of SeeD on the strengths lent by the Guardian Forces. And the constant Junction - ReJunction that Shiva experimented with usually left her nauseous.

Once they were done, Quistis stood up gradually, trying to see how they had arranged their assistance. Since she was going without her whip, they had added more to her awareness and speed than raw strength - she'd be fighting on the fly, or with some weapon she found there. Her magic strength was also boosted through the roof, and she felt her most powerful spells readily available, literally beneath her fingertips. Again, they'd done a flawless job.

And as such, she took off for Elsevier.

Coming out of the hotel, she arranged it so that it looked like she was coming from the train station, and then took off in a brisk jog. She picked up the pace as she took the first turn, and then turned it into a full-out sprint as the building came into view. She wanted to be noticed - she was sure that there was some kind of security, and she wanted them to know she was coming.

Throwing herself in the doorway, she allowed herself to take a slight minute to catch her breath, and then looked up at the receptionist, her eyes burning. He looked alarmed and nervous over the small handgun that he was currently pointing at her. Shiva rose up in anger to let her know that she was safe; she let the rage in her eyes grow.

"I want to talk to Dulle, and I want to do it now," she said, angrily. "No - forget him. Who is his boss? I want to talk to his boss."

"I'm sorry, miss," the man said, in a voice that was surprisingly calm compared to the doubt in his eyes. "You can't just barge in here, now, and -"

"Don't tell me what to do," she growled. "I'm from Garden, alright, I was here the other day. And I need to talk to someone. Someone important. Now."

He shifted his grip on the handgun as if to remind her that it was hanging in mid-air between them; he seemed slightly scared that the presence of the gun had not been enough to give him the upper hand. "I'm sorry, I can't do that."

"Let me in!" Quistis shrieked, hoping that throwing a tantrum would get the guard to let her past. "I have to get in, I have to..."

"Is there a problem?"

A cold voice from the hallway made her look up in absolute shock. Even better - her noise had attracted the attention of someone who at least looked important. She composed her face back into fire and steel and said, "Who are you?"

"Nordic, put away the gun." The receptionist looked slightly pissed, but then lowered the weapon. "I might ask who you are, young lady."

She managed to flush. "My name's Athaena," she said gruffly. "I was here the other day - I spoke with someone called Dulle?"

"Ah, yes. The Trabian cadet. Is there some sort of problem? "

She eyed the man up and down, taking him in for the first time. His hair was light, as were his eyes - some pale grey color that hinted at northern heritage - Trabia, perhaps? Quistis found that she didn't like his stance; he was too confident, looking at her in amusement instead of the receptionist's fear. It made her nervous herself.

"Sir, perhaps you'll know who I should go to," she said angrily. "Could I talk to you for a moment?"

His eyes flashed with humour and he nodded, gesturing down the hall. "Sure thing. Come with me." She took a step -

The noise and the light made her think that something had exploded, that the hall had been rigged; she felt Shiva rushing all her magical assistance into keeping Quistis alive. The noise was deafening. She threw herself backwards, her heart pounding -

And realized that it was just an alarm. She was now panting heavily, for real.

Beside her, the cold man laughed silently, and she decided that she definitely did hate him. "What the hell was that?"

"I thought as much," he said. "You'll have to remove your GFs before you enter."

"What?" The question slipped out before she could think, before she had even wondered how she could deny her junctioning.

He smiled at her. "See, many of our experiments are - sensitive to magic," he said, with an ugly pause. "The aura of the Guardian Forces which Garden favors can - upset our experiments." With an even uglier pause. "Please remove them."

Shit, Quistis thought. Without any junctions I'm sitting pretty, just waiting for them to close in. But if I don't risk it, I'll never get in...

Reluctantly, she reached into her mind. Pandemona: Detach. The quiet GF obliged and Quistis felt her muscles droop, their strength suffering slightly. She felt Pandemona's consciousness slide deep into the crevices of her mind.

Shiva's sense then flared up indignantly, and Quistis could almost hear her angry voice. The GF was upset, both at abandoning her host and at the thought that she might miss some action. Quistis knew she would be very angry when she was rejunctioned. Nevertheless, she bit her lip and severed the connection. Shiva: Detach. This time the separation of Shiva's support from her limbs and senses was more severe - partially because her bond with the ice goddess was so strong, and partly because Shiva wanted to be spiteful as she retreated.

She then felt around for the elusive Siren, barely feeling the flitting consciousness. This time the surges of magical energy were definitely making her sick, and the noise of the alarm she'd inadvertently tripped wasn't helping. Siren floated by again, not even teasing so much as oblivious, distracted by her endless search for Draw points and secret treasures.

The alarm suddenly turned off, and the cold man nodded sharply. "Thank you," he said brusquely, and motioned for her to walk through.

Stunned, Quistis took a tentative step, feeling around inside her mind. Yes, Siren was still there, her vague hazy sense still permeating Quistis' gentle prodding. Was the GF so vaguely attached to her that the alarm wasn't sensing it? Siren's consciousness wasn't strong by any definition of the word, and so perhaps it was being overlooked. Besides, any junctions were better than no junctions.

"How does that work?" she asked the man, noting and hating the nervousness in her voice from being real. The alarm had quickly thrown her off balance, and she hated it.

He gave a little smirk that she was sure meant he wasn't going to tell her anything. "It just looks for the magical signature of a symbiotic consciousness such as a Guardian Force," he said. "A basic sensor." And that, she was sure, was to make her nervous about what kinds of other, more complex sensors they had in place. It was working, at least slightly.

They entered an office - more plush than Dulle's, she noticed instantly - and she took a seat in front of his desk. His light eyes were filled with amusement and more than a hint of malice. Quistis decided to take the upper hand initially - she needed to regain her footing.

"May I ask who you are?" Her voice was angry, petulant.

"Security Agent Tiberaon," he said smoothly, as if that would answer her. He had especially pronounced the Security Agent part to catch her attention. "May I return the question?"

"Athaena Lyman," she said sullenly. "SeeD, Trabia Garden."

As she mentioned SeeD, she saw the same flare in Tiberaon's eyes that she had seen in Dulle's, and the receptionist's. Elsevier was certainly out for SeeD, weren't they? Her question was, of course: in what fashion? Were they alert to recruit SeeD? Or to beware of them?

"Well, Ms Lyman, what can I do for you?" Tiberaon was motionless behind her desk, nothing about his pose casual. "Please understand that after such an outburst I am going to need some detail to explain your presence here. I will not be asking questions to insult you, or intimidate you - but I will be asking questions, and I will want answers."

Quistis met his stare full-on, her eyes full of indignant fire. "I spoke with Agent Dulle a couple days ago," she said. "I was sent with a message from the Trabian SeeDs who were out on some mission for you."

His eyes narrowed. "And how did you find out about that mission, Ms Lyman?" She shifted slightly. "Understand," he said, his voice pure evil smoothness, "that I must investigate every potential security leak."

"Vanesa was my best friend," Quistis said, letting fury seep back into her voice.

"What did Vanesa tell you?" He was trying to make his voice kind, but it wasn't working. Quistis doubted that Tiberaon's voice was even capable of being kind.

"She said she was going somewhere, and if she didn't make it back, I was to come here and look for the man called Grey."

Tiberaon smirked. "So you came to speak with Dulle?"

"I came to speak with Grey," she said forcefully. "I met with Dulle and he gave me papers to join the organization. And he told me where to find Grey."

"Oh, did he," Tiberaon said, the same dark smirk on his lips. The way he said it did not bode well for Agent Dulle. "And now you are back. But," he looked her up and down, "with a distinct lack of papers."

"I am pulling my paperwork," Quistis said, knowing that now she was treading on thin ice. "I'm not joining Elsevier."

"Ah." Tiberaon leaned back in his chair, although the pose did not make him look an more casual. "Why?"

"Because." Her eyes narrowed. "I went and found your leader. Yeah, I saw him. How dare you!"

She leapt up out of her seat, planning on launching into a tirade, but Tiberaon was faster, faster than she could think, and he had a gun inches from her face before she had taken her breath.

"Ms Lyman," he said, unfazed. "I would ask you to refrain yourself in my office."

Gods. Her heart was pounding; she tried to breathe deeply. I've never seen anyone move that fast without GF. She blinked once, twice, calming herself. She still had Siren; but Siren wouldn't help her survive a shot in the face.

"Seifer Almasy," she growled at him over his gun. "How dare you. You're following Almasy." Her voice dripped in hatred, smothering the fear (or she hoped). "You expect me to follow him? Does Vanesa know? Did she know that the cause she served was headed by that bastard? Does she know that she's wrecked her entire career for him?"

To her surprise, Tiberaon's eyes flickered slightly. She wouldn't have seen it had she not been watching. In fact, she wasn't sure if it had been anything save wishful thinking. In one smooth movement he lowered his gun and hid it somewhere - she didn't catch it - and was at the door before she saw him move.

"Please wait here, Ms Lyman," he said, and exited the room. She heard the door lock behind him.

Quistis clenched her fists. Her heart was still pounding, but now from adrenaline as well as fear. Here was her chance to do - something. Whatever it was she was here to do. Hopefully, she closed her eyes, increasing her awareness.

Siren, she whispered. I need you to look for something.

Momentarily she felt the consciousness brush past her, then fade, then brush past again, like fish would swim around a disturbance in their water. Find, Siren whispered as she swam through the ethereal.

Yes, she thought, urgent. Search the room. Are there any more security measures in this room?

She felt Siren speed up, like a swimmer who had seen his goal. Move, Siren sang. Find. The GF flew around the room, nothing more than a wisp of thought, but Quistis knew if there was anything hidden, Siren would spot it.

Window, Siren whispered, her glow brightening momentarily and then fading to scan the rest of the room. It made sense, Quistis thought. The door was protected by the sensors in the front of the building, but the window was a potential vulnerability.

A tiny puff of disappointment. Else ... Empty, came the song.

Quistis leapt up and headed to the window. Her eyes, though unmagical, could spot the security defenses around the perimeter. She reached out to touch one gently and felt the pulses through it.

Treasures? The pulse of electricity and ethereal was enough to attract Siren.

Quistis bit her lip. She needed to leave something that would allow her a window through the security. She thought about the ethereal stream, and about how she would need her GFs if she were to come back through. She thought about the GF alarm barrier. She thought about Siren's light consciousness, gliding around her. She weighed the pros and cons and decided that in the end, she'd have to trust her instincts.

She rested one long finger out to rest upon the security wire lining the window and felt Siren's call, her urge to explore, to Seek. Closing her eyes, Quistis waited until she could feel her awareness of the magic in the wire build up. She focused on the energy as if it were another person.

Siren: ReJunction.

It was tricky, and she almost lost it at one point, but Quistis had assisted enough junctions through her teaching to know how to handle a GF and make it attach to what she wanted. Her worry was that augmenting Siren this tiny bit would set off the GF alarm again, but luckily that was avoided. She aligned herself with the ethereal pulse in the wires and - pushed.

There was a bright sigh in her mind as Siren slid over to the wires, and she heard the careening little gasp as her consciousness re-adjusted. Siren was now junctioned into the security system. She was now counting on her (and Shiva's) compatibility with Siren to allow her passage through when she returned later that night. As long as Siren could stay vague enough to remain undetected by the security itself.

She felt around with her mind as if she were about to Draw. Siren was there, but translucent. Or she hoped.

I hope she makes it through the night, Quistis thought, or I'm in trouble.

I hope I make it through the night.

Quistis remained at the window, gazing out, knowing that if there were cameras tracking her she would look just like a weary girl trying to get a breath of fresh air. She took a breath of said fresh air and sighed.

Tiberaon re-entered the room, still moving with that eerie, uncanny fluid grace. "Please sit," he said to her, and there was no graciousness in his voice, only the briskness of a command. She sat.

"Athaena," he said. "I have cleared you for a special debriefing tomorrow morning which should be able to answer all your questions. If your curiosity can hold off until tomorrow, I guarantee to you that everything will become clear."

Quistis took in a deep breath. "You can't do it today? Right now?"

A smile that had nothing to do with pleasantries creased Tiberaon's lips. "The kind of clearance that this debriefing requires comes directly from one of the presidents," he said. "He will be contacted today. We will be unable to have the required signatures and clearance before tomorrow. I estimate around 8:00."

Quistis silently weighed the pros and cons. She would have to come back tonight; Siren was floating in the ethereal line, and every second she was there was a second she wasn't with Quistis, i.e. a second that Quistis was missing one of her valuable GFs. It felt like a distinctly bad idea to leave Siren floating through the building's ether connection any longer than necessary. Which would be more useful, this scary-sounding debriefing? Or breaking into the building at night and sifting through their records?

"I would like to request that the meeting occur at a neutral location."

"Ah." Tiberaon's eyes flickered. "Respectable. However, I am not sure that we can acquiesce."

"Pardon?" Her voice was icy.

"We would like to suggest some neutral, third-party location, preferably public, where none of the participants would be in any sort of danger. However, due to the highly private nature of the information to be discussed, we must conduct the meeting somewhere we know is secure. And the only place that we know of..."

"...is here," Quistis finished for him.

He nodded, smiling the not-friendly smile again. "It seems we must invite you into the dragon's lair yet again."

Dragon's lair? How fitting, Quistis thought.

She turned, walking towards the window again, slowly enough to not alarm the man. "I will come at 8:00," she said. "On one condition."

Tiberaon looked at her with a look in his eyes which suggested she had absolutely no place to make any "one condition" demands, but he held silent.

"I am going to tell someone that I am coming. I will not say where and I will not say why, but I will tell someone." She turned to face the man again. "So if you are planning on taking me away tomorrow morning, and making me vanish, there will be one person out there who knows."

Tiberaon nodded. "Again, Miss Lyman," he said in a quiet voice, "quite respectable."

He approached her and held out a hand; it was as cold and firm as Quistis had expected it to be.

"We are in agreement," he said, and this time there was the hint of a question: the sort of question that was a command, a checkpoint; the sort of question an Instructor might ask of an unruly class.

"Yes," Quistis replied. "We are."

My sincerest apologies. I do not intend to leave this story by the wayside. Coming back to college after my stint in the 'real world' was a lot more difficult than I intended it to be, and than I expected it to be. Though my schedule isn't really too demanding, I have had such trouble adjusting to this life that I haven't felt ready to re-dedicate myself to this kind of stuff.

Bah. The next chapter is already half-written and hopefully some of you out there remember me and will encourage me to post it in a timely fashion.

Oh, and I got a kat. If you follow the links in my profile to my website's 'gallery' you can take a look at my darling cutie. :)