A tropical wind ruffled the leaves of lush palm trees and carried the heady scents of jungle blossoms across the white-sand beach. The sun was high in the sky, and bathed the seashore, setting glittering reflections dancing in the viridian surface of the water and the sand alike. Karen Grahart, stretched out on a lounge chair, wearing a green-and-yellow maillot with a midriff-baring inset, lazily dug the toes of one bare foot into the sand.
"It's good to see the new military administration is using our virtual reality resources productively," Natasha Milarose observed.
Karen tipped her head back and looked up through her sunglasses at the older woman.
"Recreation is considered key to relieving the psychological stress of being on duty, for soldiers and scientists alike." She lifted her glass, which contained a tropical drink the color of the ocean, and invited, "I know you're not dressed for it, but would you care to join me?"
"I can only stay a moment," Milarose said. At a wordless command, a folding beach chair took shape and she sat down.
"It's too bad. I'm not the only one who ought to be celebrating. The Lab is looking very good right now."
"That's certainly true—for now. Dr. Severin's process shows every sign of being a viable way to supplement our Photon energy resources."
"Not to mention the fact that you finally got Commander Valgarde—I should say, ex-Commander Valgarde—out of your hair."
"Hmmm, there is that. Of course, that isn't necessarily a good thing for me."
"Oh? I'm surprised; he'd been butting heads with you ever since we left Coral."
"Quite true." Milarose tapped a painted nail against her lower lip. "But the new Commander Elberg is brighter than Valgarde. Just because he isn't so relentlessly hostile doesn't mean that he isn't a greater threat to my interests in the long run."
"You've heard that he'd been talking to Councillor Grisen, then."
"Exactly. And it seems that he's very interested in decoupling the military from its past alliances, doubtless because he doesn't want to be caught up in the associations that doomed Valgarde and Zanov. In short, either he's figured out the true extent of the military's options, or he's gotten good advice from someone who did."
Karen smiled up at her, then took another sip from her glass.
"I'd think that any military officer worth her stripes would take it as part of her duty to point out that an independent Pioneer 2 would face potential threats, not just from Ragolian monsters to be dealt with by hunters or criminal groups to be hunted down by security, but from a hostile Coral, from nations with a massive investment in the Pioneer Project and who might consider coming after what they believe to be theirs."
"And, of course, the presence—or lack thereof—of such a defensive force would be reported back to Coral by the groups maintaining contact with our homeworld."
"Emphasizing the importance of having such defenses in place well before any declaration of independence be made, since Coral would no doubt start preparing any punitive expedition well in advance of any move by us as well," Karen agreed. "Do you know, I think I see your point. Having a man who was so caught up in his current allegiances, that he couldn't anticipate shifting when the wind changes as your opponent had to be a relief for you on some level. It isn't hard to outmaneuver a statue."
Milarose chuckled at that description.
"How apt. And might I ask what our new, more agile Commander has done for the one giving him such good advice?"
"I've been asked to reform Team-00 as a special operations unit, one that reports directly to the Commander."
"Interesting. While the strength of the main military force would be to prepare for a possible future conflict, a spec-ops team would be suited for carrying out a variety of field missions here and now on the military's behalf. It's a position rife with opportunity—and, of course, risk."
Karen didn't have to ask for an explanation. Direct access to Commander Elberg bypassing the chain of command and the opportunity to establish a track record of actual successes in the field would give her the chance to rise in influence. Of course, that also could give rise to envy in others and the chance of failure. When one made an ambitious grab, one risked a hard fall.
But then, one never got anywhere without ambition.
"It is. I've already begun putting it together. There are hunters I know, those who want the structure and support of a permanent position without having to entirely abandon their independence. Special operations work suits the hunter skillset, the kind of thing Colonel Zanov found out the hard way."
"Hm, and will your new employees include those who dealt with that pesky Mr. Solus for you?"
Karen arched an eyebrow.
"I don't know what you mean," she replied easily.
"Well, I'm merely speculating. We know that Zanov didn't have Solus killed; he's far too competent for that. It accomplished nothing for him and merely inspired Mr. Ryland and Ms. Lyon to push harder for answers. Oh, Zanov tried to cover up the circumstances and when it became clear from their presence at the crime scene...how did that timing work out so cleverly, Ms. Grahart? Well, in any case, that prompted Zanov into a series of further short-sighted actions all but designed to guarantee that the hunters would dig up their little scheme and bait the military into something stupid and overt."
"That would have been respectably clever," Karen said. "Prod two sides into coming into conflict, luring one's enemies into destroying themselves. Of course, it would take a certain pragmatic viewpoint to see the life of a criminal who routinely engages in arranging for theft, assault, and occasionally murder as expendable for that end. It's...delicate."
"But, the kind of moral gray area a successful special operations team leader would need to employ. A hunter can pick and choose their work according to their moral principles. An effective government operator has to be more...flexible."
"Well, you would know about flexible ethics in the pursuit of a government job."
"Of course. Why do you think I supported the change? Well, other than the fun of helping Valgarde to his own destruction, of course, but that was just entertainment. No, the real value lies in keeping our options open. However we proceed going forward, I want us to have the ability to make the choice we want, not to back ourselves into a corner and risk finding out that it's the wrong corner to be in."
"You surprise me," Karen said, and meant it.
"I shouldn't. After all, ultimately, it's just a question of whom do you trust. And as my ex-husband will gladly tell you, the person whose judgment I most trust in any situation is my own."
Karen Grahart raised her glass to the older woman.
"Now those, Chief Milarose, are words you took right out of my mouth."
~X X X~
Everything about the ruin spoke of antiquity: the reddish-brown stone columns left bare as paint and plaster had been weathered away by the years, the shattered structures and fallen bridges, the overgrown ivy and moss poking through long-worn cracks in the stonework, the symbolism that hadn't been used by any Coralian culture in centuries and, of course, the way the rising water had all but swallowed the island where the structure stood.
The giant egg, painted with bands of rainbow color, waddling around on clawed feet poking out of the bottom, wiggling the pink wingtips that protruded from holes in the side, didn't really match the décor, especially when Lyon hit it with her Durandal and it flopped over onto its side. Lyon hit it with her Durandal and it flopped over onto its side. But then, virtual reality, by its very nature, was whatever the programmer wanted it to be, and for Easter, the Lab's VR Temple training environment featured occasional appearances by egg Rappies to celebrate the holiday.
She supposed it made more sense than if they'd had blue, pink, and yellow bunnies instead of the Dimenians.
"Did you get it?" Ryland yelled, coming around a corner. The Temple had a lot of mazelike rooms, and the virtual Rappies were just like their real-world cousins on Ragol if you blasted them from long range: they ran. This sanity was the first clue that the giant birds hadn't been genetically modified in the same way other hostile native animals were, but its experimental value was rather less important to hunters than the fact that they had to go in close to confront them.
"Yeah, we're good. It pecked me a couple of times, though."
Ryland blinked at her behind his spectacles.
"Um...Lyon, how does it peck when it doesn't have a beak?"
"Hey, take it up with the programmers. I didn't design this thing."
"A fair enough point," he acknowledged.
A couple of tenth-beats ticked by while they patiently watched the fallen Rappy.
"So answer me this," he said. "Exactly why are we here, anyway? I'd have thought after our last job, you'd have wanted to spend your holiday resting."
"Hey, I just had a new left arm put on. There's no way I'm going to be trusting it in real life, I-could-get-killed-out-here combat without giving it a thorough stress-testing under field conditions. VR training is perfect for that." She rotated the arm in a circle by way of illustration.
"Oh, no, that I understand. I just meant, why today."
"Well, look at it this way: ever since we came to Ragol on this ship, it's been one disaster after another. First there was the destruction of the Pioneer 1 colony, then the discovery of Dark Falz underground, then the revelations about all the shady business that the Pioneer Project has been getting up to rather than trying to save the people of Coral the way it was supposed to, all the intercine rivalries between the government factions on board this ship, Leo Grahart's last little rebellion, and now the resource shortage."
"It's actually kind of depressing when you think about it."
"Uh-huh. But! This time, we helped protect something that one day may help solve the resource problem, make life better for us. And in doing so, we also played a part in getting a couple of hidebound, bloodthirsty, short-sighted military goons removed from their positions of power."
"Not that there aren't plenty more bloodthirsty, sneaky, or generally corrupt people just lining up to take their place."
"True enough; it's going to take a few decades or an open rebellion, maybe both, to flush all the corruption out of the system. There are kids being born today who'll probably be hunters before anything like the paradise we were promised is established here. Again, though, that's not the point. The point is, here and now, today, something happened that was unambiguously good for the ship."
"And?"
The Rappy began to twitch; in another second it hopped to its feet, only to be knocked sprawling by a backhanded slash of Lyon's Durandal. It rolled, got up again, and scrambled away, running for the edge of the area and vanished as soon as it reached the water. Neither hunter even was watching the unrealistic VR programming, since left behind at the place where the Rappy had fallen the second time was another egg, this one much smaller and without the addition of protruding limbs.
Lyon smiled brightly.
"And I thought it'd be a perfect time to go on an egg hunt. Today's the last day, and I feel lucky."
"...An android can 'feel lucky'?"
She winked at him.
"Optimism is just a personality setting to appreciate the possibility of good things happening, after all. For example, I choose to hope that when we cash this in, we'll get a new wok as a prize."
Ryland shook his head, laughing. And why not? Watching an artificial sun send its light sparkling off a simulated ocean, it was easy to see that life wasn't perfect. But there were good things in it, too, people he cared for and things that he could accomplish to make it better.
"You're right," he said, "so if this turns out to be one of those rabbit wands, I'll even use it on our next job. We have to keep that promise of spring alive, after all."
And who knew? Maybe one day, it would be the real sun shining off Ragol's sea for everyone to watch.
~X X X~
A/N: It's always a good feeling to finish off a long story, so how much more to finish off a long series of stories? I've been writing about Lyon and Ryland since I first wrote "Trick or Treat" in the fall of 2006 (when it was posted at PSOWorld; the first story to appear at fanfiction-dot-net was "Heartwired" in 2007). The Phantasy Star section isn't the most well-traveled in fiction; on a month-to-month basis, they get fewer hits than nearly anything else I've written, so these characters haven't reached the audience of some of my other fics, and I'm actually sorry about that, because I'm very fond of this partnership, and I'm very happy that I was able to take them through all of the special holiday sets that appeared on the PSO servers. Hopefully, those of you who are reading this will have enjoyed the ride as well. And I have to thank the creators of Phantasy Star Online for creating a world in which a philosophical android could team up with a mystery-loving wizard on board a colony spaceship and fight the minions of an evil god. And argue over coffee.
Incidentally, as some of you may have suspected, I was indeed hinting at one of my fan theories (or "headcanons," as the young'uns call it these days *wink* ) that the past history alluded to in-game between Tyrell and Milarose is that Natasha is the Principal's ex-wife and therefore the mother of Red Ring Rico. Any slurs on Karen Grahart's character, incidentally, are purely my own!
Lastly, since this is the series finale, I wanted to slip in a little something special to leave you with, namely, an omake! I posted this to PSOWorld back in 2007, but it's never made a fanfiction-dot-net appearance (and hey, who remembers fanfics from 2007, anyway?), so enjoy!
~X X X~
A Birthday Performance
July, AUW 3087
The residence unit looked like a tornado had touched down inside it, concluded Weinstine Co. Android L/Y-906 (Lyon). The blast on the surface of the planet Ragol that had wiped out the thirty thousand colonists of Pioneer 1 hadn't wreaked as much havoc to the physical structures. But that's what happened, she supposed, when a couple of dozen hunters threw a party.
"Well," said Donovan Ryland as he surveyed the mess, "this was certainly a...memorable...birthday." The red-haired, bespectacled Force was both the owner of the residence and the object of the party.
"Maybe we should have had the celebration at my residence?" Lyon considered. Like most androids, she had very little in the way of bric-a-brac in her own home, which was essentially a space to keep her recharge pod.
"It would just have meant I'd have had to carry all these gifts back to here," Ryland said, nodding to the surprisingly large pile of presents which had gone untouched by trash, spills, or general damage. Hunters were, after all, masters of controlled mayhem.
"And Justine would still have managed to spill wine on your dress at my home." Like most human Forces, Ryland's clothing was styled to resemble an ancient wizard's robes. He considered himself a spiritual successor to those who once had wielded "magic"—what he believed they now called the Photon energy which drove their society.
"Fashion advice from a woman whose carapace is built to look like a maid's outfit in pumpkin orange?" he said dryly.
"Ah, but at least unlike you organics, we androids don't eat, and therefore don't spill."
"A telling point."
"Which reminds me. I still have my gift to give you."
Lyon walked into the kitchen and fished out a brightly wrapped package from the cupboard where she'd secured it. She returned and set it on the table.
"Happy birthday, Ryland."
"Thank you, Lyon." He untied the green ribbon, then tore off the sparkly silver paper. Inside the wrapping was an Auto-Pak box; he tapped the corner tab and it fell open to reveal...a hat?
"A hat?" he repeated aloud. Specifically, it was a synthetic-silk top hat, black in color, with a violet hatband, sitting brim up.
"Look inside, silly."
Ryland reached into the hat and, encountering something, pulled it out.
*meep*, the Mag chirped happily, wriggling its nose.
"It's been fed up already," Lyon explained, "to synchronize it with your mental power and to augment the defensive power of your Photon frame."
Ryland scratched the Mag behind its long, white ears. It was an ultra-rare model of the little support biomachines, a Soniti, which couldn't be bought but had to be hunted for in the field.
"This is incredibly thoughtful, Lyon; you must have worked for hours to get this for me." The Soniti wriggled its nose again, pleased with the scratching. "Thank you so much."
"You're welcome; I'm glad you like it."
"I'm curious, though. Why the hat?"
Lyon laughed.
"Oh, that was for my sake. I just wanted to see it with my own eyes."
"A hat?" Ryland still didn't quite get it.
"A magician pulling a rabbit-Mag out of one."