(We will update next week before resuming our normal once-every-two-weeks schedule)

Chapter 137: Irreconcilable

There are wonders in modern Ivalice to rival the lofty heights of the Ydorans. But the marvelous automation of the Workers remains beyond us. We can come close to mimicking the intricacy of their machinery, but not the magic that powered them. As best we understand it, the Ydorans used the Zodiac Stones as lenses for the will and power of their user, allowing the Workers to be imbued with echoes of intelligence and will, much like the Eidolons. Workers brought to life with such a Stone could actually display limited initiative, or so the writings of the old Empire tell us. But even had we such Stones, we lack the knowledge to use them properly. A Worker without such will is as limited as any clockwork creation, which can follow only the instructions its machinery allows...

-Alazlam Durai, "Guest Lecture at the Machinist Academy in Goug"

When the day had started, Ramza Beoulve had already felt weary: trudging across silver sands, wondering what fresh hell he'd led his friends into at Delita's behest, wondering whether his sister was safe. But that weariness did not compare to his current anxious exhaustion, sitting on the lip of the caravan as it struggled across the Wastes. Blue morning skies and a cool breeze softened the baking heat of the Wastes, and made the leaden weight of his body feel surreal and nightmarish.

The caravan lurched off to the left: Ramza grabbed for the lip of his seat to keep himself upright. He glanced over his shoulder. Malak moved as sluggishly as Ramza felt, twisting a lever here and turning a crank there. In between, he simply sagged, like a flag hanging limp on a windless day.

But there was nothing for it. Malak, Melia, and Mustadio were the only ones who could work the caravan engine. And with Melia and Mustadio gone...

After agonizing minutes, the engines slowly whined to silence, and the caravan thumphed gently into the silver sand. Ramza looked back again: Malak was leaning against the engine, his eyes screwed tight.

"Close." His voice was muffled, but Ramza heard him.

"Get some rest," Ramza said, stepping out of the caravan.

His legs buckled as he hit the ground: his head swam again. The past hours of uneasy rest had not restored much of his strength. But before he could fall, Radia and Beowulf had ahold of him, one under either arm.

"Easy," Radia murmured, patting him soothingly on the upper arm.

Ramza shook his head. "No. It really isn't."

Beowulf laughed shortly. "Well, we have to give them a fighting chance, Ramza. Otherwise there wouldn't be any sport in this."

Ramza did not quite manage to smile. He looked back inside the caravan before he closed the door: Alicia waved from her place besides the engine; Lavian and Rafa were still unconscious.

A moment's worry. So few of them now. So many of them exhausted. And they didn't know what was waiting for them up ahead.

He took a deep breath, and gently pulled himself away from his friend. They let him go, and he made himself walk, slow and purposeful, casting his gaze about him.

There was something here—he could see that in how flat this section of the Wastes were, how free of silver dunes. There were no ruined outcroppings, no spires. He suspected those signs had been cleared away.

He looked between his friends for a moment, then took a deep breath, and raised his voice. "We're here for Mustadio!"

For a long time, only silence answered him. Then, just ahead of him, a trap door creaked open. Mustadio shuffled into view. Just behind him came Barich Fendsor, with a gun at his back.

"No sudden movements," Barich growled.

"Oh, come off it," Beowulf scoffed.

Ramza and Barich both looked at Beowulf. He hadn't even bothered to draw his swords: his arms were folded across his chest, as he gave Barich an exasperated look. "You've risked a lot to save him. Twice. You're not going to kill him."

Barich grimaced at him, and lowered his gun. "Right." He pushed Mustadio towards them with his free hand. "Get moving."

Mustadio didn't move. He looked as tired as Ramza felt, staring straight ahead with glassy eyes. "Mus?" Ramza said softly.

Mustadio shook his head, ever so slightly. Barich grimaced at his friend. "He's still feeling the poison. Plus...whatever he took that let you find me." He glowered at Ramza. "What was that, anyways?"

Ramza did not let any surprise show on his face. Either Barich didn't know about the members of their company, or he wanted them to think he didn't know. "You killed some of my friends, Barich. I'm not in the mood for small talk."

"Looks to me like your friends are all alive."

Ramza's heart lurched in his chest. "How-" He broke off, too late.

But Barich seemed unconcerned. "I can watch you through my Workers," he said, nonchalantly, and Ramza's heart lurched again. If he could watch them through his Workers, then the preparations they'd made-

"No."

Ramza's head snapped towards Mustadio. He was still staring straight ahead, his brow furrowed. "No," Mustadio said again. "He can see through...one of them. That's how he...saved me."

Barich grimaced at Mustadio's back, then shrugged. "One is enough." He looked back at Ramza. "Surprised you all made it." He glanced at Beowulf. "What, can you cut through poison?"

Beowulf shrugged, smirking. Barich sighed, and gestured with his gun. "Take him. Get out. Get far away. We won't be alone for long."

Ramza didn't move. "We came to save him," Ramza said. "But that's not why we're in the Wastes."

"Yes, he mentioned that." Barich glanced at Mustadio, then back to Ramza. "I'm sorry to say you're too late."

Ramza's heart lurched once more. "What do you-"

"The bomb you triggered was a spare," Barich said. "We finished building all we needed a week ago. The last of our agents left three days past." He shrugged, and offered them a sad smile. "The trap is set. You cannot stop it."

Ramza's heart did not lurch another time. Indeed, it seemed to stop beating entire. His head swam, not with exhaustion, but with despair. The Lucavi were going to get what they wanted. So many people were going to die.

"No."

Again, all eyes snapped to Mustadio. He blinked slowly, and met Ramza's gaze. "We can...stop it."

"You really can't," Barich growled.

"We...can." He closed his eyes for a moment. His hands curled into fists at his side. "I don't...know how. But we...can."

He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and turned around to face Barich. "We can," Mustadio said. "Help us."

Barich shook his head. "I already told you." His voice was velvet-soft, and thick with self-loathing. "It's too late."

"It's not. Bar...it's not." He reached out, and took Barich's free hand in both of his. He fell to his knees. "Please."

Barich stared down at his friend. Ramza's eyes flickered around the wide, flat plain. No one moved.

"And what happens to Goug?" Barich said softly.

Mustadio shook his head. "This is...bigger...than Goug."

"It's always bigger than Goug." Barich shook his head. Anger smoldered in his eyes—the same kind of anger that Ramza had seen in Miluda, and in Wiegraf, and in Delita. "The Church plays its game with the Crown, the Crown plays its game with the nobles, and Counts and Viscounts, Marquis and Dukes, Princes, Cardinals, Kings, and Queens...they never have time to worry about us." He shook his head again. "That ends at Bethla Garrison. Goug goes free. If they don't, I'll tell everyone what we did here today."

Mustadio's head stayed bowed for a moment. Then he looked back up at Barich. "Just...stand aside. Let us look at your notes. Let us-"

"It's too late, Mus."

Mustadio's dropped Barich's hand, and fell on all fours in front of him. Barich stepped back from him. There was pain in his brown eyes, nearly as intense as his anger. But he did not flinch. He had made his decision.

"Take him," Barich said. "Get out. Get somewhere safe. You lost. Lucavi or no, it might be for the best."

Ramza felt a flash of anger. "He told you about the Lucavi," Ramza said. "And you're still doing all this?"

"I'm playing a bad hand as best I can," Barich growled. "I've been doing that as long as I can remember. I know the game is rigged, Beoulve." He spat the last word. "But for the first time in my life, I've got a chance at winning."

Ramza didn't move. Neither did Radia and Beowulf. The wind whistled around them.

"You have no idea what I've rigged down below," Barich said. "And..."

He crooked a finger. Another part of the flat plain near them folded upwards, propelled by powerful metal arms. Inside the shallow darkness, Ramza could just make out the gleaming metal form of a Worker, its chest already split open and burning with scarlet malice.

"I'm being merciful," Barich said. "I don't want to kill you." He nodded down at Mustadio. "Like he said, my Matoya is only connected to one Worker. It's the only one I can give instructions to. I couldn't stop you tripping my trap. All I could do was save him." He gave Ramza a pleading look. "A lot of people are going to die. You don't have to be among them."

Ramza looked between at the Worker in the shadows. He looked at Mustadio, sprawled in the silver sand. Finally, he looked back at Barich. "I could say the same to you."

Barich furrowed his brow. "Excuse me?"

"You saw us through a Worker?" Ramza nodded back the way they'd come. "We saw your Worker, too. We didn't know you could see us through it...but we made plans. Just in case."

And there was more than that, too. The fragile whispers Malak had managed, struggling to make sense of what he could hear from Mustadio. Mustadio had little gift at magic, and Malak had already been exhausted when Mustadio had taken his blood and made the connection. But both men were clever, and both were determined, and there were enough hints between them for Ramza and his friends to make their own plans.

By the time Melia had had to go, Malak had almost been falling over. It was all he could do to steer the caravan: speaking as well would have been too hard. But they'd had time enough. This wasn't the first trap they'd walked into. It wasn't even the first trap they'd walked into today.

"You talked to him?" Ramza asked. "Heard what he told you? The thing Cardinal Delacroix turned into had poison, too, and we burned that demon to ash. The one the Marquis turned into commanded an army of the dead. We struck down every one. Cardinal Bremondt turned into a dragon." Ramza jerked his head at Beowulf. "He slit its throat."

He faced Barich squarely. His arms ached. His legs ached. His jaw ached. His heart ached. But he was still standing. He was not alone. And he had faced far worse than Barich Fendsor.

"You don't have to join us," Ramza said. "But you cannot stand in our way."

Barich stared at Ramza, then down to Mustadio at his feet. An unsteady frown deepened the lines of his face.

Finally, reluctantly, he nodded, and raised his hands as though in surrender. He stepped to one side-

Crooked a finger in his unarmed hand. Snapped his gun towards Ramza.

But before he could pull the trigger, Mustadio lunged into a low, ungainly tackle, catching Barich around the knees. As he tumbled backwards, a great column of fire burst from the tip of the gun, rising high into the morning sky. Then the two men were gone, into the darkness of the trap door.

And as the two machinists fell, a Worker's laser slashed towards Ramza, Radia, and Beowulf.

Radia and Ramza leapt to either side. Beowulf leapt forwards, towards the laser. Alister's swords were already in his hands: the broader, butcher-blade cut through the laser, splitting it to either side of him. He roared with glee.

Ramza could spare only a glance at his friend: he and Radia were already charging towards the place Barich and Mustadio had fallen. Radia pulled ahead of him in three loping strides: Ramza's legs were leaden with exhaustion, and his head was spinning again. Radia disappeared down into the darkness well ahead of him: Ramza swallowed down the bile in his throat and forced himself after her.

A nightmare charge through the dim stone stairs, with the sounds of footsteps and fighting just ahead of him. A moment later, and Ramza staggered down the last step and out into a cavernous hall, dimly lit by distant runes, painting shadowed pictures across the fainted mosaics and tableaus. Farther down, Mustadio was sprawled beside a table, while Radia sliced a path through a wave of fire exhaled from the end of Barich's gun.

With a shout, Ramza lurched out of his stagger and into a run, arcing to the right alongside a great metal bellows set against a wall. Barich's head snapped between Ramza and Radia: he fell back, cursing and fumbling for one of the metal blocks on his waist. Radia charged after Barich: Ramza scuttled towards Mustadio, keeping low to avoid Barich's fire.

"What do we need?" Ramza shouted, over the roar of fresh fire from Barich's gun, and the frantic clatter of Radia slashing after him.

Mustadio shook his head. "Designs...plans...anything." His eyes were screwed shut, but he lifted one trembling hand and pointed. "His room. That way. Should have...what we need. I'll...look around here, too."

Ramza nodded, and crawled in the direction Mustadio had pointed. From the corner of his eye, he could make out movement under the table—Radia's legs, and Barich's. He forced himself not to look, forced himself to keep moving-

Froze, as something else moved ahead of him.

Steel plate gleamed in the dim runelight as a Worker marched into the room on powerful legs. From across the room, Barich bellowed, "Kill all intruders, but watch your fire!" The Worker did not visibily acknowledge the order, but its helmeted head swiveled towards Ramza, and its march turned into a clanking charge straight towards him.

Ramza cursed, and flung himself backwards. His aching legs quivered with the effort to keep ahead of the Worker's crushing hands. His gauntleted fingers flickered over the runes etched into his steel-lined greaves. Lightning could kill these things...but only in great quantities, and only aimed straight into their hearts. Barich had told the Worker to watch its fire: Ramza might not get a chance to aim for its core. And even if he did, he wasn't sure he had the strength for such a spell. His weakness ran all the way down into his marrow.

"Ramza!" Radia's voice was strangled with fear.

"Focus on Barich!" Ramza cried, throwing himself beneath a table laden with scrap metal. As he scrambled to his feet, the Worker lifted the table, and flung it after him. Ramza ducked, almost too late: the air of its passage rippled in his hair, and scrap metal rained down around him. The Worker followed just behind the table it had thrown: red light gleamed in the tips of its fingers.

Too close now. Had to do something.

Ramza smashed out with his gauntleted fists, reaching for the same flashing strength he could use to speed his steps and knock aside falling rubble. It hurt, deep inside him: he felt his soul squeezed, a hollow ache in his veins and bones, and the pain was worse in his hands, sharp like nails in his knuckles. But the red light burst like a firework around them, and the Worker flinched backwards, several of its fingers bent and twisted with the force of his blow, and that was time enough, Ramza whirled around and forced himself into a run, vaulted over another table in a flurry of falling papers.

Short on breath, with the world swimming dizzily around him. His breath was hot in his nose and throat, and he could hear the clanking steps of the Worker behind him, closing on him again. No idea where anyone else was, nothing to do but keep moving, pushing his straining legs on, forcing himself to stay standing, forcing himself to move-

Another Worker.

It shouldered its way through a door on his left, splintering the wood with the force of its passage. Its dark eyes found him, and its mighty chest split open, revealing the baleful red light within. Ramza flung himself slow as the heat of its laser speared through the air where he'd been, rolled to his left until his shoulder ached and bile burned at back of his throat. Another laser slashed its way after him, ripped through a table and set its severed pieces ablaze

Ramza ducked behind an anvil, stared around the room. He couldn't see Radia, or Mustadio, or Barich. He could hear the two Workers, distinguished by their steps: the rapid clank clank clank of the one charging after him, and the slower clink...clink of the one free to fire its laser. The faster steps got closer...closer...closer...!

Ramza flung himself out of cover, pushed his straining legs to his limit, skidded to a stop in front of the charging Worker with its solid metal body between him and its laser-firing companion. He danced away from its crushing hands, ducked sweeping blows, kept moving so it stayed between him and its dangerous mate.

A pang in the leg Zalera's talon had speared through, as he twisted to his left. His leg failed him: he lost his balance, tubmled past crushing fingers and smashed into a chair. The Worker loomed above.

Shrsk

The whispered squeal of metal cutting through metal. The Worker spun on its waist at the darting figure behind it, speared out its mighty hands-

Shrsk

Lost one of them, as Melia's blade sliced through its wrist.

Aching and exhausted as he was, Ramza's heart still leapt with joy. It had been a gamble, when they stopped their rapid march to this place, and eyed the opening they'd found into the dark alongside a collapsed dune. There might be more traps down below—more poison bombs, or tunnels rigged to collapse. But Melia and Agrias had insisted it was worth the risk.

They had been right.

Behind Melia, Agrias' shimmering silver blade crashed against the other Worker. Its laser diffracted against her magic, setting fresh fires all around them. A low pall of smoke hung in the air, and the runelight ghosted like fog through the thicker radiance of the flames.

Leave the Workers to them. Mustadio wanted them to gather what materials they could.

Limping down, Ramza struggled away from the fight, picking up random papers and pieces of more complete metal as he went. Nothing looked right, nothing looked useful, he didn't know what he was looking for and with every limping step the pain in his thigh swelled and deepened, ripening with agony-

He staggered through the doorway Mustadio had pointed him towards, and froze.

Radia stood just in front of him, her sword drawn. Mustadio and Barich were facing each other, mere ilms apart. Each had a gun pointed at the other's head. In his free hand, Barich had a second gun, pointed at Radia.

"You're not going to pull the trigger." Mustadio's voice shook.

"Are you?" Barich asked.

Mustadio didn't answer. Barich shook his head. There was a cut on his forehead, caking his nose and lips in blood. "Hypocrite."

Mustadio stiffened. "What?"

"Tell me I don't need to keep doing this." Barich chuckled. "Don't need to kill anyone...or let anyone die." A sad smile twisted his bloody features. "But you're willing to kill me, aren't you?"

Again, Mustadio was silent. His gun didn't waver.

There was a terrible crash from behind them, the scraping clamor of metal tumbling against stone. Agrias' voice, barely audible over the tumult, was shill with alarm. "Watch out!"

Four heads snapped back, towards the crash and the scream. Four pairs of eyes saw a Worker's spherical torso, severed from its legs, roll towards them. Inside its chest, a red sun flared to supernova strength.

Strong arms grabbed Ramza from behind, and flung him to the ground. Radia held her red blade before her as the Worker exploded in a column of crimson fire, angled into the room where they stood. It tore through shelves, set off explosions, ignited the cot in the corner and papers across the room. It splashed against the ceiling, then burned through it.

And for the second time that day, Ramza heard (felt!) the bone-shaking rumble of a great weight of stone beginning to collapse on itself.

Radia pulled him to his feet. Ramza frantically looked for Mustadio, found him deeper in the room than he'd been before. Blood was oozing up through his mattered blonde hair where a piece of stone had found him on its way down. He was on his knees, frantically digging through rubble. Ramza could barely hear him shouting through the breaking stone around them, the steadily-mounting rumble as the collapse spread: "Barich! Bar!"

There were three guns around Mustadio. Of Barich, there was no sign.

"We have to go!" Ramza shouted into Mustadio's ear, grabbing him under the shoulder.

Mustadio froze. Blank blue eyes blinked at Ramza. He looked down at his bleeding hands, looked down at the small mountain of rubble. Around them, the thunder of collapse mounted.

Then Mustadio cursed, scooped up the guns and started stumbling through the shattering room. He moved with mechanical speed and precision, snatching pieces of metal and papers seemingly at random, occasionally shoving one or another piece towards Ramza and Radia. Ramza stumbled in his wake, with Radia propping him up. Agrias and Melia were nowhere in sight, though they had left a pair of Worker's legs leaning like tree trunks and a shredded Worker body.

Mustadio grabbed at something else—a half-completed sphere, strewn with wiring—and shoved it into Ramza's hands. Then he was hurrying on again, as pieces of stonework crashed down around them, and currents of silver sand came gushing through the broken places in the ceiling.

By the stairs, Reis was waiting for them. The slabs of stone heaved to either side of her showed she'd already been hard at work clearing a path with them. Wordlessly, she staggered up the stairs. Wordlessly, they followed, as the stairway trembled underfoot. A step gave way beneath Mustadio's foot: Reis grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up, and Ramza and Radia hopped after (another pang in Ramza's aching leg). A piece of stone came tumbling down from above them: Ramza smashed at it with the last of his failing magic, shattered it so its dust covered them. Ahead of them, darkness gave way to dim daylight. His teeth ached with the shaking all around them.

At last, they staggered up to the surface. Around them, whorls of silver dust and breaking dunes showed where the collapse continued. The ground trembled beneath their feet. Agrias and Melia were up ahead, with Beowulf and Alicia. They were sinking posts into the silver sand, tying ropes between them, marking the safe places to walk.

Agrias was closest to them: she marched towards them, hand on the rope, not even bothering to look at her feet. She caught Mustadio by the shoulders and roughly kissed his forehead. "You're alright," she whispered fiercely.

Mustadio shook his head. His hands were pull of papers and the guns he'd rescued from down below. "I..." He shook his head again. "When...when the Worker..." He closed his eyes. "Barich...pushed me out of the way."

He said nothing else. A moment later, he started stumbling down the same course the others had marked for them. Numbly, Ramza followed.