Chrono Trigger 1. The Hollow Man

A week ago, the people of Guardia had gathered in Leene Square, beneath a shimmering blanket of stars, to celebrate the 1000th anniversary of their kingdom. One thousand years had passed since the warriors of old had given their lives for the dream of peace, and Guardia I ascended to the throne of a united land. Through the ages, the kingdom had struggled to maintain its delicate cohesion. It's armies had fought back countless invasions, and even triumphed over the unstoppable Mystics in the seventh century. Yet the glories of past ages were not the only reason for celebration. The Moonlight Parade also honored their latest hero and his victory over Lavos. The parasite's death marked the end of the pain it caused all life and the beginning of new hope for a brighter future. The victors had been praised for their heroism, their names recorded to be remembered forever. 

Once again in Leene Square, the masses had only begun to recover from the untimely death of their king, Guardia XXXIII. His long reign had seen unprecedented peace and prosperity. He, too, would be remembered for all time. Despite the king's recent passing, this assembly was for a day of joy, not sorrow. They had lost a king, but would not remain without a leader for long. The people stood in silence, watching their future unfold. 

Crono stood before them, barely noticing the muted crowd. He was a boat in the ocean of his thoughts, with the coast of the present nowhere in sight. It was difficult now to remember when it all began. A year ago, perhaps? Bouncing through time had left his biological clock in a mess. Still, the memory of that day was vivid in his mind. The Millennial Fair. The chance encounter. Was it pure chance, or the glimmer of destiny, that had turned his head that day, so that he would not see her cross his path until it was too late? Had he collided with fate, just as he collided with a blonde-haired, green-eyed girl? Was it honor that had prompted him to follow her through a rift in time, or just the lingering image of those eyes, glowing with life? His recklessness had started the adventure of a lifetime, an experience which he would not give up for anything. 

Warping through the fabric of time and human history, he had formed bonds of friendship that most only dreamed of. His eyes had witnessed firsthand more than any single person could ever see. He had saved the world from a power far greater than he could comprehend. And he had found true love. Not the weak lust that most experienced, but genuine, eternal love too strong for even time, the consumer of mountains, to ever destroy. 

Crono realized that this was the most important moment in his life. There was no going back after this. In fact, it was already too late to turn back. He could have a week ago, at the jewelers. Maybe two days ago, at the banquet. But not now. He was here, standing before all of Guardia. He had knelt before the Chancellor, and the crown had been placed on his head. The crown. 

Noticing the new weight on his head again, Crono suddenly slipped from his memories back to the present. He was facing Marle, beautiful beyond description in her dress of white and pearl. Her pendant hung from her neck, freshly cleaned and polished. Those green eyes met his gaze, as bright and loving as on the day he first saw them. The Chancellor had performed the ceremony, and Marle had just said 'I do'. If his memory was correct, so had he. The Chancellor, standing beside them in his finest robes of state, had just informed him that he could kiss the bride. Still dazed from his nostalgic trance, he could think of nothing else to do but comply. Marle's warm lips pressed against his, filling him with an indescribable feeling of peace and joy. For that brief moment, Crono was truly alive. 

The silence was broken as a cheer tore through the crowd, bursting from their lungs and resounding across Leene Square. The now familiar tone of Nadia's Bell could be heard even over the ecstatic masses, ringing in the new year, and a new era. 

Crono, Guardia's greatest hero, was now King... 

The window was open, letting the night breeze creep inside and gently rustle the curtains. The moon and stars glowed brightly, as always, and illuminated the small room with their heavenly rays. It was quiet, aside from the calls of the night birds, and peaceful. The light dimmed briefly as a cottony cloud drifted in front of the moon on unseen currents of air. 

Crono was awake, though still in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The clock on his desk told anyone who cared to look at it that it was ten minutes passed two. Crono continued to gaze up, not actually seeing the dancing play of moonlight on the ceiling. Finally, he called out to no one in particular, or perhaps the whole world, the single burning question eating away at his mind. "Where did that come from?"   
  
  
  


And now for something completely different...   
  
  
  
The Purge  
  
Part I  
The Hollow Man  
  
by Turambar  
Turambar198@aol.com  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-- 1 --

  


"Lucca." 

"Lucca!" 

"Wake up, Lucca!" 

Lucca slowly opened one groggy eye. Marle was still there, and they were still in a small clearing in Guardia Forest. She and her friends often met there on the weekends when they didn't have school. The clearing was rather deep in the forest, far enough to be sheltered from the noises of the road and the castle nearby. Crono had found it while wandering in the forest, lost, as he often did. This was one of the few good things that his odd habits produced. Marle was motioning to the tree stump between them. "It's your turn, sleepy head!" 

The young inventor eyed the wooden bishops and pawns apprehensively. "Marle," Lucca complained, "you know I don't particularly care for chess. Haven't we played enough yet?" 

Marle shook her head. "I'm not stopping until I manage to beat you." 

"Why do you even want to play chess?" asked Lucca, making her move with barely a glance at the board. 

"Dad keeps telling me I should try some more intellectual activities. My tutor's been teaching me to play, and I think I'm learning rather well." Marle shifted a pawn forward. 

Not a surprise. As Lucca had begun to notice, the Chancellor was pushing Marle harder and harder to live up to her heritage. As the only child of the king, she was destined for the crown. "Why chess? It hasn't been one of the favorite royal pastimes in a hundred years. Why not learn Medinan Checkers or something like Trivial Pursuit? That's intellectual." Lucca moved a knight, taking Marle's pawn. 

"It's trivia. I want to learn something that requires strategy. Dad says my mind needs to be as refined as my beauty." Marle moved a bishop, putting Lucca in check. 

Lucca refrained from commenting. With her golden hair and musical voice, Marle was certainly beautiful, but it took a certain stretch of the imagination to call her refined. The future queen of Guardia was a bit of a tomboy. She'd learned to be a princess but chose to forget whenever possible. Of course, Lucca was hardly refined either. She reached over and took Marle's bishop with a rook. "There, checkmate," she said. "Can we stop now. That makes twenty-three times. I'm tired of it." 

Marle stared at the board. "That can't be checkmate!" She studied the pieces again, occasionally referring to the small pocket guide she'd taken to carrying. Finally, she accepted her twenty-third defeat. "I never saw it coming," she said with resignation. "I need way more practice, Lucca. Just two more games, please?!" 

Marle rearranged the chess pieces, getting it right on the first try this time, and without the help of her book. Perhaps, Lucca thought, this was not so hopeless. Marle admired her work with pride, then said, "Okay, Lucca. New game. I'm going to beat someone at chess before we go home." 

"Marle..." 

"You've got to play until Crono gets here. He's not as smart as you, so maybe I can win against him!" 

"But that could be hours," Lucca said. Besides, Crono was at least as good at chess as she was, when he took it seriously. 

"I don't care. Somebody's going to play chess with me." Exasperated, Marle checked the watch in her pocket. "Where is Crono? He should have been here an hour ago, and that's assuming he was a bit late." 

Crono was always late. Another of his oh-so-wonderful qualities. Lucca had a good guess where he was, but that did not tell her when he'd arrive. "He'll get here eventually. Whether or not we're still here is the question," she mumbled. 

Marle looked up from the board. "That reminds me. I've got to be back at the castle by six. I need to check on my dad of course, but the Chancellor wants to talk politics, mainly about my trip to Porre and Medina. There are a few things he wants me to try and bring up in my speeches if possible. Most of it's just propaganda, but some of it is important." 

Lucca nodded. "I guess you'll just have to get used to all this responsibility. How is the king? Is he improving any?" 

Marle shook her head. "No. The doctors aren't really sure what's wrong," she said, her head hanging low. "At first it just seemed like a cold, but it's not going away, and it's slowly getting worse." 

"I wish I could help, Marle. If you want, I could take a look at some of the doctors' reports." 

"Thanks, but that's okay." Her smile was dazzling, as always, but Lucca saw that it was forced. Marle's eyes were focused on the chessboard. "He's not even very old," she said, after making her first move. "It can't be that he's just old. I mean, we all have to die eventually, right? But him, now?" It was difficult to tell, but Marle was struggling to hold back tears. Though she often came across as silly and naive, time and again Marle had revealed incredible reserves of strength that Lucca had to admire. "He's not just the king to me, you know. He's my dad!" A single tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. "I just don't want to lose him, not yet." Lucca moved to sit beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. 

"It's okay Marle. These things happen, but we have to accept them. King Guardia's not dead yet, and he may get better." 

"You're right. I know that I shouldn't be worrying so much right now. It's just..." She was silent for a moment, then asked, "Lucca, do you think I can make a good queen? Honestly?" 

Lucca sighed. "Yeah, Marle. I think you'll be just as wise and noble a ruler as your father." She moved back to her side of the stump. "So, shall we finish our match?" 

"Yeah. And just one more. I'm getting tired of chess, too. Thanks, Lucca." She wiped her face again and smiled. 

"For what?" 

"For being such a good friend, of course. You don't know how important you and Crono are to me. I'm glad you're coming with me on my tour of the kingdom. I feel a lot better about it just knowing you'll be there with me." 

Lucca could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. She'd gotten so few compliments in her life that Marle's sincere smile could still make her blush. "Hey, what are friends for? Crono and I don't mind coming along at all. You know that we'd take any excuse for a vacation. I certainly won't mind missing my history classes." 

Marle nodded. "That must be weird." 

"Yeah, teaching other people your own age and older does feel odd, but having Crono in one of my classes is even stranger. He's a difficult student. Most of the others are just difficult people." 

"I could talk to Crono, if you'd like. Maybe ask him to behave himself." 

"Don't worry." Crono loved to torment her, but it was all in good fun. "So, we leave Tuesday, right?" 

"Yep," Marle said. "Just us. I'm still trying to smooth things over with the Chancellor. He isn't too keen on me traveling without the royal guard, but he's pretty much given in already. I thought we'd just walk and camp. It will be wonderful to spend more time with you guys than just Saturdays." Marle wasn't interested in the game anymore, so she just moved a random piece. "Think Crono will be agreeable?" 

"Of course he will. He loves wandering about lost." 

"Good." She sighed, checking her pocket watch once again. "I do wish he'd hurry up." 

Lucca smiled to herself. "He told me he might have somewhere to stop. I wouldn't fret over it." Lucca moved a rook. "Checkmate." 

Marle just stared at the board. 

"Just keep practicing, Marle. You'll improve."   
  
  
  


The door flew open and a groggy teenager stumbled out, then worked his way up to a fast jog. Crono checked his watch again. "Holy crap! Lucca and Marle are gonna kill me! Gotta run, gotta run, gotta-" Crono skidded to a halt. "The door," he reminded himself. He ran back and shut the front door. "Now, where was I? Ah yes, running." 

Crono dashed through Truce on his way out to the forest. Past the marketplace, past the school, past the church, past the mayor's house, past the guard station, past the little fireworks shop on the edge of town. His boots pounded against the road as he ran full tilt. 

Crono glanced at his wrist. "I might make it in under two hours late!" He was entering the forest. Run, run, run, "Wait!" Crono slammed into a tree and fell to the ground. "The present." Picking himself up and dusting off, Crono turned around. "Gotta get the present. Focus, Crono, focus!" 

Back past the little fireworks shop on the edge of the town, past the guard station, past the mayor's house, past the church, past the school, back to the marketplace. Saturdays were always the busiest days for the market, and the streets were packed with the usual crowd of shoppers. Between the permanent shops on either side, traveling merchants had parked their carts and spread their wares in the streets. Crono searched for the shop he wanted. Weaving his way through a human maze of bellowing vendors, angry housewives, and crying children, he found the familiar storefront. A painted sign of an axe hung above the door. Nailed to the door itself, a much smaller sign read, "Melchior, Blacksmith." 

Crono stepped in, and as the heavy door shut behind him, the noise of the street became a distant hum. The front room was small. A counter was opposite the door, and racks of iron tools and weaponry lined the side walls. Behind the counter, an open doorway led to the workshops. His eyes drifted from polished axeheads to the point of a bejeweled rapier. Presently, a squat man with a prominent grey moustache entered from the back rooms, moving with apparent effort. "Beautiful Saturday, isn't it?" he said, noticing his customer. Light glittered on his round spectacles. 

"Morning, Melchior." Crono stepped forward to shake hands with the Guru. 

"You're here for this, no doubt." Melchior lifted a large package from behind the counter. "Just as you requested." Crono accepted the package carefully, propping it over his shoulder. "By the way," Melchior added, "are you still keeping in practice?" 

Crono rested his free hand on the hilt of his sword. "I try to, but I've been slacking off lately. I'm getting lazy these days." 

"Truly, these are lazy days. Mind if I see it for a minute?" Melchior asked. Crono unsheathed his sword and held it over the counter. Even in the dim room, it shone brilliantly. The Guru carefully examined the katana, paying careful attention to the blade. He ran a finger down the edge, too lightly to draw blood. "The Rainbow is a unique sword. I must admit that I had never made a sword of shell and was unsure of how it would turn out. Now," he said with a smile, "I find myself wishing I had more of the material. I would certainly like to see a creature that made its shell out of a material that can be worked like steel." He held the sword up to Crono. "Continue taking such good care of it, and I hope that you find my latest work satisfactory." 

"It's a present for Marle," Crono said. 

"Yes, I thought so. The poor girl could use some cheering up. Life must be getting hard for her," he said with a sympathetic frown. 

"She's been having a lot less free time lately. With the king's poor health and all, everyone's been pushing her harder and trying to get her to take over some of the royal duties. She's got to go to Porre and Medina in a few days, in place of her father. Lucca's been helping her work on her speeches." Marle's public speaking skills needed no assistance, but as for what to say, she liked to have a speech planned out, usually with help from Lucca or him. 

Melchior nodded. "I hope she manages well. She's a strong young woman." 

"One good thing is I get to miss school for a couple weeks. Lucca and I are going with her. She likes to have us around when she has to go so far from the castle and its guards." 

Already the smith was returning to the back rooms. "She'll have nothing to fear with the two of you along," he called. "If you'll excuse me, the forge calls. Have a pleasant day." 

"You, too," Crono answered. Melchior returned to his work as the boy rushed out the door. 

Crono forced his way through the crowd as best he could. He had the added burden of Marle's present, so he could not squeeze through the press of bodies as well. Unfortunately, he got caught up in a crowd listening to some 'prophet' as he was passing a vegetable stand. Such individuals had become painfully common with the end of the millennium, but were slowly losing steam. 

"Repent, and the Great Kilwala shall smile upon your mortal shell. Fail to do so, and thou shalt feel the flames of his revenge!" the man said. He was dressed in only a turban and a teddy bear print diaper. A small candle was on top of the turban, slowly burning. "The Great Kilwala has smiled upon Guardia. Praise him, or he may see his choice as a bad one, and all shall pay! Come, someone of the crowd. Join me and repent your sins and be granted admission into the Promised Land. You, young man!" 

Crono stopped trying to shove past observers. He pointed a finger at himself. "Me?" 

The man nodded solemnly. "Yes, come and be forgiven, child of the Kilwala!" 

Before he could refuse, the crowd had shoved him up to the holy man. He smiled at Crono. "Do not try to hide your sins, child. The Great Kilwala is not fooled on the day of destiny." He placed a hand on Crono's shoulder. "Come, share your sins, and be forgiven." 

The crowd was staring at him, waiting for him to speak. The prophet was just watching him, trying to look friendly in his teddy bear diaper. "Well, once I put a squirrel in an electrical outlet to see what would happen. And there was the time I left fake dog shit all over the castle steps, but I was seven then." 

"Speak no more of this, child." The man placed a hand on Crono's forehead. "With the holy powers granted to me by the Great Kilwala, I shall look upon your true being. Only then will you be truly purified." The man's eyes rolled back into his head. 

Crono just stood there. "See anything interesting yet?" 

The holy man's eyes returned to their place after a minute. He stepped back in fear. "Away, spawn of darkness!" The man pulled out a small cross and held it in Crono's face. There was a small, crucified Kilwala on it. The expression on its chubby face suggested constipation more than sadness. "Taint not my mind with visions of your wretched soul!" 

Everyone stared at Crono. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling rather awkward. "Um...I did find a little girl's cat for her once...if that's worth anything..."   
  
  
  


"This really isn't necessary, okay. I'm perfectly happy being a rotten sinner doomed to eternal damnation in the fires of the Burning Sea. Honest!" The townsfolk carrying him weren't listening. They continued their march to the center of town. "I'm very very late! Put me down!" 

The diaper-clad prophet motioned to the well up ahead. "Submerse him in the Water of Life," he proclaimed. "Only then will he be pure, and our sacred duty to the Great Kilwala will be fulfilled!" 

"It's not that I have anything against your Great Kilwala, I just have more important things to do." They ignored him. "Just put me down!"   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 2 --

  


Two candles lit the room, one at each end of the table. The smell of burning wicks was smothered by Ozzie VIII's pungent odor. The blue rolls of fat quivered with each wheezing breath. A small green imp scurried up beside his leader's chair. He mumbled, "Is this wise, my lord? How much do we really know about these people. Not all mercenaries can be trusted with such a...sensitive matter." 

Ozzie waved the imp's complaints away with a slight gesture of his hand. "These sorts are always loyal, as long as they're paid. These ones are the finest to be had." 

"Finest what?" the imp asked. "Their last jobs have all been simple, uneventful guard duty. What kind of a resume is that?" 

"Don't pretend to not know their When was the last time someone was at war, huh?" Ozzie asked, poking the imp in the chest. "The pickings have been slim for their kind. I am certain they are the best for the task." At least, he hoped so. 

The imp frowned, but decided not to argue with his master anymore. "When will they be here?" 

On cue, a form seemed to ooze out of the shadows in front of the table. The imp hissed in surprise and backed away a step, trying to make itself as unobtrusive as possible. Ozzie frowned. "You are but one." 

The figure as masculine, and of average height. Nothing especially intimidating. A large staff was at his side. Ozzie could see little else in the half-light. "I didn't feel the need for us all to come," he said. "I am our leader, so to speak." 

Ozzie nodded his bloated head. "Yes, Draino isn't it?" He didn't respond. "I contacted you to make a request for your services." 

Draino lifted an eyebrow. "I'm listening." 

"You are obviously aware of Medina's friendly relations with Guardia. The ferry will be finished soon, we get lots of human visitors, and so on. Very pesky bunch, humans. Always running through town going, 'Mommy, Mommy look at the funny animals'. Personally, I find being called an animal rather offensive, especially by some pathetic human child. And then, with fall here and Halloween soon, they'll be all over the place. A very silly holiday. All those children, and even grown men, prancing about in cheap costumes, half of them modeled after us, asking for tricks or treats. I'll show those brats some tricks all right, if any of them have the nerve to come over here and knock on my door. Make 'em shit in their little pants." Ozzie noticed the rather annoyed look on Draino's face. His large blue ears twitched with irritation. "Four hundred years ago," he continued, reluctantly getting to the point, "the Hero defeated Magus and his general, Ozzie I." 

"I don't need a history lesson," Draino said, interrupting him. 

"Perhaps some other sort of lesson," Ozzie said, sitting up straighter. Draino remained quiet. "We have not forgotten. I'm sure you can understand how humiliating it was for that rotten toad to slay our leaders. Only recently has my family been able to show their faces in public. Oh, the shame! I remember being a little Mystic, how all the other kids insulted my family for its failures and lit matches between my little toes. Scorched them badly. I've still got a few scars. Very sad. Anyway, our association with Guardia is false, though, for the sake of security, not all of our people are aware of it. Sometimes, such measures are necessary for the greater good. Has unfortunate results, though. Mystics no longer spit at humans whenever they pass nearby. Some even like humans. Can you believe they feel like that? I've even heard some rumors of intermarriage." A shiver ran through his abundant mass. "Disgusting, isn't it." 

"I'm human, you know," Draino said flatly. 

"Yes, but you are not a loyal Guardian. There is a difference. I have contacted the Purge to help us return to our former glory. If not for the Hero, we'd rule the world. That may yet be reality, though." Ozzie smiled. "The Mystics will rise again." 

"Loyal Mystics have been saying that for the last 400 years. I see no signs of any attempts to back that statement up." 

Ozzie scowled. "Might I remind you that I am the employer. We are willing to pay the Purge dearly for assistance. The Mystics will overthrow Guardia, and within my lifetime if I have anything to say about it. I am told you have experience in this field." 

Draino nodded. "If you want a revolution, we can start it. If you want a war fought for you, I'm afraid I need to be going." 

"We have an army, Mr. Draino. A mighty army. But no army can conquer the whole of Guardia in a frontal assault. It is simply too expansive. We ask your organization only to cause disorder in Guardia. Assassinations, revolts, anything. We offer you full freedom in operation. When Mystic soldiers set foot on Guardian soil, we will be willing to pay you whatever you ask, within reason...and possibly then some." 

"Is there anyone you would like left alive, specifically?" 

Ozzie shrugged. "Humans make good slaves. No indiscriminate slaughter, please." 

"I meant more along the lines of royalty and such." 

"Oh, well, I'd like to listen to them scream as we slaughter them, so try to leave some. You don't need to destroy all organization in the kingdom, just...really addle them." 

Draino nodded. "Your request sounds reasonable. But do we have a deadline?" 

Ozzie considered this. "As long as you are still working toward the objective, you have as long as necessary." He extended a hand. "Do you accept the job?" Take it, he thought. Give us one more piece to play. 

Draino smiled. "I believe so," he said, eyeing the small, blue hand expectantly waving in the air with concealed disgust. "You will not regret dealing with the Purge. I'll return tomorrow to negotiate the final terms. I must warn you, do not cross us." 

Ozzie shook his head. "We wouldn't dream of it." 

Draino left without touching the Mystic's hand. Ozzie clenched it into a fist, feeling somewhat offended. The imp made its presence know again, sneering after the mysterious human. "I trust them less." 

"I didn't ask for your opinion." Ozzie VIII leaned back, still clenching his fist. In a matter of months, never again would anyone speak to him like that. We will cross whomever we please, he thought, no matter how infamous.   
  
  
  


Draino stepped out into the noon sunlight. He was dressed in loose, dark clothing with a flowing cape. His hair was a silvery white, though not from age, as he looked to be a young man still. At the head of the staff he carried was a perfect sphere of some green stone. It pulsed with its own light, though the glow was hard to see in full daylight. Draino looked up toward the sky. "Finally," he said to himself. "Real employment. This job will put food in our stomachs." He glanced from side to side, but didn't see what he was looking for. "Shellac! Where the hell did you go?" 

He was answered by silence. "Shellac! Get your straw ass over here now!" 

A cluster of spinning feathers appeared under a tree. Crow feathers. They glowed purple, and materialized into Shellac. The oddly dressed scarecrow tipped his tattered red hat. "Right here, Draino. You call?" He could move his mouth enough to speak, despite the stitches that crisscrossed it. "I've got something for us." He held out his hand, holding a bag of coins. "I stole them from this really cranky, really short old guy. Looked kind of important from his clothing. We should be able to buy food and toiletries for at least another week. Maybe we could even splurge a bit and get some matches. You know, quality ones, not the kind you can lift from inns." 

"Not now, Shellac. We have a job." 

Shellac looked impressed. "We do, huh? Not another pile of manure to guard, I hope" he said. "I still smell faintly of shit from the last job we had." 

Draino shook his head. "I mean a real job. The kind with actual killing." 

"Really?" Shellac smiled. He removed the scythe that hung from his back and examined the blade. "Any burning? Killing just isn't worth the effort without pyrotechnics." 

Draino nodded. "Most likely. Just try not to burn your arms off this time." 

Shellac frowned. "They grow right back in a day," he said. "It's an acceptable price for a good blaze. What are we burning?" 

"Nothing yet. I just said we might burn some stuff." 

"I hope we burn things. What's the job? Some farmer wants us to raze a competitor's field? That's usually low-paying, but it can be fun. Is it another demolition job? There's burning involved with that. Or are we stealing cattle? No fire there, but things always get wonderfully complicated on easy jobs." 

"Will you shut up about the burning already?" Draino asked. 

"But..." 

Draino looked him in the eyes. "We're ushering the fall of Guardia." 

"Oh, just that," Shellac said. Wait...what had Draino said? "BRINGING DOWN GUARDIA! Finally, a real job. Who the hell's hiring us?" 

"The Medinans are out to rule the world. Crazy bastards. But that's not our concern. I've been considering this, and I think we shall be able to move our own plans forward as well. How's Lysol coming with deciphering those texts?" 

"Okay. She still hasn't found all of what you're looking for. I think she said it should still take a month or so to finish. She wants to be thorough in case there are any catches." 

"What I'M looking for?" Draino glared at the scarecrow. There was impatience in his face, not surprise, as if this was a frequent argument. 

Shellac glared back. "This is mainly your dream. I think the rest of us are content as we are." 

"Let the others speak for themselves." 

"I think I know how they feel about it better than you do." 

Draino didn't answer for a second. "Just remind her," he said finally, allowing the argument to drop. 

Shellac didn't answer, but his empty eye sockets remained fixed to Draino. 

Draino turned away. "I may interrupt her, if she's needed. The Medinans are willing to pay serious money, so we're not messing this one up." 

Shellac nodded, returning to studying his weapon. "Sounds okay. What do you think we should start doing?" 

"I'm sending the others to cause some riots, get the people in the distant areas worked up, that sort of thing. You have a special job." 

"Really?" 

Draino flashed an evil smile. "How does kidnapping sound?" 

"Kidnapping?" Shellac sighed. "What is it with you and kidnapping? It never accomplishes anything." 

"You'll be kidnapping Princess Nadia." 

Shellac put an arm around Draino's shoulders. "Must you be so cliche about it, too? Kidnapping princesses?" he pointed out. "Are you sure there isn't anything a bit more original I could do? I mean, what kind of reputation are we going to have if the best we can come up with is to kidnap a princess? She's got that punk to come and rescue her and everything. It'll be a mess. Fun, yes, but a big mess." 

"Trust me here on this. If the history books want to call us uncreative, fine. I want this money. Now get going." He shrugged Shellac off. "Start stalking her or something. You're good at that." 

"At least you're giving me something fun to do." Shellac disappeared in a swirl of feathers.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 3 --

  


Crono finally reached the clearing, panting and soaked. He put the package down and waited to catch his breath, clutching a stitch in his side. "Hey, Lucca. Hey, Marle," he finally managed. "I'm not too late, am I?" 

Lucca shook her head. "Of course not. You're just a little bit later than average." 

Marle frowned, noticing Crono's soggy clothing. "I'm glad you made it, of course, but you're sort of wet, Crono." 

"Sorry, I had some errands to run, and then I was held up by the following of the Great Kilwala. They decided I was impure and threw me in the Water of Life." He bent over and rung his hair out, producing a sizable puddle. "But the important thing is that I'm here, and it's actually still Saturday. So what are we doing?" 

Marle motioned to their makeshift table. The chess board sat neglected on the tree stump. "Lucca was helping me practice chess, but we got tired of it. We were talking about my tour of the kingdom. The Chancellor still has issues with it, but that shouldn't be a problem." It was only now that Marle noticed the package sitting at her feet. "What's that you brought with you?" she asked, picking it up. It was quite heavier than she expected. 

"Lucca and I were feeling sorry for you, so we got you a present. It's what I had to stop and get." 

Marle immediately hopped up and clung to Crono. "You two are so sweet! What is it?" 

"Just open it," Crono told her. Marle tore into it. Wrapping paper flew everywhere. "No need to hurry or anything." Marle finally got through the packaging, and removed a crossbow. The workmanship was beyond comparison, easily exceeding any one she had owned previously. It was of reddish, lacquered wood with silver inlays. It was absolutely splendid in the afternoon sunlight. 

Marle stared in awe. "It's amazing. Where did you find it?" 

Lucca got up and walked over to join them. "Melchior made it. We knew the Chancellor had insisted that all of your others be stored in the armory, and won't let you near them." 

"So," Crono continued, "we got you a new one. You can keep it somewhere other than the castle if you're worried about the Chancellor confiscating it. We thought you could use it, with the trip and all." 

"Thank you so much," she said, hugging them both again. "I can't wait to try it out." Marle set it by the stump. "Not now, of course. The day isn't gone yet. What should we do? Chess is out," she said, dismissing that thought with a wave of her hand. 

"Annoy people?" Crono offered. It was the first thing that came to mind. Marle lacked his love for being a mild nuisance, but it was worth a shot. 

"No, we spent six hours in the overnight lockup with Toothpick Bob last time we tried that," Lucca said, shuddering. That had been...interesting to say the least. 

"Oh yeah..." Crono forced images of Toothpick Bob's 'Potato Game' out of his mind. He pondered. "Lacking anything better to do, we could always call it a day and go home." 

Marle nodded. "Coming home early ought to help me get on the Chancellor's good side." 

"And I've got stuff to work on and papers to grade," Lucca added. 

Crono shrugged. His day had only begun, and he'd have no trouble finding something to do on his own. "Guess that's it. Sorry I was so late." 

"It's okay, Crono. Thanks to both of you for the crossbow. See you Tuesday!" Marle called as she left. 

Lucca and Crono were left by themselves. Lucca packed the chess set into her bag. "The next couple of chapters should be easy for you," Lucca said. 

"Really?" 

"The Mystic War. You were there." The two of them had fought in that last stages of that war, alongside a knight cursed with the body of an amphibian, Frog. 

"Yeah. And I'll try to behave for the next two days. I suppose it's the least I can do." 

Lucca shouldered her bag. "You'd better behave for the rest of the year. The class is bad enough without you trying to exploit the fact that we're friends." 

Crono grinned. "Yes, Miss Lucca." Plenty of people called her that at school, but Crono knew how to say it just right to get on her nerves. 

"I meant that. I don't want a repeat of last year's School Pride Day ever again." 

"It really wasn't so bad," he said. 

"You egged and rolled the whole school. Isn't that just a bit excessive?" 

"I was showing my school pride...or lack there of. And you were laughing, too," he accused. "You can't deny that it was funny." 

Lucca glared at him. "Until I found my room full of stink bugs. You got the keys from me, remember. I was in deep shit for quite some time." 

"I did that to the principal too, you know. And the counselor got a cow, and his office is on the second floor." 

"Just leave me out of your displays of 'school pride' from now on," she said. "They aren't worth the headaches." 

Crono shrugged. "Whatever. Just look forward to Tuesday. I'll be out of annoying student mode for the little journey we're going on." 

"Just don't do anything too stupid in two days." Lucca disappeared into the forest. For the first time, as Crono watched her leave, he took notice of the wiry muscles of her slightly-tanned legs and her slim frame hidden beneath clothes a size or two too large. She was so unlike the soft, pale bookworm that had been his best friend for years. Indeed, they had all been changed so much. 

Crono was left alone. With luck, this trip would go fine. He plopped down on the stump, right on a blob of bird dung. But with his luck...   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 4 --

  


Lucca dashed around in the damp grass. She was chasing dragonflies. They darted left and right, hovering in one spot until she came too close. The glitter of their compound eyes mystified her. One stopped right in front of her face, its transparent wings a blur at its sides. She giggled and tried to grab it, but it flew away before her small hands could grasp it. She sat down in the grass, watching the insects dance around her. She was four. 

"Lucca! Come here, honey." Lucca turned. Her mother, Lara, was calling her from the door. She watched as Lara walked toward her. Turning back, she found most of her friends gone. They had flown over to a patch of flowers; dandelions and daisies. It struck her as an odd combination for some reason. Lucca turned her head heavenward, her attention now consumed by the night sky. 

She felt arms wrap around her and lift her off the ground. "You don't need to be out this late, dear. You'll catch cold." She brushed the dirt off Lucca, noticing the grass stains that decorated her dress. 

"There are so many, Mommy. Has anyone ever counted them all?" 

"So many what?" Lucca pointed to the sky. "Oh, no, honey. No one's ever tried to count them all. There are too many." 

"What are they?" 

"You're father would tell you they're big balls of burning gas, or something like that. It's reasonable enough, I suppose." 

Lucca stared in awe. "Are they magic?" 

Lara smiled. "Of course not. But then again..." She pointed to one off to the north. It was brighter than all the others around it. "Do you see that bright one?" 

"Yep." It was the prettiest one Lucca had ever seen. 

"That's the North Star. It's always in the north here. If you're ever lost, you can find north by looking for it." 

"Really?" 

"Yes. And, if my memory serves me, people worshiped it a long time ago. They thought that as long as you could see the North Star, nothing could go wrong." 

Lucca continued to stare. "Is that true, Mommy?" 

"People really thought that, but I don't know if it's true. I don't see why it couldn't be, though." 

Lucca stared at it. It's light seemed to consume her. Her mother's arms were a blanket wrapped around her. She was seven. The night air was cold, and the blanket didn't help much. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She had sobbed until the tears refused to pour anymore. The stone porch she sat on was freezing. 

Inside, the doctors were tending to her mother's legs. She had gotten caught in Daddy's machine. Lucca couldn't stop it. Mommy wouldn't walk again. Lucca had failed. She was waiting outside, angrily writing on a sheet of paper, adding to her diary. She resolved not to mess up again. Not to fail. Not to let the ones she cared for be harmed. As she wrote, the muscles in her arm tensed, begging to lash out at something, release some of the built up energy. Lucca finally gave up and scribbled down the rest of the paper. It didn't help. She flung her pencil and watched as it spun through the air. It fell to the ground, scattering a group of dragonflies hovering over a patch of flowers. She slammed her fist down on the porch. The pain only fueled her rage. 

The tears came again.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 5 --

  


The smallest arrow, little more than a line, moved along steadily. The other two moved barely at all, creeping to their destinations that they passed each day. The tiny one passed the nine, then the ten, followed by the eleven and twelve. As it passed twelve, the other two hands met it there. Above the face, a small wooden door opened. Painted across it were the words 'The Smartass'. A furry poyozo waddled forward, stopping at the open doorway. A fake cigarette was gripped loosely in its mouth. It gave a powerful, full-body smile, jiggling its roly-poly mass. 

"Twelve noon, you big buffoon!" it announced. "This hour's advice, 'Never count your hairs. There's just to many of the damn things, dumbass! You'll go mad!'" The door shut as the poyozo waddled back into the clock. 

Marle glanced up at the clock Crono had given her on her last birthday. It was odd, but she couldn't have refused it. And as far as she could tell, The Smartass had yet to repeat the same bit of advice. How useful that advice had been...well, that was another matter. Sighing, she glanced at the door to her room. She heard the door down the hall opening, the muffled 'Good day' to the guards. 

Tuesday had come quickly, but the wait proved to be the least of her annoyances. As she stuffed several sets of clothes into her bag, the Chancellor walked in, glancing around, absorbing every detail, as he always did. He thought it was being thorough and alert. Marle thought he was just nosy. The Chancellor cleared his throat to get her attention. "May I help you, Chancellor?" she asked, as politely as she could manage. 

He stepped closer, his eyes darting to the crossbow on her bed every few seconds. "No, no, Princess, I merely came to check on you. You see, I've been going over the rosters and deciding on the men to escort you on your travels. Guardia should be proud of her military. So many fine young lads of such exceeding skill. Very hard to choose indeed, but I assure you that I'll only send the best." 

"I've already told you that the royal guard is to remain at the castle, she said. "All of them." 

The Chancellor stepped closer again. "This is the last time I'm going to try. Please, Princess. Try to see reason." 

"I said not to send any with us." 

He sighed. "Come now, my dear. I cannot have you wandering around so far from the castle without royal guards nearby. It just wouldn't do." 

She shook her head. "I know my way around, and my friends will be there to help me. I'll be perfectly safe." 

"Really, Princess Nadia," the Chancellor said, "just think for a moment. The kingdom is not as safe as the castle. There are all kinds of unpleasant types roaming around." Marle remained silent. "Con artists and bands of thieves led by very unsympathetic men are all over our lands. Murderers, rapists, and terrorists are, too. The royal tax collectors are out there, for crying out loud. Not that they'd harm you or anything, they're just rather frightening people to encounter at night, or at day for that matter. Makes little difference really." He sighed, realizing he was getting off topic. "Look, you must understand that you need trained, loyal soldiers of Guardia to protect you from these horrors." 

"Are you suggesting that Crono is neither trained nor loyal?" 

"Not at all!" the Chancellor answered, knowing that he couldn't win this argument with reason. "I trust your friends, but if anything were to happen...I wouldn't be able to face the king ever again. You know how much he cares for you. He doesn't need to be told his daughter was harmed while traveling on what should have been his journey. His health is not improving." 

"I know," she said solemnly. "But I need to get away from this royal lifestyle for a while." She glared down at the Chancellor. "I may not be able to take many breaks from it soon. Don't you understand?" 

The Chancellor turned away and thought. "You have a point," he said, pacing in front of her. "But if anything goes wrong, I want you back here at the castle as soon as possible. We can forget making the people love you if they try to kill you." 

"No one wants me dead," she said. 

"You don't know that." The Chancellor was always overly paranoid. Marle figured that he was mainly worried about his own job. "Not all of the world loves the government. I still don't fully trust the Medinans." 

"The Medinans have been our allies for the last 400 years. You can't still hold a grudge over something that happened that long ago." 

"We all have a right to our own opinions." Marle didn't answer. "Look, I know that all of the main urban centers in the world are friendly to Guardia, or at least act like it, but that doesn't mean the people are. I'm only concerned for your well being. Now, I'll let you go. Just you and your friends. I trust you and them enough. But don't put yourself in any unnecessary danger. You're the only heir the king has." The Chancellor walked away. At the door he stopped briefly and said, "Please, Nadia. Try to remember that." 

He left Marle's room, leaving the princess alone. A rare occurrence in her life. Marle checked the bag on her bed, adding a few odd items she had forgotten. Her new crossbow was beside it, along with her quiver. The Chancellor had apparently chosen not to comment on its presence.   
  
  
  


Lucca leaned back against her desk, glancing at the textbook that lay open beside her. The classroom was dim and stifling, the only light coming from curtained windows on the opposite wall. Electricity was still novel, new concept in Truce, and it hadn't yet made it as far as the school. "Now," she began, "one must consider the situation in Guardia at the time of the war. Magus' armies had been slowed when the fighting on Zenan Bridge caused its destruction. The Mystics have always had an odd reluctance to use boats, particularly for moving troops, the reason it has taken 400 years for a ferry to be built to join us. Guardian morale was at the lowest point in the war. The Hero, Sir Cyrus, was nowhere to be found. It is not known exactly why..." Lucca paused. "Crono, please but your hand down." 

Crono frowned. "Aww, but..." Lucca glared at him. "Fine." He lowered his hand. 

"As I was saying, it IS NOT KNOWN exactly why Sir Cyrus disappeared or what became of him. Several people claimed to be the Hero, one even had the Hero Medal; however, these all proved to be frauds. A true replacement for Cyrus appeared in the form of Sir Frog. Frog's curse, most likely caused by Magus himself, suggests that there may be some truth in the theories that Cyrus died fighting Magus. It is believed that Frog was Cyrus' squire, Glenn, though no written records exist that prove this..." Crono's hand had gone up again. Fine, Lucca thought, I'll use you. "Class, if you will recall, it was stated earlier in our text that historians use a variety of sources, often categorized into primary and secondary. Now, many primary sources exist from this period, such as letters and diaries written during the war. We also have secondary sources, like the records of royal historians from later years." 

She stalked toward Crono. "We are lucky enough to have our own living, breathing primary source in this very classroom." Everyone looked to Crono, who quickly lowered his hand. "Crono, as you all know, is credited with saving the future of mankind. Whether he did or not, we cannot really tell. Knowing him, he's probably doomed us all. But, the important fact is that Crono was there. He fought beside the Hero, Sir Frog, and helped defeat Magus. Obviously, he could tell us a great deal about this Sir Frog and the events of the end of the war. Unfortunately, Crono is absent from our text, and, since I'm being paid to teach you exactly what this propaganda-saturated book says, we'll just have to ignore Crono's opinion on the matter, despite its historical accuracy. Not that anyone's opinion has any real importance anyway." 

"Hey, I happen to have some very good opinions." 

Lucca sighed. "We know, Crono. You share them with the class on a regular basis. But this his Guardian History, not What Really Happened Back Then. Go figure. Now, how about a test so I can sit here and do nothing, but still get paid?" The class groaned. Lucca smiled. Teaching was great.   
  
  
  


The princess shuffled something around in her bag, then glanced around her. Apparently, she didn't see what she needed. After digging through the closet, Nadia left her bedroom to search for the missing whatever, shutting the door behind her. Outside, Shellac pried his face off the window. "Well," he mumbled, "I'm remembering why I usually leave this stalking stuff to Old Dutch. I think it's time for me to check in." So far, he knew more trivial data on the princess than was healthy. Thankfully, his time spent with his face pressed against dirty glass had not been wasted. One, he knew that no one bothered washing the windows this high up. Two, he knew that the princess was going to be without royal protection. That simplified things a bit. 

He glanced at the clock inside the princess's room. "Yep. Farewell, sweet Nadia. This invasion of your privacy has been not unlike cheap lighter fluid, both fun and educational, but, alas, all good things must come to an end someday. Don't say anything I need to hear while I'm gone." Shellac stepped back from the window. As he began to fall, he recalled that he had been standing on a window sill. "Why do I always do that?" The scarecrow dematerialized in a flurry of feathers.   
  
  
  


Biggs raised his binoculars to get a better look. "Whoa." He and Wedge were looking into the window of a building in the town. He frequently praised the wonder that was high-powered binoculars. "Look at her..." It was their lunch break, though they were ignoring their food at the moment. Steaming bowls of some kind of pork stew sat on the rampart in front of them. It was yellowish and smelled strongly. 

"Those knives..." Wedge said breathlessly. 

"I know, man. Look at them shine. You can cut through copper piping with those things." 

Wedge nodded. "Look at the way she dices those carrots. Up and down. Up and down. It just slides right into them." 

"Man, if we had a set like that, we could..." 

"We could what?" 

"Hell if I know. But it'd rock." 

"Dude." As the woman left their field of view with a pile of freshly cut carrots, Wedge glanced back at the castle they were supposed to be guarding. Why a big, stone, indestructible castle needed guards was beyond him. Up near the top of one of the towers, he could see a figure pressed against a window. A trace of pity flashed through his mind. He felt bad for anyone who had to be so close to those windows. He raised his binoculars. The figure, dressed mainly in reds, was definitely looking through the window. Something was wrong with it. The proportions looked off. No person had such long limbs compared to their body. 

The thing pulled away from the grimy window, but then stepped off the side of the tower. Wedge watched as the falling figure seemed to sparkle, then suddenly disappeared. He glanced over at Biggs. "Hey Biggs?" 

Biggs was staring at the tower, too. "Yeah man?" 

"Did you just see what I saw?" 

"I think so. You see the blade that thing was carrying? Some big scythe. It had this neat green thing in the blade. What I wouldn't give for a scythe like that. It looked sharper than the guillotine in the town square. If we had a blade like that, man, we could..." 

"What?" 

Biggs shrugged. "Hell if I know. But it'd rock." 

"Dude." The two stood in silent reverence. "So what do you think that thing was?" 

"It was a scythe, man. I already said that. What are you, some kind of dumbass or something?" 

"No, man," Wedge said. "Not the scythe. Of course I saw that. I mean the thing carrying the scythe. What do you think it was? Looked like some sort of straw man to me, but it was moving. Straw men ain't supposed to move, ya know." 

Biggs thought. "Must be the poi." 

Wedge looked at the bowl beside him. "Strong stuff."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 6 --

  


Dashing down the shaded street, Crono could see Lucca up ahead. It was fall, and a thick layer of acorns crunched under his boots, threatening to trip him. Oaks were very common and popular in Truce, so it was impossible to keep the roads clear. Almost caught up, he thought. Just a few more steps... 

Lucca glanced over her shoulder and stopped. She watched as an acorn under Crono's boot rolled, throwing him off balance. He stumbled around trying to regain his footing, but found it impossible. Lucca marveled at the awkward grace with which Crono fell. The loud thump he made as he hit the pavement face first was both humorous and strangely satisfying. She knew he wasn't seriously hurt. "Finished with detention, miscreant?" she asked. 

Crono pried himself of the street and stood, brushing broken bits of acorn off his clothes and out of his hair. "Yes, I am. Thank you for your concern." 

"It actually wasn't me who gave it to you today. A rare occurrence indeed." 

Crono plucked an acorn out of his left nostril. "I'm getting out of school early today, but I still have to stay for detention," he complained. 

"We must all keep our appointments, no matter the circumstance." 

"But today's the day we go with Marle. You could have gotten me out of it." 

Crono had a point. "Still, you need it. Maybe if you spend enough time in detention, you'll learn how not to get into trouble and still keep your brain from rotting at school." 

"Miracles are rare, and never happen to me. But we can hope. So, where is Marle waiting for us? If either of you told me, I've forgotten." That wasn't too unlikely. Crono had a serious problem remembering anything of minor importance. If it was meaningless or absolutely vital, no problem, but if it fell in the middle, well... 

"You actually didn't forget. We didn't bother mentioning it to you. Sorry. She's at the signpost where the main road meets the path to the castle, where she always waits when we head west." There was a patch of ground by the sign worn barren of grass from Marle pacing back and forth over it for hours. 

"That makes sense." 

Lucca sighed. This was going to be a long trip. "Marle's going to be busy most of the time while we're in towns. What do you think we should do? I don't think we need to stand by her all day guarding her, and I'd rather not if given the choice." 

Crono shrugged. "We'll worry about that when we get there. You bring all your stuff?" 

Lucca shook her shoulders, jostling the large pack on her back. "Everything but the kitchen sink." 

Crono smiled. "Guess what." 

Lucca frowned. "I thought you would." 

"It's not the big utility kind, but it will do." 

"Then we're as set as we'll ever be." Lucca grinned evilly. "Guess what I packed five canteens full of?" 

There's only one thing that makes her do that, Crono thought. Dare I guess. "Might it be the only thing you can cook properly and that you got the recipe for far in the past?" 

Lucca stumbled around with a stoned look on her face, her arms out like wings. "Weeee! Poi... It makes me happy..." 

"Have you forgotten what the man at the detox clinic said already?" 

Lucca looked offended. "Hey! I did not need detoxification! And I only fix it on special occasions. This happens to be a special occasion." 

"So your going to lose yourself in that weird pork stew while Marle's life has been placed in our hands?" 

Lucca frowned. "Your being awfully harsh today. Marle can take care of herself just fine." 

"I know. I'm just trying to be friendly and conversational like Marle's always telling me I need to be. What have you been up to lately? I've been teaching my cats to sing hard rock. You know, the Robinsons have been acting strange as of late. Do you suppose they've...GONE INSANE?!?" Crono disliked it when Marle bugged him about not being outgoing enough. She was always trying to teach him manners and get him to engage in small talk like royalty was expected to. He hated it, and wasn't too good at it even when he did honestly try. Marle had stopped inviting him to parties lately. 

"Don't listen to her advice on behavior. We 'common folk' are simply not suited to her 'royal' code of conduct." 

"How the hell do you eat with ten utensils? Whatever happened to a fork, a spoon, and sometimes a knife? You could simplify it even more by using a spork." 

"I still eat like that, if it's any comfort." 

Crono threw an arm over her shoulder and gave a light squeeze. "Well, we'll always be fellow weirdos to the end I suppose. Idiotically breaking the constraints of society. Moronically stepping outside the boundaries of good taste. Boldly doing what everyone else wouldn't dare do." 

"We are weird, aren't we?" She smiled. "I like it that way." 

"Do you remember that time in third grade when that fruity foreign language teacher came in and spouted some nonsense at the class, then looked at us like he expected an answer? Then you shouted 'SCREW YOU TOO!'?" 

Lucca smiled. "How could I forget?" Childhood had been great. 

"If some third-grader shouted 'screw you too' at me, I'd fall over laughing." 

"You did when I said it, and we were both third-graders." 

"Yeah, well that's what I'm talking about," Crono said. "Ah, where has our youth gone? I feel old." 

"I think it got sucked up by Lavos, right along with our DNA." 

Crono shook his head. "No, I think it disappeared before that." 

He's right, she thought. We lost it long before that... 

It was a typical Tuesday in Guardia. Children were at school, their parents at work or running errands in the city. There was the muted sound of conversation, fading as they got further from the center of town. The leaves were changing colors and dropping to the ground. A light wind carried them far from their home trees. They reached the edge of town, staying on the shady path just within the forest. Every so often, Crono would make a comment on something or another, but for the most part they remained in silence. 

They finally reached the crossroads were Marle was supposed to be waiting. She was there, sitting by the sign. Several squirrels were around her, one even sitting on her shoulder. It didn't strike Lucca as odd. The concept of anything being frightened by Marle was inconceivable. She looked up and waved as they neared. Her woodland friends disappeared into the trees. 

Marle gave Crono a quick hug. "You're actually on time for once. You should be proud." 

Crono shrugged. "Yeah, well I surprise myself sometimes." 

"Anyway, we should be going. I've been thinking about what I'm going to do. We need to stop in all the small towns on the way. I probably won't make any big speeches, that's for Porre and Medina, but I'd like to at least say hello. Gotta make sure they know we haven't forgotten they exist." 

"You can just walk through the center of their village and let them throw stuff at you. People like that stuff. Makes them feel good," Crono suggested. 

"But how will I know their feelings toward Guardia if I don't speak to them?" 

"It all depends on what they throw." 

Lucca sighed. "Just say hi and tell them that Guardia loves them. It works." 

Marle smiled. "I can stand around looking pretty, and Crono can kiss babies!" 

"I don't know about the babies, Marle," Lucca said. "There are laws against child abuse. They might take it the wrong way." 

"Are you implying that I molest small children?" Crono asked. 

Lucca answered in all seriousness, "Pedophilia isn't a problem, it's a badge of honor." 

Marle looked at them both, unable to formulate a response. "Don't worry about it," Crono said. "I think Lucca had some poi before I caught up with her." Lucca began mumbling something about cheese. "Anyway, I don't want to kiss infants. They'd probably all be ugly little bastards. I might get some weird lip fungus." 

Lucca smirked. "You'd be at more risk of that if you kissed their pets." 

"Are you implying that I--" 

"So," Marle interrupted, "has anyone read any good books lately? I read a book. It was about a princess who lived in a big castle. Of course, that was at the end. At first, she lived in a small grass hut in the jungle. Her only friends were the jungle animals. They had lots of fun together, but then one day this mean man came and made her leave the jungle. He took her to this big city and put her in a cage. She was sold to this big fat ugly guy who sold books, but then he didn't want her anymore, and she was sold to another slaver guy. She went all over the place, but no one bought her. She escaped and joined this club that killed people to please the Great Kilwala and used funny magic spells. They were selling plants in their shop, this little room in an old building, when guards came in and shut them down. They found out who she was and gave her back to the slaver guy. Then, one day when she was walking to the next town with all the other slaves, this prince saw them. He really hated slavery, so he freed them all. He thought the girl was pretty, and they fell in love, so he married her. They lived in the big castle, and the girl had her jungle animals brought to the castle to live with her. She and the prince never had any kids, though, because the prince had been injured in a war. But they lived happily ever after anyway, and the castle was free of the sound of whining brats." 

It was Crono and Lucca's turn to stare. "You know," Crono said, "I always figured they monitored what she was exposed to a bit more than this." 

"Yeah, me too," Lucca added. "I guess we were wrong. There goes my faith in reality." 

"It was illustrated, too," Marle said. "I think they were etchings."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 7 --

  


The sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon, turning the sky a mix of purple and crimson. On either side of the road was farmland, mostly wheat or corn. Scattered here and there were scarecrows pinned to wooden poles. They were not serving their purpose too well. Marle checked her watch. "It's getting late. I don't think anyone would want us to sleep in their fields. Where are we?" 

Lucca checked their map. "We're making good time. There's a village, Goat Path, about two or three miles ahead. We ought to be able to make it there before it's too dark. I imagine we can find somewhere to sleep there." She glanced at the map again. If they didn't sleep too late, Lucca figured they could reach Lockton, the town on the north end of Zenan Bridge, by Saturday night. It would be another five days to Dorino, then maybe two weeks to Porre. It depended on the number of stops they made. "All is actually going pretty much as planned. Except..." 

"What?" Marle asked, sounding genuinely worried. 

"Nothing to get worked up about, Marle. I just remembered that I left a bunch of junk out behind my house. I hope my dad has enough sense to throw a tarp over it. Just some scrap metal, some fuel for a small boat, miscellaneous stuff like that. I was between projects, so I decided to see if I could find any uses for it. Still, I wouldn't want it to get rained on." 

Crono slapped himself in the head. "Stupid Crono!" Lucca and Marle both raised an eyebrow. "I forgot to pack an umbrella. Not that I mind being rained on." 

Lucca tucked the map away in her pack again. Walking like this, just the three of them, made her recall their adventures of the previous year. She was fairly certain it had been a year from the time Crono had brought Marle to see her Telepod to their return in early 1001 A.D. It was hard to tell for sure while jumping back and forth through time. "Hey guys?" Her companions turned to her. "You ever wonder what exactly we did to the future? I mean, did it really turn out better, or did we make it worse? I guess we can't know." 

Marle nodded. "You're right. I suppose it's just important that we do what we can now to make sure it ends up better. Like making sure Guardia doesn't fall apart." 

Crono shrugged. "I doubt it will effect us again, so there's no reason to worry too much. If we're lucky, we made the world a better place. If not, there's nothing we can do about it now." He smiled at Lucca. "Like you said earlier, we probably messed it up beyond all hope." 

"I hope not," Marle said. "I really wanted to help." 

"And we did everything we could," Lucca assured her. "We do know that Lavos won't harm anyone again, and that's an accomplishment. But the present is more important right now." Lucca decided to change the subject. "How's your mom, Crono?" 

He shrugged. "Same as always. I wish she'd get out of the house more. It can't be healthy for her. I keep telling her to visit your mom more often. They don't see each other enough. She still doing okay?" 

"Yeah. She's taken up knitting. I'll have plenty of sweaters by winter at the rate she goes. I've got a couple with me, if anyone wants one. They're pretty big. Taban's fine too. He's been working on some stuff for the city, but he's not getting paid nearly as well as he should. He's determined to help out in the community, no matter what anyone thinks about him, or me." 

Marle frowned. "I can't believe he gets so little thanks for his work. He made Nadia's Bell, and everyone loves that." 

"By the way, how's King Guardia?" Crono asked. Lucca gave him that look that meant either he had a whole cucumber between his teeth or he had said something less than intelligent again. 

Marle looked down at her feet. "Not any better. The doctors don't think he'll make it to New Year's." 

"Oh." Crono understood the look now. "Sorry if I brought up something I shouldn't have." 

"No, it's okay. I can't go around denying it, can I? It helps to talk." Marle forced herself to look up and smile. "Anyone have any plans for the future? I'm going to be queen, as far as I can tell. I'll be as good a ruler as my father was. Right wrongs and stuff. Plant flowers. I'll probably have to marry someday. I'll have a great big happy family and live to be very, very old. What about you two?" 

Crono smiled. "I'm going to be a professional bum for the rest of my life. Adventuring earned me all the money I'll ever need. I'll get my own house, and just generally live it up. I'll be the weird neighbor that children create all kinds of farfetched legends about. Like the fact that I was a great warrior, or that I used to decorate my front door with dead bodies. Then, when I'm old, I'll sit out on my porch and yell at children and tell them a bunch of bullshit about when I was their age. That's the life." He and Marle looked to Lucca. 

"I'll be an inventor, just like always. Doesn't matter if I'm ever famous or not. It's my work that matters to me. I think I'll travel a lot, too. I still haven't seen everything in this world." 

Marle patted her shoulder. "That sounds great. I wish I had so little responsibility, but I have my place in life, and you guys have yours. I think I see Goat Path up ahead." She pointed down the road. A large silo could just barely be seen. "I can't wait to get some rest."   
  
  
  


One of the scarecrows in the field lifted its head enough that it could see the three travelers just under the rim of its hat. Shellac watched and listened. He noted that he could give Draino an update on the King's health, assuming he didn't know it was this bad already. He allowed himself a smile. This was going to be good. 

He noticed a pinching sensation on his arms. Crows. Without warning, he grabbed his scythe from his back and brought it down in an arc around his head. One crow fell, sliced in half, another gutted. "DIE, BIRDS OF DEATH!" He swung again, downing another of the birds. They backed away, cawing wildly. Shellac paused, strengthening his grip on the pole he clung to. "Nasty birds." One came close again and perched on his forearm. He stared into its beady black eyes. It stared back. "Get it off, get it off, get it off!!" Shellac flailed his limbs, scaring away the crow, then dematerialized, causing the whole flock to fly away in surprise.   
  
  
  


Lucca thought she heard something rustling in the corn field and the sound of excited crows. She glanced over, but only saw a wooden pole jutting up out of the cornstalks. A single crow landed on top of it and cawed. She was fairly certain she had seen a scarecrow there a minute ago. She shrugged and turned back to her friends. Crono was saying something about the importance of dung beetles to the economy. Marle smiled politely, not really listening. Crono knew, but he went on anyway.   
  
  
  


"Goat Path sure fits the place," Crono muttered. The town wasn't much more than a dirt road and some glorified shacks. There actually were several goats wandering around. 

"Keep it to yourself," Lucca warned. "We're not here to insult their village." 

Marle glanced around, visibly excited. "This place is so neat! It looks just like the little villages they talk about in books. I can't believe people actually live in places like this. I thought it was all made up." 

"Surprise, surprise," mumbled Crono. Lucca elbowed him in the gut. "What? It's just further proof that they don't let her out enough." 

"Maybe they'll let us sleep in a barn!" 

Lucca put a hand on Marle's shoulder. "I don't know, Marle. They'd probably prefer that we leave the animals alone. It would be better if they let us stay in a building designed for humans." She motioned to the largest of the residential structures. "Let's go ask them if they have room to spare for the princess." 

Marle smiled. "Okay." The two walked off to get them a place to sleep. Crono followed a few steps behind them. He stopped to converse with a goat, not because it was something he normally did, but it seemed to annoy the people around him. 

Lucca came back to get him about the time the goat lost interest and trotted away. Apparently, it did not care to hear Crono insult its milk. "We've got a place, Crono. They're going to let us sleep on the floor in their kitchen. I doubt we'll get a better offer. Unless, of course, you want to go talk to that old woman who keeps looking at you." 

Crono glanced over his shoulder. An old woman was standing on her porch, staring at him. She smiled and gave him a little wave. He turned back to Lucca. "I think the floor will do just fine."   
  
  
  


Crono slowly woke up, noting that someone was kicking him in the kidneys. He opened his eyes, remembering that he was sleeping on someone's floor. One of the numerous children who lived in the house was kicking him, and clearly enjoying every minute of it. As much as he'd like to make the kid happy, he had just gotten up and would prefer to have two functional kidneys. He looked up at the kid. "Stop kicking me, dammit!" 

The boy turned to the door. "Mommy! The funny guy on the floor said a bad word!" 

Crono forced himself to sit up. He normally liked to take his time waking up, but he'd make an exception today, considering the circumstances. He looked around. Marle and Lucca were gone already, but the kid hadn't left. "Where are your parents?" 

The kid's mother walked in. She grabbed Crono by the bandana around his neck. "I'll have no foul language in my house. Now I let you stay 'cause you were with the princess, but you're wearing out your welcome mighty quick." She released him and stepped back. 

"I'm going. Sorry for any inconvenience we may have caused." He glanced at the boy. "You have wonderful children." The mother started to walk away, but her son kicked Crono in the knee. "Aw, shit! Little bastard, " Crono mumbled. 

The woman turned around. "What did I just say to you, young man?" 

"Sorry! I'm going." The kid kicked him again. "Your son is assaulting me." 

"You must have done something to provoke him." 

Crono didn't argue, just went to the door. He got another kick to the pants as he walked away. Crono forced himself to ignore the punk and left. Marle and Lucca were waiting on the porch. They must have been up for a while. Lucca handed him his pack. "You could have gotten me up earlier," he said. 

Lucca shrugged. "Marle thought you needed your sleep, not to mention that you're hardly a morning person." 

Marle skipped down to the road. "Isn't this so much fun! I think the right side of my body is sore from sleeping on that hardwood floor!"   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 8 --

  


Shellac materialized in the Purge's current base of operations. The small, two-story cottage was dark. His room was as he had left it. He didn't have a bed, since he didn't need sleep, or any lights, since he could usually see well enough from the light coming in through the window. He kicked aside some of the junk on the floor and walked into the hall. He, Lysol, and Windex all had rooms on the second floor. He glanced into Windex's room: empty. No surprise, as he was rarely ever there. Draino had probably put him to work. Lysol was in her room even less, so he didn't bother checking it and walked to the stairs. A small light was coming from below. He carefully navigated the mess of old candles and food wrappers that covered the steps. 

The main room was no better. Books and paper covered the floor. The only light was coming from a few candles that sparkled in the corner, but it was enough for him to see by. Shellac could see Lysol in the lit corner, slaving over her books. She was wearing her brown cloak. The shoulders were covered in iridescent feathers, and it pooled around her, covering some of the mess. Her long, brown hair was loose, rather than pulled back as she usually had it. It framed her pale face, the contrast making her seem almost colorless. 

She glanced up, finally noticing the oversized scarecrow. Her brown eyes sparkled. "Oh hey, Shellac. How's life?" 

"Fine," he answered. "Same old, same old. I came to check in with Draino..." He glanced around the room. "...but I guess I missed him. Where are the others?" 

Lysol frowned. "I don't have any idea where Draino is. He hasn't been here at all today. Windex went shopping for supplies we need. I think Old Dutch went with him, but I don't see why. Grocery shopping isn't something Old Dutch usually does." 

Shellac frowned. It was odd. "Well, thanks anyway. If Draino comes by after I leave, tell him I was looking for him." Lysol smiled and nodded before she returned to her work. "Hey, Lysol?" 

She looked up again. "Hm?" 

"Don't you think you need to get out a bit more. It can't be healthy to stay in here all day with these moldy tomes. Why don't you take a break and get some fresh air? Frolic in nature, go to town, do something. Get Windex to go somewhere with you." 

"Thanks for the thought, Shellac, but I'm fine." She smiled. "I know it sounds strange, but I like this work. Of course...maybe I will bug Windex when he gets back." 

Shellac nodded, then went back up to his room to relax for a while.   
  
  
  


"FREEZE!! THIS IS A STICK UP!!" A heavily muscled man in black waved a sword at the clerk behind the counter. Another sword was sheathed at his side. Everyone in the store was motionless. "Good. Everyone keep doing what you're doing and nothing bad happens. Start bagging that money," he told the clerk, who obeyed him without hesitation. So far, so good. He ran a hand through his blond hair. "Now everybody be sure to get a good look at me, though I know you can't help yourselves." He winked at a young woman standing by the lobster tank. It made her blush furiously even in her current state of terror. "I want you all to be able to give good descriptions of us to the officials. They need the help to catch us. My name is Amanda Hugankiss, which all you ladies are free to do." 

A withered old man appeared from one of the aisles, pushing a laden grocery cart. "And this is Prince Albert. Keep in mind that he's not in a can...yet." 

The old man glared at him. "This is unnecessary, Windex. We can afford to pay, but not to draw so much attention." 

The large man's shoulders sagged, and he looked at the old one with exasperation. "Dammit, Old Dutch! You told them my name." His massive fist slammed the counter. "You never let me have any fun. And Draino said we were on a budget, one that did not include grocery money." 

The man looked sour, but consented. "Get it over with, and ignore the women." 

Windex frowned. "Can't a guy even wink at girls? I don't see why that's so..." He was stopped by the thud of boots outside. The local militia had arrived up the street, and they were rushing to the doors. Windex glanced at his companion. "Looks like the clowns are here to entertain us. Ready?" Old Dutch nodded. Windex pointed his sword at the approaching soldiers. A storm suddenly formed above the militia, pelting them with rain and hail. They stopped, trying to shield themselves from the pounding water and golf balls of ice. 

Old Dutch raised his hands in front of him, forming a sphere of blue energy. The sphere shattered, unleashing a blast of freezing air that blew out the doors and windows on the front of the store. It reached the soldiers an instant later, freezing them where they stood. Bits of glass ricocheted off their icy forms. 

Windex walked over to the cart Old Dutch had filled. He checked over it, making sure everything was there. Something was missing. He looked up at the old man. "What? No Windex?" 

"No one cleans the windows." 

Windex looked shocked. "Really, Old Dutch! If someone names a product after you, you have to keep some of it around. It's not the usefulness, it's the principle of the thing." 

"Windex is not named for you. You're probably named for it, which means you have odd parents." 

"Are you trying extra hard today to crush my little world?" Old Dutch didn't answer. "Old Dutch isn't much better, you know. Let's go." 

They walked out of the now empty doorways. Windex gave the militia a little salute as they passed. 

"I still think this was a waste of time and effort," Old Dutch said flatly. 

Windex frowned. "Oh come on. Admit it. It was fun." Old Dutch remained silent. "Couldn't you have gone along with the name bit? It was really funny." 

"Prince Albert?" 

"I could have made it worse. Oh well, I'm sick of you spoiling my fun." He glanced down at himself. "I'm sick of these disguises, too. I'm used to your weird, normal self." Windex shook himself like a wet dog. His muscles seemed to ooze off, leaving him with a much leaner build. His hair darkened to its normal black. Old Dutch's wrinkled, outer skin tore apart as his far bulkier form was freed. Windex glanced over at the spectre-like being beside him. Old Dutch wore a heavy mantle. Spikes hung from it like icicles. A green sphere like the one in Shellac's scythe was embedded in the center. His face and slightly glowing, green eyes were hidden by his grey hood. Windex had never seen beneath it. The rest of him was mostly blocked by his cloak, revealing only loose grey clothes and massive metal gauntlets covering his forearms and hands. 

Windex sheathed his sword. It too had one of the green stones in the base of the blade. The other matching sword lacked it, though. "I suppose Draino will have stuff for us to do when we get back. I don't really feel like getting people all rebellious today. Maybe he'll give us a break." 

"I don't see why." 

"Maybe just because he's feeling nice? Maybe I thought it would be kind of him? You don't have to tell me all that crap Draino spouts. I know this is important, but I'd rather be around Lysol more." 

Old Dutch forced him to take the cart. "Just work."   
  
  
  


"Okay, who gave the third...king of Zeal a...new...bedroom set because his old one was...destroyed in a...accidental fire caused by a...candle and the king's...pet squirrel?" 

Lysol smiled. "Easy. It was the current Guru of Time, I forget which one that was." 

Shellac shrugged. "The card just says Guru of Time. You got it." He put the card back. "Tell me again why we're playing Trivial Pursuit from the Golden Age of Zeal." 

"Because it's fun, and you need to stay in practice with your Zealian." She rolled again and moved. "Wild card." 

Shellac drew a card. "How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" 

Lysol looked scandalized. "That can't be the question on the card!" They both froze as the front door opened, letting in the chilly autumn air. Draino walked in and shut the door. "Hey, Draino. Welcome back. Have a nice trip to wherever?" 

Draino glanced at Lysol and Shellac. They were sitting on the floor playing a board game. "May I ask why you're not working?" 

Lysol frowned. "I...I just wanted a little break. Shellac offered to do something with me and..." She paused. "I'm ahead of schedule anyway. How much could I get done in an hour or two?" 

Draino didn't move. "Your schedule is to get done as fast as humanly possible." 

"So sue me for being only human. I told you I would have it found by the end of the year, and I will. I'm getting faster at translating it, but you're the one who demanded that there be no errors." 

"You have as much need for this as I do. I'd translate the texts myself, but I can't do it as well. You're the only one of us with much understanding of ancient Zealian." 

"She could teach you," Shellac commented. 

Draino was looking particularly rough today. His jaw line was bristly with two day's stubble, and his white hair was matted and dull. Over the years, Shellac had seen him keep his appearance immaculate for months, only to let himself fall apart in a week. He usually returned to normal fairly quickly, but his down times were becoming more frequent and severe. Windex attributed it to madness and lack of sex. Shellac had yet to pass judgment. 

"It would take too long," Draino said. His eyes were red and glazed from insomnia. "This is faster." 

Lysol stood to face him. Draino was not quite a head taller than her. "I could wait longer. Has it occurred to you that just maybe the rest of us aren't so obsessed with exploiting the full power of the Eyes?" 

Draino's eyes narrowed. "You're assignment is to search these writings, not to goof off." 

Lysol stared back at him. "You know that what you want is probably just a legend. The Eyes of Lavos are powerful, but could anything realistically do this? No one would put that much power into their creations. You know that. Would you put all your power where others could tap it? We're wasting our time if that's all you desire from these books." Draino didn't answer. Lysol sighed. "Come on, Draino! I'm telling you as plainly as I know how. IT IS A LIE! THE EYES CANNOT MAKE US GODS!!" 

Draino swung his staff, aiming directly for Lysol's head. It didn't hit. The sound of the staff hitting Shellac's scythe echoed in the small space of the room. 

"A little sensitive about that, aren't we?" Lysol muttered. 

Draino glared at the scarecrow, his eyes blazing. Shellac glared back. "I think you've had a long day, Draino. Perhaps you should go lay down. Rest. There's no reason to get worked up." 

"And what about you? I don't see a princess around here. I'm not surprised you tried to delay Lysol from her tasks." 

"Oh, really?" 

"You've tried to stop this since I proposed the idea. You have something against it, but I can't see what." The edge of madness in his voice was unmistakable. "You stand to gain just as much as any of us. Don't you want the might the Eyes can give us?" 

"But at what price?" Shellac grabbed Draino by the back of the head and forced him to turn back to Lysol. He shoved him at her face, barely inches from her nose. "Look at her! She hardly ever gets out anymore. Why? Because you force her to read your damn books! I can remember when her skin had color. She looks like a damn albino! This isn't healthy. It's not so important that we risk our health. What if we need her to enter combat? Does she look like she's in any condition to fight? And with the job you've landed us?" 

Draino looked directly into Lysol's eyes. "Why don't we ask her? Lysol, do you feel that you're being mistreated here?" 

"To be totally honest.." Draino's eyes narrowed again. Lysol hesitated, unsure of the wisest answer. 

Shellac had had enough. He flung Draino, by his head, across the room, into a shelf and the pile of trash that surrounded it. Draino hit hard. The shelf fell over him, knocking his staff away from his hand. "Why do you do this?" 

With a grunt of effort, Draino shoved the shelf off and retrieved his staff. He slowly got to his feet. A smile was on his face, but it was more like a wolf baring its teeth. "Where's our lovable fool now? You're not yourself, Shellac." He rubbed his neck, stretching it until it popped audibly. 

"You know Lysol and Windex won't stand up to you or your bitch." 

"Old Dutch doesn't take well to insults." 

"Let him tell me that to my face! Oh, I forgot. He doesn't have to vocal skills to do that. Where the hell did you pick that freak up? The Purge was just fine before you two showed up with your Eyes of Lavos and forced us to follow you. Just because Windex and Lysol danced to your tune, you seem to have forgotten that I'm still a member. I think I speak for all of the original members when I say we've had enough of your shit," he said coldly. 

Draino just pointed his staff at Shellac. "CRYING HEAVENS!!" The bolt of lightning struck out, slamming into Shellac's chest, knocking him back into the wall. "You want to dispute my leadership, straw-boy?!" 

Lysol ran over to Shellac and helped him up. "Crap! Are you okay?" 

Shellac stood. There was a smoking hole in his chest. Strands of burlap and straw were already stretching across the opening, sealing it up. "I'm fine." He turned to Draino. "I think we all need some time to relax and ponder what has been said. Don't you agree? We need to work together for this job, remember." 

"The princess?" 

"I'm working on it. I know exactly where she is. I'm going to act when she reaches Porre. Soon enough for you?" His expression dared Draino to argue. 

"It will do." 

Shellac nodded. "Good. Now, I'm going to leave." He looked at Lysol. "I suggest you do, too, Draino. Lysol needs quiet if she's going to get any work done, doesn't she? Do I need to pick anything up for someone?" No one spoke. "Okay then. I need matches. Bad. Bye." Shellac dematerialized. 

Draino glared at Lysol. "Found anything new?" Lysol handed him a stack of paper. He glanced at it, but his bloodshot eyes didn't seem to focus. "This could be useful. Keep working on whichever books this came from." He dropped the papers to the floor, then turned and walked out the door. 

Her latest work scattered across the floor, mixing with the jumble already there. Lysol shuddered, but not from the sudden blast of cold air.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 9 --

  


"Can I get you something, sir?" 

Crono glanced up at the waitress waiting by his table. She was dressed in one of those pink waitress outfits that seemed to be used everywhere lately. She had four earrings in her left ear. Not a widely popular or accepted look. A lot of conservative people these days. The tablet she carried was blank. "No thanks." 

The waitress walked away. Crono was alone, in a restaurant in Lockton. Marle had decided to go shopping for walking boots, something which she had never owned in her life. Lucca thought it would be best if she went along to make sure Marle got a pair that would really be useful for walking. Crono had told them he'd wait here. He idly shuffled through his pack, not looking for anything in particular. Outside the sun was near the horizon. Lockton was a large town, and people remained in the streets well past dark. Much like Truce. Crono had a feeling that he wouldn't be sleeping much tonight. He felt like staying up all night, though he had no real reason to. He pulled a small pouch out of his pack. Opening it, he dumped the contents out on the table. Several large feathers, some teeth, a few horns off small animals. He kept them from his trips to the far past, mainly because they looked nice. 

He picked up a pink and orange feather. He could probably sell them for quite a bit to the right people, if he wanted to. He had enough money already, though. Seeing the feather triggered memories of the previous year. It had been great, aside from the dying part. Honestly, he couldn't recall that very well. His mind drifted to memories of the future. He couldn't help but wonder what they had done to it. He felt old. Stopping a giant parasite from destroying mankind did that to you. He smelled chicken, baked not fried. 

A bell jingled as the door opened. Marle and Lucca walked in, chatting quietly. To Crono's mild surprise, Marle wasn't covered in bags of junk. She'd kept the fact that they were walking in mind. Crono didn't want to have to carry anymore. 

Marle sat down in the other chair at his table. "I got some walking boots. They feel great, but not as good as my sandals, at least not right now. I suppose that I'll appreciate these more when we get back on the trail. Miss us?" 

Lucca pulled a chair up from another table. "I'm hungry. I'm also starting to miss my house. I haven't been away from it this long since the Lavos mess. I had this bed in my room. It was big, and smelled like my bed, because it was my bed. These hotel beds and living room floors can't compare." 

"I know what you mean," Crono said. "We got a place for tonight yet?" 

"Yep," Marle answered. "Lucca and I already rented a room. It only has two beds, though, but I think we can get a cot." 

"I'll take it, as usual." 

"You don't have to, Crono," Lucca said. "I'll share a bed with you as long as you behave." 

"A tempting offer to be sure, but no thanks. I don't mind the cot. It certainly beats the ground." 

Marle nodded. "True." 

The waitress came back and took Marle and Lucca's orders. Crono decided he might as well eat something and ordered some manner of pork chop with gravy. Nothing else sounded tempting. "How did the little gathering go today?" he asked. Marle had shared some inspirational words down by the bridge earlier. Crono had skipped out with some lame excuse. 

"As well as I could expect," Marle said. "No one shouted anything bad. They just cheered." She paused, frowning. "Then I finished the other half of my speech, and they cheered again. I think I put too big of a pause in there." 

"Well," Lucca said, "practice makes perfect. You'll do better next time. It isn't normal for a crowd to cheer after you insult their cousins, but hey, whatever works." 

Marle's eyes bugged. "I did that?" 

"I don't think anyone noticed. It really depended on your interpretation. Or, maybe, they really dislike cousins around here." 

"The pig reference wasn't out of place, was it?" 

"No, not here. But don't use it in Gracchus. They're fond of their pigs there." 

"But they raise pigs here." 

"Yeah, but in Lockton they don't dress the pigs in sweaters and keep them indoors," Crono said. 

"That is true. What about promising a reduced crime rate?" 

Lucca answered, "No one keeps track of that anyway, so you're safe." 

Crono leaned over to whisper to Lucca. "I thought you helped her write these things?" 

"We weren't expecting to say anything here. Marle had to improvise. She did a damn good job, too. It takes skill to bullshit a thirty-minute speech." 

The waitress brought their food out and, a bit reluctantly, told them to have a nice meal. She clearly wasn't working here for her entertainment. Crono looked at the plate in front of him. It looked vaguely like a pork chop and was covered in grey liquid. It was bubbling. "Yum." 

Lucca looked up from her meal. "Like what you ordered?" 

"It effervesces, and clears my congestion in minutes!" 

"That bad?" 

Crono tried it. It was edible, but he'd had much better. "What is this gravy? Liquid pig brains?" 

Lucca though for a moment. "I believe they make a fine squirrel gravy in this area. Popular with the locals and in Porre, but not widely eaten elsewhere. It's supposed to be very healthy, high in protein. They claim it's good for your thyroid, but I don't see why. Is it good?" 

"You know I love a bit of squirrel in my gravy." He shoved another bite into his mouth. 

Marle watched in awe. "You're EATING that?" 

Crono swallowed. "I've had worse. Plus, my doctor says I need to be thinking of my thyroid." He ate another bite. "Tastes kinda...minty. Maybe a little nutmeg in there, too." The next bite had something hard in it. Real hard. He spat it out. "Ah. Just a squirrel femur. Looks like it'd make a good toothpick." He picked it up and used it to dislodge a bit of pork from his teeth. 

Marle politely excused herself and ran to the little girls' room.   
  
  
  


It was certainly late. It had to be late. He'd been laying here for what had to be hours. He just couldn't sleep. His stomach hadn't yelled at him yet for eating the pork chop with squirrel gravy; that wasn't it. The day hadn't been particularly exciting, and tomorrow would be nothing special. What was it then? Oh, well, at least the cot was comfortable. The room was dark. The ceiling was plain. This was boring. He didn't have any covers; autumn this close to the water was only mildly chilly. They'd turned in at nine, hoping to get an early start. Lacking anything better to do, Crono reached down to the floor and picked up his watch. 

"One o'clock. This is sick. I admit for once, I need sleep, or at least want it." He dropped the watch. 

"You can't sleep either?" 

Crono sat up. In the darkness, he could barely make out Lucca on the other side of the room. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, something in her hands that reflected the weak light. "You too?" 

He could see her nod. "Just bored, I guess. Cleaning my gun." Clouds blocking the moon must of moved. The room brightened slightly. Crono could see her better. The handgun was disassembled, the parts lying neatly on the sheets. Several clips were beside them. Lucca took good care of her guns. He couldn't blame her. She was one of the few people in the world who carried one regularly. If the future he had visited was any indication, they would catch on eventually. "Never know when you need a weapon, eh?" 

Crono nodded. "Is Marle asleep?" 

"Yep." 

Crono nodded again, at a loss for words. He was tired. Finally, he said, "Marle's going to be queen of all Guardia by next year." He paused. "I don't envy her." 

"Yep." 

Crono looked at her again. Still working. He reached over and got his sword. Unsheathed, the blade sparkled in the moonlight. He checked over it, looking for nicks. 

"Hey Crono." He looked up. "Has Marle said anything to you about the whole situation with her father?" 

"Only when you're around. She talks to you more about personal problems." There was silence. "She's freaking out, isn't she?" 

"Yep. She tries not to show it, but I can tell. She's falling apart." 

Crono nodded. Marle seemed fine outwardly, but he could tell something had been wrong for some time. She had only recently recognized her father's love for what it was. To lose him so soon... It had to be tough. "Anything you think we can do to help her?" 

Lucca frowned, the expression barely visible in the light. "I think this trip is helping. She's able to spend time with her friends and get some practical experience in politics, something she's lacked for most her life. I knew she was expected to talk today, but I didn't tell her. She's let me keep her itinerary, so it caught her by surprise. I thought she needed practice at saying something convincing without any preparation. Leaders have to do that sometimes." 

"True. You said she did well." 

"All things considered. They all cheered." 

"But will the people in Porre cheer?" 

Lucca nodded. "And what about Medina?" 

"I really hope we're expecting a boat, because I can't swim that far. I mean, I'm in good shape, but really, that's pushing it." 

Lucca smiled. "Of course. The problem is that the Medinans might be a tough crowd. Our relations aren't perfect." 

"But good enough to send the heiress to the throne," he pointed out. "Still..." He looked Lucca in the eyes. "Make sure that thing works." 

"You make sure that pig-sticker of yours still cuts. Marle's our responsibility. But don't think she that can't take care of herself." Marle still had her crossbow and her magic, making her a formidable opponent for the denizens of 1001 A.D. 

"I'm well aware of her ability to beat the crap out of people. I would know." He glanced at Marle's sleeping form. "I never told you why she stopped inviting me to all those fancy dinners." Lucca stopped working on her gun. "I didn't like the things from the beginning, but I wanted to be polite, you know. Well, about a month ago, I went to the castle for one of these things. The mayor of Gracchus was there. This is why I'm well aware of how much they care for their pigs, but at the time, I didn't know the limits to it. The mayor was discussing at length the fine art of making attire for a swine. I found it all rather interesting. A novel concept really. There's nothing wrong with being fond of a pet, and why not a pig for a pet. Plenty of people have them. 

"Well, to make a long story less painful to remember, I suggested that he should have brought a pig in a dress and one in a sweater with him, just to show off the talents of his townspeople. That was dumb. The mayor got up and called me a long list of obscenities and stormed off. Apparently, sweaters are great and fashionable, but there is some unwritten law that a pig must never wear a dress. I meant no harm, but it was far too late. The man had blown up over the offense and left. Marle gave me one of those looks that means I had better become scarce immediately, so I did just that." 

"And?" 

"Marle came over later to my house and beat the shit out of me, explaining at length the problems I had caused and the fact that Gracchus would hold a grudge against Guardia for several decades. I think I told you the next day that I had been hit by a wagon." 

"I doubted that." 

Crono frowned. "It was surprisingly similar to the truth, as far as number of bruises was concerned. That was one of the rare occasions where I've seen her truly pissed. You see, she had arranged the dinner, and the mayor had attended on her personal invitation. For once, she was trying to be the princess, and I had ruined it for her." 

Marle rolled over, mumbling something about Mr. Lemur. Crono got up and found her pack. "Crono, don't go through her stuff," Lucca said. 

He ignored her and fished through it. He pulled out a hardbound book. "I think this is the book she was talking about the other day." 

Lucca frowned. "I'm sure it's harmless." 

Crono flipped through the book, glancing at the illustrations. He stopped and read from a page. "'Christine and her Prince Charming played Jenga and Scrabble all through the night.'" 

"You're reading into it too much." 

"This picture says I'm not." He held the book up. 

Lucca studied it. "So they're in a slightly compromising position. It's Twister, after all." Crono pointed to something in the background. "Oh." 

"And they're all marvelous etchings," Crono said. "Somebody spent some serious time on these pictures." 

"Such detail," agreed Lucca. 

Crono closed the book and put it back. He found another. "A book of contemporary plays." He flipped through. "These seem clean." He paused on a page. "Never mind." He put it back. "Has Marle always been like this?" 

"I wouldn't know. You've known her a whole ten minutes longer than me." She went back to cleaning her handgun. 

"One has to be careful not to pass judgment on people to soon. You never can tell what they're like until you see what they read in their spare time." He put Marle's pack back where he found it, then crawled back to his cot. "I'm going to sleep. Maybe I will have forgotten I found that stuff by morning." 

"Night." Lucca put all the parts of her gun back together, then loaded one of the clips. Ten rounds. She raised the gun, sighting along the barrel to aim at the window. Satisfied, she slipped it under her pillow, then covered up to go to sleep.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 10 --

  


It was colder now. 

The blanket over her shoulders didn't help at all. The doctors were gone. It was hopeless. Her mother would live, but not walk. Lucca had long since stopped crying. It didn't help ease the pain. Nothing helped any more. To be alive was torture. She was pathetic. A child. Seven. 

Lucca felt drowsy. Maybe sleep would help. She'd wake up in the morning, and she could go on. Maybe. Hopefully. 

She heard a familiar buzzing. Her friends. Her only friends. Except for one other, her best friend, Crono. She looked up. The dragonflies were hovering above a patch of flowers, like always. Only this time, they weren't alone. A man stood among the dandelions and daisies. He was tall, had the face of a million idol personalities, gorgeous, fake. He wore blue. His dark hair gleamed, as if wet. He walked forward. Stopped a few feet in front of her, towering over her small frame hunched on the porch. 

"Hello," he said, a familiar voice. 

She stood, looked him in the eyes. "Hello." 

He reached out and wiped a tear away from her cheek. "You are sad. You should be. You feel you failed to help those you love, and that you should be punished for it. Yet no one punishes you, only yourself. I know the feeling well." 

She stared back at him, in awe. "Who...?" 

"You know me. I gave you a gift once. A very special gift." 

"What?" 

He pointed to her chest. "It's in you. But perhaps calling it a gift is being misleading. No...a blatant lie. I cursed you." Lucca was silent, unmoving. "It was the only way. But that doesn't excuse it. Words are weak when lives are concerned." 

A spark of recognition. "Spekkio?" 

A nod. "I said you know me. I did what had to be done. The greater good, right?" A strange smile played across his perfect lips. "The victims have trouble seeing it that way, though. Don't they?" No answer. "Of course they do." 

He looked into her eyes. Deeply, past the outside, into her very being. "I did something to you that cannot be forgiven." His eyes sparkled, a perfect blue. "You are but a child, and cannot understand what I say. We are all children, especially me. Perhaps we will grow up someday. Perhaps a curse can be a gift." 

His eyes shifted color, blue to purple. "We can try. Your mother's legs are mangled. She will never walk. You would like to fix that." 

"You're not Spekkio anymore." 

He shrugged. "Not important. What difference does it make to you, really? Do you care who tells you how to reconstruct your life? How to be happy?" 

"Yes." She shivered. 

"Embrace the curse. Make it a gift. Prove you are strong enough to control your life. Do not be a pawn. That's what you are, you know. You gained magic only to defeat Lavos. Now, you will be ruined by it. Master it. Take control. The power within you is limitless. Harness it." 

Lucca didn't move. 

"Will you try? You could save yourself. Save your mother. You have the power to make her legs whole. Better than before." He smiled, a smile that frightened her. "Will you take my hand?" He offered his hand. 

Lucca looked at it. It was pale. Looked like rubber, half-melted latex. Not human. The hand of Lavos's Core. She looked back at the man's eyes. They were still purple. She raised her hand, carefully touched the smooth skin. Like rubber, warm, inviting. 

Then hard. Cold. Railing. She looked around. The man was gone, now only a place she knew well. The End of Time. She was fifteen, the age she had been when she first came here. 

She stepped back from the rail that separated her from the endless blue void. She turned and saw the lamppost. A man in brown was leaning against it, watching her. "Gaspar." 

The man nodded. "My apologies." 

"What for?" 

"You know." She did. He frowned. "He is right that we cannot be forgiven for our actions. Not by you or your companions. The greater good sounds high and noble, but not when real people lose everything for it; everything they believe in, everything they stand for. Have you lost everything?" 

"No... at least I think not." 

He nodded. "You would if you knew." 

"Knew what?" 

"I can't say. I don't know." Gaspar was her, a perfect copy. The new Lucca stepped forward. "I will, though. Then you will know." 

"Oh." A long pause. "I suppose so."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 11 --

  


"You okay?" 

Lucca opened her eyes. Crono was standing over her, looking slightly worried. "Yeah, I think so. Weird dream." She sat up. She was in one of the most comfortable beds she had ever slept in. "Where are we?" 

Crono stepped back. "Porre, remember. We got here last night, did the big welcome thing, went to sleep. Don't feel bad. You had a lot of poi last night." He frowned. "So did I, for that matter. It's Thursday, the twenty-eighth of October, I think." 

She looked around. They were in a huge room, probably on an upper floor. A large table was not far from the beds. A dozen platters of food sat on a red lace tablecloth. She eased herself to her feet, suppressing the wave of dizziness that threatened to knock her back down. "They sure want to treat us right." Her stomach grumbled. "But I don't know if I can eat." 

"I can't either, so don't worry." 

She pressed her palms to her forehead and tried to steady herself. "What exactly happened last night?" 

"The various dignitaries of Porre officially welcomed Marle. It was a big to-do, we put up with all we could handle, then we came up to the room and drank poi until we both passed out." 

Lucca racked her brain, trying to recall anything from the past week or so. "It'll come back to me," she said. "Where's Marle?" 

Crono walked over to one of the large windows. "She's in the town hall, talking to the important folk of the town. She asked to go alone, handle it herself. I thought it was a good idea." 

Lucca joined him. They were on a high enough floor to see over most of the buildings around them. Roof after roof. You could see the port at the far side of town, the sparkling ocean beyond it. "It's for the best. Beautiful day, isn't it?" 

"Very." 

They stood there for several minutes, just watching the clouds. There were only a few, drifting in from over the ocean, wisps of white against the cerulean sky. "So," Lucca finally said, "what do we have to do today?" 

Crono smiled. "Absolutely nothing." 

She nodded. "Then what do we want to do?" 

"Well, I was thinking we should stay around here until our stomachs quiet down, then eat some of this wonderful food." 

"Sounds great." 

"I haven't been to Porre in a while, so I don't know my way around as well as I used to. They've been building a lot lately. You want to just walk around, see what there is to do in town?" 

Lucca nodded. "I want to by some useless trinkets, just to remember this trip by. I rarely come here, except to pick up various parts you can't get anywhere else. Copper wiring is really cheap around here. And of course, I really haven't been too welcome after that incident." 

Crono frowned. "Refresh my memory." 

"I burned the church down." 

"Oh yeah. Accidental fires are a bitch, aren't they?" 

"They doubted the accidental part. That really increased my problems with the clergy. Dad didn't ground me or anything, just pointed out the mistake I made with the wiring for the air conditioner I was installing for them. They decided to just sweat." 

Crono shrugged. "Their loss. Air conditioning is great." 

"I'm going to work on an invention I brought along with me until I feel like eating." She found her pack and got out a small, metal box. She threw it on the bed and climbed on with it, sitting cross-legged. "It's something I saw in the future. I picked up a defective one, but I'm trying to make my own working model. It shreds herbs." 

"How useful." 

"You dripped some sarcasm on your chin." 

He brushed at his face. "How careless of me." Crono stretched, basking in the sunlight that streamed through the window.   
  
  
  


Lucca threw the box aside. It refused to shred anything more substantial than air. She looked at Crono. He was shuffling a deck of cards over and over again. Shuffle. Tap. Cut. Shuffle. Tap. Cut. "Screw breakfast. I rarely eat it anyway." 

Crono looked up. "And waste this good food that the people of Porre paid for with their tax dollars?" 

"Uh...yeah." 

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He set the cards aside and put his shoes on. Lucca put her helmet on and hopped off the bed. They left the room without bothering to see if it even could be locked. The stairs were down the hall. Lucca noted that they were on the fifth floor. Buildings in Porre tended to be higher than those in Truce. They were in the government building, one of the larger buildings, which was also the mayor's home. Offices seemed to occupy the lower floors, but the fourth and above were reserved for the mayor and any guests. A servant, dressed in a starched, red uniform, greeted them on the first floor. 

The main door opened directly onto the street, a thin strip of uneven cobbles sandwiched between the rows of buildings. The streets of Porre were narrow and irregular, nothing like the wide boulevards of Truce. Space was at a premium here. Fiona's Forest was considered almost holy, so few were willing to damage it much. Expansion in any other direction was stopped by the ocean. Lucca glanced around. "Where to?" 

Crono shrugged. "Left, right, or forward. You pick." 

"Left." They walked left, passing numerous houses and stores. The town seemed to have everything, including a store that sold nothing but sinks. Crono decided a visit there was required. They stepped in, a little bell notifying the clerk to their entrance. It truly specialized sinks, with a few sink accessories as well. 

"Can I help you two?" Crono and Lucca both jumped. A short man in a plaid jacket had come up behind them. His eyes darted about nervously as he ran a hand through his greasy hair. "Looking for something in particular?" 

Lucca shook her head. "No, we're just looking around." 

"Terrific!" The man herded then to one of the displays. "May I direct your attention to this beauty, our basic model." It was a sink, plain white, a normal bathroom sink. "Observe the fine molding made from only the best materials." Crono immediately noticed hairline cracks in the porcelain. "It has a faucet, where the water comes out, and these two knobs to control the flow. This one is hot and the other is cold. Or maybe it's the other way around?" 

Crono frowned. "Looks plain." 

The man's eyes bugged with fear. "You don't like it? Maybe this one!" He guided them across the room to another bathroom sink. "See, same fine white color, but more advanced. The faucet swivels side to side and there's only one knob." He demonstrated. "You just turn it from off, to cold, and then hot. Very user friendly. It even comes with a little depression thing for soap, and a toothbrush holder." He put a fake bar of soap on the toothbrush holder and a toothbrush where the soap went. 

"We really were just looking," Lucca said. 

"I know just the one." He took them to another sink display. "This one's for the kitchen. Always need a kitchen sink. Look at this beauty." It was metal, two sinks in one, really. "Two faucets, two drains, two everything." He squatted down and ran a hand over the piping below. "See these nice pipe things. Always need the pipe things." He stood up. "Garbage disposal, too!" He let his tie fall into the drain and hit a button by the faucet. "OH GOD!! SOMEONE GET ME OUT OF THIS THING!!" he shouted over the roar of the blade motors and shredding fabric. Crono reached over and hit the button again. The man pulled away from the sink and took a minute to recover. "Works great! This model even has one of those snaky squirter things." He sprayed himself in the pants. 

Lucca took a few steps back. "I think we need to leave." 

"Not yet," Crono said. "But I want to see some more of the bathroom models." 

"Bathroom, of course!" They were dragged back across the store. "How about this?" It was another double sink, half baby blue, half pink. "His/her sink! Like it? It has matching cupboards below, if you don't mind the pipe things underneath." He got no reaction. "Newlyweds! You're newlyweds, right?" They held up their hands. No rings. "No, not newlyweds. Cohabitants! That's got to be it! Let me take you to the back. We have products just for your type." 

He started to take them back, but Crono grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up, one-handed. "Damn, you're light." The man cringed. Crono pulled him close to his face. "You don't know shit about sinks, do you?" he asked, smiling. 

The man opened one eye. "No. Is that a problem?" 

"Not really." Crono put him down. "Let's go somewhere else," he said to Lucca. They turned and went out the door, leaving the salesman to whimper in confusion, the ringing of the bell marking their exit. 

The two walked around town for most of the day, stopping in any shop that caught their interest. A book store, several clothing shops, toy shops, including one that sold all handmade toys. 

As they sat on a bench in the town square, a large open plaza near the north end of town, Crono checked his watch. "Four o' clock. Think we should be heading back?" 

"Probably. I think I'm over the poi now." 

"Yeah, me too. Maybe we can get them to go ahead and serve us dinner. If that was breakfast, I can't wait to see the main meal of the day." 

Lucca started to smile, but stopped. "But how exactly do we get back?" They hadn't bothered to keep track of the path they had taken. 

Crono looked around. "OOOO! A You-Are-Here map!" They both snatched up their enormous bags of junk and ran over to the sign, pushing each other to get ahead. "Where's the X?" 

Lucca pointed. "There! Find the mayor's house on the listing!" 

They both madly searched the list, trying to be the first to find it. "I got it!" Crono shouted. "Number 1285! You'd think it'd be a lower number." They both started scouring the map for 1285. 

"I can't find it. Why do they have to mark every building?" 

"It's in the northern area, right?" 

"Do you two need any help?" 

They both jumped from surprise, then turned. It was a Mystic, one of the diablos sort, but abnormally large. It had to be near six and a half feet tall. The voice sounded male. He was wearing light armor in a design common to the higher ranking of the Mystics. Lots of red, purple, and grey. "I couldn't help but notice you were having difficulty locating something." 

Lucca regained her composure first. "Oh, thank you. We were looking for the mayor's house, but couldn't seem to find it on the map. It's number..." The diablos pointed with a clawed finger. "...1285. Thanks." 

A toothy, lipless smile. "My pleasure." He bowed his head slightly to each of them, then walked away. 

Lucca turned to Crono. "That was nice of him, wasn't it? Shall we be going?" 

"Sure." Crono watched the diablos disappear into the crowd. He vaguely wondered how he had know the location of the mayor's house so well. Probably just very familiar with the town. 

"Well?" Lucca called. She was half way across the plaza. He ran to catch up.   
  
  
  


They were greeted by another servant at the door. Dinner would be at seven in the main dining hall. Crono and Lucca went upstairs to their room. The food from that morning had been cleared. Marle was there, wearing a elaborate, light blue dress. She smiled when she saw them enter. "Hey. How was your day?" 

Crono plopped down on his bed. "Fine, fine. Nothing worth mentioning." 

Lucca set her stuff on her bed. "More importantly, how was your day, Marle?" 

The princess shrugged. "I guess it went fine. Endless political junk. As soon as anyone of any importance shows up, everybody's got a problem that just can't wait to be solved. Lots of yelling and begging. I was told by one person that the most important issue facing the kingdom right now was current price rises on chairs made in Truce. If it were shipping costs, that'd be different, but just the chairs?" 

Crono propped himself up on his elbows. "Your people have to sit somewhere." 

"And then," Marle continued, "I found out that there's this little island near here that wants to break off from Guardia to become a nudist utopia that grows and cans pineapple." Silence. "I mean, WHAT THE HELL?" 

"I know where I'm retiring," Crono said. 

Lucca put a hand on Marle's shoulder. "You always get weird stuff like that. Just handle it as best you see fit." 

"Was their representative naked?" Crono asked. 

Marle clutched her stomach. "And he was the size of a barn. We had to get him two chairs." 

"Forget I mentioned any interest in the place." 

Marle sat down in one of the chairs at the table. "Half the people there were looking to either marry their son to me or marry me themselves, the nudist whale included. Not surprising, considering I'm the young, beautiful heiress to this whole mess. Of course, the Chorans had no interest in me. They're separate from Guardia and proud of it. Their royalty's moving back into their old castle." 

"The Northern Ruins?" Lucca asked. 

"Yeah. They've finished a lot of the major renovation work. No one's lived in there for five hundred years." Marle rested her head in her hands. "This is exhausting." 

Lucca sat down beside her. "You want to skip dinner? Rest up here?" 

"No. The mayor's invited a few notables. It'd really make him angry if I didn't show and chat politics with them." 

Lucca nodded. This was working Marle hard, but she was taking it well. A good sign. She really was a born leader. 

Marle stood. "Well, I need to go and stand around, using my position to intimidate people. They seem to expect it. The rally's tomorrow, at the town square. You don't have to come, but you're welcome to watch with the rest of the crowd. The mayor doesn't want you two on the stage." 

"Why not?" Crono asked. "Does he have something against us, or is he just silly?" 

"He wants his own guards up there, protecting me. It's to make him look good." 

"Well," Lucca said, "We'll try to catch some of it, but you have to understand that what the masses want to hear can be pretty boring." 

"It's not so bad when you're saying it. Just moving my mouth keeps me entertained." She walked to the door. "See you at seven."   
  
  
  


Dinner was mind numbing to Crono, as he had expected. He and Lucca hadn't bothered to change out of their normal clothes. Lucca had just put on some baggy green pants, rather than the bicycle shorts. He couldn't complain about the food; it was great. The conversation was another matter. How meaningless shit like that could interest anything more mentally complex than dirt, he would never be able to personally understand. 

Talk began on the subject of Marle's trip to Porre. She explained it all at great length, though modified for the attention spans of the guests. She focused on the fact that she didn't have any major foot problems from all the movement and sleeping in unprincess-like locales, like on the ground while it was raining. She also mentioned a fictitious encounter with forest bandits near Fiona's Shrine. Crono and Lucca had protected her, and they even managed to steal money from the robbers. That earned Crono a room full of golf claps and a refill on his glass of orange soda. The chef greatly resented him for requesting it, and the serving staff ignored him whenever they could. Typical of the dinners he'd been to before with the financial and political elite. 

The discussion drifted to the king's health and the situation at the castle. Marle assured everyone that her father was hanging in there, and might yet recover. Everyone there knew it was a lie, but you never come out and say the king is as good as gone until it happens. More typical politics. With nothing more to be said on that topic, someone brought up relations with the Mystic Empire. No one had much to say. Mystics friendly. Ferry system working. Ought to have them over for tea. 

Everything of importance had been said, so it got bad after that. A strange man with a goatee talked for an hour about a duel he had with another chap who had called his wife "both as thin and as vicious as a praying mantis." They met on a hill, each with a servant to carry their things. He had had to stab the poor bastard seventy times before he died. Apparently, he had the poor luck of being unable to hit anything vital that day. This reminded another woman about the price of rice in Truce, which in turn made the mayor recall his first hunting trip as a boy, where he killed a squirrel by throwing small rocks at it until it fell from a tree and broke its neck. His father had given him a gold piece and called him a natural. Crono had wanted to scream when a man in green started up about the first fish he caught. It turned out to be a block of cement with a tibia and fibula sticking out. The truly sad part was that some of the stories might have been interesting, even funny, if not for the boring way that these people always seemed to tell them. 

As soon as it was over, Crono and Lucca each chugged a canteen of poi and went straight to bed, declining the invitation to play Pachisi until daylight.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 12 --

  


Morning came slowly for Crono. He had a strange dream that seemed to go on forever. He remembered standing on a pier, looking at the sea. A sea nymph, clad only in ribbons that shimmered like pearl, invited him to swim with her in the kingdom beneath the waves. He dove into the water and swam to its depths. Somehow he was able to breathe through his armpits. When he reached the bottom, he found Toma, the adventurer from 600 AD. They went on a quest to find the Oily Mayonnaise Jar. They never found it, and the last things he remembered seeing before waking up were three hermit crabs dancing on Cyrus's grave. Poi. Gotta love it. 

He forced himself to sit up and check the clock. Noon. He'd slept late. He got out of bed and put his shoes and belt on, making sure his sword was secure. Marle and Lucca were both gone, and there wasn't any food on the table. "Getting cheap, eh?" he mumbled. 

He picked up a canteen and drank some more poi. Unlike alcohol, it couldn't kill your liver. He walked to the door and found a note taped to it. It was in Lucca's hastily scribbled handwriting.   
  


Crono,  
Got early start. Meet me at cafe you can see when you look out the window and straight down.   
  


He dropped the note and walked to the window, taking another swallow as he went. The sun was painfully bright. Looking down, he saw a caf‚. A sign above the door read "The Biggie Piggie." He put the canteen down and walked out into the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, the servant greeted him yet again. Crono paused. "Do you do anything other than stand there and greet everyone who passes you?" 

The man shrugged. "It pays good, and I get room and board." 

"Such aspirations," Crono muttered as he passed. 

Crono walked out the door and into the noon light. Still too bright. He turned left, guessing that it was the right way to the caf‚. He stayed beside the mayor's house, since it had been next door. He had to loop around fairly far, so he figured right had been right for once. 

On the outside, the Biggie Piggie looked like any other caf‚. Inside, it still did, only it was decorated entirely in pigs. From glancing at tables, every meal was served with a little yellow piglet made from something edible. He saw Lucca in a booth by a window and walked over to join her. 

"Finally up, lazy bones?" 

He sat down heavily. "How can you be this alert after all that poi?" 

She shrugged. "Don't know. Marle's big rally in the square has already started. You could here the fanfare from here." 

"No I couldn't." 

Lucca frowned. "Order something. I think that's what got me going. The food here is great." 

Crono went up to the counter and demanded coffee. He got it, chugged it, and threw the disposable cup in the trash. He sat back down with Lucca. "I feel much better. The taste of coffee in the morning always wakes me up, considering I can't stand the stuff." 

"Effective method. Disgust yourself awake." 

"You want anything? I need some food to get rid of this coffee taste." 

Lucca thought. "Just some tea." 

As Crono was about to get up and order some food for them, the door to the caf‚ opened. Everyone stared at what came through. A man, badly in need of a shave, dirty, and generally looking roughed up, not to mention obviously dead drunk, was being carried in by two kids who couldn't be more than twelve. 

The first was a boy, rather thin, holding the man by the shoulders. He had black hair that hung loosely down to his neck. His bangs hung down far enough to hide his eyes. He was dressed in a loose, long-sleeved shirt, very baggy pants, and worn leather shoes. Deep purples, blues, and oranges. 

The second, who had the man's feet and was equally thin, was a girl. Her long black hair framed her face, and her eyes were deep purple. She wore clothes very much like Marle's, only in colors like the boy's. For someone so young, she was strikingly beautiful, and those large, vivid eyes were a major factor in that. Something about the colors and cut of both the children's clothes seemed familiar to Crono. 

The two kids lugged the drunk across the caf‚, paying no attention to the stares of the other patrons, finally dumping him on a table in the corner. Crono watched as the girl walked up to the counter. Halfway there, something about the way she moved shifted almost imperceptibly, but everything about her suddenly oozed charm. She stopped at the counter, looking up at the clerk. "Excuse me, mister," she said. Her voice was not too high, but unbearably cute. "We were wondering if we could get some food." The guy just stared, dazed. "The problem is, we don't have any money." She giggled, yet another cute sound. "Could you give us a little something on the house? Just this once?" 

Crono shifted his attention back to the table where the drunk had been left. The boy was slapping the man on the face over and over again. "Wake up, Dad! We're here." His voice was typical preteen, just beginning to deepen. He gave up on slapping. "You can stop acting stupid anytime now, Dad." Several people had gotten up and left, food untouched. 

"This is odd," Lucca commented. 

Crono looked at the kids again, finally recognizing what they made him think of: Zeal. He stood. "I think I need to intervene now." 

"Is that wise? This isn't really our business." 

"Of course it isn't wise." He decided to save the poor guy behind the counter first. He walked up behind the girl and tapped her bare shoulder. 

She turned slowly, locking her eyes on his. They seemed almost hypnotic. Almost. Any sane man would have instantly melted into mush. Crono figured that if he clung to his insanity, its power would save him from becoming a blob of putty. She smiled. "And who are you?" 

"Crono. Ring a bell?" 

"No." 

It was worth a shot. He had a fairly widespread reputation. "Is that your dad on the table over there?" he asked. 

She looked past him to the drunk. "Yep. Would you mind ordering us all some food?" She edged closer to him, enough that he could feel the warmth of her young body. "Out of the goodness of your heart?" 

"Follow me." He turned and went to the corner table, the girl slowly following him. The drunk was coming to. He got to his feet, brushing himself off. Crono stopped in front of him, waiting until he had the guy's attention. "Do your kids always have to drag you around town?" The man looked at him, then wrapped his arms around Crono in a bear hug. Crono didn't move. He asked, "Do I know you?" 

The drunk let go and stepped back. He smiled broadly. "Just the person I was looking for. Good to see you!" 

Crono frowned. "I'm afraid I don't recall how we know each other." 

"Oh. Yeah." The man pulled a bottle out of his pocket and took a few gulps. "I'm not myself right now." A bright blue glow engulfed him. Anyone who hadn't left already ran for it. The glowing figure began to reshape, the head and body joining, the limbs thinning. When the glow finally faded, Crono was staring at a pink nu, only an inch or two taller than the kids. 

Crono recognized him now, but hardly believed it. "Spekkio?" 

The nu slapped him on the back. "Yep, punk, it's me. Haven't seen you in a while. Well, to be totally honest with you, in the End of Time you don't notice time as much. Make sense? Me either. I would have visited sooner, but you know how busy I am." 

The boy choked down a snort of laughter. 

Lucca had joined them by now. "Dad?" she asked. 

Spekkio nodded sagely, then emptied his bottle. "You better believe it. I'd like you to meet my twins: Malt..." The girl smiled sweetly at them. "...and Hops." The boy shrugged. "A pair of bloody angels, eh? They're gonna make their old man proud one of these days." Hops squirted a whole packet of ketchup into his mouth. "One of these days." Spekkio snatched the empty ketchup packet from his son. "What would you're mother say if she saw you acting like a pair of morons?" 

"We have a mom?" Malt asked. 

"Course you have mom! Your pop isn't some genderless sponge! You think I could just snap my fingers and divide into a whole freakin' extended family? Why don't I just bite my toenails and make you a third cousin, twice removed?" 

Lucca smiled weakly. "Well, it's great to see you guys. Since when did you have kids, Spekkio?" 

"Since before I met you idiots. You would've met them before, but I had them at...extended day care." 

"Dad ditched us in Zeal," Malt mumbled. 

"Just so that nice family could raise you right. Sometimes I think I could have done a better job, though. They pampered you too much. A good spanking would a done you a world of good." 

"You don't spank us now, Dad," Hops said. 

"You're too old for spankings now, punk. Drop and give me fifty." Spekkio pointed to the floor. 

Hops ignored the order. Spekkio just grumbled to himself. 

Crono put his hand on what he thought was the nu's shoulder. "Now that we're all friends here, why did you come?" 

Spekkio looked shocked. "Are you assuming I'm here to get something from you? Can't a proud father show off his perfect twins to his old buddies? I'd never impose on you." Crono didn't move. "Okay, I need a favor." 

Lucca smiled. "That's more like it. We know you too well, Spekkio. Now, what's the favor?" 

Spekkio threw an arm around each of his kids and pulled them close. "I need you to watch over my wonderful, angelic children for a little while. Nothing permanent." 

Crono nodded. "How long?" 

"Not too long." Crono glared daggers at the rotund, pink creature. "Until I come back," the nu mumbled. 

Malt sighed. "That should be a few years." 

"I promise I'll be back soon. Just for a bit, okay?" 

Lucca patted the nu's head. "You know we'll do it. Anything for a friend." 

"Where are you going?" Crono asked. 

Spekkio shrugged. "No place in particular. Just have some business to handle." Crono could tell this was going to be more than a few days. "Anyway, they aren't allergic to anything...I think, and they're house trained. Have a blast." He waddled to the door. As he went, he morphed into a clean cut businessman, then disappeared out the exit. 

Lucca watched him leave, recalling the dream from the other night. The dazzling figure claiming to be Spekkio. She forced herself to ignore it. 

"So, what do you want to do?" Crono asked. 

"We need to eat," Hops said. 

Crono looked around. The place was empty. "Well, I guess just help yourselves." The twins disappeared into the kitchen area. Crono turned to Lucca. "I've never taken care of kids in my life." 

Lucca shrugged. "Neither have I." Unlike most of the other girls in school, she'd never taken up baby-sitting to earn extra money. No parent would have trusted her with their children. 

"Shouldn't be too hard. They look old enough to take care of themselves, anyway." 

Suddenly, the building shook from the roar of a distant explosion. With startled glances to each other, they both bolted for the exit, one thought on their minds: 

Marle.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 13 --

  


Marle had gotten an early start that day, anticipating the total lack of order in the town square. The organizers had been running around like chickens with their heads cut off, fretting over each tiny detail. She had simply flowed with it all. The stage was set, guards posted, the crowds gathered, the trumpets blared, and she had made her speech. It had gone perfectly. 

Now she was still standing in front of about five hundred people, not even close to the expected turnout, waiting for the next part to begin. The mayor got up in front of her to address the crowd. "Good people of Porre! Thank you for showing up today. Now, as a special treat, Princess Nadia will take your questions, and answer them herself!" The crowd cheered, and several people waved their hands, wanting to be picked. 

"I will? I...guess this could be fun." She pointed to a raised hand near the barricade. There was a good twenty feet between the crowd and the stage, for security reasons. 

A woman raised her voice to be heard. "Your Worship, what are you going to do about all this milk? Do you have any idea how many cows it'd take to get all the milk they sell at the market? There just aren't enough of them cows in Porre for all this milk. They've got to be overworking the poor critters. It just isn't right!" There was a cheer of agreement from the people around her. "What if it's really goat's milk?" That got more shouts. 

Marle stuttered, unsure of how to answer. "Well, I'm sure we all share your concern for the well-being of cows...and the quality of milk...and...I'll do my best to assure that no one is doing anything wrong." 

"But my Bessy Sue is tired. Her udder's sore!" shouted a fairly old man. "Something's has to be DONE!" More cheering. 

Marle didn't know what to do about this one. "How about...ROYAL DECREE!" Everyone cheered. They loved royal decrees. "All cows now have the right to refuse to be milked if their udders are sore. Markets may not sell more milk than is reasonable, as compared to the number of cows in the local area. If milk is goat's milk, it must be clearly labeled as such." The crowd cheered. The mayor scurried up beside her and tapped her shoulder. "What?" 

The mayor was wringing his hands nervously. "Not to be rude, Princess, but I'm not entirely sure you have the authority to be making royal decrees. You are the heiress, but not the ruler yet. The people might become agitated if they find out that what you said isn't truly law. Could you please be more careful as to what you say?" 

"Don't worry. It's just a bunch of nonsense about cows. Who's next? How about you?" She pointed to a man a bit further back in the crowd. 

"My name is Jed, and I want to be your husband. I'm a nice guy, and I got my own liquor bottling business. I don't drink but one case of my brew a day, so I'm usually sober, kinda." 

Marle frowned. "No, I'm sorry Jed, but I'm not planning on marrying right now. No one else ask, okay?" Most of the hands went down. She pointed to another man to the far left. "What's your question?" 

He cleared his voice. "My boss hasn't paid me in three months, and he's been stealing my chipmunks. You see, I got these chipmunks at my house. They're really great, even sing little songs. Should I steal his lawn gnomes to get back at him?" The crowd was silent, waiting for her answer. 

This was getting pathetic. "Look, this is something you should talk about with a professional counselor, someone trained to solve disputes like this, not me." She sighed. "DOESN'T ANYONE HAVE A QUESTION THAT I JUST MIGHT BE ABLE TO ACTUALLY ANSWER?!" Six green imps had been jumping up and down at the barricades, trying to get her attention. She nodded to them. "Let's hear from you." 

The imps scurried over the barricades, into the no-man's land between them and the stage. Several guards moved forward to force them back behind the barriers, but Marle motioned for them to stay away. The first of the imps bowed. "We wish to sing a song for her Majesty, if she wishes to hear." 

A song? "Why not? Go ahead." 

They scurried forward. The first three dropped to their hands and knees, the next two climbed onto them, and the last stood on their shoulders, forming an imp pyramid. The top imp took out a kazoo and blew a single note.   
  
  
  


We are Mystics, happy Mystics,  
Running through the trees!  
Some of us wear leather pants,  
But others just go free!   
  
  
  


Marle cringed. Their singing was awful. Another kazoo tone marked the beginning of the next verse.   
  
  
  


We clean our little homes  
And dust metal figurines!  
Judging from our pudgy cheeks,  
It's clear we're no Marines! 

We are Mystics, drunken Mystics,  
Lapping up the Mystic wine!  
I'd let you have a little sip,  
But I'm afraid it's mine! 

We Mystics like to roll in mud  
And hit each other with the sludge!  
But if you tell us to go away,  
From our mudpit we will not budge! 

We are Mystics, stinky Mystics,  
Choking on our own green phlegm!  
You humans make us laugh so hard!  
Now, let the real fun begin!   
  
  
  


The imp took out a match and reached for a cord hanging from it's jacket. "Bye bye, Princess!" Marle stumbled backwards, taken totally by surprise. "What...?" 

"HELL GEYSER!" The ground below them erupted in fiery energy, engulfing the pyramid of imps. The explosives strapped beneath their clothes detonated, but the force of the blast was directed upward, away from Marle. As the blast cleared, the unrecognizable remains of the imps fell to the ground in a charred pile. Behind them stood a seven and a half foot tall scarecrow, dressed in red, carrying a scythe. 

The crowd, guards included, cleared out of the plaza as fast as possible. Imps were flowing out of the surrounding buildings, advancing on the stage. 

Shellac glanced at the charging Mystics. Dilemma: did he help the princess, so as to keep the plans intact, or did he walk away and let the Mystics kill her. They were his employers, after all. He sighed. The Mystics had promised not to get in the Purge's way, and had broken that promise. He hated employers who lied. And besides, she was cute. "Looks like you require some assistance, your Majesty." 

Marle nodded dumbly, then forced herself to focus. She hadn't done any serious fighting in almost a year. This might be refreshing.   
  
  
  


Crono turned another corner, still a bit behind Lucca. Sword in hand, he sprinted after her. "Do you even know where you're going?" 

"Of course not! Hurry up!" She disappeared at the next turn. Crono was about to follow when an imp dropped down from a window and landed in his way. It smiled devilishly and drew a dagger from its belt. Crono glanced behind him. Five more were approaching him, armed like the first. 

"You want to make trouble, huh? Well, considering the situation, I suppose I'll have to do something about that." He lunged at the first imp, driving his sword through its large forehead. Imps had big heads, but not particularly hard ones. He kicked its lifeless body away, then turned to meet the others. 

The first two ran forward, daggers ready. Crono blocked the first strike easily. He sidestepped the second and grabbed the imp's arm. It squealed in surprise as he lifted it up and flung it aside. It crashed through a window, landing on a china display. It tried to climb out, but only succeeded in impaling itself on the jagged glass. The imp's bleeding form collapsed on the pavement to expire. 

The first struck again, but Crono blocked and kneed the imp in the face. It stumbled backwards, it's nose broken and bloody. Crono swung his blade, leaving a deep cut across the imps chest. It stared at the wound in horror as it stumbled away. 

The other three imps ran away as fast as their little legs would carry them. Behind them stood the diablos Crono and Lucca had seen the day before. It smiled, a lipless, toothy grin. "I'm afraid you cannot stop us. The Princess will die today." He drew a large scimitar and began twirling it around in an elaborate display of swordsmanship. Cyrus himself would have been impressed by the Mystic's skill. 

Crono sighed and raised his sword. "BOLT STRIKE!" The lightning bolt hit the unprepared diablos in the gut and knocked him back about ten feet. His smoking body landed with a sickening thump and didn't get up. Crono shook his head. "I hate showoffs," he mumbled. 

Lucca came running back around the corner. She stopped and glared at him. "What's taking you so long?" 

Crono gestured at the blood and the destruction. "I was busy!" 

"You have killed our leader, you monsters!" They both turned to see that one of the imps had returned and was staring in shock at the charred body of the diablos. It drew it's dagger and readied itself for battle. "For this offense, you must die!" It rushed forward. 

Lucca raised her gun and emptied three rounds into its head, the shots echoing in the narrow streets. Crono gave her a thumbs up. "Not bad." 

"Just hurry up." She ran ahead again. 

Crono sighed. "Doesn't anybody respect my efforts?" He ran after her.   
  
  
  


When they reached the town square, they both froze. The plaza was covered in the burning, bloody bodies of perhaps a hundred imps. The smell was overpowering. The pavement was broken and blackened, the splendor of the town square destroyed. Even the You-Are-Here map was demolished. At the center of the carnage, on the stage, stood Marle, as cheerful as ever and apparently unharmed, and a large walking scarecrow with a scythe. 

Marle saw them and waved. As they approached, weaving through the carnage, she put her hands on her hips and glared at Crono. "What took you so long, Crono? I had to kill all these imps by myself." 

"Isn't anything I do good enough these days!?" Crono chopped madly at the nearest post to unleash his frustration. 

"Oh yeah. I had some help from this nice scarecrow." She paced around the stage cheerfully, looking for any imps that they might have missed. 

Lucca wiped her forehead. "Today has officially been the weirdest day I've had in a long time. First Spekkio has kids, now Marle and a scarecrow defeat a legion of Mystics. What next?" 

Crono froze. "That's right! The twins! We forgot them!" 

"Shit!" They both ran back in the direction of the Biggie Piggie.   
  
  
  


Marle surveyed the pain and suffering she had caused. "A pity Crono missed this. He would have loved it." She looked at her companion. "By the way, what's your name?" 

The scarecrow bowed. "Shellac, and it was a jolly slaughter, wasn't it? I told Draino this would get messy, though admittedly, this isn't exactly what I meant." He rubbed his chin with his hand, studying the massacre. "It could have used some more fire, though." 

"Shellac? That's an interesting name." 

"Most people think so." 

She smiled warmly. "To be totally honest with you, I've never seen a living scarecrow before. I mean, I've seen some strange stuff, but not anything exactly like you." 

Shellac brushed the ashes from his shoulders. He might as well get this over and get Draino off his back. A pity, really. The princess seemed like a rather nice person. "Yes, well I'm sure I'm just plain amazing to most people, but I'm afraid I really must be kidnapping you now. Hahahahahahahaha!" 

"Heeheeheeheeheeheehee!" 

"Harharharharharharhar!" 

"Heeheeheeheeheeheehee!" 

"Hohohohohohohohohohoho!" 

"Hahahahahahahahahaha..." 

Silence. 

Shellac grabbed Marle's arms and started tying them behind her back. She frowned. "You weren't kidding, were you?" 

Shellac paused and thought. "Nope," he said. 

"But wait! You can't kidnap me! My friends will-" Shellac gagged her, making sure it was nice and tight. He lifted her up and threw her over his shoulder. He started walking to the southern part of town. 

"Come along now, and no kicking. You have to understand that it's nothing personal. This is just part of a much larger plan." He paused. "Why do villains always expose their plots?" He shrugged, jostling Marle. "Oh well, it isn't exactly my evil plot anyway. Kidnapping you is part of a bigger goal, mainly so we get paid and can buy those necessities of life, like food and toilet paper." He sighed, his empty eyes taking on a wistful look. "Ah, those were the days, when all the Purge wanted was to earn a living. None of this big-time junk to gain astronomical power. Anyway, it's Draino who wants you." 

"Ai-o?" 

"He fancies himself my boss, but I don't particularly like the way he runs things these days." He kept walking. "You're probably wondering about what I will do with you." 

"Mu-ghwah-oo-eefbd-pwu-a." 

"I hope that wasn't important because I have no idea what you said. Anyway, we're going to the docks to get a boat. I don't have a ticket, so we'll just have to permanently borrow one. I hope you don't have a moral problem with that." 

"Ee-fwub." 

"That's good to know. Ee-fwub and mu-ghwah and all that. I have this island with a charming little beach house where I'm going to put you. You'll have a jolly time. Ever been kidnapped before?" 

Marle shook her head. "O." 

"Me either. Oh, look, the docks." He surveyed the piers. The only boats in the entire place were a pair of tiny boats that each would just barely hold himself and his captive. "Well, I guess this will have to do. Try not to rock the boat too much." 

"EEE!" Shellac threw her into the first one. Glancing to the side, he waved at the man in the ticket booth, then jumped down with her. He looked at the stern. "Why aren't there any motor boats here? Am I just having bad luck today or what?" He grabbed the oars and started rowing.   
  
  
  


When Crono and Lucca got back to the Biggie Piggie, Malt and Hops were sitting at a table, their food long finished. They were blowing straw wrappers at each other. Judging from the number of wrappers that covered the restaurant, they'd been at it for quite a while. 

Crono stabbed his sword into the table to get their attention. "Come on, you two. We have to go." 

Hops hit him with a wrapper. "You guys aren't off to a good start," he said. "Even Spekkio's never ditched us in a cheap restaurant." Crono grabbed their arms and pulled them to their feet. 

"I'm telling Dad you're harassing me," Malt said with an evil grin. 

Crono shook his head. "Your dad wouldn't care." 

"Good point, but I could always scream 'rape' really loud and get you in some serious trouble." Crono let them both go. 

Lucca sighed. "Let's go. There's no reason to argue like this. We're all going to get along just fine and have a great time. You said yourself that there's no telling when your father will get back, so let's try to become great friends. You're going to be here a while." 

Malt crossed her arms. "Tell Crono to promise not to manhandle me. I am a delicate flower that must be treated with care and love." 

"Yeah right." 

Lucca glared at him. "Crono?" 

"I promise," he mumbled. 

"Good. Can we go now?" The four left the Biggie Piggie and walked to the town square. The townsfolk were coming back outside now that the incident was over. The damage had been mainly in the square. They reached the plaza, where efforts had begun to clean up the bodies. The mayor was on the stage, directing the cleaners. Marle was nowhere to be seen. They went to the center to see the mayor. 

"Excuse me," Lucca called. 

The mayor hopped down to greet them. "Look at this mess! I can't believe this could happen in my beautiful city. I assure you both that the city of Porre had nothing to do with this. If I could have known-" 

"Where's Marle?" Crono and Lucca asked in unison. 

The mayor looked at them in surprise. "You don't know? It's absolutely horrid! The Mystics got her! A large scarecrow carried her to the docks. All my ships are away right now, but I assure you I'll send some to look for her as soon as I can." 

Crono shook his head. "We've had enough of your assurance for one day. Let's go to the docks." They pushed past the mayor and headed south. 

"Looks like you're doing a great job of protecting the princess," Malt said sarcastically. "I sure feel safe." 

"How do you know that we're here to protect her?" Crono asked. 

Malt gave him an exasperated look. "It's pretty obvious. Why else would you be looking for her? Because you want to kidnap her?" 

Crono just stared at her. Hops smirked. "You're really pissing him off this time, Malt." 

"So?" she said. "He promised not to do anything to me, remember Crono?" 

"I promised not to manhandle you." 

"What," she asked, "are you going to tickle me until I behave? I don't need to be disciplined by a pair of teenagers like you." 

"How does a kid develop an attitude like this?" Crono asked no one in particular. 

"By being Spekkio's kid," Lucca said. "Can we please save this until we find Marle? Once we're all back in Truce, we can have a jolly time getting each other invitations to the overnight lockup. I promise to show anyone who cares to get on my nerves too frequently the true wonders of science." The hint of a threat was lost on no one. 

When they reached the docks, they found the ticket building empty. The staff had cleared out for some reason. Crono glanced around for more attackers. "See anything?" 

"No," Lucca said. "They've gotten away. Didn't Marle say the scarecrow helped her defeat the imps? Why would it do that if it was one of the Mystics?" 

Crono nodded. "They wanted her dead, not kidnapped. We're definitely dealing with a separate group." 

"They're getting away." Crono and Lucca turned to Malt. "That's probably her," she said. She was pointing to a tiny dot out on the water. 

They ran to the piers, though the situation wasn't hopeful. "I don't see any boats," Hops said. 

Crono pointed. "There's one left." They all looked at the one remaining rowboat, bobbing slightly in the gentle waves. No one said anything. 

Lucca frowned. "I think we're all going to get to know each other very well."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 14 --

  


"Ro-o! U-ah!" Marle called as they approached. 

Crono wasn't sure how to react. He'd been rowing hard nonstop to catch up with Marle and her kidnapper. His arms were tired, and he imagined that Lucca's were, too. They were all cramped and irritable. 

And that scarecrow freak was FISHING! He was just sitting in the boat, line dangling in the water, Marle restrained and seated beside him. 

Their rowboat stopped a foot away from the enemy's. The scarecrow was just staring at them, slightly amused. He pulled his line out of the water and placed the pole in the boat, waiting for them to act. 

The scarecrow politely tipped his hat. "Good day to you all! It's so wonderful to finally meet Ro-o an U-ah in person. She's been telling me all about you. I was trying to catch us a light snack, but, as you can see, I had no luck." 

Lucca drew her handgun and aimed for Shellac's chest. "We're not here to play games. Hand over Marle." 

Shellac frowned. "I respect your devotion to your friend, but I simply can't do that. She's of great value to myself and several others. If we don't kidnap her, we don't eat. Simple as that. What can I say?" 

"You can give us Marle," Crono reiterated, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. 

"Sorry," Shellac said. "No can do. I can, of course, give you all tickets to the Traveling Beetle Circus of Ishmael Yamabushi." He produced four tickets and held them out. "Wonderful show. He's got these little beetles that can dance, and some that run on little hamster wheels." 

Hops took the tickets and examined them. He found the date on the backs. "These are for a show over three hundred years ago! What are you trying to pull on us?" 

"Om-on ep e!" Marle wailed. 

"Enough!" Lucca shouted. Everyone turned to her. "Give us Marle now or we get mean." She held her gun level, unwavering. 

Shellac stood, readying his scythe. "My only regret is that I don't have more time to spend with you morons. Do your worst!" 

Lucca fired two shots into the scarecrow's chest, punching two holes through his straw and burlap body. Shellac gave them a stitched smile as they both began to slowly seal themselves up. "Weren't counting on that, were you?" He extended his empty hand. A large rock materialized over the far side of Lucca's boat. 

She slipped the gun back into its place under her tunic. "No! Don't do that!" The rock dropped, dumping them into the water as the boat capsized. 

Shellac laughed. "What strange persons!" He sat back down to continue rowing to his destination.   
  
  
  


Marle could barely see in the low light of the building. Well, building wasn't quite the right word. Shellac had taken her to an island, a rather pretty one actually, where they had gotten out of the boat and walked down the beach until they reached a gray, concrete bunker built just where the dunes seemed to end, to be replaced with autumn grass, a mix of browns and greens, and some light trees. The door was heavy, clearly able to withstand serious punishment before buckling. 

Inside they had gone down a series of hallways. She half noticed other branches, the occasional door. The place struck her as something more likely to be found in the far future she had seen, not 1001. Thick piping and cables lined many of the walls and ceilings. The floor was grated, with more conduits running just beneath it. Their feet clanged on the metal. 

Shellac led her to a large door, not quite so solid as the front entrance. The scarecrow pressed a button on the wall, and the door slid open. He waited for her to walk through, then followed, the door sliding shut behind him. There was an audible click as it locked. 

The room was large but simple. A bed, a desk, a short shelf. There was a small lamp on the shelf, the single bulb not nearly enough to illuminate the whole room. There was a simple green rug in the center of the floor. 

The most noticeable feature of the room was one of the walls. The entire concrete slab had been painted to look like a view of the beach and sea, the mainland just visible on the horizon, as if to mimic a window. Marle had to admit, it was very well done. 

Shellac walked toward it, studying it carefully. "Not exactly like the real thing," he said, "but it's something to look at. A friend of mine painted it. I particularly like the water. Water can be so hard to do, but she managed it so wonderfully here, don't you agree?" It was a moment before he went on. "You're going to be here for a while, though I'm not sure exactly how long. It's only important that you're missing." He slowly walked behind her. "I assure you that I will do you no harm. I doubt the others will, either." He began to untie her. "Try to make yourself at home." He reached up to release her gag. "There's a meal on the desk, if you're hungry. I'll bring you three meals a day. My cooking tends to be a bit well done, but I assure you it is edible. Behind the curtain on the far wall is the bathroom." He stepped back. Marle turned to look at him. Despite being the person that had just abducted her, he wasn't intimidating. The empty holes in his head seemed to betray as much as any pair of eyes would. "If you require anything later, ask." 

Marle smiled. "Thank you. I'm sure few kidnap victims are treated so well, especially when there's no ransom involved. Are you sure this is necessary? Guardia could use you, or at least I could. I could pay you, give you a place to stay if that's all you desire from this." 

A friendly smile crossed his stitched mouth. "I must thank you for your offer, but I'm afraid I must decline. Understand that I have nothing against you personally. But, I'm sure you'll agree that we must all choose our own paths through life. We cannot let others force us down the one they choose." He shrugged. "I chose this path a long time ago, and it is my place still." 

Marle nodded. "I respect that. You don't know how true that is to me." 

"I could imagine a similar situation in your place. Heiress of Guardia, has to be the queen someday. Got to do everything how everyone's always done it. But, what if you don't want that?" 

Marle was speechless for a moment. "Exactly..." she managed. 

Shellac shrugged. "I've been around. I've seen stuff. I wasn't given a choice in the beginning of my existence." 

"When was that?" 

He thought. "Around 15,000 years ago." 

"Oh. That must get boring." 

"No, not really. You've just got to learn to live differently. Slower. Watch the passage of history. Of course...it can be hard when no one else lives as long as you do." 

Marle sat in silence. The very thought of living so long overwhelmed her. To have seen so much... 

"I may be a worthless mercenary, but I have my own honor, my own pride. And there are those I cannot abandon." He took a step back. "Maybe we will meet under better circumstances one day. Maybe I can take your offer then." 

"Maybe." 

"Unfortunately, I doubt it," he said, his face emotionless. Shellac disappeared in a swirl of glowing crow feathers. Marle stood, unmoving. The rush of events only now allowed her to catch up, to feel the panicked, wild, confused emotions that she'd suppressed. To really consider her situation. 

She was at a loss. Nothing was ever as black and white as they wanted you to see it. Just gray, like the walls. She ran her fingertips over the concrete as a single tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a wet trail on her skin. Like the wall. 

Cold and gray.   
  
  
  


Crono plodded out of the water, up onto the beach. He was soaked. He was cold. It was windy and getting late. Damn it all. He glanced around him. The island was simple, small. Beach, then trees. Lucca and the kids were already lying in the sand, resting from their swim. The rowboat had refused to right itself, forcing them to come the rest of the way by their own power. Fall was a terrible time to be swimming. 

He collapsed beside Lucca, panting. "It's cold. It's getting dark. What do we do?" he asked between breaths. 

Lucca tried to move her shoulders in something vaguely resembling a shrug. "We've got to find Marle. She's somewhere on this island, and so is the scarecrow. This guy is not a Mystic, I'm sure of that." 

"Yeah," Crono agreed. "The Mystics just don't operate like this. They just go ahead and kill you. This guy, he's seriously trying to get us to give up." He smiled. "But do you know what?" 

"What?" 

"We don't give up." They both didn't move, enjoying the break. "When we have Marle, I suggest we cancel Medina and go straight home." 

"Agreed," Lucca said. "Spekkio's kids?" 

"They're ours for who knows how long. I guess we'll just find them places to stay with us. I've got an empty guest room. Well, it was empty last time I was at my house." 

"We've got more room than we know what to do with. No, I take that back. We know what to do with it: fill it with electronic junk. But they could both easily stay at my house. You could just come over every day." 

"Every day?" 

"You are not dumping both of them on me." 

Crono nodded. "I know, but I still think we'll make horrible parental figures." 

"Worse than Spekkio?" 

Crono thought. "Yes, actually. With Spekkio, they at least know that he is their father. With us, we're just a pair of bums that Daddy knows. Have you been wondering how Spekkio got here? The gates are sealed, right?" 

"He and Gaspar can probably make temporary gates from the End of Time," she said. "At least, I wouldn't be surprised. Gaspar would have figured it out sometime, and he's got a lot of time on his hands there. That's probably why Malt and Hops have to wait for Spekkio to come get them, rather than just going home." 

"Is the End of Time their home?" 

That was a thought. Did these kids ever have something to call home? "From what Spekkio said, I'm guessing the closest thing they've ever had would be some place in Zeal," Lucca answered. "Has it occurred to you that these kids would probably scare any child psychologist?" 

"Spekkio's their father, he apparently was rarely around, they were raised in Zeal, yes, these children are messed up beyond hope. This should be interesting." He managed to get up to his knees. Malt and Hops were digging in the sand. He tapped Lucca's shoulder. "Let's get this over with." 

He got up to his feet and walked over to the kids. "You two stay here, okay," he said. "We've got to go get Marle. It's probably extremely dangerous, and Lucca and I don't want you to get hurt." 

Malt smiled. "Great, we'll just make sand castles for the nice crabs. If you don't come back, we have survival training. Dad will come get us eventually." She gave him a little salute. 

"That's just great. Your confidence is inspiring." 

"Sarcasm is rude," Hops said. 

"Perhaps," Crono agreed, "but it is ever so fun." Lucca called him. She was already walking down the beach. Crono checked his sword and took a deep breath to calm himself. "Let's rescue us a princess."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 15 --

  


They found him atop a dune, illuminated in the darkness by the faint green glow radiating from the stone in the scythe he carried. His cape billowed slightly in the breeze. His face was blank, showing no fear, nor any pride. The buffoonery had once again disappeared. He was a warrior, and despite the tattered rags of his clothing, he was a terrible and glorious image. Lucca's gun was in her hand, resting at her side. Crono drew his sword. 

All three waited. 

The scarecrow spoke first. "Leave." He was not speaking loudly, but his voice carried over the dunes. 

"I can't," Crono said. "I have to save Marle." 

Shellac's fathomless eyes closed. "Leave. Just walk away. You will be needed elsewhere shortly. Your friend is safe." 

Crono shook his head. "If you don't mean us harm, why do you oppose us?" 

The scarecrow stood, unmoving. "Because I must." 

"Yes," Lucca said. "We must do what we must." 

Shellac's eyes opened. "Then let us end this." He raised his scythe. "HELL GEYSER!" Crono barely leapt away in time. The column of fire washed the beach in orange light. He rolled to his feet, readying his sword. Shellac was running toward Crono, arms to his side, moving effortlessly over the sand. There were several gunshots as Lucca emptied her clip at the scarecrow, punching a few small holes in his body. Shellac neared, raising his weapon to strike. For a moment, Crono feared he was mesmerized by the look in the scarecrow's face. He thought he could see pain and reluctance in the creases of Shellac's burlap face. The urgency of the situation shoved Crono out of his trance, and he assumed a fighting stance to meet his advancing opponent. 

He glimpsed the scythe crashing down on him before dodging to the side. He struck back, his blade flashing in the light of the stone. Shellac was too fast. The sand was not impeding him at all. He easily blocked with his scythe, immediately twirling it back around. Crono stepped back, the blade slicing through the air scarcely inches away from his chest. 

He leapt forward again, sweeping his blade in an upward arc. Shellac deflected it from his torso, but the sword caught his left shoulder, tearing into his cape, but not hurting him. He slammed the butt of his scythe into Crono's chest, lifting him off his feet and flinging him back. Crono managed to land on his feet, nearly losing his balance in the sand. His chest had a shallow cut, nothing that would stop him. 

Shellac didn't let up. He charged forward again, swinging at Crono's neck. Crono ducked, then used his legs to propel himself up at the scarecrow, sword aiming for where a heart should be. Shellac knocked the sword away with the shaft of his scythe, but Crono still slammed into him, forcing him to stumble back. 

He shook as more rounds tore into his back. Lucca had finished reloading. "It's bad form to shoot a man in the back," Shellac said with a sardonic smile. He leapt almost thirty feet into the air, landing half way between his two opponents. He swung his scythe in Lucca's direction. "DEVIL SHOT!" Three purple fireballs sped toward her. Lucca dove away, trying to get behind a clump of tall grass. The first two barely missed, kicking up showers of sand, but the third caught her leg, the blast flipping her through the air. She landed on her back, winded, her leg scorched. 

"BOLT STRIKE!" The lightning bolt hit Shellac's left shoulder again, disintegrating most of it. Straw and canvas fibers immediately stretched across the damage, beginning repairs. Somehow, his arm continued to function normally. Shellac spun around, blocking a strike from Crono. Their weapons locked, and they stood there, struggling against their equal strength. Crono put all his strength into an upward push, knocking the scarecrow back. He swung, slicing into his stomach. Shellac grunted, finally showing signs of pain. Crono struck again, but was blocked. He leapt back to catch his breath. 

Lucca climbed to her feet, her gun lost and her leg aching. She charged forward her hands out in front of her. "FIRAGA!" A ball of flames shot from her hands at her opponent. A foot away from Shellac, it erupted, consuming everything in a ten foot radius in a wave of energy. 

When the blast cleared, Shellac was still standing, though singed all over his body. 

He ignored Lucca for the time being, rushing Crono, his scythe ready to strike. Crono blocked two attacks, then lunged forward. Shellac jumped up to dodge, but Crono was expecting it. "BOLT STRIKE!" The attack knocked Shellac higher into the air, no longer in control of his flight. 

"We don't have time for this!" Lucca shouted. She began glowing red, then was consumed in an orange ring of energy. "FIRAGA!" She raised her hand, launching a pulsing projectile far more powerful than the last at the rapidly descending scarecrow. It hit, exploding outward. The blast lit the entire island as it surrounded Shellac, the magic burning through his already weakened body. His tattered form fell, disappearing behind a dune. Lucca struggled to stay on her feet, exhausted. 

No one moved. The only sound was their heavy breathing. "He's gone," Lucca said. 

"Looks like it," Crono said. He smiled weakly. "Looks we've got a big problem on our hands. That was no Mystic." 

"I'm just hoping he was the only one." 

Crono glanced around, spotting the bunker nearby. He sheathed his sword. "Come on! Marle may be in there." 

Lucca looked where he was pointing. "Yeah. Let's check it out." 

They both ran to the door. Crono pounded on it, listening to the deep roar it produced. Lucca saw the panel that opened it. It was a keypad, obviously requiring a code. Rather advanced for this time. She leaned closer to examine it. It was barely noticeable, but the three, seven, and eight were slightly more worn in appearance than the others. Odd, but perhaps helpful. She tried several combinations of those. The door slid open on 7-3-8. 

They advanced slowly. It was dark inside. The whole place was way beyond it's time. Crono felt like he was back in 2300, only this place was in far better condition. They wandered down the echoing halls, finding several dead ends and no sign of anything alive. The two eventually reached a featureless door. Crono hit the button beside it. 

The door slid open, revealing a simple gray room. One of the walls was painted like a beach scene. Very good, actually. Marle was sitting on a bed, her face red from crying. She looked up at the sound of the door. 

"Crono!" She ran forward and threw her arms around his neck. 

Crono hugged her back. "Are you okay?" he asked. 

She let go and stepped back. "I'm fine," she said. "Are you guys okay? You look a little roughed up." 

Lucca smiled. "We're fine. Just ran into a little resistance on our way here. Nice place they had you in." 

"It could be much worse. I'm grateful." 

"I'm not sure how we're going to get home," Crono said. "The mayor of Porre should be sending boats to look around. Hopefully they'll come here first." 

As tired as she was, Lucca knew that rest would have to come later. "We need to be going," she said. "We left Malt and Hops alone, and it's getting cold. We need to make sure they're alright." 

"Who? Do you mean those two kids who were with you in the boat earlier?" Marle asked. 

Crono and Lucca looked at each other, unsure of how to begin. "It's a very long story," Lucca said, "but for now, suffice it to say that they're Spekkio's kids. Twins, actually." 

Marle was astonished. "Spekkio has kids?" 

"We thought the same thing," Crono told her. "We don't know the details, and Spekkio's already gone. We may be able to get something from the kids themselves, but I don't know how likely that will be." 

"We've been recruited to watch over them until Spekkio comes back to pick them up," Lucca explained. "Fun, huh?" 

Marle was still speechless from the thought of the Master of War having offspring. Crono motioned behind them. "Let's be going now, okay? Lucca's right. We need to make sure the twins are fine." 

"Wait," Marle said. "Where's Shellac?" 

"Who?" Lucca asked. 

"The scarecrow."   
  
  
  


Shellac stared at the stars, unable to get up. His body was torn, leaving him immobile. The stars were all he could see. So many. He thought he might count them, just to pass the time. 

His body was slowly repairing itself. Too slowly. He knew he wouldn't make it. He'd been bested. His long life was coming to an end. 

But it was his life. Always had been. 

Always would be. 

He thought of Lysol and Windex. Draino would order them around as usual. Hopefully, they'd stand up to him. They had to realize by now that Draino was going to far. 

"How is my sweet fool now?" 

Shellac turned his head, pain stinging his body as he did. He had expected this. "Good day, Draino. Or should I say night? It's a tad dark for day, but you don't normally greet with 'good night.' Have your perfect plans fallen apart?" 

"No," Draino said. "Guardia knows that it wasn't the Mystics who attacked the princess, supposedly some rogues. They know some strange psycho kidnapped her. My plans will continue." 

"Too bad." 

Draino sighed. He was unkempt and smelly, still in one of his off periods. "Why did you always oppose me, Shellac? You could have had anything when the plan was completed." His eyes sparkled at the thought. "Anything. I don't understand why you don't long for it as much as I." 

Shellac coughed. "I don't believe that what you seek to do can be done. I just wanted to live my life my way, as I was. The Purge had gotten by fine without the Eyes before you came. We were famous, among those who knew of such things. We never failed." He shook his head. "Then you came, promising greater power from the Eyes, greater still once we found the necessary spell. We've tolerated you this long, even given you our trust, but you're pushing our hospitality." Shellac sighed. "Draino, you know there is no spell." 

"You're lying to yourself again, Shellac. I'm right, and you are wrong. That is simply the way things are. And also, don't fool yourself into thinking I need you three." 

"No, you're the one lying to yourself." He sighed, turning his gaze back to the stars. "This will not end well. It's written in the stars." 

Draino looked up. "Where?" 

"Oh, I don't know. But it's there, somewhere. I'll miss this world." 

"Do you think there's anything for you to go to now?" 

"Who knows. I guess I'll find out soon enough." 

Draino smiled. "Give my regards to the greater beings. I'll be joining them soon as well, but under better circumstances I should think." 

"Just go, Draino. You don't care what happens to me." 

"Your right," said Draino. He reached down, lifting Shellac's scythe. "Won't be needing this, will you?" The Eye of Lavos glowed slightly, then slid out of its place in the scythe's blade. Draino caught it as it fell. "I'll be going now. I'll leave you to contemplate your foolishness, for however long you can." He turned and walked away down the beach. 

Shellac sighed. He considered closing his eyes, but decided against it. The stars were soothing. He had been a fool. One hell of a fool.   
  
  
  


But then, the fool was often the wisest man in the court, in his own foolish way.   
  
  
  


The stars were truly beautiful that night.   
  
  
  


Studio Dhampir  
2000  
Revised: 2003


	2. As the Machines Resume

Crono sat cross-legged on the bed he'd been given onboard the 'Lost Rachel'. The ship, a merchant vessel from Porre, had picked his companions and him up from Shellac's island the night before. It was about noon, so they'd probably reach Truce in a few hours. He was shuffling a deck of cards over and over again. Shuffle. Tap. Cut. Shuffle. Tap. Cut. 

Malt sat facing Crono, mindlessly watching him shuffle. Her mouth hung open slightly, saliva slowly collecting at the corner of her mouth, threatening to slip over her lip. Her violet eyes had taken on a glazed appearance. 

The shuffling stopped. Crono glanced up at the girl. "Are you on something?" 

Malt's eyes refocused, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Yeah, I've been snorting cocaine all morning. You?" Crono went back to shuffling his cards. "I was just hypnotized by your rhythmic shuffling. You wouldn't happen to have another deck, would you?" Crono paused long enough to reach back and grab his backup deck. He tossed it to Malt. She opened the pack and took the cards out. Studied the pattern on the back for a moment. Started shuffling. 

Nothing was said for a few minutes. Finally, Malt asked, "If we stay at this long enough, will we become perfectly synchronized?" 

"Most likely," Crono said. He looked up but didn't stop shuffling. "I've never tried though. Most people don't want to join in; they just threaten to kill me if I don't stop." 

Malt smiled at a particularly graceful shuffle. "That was a nice one." 

"Very."   
  
  
  


The Purge  
  
Part II  
As the Machines Resume  
  
by Turambar  
Turambar198@aol.com  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-- 16 --

  


The steady drumming of the rain on the concrete roof. The occasional burst of lightning, followed swiftly by an explosion of thunder. Wedge didn't like storms much. He never had. Sure, he'd stopped wetting himself by five and hadn't hidden under the furniture since he was eleven, at least not on a regular basis, but he still preferred a quiet, sunny afternoon to this. 

Wedge took another sip from his coffee. It definitely wasn't doing anything to calm his nerves, but at this point he was certain that it wasn't even worth trying. There was another crack of thunder, and the rain seemed to pick up in strength. Fighting back the urge to hide under the table, he stood up to pace around the bunker. Surely this claustrophobic anxiety would snap his sanity soon. He almost dropped his mug when the radio beeped to alert him of an incoming signal. "Hey, pick up, man." 

He picked up the mike and flipped the switch for the active frequency. "Base here," he said. "Report." 

"Man, Wedge, do you realize how fucking hard it's raining out here?" a voice answered back. 

"Yeah, Biggs. I can hear it." He glanced over to the nearest window. "And see it. How's the patrol?" 

"There ain't nothing out here, man. Just trees, squirrels, and us dumb fucks. Liese is with me. Say hey, Liese." 

A second voice, female, chirped over the radio, "Hey, Wedge. Everything okay at base?" 

"I'm hanging in." 

"Don't hide under the bunks, this time," Liese said with a giggle. "There was a dead bug under there this morning. Big sucker." 

Wedge felt his face turning red. "Why would I do that?" 

"Because you do every time we have a shower like this. I mean, grow a spine already!" 

"What are you calling a shower?" Biggs's voice this time. "Wedge, man, we're heading back to base, okay. There's nothing out here." 

"What are we looking for, anyway?" Liese asked. 

"Hell, I don't know," Wedge said. "Bandits, most likely. They've been having problems with something like that around here lately. Look, radio the others and tell them to head in, too. There's nothing you can do out there right now." 

"I here you, man. It's as good as done." 

"See you soon, Wedge! You better not be under the desk when I get there!" 

Wedge flicked the radio off. Just out of curiosity, he glanced under the bunks. Just a dead beetle. Big one, though. He settled into his chair to wait out the storm. 

After ten minutes, Wedge went to the coffee maker and freshened his mug. It would still be at least another fifteen minutes before everyone got back. He sat back down and tried to ignore the storm. Fifteen minutes passed. Then another five. And another. Wedge went back to the radio and switched all the frequencies on. "This is Base. Does anyone hear me?" He waited a moment. It was certainly possible that the storm was slowing everyone's return, and disrupting the radios as well. "This is Base," Wedge said, his voice more anxious now. "Somebody please answer." Nothing. Another five minutes passed as Wedge paced in front of the radio. 

Footsteps. Wedge turned to see the door swing open and a soaked Liese fall through. She scurried to her feet, throwing water everywhere, panting for air. "Wedge! We've got to get out of here!" 

Biggs stumbled in behind her. "Come on, man! We need to get back to town!" 

"What is it?" Wedge checked his sword and grabbed his coat. 

Biggs leaned on the table, trying to catch his breath. "There's something out there, man. I'm not sure what." 

"What about the others?" 

"We lost contact with them," Liese said, her voice becoming more and more panicky. "We're not kidding here! We've got to leave NOW!" She and Biggs ran back out the door, Wedge following close behind. 

The rain pounded down on him. He could barely see where he was going. Trees materialized out of the blur. He avoided most, but ran into others in his haste to get away. Somehow, he managed to find the road, but he'd lost Biggs and Liese. It had turned into a muddy river. His feet sank in with each step, pulling free with a disgusting pop, but Wedge pressed on, not wanting know what had cut him off from most of his group and scared the crap out of his friends. He heard a muffled cry behind him. It was probably Biggs. A moment later a scream tore through the air, but was cut off as soon as it started. Liese. Wedge drew his sword and pressed onward. 

Something hit him from behind, knocking him into the mud. It clung to his back, poking at him through his coat. Wedge thrashed in the mud, managing to throw his attacker off. He scrambled to his feet, his sword still clutched in his hand. His crazed, desperate eyes squinted through the rain and darkness, searching for the thing that assaulted him. It was a spider, or at least looked a lot like one. It was made of polished metal, probably had a chrome finish, but he couldn't tell in the rain. Within seconds, the thing came at him again. He reacted on instinct. A flash of steel. The spider splashed in the mud, cleaved neatly in two. Sparks flickered in its open gut but were quickly extinguished by the rain. 

He left it sputtering in the mud and ran. He wasn't sure how far he was from town. Everything seemed the same in the storm. There was no time to worry about what that thing had been. It was dead, whatever it was, and no longer a threat. Now he just had to make sure no other threats caught up to him. 

Wedge finally stopped to rest and catch his breath. He knew that he still had a way to go, but it seemed like he wasn't being pursued anymore. A small noise, like the snapping of a twig, reached him through the howls of the storm. Wedge spun around, scanning the road behind him for more of the chrome spiders. Just mud. Trees. Rain. Nothing. He sighed and turned back to the path ahead. 

And promptly wet himself for the first time in quite a while.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 17 --

  


Stretching, Crono breathed in the moist sea air. He was tempted to sit down on the edge of the pier and enjoy the chilling breeze, but he knew he had more important things to do. With the unexpected attack on Marle, things would certainly not calm down for a while. A royal carriage had picked her up as soon as they had gotten off the boat, leaving him with Lucca and Spekkio's twins. He sighed, already picturing himself taking care of twelve-year-olds. That made him laugh, something he loved to do. He believed in finding the humor in any situation, no matter how dire or serious. 

Someone ran into him from behind, knocking him to the pier. The two bodies rolled into a confused tangle. Malt extracted herself from the heap. "Tag! You're it, Uncle Crono!" She smiled at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes, before she dashed away toward the town. 

"Dammit! Stop calling me that!" She had started while on the boat, and hadn't called him anything else since. Crono rolled onto his back. The morning sun stung his eyes. "Explain to me why we agreed to do this." 

A shadow covered his face. Lucca looked down at him, her sympathetic face blocking the sunlight. "Because, Crono, Spekkio is our friend, and we always help friends in need." 

He frowned. "Since when?" 

"Since I said so," she said, offering him a hand. He took it and climbed to his feet. "Malt's just being friendly. It wouldn't hurt if you'd be friendly back." 

The female twin was at the base of the pier, waving at him. "I suppose you're right, Lucca. She's young, in a new place, kind of lonely. She just wants acceptance and love from us, the mother and father figures." 

Lucca nodded. "Exactly." 

"So, obviously we should set a good example by acting in a responsible, seventeen-year-old manner." 

"Obviously. We need to provide them with a source of stability and morality, which will be quite a challenge for us." 

Crono grinned. "Which is exactly why I'm going to chase her and get my revenge. In a responsible, seventeen-year-old manner, of course." Crono dashed down the pier before Lucca could say anything. Malt saw him coming and, with high squeal of joy, ran away. 

Lucca and Hops watched them go. Distracted by Crono's antics, Lucca failed to notice the second of Spekkio's twins until he spoke. "You wouldn't happen to have a home, would you?" Hops asked. 

"Yeah. Why?" 

He shrugged. "I really need to raid your fridge." 

Food! It seemed like days since she had eaten. Only now did Lucca acknowledge the complaints of her stomach. No doubt Hops was equally hungry. "Oh. Sure, we can go ahead to my house. Crono will bring Malt there eventually." 

Hops smiled. "If he can catch her." 

"Crono stays in pretty good shape. He shouldn't have too much trouble." 

"Malt's an award-winning distance runner, and she can sprint well, too." He picked up the small amount of luggage Crono and Lucca had taken south and started down the pier. "He has his work cut out for him." 

"I suppose that does make a difference."   
  
  
  


Crono followed Malt down the main road to the center of town. He wasn't gaining on her, but he wasn't losing ground either. He smiled to himself. Malt didn't have a chance. He knew this town like the back of his hand. He'd be able to spot every chance to cut her off. No matter how fast she ran, he'd catch her. 

Up ahead, Malt turned right onto another road. That would take her past his house. Crono took an earlier right. This path went diagonal to the road Malt was on and would take him straight to his doorstep. He'd come out on the main road considerably closer to her. 

Oak trees lined this path, but Crono somehow managed to keep his footing on the layer of acorns. He winced as he remembered a similar situation in which he hadn't. He pushed those thoughts aside as he turned onto the next road, right in front of his house. Malt was only a few meters ahead now. She glanced back and let out a gleeful squeal when she saw him so much closer. She turned left, onto the road that led to the marketplace. She'd have to slow down in the crowd. 

Crono raced down the road after her. She glanced back at him again. "Looks like somebody should have exercised more," she called over her shoulder. 

Allowing himself another smile, Crono sped up as much as he could. Malt was getting closer and closer. When only a meter separated them, he dove, latching onto her ankles. Malt cried out as they both skidded to a halt on the cobblestone road. Malt twisted around to look at Crono, who refused to release her feet. "Okay, you caught me. Happy? Now let me go." 

"If I let go, you'll just run away again." 

Her face showed false amazement. "ME? After you beat me fair and square? I think I have more honor than that." 

Crono grinned. "I don't think so." 

"You're mean, Uncle Crono," she said, frowning. "I was just playing. Let me go." He shook his head. "Oh come on! I scrapped an elbow! I need immediate medical attention!" 

"I scrapped both my knees." 

"So? You're the one who tackled me on a road. It should have been fairly obvious that we'd both be injured." 

Crono just stared at her with a look that said 'I'm mentally disturbed.' 

Malt frowned, twisting around on the cobbles in an attempt to break free. "My dad better not have left me with some dirty child molester." 

"Oh, don't worry," Crono said. "I only molest sea cucumbers, and that's only when they look at me the wrong way. Of course, you look a lot like a sea cucumber, so I may be willing to make an exception." 

"I'm bleeding to death here!" 

"It's just a scrapped elbow. You'll live. Still, you'll have this ugly scar on your elbow. Everyone will notice and think poorly of you because of your imperfection. Spekkio will disown you, since he wouldn't want such a freak associated with him. Hops will abandon you. You'll never have a boyfriend. No one will go to a dance with you. You'll never be married. You'll grow old and ugly and die alone in a cardboard box in a back alley." 

"I think I get the point," she said, glaring. 

"Holy crap!" Crono yelled, startling Malt and several passers-by. 

The girl clutched at her heart. "What's the matter with you?" 

"Look at the back of my hand! I've got this kickass mole! I never saw that before." 

Malt sighed with disgust. 

Neither of the pair noticed all the strange looks they were getting from people, who all gave them a wide berth. 

"Malt," Crono said at last. "I'm going to let you up now, okay? Then we're both going to walk around town and have a jolly time. Then we'll go to Lucca's house. Deal?" It was, to his credit, an honest attempt to be reasonable. 

Malt stared back at him with her large, violet eyes. She gave him a horribly cute pout. "Do you promise we can do whatever I want?" 

"To a degree," Crono answered flatly. 

"Dammit! Why doesn't my unbearable charm work on you?" 

Crono shrugged. "Oh, it's quite charming, I'm just very demented. That's what happens when you go hunting planet parasites." He released Malt's ankles and climbed to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes. His knees stung, but he could still walk. "Well, Miss Unbearable Charm, what do you want to do?" He offered her a hand. 

Malt took it, but pulled much harder than she needed to. "I don't know. What's there to do around here?" 

Crono shrugged. "Nothing." 

"I thought as much. But I think I know something we can do." 

"And what could that be?" Crono asked. 

Malt didn't say anything, only turned and bolted into the crowd. She was out of sight before Crono could even begin to react. He sighed. "This is going to be a long day," he mumbled to himself before he went after her, his knees limiting him to a hurried shuffle.   
  
  
  


The porch was just as she had left it. A stone was loose in the second step. The door hadn't received any new dents or scratches. The welcome mat was still there. It said, "Abandon All Hope." Lara had objected to it, but then she rarely saw it, so Taban let it stay. It suddenly occurred to her that some might find it odd that she referred to her parents by their first names. She shrugged it away. Since when was anything she did normal? 

She knocked, the sound reverberating in the thick oak door. There was no answer, no sound of movement; no call of "Let yourself in." 

"Do you suppose they're not home?" 

Lucca turned. Hops just shrugged at her, his expression hard to read with his eyes concealed by his bangs. "I guess not. I have a key somewhere." She twisted to reach into her pouch, searching for the keys. 

Hops came up the steps to stand beside her, his foot slipping on the loose stone. Maybe she should have warned him? It didn't trip him though, and he didn't complain. "I'm afraid I left all my hope in Zeal, so I don't have any to leave on your porch. Will that be a problem?" 

"No," she answered. "We're overstocked on abandoned hope as is. Yours won't be missed." Where were those damn keys? She knew she had them in here somewhere. 

"That's good to know. Do you have much food?" 

"I wouldn't know. I've been gone for weeks, remember?" HA! The key! 

Hops frowned. "No, I don't. I wasn't with you for most of that trip. As far as I know, you've been away from home for just a few days." 

"Don't be difficult. I have enough problems putting up with Crono." Damn! It was the wrong key! Back to the hunt. 

"You thrive on difficult people." 

That made Lucca pause. He had a point. Didn't he? "Did they make you a psychiatrist in Zeal or something?" 

He shrugged. "Maybe. You have any Cheez Whiz?" 

Lucca stopped her hunt long enough to glare at him. "I told you I don't know what food there is here. You can have whatever we find." 

"Assuming we get in." There was the slightest hint of a smirk on his mouth. 

She didn't answer, but found another key. She slipped it in the lock, mentally crossing her fingers as she turned it. It worked! Lucca turned the knob and shoved. The heavy door flew open, revealing the main room of the house. It was covered in books and electronics, as usual. That, at least, hadn't changed. She took a few steps in. She knew it was silly, to be acting like this, but everything seemed so different to her. After all, she hadn't been away from home for more than a day since Lavos's defeat. The house meant more to her than she realized. 

Something suddenly compelled her to run up the stairs to her room. Years of practice allowed her to move easily through the layers of junk. She burst through the door, into the hectic mess, worse than the living room if such was possible, and to her bed. She promptly launched herself onto it, bouncing on the aging mattress. The springs creaked horribly, the frame shook, but that only made it more perfect. Lucca threw off the heavy helmet she always wore and wrapped her arms around her pillow. She writhed on the unmade covers, losing herself in the welcoming feeling of her bed. HER bed! Damn, she loved this thing. It was hers, all hers! No hotel bed, no matter how nice, could possibly compare to it. Lucca inhaled, drawing in the comforting smell of HER room. The room that looked just right, that smelled just right. For the first time in almost two years, she was in heaven. 

"Aren't we happy?" 

Lucca sat up, suddenly aware of how bizarre she must look, but she ceased caring just as suddenly. "What, don't you know what it's like to have a room that's all yours, in every way imaginable?" 

Hops shrugged. "Not really." He threw back his head, opened his mouth wide, and sprayed it full of canned cheese. 

He'd already attacked the food supply? How long had she been wallowing in bliss? "That can is yours now." 

"You bet," Hops said. "I claim it whether you want me to or not." 

"Trust me, you can have it now." She forced herself off the bed, giving her room a quick assessment. Just as she had left it. "I'm going to assume you've already made yourself at home. You can have one of the two guest rooms. One's on the second floor; the other is in the basement. Unpack your things whenever you want. I'll be-" Something horribly obvious suddenly registered in her mind. "You and Malt didn't have any luggage." 

Hops swallowed another mouthful of cheese. "What you see is what you get." 

"You didn't bring anything?" He shook his head. "Why not? You do own some stuff, don't you?" 

"Okay, I lied." He produced a small satchel. "We each brought enough clothes." 

"That's it?" 

Hops nodded. 

Lucca sighed. "Well, you two are certainly light packers. Nothing wrong with that, it just surprised me. I mean, if I was going to be stuck with a bunch of strangers for some indefinite amount of time, I'd have brought more stuff." 

"We've got what we need, and you'll provide the rest, right?" 

"Yes, I suppose so." 

Hops smiled. Somehow, Lucca felt as if she'd just handed out a blank check. "Oh yeah! I found this on the refrigerator door." He held out a slip of stationary, the kind Lara loved to use. Lucca took it. "I guess that explains the quiet around here." 

Lucca read over the note. "Taban and Lara have gone to visit my grandparents in Lockton. They'll be there until New Year's." She mentally kicked herself for not visiting her relatives while she was passing through Lockton. How could she have forgotten something like that? "They don't expect me to come, just to watch over the house and behave responsibly." She looked up at Hops. "Well, this is unexpected. I guess we have more space here than I thought." 

"Plenty of room for us to move around in." He smiled again, and Lucca feared for the safety of her house. 

She was also suddenly aware of how horribly thirsty she was. "Well, pick a room and trash it to your liking. Who knows how long you'll be around, right? If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen." She pushed past him and rushed down the stairs to the kitchen. It looked normal, too. She opened the refrigerator and immediately noticed how well stocked it was. Her parents hadn't left her without nourishment. The question was how long it would last with all these guests. It wouldn't be a problem. She could send Crono to the store whenever they ran low. 

Grabbing a gallon jug, she sat down heavily in a chair and started flooding her gut with poi. Between gulps, she could vaguely hear the sound of canned cheese being emptied into Hops.   
  
  
  


The sun had just set. Panting and sweating, Crono stumbled up to the door, nearly falling on that damn second step. He turned the knob, finding it unlocked. As soon as he stepped in, he lost his footing on some random bit of junk. Books flew and floorboards creaked as he fell hard. Lifting his head, he was greeted by the image of Malt standing in the doorway to the stairs, a huge smile plastered on her face. "Hey, Uncle Crono! Took you long enough!" 

Lucca looked up from a book, a half-empty jug of poi in her hand. "About time you joined us." 

If he hadn't been so exhausted, Crono would have broken something. Anything. 

Hops watched the scene from a distance, his face blank. He threw back his head and emptied the last of the can into his waiting jaws.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 18 --

  


It was one of those dreams again. 

This was the third time, so she'd learned to recognize the feeling. They were different from other dreams. No matter how obvious it was that none of it was real, it felt as real as her waking hours did. Lucid dreams, she was pretty sure they were called. But she'd had one or two of those before, and these didn't feel quite the same. She wasn't in control of this. 

But she knew it was a dream, since she knew she went to sleep in her bed that night. Logically, there was absolutely no way Lucca could be standing outside Arris Dome. 

It was just as she remembered it. The towering dome was dark, covered in dust and blackened by the fires of Lavos. Red dirt stirred at her feet. The air was thick with the smell of death. To the south was Death Peak, the final abode of Lavos. The wind howled, ripping through the air like the cry of this dying planet. Seeing it all again sent chills down her spine. 

"None of it exists now." 

Lucca turned. Sitting in the cab of a ruined vehicle was the man, his perfect violet eyes locked on her. Images of Malt and her similar eyes flashed before her. She ignored them, somehow knowing they couldn't be linked. 

The man stood and kicked the door open. He climbed out of the cab, running a hand through his shining brown hair. "At least," he continued, "not in this form exactly. You changed all this, remember?" 

She could only nod. 

"It's a pity really. This truly is a wonderful world. No joy, no progress, no budding life. Just death," he said, savoring the taste of the word on his tongue. "Despair. This is how things were meant to be." He took a few steps closer to Lucca. "I'm afraid all I can say is...thank you." 

Lucca frowned. "Why?" 

"Well, I have you to thank for destroying this perfect future. You to thank for my current state. So, thank you." 

This wasn't making sense. 

"Confused? Obviously. You missed all the juicy details. Would you like for me to share?" 

Lucca blinked, then suddenly found her mind a bit clearer. She could think. "Of course." 

The man twirled on his heels, kicking up red dust, a smile of pure delight on his face. "It's truly wonderful, when you take the time to consider it. It makes you and your friends look so horribly pathetic." He stopped moving and locked his gaze on her. "You, sweet Lucca, destroyed me. For that you WILL suffer. Your soul has already been damned to whatever hells may exist. But, for now, you have a purpose." He turned to look at Death Peak. "Can you guess who I am?" 

The answer seemed obvious, but Lucca found she had difficulty believing it. How? "You're Lavos, aren't you?" 

Lavos spun back to her. "BINGO! Tell our lovely contestant what she's won for that brilliant answer!" 

She was in the courtroom of Guardia Castle, Lavos in the judge's chair. A small creature, very much like a mantis, crept out from behind him. "The TRUTH!" it hissed. 

Lavos dropped his jaw in mock surprise. "Talk about your lucky day! So be it. The truth she will have." He leapt out of the chair, landing before her, now a perfect copy of Gaspar. The old man smiled. "I kept a secret from you and your friends. A secret that I could not reveal, or risk dooming the world. For who would fight Lavos if they knew the only way to do so was to become Lavos?" 

Lucca stared at the guru for a moment, his words not quite registering. "Become?" she asked at last. 

Lavos was back to his normal self now. "Yes, to put it simply. The being Spekkio granted you magic, did he not?" 

"...yes." 

"Well," he said, staring at here as if she was an idiot, "where could that magic possibly have come from?" 

They were back at Arris Dome. "So he gave us some of the power of Lavos. Isn't that what the people of Zeal did for several thousand years?" 

Lavos looked up at the sky, releasing a nostalgic sigh. "Oh, and those were some beautiful years. Actually, what most of the Enlightened were doing was a bit different from your situation. But it was fun. And of course, I had a body to call my own then. The fact that you received my power doesn't bother you?" 

"Should it?" she asked, shrugging. 

He sighed again. "Clearly the implications of this are lost on you," he answered flatly. "Fine, I have shared enough of the truth for tonight. Perhaps I'll share more later." 

Lucca stood, shocked. "Wait! You're leaving me at that? Tell me what the hell you mean! What's this amazing secret I don't get?" She couldn't believe she was reacting so strongly. This had to be just some weird dream. It wasn't like any of this could be true. 

They were in an auditorium. The one at her school, she realized. Lucca was on the stage, wearing a pink dress. Judging by the odd sensation on her face, she guessed she had rosy circles painted on her cheeks. "What the hell is this?" she yelled. She saw strings trailing away behind her, attached to her arms and legs. 

Lavos was in the lighting booth at the far end of the room. He was Bekkler, the floating head. He smiled down at her, then turned the spotlight directly on her face. She cringed under the blinding light. "I'm tired of being serious. We both need to loosen up." 

Lucca felt the strings pull at her limbs, causing her move. Lavos was making her dance, and horribly at that. She had no control of her body, was completely helpless. She could hear Lavos laughing, that absurd laugh Bekkler had. Out in the rows of seats, swarms of the mantis creatures chattered with glee. Her shoes tapped an annoying tune on the stage. 

This couldn't be real. It was just a dream. She'd had a gallon of poi that day. It was just the poi. Her subconscious was creating all of this shit. Lavos was buried deep within the planet and would die when it tried to surface. It couldn't exist in her mind. She wanted to wake up, to be free of this nightmare. That's all it was, a nightmare. 

Lavos stopped laughing. "I'm bored with this," he said with a frown. "It ends." 

The strings disappeared, dropping her to the floor. It was cold, soft, wet. Picking herself up out of the snow, Lucca glanced at her surroundings. A frozen stream. Tropical trees leaning under the weight of the snow in their branches. She'd been here, but there hadn't been snow. Stepping forward, she saw Lavos, his violet eyes closed, standing beside the lifeless stream. "Where are we now?" she asked cautiously. 

Turning, Lavos opened his eyes. They were now a luminous green. He shrugged. "I grew tired of disturbing you with the purple eyes. I much prefer this hue." She didn't answer. "The world after I arrived. Lovely scenery, don't you think?" 

"It looks...dead," she said, staring at the white blur around her. 

"Yes, it does. You're very good at seeing things as they are. I would have said...desolate, maybe?" He shook his head. "No, too many frozen trees for that. Depressing? No, this place brings me great joy, to tell the truth. Lifeless? Essentially the same as dead, but I must agree that 'dead' suits this place best. Flat, prosaic, one syllable." He smiled. "No poetry for this wasteland." 

"What were you saying? About Spekkio and Gaspar giving us some of your power?" 

"Willing to take me seriously now, are we?" he asked, cupping her chin in his hand. 

Lucca jerked her head away. "Just trying to be open-minded." 

"That's good. Intelligent life functions much better with an open mind." Slowly, he turned back to the stream, away from her. 

"Well?" 

"Another time, perhaps," Lavos said with a sigh. He started walking away, his form slowly disappearing in the white haze.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 19 --

  


That had been unpleasant. Still, it couldn't ruin how truly comfortable her bed was. Lucca rolled over and glanced at the clock. Seven. No one would be up yet. She could dig something up for breakfast, eat it in peace before the demons woke up. If Crono and Malt continued competing at this rate, they'd drive her insane in a week. She couldn't help but laugh at how well they were getting along, in a brother-sister kind of way. They refused to let one have more control than the other. Of course, they were likely to destroy Lucca's house with their power struggles. 

Tossing the covers aside, Lucca got out of bed and changed into fresh clothes. Marle was always bothering her about her tendency to go days without changing. As long as she didn't notice her own smell, Lucca reasoned, why bother? She at least bathed regularly. Marle couldn't see things her way though. Well, no point in worrying about it. Lucca didn't care. 

The house wasn't cold, just pleasantly chilled. She opened the living room windows to let the morning air in before she went to the kitchen. Opening the door, Lucca was surprised to find that she wasn't the first person up. 

"Morning," Malt said, cradling a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. A pot of hot water sat steaming on the stove. "I hope you don't mind. I just made myself at home." 

"Oh, I don't mind at all," Lucca said as she joined Malt at the table. "Treat this place like your own home. I suppose it is for now." 

"Thanks." Malt gave her a friendly smile. Lucca noted just how beautiful Malt really was, even with her hair tangled and dirty. It also occurred to her that Malt had never been wearing makeup the whole time she'd seen her. Hers was a striking natural beauty. "There's still some hot water, and plenty of mix if you want some too." 

"No thanks. I was just going to dig something cold out of the pantry, but I'm not really hungry anyway." 

Malt blushed slightly. "Well, I have some biscuits in the oven. I can't eat them all." Lucca blinked in clear surprise. "I was hungry. I haven't eaten much since we left Porre, you know." 

"It's not a problem," assured Lucca. "I didn't think you'd bother cooking, at least not on your first morning here." 

Malt shrugged. "Hops and I are used to taking care of ourselves. Cold food is good, but sometimes you just want a hot meal. So we learned to cook. We're both pretty good, but I must say that I'm much better." 

"Your surrogate family in Zeal didn't pamper you?" 

"Not really," she said with a chuckle. "They didn't want us, and made that clear to us every day. Well, everyone but the grandmother, who gave us milk and cookies whenever we asked. I don't know how Spekkio got them to agree to raise us. They must have owed him a favor." She took another sip from her mug. "Hops and I were free to do whatever we wanted. If one of us disappeared for a few days, we weren't missed. Hops used to do that a lot. We didn't get a formal education either. Instead, they sent us to apprentice under a local mage." 

Lucca had to interrupt. "You know magic?" 

"Yep." Malt nodded, then smiled. With a mumbled word she caused her napkin to burst into flames, only to go out just as quickly. "We're better than any of you. Dad was rushed, so you guys really got gypped in that department." 

"Really? We were able to kill Lavos. I'd say that's quite powerful, you know." 

She frowned. "I said better, not necessarily more powerful. Dad just taught you some basic elemental manipulation. That's not too complicated, just flinging energy. You are aware that the shouting is unnecessary, right?" 

"Yeah, the shouting is a focusing technique, and it makes it more fun," she added with a silly grin. As interesting as it was, Lucca was already lost. Her actual knowledge on the subject was all but nonexistent. "But, could you elaborate?" 

"Are you familiar with Mysticism?" 

"A little." She had read some on the Mystics and knew a bit about what they could do. 

"Okay, let's start with the basics. There are basically two magical traditions, so to speak: Mysticism and Zealian magic. Zealian magic is only used by humans, for various reasons. Mysticism is used mainly by all things nonhuman, though humans have been known to become Mystics." 

Lucca nodded. "Magus." 

"Exactly," said Malt. Apparently she'd heard of him. "Dad couldn't do shit for him because he followed an entirely different path. The two rely on totally separate sources of energy. Mysticism is essentially nature magic. The Mystic draws power from the planet. I think they call it something like Mako. There is supposed to be a network of lines or streams of the stuff all over the planet. They have several religions based around the whole planet-worship thing. It's really fascinating stuff if you look into it. However, it takes a lot more time and effort to become powerful with it than with Zealian. Lots of meditation and showy rituals." 

"What about Zealian magic? Where does its power come from?" 

A door opened and closed somewhere in the house. It sounded like the front door. Before Malt could answer the question, there was a light knock against the kitchen doorway. The two turned to see Hops standing there, canned cheese in hand. "Mind if I join you?" 

"Not at all," answered Lucca. 

He walked to the oven, setting down his can on the table as he passed. "They smell ready. Everyone want some?" 

Malt blinked. "Oh. Thanks for getting those for me. Yeah, we're all eating." 

"Was that the front door I heard?" Lucca asked. 

Getting three plates from the cabinet, Hops said, "Yeah, I went for a walk. Truce is a nice place. It's really dark at night." 

"You were out walking all night?" 

He nodded as he came back to the table with three full plates and sat down. Malt frowned at him. "Like I said, he has a tendency to disappear, especially in the middle of the night. We were talking about magic." 

The biscuits tasted great. The canned dough never cooked this well for Lucca. "Your sister's been showing me how horribly ignorant on the subject I am." 

"Now there's something I'm missing from Zeal. Mistress Kyra had a huge library. Thousands of texts on history, magic theory, quantum physics; I mean everything. And she let me borrow whatever I wanted from her. Most of the time I spent away from home, I spent reading. I went to that park a lot, to just sit and read. You remember that park, Malt?" 

"Oh I remember the park." Her voice had a slight edge to it. "We went there all the time so you could sit by the pond and read, and all the strange men could try to molest me." 

"Hey, you got to practice all the self defense skills Kyra taught you." 

"A nine-year-old girl can't defend herself against a grown man!" 

"You could." 

"Those were malnourished park bums. They don't count." Hops didn't say anything. "Fine, the park bums weren't a problem. Of course, Kyra's library isn't the only thing you miss about her." 

There was silence. "Does anyone want another biscuit?" Lucca asked. 

"You were always early to the lab and late to leave, if my memory serves me." 

"Leave Miss Kyra out of this," Hops mumbled. 

"How many times did you 'accidentally' stumble into her room when she was changing? I seem to have lost count. Oh, and you were so enthusiastic about swimming lessons, weren't you. You just loved it when she wore that cute little bikini of hers. It was quite little, wasn't it?" 

Hops flung a biscuit at her. She dodged easily. "Just shut up. At least I didn't glomp onto her like you did to half the guys you met. You never complained much about going to the park with me, even though you knew there'd be a dozen strangers offering you a lollipop." 

Malt turned away. "Perverted jackass," she mumbled. 

"Filthy whore," Hops mumbled back. 

"Has anybody seen my other sock?" Everyone turned to Crono, who was standing in the doorway looking bewildered. "I've searched the whole house, and I can't find it. I don't even remember taking it off." He hobbled over to the table, trying not to bend his injured knees. 

Malt lifted her leg into the air. A white sock was tied around her ankle. "My ankle got cold, so I borrowed it. You don't mind do you, Uncle Crono?" she asked, giggling. Hops gave her an 'I told you so' look. She glared back at him. 

Crono frowned. "Keep it. I'll just go sockless today." 

"Ooo, sockless..." Malt purred. Crono's face stayed blank. 

"SO..." Lucca said. "Now that we're all awake, what do we want to do today?" 

"Uncle Crono wants to go sockless," said Malt in a sultry voice. 

"I'm going to go visit my mom. Let her know I'm okay. She'd love it if you went to see her, Lucca, and you two are welcome to tag along." 

Lucca couldn't help but smile a little. Crono's mom was a nice person. A little odd, but very nice. "Sure, I'll go with you." 

"I'm going to wander around town," Hops said, "if you don't mind. Get to know what it's like. See if there's anything interesting." 

"That's a good idea," Lucca said. "You need to find stuff to do, since Crono and I won't be here to entertain you during the day." 

Crono groaned at the reminder. "Why do we have to go to school? It's already fall. We've been there enough for this year." 

"I have to teach, and you have to earn more detentions." 

Everyone turned to Malt, who'd just finished tying Crono's sock around her neck. "Oh, I'll go with Hops. I'm sure we can keep ourselves entertained for the day. We'll meet your mom eventually." 

Crono nodded. "Sounds like a plan." Something suddenly clicked in his mind about his current surroundings. "FOOD!" Crono dove for the remaining biscuits. 

"Food excites Crono," Malt said, emphasizing the middle word. Hops got up and left. Lucca rested her head on her hands. This was going to be a very trying period of her life.   
  
  
  


Politics suck. This is a fact. It can't be argued. The entire point is to get along without ever making any actual attempt to do so. If it works out well, everyone is too busy offending each other to get anything important done. Everyone will be happy. Marle wasn't about to deny any of this. She'd grown up submerged in politics. She had to breathe it like air. 

Only, right now, no one was happy. Clearly, something wasn't working right. 

Life had been hell since she got off the boat at the docks. Apparently, Guardia--correction, the world--couldn't run itself without her. She leaves for a few weeks, not that long really, and civilized life decides it's going to go insane. 

Okay, it wasn't quite that bad. Yet. If the current trend continued, Marle predicted that world politics would slowly spiral into chaos, much like a flushing toilet, only less sanitary. 

She watched as a large, unclothed man left the dining room, clearly pissed as all hell at her. The door slammed shut. "Do they really think I CARE?!" she hollered as she stood up, knocking her chair over. 

The Chancellor stood less violently. "No, but they think you should." 

Marle quickly downed her glass of wine. Nice stuff. She didn't really know wines, though. That was for the cook to worry about. Breathing deeply, she didn't feel comforted. "More," she commanded, holding out her glass. 

"You've had enough. Giving yourself a buzz wouldn't fix anything." 

"A BUZZ?" Marle laughed. "I'm getting DRUNK here! Do you know how much of this stuff that'll take? MORE!" 

The Chancellor shook his head. "No more. You need sleep. I'm sure you're still tired from your...unfortunate encounter." 

"You wield understatement like a true master. A toast to your prowess!" That just got her a frown. "Fine, no more alcohol. Chancellor, why do people even bother bringing shit like this to me? They know I have more important things to worry about. And I really do this time. I'm not just whining." 

"No, you're not whining. There are some very serious issues facing us." 

Feeling very tired, Marle slumped down into the nearest chair. "The nudist came back. He came all the way to Truce. WHY?! To beg permission to frolic naked with his fellow nature-lovers, something he CAN legally do in the middle of town, on an island he doesn't own. Does he think I'll make someone give him their island just so no one has to see him exposed? 

"And before that, that woman who tried to show me a document that proved her rightful place here at court. One of my ancestors promised her great-grandfather the job of exterminator. Does she have any idea how bug-infested this lump of carved rock is? I know she has fewer insect problems in her home. She owned a clock store, a very prosperous one at that. Exterminator is a job we normally reserve for prisoners and your pet cat. Do all cats love to eat carpet lint as much as yours?" 

"Well," the Chancellor sputtered, "It's not common, but I wouldn't call it...rare." 

"Your cat's a freak, dammit!" 

"E-excuse me?" the Chancellor managed, clearly caught off guard. 

"Just say it. It's what you meant. Your cat is the only cat stupid enough to consider carpet lint a delicacy. Right? Of course!" she said before he could answer. "Is this the only reason my dad keeps you around? Your inability to say anything that might offend?" 

Shrugging, he said, "It couldn't hurt." 

Marle burst into a fit of giggles. "Your pathetic!" she said when they subsided. "How do you get dressed in the morning? Oh, do you arrange your clothes based on how neutral they make you look?" That only made her giggle more. 

"You've had too much." 

Marle stopped giggling, her face showing shock and offense. "I have not. I'm just exhausted. Tired of these idiots. Tired of being the princess." She looked over at the doorway. A cat was scratching at the carpet, searching for fuzz that had escaped the cleaners. "Tired of your damn cat!" 

"They aren't all idiots. The Chorans have a serious problem on their hands." He paused. Quietly, he continued, "You'll have to go along with them, you know. She's an obvious suspect, despite her...fairly clean record." 

That made her wince. "I know," she said, more sober now. "Don't remind me."   
  
  
  


The picture was about a year old, relatively speaking. It was taken far longer ago, compared to this time period. Nothing in it existed now. The frame was about as old. He'd made it himself, just for this picture. Carving it had taken months; the cherry tree on the left, with its floating blossoms, and the classic image of a nature spirit on the right. That was how nature spirits always looked in the books and paintings. 

Hops lifted the picture out of his satchel. Kyra's image stared back at him, smiling. Her silvery hair. Those sea green eyes. He missed her. It had been about a year since he'd left Zeal. Spekkio had come back for his children, never asking if they wanted to leave. Hops had wanted to escape his situation, but not Zeal entirely. Not it's radiance. Not Kyra. 

Kyra had never seemed like a mother to him. She was too young, only about five years older than him. She'd be about Crono or Lucca's age now, if he hadn't left. He didn't see her as a sister either, just a friend. A good friend. Maybe he could go back someday. See her again. It could just be for a little while. She didn't even have to know it was him. 

He stood the frame on the desk by the bed. His desk and bed, for now. He cut off his previous train of thought. "I'm as bad as Dad," he mumbled to himself. 

"Hardly." He turned. It was Malt at the doorway. "Spekkio would turn himself into a swan if it meant he could get laid." 

"True," he said, a half-smile on his lips. "I hate to think some of that's rubbed off on me. Are you going to wear that all day?" he asked, eyeing the sock still tied around her neck. 

"Why not? I can dress however I want," she said, walking closer to the desk. She leaned over to get a better look. "Like I care what anyone around here thinks of me. And I miss her, too. She was a great person. A troubled one, too. It wasn't easy for her to live on her own, you know." 

"I think that's why she was so tolerant of us." 

"I think," Malt said, "that you're right, but we have to move on. No going back, at least for some time." 

"Maybe," he suggested, "we just weren't meant to be happy." 

"For now, at least." The world was a horribly unfair place. That was just something you had to accept. They had. Long ago. Malt rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. "She loved you just as much as you love her." 

"I know," Hops said. 

"Let's get going. We have a town to explore. We have to go parading, before it's too late." 

Yeah. They did. It was time to make the best of what life had given them. It's what they had always done. They were good at it.   
  
  
  


"Thanks, Setsuna," Lucca said, accepting a glass of some sort of herbal concoction. She took a cautious sip, and then politely set it down on the table. She wouldn't be drinking much of that. 

Crono's mom smiled. She was a pleasant woman in her mid-thirties, with hair as red as her son's. "It's so good to see you, Lucca. You really must stop by more often. And call me Mom." She turned to her son. "As for you, you need to stop leeching off Lucca's family so much. Get Lucca to leech off us now and then." 

"I don't leech off of her that much," Crono said weakly. 

"What have you two been up to lately? Is the princess okay, after that whole kidnapping thing?" 

"News sure travels fast around here," Crono commented. 

"Everyone knew about it before you even got back. Now, sit down and tell me about everything that you've been up to." Crono obediently took a seat, and Setsuna sat down as well. 

"Well," Lucca began, "Marle seemed okay on the ride back, but she'd been at the castle since. I imagine she's trying to clear this whole thing up so she can get back to her normal work." 

"The girl has it rough," Setsuna said, "but she does okay. Have you heard the latest on the king?" 

"No," Lucca said. "Is he improving?" 

Setsuna shook her head. "Everyone's saying that the crown will officially switch heads by the end of December. He's unconscious most of the time, so your friend is already our queen in all but title." She smiled, changing the subject. "Did anything interesting happen on your little trip? Hopefully something good?" 

Crono and Lucca just looked at each other. No one said anything. 

Setsuna looked at Crono. She looked at Lucca. Back at Crono. Back at Lucca. She clapped her hands with glee. "Are you serious?" 

"MOM!" Crono yelled. "Stop thinking like that! Lucca and I are friends! I'm ashamed of you!" 

"I know, sweetie," she said, "but you two are just so cute together. You really should consider..." Setsuna paused. Crono was giving her that look again. The one he used whenever she tried to steer his life for him. "Fine. What did happen?" 

"Well, while we were in Porre, we met an old friend," Lucca said. 

"Really? Who?" 

"Do you remember Spekkio, Mom?" Crono asked. 

Setsuna thought for a moment. "The shape-changing thing at the End of Time?" 

"Yeah, that's him." 

"Heavy drinker, right?" she asked. 

"Yes," Lucca said. "When we met him, he was being carried into a restaurant by his kids. He has twelve-year-old twins." 

Crono nodded. "We sort of agreed to watch over them for a while." 

"That sounds great!" Setsuna said. "It will be wonderful practice for you two." 

Crono refrained from commenting. 

"Where are they?" Setsuna asked. 

Lucca said, "They were going to explore the town. We'll bring them to meet you sometime." Lucca took another sip of the drink, just to be polite. It wasn't so bad, but she'd rather have some water. Setsuna was fond of anything that was supposed to be healthy. 

"Make it soon. Are they boys are girls? Or both?" 

"Both," Crono said. "Hops is the boy, Malt is the girl." 

"Is she cute?" 

"She's twelve, Mom." 

Setsuna frowned. "I was just asking." She just looked at Crono. He stared back. Lucca sat by quietly, amused. Crono and Setsuna had such an interesting relationship. "Well?" Setsuna asked. 

"Yeah, she's cute." Crono said. His mother just smiled to herself. "Mom." Crono said flatly. 

"I didn't say anything, dear." 

"You were thinking." 

Setsuna smiled at her son. "I have the right to think whatever I want. You don't know what I was thinking, so you can't complain." 

"I can make a good guess." 

There was silence. Setsuna finally said, "Actually, it's not that uncommon-" 

"Don't start, Mom," Crono said. 

"I'm only thinking of you. You're already seventeen or so; I'm not very sure these days. I was raising you when I was seventeen." 

"Well, think a little less. I don't need you to hook me up with a preteen." 

Quiet again. Lucca took another sip of her drink. "People get older." Setsuna said carefully. 

"You haven't even met her yet!" Crono yelled. "Can we please just drop this? Did I mention that I slept on someone's kitchen floor? A little punk kicked me until I woke up. I was sore for days." 

Setsuna just stared at him. "Dear, you're not being clear. Do you want motherly sympathy, or do you want me to say rude things about the youth of today?" Crono let his head fall to the table. "There's no need to injure yourself. Fine, I won't try to find a girlfriend for you anymore. Would you like some more tea, Lucca?" 

Lucca smiled and raised her full glass. "Sure, Setsuna. You know how much I love your...tea." 

Crono's mother got up and went to refill her glass. "Call me Mom, dear. How are your parents? Have they left to visit your relatives yet?" 

"Yeah. I've got the house to myself until after New Year's. Well, not just to myself, since the twins are staying there, and Crono will probably be there a lot. In fact, he better be, since I'm not watching them on my own." 

"Malt and Hops are welcome here during the day. They might get bored while the two of you are at school." She returned Lucca's glass, which was about as full as it had been before. 

"I hope my students haven't missed me too much," Lucca said sarcastically. "I'm sure I'll need to get to school a bit earlier to straighten my room." 

Setsuna's eyes lit up with an idea. "You can spend the night with us! It's much closer to the school, and it's not fair that Crono is always at your house." 

"But what about the twins?" 

"Oh, they'll be fine," Setsuna said quickly. "PLEASE?" 

"It's kind of you to offer, Setsuna, but..." 

"We have a couch and plenty of floor space. You're welcome to sleep wherever you want. The guest room's a mess, but you're welcome to it, too." 

Lucca couldn't ignore her pleading expression. "I guess so," she sighed. "It'll be fun." 

"That's great, dear. Crono, go clean up the guest room. It's your stuff that's making such a mess." 

"But..." 

Setsuna glared at him. "Just do it." She turned back to Lucca. "And call me Mom."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 20 --

  


With a final stir and a quick taste, he turned the stove off. Windex carried the large, bubbling pot to the table. "Dinner is served," he said, setting the pot down in front of the other three. A few drops of murky brown fluid sloshed out, slowly oozing down the side of the pot. 

"I love the End of the Month Special!" Lysol exclaimed. "You truly are a master chef!" She gave him a quick kiss before they filled their bowls and started eating. 

Draino and Old Dutch didn't move. They watched in silence as the other two consumed their first helpings and went for seconds. Draino leaned forward to examine dinner more closely. "What the hell is this?" he asked flatly. Draino was looking pleasantly clean today. He'd shaved, and his hair was washed and combed. Surely it meant that he was on the rebound. Hopefully it would be a while before he descended into another funk. 

"Everything we have!" Windex said proudly. "I took all the food we had left around here, put it all in a pot, and cooked for twenty minutes." 

"It's very good," Lysol said. "You should try it." 

"That's sick," Draino said. "It's probably tasteless." Lysol and Windex both nodded vigorously. "Why didn't you just buy more food?" 

Lysol shrugged. "No more money." 

Old Dutch said, "If we were this short on food, we could have stolen more." His voice was deep and monotonous, like thunder rumbling in the bowels of the earth. 

Windex looked offended. "Hey, we may be mercenaries, we may commit indecent acts in public, and we may have reenacted an animal sacrifice--JUST ONCE--for the hell of it-" 

"That was actually a lot of fun," Lysol mumbled, her cheeks a little red. 

"-but we aren't thieves! The Purge only steals from grocery stores once a month. Tomorrow's the first of November, so we can restock then, but for now you'll eat this and FUCKING LIKE IT!" 

"Have the Mystics paid us anymore since we took the job? The advance money didn't last us very long." Lysol asked through a mouthful of food. Draino was about to answer when the lights cut off. The moonlight from the windows wasn't enough to help. 

"Power bill?" Old Dutch asked. He spooned a generous helping into his bowl, but didn't eat it. 

Windex smiled weakly. "We ran out of funds, you know." 

Draino sighed. "No, the Mystics haven't paid us anymore yet, but I believe I'll be having a chat with Ozzie." 

"Shellac was always good at scrounging up money," Lysol said, a hint of anger in her voice. There was silence. From outside, the quiet murmur of pedestrians could be heard on the street. 

"I'd best be leaving now," Draino said. He stood, throwing his cloak over his cape over his shoulders and collecting his staff. "Medina's pretty far, and we need the money as soon as we can get it. Watch over things, but don't make any serious moves." 

"When?" 

Draino turned. Windex was staring at him with fiery eyes. "What?" 

"When do we get our revenge? We can't ignore his death, you know. We look out for each other." 

Draino thought for a moment. His lips curved into a slight smile. "No, now is not the time. Not yet. But soon." He turned back to the door and left, his smile growing. 

"Sooner than you think," Windex murmured. That earned him a dark stare from Old Dutch. "What?" 

"Don't provoke the big spooky shadow man, honey," Lysol cautioned. "He'll do not nice things to your vital organs." 

Old Dutch took a sip of his food. The other two watched, unsure of what to expect. The dark one grunted. "It will do." 

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Windex said. 

They continued dinner in silence, until Lysol leaned over and whispered, "Windex, honey?" 

"Yeah?" he whispered back. Old Dutch, who could hear them just fine, chose to ignore them. 

"Can we do it again, with a moose this time?"   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 21 --

  


"What now?" Hops mumbled, struggling to wake up. The sound refused to stop. He assumed someone was knocking on the door, but sounds were muffled in the basement. He was lucky he'd heard anything at all. 

Hops rolled out of bed. With a slight shake of his head, his hair fell into place. "This had better be good," he mumbled to himself. It was probably Crono and Lucca, finally stumbling home at... He glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. They probably went to a bar and drank themselves into a stupor. He went up the first staircase to the living room. 

*KNOCK KNOCK* 

Yep, someone at the door. Plodding up more stairs, Hops opened the other guest room. Malt was in bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hope that isn't you making so much noise." 

"Someone's at the door," Hops yawned. 

"REALLY!?" Malt leapt out of bed. "Come on! We have to greet our visitors. She shoved past him and went downstairs. Following close behind, Hops saw Malt pass the door and go down to the basement. 

*KNOCK KNOCK* 

"You know," he called, "the door is on this floor." Rustling noises were coming from the basement. The sound of a cinder block landing on one of those inflatable clown punching bags echoed up the stairs. "Malt, what are you doing?" Hops asked carefully, afraid to know the answer. 

"Preparing my greeting," she called back. "I'm looking for something." 

"What?" 

Malt came back up the stairs. "Do you know where Lucca keeps her guns?" 

Hops shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe in her room?" 

"I'll check there." After Malt disappeared up the hall stairs, Hops could hear more bumping around. 

*KNOCK KNOCK* 

"Wow," said Hops. "They must really want to talk to us. You'd think most people would have given up by now." 

"That or broken down the door," Malt said, returning from the second floor with her arms full of various handguns, which she dumped on the sofa. "Lucca's got to have something bigger than these around here somewhere." 

"Are you sure you checked all of the basement?" 

Malt thought. "I'll check again," she decided. "Couldn't hurt." 

"I'll help," Hops said, following his twin down the stairs. Aside from the small room that served as his bedroom, the basement was a large open area covered in piles of junk that had built up over the years. Boxes were stacked to the ceiling, and the floor was hidden beneath a thick layer of trinkets. Hops started searching a tower of boxes beside several rolls of charred carpet. He found lots of old clothing, a crushed toaster, and a box of snack cakes, but no heavy weaponry. "You find anything this time, Malt?" He tore open the snack cakes and sniffed. Stale. Too bad. 

He got no answer, just a muffled cry. Glancing over, he saw that Malt was buried in packing foam. On to another stack then. Hops continued searching, climbing a stack of old cookbooks to get at a higher box. 

*KNOCK KNOCK* 

"Hops!" Malt yelled. She thrust her hand out of the foam peanuts. "It's perfect!"   
  
  
  


Lieutenant Garik sighed. He had to have been knocking for at least twenty minutes. Logically, he should have left long ago. But then, the others would bug him about this if he came back empty-handed. He'd never live it down if he couldn't even find and arrest some teenager. It was pointless though. Clearly, no one was home. However, one last knock wouldn't hurt. Maybe someone would hear it this time. He raised his fist but stopped when the door swung open. "Oh," he said. "Excuse me-" 

"EAT LEAD, BITCH!!!" 

"WHAAAAAAAAA!!" Garik stumbled backwards, slipped on a loose stone in the second step, and landed heavily on his rear. Shaking his head, he looked up, right down the barrel of a large shotgun. 

"What do you want?" Malt asked, poking the royal guard in the forehead. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" 

Garik was still bewildered. "Time? No...I don't know..." 

Malt lowered the gun with an exasperated sigh. "Neither do I. Well then, I guess we're both pretty much screwed. Want a Tic-Tac?" 

This was officially the strangest arrest he'd ever tried to make. Garik slowly got to his feet, not wanting to frighten the girl with any sudden movements. "Um...I don't mean to be prying or offend you or anything, but does a Lucca live here?" 

"A Lucca? What's a Lucca? Hey, Hops!" she called back to the house. 

Hops appeared at the doorway. "Yeah, Malt?" 

"What's a Lucca? This guy wants to know if we have any." 

Hops thought for a moment. "Aren't they little yellow and pink things? Kind of like rabbits, only cuter?" 

"The one's with only one foot?" 

Hops smiled. "And they do that helicopter thing with their ears!" 

"Yeah! I think that's them. We got any?" 

"I don't know about all that," Hops said, "but we might have some dust bunnies." 

"Um, actually," said Garik, "I think Lucca is a person." Malt and Hops glared at the guard. "I could be wrong, though," he said weakly, a large sweat drop forming on his forehead. 

"OH!" the twins yelled in unison, nearly giving Garik a heart attack. "THAT Lucca!" 

"Oh yeah," Hops said. "Lucca lives here." 

Garik tried to make himself look taller and more official. "Send her out. I must speak with her." 

Hops smiled. "She lives here, alright." 

"But she's not home," Malt said. 

"She isn't?" Garik asked. "Who are you two, anyway?" 

"Her parents, of course. I mean, DUH! Forget this idiot," Malt said, walking back into the house. "I'm going back to bed. She's at her friend Crono's house. You ought to know who he is." The door shut, leaving Lieutenant Garik to stand alone and very confused.   
  
  
  


*KNOCK KNOCK* 

Yawning, Setsuna opened the door. "Who could be here at this hour?" she wondered aloud. The visitor was an officer of the Royal Guard. He was covering his head to ward off an attack. "Umm...can I help you?" Setsuna asked. 

Lieutenant Garik carefully looked up, and then sighed with relief. "I'm looking for a Lucca. I checked her place of residence, but she wasn't there. I was told I might find her here." 

Setsuna turned to the stairs. "LUCCA!" she yelled. "Some punk in uniform wants to talk to you!" Garik twitched. He wasn't getting any respect tonight. 

A moment later Lucca stumbled down the stairs, groggy from sleep. "What is it, Setsuna?" she asked. "Can't it wait? I was having this great dream." 

"Was my son in it?" 

The inventor thought about it for a moment. "Yeah." 

"Was he naked?" 

Lucca blinked. "No. Actually he was wearing an elephant suit and painting my roof. I wouldn't mind if he really did do that. The roof needs repainting." 

Setsuna frowned. "You're answering the door. And call me Mom." Setsuna walked back to her room. 

Lucca went to the door. "What is it?" 

Garik puffed out his chest and tried to deepen his voice. "Are you Lucca?" 

Lucca thought for a minute. "Do you mean one of those-" 

"ARE YOU LUCCA OR NOT?!" Garik yelled. 

Carefully removing her glasses, Lucca wiped Garik's spittle off with her shirt. "Don't have a coronary. Yeah, I'm the world famous Lucca. Why do you seek an audience with me?" 

"On behalf of the Guardian government, I hereby arrest you. Come quietly and there won't be any trouble. After the night I've had, I'd really like to avoid any more problems." 

Lucca turned around at the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Crono stumbled down the steps, clutching one of his pet cats like a stuffed animal. "What's going on? Why is everyone awake?" 

"This mean, mean man is trying to arrest me," Lucca said. "That makes me the damsel in distress, and you the knight in shining armor. Figure it out." 

"What?" asked Crono. 

"Meow?" asked the cat. 

Garik sighed. "Look people. Could you just play along here? I'm the Royal Guard. You're the loyal subjects. The loyal subjects obey the Royal Guard. I thought everyone understood this concept." 

"Got a warrant?" Crono asked. Lieutenant Garik handed him a sheet of parchment. Crono and Lucca both read over it. "It has Marle's signature," Crono said. 

"And this is her handwriting. She wrote it herself." 

"So," Garik said. "Am I going to arrest someone tonight or not?" 

"What am I under arrest for?" Lucca asked. 

Garik pointed to his rank insignia. "See this. I'm a measly lieutenant. They don't tell me anything." 

"Should you play along, Lucca?" 

Lucca frowned, then turned to Garik. "I'm going to go along with this. I need to talk to Marle and find out what this is all about." 

Garik's eyes watered with joy. "Praise the Great Kilwala! They're respecting my authority! Okay, let's go. I want to get some sleep tonight." 

Lucca waved to Crono. "I'll see what this is about. I shouldn't be too long." 

Crono watched as the lieutenant and Lucca disappeared down the road. This was strange. Why would Marle order Lucca's arrest? She hadn't done anything, or at least to his knowledge. "Come, Smelly Cat! We must go and confront Marle about this outrage. But first, we'll pick up the twins. They need to see the incompetence inherent in the justice system." Crono walked out, dressed in his pajamas and barefoot, and locked the door behind him. 

"Meow," said Smelly Cat.   
  
  
  


Crono stumbled up to Lucca's door. "Knock, Smelly Cat." He held the cat up to the door. 

"Meow." Smelly Cat clawed at the door, leaving deep scars in the wood. 

The door opened, revealing Malt, who was wearing a rather revealing nightgown. The white sock was still around her neck. "Sorry. I'm not labeled for individual sale." 

"That gown is wasted on you." 

"Thanks," she said, her voice tired. "What the hell do you want?" 

Crono pushed past her, looking for Hops. His eyes stopped on the large pile of firearms on the sofa. It was quite an impressive collection. He blinked. "I was going to clean up before you came back," Malt said. "I didn't think you'd be here until tomorrow afternoon." 

"I'm not even going to ask. Where's your brother? We have a family crisis." 

"We're not family." 

Crono glared at her. "Now you know that that's completely beside the point. Here, hold Smelly Cat." 

Malt took the cat into her arms. "Hello, Smelly Cat." Curious, she brought him up to her nose. "You sure know how to name pets, Crono." 

"Hops!" Crono yelled down to the basement. "Get up!" Getting no answer, he went down to check on the twin. Hops was staring blankly at the ceiling. "Come on, get up." 

"I wanted to sleep tonight. Was that too grand a dream? Too distant a goal?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "This is the second time someone has interrupted my sleep tonight. What is it now?" 

"Crono!" Malt hollered from above. "Smelly Cat's trying to scratch my chest!" 

"What chest?" Crono called back. He didn't get an answer. To Hops, he said, "Just wake up and get your shoes on. I'm taking you on a field trip." He went back upstairs. Malt was holding Smelly Cat at arm's length. Her nightgown had frightened him for some reason, and he was determined to kill it. Crono walked past them to the main stairwell. Malt followed after him. He went upstairs and down the hall to one of the doors. The room was fairly empty, just a bed, dresser, and mirror. The bed wasn't made, and a pile of wrinkled clothes was already forming in the middle of the floor. On the dresser sat several ornate boxes. 

"That's my room you're trespassing in," Malt said. Crono ignored her, going straight for the closet. "That's my closet you're defiling." 

Crono threw an oversized sweater on her head. "Put that on over what you're wearing. And get some shoes on." Something seemed odd about the situation. His eyes moved from the closet of clothes to the large boxes on the dresser. "Where did all this come from?" 

"Huh?" Malt scanned her room. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. "What do you mean? This is my stuff." 

Crono still looked puzzled. "All you were carrying was a little bag, but you've got all these clothes and those boxes over there. Did you buy it all today?" 

"Oh! This stuff." She leaned over to let Smelly Cat jump to the floor. "No, I brought it all with me." 

"How?" 

"I have my ways," she said, a hint of mystery in her voice. She tugged the yellow sweater on. "Where are we going anyway? I don't mind being out late, but I was sleeping, and I was enjoying it very much." 

Crono was already going back to the living room. "The castle," he called back to her. 

With Smelly Cat trailing behind her, Malt followed him downstairs. Hops was up and jogging in place to wake up. "Why are we going to the castle in the middle of the night?" he asked. 

"Actually," Malt said, "we're well into the second half." 

"Look," said Crono, making sure the twins were listening, "Marle has had Lucca arrested. We need to find out what's going on, and there are a lot of other things I need to talk to Marle about as well. You two need to come along; you need to know, too, and you might have some input." The twins just stared at him, mouths hanging open. "What are you waiting for?" he asked, scooping up Smelly Cat. 

"Meow," said Smelly Cat as Crono left. 

The twins followed after him, Hops locking the door as they left the house. Catching up to Crono, Malt asked, "Why was Lucca arrested? Has she done something illegal?" 

"No idea," he answered. Smelly Cat sighed, having decided to just enjoy the ride. 

"You're not wearing any shoes," Malt said. Crono didn't answer her. She took that as a 'shut up.' They continued in silence to the castle. The moon and stars all shone brightly, so the path was easy to follow. The distant hum of insects was the only noise aside from their walking. Footsteps sounded like thunder in the empty night. 

Crono slowed as they cleared the forest surrounding Guardia Castle. "Just stay quiet, okay? We don't know what's going on, so let me handle things." Malt and Hops both nodded their agreement. 

As they reached the front gates, Crono paused. He was already regretting that he'd left his sword at home. "Help me, will ya?" Together, the three pushed one of the massive oak doors open. At first glance, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. 

A guard approached them, his hand falling to rest on the hilt of his sword. "Halt! What happened to the guards outside?" 

"Sleeping on the job, I guess," Crono answered with a shrug and a grin. "We're here to see the queen." 

The guard opened his mouth to speak, then froze. "How...?" 

"Just let us by, okay." 

The guard stepped in front of them. "You're that Crono guy, right? I'll go ask her Majesty if she wishes to speak with you." 

"That's okay," Crono said, shoving the guard out of the way. "She REALLY wants to talk to me." 

Malt and Hops stayed close to Crono as they went up the steps to the next pair of large doors. The guards here decided it was best to open the doors for them. They knew exactly who this was. The doors swung open, revealing the throne room, and Marle.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 22 --

  


Crono strode forward, clad in his pajamas, Smelly Cat clinging to his left arm. The stone was icy on his bare feet. "Greetings" he said, kneeling. With a glance up, he added, "Queen Nadia III." 

Marle turned beet-red. "It just became official this morning. I'm still getting used to it." 

"I was surprised. No one expected this to happen for a few more months." He smirked. "That WAS a three in your signature, right?" 

The new queen nodded. "It's a bit messy, isn't it?" 

Crono stood and nodded to the twins. They each took a step forward. "I'll stick with Marle, if you don't mind, out of habit. The king hasn't...?" 

"Oh, no. He's still alive." Marle's expression became a bit more downcast. "It's been decided officially that he's no longer fit to rule. So, as his only heir, or heiress if you want to be specific, I've taken his place. It's only until he recovers, though. Normally, I'd stay princess until the king died, but it looks like we could be entering some awkward times, and the people need to know they have a healthy leader." She smiled. "And they really like, me, so putting me in charge is a really good morale booster." 

"You'll do great, Marle," Crono said. "I didn't just come to check on you, ya know. Where's-?" 

Marle raised a hand to stop him. "Leave us," she said firmly. The Royal Guards on duty in the throne room departed without hesitation. "You were saying?" 

"Where's Lucca?" 

Marle sank into the throne. It was far too big for her small frame. She looked like a child trying to wear her father's shoes, yet somehow she'd have to make them fit. "The prison towers," she mumbled. 

"Why?" Hops asked. 

Marle looked up at the sound of a different voice. She hadn't really noticed the twins yet. "It's pretty complicated. I'll tell you, but you have to understand that it can't leave this room." The three visitors all nodded, so Marle continued, "There have been some problems in Choras lately. Here, I'll show you." She got up and drew the curtains away from the west wall. Behind them was a large map of the world. Marle pointed to the heavily wooded region in the northeast of the Choran continent. "This area's relatively uninhabited. Just a few military and weather outposts, one-room bunkers and the like." Crono noticed that the area she was pointing to was covered in red dots. "Two months ago, reports from some of the deeper positions began coming in about what witnesses described as metal spiders. Big spiders, though, about the size of a small dog. The sightings became more frequent and, about a month ago, a weather station stopped reporting. All those stationed there were found dead. In fact, one person on the investigation team was killed as they tried to leave the area." 

"So," Crono said, "Choras needs some serious exterminators." 

"The attacks have only increased. All these locations have fallen, and more are being added each week." Marle pointed to the largest dot, one disturbingly close to the capital city. "Last week, this military base fell. There was an investigation almost immediately, but it found no new information. All the radio signals from the time of the attack are unclear and panicky, but they seem to suggest that there was something bigger than the spiders there." 

Stepping closer, Hops studied the map. "I'm starting to see how Lucca comes into this." 

Marle frowned. "The Choran government has been keeping this quiet to prevent panic, but they can't hide it much longer if population centers are attacked. They want to end it, preferably without major military force. They seem reluctant to move any of their troops, most of which are in bases along the eastern coastline. People would notice the troop movements and might become alarmed. They're hoping that there's a person or group responsible that they can arrest and execute to end this. Lucca's technical ability is known worldwide. It's not surprising that she's high on their list of causes, right up there with alien invaders and ancient demons." 

"But she's locked in a Guardian dungeon," Hops said. "Are you planning on handing her over to the Chorans?" 

Malt plodded back to her throne and slumped into it. "The day we got back from Porre the Choran ambassador demanded that she be turned over to his government. I knew that if I gave her to them, they'd kill her and hope the attacks stop. If I didn't, they'd take her anyway. I needed to put her some place safe so I could watch over her. Taking her into custody was the only legal way I could protect her. The Chorans would have my head if I just hid her away." 

"But technically, arresting her isn't legal either," Crono said. "She hasn't done anything. They could catch you on that and demand that you hand her over." 

Marle gave him an odd smile. "I'm Queen Nadia III. The monarch can speak only truth, and her truths are final. Any decision made by the monarch on legal matters cannot be disputed by anyone, because NO ONE is above her." 

"Well aren't we medieval," Malt said sarcastically. 

Marle shrugged. "We have a very fair justice system, but the royal loopholes have never been cut out. In this case, they'll work in our favor." 

"So Lucca should be safe for now," said Crono. "And it was just her they wanted? They didn't suspect her father?" 

"I had noticed that, too," Marle said. "No, they just want Lucca." 

"I guess the question is," Crono said, "'What now?'" 

Marle sighed deeply. "I honestly don't know. Wait this out, I suppose. We need to think of something, though, because this won't just blow over. Plus, it's not the only problem we have. There's also the matter of my kidnapping." 

They were all silent for a moment. Crono asked, "What do the Mystics have to say?" 

"It was an extremist group that attacked me. They sent their apologies and their thanks to us for getting rid of them." 

"And the scarecrow?" 

"I didn't mention him." Marle shifted in the throne, unable to find any comfortable position. "I'm almost more concerned about that than the Choras matter. We could have a serious threat on our hands." She shrugged. "Or, maybe not. I just don't know." 

"Well," Malt said, giving Marle one of her beautiful smiles in an attempt to raise her spirits, "let's look at this reasonably. What do we know about the kidnapper?" 

"He was a large scarecrow with distorted proportions who flung balls of fire at us," Crono said. "He seemed like an okay guy. I think he might have let us win. Does anyone know if we killed him? I didn't think to look for a body." 

Marle frowned. "His name was Shellac and he was around 15,000 years old. He was a mercenary, apparently part of some group called the Purge, led by someone named Draino. I don't know how many of them there are, but I think at least one is female, since he mentioned a she when he was talking about the beach painting. He was very nice, liked his food well done, and had no intention of harming me. He said that this Draino person was the one who wanted me. It had something to do with a larger plan. He carried a scythe that had a green stone in it, which usually glowed when he attacked. And I think he was a bit preoccupied with fire." 

The other three all blinked. "Wow," Crono said, his voice filled with awe. "Did he tell you his neck size, too?" 

"The point is," Marle continued, "he was part of an organization that none of us have heard of, and we have no idea who has hired them, if anyone, or what they are trying to do." 

Crono noticed that Malt and Hops were both staring off into space, twitching nervously. "Do either of you have anything to add?" he asked. 

Hops jumped as his thoughts returned to his surroundings. "Well, you see, I think I may have heard of the Purge before." 

"May have?!" Malt shouted. "We're talking about THE PURGE! Everybody knows who they are!" Marle and Crono both stared blankly at her. "They were legends in Zeal! They were the best fighters in the world during the wars before the Golden Age." 

Hops broke in, "Shellac, Lysol, and Windex! THE PURGE! I can't believe it didn't occur to me when I first saw Shellac. You have to understand that no one knew what they looked like. But I knew Shellac was a scarecrow. There was a warlord who animated scarecrows to be his soldiers, so it was assumed that Shellac used to be a part of his army." 

"Windex was supposed to be a cross knight," Malt added. "They were people whose fighting style used two swords. Lysol was a sorceress. She's believed to be the first master of Zealian magic. They were unstoppable. They fought for the highest bidder, but were believed to sometimes act on their own. They're remembered as being some of the greatest warriors in history." 

"I guess this puts me on the list," Crono said. 

"Yeah, sure," Malt said sarcastically. 

"No one heard from them after the wars," Hops said. "I can't believe that they've resurfaced after all this time. I didn't think they could still exist." 

Marle held up her hand for them both to stop. "Let me get this straight. You're saying that the Purge is a mercenary group that has existed since before the time of Zeal." 

Malt nodded. "Of course, I don't remember anything about a Draino." 

"It doesn't matter," Marle said. "I think the important thing is that they do exist, and someone hired them to kidnap me." 

They all nodded their agreement. "That's really not much to go on," mumbled Crono. 

"Meow," said Smelly Cat. 

There was a commotion outside the door. Some shouting and exchanging of verbal abuse. Marle glanced up, steeling her nerves for what was about to happen. The doors flew open, and a tall man stormed in. He was wearing one of the elaborate robes of state common to Choran politicians. A kimono, Marle was pretty sure they called them. He looked at least sixty, his bald head and weathered face showing signs of his age. Solidly built and in very good shape. Clearly very angry as well. "Explain yourself, Nadia." 

Marle gave him a weak smile. "How good to see you, Ambassador Sarkin. It's been a whole three hours since you were last here, hasn't it?" To Crono and the twins, "Now might be a good time for you to visit Lucca. She's in the same cell you were in. I'm sure you remember the way." 

"For some reason," Crono said, "I think I should find that ironic." 

Malt mumbled, "Don't burst any brain cells thinking about it." They exited the throne room, keeping well away from Sarkin. 

Sarkin continued staring down at the princess. "What do you want me to explain, Sarkin?" Marle asked. 

"Why has Lucca been arrested, rather than given to me?" Everything about this man proclaimed that it would be very unwise to push him too far. Marle gave him another shove. 

"What can I say? She looked at me the wrong way. I had no choice but to lock her up." 

"Perhaps she is innocent," Sarkin said, "but it can't be denied that she's a danger to your people. If I were in your place, I'd be overjoyed at the chance to dump her on someone else." 

Marle felt a headache on its way. She hadn't planned on talking to Sarkin so soon. "Why haven't I seen anything from the royalty? They don't seem too interested in Lucca. It'd help immensely if I had a request from Tyria." 

"My request isn't sufficient?" Sarkin asked, his expression betraying how thin his patience had become. In response, Marle just shrugged. With a sigh, Sarkin forced himself relax, his muscles visibly unknotting as the tension flowed out. "I only want to stop this. All of Choras will know about it soon enough. Please understand that we're desperate." 

"Lucca has nothing to do with the machines that are attacking you." 

"You're probably right," Sarkin said. "Of course, you don't know. Lucca's your friend, and I'm afraid you're letting that get in your way. I think we both know that she is capable of starting this. The power to bring a nation to its knees doesn't belong in the hands of a seventeen-year-old, especially one with a history of destructive behavior. That Crono person that just left is a danger as well. If those two hold enough power to stop that Lavos creature, what's to stop them from using such power irresponsibly? They are both of very questionable character. Personally, I'd sleep far better at night knowing they were out of the picture." 

Marle glared at the ambassador. Her eyes smoldered. "I trust those two with my life, Sarkin, and I will not permit you to insult them in my throne room. While they may not be model citzens of the state, they are probably the better for it, and still far more decent than you or any of your mindless lackeys." She got up, and, walking past Sarkin, pulled the doors wide open. "Just go." Sarkin stared down at her. Compared to his bulk, she seemed laughably insignificant. However, after a moment, he turned and left the room without complaint. Marle shut the doors behind him before collapsing in her throne again. "He still thinks that Lucca's responsible," she mumbled, a hint of disbelief, but not surprise.   
  
  
  


Lucca was asleep on the small cot in the cell. It was the only furniture. She looked so peaceful, lying there, lost in her dreams, that Crono was tempted to leave her sleeping. No, he needed to talk to her, and she needed to know that she hadn't been abandoned. He rapped his knuckles against the bars. "You still with us?" 

One eye opened. "Hey Crono. Here to return the favor?" 

"No, not today, but if it comes to that I'll gladly bust you out of here. We just came to check up on you. Marle has already explained everything she can to us." 

"Oh, I've heard the whole story, and I don't want to hear it again." She sat up, stretching. The cots in these cells were horribly uncomfortable, and Lucca was already getting stiff joints. "Did you two come by choice, or did Crono drag you along?" she asked Malt and Hops. 

"A little of both," Hops answered. 

"And I'm glad to see you, too," Lucca said, shifting her attention to the last of her visitors. 

"Meow," said Smelly Cat. 

"Are they treating you okay, so far?" Crono asked. 

Lucca was pacing around her cell now. "Sure. I'm just a little pissed about being caught up in Marle's political mess. Looks like you'll be having a substitute in history tomorrow. No, today, technically." 

"Come on," Crono complained. "I shouldn't have to go to school during a national emergency. Normally it just wastes my time, but now it's wasting time I could be using to plot a way to get you out of this." 

Lucca shrugged. "Do what you want, but I don't need help right now. I happen to enjoy festering in prison. With luck, an agreement will never be reached, and I can spend the rest of my life in here." 

"We'll get through this," Crono said. "We've managed to put our heads together and come up with a lot of information on Marle's kidnapper." 

"Really?" Lucca asked. "Should we be concerned about that anymore, or is it over?" 

"Hard to say. There may be more where he came from." 

"Terrific." Lucca sighed. She turned to Malt and Hops. "You two need some sleep. Why don't you go on home? I need to talk to Crono." 

Hops shrugged. "Sure," Malt said. They both disappeared into the night. They remembered their way out well enough. 

"So?" asked Crono. 

"I suppose we should have expected this." 

"Really?" 

"While we were time traveling and hunting Lavos, I couldn't see past the moment. All my attention was on how to deal with the next problem, defeat the next foe. I never stopped to think what I'd be doing when we finally destroyed Lavos. I guess, deep down, I never thought we would." 

"But we did." 

"Right," Lucca said, but Crono noticed a trace of doubt in her voice. He didn't know what that meant, and it disturbed him. "And now look at us. Back here in 1001 A.D., the place we grew up in, spent sixteen years of our lives. All the others went back to their times, and they had something to do with their lives. Ayla had her people to lead through an ice age. Frog had a victorious kingdom to lead into a new era. Robo had a new future to explore. Magus had his search for Schala." 

"In this time, Marle has her kingdom," Crono added. He was still pondering why Lucca would be uncertain about their victory. 

"But what about us?" Lucca asked. She breathed a heavy sigh. "What is there for us here? What could compare to what we went through in just the last year? I hate to think we've become killing machines, but I'm really starting to miss the rush of a good fight. The attack on Marle was terrible, of course, but it gave me a chance to spread my wings again, you know? It was great, and now I'm left with normal life again. Sure, I'm currently locked up in the Guardia dungeon, but it's not the same as racing through time." 

Crono could only smile. "Do I sound that silly?" she asked. 

"Hardly. I know exactly how you feel, Lucca. But, things are starting to look pretty shitty. The world's changing, and it doesn't appear to be for the better. Maybe we'll have some new heads to bash in soon?" 

Lucca smiled. "Marle would hate us for saying it, but it would be nice. 

"We can always hope." He paused, letting her think about that before he continued. "You sounded a little doubtful when I said we beat Lavos." The expression that appeared on her face was one of panic, but she quickly suppressed it. "What?" Crono asked. Lucca sat silently, thinking. "Is there something I should know?" 

"I don't know. I was sure we had, you know. I was there. But, lately, I've been having these dreams, and I know that they're probably just my mind playing with me, but they just seem so real, and some of the stuff makes sense, in some twisted way, and they've really been scaring me..." She stopped rambling. The cell felt colder than usual. Crono watched her, waiting for her to continue. "Crono...I just want you to be careful, okay? Even if the dreams I've been having are meaningless, we are going through some rough times. I'm sure everything will be okay, but you need to watch out for yourself. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?" 

"Yeah, I do, and I'll remember it. You need to take it easy, okay. Try not to worry about all this, and try to figure out why you're having weird dreams. We'll clear this up." 

"I know. Thanks for visiting." 

"No problem." She watched him until he was out of sight. Alone again. Sleep wasn't very appealing, but there wasn't much else to do.   
  
  
  


The throne. As a symbol, it conveyed great power and authority. As a chair, it was horribly uncomfortable. Marle twisted around again, trying to find a comfortable position. She ended up sideways, her back resting on one arm, her legs hanging over the other. Her dress wasn't helping either. Something on the back of it was poking her shoulder. "Geez, royal living sucks." 

"Is the Guardian royalty rich?" It was Malt. The twins were loitering in the throne room, having insisted on waiting for Crono to walk them home. Well, Malt did, and Hops just went along with it, not much caring whether he got home before sunrise or not. 

Marle could only shrug. "Reasonably so. Why?" 

"For a castle of the ruling family, this place looks pretty damn cheap." 

"My father tried not to waste money on too many useless decorations," Marle said. "He felt the money could be put to better use helping the people." 

"A commendable belief," Hops said. "It's amazing how much money was spent on decorating palaces in Zeal." 

The door creaked as it opened. They turned to see Crono enter, his spiky hair disheveled from the windy walkways in the prison. "Lucca seems to be doing okay." 

"Good," Marle said. "I was worried she'd kill me for this one." 

"She may tear out your pancreas when she gets out, but she'll forgive you. For now, though, I guess we should just play it by ear. I'm going to get educated, and these two can do whatever." 

"You're welcome here anytime, if the city gets boring," Marle told the twins. They both nodded, but the tapestries on the wall had more of their attention. To Crono again, "Our ambassador to Choras has already gone to investigate personally." 

"Seems like a dangerous situation to be nosing into. Is that wise?" 

"Of course not," Marle said, "but I couldn't talk him out of it. We'll see what happens, but I can guess. Have fun at school." 

"Shut up," Crono grumbled. 

"It's not so bad. Nothing's going to happen while you're expanding your mind." 

"Whatever. You've never had to go to normal school. Come on," he said to Malt and Hops. "We need to be going. Don't try anything drastic without me, Marle." 

"Sure." When they were gone, Marle leaned back, stretching as many muscles as she could. "This chair's not half bad when you sit like this."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 23 --

  


Crono stood at the front of his school, the only high school in Truce, dressed in his navy school uniform. He hated the damn thing. He had to say that, of the schools he'd seen, he liked it the most. The campus was very open, which he found much more pleasant than the more recent schools. The current trend was to build schools that looked like bunkers, concrete blocks with no windows. This place was clearly ancient, and it had an aura of history. It would have been torn down and replaced if not for its historic value. He was glad. He'd hate to see it go. 

Other students passed by him, chatting to each other, not paying any attention to the guy standing in the way, his face blank as if in a trance. Crono didn't know many people here. He and Lucca had basically kept to themselves throughout their education. Someone bumped into him from behind, mumbling a quick apology. Crono didn't move; he didn't see any reason to react. It wasn't that he was unpopular; for a while he was everyone's best friend when word got out that he knew the princess. The other students knew who he was; they just didn't pay much attention to him anymore. They realized that he was never going to join their cliques and stopped bothering. 

The morning bell rang, so Crono started walking to his first class. His surroundings weren't registering in his mind. He knew his way around so well that he didn't need to watch where he was going, just float through the crowds to his classes. He was too busy thinking. About Choras. About the tower cell where his best friend was currently locked up. About the children he was now a guardian for. About the past, the present. About the future. 

The hours crept by, but he didn't really notice as he coasted through the day. His Language teacher had said something to him, but he couldn't remember what. He was it pretty sure it had been a question, and that he had answered it. It didn't matter. None of this did. That was the first decision he made that day. 

He'd been back in his original time period for almost a year now. Two more months and it'd be 1002. His life had become increasingly duller by the day. All he knew for certain was that this was not what he wanted. 

History was next. With Lucca in prison, another history teacher with the class off took over. Crono had already read the lesson: the end of the Mystic War and the peace that had prevailed over the last 400 years. If anything new had been said, it went unnoticed. Crono just thought about how much he missed the Middle Ages. Magus being a bitch. That funky thing Frog did with his throat. Frogs were cool little critters. That was the second decision he made that day. 

Math was uneventful. The stuff they taught in school couldn't compare to the complex theories Robo used to show Lucca. Even she had trouble catching on to some of them. Most of the class was spent thinking about poi recipes. The variety was mind-boggling. 

The day went by like that until after lunch. He had study hall, which meant he was to go to the library and study. What he did was wander the halls. No one cared, and it was more fun than the alternative. At this point, Crono was running the battle with Shellac through his mind over and over again. Whenever the Crono in his mind reached the door to the scarecrow's hideout, he went back to the point when he drew his sword. "Because I must," Crono mumbled under his breath. What exactly had the scarecrow meant by that? Do you ever truly HAVE to do something? What exactly did Shellac HAVE to do? Fight them? Lose? 

Something was odd about the air. Crono came out of his trance to see where he had walked. The boiler room was at the end of the hall. It was kept locked most of the time, the only keys in the hands of the janitors. Looking closely, Crono saw that someone had left the doors slightly ajar. His first assumption was obvious; a janitor was in there, working on the heating. It hadn't been working in the Math hall. Nothing out of the ordinary. He was about to keep walking, but something just didn't feel right. He felt something tingling in the back of his mind. It got stronger as he approached the door. Crono was starting to think he could place it. An emotion. Depression? 

That was when a large pink fist burst out of the wall beside the door. Battle instincts instilled by a year of constant conflict took over. Rolling away from the flying debris, Crono saw the bloated hand grip the side of the hole and tear another chunk of plaster out. A second hand tore through, widening the hole even more. Crono could only watch, slack-jawed, as the two hands pulled a fat, pink humanoid, about eight feet tall, through the hole, and it collapsed unceremoniously on the floor. Picking itself up, it shook the dust from its body. The way it's rolls of fat jiggled was both nauseating and hypnotic, like waves in a stormy sea. "It could have used the door," Crono mumbled. 

A bit too loudly, since the creature took notice of him. Now sufficiently clean, it spoke. "I am Lugu, Spirit of Teen Angst! In the name of all things pink and chunky, I will MAKE you feel my pain!" Crono was at a loss for words. It didn't matter, since Lugu didn't give him time to respond. The spirit rushed forward with amazing agility for a being of its girth. Crono was caught off guard, letting one of the massive pink fists connect with his chest. "I feel so lost in this adolescent malaise!" Lugu shouted as it attacked. 

Crono collided with the opposite wall, just barely moving his head in time to avoid another blow. "Why are you always holding me back!?" Lugu's next punch missed as Crono dove away, but a large pink foot caught him in the stomach, winding him. "Why do you always deny me my freedom, Mother!?" Another quick jab ground Crono into the linoleum. "You don't understand me at all!" 

While he wasn't hurt too badly yet, Crono was definitely starting to feel a bit punch-drunk. His vision was wobbly, or maybe that was just Lugu's stomach. Either way, Crono wasn't going to let it get in his way. He rolled across the floor, dodging an attempt by Lugu to belly flop on him. The Richter scale must have hit eight on that one. "Fuck," Crono swore, now on his feet, but having trouble staying there through the aftershocks. "Somebody's grown fat on the anxiety of the student body." 

Lugu was back on its feet as well. Tears flew wildly from its hysteric, blubbering face. "I try so hard to make you proud, but it's NEVER enough is it?" Scanning his surroundings, Crono saw something very useful: a length of piping had been knocked free when Lugu destroyed the wall. He continued dodging punches, trying to slowly move toward the pipe. Lugu managed to get in a lucky hit, knocking Crono off balance long enough for another kick to the gut. It hurt like hell, but the benefit was worth it. Crono landed only a matter of feet from his destination. Crono could hold his own in a fistfight, but he was by no means a master. A weapon could quickly turn the fight around. Scrambling across a floor littered with sharp debris, Crono heard the angst spirit approaching behind him. He lunged for the pipe, his fingers wrapping around the cool metal, and with a tug, pulled it free. 

Lugu drove a fist into Crono's back, making him cry out in pain. "Is this all there is in life? Is it even worth living?" It was the spirit's turn to howl when its next punch was batted aside by a steel pipe. 

Back on his feet, Crono readied himself, gripping the pipe like a baseball bat. Lugu's right hand hung limply beside it, the fingers twisted out of alignment. "What did I do to deserve this agony?" it bellowed. Crono swung, hitting Lugu in the side of the head. It fell over, nearly shaking Crono off his feet yet again. "I was molested as a child! My uncle took me into a closet and-" it was cut off by another blow to the skull, assuming it even had one. "At last, I can be free from the hurt." Crono slammed the pipe into the spirit's head a third time. Lugu's massive body vaporized into a pink mist that quickly dissipated. 

The spiky-haired teen was left standing in the hall, alone and winded, the emergency alarm ringing in his ears. He hadn't noticed it before, or the blood running from minor cuts on his arms. There was no more sign of Lugu, only the destruction it had caused. The aura of depression had lifted. 

Cautiously, Crono approached the boiler room. The dimly lit space was filled with the machinery of the heating and cooling systems. If the heat had been broken before, it was going to need some serious repairs now. Lugu had apparently torn a large section of the heater to shreds. Gas was escaping from a dislocated pipe. Crono's nose wrinkled at the foul smell. A bit of white caught his eye next. Moving further into the room to inspect it, he found a girl's uniform short, torn and smeared with machine grease and blood. There was a sound, very faint, coming from even deeper into the boiler room. Sobbing. 

There was a girl, about his age, curled up in the corner, crying. Her hair was matted with sweat. Exposed by her sleeveless undershirt, a tattoo of a dragon twisted around her neck and down her left arm. The dragon's head looked like it was about to bite down on her hand. She was clearly terrified. Crono would have shown some sympathy for the girl, if not for one thing. The middle finger of her left hand was missing. The stump still oozed blood. Seeing that, he also noticed the patterns scraped into the tile floor and the bloody pocketknife. He just walked away, letting the steel pipe clatter to the floor. The Royal Guard would be sent for something like this. They'd be arriving soon enough. This was their problem, not his. 

Right then and there, Crono dropped out of school, which in Truce was a simple matter of not going anymore. It was time for some serious changes in his life. That was the third decision he made that day.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 24 --

  


Strike. 

Parry. 

Strike. 

Strike. 

Sidestep. 

Parry. 

Strike. 

Crono stopped, panting, his sword held to the side at the end of a swing. His bare feet dug into the dirt, the cool grass feeling wonderful to his toes. The brisk fall air refreshed him. He was about to start again when he heard someone clapping. 

Marle was standing on Lucca's porch, applauding his display of swordsmanship. He hadn't noticed her arrival. She was wearing a dress that was simple, yet decidedly royal. He relaxed as she approached him. 

"I see you're practicing again," she said. "I'd been worried; you've been neglecting your skills lately." 

He smiled. "The fighting in Porre made me notice how sluggish I'd become." 

"I'd say you did just fine." 

"Yeah, but I've been better." 

Marle smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry about yesterday. No one had been expecting something like that to happen, so we weren't ready. Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, Marle. Magic isn't something to be taken lightly, particularly the way Mystics do it. That girl was lucky the spirit didn't kill her before going on a rampage." Crono sheathed his sword before sitting down in the grass. Marle joined him, not caring if she got grass stains on her dress. 

"So," Crono asked, "what brings you here this morning?" 

"Well, the main reason was so that I could check on you. The other was so that I could talk to you about Lucca." 

"Anything new come up?" 

"No," Marle said. "No good news, but then, no bad news either. I've just been trying to think of the fastest way to clear this up. I think I'm pretty much decided, but I wanted your opinion, since it'll require your help." 

Crono lifted an eyebrow. "What's the plan?" 

"I think our best course of action now would be to send Lucca to Choras to deal with this herself." 

"Alone?" 

Marle nodded. "Lucca can take care of herself. If it's too big for her to handle, then she'll know to get help. You're the rash one, remember? Anyway, I can't send our army to wipe out these things. Choras wouldn't stand for it. They won't even use their own troops yet. Also, I can't just tell them to leave us alone. That would ruin our relations with them." 

"So we're going to send Lucca to try and deal with it on her own," Crono said. "How are you going to justify releasing her to go without letting the Chorans take her into custody?" 

A wicked smile crept over Marle's face. "I'm not going to justify it. Someone's going to bust her out of prison and get her on the first boat to Choras." 

"And that someone is..." Marle just smiled. Crono got to his feet, feeling a hint of the familiar spark of adventure. "Looks like I'll be a wanted criminal again." 

BOOOOOOM! 

Crono turned back to the house as something tore through the roof, scattering shingles across the lawn. He watched in awe as a toilet sailed through the morning sky, crashing down to the earth near the bridge to the mainland. It shattered into a hundred white shards, each glittering in the sunlight. 

Hops's face appeared at one of the second floor windows. He leaned out, looking at the crash site. "Malt! You've destroyed the porcelain god!" 

Malt shoved him aside to see for herself. She was wearing an aviator cap and goggles. "That's porcelain goddess!" 

"What the fuck did you do?" Crono yelled up at them. 

They disappeared from the window. A moment later, the front door flew open and the twins ran out. Hops went to the side of the house, tape measure in hand, and lined himself up with the gaping hole in the roof. Malt took the end of the tape and ran with it to the broken remains of the john. 

"Well?" she called when she reached it. 

"Eighty-four feet!" Hops shouted. "A new record!" 

Squealing with glee, Malt picked up the undamaged toilet seat and ran back toward the house with it. "I'm going to hang this on my wall!" 

Something grabbed her by the shirt, stopping her victory parade. She turned to see Crono glaring down at her. "Is something wrong, Uncle Crono?" 

Crono just sighed. "I'm not going to do anything to you, even though I should. Just don't let me see that bathroom until you've cleaned it and replaced the toilet. And don't do this again, okay?" 

"Sure, Uncle Crono! Hops and I promise not to launch toilets into low earth orbit ever again." He released Malt, and she hurried back inside to display her latest trophy.   
  
  
  


She sat on the cot, her chin resting on the windowsill. Outside, the view stretched on for miles and miles. It was mostly forest, the horizon hidden by trees that grew out toward the unsettled regions to the north and west. She couldn't help but wonder how many people lived in just the parts she could see from her cell, their homes concealed by autumn branches. 

Lucca inhaled deeply, trying to pull in as much fresh air as she could. Despite having a window that couldn't be closed, the cell became quite stuffy in the afternoon. 

She glanced at the stone floor. Everything she'd managed to acquire from the guards was piled in the center. She'd been trying to make something to escape with, but nothing was working. The most she'd accomplished so far was to make a gas mask out of a mug, a washcloth, and lots of duct tape. She didn't trust it to actually work. Her current project was a pair of low-light goggles, but the guards refused to give her anything electric, so development was proceeding slowly.   
  
  
  


After nailing in the last ceiling board, Hops climbed down the ladder to admire his craftsmanship. The bathroom ceiling looked just like it used to. He'd reshingle the roof later. "Not bad, eh Malt?" 

Malt looked up. "Perfect. Now, what do think of the toilet?" 

Hops studied the toilet they'd found at the local dump. "It's not quite the same as the old one." 

"It's the best we can do. A little scrubbing and no one will know the difference." She stepped closer to it. "Well, she'll at least appreciate our effort. Help me with the plumbing," she said, pointing to a wrench. 

Hops picked the tool up, glancing skeptically at the exposed piping. "Are you sure you know how to do this?" 

"Sure." His sister pointed to an open book sitting on the sink. "I found a How-To book in the basement." 

Hops checked the cover. "This is on decorative fountains." 

Malt just shrugged. "What's the difference? Here, just tighten that for me." 

Crawling between the toilet and the shower, Hops searched for the pipe Malt had pointed to. It was clear where the old plumbing ended and was replaced by the new pipes. Malt had found a sale on neon-colored pipes and bought all they could carry home. They even glowed in the dark. The unused pieces had already been added to the living room decor. "Hey, Malt." 

She looked up from the section on proper fountain cleaning. "What?" 

"Don't you suppose we should be thinking about the reason we're here?" he asked as he wedged himself into the hole in the wall. 

"I guess so, but it's not like there's any rush. Right now it doesn't look like we'll have to do anything ourselves. Everything seems to be taking care of itself." 

"I'd like to get it over with as soon as possible." 

"Yeah, well I apparently lack your motivation. No one's going anywhere, so you might as well relax and try to enjoy our time here." She waited for a response, but didn't get one. Just the sound of metal turning. "We aren't joined at the hip, you know. You don't have to have my approval to do stuff. If you want to hurry up and deal with it, I won't stop you." 

"I turned the water on. Give it a flush." 

Malt reached over and flushed the toilet. She waited, and then tried again. Nothing happened. 

"Check the tank," her brother suggested. 

"I'm serious, okay," she said as she lifted the cover. It looked like something was out of place. "I think the problem is in here." She started checking all the parts. "I know how important this is to you." 

"I'd think it'd be just as important to you." 

Malt frowned. "It is. It's just that I'm not in such a hurry." She flushed it again. This time it worked fine. "How's that?" 

Hops was still crammed into the wall. "Something's leaking. I'm going to turn the water back off." 

"Okay," Malt said, putting the tank cover back on. "I wish I had some reason to care about it more. I'm really envious of you." 

"Don't be," he answered, his voice muffled. 

Malt couldn't help but smile. "I knew you'd say that."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 25 --

  


"What do you want this time?" 

She was outside, in a forest, standing in a wide pool at the base of a waterfall. Here the current was weak, before picking up and flowing way in a narrow stream that meandered out of Lucca's sight. In front of her was the wreckage of a machine, gargantuan in size. It appeared vaguely humanoid, but had been gutted by fire and the elements. To her left she clearly saw a hand, a twisted mess of joints and actuators; before her rested what she assumed to be a head. The blank, glass-like panel of its face was shattered, revealing the ruined assemblies within. "Show yourself!" 

Lucca waited, but he didn't come. She didn't hear his voice. 

Forward. 

She walked, not because she had a reason, but just because. As she approached the goliath, she spotted an opening in the torso. Unlike the many other gapping, blackened maws that covered the machine, this one was part of the original design. The sound of the waterfall faded as she neared her destination. Carefully, she climbed up to the hole, scorched and cracked paint chipping away under her hands, and peered in. 

Darkness. He wasn't there either. 

She was about to climb back down when she noticed movement in the shadows. Looking again, she saw a figure huddled beneath what looked like a broken television screen. 

She almost laughed. It was an interesting reversal of roles. "Why are hiding from me? Aren't I the one who should be afraid?" 

The figure moved, slowly creeping into the light. A hand. Skin as white as chalk. A dark coat. Black hair framing a female face as white as the hand, yet smeared with darkness. Eyes, a luminous green like those of the man Lucca had expected to find. 

"Who are you?" Lucca asked. 

The woman made no response. Her green eyes were fixed on Lucca, or perhaps some point beyond her. 

"This is an odd place to make a home, Pearl, but I can see how it would suit you," a male voice said. It came from behind Lucca. She turned to see who had spoken, but found herself in a new place. 

The giant machine and the waterfall had been replaced by a dark, square room. There were windows to her left and right, allowing a bit of moonlight into the space. Suits of armor stood on stands, and racks of weaponry, familiar and unfamiliar, lined the stone walls. Hesitantly, Lucca stepped forward. Her attention was drawn to the far wall, where the largest suit of armor rested in a chair, as if it had a wearer. It was a marvel, with heavy plates decorated with ribbing like columns and spikes like spires. Sitting so still on its throne, the suit looked more like a fanciful castle or fortress than armor to be worn by a man. She halted then, with a slight gasp. Indeed, the suit was not empty. Two eyes stared back at her through the thin slit of the visor.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 26 --

  


Lucca opened her eyes. "Wha...?" 

A guy about her age was kneeling in front of her cell, dressed entirely in black. His dark hair was molded into near-vertical spikes. The lower half of his face was concealed by a black bandana. He raised his finger to his mouth, suggesting silence. 

Lucca sighed as she sat up. "Crono, what are you doing?" she whispered. 

Crono rolled his eyes. "Breaking you out, of course. What do think of my disguise? Marle helped with the hair." 

"How the hell are you going to get me out?" Lucca asked, still astonished. 

"By cutting through the bars. Can't you tell what I'm doing?" 

Lucca just stared in amazement for a moment. Finally, she managed, "With a NAIL FILE?" 

Crono glanced down at the tool in his hand. He glanced at the progress he had made in the last half hour. "I see your point." 

"Idiot. Please tell me you weren't serious." 

Crono smiled. "Just trying to cheer you up." He reached into his pocket and extracted a set of keys. "I've already knocked all the guards unconscious." 

Lucca was already gathering up all the useful stuff in her cell. "Hurry up and open the door!" 

"Alright already," Crono said as he unlocked the cell door. It swung open with a loud squeal. "You happy now?" 

Happy didn't begin to describe it. After spending just a few days in an eight by six cell, the simple act of stepping into the hall felt like paradise. Lucca was literally bouncing with glee. "I am never going to be caught for a crime! I'd go mad if I had to spend a week in jail. So, now what?" 

Crono chose not to say anything about her use of 'caught' instead of 'commit'. "Don't be in such a rush to leave. Crono Claus comes bearing gifts." A small bag sat at his feet. Crono knelt and began to empty it. "I brought you some stuff you might need." He reached in and pulled the first gift out. "Your favorite gun." 

Lucca snatched it away and immediately checked its condition. "Good." 

Crono went back to the bag. "Ammunition." 

"Hand it over." She stuffed the clips into the many pockets of her pants. It was a good thing she was wearing them rather than the usual shorts. 

"A couple canteens of poi for the trip." Those went straight to her bag, but not before she took a quick gulp. "And finally," Crono pulled out the last of his presents, "a scarf and mittens, so she doesn't catch cold," he said in his best imitation of Lucca's mother. 

"That was pathetic." 

"I know." 

Lucca finished packing everything away. "This is all great, but where am I going?" 

Crono frowned. "Marle hasn't talked to you?" Lucca shook her head. "I assumed she would have. Oh well, dumb me. We're shipping you off to Choras, all by your lonesome so you can deal with the problem directly." 

"And if I can't?" 

That made Crono pause. "Well...that'll be your problem, too." 

"How comforting," she said flatly. 

"It's the best we can do. Anyway, cheer up! It ought to be fun!" 

"I guess so." Her eyes darted nervously back to her cell. "Can we leave now? I want to get far away from this prison." 

"I know the feeling. We have to take it slow, though." Crono tiptoed to the doorway. "For I am a ninja and go unseen." 

Together they stepped out into the windy night. The dizzying heights of the prison walkways didn't really bother either of them. They'd dueled with guards on these narrow bridges. The path back out was long and convoluted. The architects had designed it that way, hoping to slow down escaping prisoners by getting them hopelessly lost. It apparently had worked for the last millennium; the stories of convicts disappearing in the royal prison were numerous. Whether any were true or not was debatable. In fact, the most effective part of the design had nothing to do with the confusing layout. There was only one way down to a safe height. Guards need only block the bottleneck to catch escapees. All of the walkways were far too high to jump from. 

Of course, both Crono and Lucca had been in the prison several times, for various reasons, and knew how to get out. As they followed the numerous stairways down closer to ground level, they passed the guards Crono had left unconscious. Lucca was tempted to check their pockets, but decided against it. It was the procurement instinct she'd developed while adventuring, when supplies could be scare. Right now, the guards needed their belongings more than she did. 

They didn't say much as they walked. Crono briefly contemplated telling Lucca about her bathroom, but now was a bad time. As they crossed the last walkway, Crono paused. Lucca stopped as well. "What is it?" she asked. 

Crono was silent, listening. "Did you hear that?" 

"No. What was it?" 

"It sounded like..." He turned to the far archway. "There it is again." 

"I think I hear it," Lucca said. She focused on her hearing, trying to pick out the noise again. "Rumbling?" 

"Yeah, that's it." They both looked at each other. Crono raised an eyebrow. "It couldn't be." The noise got louder. Their gazes shifted to the archway. "It is. I don't believe it," Crono said. 

At the other end of the walkway, a large metal dragon rolled out of the archway. It wasn't just a Dragon Tank, it was THE Dragon Tank. The yellow plating was charred, and the whole tank seemed to be leaning a bit to the left. The wheels squealed, begging for a good oiling. 

Lucca stared in awe. "They fixed that thing. WHY!?" 

The top hatch opened, revealing a Royal Guard. It was Lieutenant Garik, the Guard who had arrested Lucca a few nights ago. "Halt, evil-doers! Bow down before the awesome power of the Dragon Tank, New Version 6.0!" With a shriek of tearing sheet metal, the lower jaw of the dragon head fell free, bouncing off the walkway with a clang before spiraling down to oblivion. 

The world ground to a dramatic halt. With the grace of a swan and the power of a tiger, Crono drew his mighty prismatic blade. The cold metal swung in a slow, laborious arc until it stopped, tip pointing directly at the ironclad menace. He squinted his eyes, preparing to call forth a bolt of lightning from the heavens to strike down his opponent. 

"Um, Crono," Lucca whispered. 

The warrior turned to his companion. "What is it?" he whispered back. "I was about to blow it to hell and back." 

"Yeah, I noticed that. Correct me if I'm wrong, because I could be, but aren't you in disguise?" Crono checked his reflection in Lucca's glasses. "Don't do that. It's really annoying." 

"Sorry," he whispered. "Yeah, I'm going incognito." 

Lucca nodded. "How many people do you know who can throw bolts of lightning from their fingertips?" 

"Well..." Crono pondered. "One?" 

"That person being...?" 

"Me?" Lucca smiled. "I think I understand." 

"Excuse me! I'd like to finish this before my tank rusts," Garik called. "Hey, aren't you-?" 

"No, I'm not," Crono said. 

Garik thought about this. "Oh, okay." 

Crono shrugged. "So, if I fry the thing, everyone will know that I freed you. Makes sense." 

"Yes," Lucca whispered. "We need to think of another way to deal with it. We could always try reasoning with them." 

"No, not enough pyrotechnics. We could see if my sword can do enough damage to it for us to slip by." 

"Lieutenant Garik!" a voice from within the tank called. "I'm getting some weird readings from the engine!" 

"What!?" Garik started praying as the Dragon Tank began to shake violently. Loud grinding noises were coming from the engine. 

Lucca took one of the ammo clips from her pockets. "You know, I could probably rig this so that we could use it as a sort of grenade. Then we could throw it at the tank and blow it up." 

Crono shook his head. "It'd be pretty, but we don't have that kind of time. We need to act fast, you know, steal the initiative. They had the advantage of surprise, so we need to make up for that with a swift counter." They both nodded, deep in thought. 

"Um, Garik, sir, I think we might want to get out of this thing!" 

"That's a good idea, Private!" Garik and the Private scrambled out of the jury-rigged tank, running away with all possible speed. 

"You know," Crono said, no longer bothering to whisper, "we could always just sort of give it a push, you know." 

With a final, mournful sigh, the Dragon Tank gave up its fight for life, collapsing noisily. Crono and Lucca both turned back to it, watching with surprised eyes. 

Nothing was said for several minutes.   
  
  
  


"Slow down! Please!" 

Crono glanced back over his shoulder. The guards were still following them, but were falling behind. He and Lucca had picked them up as they left the castle, and the guards had pursued them on and off for the last half-hour. He pushed himself harder, running with all the speed his body could manage. 

"Crono!" Lucca panted. "I can't keep up if you don't slow down a bit!" 

"But the guards..." 

Lucca glared at him. "Stupid! They're not going to catch us!" She almost tripped as Crono stopped suddenly. Rather than slowing down, he scooped her up into his arms and took off again. "Um...I guess this will work, too." They turned a corner, arriving at the docks. A wide variety of ships bobbed in the gently rolling water. Of course, none of them would help much unless they could get on one and make it move. "Crono, you wouldn't happen to have a boat ready for me, would you?" 

"Actually," Crono said, "I do. Now if only I could find it." 

"Hopefully today," Lucca said. 

"Ah! Here it is. I knew I hadn't forgotten which one it was." Crono had stopped in front of a medium-sized boat, a sort of personal yacht by the looks of it. "All you have to do is enjoy the ride." 

"This boat IS going to Choras, right?" 

Crono shrugged. "Supposedly. If it doesn't, then I'll have to have a talk with someone." He let her back down to her feet. "Now remember, don't try anything stupid. If you need help, get it." 

"I'm a big girl, you know." 

He rolled his eyes. "No kidding. Have you been drinking a bit too much poi lately? You're heavy!" That earned him a smack upside the head. "Just joking!" 

"Halt! You are both under arrest!" The guards had caught up and were approaching from both sides. They looked exhausted, but that was only making them angrier. 

"Crono, the boat's leaving!" The yacht was indeed pulling out. Thinking quickly, Crono picked Lucca back up and threw her into the escaping boat. He then dove off the pier. 

"Shit!" Lucca moaned. "I think I landed on the anchor." She stood, massaging her sore rear. The yacht was rapidly gaining speed. The harbor would be out of sight in minutes. Turning back, she scanned the dark sea for any sign of Crono. He was floating near the dock, waving to her. "What are you going to do?" 

"I shall doggie paddle to safety!" he called. "Have fun in Choras!" Lucca watched Crono paddle away awkwardly until he was out of sight. She stayed at the back of the ship, watching the ocean churn in its wake. The stars seemed to brighten as they got further away from the city. The air was a lot colder over the water, but Lucca didn't mind. She put on the scarf and mittens Crono had brought her. They helped far more than she had thought they would. It was so quiet, as if she was the only person for miles. Was there even anyone else on the yacht? Didn't matter, really, as long as it went to Choras. 

Choras. Lucca was confident that she could deal with whatever awaited her. It would be fun. 

A wave of drowsiness passed over her. Not wanting to risk disturbing the owner, she found a comfortable corner on the deck to curl up in. As sleep overtook her, she recalled the eyes of the woman from her dream, and the eyes looking back at her from the armor. 

Bright green, just like His.   
  
  
  


Alone, in the center of the living room, Old Dutch sat. And wasn't doing much else. Or at least, not much else visible to the eye. Beneath the grey hood, chilling eyes blazed against a darkness purer than any mere shadow. He was thinking. What about was anyone's guess. Metal clinked as he flexed his gauntlet-encased hands. 

From the stairs, Lysol watched with interest. She didn't understand much about Old Dutch. He had been with Draino. Beyond that, not much was certain. Lysol wasn't sure what he was exactly, how long he'd existed, or even why he followed Draino as a part of the Purge. She hadn't had many conversations with him since they'd met, but that was probably her fault. If she wanted to talk to him, she need only say something. Old Dutch was good about answering, just rarely spoke first. That's why she was so shocked when he spoke to her. 

"He's back." 

Lysol suppressed a surprised yelp. When she recovered, she asked, "Who's back?" 

Old Dutch didn't say anything. One of his heavy, metallic forearms extended slowly. The hand stopped on the carpet. The spectre turned his hidden face to Lysol. Like tiny, silver legs, his fingers crept across the floor. From beneath the hood, a jagged, glowing mouth smiled out of the darkness, as if what he had done was humorous. 

Apparently it was, since Lysol fell over laughing, partly because of what it meant, but mostly because Old Dutch had just smiled at her. 

The front door opened with a creak, Draino walked in, a large bag in hand. He dropped it on the table. "Here's our latest payment. Maybe now we can get electricity back." His nose twitched. "Have we had to break out the incense candles?" 

Lysol nodded. "Anything that'll burn. I think it's getting to Old Dutch, though. He just smiled." 

"I'd hate to see him high. Who knows what he'd do." 

The cloaked figure sitting in the middle of the room coughed. "I am right here. You don't need to act like I am invisible," he said in his throaty rumble. 

"Sorry," Lysol said. 

Draino didn't bother apologizing. Instead, he checked the kitchen. "Where's Windex?" he asked. 

"Right here!" Windex called, hurrying down the stairs to take a seat next to Lysol. "I'm feeling light-headed," he mumbled. 

"The Mystics don't trust us as much as they ought to. They seem to have hired someone else to spread confusion in Choras." 

Lysol snickered. "It's that idiot Darma and his piece of junk." 

"Exactly," Draino confirmed. He focused on Windex. "Deal with him." 

"Just me?" Windex asked. "Why not send Lysol along with me? She hasn't seen any action in quite a while." 

"That's debatable," Lysol mumbled. Windex smirked. 

Draino frowned. "Getting back to the subject, trust me on this. Darma won't be a problem for you, Windex. I have something equally important for Lysol to do. She'll get to stretch her legs." 

"Oh really?" she asked. 

Draino only nodded.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 27 --

  


The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon, it's reflection churning in the ocean. The water was hardly still, but not too choppy. Just right. Lucca watched the water ripple in the yacht's wake, feeling good for some unknown reason. She didn't allow that uncertainty to bother her; it was better than being sad. While the day was warming quickly, she knew it would still be chilly. The boat was heading south and fall was showing the first signs of the approaching winter. It would only get colder. 

"Up at last," a voice said from behind her. She turned to see who had spoken. 

"Melchior?" 

The ancient Guru nodded, grinning broadly. He reached up to adjust his round, highly-reflective spectacles. "So good to see you, Lucca. I get enough of Crono whenever I visit Truce, but I rarely see you." His brow lifted in thought. "Why, it has to have been at least six months, maybe longer!" 

"Sorry," she said with an apologetic smile. "You know how it is." 

"Of course, of course" The guru chuckled merrily. He held out a warm mug of coffee. "Here, warm yourself up. It's not the best, but it's all I have to offer right now, unfortunately." 

Lucca accepted the drink gratefully. She had never been very fond of coffee, but her stomach was demanding something. Prison food was far from the best in the world; this coffee was nectar compared to it. She downed half the mug before speaking. "Thanks. It's wonderful." 

"You are most welcome. The least I can do for a wanderer of Time." 

"I think those days are gone now," she said. "I suspect I'll have to resign myself to the age I was born into." 

"Don't be so sure," Melchior said. Lucca could tell he meant it only to cheer her up. "Who knows what the future brings!" 

"I'm really hoping it brings me another can." Hops climbed up from below deck, canned cheese in hand. Apparently it was empty, since he promptly threw it overboard. It made a small splash before sinking out of view. 

The sight of the dark-haired boy was, quite possibly, more unexpected than Melchior. In her surprise, all she managed to say was, "You shouldn't just throw stuff into the ocean, you know. Bad for the environment." 

Hops just shrugged. "An empty can is the least of this planet's worries." 

"Unfortunately," Melchior said, ending their digression, "hope is not necessarily the truth, only a wish that may or may not come true." 

Hops frowned. "In other words, you don't have another can in the hold." 

"Yes, that's one way to put it." 

"What is he doing here?" Lucca asked, finally able to sort out the jumble in her mind. Crono had said nothing about the boy. 

"He asked to come along," Melchior told her. "I couldn't very well refuse a guest on my ship." 

"Yeah, but..." 

"I want to be here," Hops said. "I...feel compelled to make sure things go well. You don't mind the help, do you?" 

Lucca shook her head. "No. I was just expecting to handle this alone." Compelled to make sure things went well? An odd thing to say. Lucca kept the thought to herself, but she studied Hops more closely. He was dressed the same as always, his eyes still hidden beneath overgrown bangs. How did he plan to help? 

"Wonderful," Melchior said, smiling. "Any quest is easier in the company of friends. I for one am glad the boy is here. I've been wanting to talk to him again for some time now." 

"You've met?" Somehow, this failed to amaze her. 

Hops was staring out at the waves, apparently oblivious to the conversation. Melchior nodded. "In a time not unlike the present. He told me a great deal while you were sleeping. Much about his time with you so far. I must say it's quite intriguing." 

"What am I getting into?" Lucca doubted the guru knew, but she had to ask. Anything he could tell her would be a help. Melchior remained deep in his thoughts, as if deciding whether or not he should speak. Not only did he hold the knowledge of an age long gone, but he traveled extensively in this era. No doubt he heard news and rumors in many lands. "You can tell me if you know. I think I deserve to understand what's going on." 

Melchior raised a bushy grey eyebrow. "Do you?" he asked. He continued before Lucca could answer. "Of course you do. However, I don't think that it's my place to tell you. I can say, though, that much will become clear soon. Just give the world time, and it will explain itself when it's ready." 

Lucca pondered this. A frustrating answer, but to be expected. It was typical of her past dealings with any of the three gurus. "Okay," she said. "I can accept that for now. I have another question, though. What do you know about the Purge?" 

Melchior nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "I knew that was coming. Hops mentioned that you had an encounter with them." 

"Well?" Lucca asked again when he didn't answer. 

"The Purge," he began, "is beyond my understanding. I'm sure that sounds pathetic. I'm supposed to be knowledgeable and whatnot, but you've found a topic where even I am out of my league. Suffice it to say, those three are more than they seem." 

"There are more than three now," Lucca said. A doubtful expression appeared on the guru's face. "I think at least four." 

Melchior only shook his head. "No, there are three. There has never been any more, and there never will be. I'd know. My predecessors trained them." He waited, but Lucca had no response to this. "The Guru of Time trained Shellac. I'm sure of that. As for Lysol and Windex, I forget who trained whom. It was before my time, and no official record of them ever existed. The most important thing I can tell you, though, is not to confront them. They are truly in a league of their own. Plus, I doubt they'd actually mean you any harm." 

"But we killed Shellac. What does that mean?" 

"Really?" Melchior asked, amusement in his eyes. "He let you win, that's for certain. Whether he's really dead or not, that I wouldn't be willing to bet money on, even if I saw a body. The Purge is funny like that." 

"But why?" Lucca asked. "If we did kill him, why would he commit suicide like that? I could understand if it was a 'dying in battle' sort of thing, but against such weak opponents?" 

"Give yourself a bit more credit. You're far from weak. As for Shellac, do you think I know what went on in that straw head of his? I'm only eighty-seven." 

His mention of age caught her attention. "That's another thing," she said. "How can they still exist? Have they traveled through time, like you, or can they be immortals?" 

"Nothing is forever," Hops mumbled, finally contributing to the discussion. 

Melchior was slow in formulating an answer to that one. At last, he said, "My dear, there are some things in life that have a certain timeless quality, don't you agree?" 

Lucca was going to ask for a better explanation, but the look in the Guru's eyes told her that she wouldn't get any more out of the old man. Sighing heavily, she sipped her coffee. It was strong and almost unbearable, but the discomfort helped to ground her, keep her focused. "This is a nice ship." 

"Thank you," said Melchior. "It's my home now. I sold the old house, bought this boat. The neighbors were getting cranky, and I felt it was about time for a change." 

Hops was still watching the sea. They were alone, no land or other ships in sight. The sun was half way over the horizon now. The waves were more golden than blue. Melchior disappeared below deck, returning with his own cup of coffee. He watched the silent boy as he drank. With a sigh, he turned back to Lucca. "You have another question?" The inventor had been staring at the deck, in thought. She looked up, startled. "Ask away. One should never hesitate to ask for information." 

Hops spoke up before Lucca could. "Melchior, do you know why I'm here?" 

The guru smiled. "No, I do not, and I think I'd like to remain ignorant. It's not my business." Hops didn't say anything in reply. Lucca did not say anything on the matter either. She knew why Hops was hear, or at least the official story. The way he had posed the question to Melchior, however, left Lucca certain that there was more to it. There would be time later to ask him about it. 

"Um," Lucca said at last, "Melchior, I was wondering. Lavos is still alive right now, correct?" Her recent dreams aside, it still wasn't a comforting thought, knowing that the parasite still lurked below. 

"To the best of my knowledge," the guru answered. "You don't kill it until 1999, correct?" 

"Right." Lucca paused, clearly uneasy. "Well, you see, I think Lavos has been talking to me." Melchior raised an eyebrow, but that was all. "In my dreams, I mean. At first I thought it might be just my mind, you know, just a dream. I kind of doubt that now. Have you ever heard of such a thing happening?" 

The guru careful put his mug down. "Stop right there. For the same reason I told Hops, I have to ask you to not say anymore." The old man smiled. "Such things just aren't my concern these days." 

"Not your concern!?" Lucca shouted, standing up. She nearly spilled what was left of her coffee. "But I need to know what's happening. I need to know what Lavos is trying to tell me, assuming it's even Lavos who's doing the talking. Either I'm going horribly insane, or there is something else VERY wrong with me! A giant bug that I'm going to kill in the future is making me feel like a total idiot! I have to know if I'm just an idiot, or if that thing's trying to scare me, or warn me, or kill me, or destroy my sanity, or...whatever!" She stopped yelling, noticing that both Melchior and Hops were just watching her, expressionless. She sat back down. "I'm just confused, that's all." And that was the truth. More than anything else; anger, fear, hate, depression; she felt confused. "I just want to know what I'm doing. Where I'm going." She almost felt like crying, but the tears weren't coming. "I spent a year of my life doing what most would call impossible. When I think about it, I realize that I have no idea what happened over that year. I know that it must have been important, and I would very much like to understand it." 

The sun continued to climb into the sky. 

Melchior nodded, readjusting his spectacles. He seemed embarrassed, whether for her outburst or his own inability to help, she couldn't tell. "I believe the person you need to speak with is Gaspar." 

"I don't see any gates that we can cram four people into," Lucca said, "so how do you propose I find him?" 

Melchior could only shrug. Lucca's eyes dropped back to the deck. After a moment, she spoke. "Thank you for what you've done for me. It was more than I could ask for." She didn't want to seem an ingrate. She respected the guru, and valued his respect in return. 

The hint of embarrassment had passed, and was replaced with sincerity. "I'm only sorry that I couldn't help more. You, Crono, and Marle are certainly worth it." 

Hops continued to watch wave after wave pass by, keeping his thoughts to himself.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 28 --

  


Of the three great nations of this time period, Choras was the smallest by far. It controlled the smallest continent and had the lowest population density. It was quite likely that the birds barely knew it was even there at all. If one were to look down upon Choras from the air, they would see a continent covered in forest, broken only by a single mountain range and the largest of the population centers. The Chorans believed strongly in the preservation of nature, living among the trees rather than leveling expanses of the forest. 

Choras was also the oldest surviving nation. Founded several hundred years before Guardia or Medina, it had managed to survive by avoiding conflict with its neighbors. In fact, the Chorans avoided any foreign contact whenever possible. They saw it as a devotion to neutrality. Foreigners usually interpreted it as an elitist attitude. This worked in the Chorans' favor, of course, since it discouraged others from trying to improve relations. Choras was content to leave the world alone and be left alone in return. 

Of course, this attitude wasn't enough to save them from the Mystic War. Early on, the Mystics attempted to invade Choras, hoping for an easy victory. They were driven off eventually, but not before causing severe damage to Choras. Much of the farmland had been razed, and the royal castle had been all but destroyed. For the next 400 years, it was to be known as the Northern Ruins. No efforts were made to rebuild it, due mainly to the poor condition of the nation as a whole. 

The years after the Mystic War were the worst in Choras's long history. However, the people made it through, and were actually able to make their country more prosperous than ever before. In recent months, work had begun to restore the Northern Ruins to their former glory. 

The rest of the world seemed to think that it was finished. Apparently, they hadn't been inside. 

Tyria was a beautiful woman. Tall and thin, yet decidedly curvaceous, she was 25 and shone with her youth. She knew exactly how attractive she was, and judging by her usual wardrobe, she wanted everyone else to know as well. 

Scattered torches illuminated the interior of the ruins, but they weren't enough to stop the shadows from pooling in the corners. Tyria watched the light of the flickering flames play over the worn stone as she walked down an ancient corridor. Centuries ago, this was the great hall that cut through the center of the castle like a stone spine. The walls soared upward before curving inward to form the vaulted ceiling. It was far less imposing at the moment; the torchlight failed to reach the crumbling arches. 

Behind her, at the north end, were the remains of the throne room. Reconstruction had already been completed in that room. The workers had started with that chamber first. Only a handful of others had been finished now, along with most of the exterior. 

Brushing a lock of long, dark blue hair over her shoulder, Tyria paused and turned around. Her movements were those of a woman trying to impress a crowd, despite the fact that she was practically alone. Trailing along behind, two large suits of samurai armor now came to a halt as well. Clearly crafted for a more feminine form, they were able to move silently despite their bulk. 

"Atril. Tabanne." The two helmets stared intently at their mistress. No faces were hidden behind the demonic masks. "How long has it been since the machines were last spotted along the front line?" 

The suit on the left, Atril, was of a reddish hue. Its voice was high and singsong. "Eight days, madam. They have made no advances. As anticipated, the scout sent into their territory two days ago has yet to return." 

Tyria nodded. "We shouldn't send anymore scouts. While it comforts the generals to keep busy, they are wasting resources. They have other matters to attend to." 

"Agreed," said Tabanne, the green suit on the right. Its voice was almost exactly the same as its twin's. "We have received no word from Sarkin, madam. Should we concern ourselves with this?" 

"No," Tyria told them. "I don't much care what Sarkin is doing. In fact, I want him recalled to the capital. By going to Guardia he was defying me and wasting his own time. Send word that I order him to cease his nonsense and return here, where he might prove useful for a change." 

"Yes, madam," both the guardians said. 

Tyria sighed and stretched, her body shifting in ways her clothes were not prepared to handle. If anyone else had been there to see, they would have received quite a show. Yawning, she asked, "What time is it?" 

"8:32 AM," Tabanne said. 

Tyria smiled as she straightened her clothes. "I would like to spend the day in town again." She started moving again, walking briskly toward the south exit from the hall. Atril and Tabanne lumbered quietly in her wake.   
  
  
  


Lucca collapsed on a bench, her feet tired from the morning's walk. Melchior had left them in Mobliz, a small fishing village just a few hours walk from Choras, the capital of the country with the same name. Mobliz had been a nice town, not unlike Goat Path, a city in Guardia she'd passed through recently. It was the sort of place that, if you blinked, you were likely to miss it. She and Hops had stopped for breakfast there before heading inland. 

With a bit more grace, Hops sat down beside her. The locals walked by, going about their usual routines, barely noticing them. "What do you really think we can do here?" Hops asked. 

"Nothing," Lucca answered. "Think of this as a vacation." 

"I was already on vacation, you know." 

Lucca considered this. "Well, if you take a vacation to 1001, you have to see the whole world, right? It's not like visiting a city. This is a whole time period!" 

"Good point. Still, we have a problem." 

"What?" 

Looking down at his clothes, Hops asked, "Do we look enough like tourists?" 

Lucca checked her own clothes. Neither of them was wearing the latest in fashion, that was for sure, but they didn't scream tourist either. That could be fixed, though. "You have a very good point as well. Come on." Lucca laboriously extracted herself from the bench. She grabbed Hops by the wrist and pulled him up as well. 

"Where are we going?" he asked cautiously. 

"A clothing store," she said. "We have to acquire true tourist clothing. Our foreign attire won't cut it." 

"What's true tourist clothing?" Hops asked. Lucca turned to stare at him, slack-jawed. Judging from the expression on his face, he was serious. 

"Are you kidding me?" Lucca asked. 

Hops shook his head. "How many tourists do you think we had in Zeal?" 

"I swear," Lucca said. "You and Malt have had the most deprived childhoods." She smiled, already making plans in her mind. "Okay then, it is my sacred duty to show you the proper ways to make oneself a total nuisance in foreign countries. Clothes are still first. They are a vital part of being a tourist." 

The first clothing store they found was a small place called "The Chum Bucket." Before Hops could ponder the name, he was dragged inside. The place looked normal enough inside, if you could ignore the pickled shark in a display case. Its leathery skin had somehow been dyed neon pink. Lucca pulled him past this wonder of the modern world to a row of extremely bright shirts. Glancing around, she selected a predominately blue one and held it up to her companion. "Here, try this on," she said, thrusting the shirt into his hands. 

Hops examined the shirt. "Not to insult your fashion sense, but flower print just isn't me." 

Lucca sighed. "These happen to be the most masculine floral shirts in existence. You aren't a true tourist without one." 

Sighing, Hops put it on over his other clothes. "It's a bit big." 

"It's perfect! Just trust me." Lucca found an orange one and threw it on. "See, these shirts alone have made us ten times the tourists we were before." 

Hops looked at himself in a mirror on the wall. "We're really going to stand out." 

"Exactly!" Lucca shouted with glee. "You're catching on!" 

She walked away to the front of the store to pay for her shirt. Hops stayed behind, looking at the other clothing for sale. He found a baggy pair of shorts that went well with his over-sized shirt. There was an empty dressing room, so he slipped inside to exchange his pants for the shorts. They were almost as long as his pants had been. Tucking his pants into his bag, he went up to the counter to pay. Stores in Zeal had been different. Clerks there would have flipped if you asked to pay for the clothes you were wearing. Thinking about it, Hops wasn't sure why. The people of Zeal were just odd. 

Walking out of 'The Chum Bucket,' Hops stopped when he looked up. Quite a few other people had stopped, staring, as well. Across the street, Lucca was caressing a parking meter with her tongue. This didn't shock Hops nearly as much as it did the passers-by. Actually, he was more concerned about why there would be a parking meter here. What was there to park, horse-drawn carts? He walked through the growing crowd, unsure of what to do. Lucca looked up at him, finally noticing his presence. She tried to pull away from the parking meter, but something was stopping her. "I tink m tung ist shtuk t th col me-al." 

Hops leaned closer, examining her tongue. "Is this part of being a nuisance?" 

"Elp e," she tried to say. 

"Okay, just stay put." Lucca rolled her eyes. "Look, I'm trying to help here." Stepping around the parking meter, he got behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "This might hurt a bit," he warned her. 

Lucca screamed as best she could as Hops started tugging on her. To someone walking by, this could have easily looked like something it wasn't. Despite Hops's efforts, Lucca's tongue didn't seem to be coming off. 

Hops paused for a second before giving one final tug. There was an audible pop as Lucca's tongue came free of the parking meter. Without the resistance on that end, the two collapsed on each other in the grass. Lucca was laughing hysterically. Hops was just smiling, which for him showed as much amusement as Lucca's laughter.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 29 --

  


The room was chilly, but it was at least warmer than outside. They hadn't paid much for it. Who knew how long they'd be here, so Lucca felt it was best to start conserving money. Still, it was a roof and two decent beds, so she wasn't complaining. She'd fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, tired out from a long day of disturbing the peace. It had been a pleasant diversion, but her worries rose anew from their corner of her mind as soon as she'd relaxed. It took a great deal of determination to ignore them. 

She was awake now. Something must have shaken her out of sleep, but she didn't know what. The room was the same as it had been when she had passed out. Sitting up, she saw that Hops was gone. The clock said it was five past midnight. She wasn't surprised. Malt had warned her about this. She could only assume that the boy would be back by morning. Without a second thought, she rolled over to go back to sleep.   
  
  
  


Slowly her eyes opened. 

It was still dark, still night. It was rare for Lucca to have trouble sleeping, but she was too groggy right now to worry about it. She dragged herself to the edge of the bed and leaned over to retrieve her pack. It was starting to look rather ragged, having served her well since she bought it the day before the Millennial Fair. She needed a new one, but this one held too much sentimental value. Plus, she was lazy. 

Inside, she found exactly what she was looking for. Two canteens filled with her own homemade poi were nestled in between her ammo clips and a dog-eared paperback she'd read twice before. Unscrewing the top of one of the canteens, she pushed back up to a sitting position before taking a large gulp. The thick pork stew flowed down her throat, warming her insides as it went. 

It was only now that she noticed Hops sitting on his bed. Apparently he had returned while she was sleeping. He didn't seem to notice her at all. A small shot glass was balanced on his palm. 

"I don't see any liquor," Lucca said. If Hops was startled, he didn't show it. 

"I wasn't drinking," he answered, not looking up at her. "It's my dad's glass. To be honest, I don't know why I carry it with me. It doesn't comfort me at all." 

The two beds were close enough that Lucca could crawl across the gap to sit beside him. "Well, he IS your dad. I'm sure that somewhere, deep down, you care about him. Otherwise, why would you want to have something of his?" 

Hops didn't answer immediately. He rolled the glass across his fingers. "I think it reminds me of my goals in life. You know, my dreams. My hopes." 

"Care to share?" Lucca asked, moving closer. When he didn't respond, she said, "You don't have to answer. Here, I'll tell you my goals first." She went on, even though Hops wasn't showing any signs of listening. "I intend to spend my life doing whatever it is that makes me happy. Right now, I guess that would be inventing and ass-kicking. I admit, the latter isn't the most noble of pursuits, but I don't suppose I can help it. I was just drawn into it all of a sudden, and now I can't seem to find a way around it anymore. I don't think I even want to put it behind me. Maybe I'm just a violent person." 

"I don't think so," Hops said. Apparently he had been paying attention. "You didn't ask to learn of Lavos. It was just something that happened. You found yourself in a new situation, and you adapted to it. Perfectly normal." 

Lucca considered this. "Still, I didn't have to deal with Lavos. Early on, I could have just gone back to my time and ignored the whole mess. It's not like my life would have been affected by it." 

"Once you saw the future," Hops said, "can you honestly say that you could have forgotten about it?" 

"No," Lucca answered. "And I'm where I am now for that very reason. When I found out that a giant bug was going to kill the planet, and that there might be something I could do to stop it, I couldn't just forget it. I might have come home, but I would have been back through the closest gate in less than a day." She sighed heavily. "Anyway, I've had enough of that subject. So, are you going to share now?" 

The glass danced back across his fingers. "I want to go back." 

"To Zeal?" 

Hops nodded. "I've wanted to go back since I left. I think that was about a year ago. I remember when Spekkio showed up at my house one morning. I'd just eaten breakfast, grape juice and some sort of cereal I think. I was in my room, reading, when my foster mother told me I had a guest. He was the last person I expected to see. He wasn't a stranger to me. I knew exactly who he was the moment I saw him, even though I'd rarely seen him growing up. He was a pink nu, the same as most of the times I'd seen him. He must like that form. He was sitting on the sofa, smiled and greeted me like it was the most normal thing in the world. Asked where Malt was, he had something to talk to us about. Malt had left home already. Kyra had asked her to come early that morning. I didn't know why." He stopped, checking to see if Lucca was still listening. She was, so he went on. "I told Spekkio. He said that was great, we'd go get her. We left the house, walked down the road to Kyra's home. We didn't say anything to each other. It was summer, but then it's always summer in Zeal. I guess floating continents can have whatever seasons you choose. Malt was outside of Kyra's house, collecting logs from the woodpile out back. I guess Kyra needed to start a fire for something. That, or she had sentenced Malt to manual labor for some reason. 

"Spekkio hugged her, said we'd both grown so big. Asked us how we were doing these days. Did we eat enough? Were we happy? Then he said that something had come up. It was time to go home." A long pause here. "I didn't know what that meant. As far as I knew, I was home. I'd been wrong. We went over to the well, and Spekkio told us to jump in. We did, and he did after us. The last I saw of Zeal was a wall of mossy stones." 

He looked up at Lucca. "I would have liked to say goodbye to Kyra." He shrugged. "I miss her a lot. There were a lot of things that I would have liked to do...that I'd still like to do." 

Lucca wasn't sure what to say. She was still thinking about what he'd told her. Nodding in thought, she asked, "What happened next?" 

"Next? What happened next was probably the strangest my life has ever been, to say the least. I'd rather not talk about it," Hops said. "I learned a lot then, and grew to hate Spekkio, only to find that I couldn't stay angry at him. I understood his reasons too well to hold any of it against him." He noticed that Lucca was very attentive. "Sorry, but I'm not going into details. Let's just say that I eventually found myself in Porre, dragging Spekkio into the Biggie Piggie. You know the rest." 

They sat quietly for a while. Both found the other's presence calming. On impulse, Lucca reached out to Hops's face. He didn't flinch away. Carefully, she lifted the thick black bangs that hid his eyes. His hair was soft, very fine. Hops raised a now visible eyebrow in question. 

"Just curious," Lucca said. "I didn't know what color they were." She pulled her hand back, letting his hair fall back over his dark blue eyes. Not a striking shade of violet like his sister's. Not a glowing green like his. 

"You've been far too kind to us," Hops said. "We haven't done anything to deserve your hospitality." 

"Don't worry about it," Lucca said quickly. "You don't owe anyone anything." 

"Apparently I do," Hops said quietly. When Lucca looked at him, expecting an explanation, he just shook his head. "My life is too complicated to explain." 

Lucca didn't turn away. "Oh, no one understands me! You can't know what it's like!" she moaned, playfully mocking him. 

"There was more Melchior could have told you," Hops said, ignoring her. "He chose not to because he felt that I should be the one to tell you. That green stone that was embedded in Shellac's scythe, I know what it is." 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder. Lucca shook her head. "Right now, I don't really want to know." 

"It's called an Eye of Lavos." 

Neither spoke. They just sat there, enjoying each other's warmth, as the planet continued to spin them back toward the sun. Outside, no clouds drifted by in the cool November air. No birds called out in the darkness. 

"He won't go away," Lucca said. Her voice was a faint whisper. 

"He will," Hops whispered back. "Someday." 

"Tell me the rest some other time." 

"Sure."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 30 --

  


Hops picked up another piece of the shiny, reflective metal. With the sun high overhead, they were easy to find. The battle had left them scattered across the pavement. The medical crews had cleared away all of the bodies the day after the attack, but hadn't touched these inhuman remains. Hops shook it, watching the pieces swing back and forth. It, like most of the others, looked like a spider's leg. 

Spotting Lucca near the front of the complex, he called, "Hey, Lucca! What exactly should I be looking for?" 

Lucca turned her attention away from the pile of debris before her. "Souvenirs!" she called back. Grunting, she shoved another piece of broken concrete aside. 

With a sigh, Hops added the unmoving leg to his growing pile of spider scraps. He figured he had the pieces for at least five of the critters from the good parts he'd been able to find so far, though he lacked the knowledge to reassemble them. This corner of the base was fairly clear now. The main bunker still needed to be checked, but he wasn't really feeling like it at the moment. He knew what he'd find. They'd been at this for a week. The little bases and weather stations had been simple enough to scour. For the most part there hadn't been anything useful at those. They'd finally moved on to the large installation that had been hit recently. As close as it was to town, it was a wonder that the attack had remained secret to the public. While there was no sign of anything large, there were broken pieces of the mechanical spiders, more and in better condition then they had found anywhere else. Hops knew that they were well beyond his limited technical knowledge, and he had a feeling that the same was true for Lucca. 

"You know," he called again, "these remind me of pictures I've seen. Before the Golden Age, mechanical soldiers were used by some of the warlords. They seemed to be fond of chrome." 

"So," Lucca shouted, straining to move another slab of concrete, "are you suggesting that we've found more leftovers from Zeal?" 

"If the Purge is still around, I don't think it's impossible." 

Lucca gave up on that heap of wreckage and went on to a different pile. "So a warlord of ancient Zeal is trying to reconquer the world?" 

"I guess that is pushing it," Hops said. 

"Someone's found an abandoned weapons cache and is trying to take over the world?" 

Hops thought about it. "More likely, but still a little farfetched. It would mean that the person knows how to control these things, which is unlikely." 

"What if it's one of our mercenary friends?" Lucca asked. "They would have known about the weapons, right?" 

"True," Hops agreed. "Of course, we're assuming quite a bit. There's no proof to point to anyone, just some broken chrome spiders." 

Dusting off her hands, the young inventor walked toward him. "I hope Marle wasn't truly expecting me to fix things here. There hasn't been another attack since we got here, and no one we've talked to is even aware that it's happening! We have absolutely nothing to go on!" She kicked a spider leg into the side of a bunker and watched it break into even smaller pieces. "These things aren't very durable at all. For them to be effective weapons there must be dozens of them." She breathed a heavy sigh. "I told you this wasn't going to accomplish anything, didn't I?" 

"Yes, you did," Hops answered. 

Lucca looked him in the eyes. "I was right. Do you know why I was right?" The boy waited for her to answer herself. "Because I am the great Lucca, mightiest genius on the planet!" Hands on her hips, she began pacing aimlessly around the base. 

"I don't know about you," Hops said, "but I'm taking these back to the inn." He'd had his fill of scavenging for the day. The parts he'd found went into a large bag. Maybe he would poke around in them if he became extraordinarily bored. "Are you coming along or not?" 

Lucca waved him away. "I'll be along in a little while. There are still a few places we didn't check. I don't want to risk missing something important." Inwardly, she laughed at herself for saying that. 

"Whatever." Hops shouldered his bag of spider parts and set off down the dirt road. It would be two hours' walk back to town; just the thought of it made the bag seem heavier. At least it wasn't hot. The chilly air would be pleasant. 

Meanwhile, Lucca pushed at the door to the main bunker. It had been warped during the fighting and was now thoroughly jammed. Pounding and kicking weren't getting her anywhere. Backing away, Lucca raised her hand, palm out. 

"FIRA!" 

A sphere of fiery energy shot from her palm and hit the door. The force of the blow knocked the door deep into the bunker and ripped apart the concrete doorframe. Lucca flinched as hot shards of concrete bounced off her exposed skin. She made a mental note to stand further away next time. 

Climbing over the smoking debris, Lucca entered the central building of the complex. It was very dark, lit only by the weak, pinkish glow from the few emergency lights that still had power. One sputtered and died to her left. Just from looking around, she wasn't sure what the place was used for. The center of the room was dominated by a large, round table. It was covered in a map of the local area. Lucca immediately recognized that the recent attacks were all marked. An empty helmet sat in the center, marking the base. In the poor light, Lucca could only assume that it was blood staining the table. 

A radio console had been in a small alcove to the right. It was smashed, its remains scorched and lifeless. There were a few other clusters of electronics along the wall, but all were crushed beyond recognition. To the left was a metal door barely clinging to its hinges. Lucca tried to pull it open carefully, but it tore free of the wall and fell to the floor with a bang. The sound echoed off the dark concrete walls. Through the frame was a hallway, lit by a few overhead lights. They hung from thin cables, swinging slightly because of the air currents inside. It was surprisingly long, ending in metal double doors. Whatever was beyond those had to be outside of the base perimeter. Lucca started walking, nearly tripping over a heavily scarred sword. Perhaps the boot beside it belonged to the owner. 

Halfway down the corridor, Lucca paused. She could hear something overhead, a clicking sound, metal on metal. Her hand strayed to the handgun at her side. It was fading away, and as she inched forward, it sounded more and more distant. There was a louder clang, but then the noise stopped. Lucca did as well, this time drawing her weapon. 

Another step forward. Another clang, louder, and then another. She waited for at least another minute, but there were no other sounds. As she stepped forward, however, there was a loud crash behind her. Lucca spun on her heel, bringing her gun to bear on whatever her target might be. One of the lamps had broken free of its cable and fallen. The hallway leading back was nearly pitch black now, the doorway at the end bright in contrast. A wave of relief passed over her, but her pulse quickened. She still didn't feel safe. 

There was another crash behind her. Spinning around again, she saw only a flash of silver. The hall was flooded with sound as her handgun thundered with more power than its size suggested. The thing blew apart, and its sparking pieces skipped across the floor. It had fallen through the ceiling, probably an air vent. Lucca was now fully alert. 

The double doors burst open, and her opponents flowed out. She saw them clearly in the light above that end of the corridor. They looked like large metal tarantulas, only they didn't move like tarantulas. They bounced forward, shoving passed each other, chittering with their chrome-plated mouthparts. Lucca had lost all interest in seeing the far room. 

"FIRA!" 

The ground exploded just ahead of the pack, shredding the leaders and bashing others against the walls. It barely slowed them, though, as the others bounded over their destroyed comrades. Lucca turned and ran, cursing herself for not thinking. This corridor was underground. A blast like that could have collapsed the tunnel on her. 

They were waiting for her. A second group had gathered at the other end, blocking her escape. They stared at her with bright orange eyes, chittering excitedly. She leveled her gun at them and opened fire. 

Though horribly outnumbered, she would manage. 

She had, after all, seen worse.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 31 --

  


She let the cold water flow over her for a few more moments before she turned the knob, shutting off the shower. Except for the sound of water gurgling down the drain, it was silent. Malt stood still, letting the air chill her wet body. The noise of the drain stopped. It occurred to her that she should get out of the shower. Sighing, she pushed the shower curtain aside and stepped out. 

Lucca's bathroom was nice. This was the one on the second floor, the closest to the room she had picked, and the one in which she and Hops had recently shot the toilet through the roof. Someone kept the bathrooms very clean, in sharp contrast to the rest of the house. A little polishing had done wonders for the replacement toilet. Malt stumbled around, searching for a towel. There was a small closet by the door. The towels were there, along with just about any other bathroom product she could need. Reaching to the back, she found a bottle of kiwi-scented body wash. What did kiwi smell like anyway? She wasn't interested enough to check. She closed the closet and started toweling off. 

These first few weeks had been odd, yet fun. Recently, it had been lonely without Hops, but Crono was entertaining. She glanced at the full-length mirror on the wall across from the sink. Her reflection glanced back. Not much to look at, she had to admit. Of course, she was just twelve. 

She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped over to the sink. There was a comb by the faucet. It slid easily through her dark hair. Watching her reflection in the sink mirror, she sighed again. 

Her dad had ditched her, she was stuck in an unfamiliar place with some of the strangest people she'd ever met (though she didn't have much room to talk), and her skin was beginning to develop something akin to a tan. She was getting too much sun.   
  
  
  


Despite all this, things were going very well.   
  
  
  


Studio Dhampir  
2001  
Revised: 2003 


	3. The Persistence of Memory

The rain had finally stopped. Outside, the sky was still overcast, but the sun was breaking through. Water dripped at the mouth of the cave, the pattern of splashes seemingly steady, but inevitably slowing. It was dark in the shadows. The limestone was cold and slick with moisture. A small lizard moved across the rock with such grace that it seemed to be swimming. It crawled over his foot. If it realized that another living being was just beneath its tiny feet, it gave no sign of it. The lizard's bright yellow body, dulled by the weak light, flowed like the blood it licked hungrily from the stone. There was a body near the cave mouth. The limestone, worn smooth by centuries, was bright scarlet. 

He didn't move, just watched the lizard as it drank the bloody water. Time passed. He didn't know how much. Time was not something he understood. The lizard was gone. The blood was still there. He held a large, metal pan in his hand. He didn't know why exactly he had it or kept it. It just seemed right. He was supposed to have it. He'd always had it. The pan went in the cupboard with the oak doors and the little metal handles that looked like flowers. He took it out when he needed it, and put it back when he was done. That was how he had always done. That was right. 

The lizard was back. It was following a small, black spider. The spider tried to scurry away, but it was too slow. He thought he heard it scream, but he was fairly certain that spiders couldn't make such noises. Still, spiders were not what he knew about. He knew how to cook. He didn't feel sorry for the spider. Pity was not something he understood. 

It was getting brighter outside. For some reason, he felt like getting up. He didn't have much else to do. The kitchen was gone, so how could he cook? His head bumped against the ceiling. He walked toward the mouth, his long, awkward legs struggling to maintain balance. The pan was still in his hand. He clutched it tighter; it made him feel better. He didn't understand, but it wasn't his place to understand. 

Outside, the sky was clearing, letting the sun shine through onto the field. It was a dismal sight. Bodies were lying in the mud, their gleaming armor now filthy with blood and dirt. It was okay though. They were the enemy and didn't matter. Their white skin had grown paler in death. On an impulse, he rolled one of the fallen onto its back. It was young, clearly no man, yet too old to be called a boy. It had been struck down by a blow to the shoulder, the horrible rent already showing signs of decay. He reached into its pocket, finding several coins and a piece paper. The paper, which smelled vaguely of sweet blossoms, went straight to the mud. The coins he kept in his own pocket, again acting on impulse. Men valued such things, so they might prove useful. He had never had such coins before. 

Picking himself up out of the mud, he continued across the wastes. The dead were everywhere, not only the pale men he had been taught to call enemy, but also his own kind. Their straw bodies were torn and motionless. Their innards danced across the field with each gust of wind. Seeing them like this filled him with an unfamiliar feeling. Sadness, he supposed. Humans were always sad when others died. It wasn't a very pleasant sensation. 

As he plodded across the battlefield, he paused beside another human body, this time one that he recognized. His good Lord Zappa was dead, lying in a muddy ditch just like one of the awful curs he had fought against. Seeing Lord Zappa like this filled him with an even greater sadness. Lord Zappa had always been kind to him. Zappa had been a big man, one with a big appetite. Meals were always grand at Zappa's table. This was good. The more he cooked, the happier he was. But now, Lord Zappa was dead, God rest his soul. He wasn't sure what God was, but his lord always said, "God rest his soul," when someone important died. He supposed Zappa was important. 

Kneeling down beside his lord, he removed the beautiful red cape Lord Zappa wore so often. It was dirty now, but it was still so vivid beneath this grey sky. Shaking it off, he clasped it over his own shoulders. Somehow this made him feel better. The cape was warm, and the air was getting colder. 

He could see a hill not far off, toward the center of the field. Climbing out of the ditch and leaving Lord Zappa behind, he walked toward the hill. So many lifeless faces stared up at him. He reached the hill and staggered up the slick slope. Reaching the top, he found one of his brothers impaled by a spear of the enemy, its stitched mouth agape, not with fear but with rage. He'd never thought of them as brothers, but they were. Seeing this one brought back his feelings of sadness. To try and make himself feel better, he thought about the past. Just cooking in his kitchen. It was what he did. The memories only made him feel worse. He sat there on the hill, watching the clouds in the sky. His head hurt. His empty eyes looked out over the battlefield, but they saw nothing. 

Time passed. It didn't seem like that long. His head was feeling better. The pain gone, he could now think again. The sun was lower in the sky. He didn't know why. The sun was not something he understood.   
  
  
  


But, for reasons still beyond him, he felt like he was beginning to understand.   
  
  
  


The Purge  
  
Part III  
The Persistence of Memory  
  
by Turambar  
Turambar198@aol.com  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-- 32 --

  


Looking out the towering window, Gaspar felt younger than he had in ages. He wasn't sure how to begin to describe what he saw. It was like the night sky, darkness speckled with points of light like the stars, yet their sparkle was somehow more magnificent than any starry sky. It wasn't the night sky. It was something far more. Clouds of color swirled about the stars, moving as if charged by some unearthly life. Other lights danced across his view, some so faint that he barely noticed them, others so brilliant he had to turn away as they streaked past. It was the most amazing sight those ancient eyes had ever beheld. "Spekkio," he said, "you must tell me where we are." 

The nu only shrugged, taking a quick drink from the brown paper bag in his hand. "To be honest old man, I don't know if I can even begin to explain." He gestured to the windows that lined the hall. "There is no name for this place, and I don't suppose it has a real location either. It is what it is. 

"It is too divine for words," Gaspar said, his voice still filled with childish glee. 

"Yeah well, look while you can. You may be the only human who ever sees it." Spekkio continued down the hallway. It was a beautiful hallway, seemingly plucked from an emperor's palace. It was lined with iron-framed windows, slender yet tall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. The ceiling itself seemed to be rather low, but at the same time unbelievably high. Looking up gave Gaspar a most horrid feeling of vertigo. Either way he looked, the hall had no beginning or end. It stretched on, surrounded on the outside by that most peculiar sky. 

Gaspar followed reluctantly, his eyes always straying to the alien cosmos that encased him. Spekkio, his usual pink self, waddled along in front, taking the occasional sip from his bottle. They went on for some time, the hall never changing. Though he saw nothing to suggest it, Gaspar felt as if they were close. "I am most honored that you chose to bring me along, Spekkio. I know what a privilege it must be." 

"I wouldn't call it that," Spekkio answered. "Just remember to stay out of the way. They aren't used to such lowly beings attending these meetings." 

He supposed that he should have taken offense at being called a 'lowly being,' but Gaspar ignored it. It was certainly true. "How often do these occur?" 

Spekkio gave an awkward nu shrug. "Whenever." 

Gaspar glanced at the floor. "How often is that?" When Spekkio didn't answer, he looked back up. He was startled to see that he was no longer walking down the hallway. He was outside under blackened skies. The churning clouds flashed with silent, unnerving lightning. He was standing toward the center of an immense crater. Its sides were smooth and black, as if coated with obsidian. The smooth glass sloped up to the crater's lip, where it was broken by jagged outcroppings of dark, volcanic rock. It was an unpleasant place, though Gaspar didn't regret coming. This was exactly what he had come to see for himself. 

Spekkio hadn't paused, and continued down to the center of the crater. Gaspar followed slowly, taking care not to slip. He saw now that they were not alone. At the very center sat a being easily the size of a three-story building. Its pinkish-purple body was roll upon sickening roll of fat, all surrounding a gigantic gaping maw. A pair of beady eyes stared down from the top of the pillar of obesity. Its surprisingly thin arms reached down to the crater surface. A serpent-like creature was coiled around one arm, while the other flailed about its toothless mouth. Closer to Spekkio now, Gaspar leaned over and asked, "Who might that be?" 

"No names," he reminded the guru. 

As they walked closer to the mound of flab, Gaspar saw that the serpent on its arm was actually another person. The long red-scaled body ended in an obviously female torso. She was blue-skinned and had six arms, but was decidedly beautiful. Her face was framed by hair the color of her snake-like body. Every so often she flicked a forked tongue out of her thin mouth, tasting the air. 

As they neared, the large one finally noticed them. It waved its free arm to Spekkio and opened its mighty jaws to speak. "About time someone else showed up," it said, its booming voice echoing off the glassy crater. "I had half a mind not to come at all this time. But I did anyway, and look!" He gestured around them. "No feast! Not even a little snack bar! I was at a truly regal dinner in Galbadia enjoying the company of a buxom young serving wench! And I left for this!" the creature moaned. 

The snake woman cocked her head at the large one. "And I suppose that wench was better than me?" She reared back, like a snake ready to strike. "None of those things could possibly compare!" 

"Of course not!" it bellowed. "But human women are far more manageable. Just think about it. The worst they ever do is kill you. Come to think of it, my drink was probably poisoned. That's okay though, just adds a little flavor." 

"Glad to see you, too," Spekkio mumbled between gulps from his paper bag. 

"You understand, don't you?" the large one asked Spekkio, flailing its free arm. It's small eyes sought reassurance. "It's not easy having a purpose in existence." 

The snake woman slithered up the other's arm, coiling her way up the rolls of its body. She stopped at the top, pressing herself against its head. "Yes, we know how hard it is. The way of the gourmand is not meant for us all." 

"Exactly," it rumbled. "It is a thankless path, but it is the one I have chosen. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to imagine I'm eating something pleasant until this pointless little gathering is over." 

"And I'll pretend you aren't here." Gaspar turned to the new voice, almost a feral growl. It came from a large, muscular creature slowly stalking towards him. Its purple skin gleamed beneath a wild golden mane. It stopped by Gaspar, taking a few sniffs of the guru, baring a muzzle of stained teeth. "Why?" it growled simply. Gaspar was too mystified by its luminous golden eyes to formulate an answer. Spekkio only shrugged, then took another sip. T he purple creature backed away, apparently content with the nu's answer. 

"You really must pardon him," spoke a gentle, alto voice. Its owner was a woman of normal proportions who now emerged from behind the sullen beast. She would have seemed like a perfectly normal human if not for the fins protruding from her hips and forearms. Her sea green skin shimmered even in the prevailing darkness. "It is so uncommon for us to have visitors. Yours, correct?" she asked, now addressing Spekkio. The Master of War nodded slightly. "Interesting indeed. This one is much brighter than most." 

"T-thank you, madam," Gaspar managed, somewhat taken aback by the compliment and the woman of the sea's beauty. Her teal eyes sparkled like sunlight on the waves. "It is an honor to be your guest." 

"Honor indeed," the woman said before shifting her attention elsewhere. 

"What do we do at these things, anyway?" boomed the fat one. "I don't remember the last one." 

None of the beings present answered, rather they went about their individual business. Gaspar took to observing them. The fat one, still visibly agitated by the lack of food, amused itself by winding the snake woman's tail about one of its bony fingers, much like a bored human would twirl a lock of hair. The snake woman didn't seem to mind. She was now conversing with the purple beast, which remained sulky and irritable, flashing its teeth often. The woman of the sea found a place to sit on the reflective crater surface and stared up at the sky. Gaspar followed her gaze and looked again at the storm clouds that choked the atmosphere. The woman seemed to be quite interested in them, not just staring off into the distance. She had a haughty air about her that reminded Gaspar of his days in Zeal, where everyone thought they were too good for the world. He turned his attention away from her, looking now for Spekkio. The pink nu still stood apart from the others. He appeared calm enough, but Gaspar could tell that he was troubled. 

The crater shook as the fat one unleashed a mighty belch. Wiping its mouth of spittle, it addressed the gathering once again. "Are they going to be fashionably late again?" 

"Who is late?" All turned to the newcomer. A tall human figure stood well away from the others. He was dressed in a tailored black suit that hung loosely on his emaciated frame. A tall, black steepled hat hid his eyes beneath its wide brim. A black coat was slung over one arm; in the other he held a dull, metal cane. The colorless skin of his face was pulled tightly over prominent bones. Slowly, his lipless mouth stretched into a smile. "I arrive promptly to all of my appointments." His voice was surprisingly deep and rich for one so wasted. As the dark man spoke, Gaspar could see small, dagger-like teeth. Images of reptiles crept into his mind. The man reached up to adjust his collar and brush aside a lock of grey hair. "We have arrived." 

With that, light began to creep through the cloud cover. The glass crater created a horrible glare. Gaspar stared up at the sky where a definite hole was forming in the clouds just above them. Light streamed through, becoming more intense by the second. Unable to bear it, Gaspar shut his eyes, yet the light burned through his eyelids, still blinding him even as he turned away. He covered his eyes with his hands. It helped for a moment, but soon the light penetrated even that. Pinkish light through his eyelids turned to white. It felt as if his retinas were burning. When Gaspar feared his body would burn away under the powerful light, it became suddenly dark. Gaspar opened his eyes, blinking as they readjusted to the weak grey light. Two new figures now stood near the base of the crater. The first was a being in gleaming armor that encased its form entirely. It was the most complex suit of armor Gaspar had ever seen, as if it were a shining cathedral constructed to be worn. It reflected light that couldn't be coming from the sky. The second stood beside the armored one, all but the simplest of forms hidden beneath layer upon layer of colorful robes. Two dull grey eyes stared through a slit in its hood. Gaspar noticed that three swords had been thrust into the ground around the robed one, forming an odd triangle. It looked as if they should form a square, only a point was missing. The glass at the fourth point was shattered like the rest, but there was no sword. 

The armored figure raised its head and spoke. Its voice rang through the crater, a sound as complicated as its armor. The words buzzed with a strange white noise: sounds that, no matter how hard one tried, could not be focused upon. "Let our meeting serve its purpose." The helmet turned to Spekkio. "Is the task proceeding?" 

Spekkio addressed the shining one with a sober tone Gaspar had never heard before. "It is. Shortly, it will be done." 

The robed figure nodded, then drew itself up to its full height. The grey eyes scanned all present. "Remember," was all that it said, its voice not muffled at all. The crater was bathed in a ruby light. It was a warm, welcoming light, not painful like the bright whiteness from a few moments ago. Gaspar looked up to see the source of the light floating above the center of the crater. It was, oddly enough, a shard of green crystal. "We must not forget what we have lost and what we must do." The light faded, the crystal with it. 

"May I ask," Gaspar began, "what exactly this task of yours is?" All eyes turned to him. Spekkio cringed, knowing that the guru had stepped out of line. 

The robed figure fixed Gaspar with its flat grey eyes. "No," it said. "You may not." 

There was silence for a long while. The atmosphere of the gathering seemed to change. The meeting was clearly over, leaving those there to shift nervously. There was nothing left to do, yet it would be rude to just leave, especially just after the Guru of Time's evidently tactless question. Finally, one by one, they began to wink out of existence. First was the snake woman, then the purple beast. They just faded away, leaving no trace. Next was the pallid, reptilian man, the fat one, and the robed figure. The woman of the sea stood, brushed off, and disappeared. The armored one stretched its limbs, then phased out. At last, Gaspar was left alone with Spekkio. 

The nu took one look at him, then plodded off toward the lip of the crater. In passing, he mumbled, "No comment." Gaspar dusted off his bowler and followed.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 33 --

  


The Tabard Inn was a place outside of Hops's previous experience. The first floor was the tavern and the owner's main source of income. Never in his life had he seen so many worthless people gathered together in so small a space. Regardless of the time of day, the local drunkards were warming the bar stools. The rest varied, but most of the tables were usually full. The waitresses were quick to slap an unwelcome hand, and the barkeep's collection of stories was more extensive than any library. A black-haired man in a military jacket was dancing on a table and singing one of the popular drinking songs. Someone had clearly had a few too many. The smoke was thick, the air rancid, and the drinks cheap. Hops had to admit that he found the place intriguing. 

Weaving through the chairs and puddles of spilled mead, Hops passed through the tavern to the decrepit wooden stairs in the back. They creaked with each step, but held well enough. Reaching the third floor, he walked down the darkened hallway, illuminated by a single bulb dangling from the ceiling, to the room he and Lucca had rented. The large sack of spider parts slung over his shoulder jingled as he moved. Fumbling for the key in his pocket, Hops reached for the doorknob. It, unlike the rest of the inn, was warm. Hops frowned and twisted. It turned easily, unlocked. Bracing himself, he shoved the door open and strode in, his long bangs hiding the rising fire in his eyes. 

Hops quickly scanned the room: lights on, beds stripped, mattresses askew. His eyes fell on a figure sitting at the small writing desk by the window. Long hair, female, dressed in a kimono. "What are you-" His voice caught in his throat. He tripped over his own feet, falling nose first to the floor. The sack of ruined spiders spilled across the cold floorboards. He stayed there, unmoving, staring up in disbelief at the person sitting nearby. 

The unknown guest pushed away from the desk and stood. Her dark blue tresses swayed with the motion, cascading perfectly over creamy shoulders. "Plenty of men have called me stunning," the woman said, "but don't you think you're overreacting?" Seeing that the boy was recovering, she continued. "I think it's safe to assume you're the person that's been traveling with the famed Lucca. I was hoping one of you would arrive soon. Right now I want to ask you about this picture." She held out his picture of Kyra, the one with the frame that he had carved. 

Regaining his senses, Hops pushed up to his knees. He looked from the picture to the woman, back again. "Who are you?" he managed, gingerly rubbing his nose. 

"You may address me as Lady Tyria," the woman said. Her kimono was warmly colored; reds, yellows, and browns like the sun setting over hills. "I asked you about this picture. This girl, who is she? It's like looking in a mirror." 

Hops took the carven frame, holding it with more reverence than Tyria had shown. The resemblance was astounding. "Miss Kyra," he mumbled. 

Tyria frowned. "Well, I don't suppose it matters." She pushed past him, the folds of her kimono rustling like leaves. Heels clicked against the floor. 

This Lady Tyria looked strikingly similar to Kyra, only slightly older and with the wrong hair color. Hops stared up at her again, finding it still somewhat unnerving. Looking around the room again, he saw just how thoroughly it had been searched. Nothing had been left in its original place. He now noticed an animated suit of green armor pawing through his bag of belongings, sniffing his new "tourist" shirt like a bloodhound. Setting the picture aside, he stormed over and snatched his satchel back. "What the hell do you people want?" Spekkio's shot glass was still gripped in the armor's bulky hand. Hops took that back as well. The thing loomed over him, glaring down with the vacant eyes of its draconic mask. Hops countered with his own defiant gaze. 

"Tabanne," Tyria called. "Back down." Reluctantly, the suit of armor stepped back and returned to poking through the wrinkled sheets. 

"Well?" Hops pressed, still agitated. 

"If you must know," the woman told him, "I came here to talk with Lucca." 

"She's not here," he said as he returned the spilled scrap metal to its sack. It took effort to look away from her. 

Tyria nodded. "I noticed. You'll have to excuse our little scavenger hunt; standard procedure, you understand. Of course, there's nothing of any interest to me here." 

Hops dropped the sack in the corner. The woman was now sitting on the corner of his bed, checking her well-manicured fingernails. His opinion of her was souring by the second. "So," he asked, "are you going to leave?" 

Tyria looked amused. The boy was staring whenever he got the chance. It disappointed Tyria that it wasn't due to her beauty, only her resemblance to this Kyra person. "You should have a bit more respect for the ruler of Choras." 

That explained the attitude. "I'm not expecting Lucca back for a while. We were observing the base that was attacked recently. She finds such things very intriguing." 

"Visited the gift shop, didn't you?" Tyria asked with a joking smile. Too much like Kyra. 

"Research material," Hops said uneasily. He hefted Lucca's mattress back into place. 

Losing interest in her nails, Tyria turned to the dark haired youth and fixed him with that unbearably familiar gaze. "It's a waste of your time. I can tell you exactly what they are. That's why I wish to speak with your friend." Hops gave no sign of acknowledgment. "Not interested?" 

The sheets floated down over the bed. "You can see the door," Hops said as he smoothed out the folds. 

Tyria sighed heavily. "What a dreary child. Very well. I will see you and Lucca tomorrow at the royal residence. The address is on the desk." She stood and dramatically brushed back her hair. "Come, Tabanne. Miss Lucca won't be arriving tonight." She briefly glanced at Hops. The boy had started on his own bed, carefully straightening the blankets, still ignoring her. A dreary child indeed. "I look forward to tomorrow. And do bring your things with you. I'm sure I can find you better lodgings than this." With that she left, the suit of armor trailing in her wake. Their footsteps faded, blending with the murmur of the tavern. 

Hops shut the door behind them, glad to be alone again. Seeing Tyria had left him homesick, confused, and angry. Angry at himself for losing control of his life. He was tempted to go downstairs and become absurdly drunk but thought better of it. It wouldn't help. 

The address. There was indeed a scrap of paper on the desk. In elaborate cursive was written, "The Hilltop." He let it fall to the floor. It would wait until tomorrow. 

He collapsed on his bed, shut his eyes. Crying would have been nice. But he couldn't make the tears fall. Minutes passed. He struggled, trying desperately to free some of his agony. It wasn't happening. "I hate you," he whispered, still gripping the shot glass he had taken back. 

Lying there, begging for a sob, Hops fell asleep. The shot glass slipped through his fingers, fell, and rolled across the floor.   
  
  
  


The sun was bright, as it always was. Sometimes it could get to be annoying. Waking up every morning to another perfect sunny day drained the pleasure out of it with remarkable speed. You found yourself waiting impatiently for the next rainy day, just to see a cloud. If you wanted to splash in the puddles, you had to play in the rain. The horrible sun dried any mud within the hour. 

The grass was very green. This, too, was a constant. Its perpetual health was disturbing. Hops was convinced that it was fake. 

The lake was real water, of course. Malt's rocks wouldn't skip over colored glass. Each one hopped across the water exactly ten times. It was not out of any skill of his sister, simply by the small spell she wove around each stone. Malt could always amuse herself with such tricks. 

Hops returned his attention to the matter at hand. His current tome was yet another dissertation on the cause of the current ice age. It was the usual theory of meteoric collision, but it was terribly well written and had full-color illustrations. True, it made for a rather dismal picture book, but Hops liked it. The latter portion of the book might prove entertaining as the author expounded on her own theories. Based on what he could gather from the table of contents, it seemed that the author believed that a malicious alien race fired the asteroid at the planet, hoping to wipe off all traces of life. The Mystics were most obviously descendants of this vile race planted here to finish the job. It was absurd, but the pictures were very nice. The author deserved praise for her conviction. It takes courage to stand alone. 

"That book is bullshit." Hops raised his head, lifting a hand to block the glare of the sun. Malt stared back sourly. 

"Well, have you read it?" he asked, knowing the answer. 

"No," she responded. 

"Then how do you know that it's bullshit?" 

Malt flung another rock over the water. "You got it from the bullshit section, so of course it's bullshit." By that, she meant anything outside of the fiction shelves. 

"You're going to have to explain your logic," Hops told her. "If nonfiction is bullshit, what is fiction?" 

His sister only shrugged. Hops returned to his book, letting the unsettled argument drop. Malt had no interest in fact. Sometimes she seemed to have little interest in reality. Rather than worry over it, he went about his business and left her to do as she pleased. 

The swish of a turned page. "You've been slacking up on your studies lately," Hops stated. He watched his sibling out of the corner of his eye. 

"Do you care?" Another rock made ten perfect ripples. 

"You were missing yesterday." 

Her shoulders shook with a slight chuckle. "You're one to talk." 

Hops frowned. Another standstill. 

A rock skipped five times, then plunged into the water. Malt turned angrily, dropping her handful of stones. "Can we go somewhere else?"   
  
  
  


They walked away from the park with its plastic-green grass, down a rough dirt road that slowly slithered to the edge of their township. Hops favored the clumps of clean, white buildings with an unconcerned glance. He grew tired of all the simple houses in neat rows. The guards in their full dress armor nodded as the twins passed through the pearly gates into the open country of their floating continent. They could see an edge not far to the west and the puffy white ocean beyond. 

Hops, with his book tucked under an arm, watched his sister, who walked briskly ahead. "Do you have any place in mind?" he asked. 

She answered without turning around. "No." 

The road stretched onward to the northeast. A forest was about an hour's walk ahead. Beyond that was Kajar, the silvery City of Reason. Hops was never opposed to a trip, but it was a long walk to make so late in the day. Even at the rate they were moving it'd be dark before they reached the Creator's Door. 

To the right was the side road that ran to Kyra's house. He watched as they walked past, Malt never glancing that way. "So, are we going to Kajar?" 

It was a moment before she answered. "It's at the end of this road." 

"What are we going to do there?" It would be night, but the city was always active, much like the Mind it exalted. 

"There are other roads," said his twin. 

The conversation dropped there. Malt walked on, briskly as ever, with Hops trailing behind. He watched the summer scenery slide by. Malt was clearly agitated. He could see it in her movements, but he couldn't sense what it was. She was acting like this more and more as of late. The boy decided to risk another question. "Do you think this is an odd way to spend a birthday?" 

"Is that today?" She looked back over her shoulder. "I don't keep track." 

"Yes," Hops said. "We are eleven years old on this day." 

"Only eleven?" 

"Afraid so. Seems like more, doesn't it?" A cart passed by, drawn by a large emu. Only recently had the birds been bred for that purpose, and they were quickly becoming popular with the merchants. It kwehed happily. 

Once the cart had passed, Malt spoke again. "Why don't we live with Kyra?" It was a question, not a suggestion. 

"I don't know," Hops answered with a shrug. "We live with our parents." 

"But they're not our parents." 

"Neither is Kyra." His sister didn't respond. "It's not a bad idea. We spend most of our time there anyway. Maybe we should think about it." 

Again they walked in silence. Malt's pace had slowed somewhat. Hops let his eyes fall to the dirt under his feet. It gave his mind something to focus on. 

"So it's our birthday, huh?" 

Lifting his eyes again, Hops saw that his twin was looking back at him. "Yeah. I hope you don't mind, but I didn't get you a present. There didn't seem to be any point since I knew you had forgotten." 

"That's fine," she said. "You know, if we kept walking on to Kajar, then past there, and on and on as far as we could go, only three people would notice." 

"Just three?" he asked. 

"Yes, exactly three," said Malt. She raised one finger. "Obviously, I'd notice. I'd be the one walking away, so I'd know that I was gone." A second finger went up. "Then there'd be you, for the same reason." The third finger. "The last would be Miss Kyra. She'd notice if we stopped eating all her food and using up her toiletries. She'd even miss us, too." She turned back to the road ahead. "Isn't that funny? Only three people would notice if we left," she mused. "And that's counting ourselves." 

Hops thought about it. Only three. "Are you trying to make a point?" 

"Of course not," she answered. 

"Look," Hops said, stopping. He'd had enough. "What's your problem?" 

His sister stopped as well. "What problem?" she asked angrily. 

"Something's bothering you. You're even angrier and more depressed than usual. Out of concern, I'm just asking why, okay?" 

Malt turned her back on him. "There is nothing wrong." she said firmly. "I'm not acting any different, and I don't have a problem." 

"Just spit it out, Malt." 

"There's nothing to spit out." She was almost yelling now. "So what if I'm angry? So what if I'm depressed? So what if I've got a problem? Who doesn't have a problem?" Tears were welling up in her violet eyes. "I've got a problem with our parents. I've got a problem with our city. This place, this world! I've got a problem with you, Miss Kyra, and our dickhead father! So what? Who cares?" 

"I care," her brother answered. 

"Then fucking stop it!" she screamed. "Stop wasting your time on me!" 

Hops shook his head, his eyes hidden behind his long bangs. "It's not a waste of my time. You're my sister. My twin sister." He paused, waiting for her to react. "Whether you want it to or not," Hops went on, "that means something to me. And I think it means something to you, too." 

"Don't assume you understand me," Malt spat, though the venom was forced. 

"Don't assume that I don't," Hops said. 

Another cart rolled past. As if sensing the tension, its emu remained quiet, bowing its head as it strode past. Malt stood, arms at her sides, her beautiful violet eyes shimmering with moisture. She turned, as if to walk down the road, back the way she had come, back to the park and its perfect mockery of life. She didn't move. 

"Pardon me, young lady," said a voice from the side of the road, "but your brain cloud is blocking my sunlight." 

Both twins had failed to notice the stranger reclining beside a road sign. His heavy, travel-worn cloak would have blocked his sunlight with or without a "brain cloud" nearby. One leg rested on the other's bent knee, waving his muddied boot in the air. A pair of lumps at his sides suggested that he was armed, but Hops sensed no threat from this country vagabond. 

Malt's eyes smoldered, her anger rekindled by the intrusion of this traveler. "If my brain cloud is interfering with your day, then keep walking!" she yelled. 

The man stood up. A roguish smile shone on his hooded face. "You needn't be so angry. It will surely sour your sweet face." Malt huffed with annoyance. "I apologize if I have offended you, Madam." Hops couldn't help but chuckle at the stranger's polite sarcasm. 

Malt didn't take it as well. "You can't talk to me like that!" 

"My, I seem to have stumbled upon the Queen of Zeal herself," the man laughed. 

The girl lost interest in the argument and turned away to sulk. The man frowned. "You're awfully temperamental for such a young kid. I think I feel a pang of conscience coming on." He shrugged. "I guess I'll have to make it up to you somehow." 

Malt mumbled something, but didn't look up. 

"Well, that's physically impossible," the man answered, "but I'm sure I can find something else to do for you." He smiled as an idea came to him. "How about a story?" 

"A story?" Malt asked. 

"Why not?" Hops said, eager to defuse his sister. "Fine, tell us a story, whoever you are." 

"Terrific!" the stranger said. "I've got a great one I heard just a few days ago." He sat back down in the grass and motioned for them to join him. They did, but with obvious reluctance. When they were comfortable, he began. 

"Once upon a time, in a magical kingdom called..." The man thought for a moment, "...San Diego--" 

"You're telling us a fairy tale," Malt said incredulously. 

"Just let me tell the story," he said. "In the magical kingdom of San Diego, there lived this guy." 

"A name?" Malt asked. 

The man frowned. "Juan. In the magical kingdom of San Diego, there lived a man named Juan. Better?" The twins nodded their approval. "Anyway, Juan lived in a cheap apartment next to the Spam factory. Everyday he watched them bring in leftovers from the real slaughterhouses and send out truckloads of meat byproduct." 

"You're telling us a fairy tale about Spam?" asked Hops. "That's disgusting." 

"I don't mind," Malt said. 

"I'm trying to create a setting, okay? The story has nothing to do with Spam. Juan worked at a Seven-Eleven, one of the finer establishments in the magical kingdom of San Diego, but he really earned most of his money working for the big, scary drug dealer." His audience immediately became more interested. "Juan was a big man, you know. He worked as a sort of enforcer. If a client was being disagreeable, Juan would visit them and show them the light, so to speak. He was a loyal flunky, and had served the drug dealer well for the last three years." 

"Does the drug dealer have a name?" Hops asked. 

"Everyone just called him 'il Duche.' He was actually a comically short man, but he had lots of money, lots of women, and lots of drugs, so everyone was generally nice to him. Early one Saturday morning, just as Juan was getting home from pulling a double shift at the Seven-Eleven, he got a phone call from il Duche. The boss had a job for him. A particular client had been causing il Duche minor cranial discomfort as of late, and he wanted Juan to deal with the problem once and for all." 

"Kill the dude," Malt said. 

"Right. Only there was one problem. The dude was Juan's best friend since childhood." 

"Name?" Hops asked. 

The stranger had to think for a moment. "Lucifer. Juan and Lucifer had been friends since they were in diapers. They had spent the better part of their lives playing Drug Lab in Lucifer's basement. Anyway, Juan begged il Duche to spare Lucifer, or at least get someone else to do it. Il Duche wouldn't change his mind. Juan knew it was a test of his loyalty, but he wasn't certain who he was more loyal to: il Duche or his friend. After a bit of discussion, il Duche agreed to give Juan until the next Saturday evening to kill Lucifer. 

"Obviously, Juan didn't want to kill Lucifer. He spent the week moping in his apartment, trying to think of a way around icing his best friend. Of course, he couldn't think of anything. Creativity isn't exactly a required trait in thugs. About Thursday he got his pink slip from the Seven-Eleven, but he didn't care anymore. Finally, Saturday arrived. Juan had barely slept all week. His eyes were even more bloodshot than usual. So, around four in the afternoon he slipped his knife in his pocket and walked over to Lucifer's apartment. Lucifer lived in a less reputable part of town, too, by a store called Sears. Juan went up to the door and knocked, but no one answered. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he kicked down the door. To his surprise, the place had been cleared out. No furniture, no Lucifer, nothing. Not knowing what else he could do, Juan went back home to wait for the inevitable visit from il Duche. 

"Il Duche showed up, but not to kill him. Instead, he congratulated Juan. Lucifer had died last Wednesday of food poisoning from a bad can of Spam." 

"You said this story had nothing to do with Spam," said Malt. 

"I lied. Il Duche said that bad Spam was the most ingenious murder tool he'd ever heard of. He gave Juan a friendly slap on the back and left." The stranger smiled and leaned back against the road sign. 

"That's it?" Hops asked. 

"Basically," the man said. "Juan felt terrible that he would have killed his best friend to save his own life, but he eventually got over it and went on living. He got his job back at the Seven-Eleven and worked for il Duche in his time off. End of story." 

Malt stood, brushing grass from her pants. "Well, I liked it. It was different. Hops?" 

Hops merely frowned. "That sucked."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 34 --

  


"So," Lucca asked, looking out over the cerulean blue waves at the beginning of the world, "what do you want to tell me tonight?" Leaning back, she let her hands enjoy the rough texture and warmth of the yellow-orange grit. Her legs dangled over the edge of the cliff as waves caressed the rocks below. The sun was bright, the air untouched by any pollution. It always refreshed her to see the world so healthy in this time period. Truly a pity that it wouldn't last much longer. The inescapable Red Star would soon fall, freezing the planet and polluting the land with its very presence. 

"Oh, I don't know," the man said, his perfect brown hair untouched by the ocean breeze. "I'm afraid I don't have much more to say to you." 

"Okay," Lucca said. "Then may I ask you a few questions?" 

"I don't see any harm in that," Lavos answered. "Ask away, dearest." 

"First of all," Lucca asked, "would you please not call me that?" 

The man smirked. "Certainly, my darling." 

Rather than press the issue, she asked her next question. "What are you?" 

There was a pause as he thought. "I don't see why you ask me such a question," he said at last. "You know the answer. I am Lavos, that which is all. The eternal consumer of your wretched world. He who has existed since before the dawn of time and will still exist well past its end." 

"So you're immortal?" she asked. 

"Effectively." 

Lucca frowned. "Effectively? What's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means, dearest, that you will certainly not live to see my passing," he responded. 

She watched the waves pound the base of the cliffs. The relentless rhythm drew her in, clouding her mind. She turned away. "So, did we kill you?" 

"The question," he said, "is 'Will we kill you?' I'm not dead yet. The answer is no, obviously." 

"That means you can survive without a physical body?" 

He shrugged, grinning. "Can't you?" 

Lucca didn't answer that. Instead, she stood and walked away from the edge, past Lavos. "Where exactly are you going?" he asked. 

"How should I know?" She stopped, now standing in a forest. It was a pleasant morning, spring or summer. A light mist drifted in the air, trapped beneath the green ceiling. She was in the Cursed Woods in AD 600, more than likely. Lucca found these sudden changes of locale to be a nuisance. "Stop doing that." 

He stepped from behind a mighty pine tree. "But it brings you so much joy, sweetling." 

She shivered with disgust. "Wouldn't a being of such phenomenal cosmic power have something better to do than annoy me?" 

"Better? No. Every day is not much different from all the others. Wake up, suck the life from the planet, maybe fart every so often, and go back to sleep. You see, my hectic schedule leaves me quite a bit of spare time. Bothering you is the highlight of my week." 

Ignoring him, Lucca continued to walk. Her feet crunched on the undergrowth, sending unseen creatures skittering to better cover. There was no sign of Lavos following her. The dawn forest became a dark, decrepit hallway of the distant future, Trann Dome perhaps. Her stride did not falter as her boots clanged against the rusted metal. Off to her left she could hear the low hum of working electronics. Something below her sputtered as it struggled to return to artificial life. Moments later she was in the bowels of Guardia Castle, the one of her time period. The flickering torches illuminated the heavily guarded treasure troves. Ahead at the end of the hallway, she could see the remains of the Rainbow Shell, its coils now disfigured by the hand of a skilled blacksmith. 

The world changed again, and Lucca strode into something decidedly solid. Recoiling more from surprise than pain, she fell on her rear with a resounding thump. 

"You're certainly stubborn. I always do pick the difficult ones," Lavos lamented. Lucca looked up at the bright green eyes of the man looming over her. "I get the impression that you still have some questions for me. You're not going anywhere until you ask them all, so I suggest we stay on task." 

They were now in her bedroom at home. It was late, judging by the moonlight. Lucca sat at the foot of her bed. "Fine," she said. "Why are you doing this to our planet? We assumed you were eating. Is that the case, or is it something else?" 

Lavos leaned against the windowsill, blocking much of the light. "A living being has to eat, right?" 

"But what sort of creature feeds on planets? Are you really just a big parasite?" He only shrugged and smiled. "I'm not denying the possibility of a planet parasite. It just seems horribly unlikely. After you eat this world, do you plan on disappearing into space to find another?" 

"I suppose I must. Of course, you're going to make that difficult. It's hard to leave if I don't have a body." 

Lucca smiled with malicious glee. "Surely a mighty creature such as yourself wouldn't be hindered by something like that." 

"Next question," Lavos mumbled. 

"I'm not done with the last one," said Lucca. "What exactly do you eat? This mana stuff that the Mystics harness?" 

"Mana, ley lines, dragon lines, Lifestream, etc., etc., etc. The energy of a living planet. Call it what you like, I'll drain it, whatever its name may be." 

"So the planet is alive?" Lucca pushed. 

Lavos pushed away from the window and paced across the room. "What do you want from me? I'm not from here. I don't live here. I'm just visiting. I wouldn't call this ball of filth alive, but it has energy. The only planets that have this energy, Mana as you called it, are planets that support life. Does the energy make it possible for life? Does the life produce the energy? I don't really know, and it makes no difference to me. Ask one of your silly Mystics if you really want to know." 

Lucca filed this knowledge away for later pondering. "Okay then, new subject." 

"Fire away." 

"Why are you talking to me?" she asked. 

Lavos stared at her, as if shocked. "Cannot a fine, upstanding young parasite like myself talk to a beautiful young lady if he wants? You should be honored." 

"But you don't talk to Crono or Marle. Why just me?" 

"Why would I want to talk to them?" Lavos asked. "That Marle girl is far too moral and decent for me. It truly is disgusting. Almost as scary as that Crono friend of yours. His dreams frighten me, and that's saying a lot." He returned to the window. "Honestly, I only feel like talking to you. I can't think of a better answer." 

That was as good an answer as any. "So, let me get this straight. I'm talking to the Lavos that is currently inside the earth, so you have memories going back, but you don't really know what will happen in the future. You just pulled that out of my head, right?" 

Lavos nodded. "Correct. I have access to my own memories, plus your memories, and Crono's memories, and Marle's, and Frog's, and his child's. Sadly, the poor girl never reproduced, so that was the end of that." 

"So, whatever connection we have with you can be passed on to our offspring?" 

"Hey, you're the genius inventor here. You're smart enough to figure it out on your own." 

Lucca didn't press the issue. "Well then, since you've been on this planet so long, surely you must know of the Purge." 

The man's face contorted, something between annoyance and hellish fury. "I'd rather not speak of them." 

"Touchy subject?" she asked with visible joy. 

Lavos's expression brightened. "On second thought, yes, let's talk of this Purge. What exactly do you want to know about them?" 

"Anything," she said. "Should I be worried about them?" 

"Why are you asking me?" Lavos asked with a chuckle. "I love to see humans suffer, remember? I'm not going to help you." 

"You already have, you know. You've given me a lot to think about." 

"I really do talk far too much," he said. "Well, why stop now, I suppose. The Purge is certainly your concern." 

Lucca's eyes brightened behind her glasses. "Are they a threat to me? A threat to you?" 

"Look," Lavos said. "If you want answers, go get answers." 

"Where? I'm looking everywhere I can, but I'm still just as confused as when I started." 

"Fine," Lavos said angrily, "but this is the last help I offer. You want to know what's going on? Go to Triangle Island, where the sun is always mystically shining. Your answers are there." 

The Sun Keep. She'd been there many times before, in several time periods. What had she not seen? Could she trust Lavos to tell her the truth? Did it matter? Inwardly she smiled at this last thought. Of course not. She'd go, just because it was as good a place to check as any. It wasn't as if she had any better ideas. As soon as she was done in Choras, she'd head north. The thought of Choras brought her back to her present situation. What exactly had befallen her? Where was she? "I'm not dead, am I?" 

Lavos looked up, startled. "Of course not. Even I can't converse with the dead." 

"Just checking." Well, she was at least alive. That was mildly comforting. She remembered the hallway and the metal spiders but was unclear about the rest. She'd just have wake up and see, but she wasn't entirely sure how to do that. All the times before, these dreams had just ended on their own. Closing her eyes, she focused on thoughts of consciousness. "Wake up!" she said with a wave of her arms. She opened her eyes and quickly regretted her efforts to end this dream prematurely. 

She was in a cream-colored room, decorated with pink drapes, heart-shaped night stands, and other tasteless tributes to love. It was dominated by the large heart-shaped bed on which she sat. Its perfumed sheets were yet another shade of pink. Lavos stood in front of the only door out, dressed in an immaculate white suit, truly his finest attire so far. 

With a twist of his wrist, he locked the door with a silver, heart-adorned key, which he then dropped into a lavender wastebasket. Taking a few steps toward the bed, he grinned with mockery and lust. "You're looking exquisite as usual, my pet." 

Blood coursed up to Lucca's face as she realized that she was completely naked. With a startled yelp, she scurried over to the pile of stuffed animals at the end of the bed and recovered her decency with a few well-placed poyozos. "What the hell is this?" she yelled, a hint of panic creeping into her voice. 

"Surely this is familiar," Lavos said. "I got it from your mind." Lucca's face became even redder. "Of course, when you had this dream, you were fourteen, and instead of me, there was that math teacher you so adored, the one with the goofy hair and the glasses thicker than your own." 

"I got over him," Lucca said defensively. "He quit his job and eloped with Maria, the class representative. It was quite the scandal." 

"Yes, and you cried your poor little heart out for days." Lavos was becoming uncomfortably close. 

"I still went to school back then," she reminisced, "which wasn't that long ago, now that I think about it. Seems like an eternity ago." She adjusted her poyozos. "So what exactly is your point?" 

Lavos was now at the foot of the bed. "Unlike your math teacher," he said as he crawled onto the sheets, "I won't disappear with the class rep. I only have eyes for you." 

Now panicking, Lucca tried to back away from the dark-haired man that moved ever closer, but found that she was stuck. Her legs were covered in a green, chitinous material that held her firmly in place. She leaned back as far as she could to avoid Lavos's advance. He was over her now, smiling down with those perfect teeth. It wasn't a very pleasant smile. Lucca squirmed, but the green shell was spreading. 

Lavos's hot breath rolled over her as he lowered his face. "Soon enough," he growled, "I'll be all that you have left." 

She closed her eyes as he gently pressed his lips against her own. The feeling revolted her; it was cold, like kissing rubber. The chitin now grasped her head. Unable to clamp her jaw shut, Lucca could only whimper as he pushed his lifeless tongue through her lips and into her mouth. She fought him with her own tongue, but could do nothing as his seemingly endless muscle caressed her palate before forcefully pushing its way down her throat. She gagged and struggled to breathe around the invading tongue. 

Her eyes shot open. 

A warm, pink glow surrounded her, infinitely more comforting than Lavos's cold presence. Panic gripped her again: something was still down her throat. Gagging again, she thrashed any limb she could move, finding her current surroundings very restricting. Kicking against the confines of her world, she thought she heard the resonating clang of metal. 

Her side flinched from a spark of pain. A needle, she thought as her eyes rolled back and she returned to darkness.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 35 --

  


Waking from a dreamless sleep, Lucca found herself in a place unlike anything she had expected. She was lying on a clean, white-sheeted bed, dressed in a sea-green gown common to most hospitals. Judging by the healthy breeze she was feeling, the room was air-conditioned, and that gown was all she was wearing. The whole room was a sterile white, suggesting that this might really be a hospital. There was a steady hum from the piles of electronics lining the walls. 

Lucca propped up on her elbows, surveying all the devices that were apparently attached to her. Moving brought a sharp sting from the electrodes scattered over her body. The equipment seemed highly sophisticated. She recognized the spiked lines of a heart monitor. They hadn't been invented yet, but Robo had shown her one from the future. She watched the display, hoping that the pattern was healthy. 

A soft hiss brought her attention to a door on the far wall. It slid aside noiselessly, revealing what had to be some sort of robot. Lucca was immediately fascinated with it. It was slightly shorter than an average person and lanky, its thin frame only vaguely humanoid. Its cylindrical head was studded with blinking lights of all sizes and colors, which Lucca assumed to be sensors. It gripped a clipboard in one of its three-fingered hands and stumbled into the room, wobbling uneasily on its crooked legs. 

At the same time, a hiss announced a second visitor from the door to Lucca's right. It too was a robot, only much shorter and rather round. It waddled in, searching the room with its own impressive array of blinking lights. Both the robots were a dull yellow-grey. They were scuffed and dented worse than Robo had ever been. 

The tall one seemed to finally notice that she was awake and nearly tripped over its feet in surprise. The short one scurried over to help steady its companion. Its balance regained, the tall one straightened to its full height. "Greetings, Mistress Lucca," it said in a tinny voice. Lucca was caught off guard by the robots politeness. She hadn't expected them to know her name. "We apologize for any inconvenience. These measures, though regrettable, were necessary. Try to understand." 

Lucca wasn't entirely sure what measures it was talking about but nodded her thanks anyway. Both of the robots seemed to cheer up. "Now for introductions," said the tall one. "I am called Biggs." He attempted a bow and almost toppled over. The short one caught him and helped him regain his footing. "And this is Wedge." 

The stout robot gave a little wave with its stubby arm. "Hi," he said in a voice much like the other's. His head swivelled to look at Biggs. "Why are you talking like Demi?" 

Biggs smacked Wedge upside the head. "I'm trying to be polite, dimwit!" 

Wedge hit back. "Bunghole!" he shouted as Biggs struggled to remain on his feet. 

"Ass monkey!" he retorted. 

"Duck fucker!" Wedge yelled, pushing Biggs hard enough to knock them both to the floor with a loud clang. 

With great difficulty, Biggs got back onto his unsteady legs. "Look what you did, turd minion!" he shouted at Wedge, who was wobbling on his back like an overturned tortoise, unable to right himself. 

"Um..." Lucca began carefully, "I don't mean to interrupt anything..." 

The two robots quickly turned to her, having clearly forgotten why they were there. Biggs rolled Wedge back onto his stubby feet before addressing Lucca again. "We're really sorry," he said, grabbing Wedge's head to steady himself. "We can get a little carried away." 

"Apparently," Lucca mumbled as the robots went to work removing the electrodes that covered her body. A number of the machines along the walls winked off as they were disconnected. 

"If you don't mind me asking, where exactly am I, and how did I get here?" she asked. Biggs and Wedge didn't answer, just finished what they were doing and walked away to turn off more of the gizmos. 

The steady beep of the heart monitor was suddenly replaced by a loud buzz. "OH MY GOD! YOUR HEART STOPPED!" screamed Wedge while pointing at the flatlined heart display. Lucca was startled, but she could tell that her heart was clearly in working order. Biggs and Wedge were making weird staticky noises which she assumed to be chuckles. 

"Master Darma used to love that joke," said Biggs with an air of nostalgia. He made another odd sound, probably a sigh. "That is, until the time his heart really did stop, and he developed that fear of sheep. Poor guy didn't sleep for a week." 

"It just wasn't the same after that," agreed Wedge. They went back to their work. 

Lucca wasn't sure how to respond to that. "...er...is this a hospital?" 

"Hospital?" Wedge laughed. "Heck no!" The robots poked at a few more devices, and Lucca got the impression that they didn't really know how to use most of them. The situation was starting to worry her. 

"You know," she said, "maybe I should just go back to sleep now." 

"Don't do that," said Biggs. "We still haven't shown you the machine that goes 'Bing!'" He gave a particularly frightening piece of equipment a solid thwack. It binged happily in response. The two beamed at her as if she should be impressed. 

Lucca could only nod. "Right..." The machine binged again. "Look, I don't want to be a bad guest, but I'd really like to know where I am. Could you at least tell me that?" 

Biggs and Wedge immediately straightened up. "You are in the top secret lair of His High and Mightiness, Master Darma!" they shouted in unison. They both thumped their chests, adding new dents to their casings. "Well, actually," Biggs said, "he's not really very high..." 

"Five foot six," said Wedge quickly. 

"...and I don't suppose he looks all that mighty." 

"But you get the picture." 

Shifting again, Lucca found that she was feeling incredibly healthy. In fact, she was probably feeling the healthiest she had in her life. It was quite unpleasant; her body was screaming for some poi. "What did you do to me?" she asked, scanning the room for her belongings. 

Biggs scribbled something on his clipboard with a pencil. "Master Darma should be able to tell you when he gets here." He tapped his metallic chin thoughtfully. "Hey, Wedge," he called, "have we called Darma yet?" 

"Gee," Wedge mumbled, counting something off on his fingers. "I thought we were forgetting to do something." 

"Who is Darma, other than your Master and one shorter than average?" Lucca asked. Maybe they'd be willing to talk to her about him. They seemed to be a bit more open with information about their master. 

The robots pondered this for a moment. "Well," Biggs started, "he's this really smart guy." 

"He's writing a book," Wedge added. "A really big book," he said, gesturing with his hands. 

"I think the working title is, 'The History of Existence.'" Both of the robots were staring off into space with glazed looks in their photoreceptors. 

"Right..." said Lucca. "About my bag..." 

The door across from Lucca hissed open. A floating sphere, perhaps the size of a small cantaloupe, whizzed into the room and circled over the two robots. It was a dull bronze and had a large lens, most likely an eye. 

"Biggs! Wedge!" it yelled in a more human voice than that of the robots. "I've been looking everywhere for you! The door locks are still broken. You two were supposed to fix them ages ago!" 

"Sorry, Demi," Wedge said. "We were still shining Master Darma's chrome toilet, and then the girl woke up." He motioned to the bed. "We figured she was more important." 

Hovering in place, Demi fixed his eye on her. "What?!" he wailed. "Have you told Darma?" 

Biggs shifted nervously. "We were getting to that..." 

Demi spun angrily. "Oh well, I've sent a spider to find him." He dove to eye-level with Lucca, flitting about in her face. "Are you okay, Miss? Are you feeling well? These incompetents haven't mistreated you, have they?" 

"I'm fine," she said, brushing Demi away. "You wouldn't happen to know where my stuff is? I had this bag, and there was this canteen in it..." The flying eyeball wasn't listening to her. He had returned to chastising Biggs and Wedge. 

"I can't believe you didn't notify Master Darma immediately. He said he wanted to know when she woke up so that he could greet her himself." He zipped back to Lucca. "Are feeling light-headed? You've been under an awful lot of sedatives in the few days. They might have some lingering effects." 

Gripping Demi in her hands, Lucca pulled him close to her face. He struggled to get away, but she finally had his attention. "I feel like a new woman," she assured him. "Now, be a doll and bring me my poi." 

Demi shook violently in an attempt to get free. "P-poi?" he stuttered. 

"It's a kind of pork stew," Lucca told him. "I had two canteens full of it on me when I was attacked. Where is my bag?" 

"But Master Darma said..." 

"I don't care what Darma said." She was getting angry at this flying melon. "I want my stuff back!" To Demi's relief, the door hissed open yet again. Lucca glanced up and finally saw Master Darma. 

Biggs and Wedge had been right; he wasn't high and mighty at all. He was short, for an adult male, and rail thin. Most of his youthful yet sunken face was hidden by his long, black hair and a large eye patch over his left eye. He wore a white lab coat and faded brown pants. His knees were armored, along with his green, padded shirt. This, along with the dagger strapped to his right leg, suggested that he wasn't entirely harmless. 

Lucca froze when a chrome spider crept in behind him. She watched warily as it scurried across the room and out the other door. So this guy was the man behind the attacks in Choras. Darma must have noticed her interest in it. "Becoming a fan of my handiwork?" he asked jokingly. His voice was a little on the high side, like Crono's a few years ago. 

While she was distracted, Demi had managed to slip out of her grasp. He circled around Darma, coming to a stop and bobbing over his shoulder. "I guess you've met everyone then," he said, glancing at Biggs and Wedge, who were standing at rigid attention. "What's with you guys?" Darma asked, puzzled. "No one's died or anything, right?" 

"Thankfully, no," Wedge mumbled. 

Turning back to Lucca with a goofy smile on his face, Darma said, "Well, I bet you're feeling a few years younger." 

"You could say that," answered Lucca miserably. 

"I took the liberty of filtering your blood, cleaning your colon, detoxifying your body, removing your tonsils and appendix, and straightening your teeth." Darma smiled, clearly proud of himself. 

Lucca frowned. "I had braces when I was younger. My teeth were fine." 

"No wonder it was so easy!" Darma laughed. "But geez! Your body was really filthy! It didn't make any sense, either. Your blood was full of a chemical a lot like caffeine, but it's only found in a plant that's been extinct for at least several thousand years! Why, the last time I detected any of it was..." The smile disappeared from his face. "...yesterday...in your backyard." He snatched the clipboard from Biggs. Flipping through the sheets of paper, he laughed again. "Well don't I feel stupid!" He scratched his head nervously. "I guess that about explains it." 

"It must be the plant I'm growing to use in poi," Lucca told him. "I got it about 65 million years ago." 

Darma thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Yeah, that explains it. Oh well, there are worse things to fill your veins with." 

"Can I have my poi now?" Lucca asked, smiling sweetly. 

Shifting uncomfortably, Darma was looking very pitiful. "But I just went to all the trouble of cleaning you," Darma whined. "Sure it's mostly harmless, but it's the principle. I thought you wouldn't crave the stuff anymore after I got it all out of you. Can't you at least wait a few days before you poison yourself again?" 

"I'm very grateful," Lucca said, "but quite frankly, I'm suffering from some pretty severe withdrawal. So, if you don't mind..." 

"Fine," he mumbled, extracting one of her canteens from behind some electronic thingies. "Must be a psychological addiction." He tossed it to her rather reluctantly. The top came off and the poi flowed as soon as it was in her hands. "I guess some explanations are in order. You see, I'm Darma, technological genius and ex-member of the Purge." Lucca choked on her poi. Darma didn't seem to notice. "This is my super-secret subterranean lair, hidden far from civilization." He paused for effect. "By the way, I like to call this room Sickbay. It makes it sound a lot snazzier than it is." 

Lucca didn't seem impressed. She wiped poi from her face. "You were part of the Purge?" She punctuated her sentence with a loud belch. 

"You've heard of them?" Darma asked, grinning happily. "I sure miss those guys. Well, most of them anyway. Hey! Have you seen the machine that goes 'Bing!'?" He smacked the notorious machine, and it binged with obvious glee. "Isn't that the greatest?" 

"While I'm thinking about it, may I have my clothes back?" asked Lucca as Darma coaxed more happy bings from the machine. 

"Oh, sure." Darma looked over his shoulder. "Biggs. Wedge. Go get Lucca's clothes from the dryer. They should be finished by now. I thought it'd be nice to wash them for you," he told her. The machine was now binging merrily on its own. "Are you really feeling okay? If you need anything, I can do my best to get it for you." 

"No thanks," Lucca said, content with her poi. 

"Well," Darma said, shoving his hands further into his pockets, "you're sort of my prisoner now, seeing as how I captured you and all. But don't worry about it," he said quickly. "Try to think of it as a sleep over." 

"A...sleep over?" Lucca was becoming even more confused. Could this really be the guy responsible for the attacks? 

"Yeah," Darma said. "It'll be loads of fun! I've got a room for you and everything. I stocked up on lots of popcorn and sappy films, since I'm supposed to keep you here a while. Demi says women like sappy stuff," he added, "though it mostly gives me indigestion. All the films are in Zealian, too, since nobody has made any new ones since then. Except me." He turned to Demi. "Remember when we made that movie with all the aliens and the cottage cheese?" 

"Please don't remind me," Demi moaned. 

"Yep, that one," Darma said. "I'll bet Lucca will get a kick out of it." 

"Who says you're supposed to keep me here?" Lucca pried. Darma's good eye darted around nervously. He was saved from answering by loud noises from outside. 

Biggs stumbled into the room, trying not to trip over himself. "Master Darma! We're having some trouble with the dryer!" Behind him, Wedge could be seen wrestling a belligerent clothes dryer in the hallway. 

"Geez, that thing can be so grumpy. I'll be right back." Darma and Biggs rushed to help, the door closing behind them. There were sounds of a scuffle, and Lucca could hear Biggs yelling something about cheesecake. In their absence, Demi floated back to Lucca's side. 

"Master Darma is very honored to have an infamous inventor as his guest," he told her. 

"Why has your master kidnapped me?" she asked politely, ignoring the metal cantaloupe's choice of adjectives. 

"Well," Demi started, "I think it was partly because he was feeling lonely. As you can imagine, he doesn't get many guests, and he's been getting out even less than usual." He quickly changed the subject. "The main reason, though, is because someone asked him to." 

"Who?" she asked sweetly. 

Darma came back into the room with Lucca's clean clothes in his arms. He stumbled over to the bed, his eye patch covering the wrong eye. Lucca could see why he wore it: his left eye was gone, leaving a burnt and scarred pit that made her retch. "Sometimes you just have to tell that thing how it is," he said, dropping her clothes on the foot of the bed. He grinned stupidly, adjusting his disheveled attire. "Downy fresh!" Biggs and Wedge followed him into the room, sporting fresh scuff marks. 

"Damn," Lucca muttered as Demi floated back to his master. 

His eye patch back in place, Darma continued their conversation. "I'll let you change in a bit. In the mean time, I've got some things to talk with you about. You see, I'm writing this book..." 

"'The History of Existence.'" 

Darma looked very pleased. "They told you about it? Terrific! Completing it is my life goal. I admit it's a bit much, but I'm making considerable progress. It's basically a compilation of all that ever was and will be. Since you'll be staying with us, I'd like to get your opinion on a few subjects." 

"Like what?" Lucca asked cautiously. 

"SWEET LORD NO!" Everyone turned to look at Biggs. The robot was staring at a random piece of electronics with his hands on his shiny head. 

"Ah," Darma said knowingly. "Biggs here has a metaphysical photoreceptor, a sort of astral eye, so to speak. Invented it myself. Whatcha got, big guy?" 

Biggs was trembling now. "The Dark Lord will consume us all!" he shouted as he ran into the wall, falling to the floor in a motionless heap. 

"You just take a nap then," Darma called. He turned back to Lucca. "Aren't they a hoot?" When he didn't get a response, he coughed and continued, "Right. I'll get to the point. I've got information you want. You've got information I want. I'm willing to be totally honest with you, if you're willing to do the same for me." 

"Why should I be honest with you?" she asked skeptically. 

"Because," Darma whispered, leaning in closer, "I keep a modest garden on the surface. And in that garden, I grow a particular plant that has been extinct for several thousand years." He grinned broadly. "I could be convinced to share," he said temptingly. 

Lucca's glasses shone with wicked glee. "I like poi." 

"So I noticed." Straightening, Darma extracted a hand from his pocket. "Do we have an understanding?" Before Lucca could take his hand, he was distracted by Demi, who was bumping against his head. "What is it, Demi? Can't you see I'm in the middle of an important agreement?" 

"If you'll remember, master, you have that casserole in the oven. You wouldn't want it to burn, and the oven's been rather disagreeable since you tried to bake the microwave." 

"Of course," Darma said, smacking himself in the forehead. "I'm preparing dinner for us tonight." Lucca's face filled with fear. Darma seemed to mistake it for hunger. "I can't wait, either. I haven't had a bite all day." He smiled. It was a harmless smile, even a little endearing. "I'll leave you to change. Why don't you go set the table?" he told Wedge. "For two this evening; we have a guest, remember. And see if you can't do something about him," he said, eyeing Biggs. Wedge left through the door to the right, dragging an apparently unconscious Biggs behind him. Darma turned to his guest. "I'll send someone to get you before dinner." He left through the far door, Demi hovering close behind. 

Finally alone, Lucca sighed heavily. That had been a lot to take in. She wasn't entirely certain which she preferred: this or the dream with Lavos. At least she knew Lavos was just a dream. At any rate, she couldn't let this get in the way of her goals. Clearly she had found the source of the attacks on Choras. She'd have to talk to Darma about that. Judging by his manner, it seemed unlikely that he would do such a thing with malicious intent. He didn't seem too bad. A little on the odd side, but she had no room to talk. With another sigh she shucked the simple green gown. 

"The Sun Keep..." she mused. "What could I have missed?" Lavos had said that she could find answers there, yet the Sun Keep was just a small cave. She'd been there in several time periods, and was fairly certain that she'd seen all there was to see. 

Her mind strayed back to her dreams, back to Lavos. That insolent smile. The heat of his breath. The feel of his lifeless tongue. She shivered. These were not pleasant memories to recall while standing in a strange place, naked and exposed. 

The door hissed. "One other thing..." Lucca grabbed for something to cover herself, but it was in vain. Darma stood in the doorway, frozen. His eye was wide and glazed. A single drop of blood oozed from his nose. "Ack! Thermal expansion!" he moaned as he collapsed. 

Demi buzzed over his fallen master in frantic circles. "Biggs! Wedge! Quick, fetch the smelling salts!"   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 36 --

  


The palace library was in the south wing, just above the pearly entrance gates. Sounds of visitors coming and going drifted up on the warm spring air. The room went up three floors. The walls were covered with shelves, and staircases spiraled up to the highest walkways. An enormous brass sphere, a model of the cosmos, dominated the center of the chamber. Smaller spheres spun within it, mimicking the paths of their celestial counterparts. Bright sunlight streamed in from the tall windows along the south wall, reflecting off the clockwork universe. These windows provided an excellent view of the land below, perhaps the best view in the palace. 

Shellac stood before one of these iron-framed windows, gazing down the palace wall. To the place where the earth seemed to drop away, only to continue far down at the base of the cliffs that protected the palace. Across the grass and heather to the mirror-like waters of the Lake of the Huntsman. Over the forests to the edge of the world and beyond to the cloudy sea. His view beyond the edge was obscured by black, billowing clouds of smoke. They shone red at their base, illuminated by the fires that spawned them. 

Inwardly Shellac cursed. It seemed such a waste. 

Behind him, the thick oak doors creaked slowly open, revealing a tall yet hunched figure. It was an old man, dressed in the faded robes of his position. He moved carefully, leaning on the gnarled staff he preferred over his ceremonial scepter. A short beard and white hair concealed a weary face, but his eyes shone with as much life as ever. Shellac strode across the tiled floor to meet him. 

"You should have called me, Master," he said, taking the old man's arm. "I would have helped you. You don't need to be moving around so much on your own." 

"Shellac, you've got to stop calling me that," the man wheezed. "I'm not your master." The scarecrow helped him across the room to a tall-backed chair in the corner, just beneath one of the windows. He sighed with contentment, finally able to rest his posterior on the soft padding. "If you must use a title, call me Guru." 

"Of course, Guru," Shellac said as he carried over a matching ottoman for the aged guru's feet. "Are you comfortable now?" 

"Yes, I'm fine." The warm sunlight felt marvelous on his wrinkled skin. "You really are too kind to this bothersome old man." 

"Nonsense." The scarecrow pulled up a similar chair and seated himself, stretching out his awkwardly long legs. 

"It's a pity, really," the guru said, his eyes closed, enjoying the moment of peace. "I can think of no better successor than you." 

Shellac sat up, alarmed. "You don't need to be talking like that. You aren't going anywhere." 

"Ha! No, Shellac, I'm well into my twilight." He sighed again. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm more than ready to pass on my title. I even know who will be my successor, though I don't much like the fellow." 

Noise outside the doors announced the next arrivals. The Guru of Life came in, chuckling merrily about something. He was a short, round man with thick spectacles. His current pupil entered behind him, shutting the doors. The second guru waddled over to the center of the room. "Oh, Latimer, you must hear my latest joke!" he called between giggles. 

"Dammit! Not again," Windex moaned as he leaned against the giant brass sphere. "It wasn't even funny the first time, and it won't be the tenth either!" 

"Watch your mouth, boy!" the Guru of Life spat back. "You must listen, Latimer. This one's pure genius!" 

"Oh, go ahead," the aged Guru of Time said, not bothering to open his eyes. He had learned to ignore the younger man's jokes. 

"Okay, how's this: Why did the chicken..." he allowed for a dramatic pause, "...cross the road?" He beamed, waiting for an answer. 

Windex, wanting to get this over with, asked, "Why?" 

"To get to the other side!" The guru collapsed with giggles. 

"Oh yes, pure genius, Ridley," said Latimer crossly. 

"It still sucked," Windex said. 

Ridley had recovered from his giggle-fit. "Listen, boy. Just you wait! I'll bet that within a year, everyone in the world will be using it!" 

"You're on, old man! How much?" 

The guru checked his pockets, then counted something on his fingers. "A thousand!" 

Windex laughed. "Is that all? Ten thousand!" 

"You haven't got two coins to rub together, you idiot!" Ridley considered it. "Fine, ten it is, but it's your loss. You're not going to weasel out of paying up when I win." 

"Don't worry, old man," Windex said. "I won't have to pay because I'm going to win." 

The doors creaked open yet again. A young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, entered. The slender brunette found a place to stand near Windex. After her came the last of the Gurus. He was the youngest of them and of average height, a nervous man who rarely spoke unless spoken to. His bushy brown beard was only beginning to grey. He nodded to Ridley, then crossed the room to Latimer's side. "Good afternoon, Latimer." 

"Good to see you as well, Cranmer," the older man replied. "Now that we're all here, we can discuss our plans." 

"I think we should continue with their training for the time being," Ridley said. "We can put them to good use soon. Miguel's army is hardly a threat at this point, but he's gaining strong support. It's obvious he plans to take as much of the surface as he can." 

Cranmer said, "I agree. We'll have to do something about Miguel before too long. And what of Cohn? He has the audacity to attack us here on the upper layer." 

"He is desperate," said Latimer. "He's throwing everything he has at us, hoping that he might have a victory. We're crushing him, though, and it will be a very long time before he has the strength to try something like this again, assuming of course that he survives that long. He's leaving himself open to the likes of Miguel." 

For no apparent reason, Shellac blurted out, "To get to the other side. Give it a rest." He noticed that the others were staring. Ridley turned away to hide a fit of giggles. "Anyway," Shellac said, realizing what the guru had done, "there's a battle within sight of the palace. Why aren't we helping?" 

Latimer shrugged his ancient shoulders. "You three aren't needed to stop Cohn." 

"But what about a little hands-on experience?" Windex asked. "What you teach us is fine, but we need a real fight now and then. And don't start with that again, old man," he said, casting an evil eye in the shortest guru's direction. Ridley doubled over with chortling laughter. 

"You see," Cranmer began slowly, his voice somewhat uneasy, "among our opponents, you three are barely out of the realm of legend. We feel it is wisest to prolong that as much as possible. If even the most dim-witted of the warlords considered you a serious threat and planned accordingly, you'd lose much of your advantage against them." 

Shellac and Windex reluctantly nodded in agreement. In the meantime, Ridley had been developing a rather agitated expression. Finally, he could take it no more. "Cranmer, is that student of yours a complete incompetent, or does she think it's funny to ignore me?" 

All eyes turned to Lysol, who up until now had been studying the brass cosmic sphere. Noticing the eyes drilling into her back, she turned. "Fenrir's Comet seems to be slightly off. I think someone must have bumped it," she said, addressing Latimer in particular. 

"What has that got to do with a chicken?!" shouted Ridley. 

"What has a chicken got to do with a comet?" Lysol retorted, looking horribly confused. 

Ridley didn't answer. Rather, he glared fireballs at Cranmer. "Are you that far behind, you ninny?! She hasn't even mastered basic telepathy yet?" 

In response, the young guru curled in on himself, as if to make himself appear as small as he felt. "I-I...well, you see..." he stammered, "I was getting to that...and, well...you know how difficult it can b-be at first to l-learn..." 

"Come now," Latimer said, raising a bushy eyebrow, "I've seen her use far more complicated techniques with ease." 

"Yes, but telepathy can be very straining...it requires a lot of...close work between teacher and pupil..." 

"He's always doing this," Lysol said with disgust. "Clearly I've offended him or something, because he barely pays attention to me any more." 

"That's not true," Cranmer managed. "I work with you daily." 

"You give instructions and go sit in a corner and read, not paying any attention to what I'm doing," she said. "It's a wonder I'm improving at all." 

"Honestly, Cranmer," Latimer interrupted. The other gurus increasingly irked him as the years passed. He was always settling these childish problems. To the rest he said, "If I'm not mistaken, I think our friend here is just a little uncomfortable around the opposite sex." 

Both Windex and Ridley fought to contain derisive laughs. 

"Well..you see..." Cranmer struggled to explain himself as blood rushed to his cheeks. 

"Is that all?!" Lysol yelled at the blushing guru. "All this time! You mean to tell me that the reason you ignore me so much is because you can't get within ten feet of a female without getting a nosebleed?!" 

"Well...yes," Cranmer said weakly. 

"Fine," Lysol said, taking the guru by the wrist. "Just fine. I'm not going to stand for this. We're going to take care of your little problem right away." With that, Lysol led the panicked guru out the door and dragged him down the hall. 

As soon as the doors shut behind them, Windex and his teacher exploded with laughter. Ridley wiped ineffectively at the tears of mirth flowing from his eyes. "HA! Cranmer's fifty-three, and he still gets nervous around a pair of tits!" 

"Hey!" Windex was suddenly looking much more serious. "That's 'breasts,' old man! No one speaks disrespectfully of Lysol when I'm around!" 

"Ha! You've never said anything respectful about a woman in your life." 

"Well...that's not the point..." Windex mumbled. 

Ridley dried his eyes and adjusted his spectacles. "I think I'd better check on them." He glared at his pupil. "Come along, boy. Let's make sure that woman doesn't do anything traumatic to him. At least not until I'm there to watch," he added with a chuckle. 

As the two left, the Guru of Time sighed with relief. "Finally, some peace." His student had returned to his place by the window, his empty eyes watching the battle in the distance. "You still don't agree with me, do you? You think you should be out there, leading some desperate charge?" 

The scarecrow shook his straw head. "I understand your reasoning, but I don't agree with it." 

"Shellac," the guru began, "this is exactly why you won't be replacing me as Guru." The scarecrow looked puzzled. "It's also the same reason you were chosen to be what you are. The gurus are wise men, Shellac. We don't fight; we sit in our stuffy libraries and ponder all day. We hide in our cities and play with the fates of others. A bunch of old meddlers, really. You're a fighter, Shellac. You charge onto the field and get your hands dirty. Your heart cries for battle." 

"I find killing...distasteful," Shellac answered. 

"I didn't call you a killer." Shellac opened his stitched mouth to argue, but the guru, his bushy brow knotted in annoyance, raised a hand to stop him. "Don't. I'm old, and I'm tired. I don't have the strength to waste on arguing this." He looked up his student, his ancient eyes still sparkling with life. "All things considered, Shellac, you'd make a horrendous Guru of Time. I knew that the day I found you. Do you remember where you were that day?" 

His face lowered, Shellac answered, "I was at Killiecrankie, under Warlord Nyga. We were forced to surrender to Zeal." 

"Why were you there?" 

"Nyga paid well." 

"You see? You've been a professional soldier for years. Do you really think you can give that up and settle down here to be a guru?" 

"But what kind of existence is this? Living just to fight?" 

"It can be a very noble existence, Shellac, if done for the right reasons." 

His pupil finally turned to face him. "And what are those right reasons?" 

"That is what I've been trying to teach you," the guru said. "That's why I've taught you in much the same way as I'd train a guru. You know why I do what I do, and you know why I teach you to fight. There's nothing more I can tell you. The rest, you'll just have to figure out on your own. You can't be Guru, so instead, wield the blade that I cannot: be my Warrior of Time."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 37 --

  


Staring down at the hardy lump of "casserole" before her, Lucca felt her stomach give a less than hardy lurch. Her host, the "mighty" Darma, sat opposite her at the small dinner table, that goofy grin plastered on his face. "Just wait until you try it," he said. "It's my own recipe." 

Lucca prodded the dark mass warily with a chrome spork. That, and a chrome knife, were the only utensils Darma had to offer. "What's in it?" 

"Just whatever I had around the kitchen," he answered as he shoveled a large bite of food into his mouth. Swallowing it after a minimal amount of chewing, he continued, "I love to cook. You just throw a bunch of stuff in a pan, bake it for an hour, and the leftovers can last you for a week." 

Grimacing in preparation, Lucca sporked a small chunk and raised it to her mouth. It had an undefined smell, a mix of odors that seemed to mask each other. She eased it into her mouth and let her tongue touch the blackened morsel. In all fairness, she couldn't say that it tasted bad. Its taste, much like its smell, was a bland combination of so many conflicting flavors. Neither good nor bad, it was simply edible. Resigning herself to the situation, she dug in. She didn't know how long it had been since she had eaten, and her appetite was finally catching up with her. Darma took her interest in the food as approval. 

Very little was said as the two ate. Demi darted through several times, usually mumbling about one chore or another. Wedge passed by at one point with a still uneasy Biggs trailing behind him. The occasional grunt or rumble rolled in from the kitchen. Just the oven, Darma explained nonchalantly. Lucca finally noticed a clock on the wall behind her. Her biological clock was convinced it was morning. In truth, it was about seven in the evening: dinnertime after all. Regardless, it made little difference underground. 

At last Lucca and Darma both pushed aside their plates, a good half of the "casserole" consumed. Darma leaned back in his chair, rubbing his full stomach. "Man, I'm stuffed! I haven't had a solid meal like that in a while." 

Lucca might have disagreed with his description of dinner but chose not to argue the point. Instead she enjoyed the feeling of an overfilled gut. 

"Unfortunately," Darma continued, "I'm afraid other matters require my attention tonight." He stood, grabbing his lab coat from the back of his chair. "Someone around here will show you to your room when you're ready." He left through the kitchen, off to some unknown section of his tunnels. 

The "casserole," despite its dubious origins, did provide a pleasant weight in her belly. Lucca leaned back in the creaking metal chair that served as dining room furniture, closing her eyes in relaxation. Perhaps her stay here wouldn't be so bad. Counting off days on her fingers, she reasoned that she could afford to spend a few more days in Darma's lair before she'd need to check on the outside world. Hops would be able to manage. In the meantime, she needed to find a chance to have a serious conversation with her host. That was, after all, why she was here. 

A sharp clicking noise echoed into the room, catching her attention. She opened an eye to see one of Darma's chrome spiders skitter by the doorway to the main hall, its gleaming legs clicking against the floor. 

"Speak of the devil," Lucca said. 

Her curiosity quickly overcame her urge to continue vegetating. Standing quietly, she peered into the hall. The spider was moving away to her left at a fair rate. Lucca didn't know how it would take to being followed, so she moved down the hall after it as cautiously as possible. Not far down the hall it turned to the right into an open doorway. Lucca followed along the wall and then carefully looked inside. It was a small room filled with crates and boxes of all descriptions. A storeroom, she thought, but for what? The containers were all unlabeled. 

The spider had apparently entered only to perform a quick check and was already on its way out. Its many orange eyes looked up at her, and it clicked its mouth parts thoughtfully. Other than brief recognition it paid no attention to her. Now less concerned, Lucca followed close behind as it made its way down the hallway. It stopped in a number of rooms, mostly storerooms like the first. Lucca was more interested with the rooms it was passing by. One, which she barely glanced at through an open door, looked to be a large armory. So many guns, yet Darma still seemed so harmless. The confusion was becoming unbearable. 

Finally, after a rather long walk, she and her guide reached the end of the hallway. The heavy double doors opened as the spider approached, revealing a large, dark room. Lucca's eyes quickly adjusted to the weak light. The walls were lined with racks that held dormant spider drones. Her guide found its empty slot on a rack three rows up. Hopping up to its row, the spider settled into place and shut down. Just to Lucca's left, another of the spiders opened its bright eyes and leapt to the floor, skittering quickly by her leg and out the open doors. 

There could be little doubt that she had found the storage area for the chrome spiders. She approached one of the racks to get a better look. Each spider was curled in place, completely motionless. They were each the size of a small dog. They weren't nearly as intimidating while they slept. In fact, Lucca was losing herself in awe at them. Each was its own technological marvel. Their smooth, chrome-finished exoskeletons were marked by several pits, perhaps concealing weapons or tools. They seemed to plug into something on the wall. Recharging units, Lucca assumed. That suggested that the spiders ran on battery power. It made sense; it would take truly super science to let something so small produce its own power. 

"Just incredible," Lucca breathed. 

"Looking for the bathroom?" 

Lucca spun on her heels. "Demi!" she squeaked with alarm. She hadn't noticed the robotic eye's buzzing. Demi hovered uncomfortably close to her face, glaring with his oversized photoreceptor. "I'm not lost," explained Lucca, her wits recovered. "I was just exploring." 

"That's fine," Demi said, "but try not to touch. Master Darma would be quite distressed if you broke anything." 

"Oh, I wasn't going to take anything apart. I just wanted to look." Demi eyed her wearily, but accepted her word. He excused himself, claiming business elsewhere. Alone again, Lucca was unsure where to go now. Bored with the spiders, she went back to the hall. Her feet carried her back down its length. She continued past the kitchen to explore the other end of the hall. It wasn't as far as in the other direction, and ended in a simple door that hissed open as she neared. 

It was a large room, cramped with electronics. More than a hundred screens lined the walls above blinking consoles. Some screens dangled from the ceiling, hooked precariously to cables that blanketed the ceiling panels. Others were stacked in heaps on the floor, all with data streaming across them too fast for Lucca to follow. 

Hunched over a console, his face green from the light of the monitors, Darma was scribbling on a notepad, his eye locked on the data streaming by on the screens. Lucca was reluctant to disturb him. He seemed so focused. She moved forward to get a better look at the monitors. In doing so, her foot caught a rat's nest of cabling, pulling a stack of monitors down with a crash. Lucca yelped and froze, waiting for Darma to curse her out. 

Blinking in vague recognition of the noise, Darma turned slowly, his face showing his obvious confusion. "Wha...?" He finally spotted Lucca across the room, who apologized profusely. 

"I'm so sorry!" she wailed. "I didn't want to disturb you, and I was just trying to look, but I tripped and knocked these over, and if anything is broken I promise to help fix it." 

Darma scratched his head, trying to take in everything she said. "Don't get worked up about it," he reassured her. "The monitors are probably fine, and it's not like I was using them right now." He patted the pockets of his lab coat until he found a small red and white object. "Peppermint?" he asked and held out the candy. 

"Um, sure." Lucca crossed the room, more carefully this time, and took the offered mint. It was larger than the peppermints she was used to seeing in candy shops at home. "So," she began, her voice distorted by the large mint, "if you don't mind my asking, what exactly are you doing?" 

"Predicting the future!" Darma said, his voice brimming with pride. He gave the console nearest him a hearty thump. "You remember the book I was telling you about? Well, this is how I do it." He gestured out to the walls of screens, each flooded with bright green symbols. 

Lucca now saw what was on the monitors: statistics, news articles, business reports, and more she couldn't understand. All of it scrolled by, pages and pages at a time. It was insane to think of how much information was flowing over the walls. "It's so much..." 

"Pure data," Darma finished for her. "The data created by our civilization, just by existing. I have information dating back to the beginning of recorded history." He tapped the floor with his toe. "It's all stored in computers beneath this floor." 

"There's just so much of it," Lucca whispered, the peppermint rolling from side to side in her mouth. "But, what exactly do you do with it? I'd think that so much random data would be useless unless you sorted it somehow." 

"I study it," he explained. "It's a talent of mine. It doesn't need to be sorted in any particular manner. I just watch it. After a while, you start to see patterns in it. Nothing happens without some prior indications. The patterns seem to lead you back to points where the data focuses." After a pause, he continued, "It's hard to explain, really. It's like these points are what drive the world. They can be anything, from a person to a dragonfly on a blade of grass. If you watch them, you can predict what will happen." 

Still perplexed, she asked, "But, how can you do that? How can you find patterns in so much information? How can you, as a person, process so much?" She caught a few words of a report on a riot in Lockton as it scrolled by on a ceiling monitor. It shocked her out of her awe. "Wait! Can you go back to that article?" 

Darma tapped a few keys on his console, and the article reappeared. Lucca read, slack-jawed. "A tax protest turned violent," Darma said. "It wasn't the first. There have been others in the last week all over that area." 

"Nine people were killed. Why?" She read on, but the rest of the article didn't help explain the reasons. "I can't believe this." 

"The data is looking very turbulent these days." 

Lucca wheeled on him. "You aren't helping any!" Finally, she'd found her chance to corner him. Answers would be hers, or neither of them was leaving this room. "I know you're the one responsible for all the trouble in Choras. I was arrested by my best friend because of you. People are dying! How can you be so calm when you're a part of the problem?!" She jabbed a finger at his scrawny chest. "Cut the innocent act. You can't fool me with it." She had to stop for a moment. She had nearly choked on the mint. 

Darma was shell shocked. "Wha...?" 

With a final hack, Lucca recovered enough to continue. "Your spider drones are attacking Choras. You can't deny that!" Darma greatly resembled a frightened rabbit right now. His good eye was filled with terror. It was enough to make her feel bad. "I'm willing to listen to your reasons, okay? I promise not to kill you." 

"I've got to eat," Darma whimpered. "It's the money, I swear!" 

"Who's paying you?" 

He was becoming increasingly nervous. "Employer confidentiality," he mumbled. Lucca's eyes flashed wickedly. "Okay, okay! The Mystics are paying me. Who else? They're the same ones paying the Purge to throw a wrench in Guardia's gears. The peace is a fraud, at least among the higher-ups. It always has been." He sighed, leaning heavily against his console. "They're also the ones who want you to stay here for a while. You'd get in their way." 

All Lucca could do was nod. It was obvious, really, in a sinister, twisted sort of way. Who else? "But, they've been peaceful for four hundred years! Why now? And why are you helping them start another war?" 

"Hey," said Darma, "I'm just in this for a paycheck. This whole Human-Mystic dispute is none of my business." 

"Like hell it isn't your business!" She didn't wait for his excuse. "Hell, I've got to talk to someone," Lucca said. "I can't let another Mystic War start without doing something." 

"I never said anything about war," Darma pointed out. Lucca just glared. "Okay, so that pretty much goes without saying. Regardless, it isn't as urgent as you think. Choras has known for a long time. I don't know exactly why they haven't been more open with Guardia about it, but it isn't like Guardia has been entirely clueless. I'm sure the queen is aware that the Mystics may be a threat and is acting accordingly." 

"Choras knows?" Darma nodded, reaffirming it. "What was the point of this stink over me if they knew that the Mystics are looking for a fight? Do they know about you?" 

"Some of them," Darma said evasively, "but let's not get into that. The point is, there's nothing for you to do or worry about right now, okay? It really is for the best if you sit tight for a while. I can't let you go yet, but I promise I will as soon as your friends need you." 

"But..." Now that she knew the source of all this for certain, her plans would have to change. Figuring out the Purge would have to go on the back burner, along with her trip to the Sun Keep. What if the Mystics tried to invade Guardia while she was gone? That made another question spring into her mind. "Why did they only get me out of the way? What about Crono and Queen Nadia?" 

Darma could only shrug. "The Mystics were able to work out a fairly easy and convenient way of dealing with you through me. Trust me, they know that you, Crono, and Nadia could be major problems for them. I imagine they're counting on Nadia to be tied up with the state. If they have plans for getting Crono out of the way, I'm not a part of them." 

This still felt so bizarre, so wrong. "We've been trusting the Mystics for so long. If some people knew, why didn't they do something?" 

"I'm not on anyone's side here," Darma said. "I do what I do for my own reasons, so try not to hate me for this. Look, I think you need to have some quiet time to yourself for a while." A map of the complex appeared on a nearby monitor. One room shone red. "Your room's there, on the next level up. The lift is the third door to the left from here. Get some rest, and we can continue this debate in the morning. I could use some sleep, too." 

"Fine," she answered distractedly. "I don't understand where we went wrong. This isn't what was supposed to happen." She sighed, a deep, quivering sigh. "It's all falling apart, isn't it." 

A firm grip on her shoulder pulled her away from her thoughts. She met his gaze. His one good eye was a soft blue-grey. The dark circles and tiny wrinkles suggested such pain, such frailty. Yet, it shone with something truly rare, something that Lucca had no name for. In his eye, she saw that, if she could trust anyone right now, it was him. It was strange. Logically, she had no reason to believe anything he told her. "You didn't go wrong anywhere," Darma told her. "Just get some sleep. We'll worry about it in the morning, I promise." 

"Alright," she murmured. She stepped over the twisting cables as her thoughts burned in her mind. "I do need sleep." 

Darma watched her stumble away. He'd promised to be honest with her, and he would. But it could wait until morning. He was tired, too.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 38 --

  


The next morning, Lucca awoke to the white paneled ceiling of the room that was now hers. It was a simple room, light on space and furniture but comfortable enough. Moving to the adjacent bathroom, she surveyed her appearance in the mirror. Her hair wasn't too dirty, and it was still sitting more or less properly on her head. She sniffed her clothes, discovering that the fresh smell still lingered. After brushing her teeth with supplies that had been left out for her, she declared herself presentable, though her current company hardly seemed the type to care, if his own appearance was any indication. She took a moment to stretch, her muscles stiff from several days of inactivity. 

She walked to the lift and punched the button to send her back down to the level below. The lift was large, slow, and poorly illuminated. It was clearly meant to move heavy equipment from floor to floor. As the lift moved steadily down, its motors throbbing with power, Lucca straightened her tunic for at least the third time. Perhaps she should have bathed this morning. At any rate, she had resolved to pry every drop of information out of Darma today. This of course would require finding him, a monumental task in itself, considering the unknown size of his home. It certainly couldn't help that Lucca had no idea how to find her way around. 

With the screech of old gears, the utility lift ground to a stop at the lowest labeled floor, the seventh. A full day was indeed ahead of her. 

If all the floors were as large as this, finding one person would take an incredible stroke of luck. Lucca wandered the halls of the seventh floor, finding no sign of anything even abstractly alive. She had hoped to hear voices or the sound of machinery to guide her, but her echoing footsteps were the only noise. The floor might be empty, or the walls might all be soundproof. "Probably both," she grumbled. Her wanderings took her past Sickbay twice and through the kitchen more times than she cared to count. 

Giving up, Lucca blundered her way back to the lift, a feat in itself, and smashed the button for the sixth floor.   
  
  
  


The building was filled with the incessant patter of rain against the high roof. Outside, water was pouring down in sheets, turning the forested hills into great mounds of thick mud. Lightning had ignited a tall pine nearby, starting a minor forest blaze. An orange glow crept in through the open doors, along with several inches of water. Moonlight streamed in from high windows, reflecting off the water and covering the walls in faint, rippling patterns. Carved reptilian figures, coiling up the columns set in the walls, writhed in the reflected light like the spirits of the Mystics driven from here centuries ago. A single, colossal statue of a Mystic loomed at the far end, watching the doors with its fearsome, jeweled eyes. 

Undeterred by the ominous atmosphere around him, a short, scrawny boy dashed back and forth across the immense chamber, splashing water with each kick of his wiry legs. His actual age, perhaps in the late teens, was revealed only by his taut, pale face that was almost hidden beneath a pile of unruly black hair. His eyes flashed with an awareness unbecoming his apparent years. His behavior was equally unbecoming of his age, though in the opposite sense. He was accompanied in his noisy antics by a bronze ball about the size of a cantaloupe which hovered around his head, scolding him for his childish behavior. 

Not far away, a dark-haired man leaned against the cold stone wall, almost invisible in the shadows. "This is so retarded," he grumbled. 

A woman with a heavy cloak draped around her shoulders stood near him. She, too, was feeling irritable. "I know, Windex, but Shellac insisted. He really feels that this is important." Seeing his glare, she continued, "I know you don't put much faith in anything Darma says, and I don't either, but Shellac does. The least we can do is humor him this once." 

"Are you forgetting so soon, Lysol? The last time we listened to that kid, we spent seven months chasing down a chicken that he claimed was a...whatsit dot." 

"Maybe it really was a minor nodal point. It's not like any of us understand that stuff Darma talks about." 

"That's because it's all bullshit," Windex said. "Seven months for a chicken dinner, while potential jobs slipped by." 

Lysol thought for a moment. "You know, if we hadn't eaten the chicken, it might have proved useful later on. I imagine most nodal points are useless after you barbeque them." Windex only grunted in reply. "We were humoring Darma that time. This is for Shellac, okay. If he wants to listen to Darma's nodal nonsense, who are we to stop him?" 

"People who still have some sense left." 

"I don't like this either, okay, but not because I think it's wasted time. Darma says he's never seen a nodal concentration so strong before, and Shellac seems to agree that something is up. It all feels rather ominous to me." 

"Some quack has the audacity to ask to join us, and all of you fall to pieces." He pointed to Darma, who was rolling in the dirty water. "We're taking care of the kid, aren't we? Isn't that enough recruiting?" 

"It isn't that this feels wrong or bad," Lysol said. "It just feels strange. Something is odd about it, and I think we should at least hear what he has to say." 

"Whatever," Windex said, glaring across the room at Shellac. The scarecrow was playing with a box of matches, letting each one burn until his fingers ignited. There was something truly bizarre about a pyromaniac made of straw, but Shellac's regenerative abilities prevented any permanent damage, just so long as he didn't get carried away. He often set himself ablaze for fun, a trick guaranteed to liven up any party. Windex pushed off the wall. His hands felt for the hilts of his swords. "I've heard things about this guy," he said to Lysol. 

"We've all heard the rumors flying around," she said. "It's more than that, though. I hate to admit it, too, but Darma could very well be correct this time. We can't just ignore it." 

"Look," Windex said. His expression was uncharacteristically serious. "I have seen this Draino guy before. It was in Porre, after the last Mystic assault. He's a nut. Crazier than a sack full of assholes. Pure, honorless scum." 

"But you've never spoken to him, have you? You can't believe all the rumors without some sort of proof." She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leaning her head near his. "It will only take a little while." 

"Oh, come on! We aren't here to make a new friend! Shellac!" he called. 

The scarecrow extinguished the small blaze that had spread up his arm. "What's bothering you now, Windex?" 

"Tell her," he said, pointing to Lysol, "that we are not trying to be all buddy-buddy with this guy. We're just going to see how psycho he is, then maybe kill him. It'd do the world a favor." 

"Actually," Shellac said, "I don't know what we're going to do." He ignored the incredulous looks from Windex. "Draino has something to say to us, so we will listen. Then we decide what to do." 

"Hmph!" Windex shrugged off Lysol's arm and crossed the chamber to brood in a different shadowy corner. 

Off to the side, Darma wrestled his bronze companion in the rain water. Pulling Demi close, he said in a hushed voice, "Can't you feel it, Demi? The point is so very close. I can feel the world distorting around it. It's warping everything to its purpose." His eyes flashed with wonder. "It's coming closer. Ever closer." 

Demi wriggled in his master's hands. "What are you talking about, Master Darma? I don't sense a distortion of any kind." 

"But it is there," the young man insisted. "It's so dense, so powerful! A point like this is so rare. The only other I've ever seen like it is..." 

"What?" Demi pressed. 

"HIM! The one down below. The one that sleeps, waiting, waiting...always waiting. It never moves, yet it touches everything." 

"Do you mean Lavos?" he asked. "You never said there was a node associated with it." 

Darma stood now, still gripping Demi in his bony hands. Water streamed down from his hair, splashing against the orb's bronze casing. "Lavos, deep down below us. What does it want? Why does it have so much power up here? Hmm?" He stared into Demi's large black photoreceptor. "Could it be...God? Or maybe the Great Kilwala?" He couldn't help but smile at this. "Deep inside him, there's a giant furball! It eats our sorrows, and sends up miracles in bright little packages, like stars!" 

"Now you're making up nonsense, Master Darma." 

"Do you know if it's true or not? Maybe it isn't even down there at all. I've never seen it, and neither have you." Finally, he released Demi to float freely. His hands were shaking. "Closer and closer and closer..." he whispered. 

There was indeed something in the air that night. From his corner, Windex shivered as some alien feeling crept into the marrow of his bones. Fear? Grief? Fate? Lysol twitched. She too felt something she could not name. Shellac, his empty eyes vacant of any discernable feeling, reached out and placed a rough hand on Darma's shoulder, easing the young man's nervous twitch. 

All heads turned to the single doorway, framed by stone sentinels of another age, through which poured the rain, the thunder, and the burning light. Through the noise of the storm, the sound of footsteps in the water echoed in the chamber. Someone was finally approaching. Darma was now on the brink of convulsions. They waited, and the steady splashes grew ever louder, ringing stronger against the ceiling. Two long shadows slid through the doorway. The longer belonged to a tall, hulking figure. Its heavy feet sent waves through the water with each step. The second figure was smaller, the size of a normal man. His silvery hair caught the orange glow from outside and the ripples of reflected moonlight. He stepped lightly across the surface of the water, creating not even the slightest of ripples. 

Watching the display, Windex snorted his disapproval. "Had to make an entrance..." 

Draino stopped, still standing on the water's surface. His eyes scanned over the chamber, pausing at each person before him, taking them in for the first time. The hooded figure behind him stopped as well, and the deep puddle slowly calmed. Carefully kneeling down, still not disturbing the water, Draino produced a large case from the folds of his cape and set it adrift on the current. All eyes watched as it moved across the room. The case spun in slow circles, coasting along as the flow of water in from the door pushed it ever onward. 

With an echoing crack, the lock on the case released, and the lid swung open, dying the room with the slightest hint of green. Shellac craned his long neck to see the luminous contents. Inside, lined with dark, glossy velvet, were nine identical round depressions. Three were empty. 

Filling the others were six perfect spheres of green stone.   
  
  
  


"Hey," Darma said, waving to the figure clutching at the open doorway. "What's up?" 

A wheeze was the only greeting Lucca could manage. Her host was, conveniently enough, working in some manner of machine shop on the first floor. While her self-guided tour of every floor had been entertaining, her legs were organizing a strike. Stumbling, she moved to a chair near Darma and sat. Contented, her legs abandoned the picket lines and went on vacation. She had no intention of moving from that chair anytime soon. 

The room was large and loud, filled with the whirring and clatter of heavy machinery. Darma had his arm buried to the shoulder in a vaguely humanoid machine. Amazingly enough, it wasn't chrome, but rather a dark, scuffed grey. A thick central body rested on two short but sturdy legs. Two limbs hardly flexible enough to be called arms, ending in clumsy, three-fingered hands, attached with joints of thick cabling. A removed panel revealed the sinewy cables within the blocky body. It took no great stretch of imagination for Lucca to realize what it must be for. "This is a combat robot, right?" 

Darma stepped back to admire the mecha. "More or less, but most of the weapons aren't even working right now." 

A single eye unit in the chest rotated to watch them. Its bronze casing stood out against the grey body. "It's good to see you this afternoon, Mistress Lucca." 

"This is Demi's combat body," Darma explained, "but it's in desperate need of an overhaul. I've been a tad lazy about it." 

The mecha tried to nod, but an actuator froze, locking the body in a precarious angle. "You most certainly have, Master Darma," Demi complained. "I consider myself lucky if I can get this brute to walk in its current condition." 

"Don't whine about it," Darma said, reaching in to fix the troublesome part. "I'll try to work on it more often. You can't blame me for neglecting it, Demi. Ever since the wars finally calmed down, you haven't had many reasons to use it." 

Lucca nodded. "So this is the 'something bigger' reported at some of the attacks, right?" 

"Well, there is that," Darma said uncomfortably. 

Demi's single eye blinked nervously. "I haven't been trying to kill many people, honestly, but I'm afraid that I am dangerous in this thing. If Master Darma kept the control circuits in better repair..." 

"I get the point," said Darma. "I'll get the thing fixed." 

"Just don't make it chrome like everything else." 

"There is nothing wrong with chrome," Darma said defensively. 

Lucca was up again, unable to resist the draw of a new mechanical toy. Mere fatigue couldn't override her curiosity. This mecha was marvelous. Its crude, bulky chassis was hardly refined, yet it had its own rugged charm. The thick limbs looked frightfully powerful. Surely the massive paws could uproot trees with ease. She watched as it struggled to return to an upright posture. Whatever Darma was doing helped, but it was still slow work. "How's this?" Darma muffled voice called. He was now in down to his waist. 

The torso snapped to attention. "Finally," Demi sighed. "The only problem is that now my left arm is locked up! You must have damaged something else while wriggling about in my innards!" 

"Don't throw a tantrum," Darma cautioned. "I'll find it eventually." 

Pressing her hand against the cold metal of Demi's right arm, Lucca asked, "What sort of weapons does this thing have, assuming that they worked?" 

Darma answered from within, "Guns, rocket launchers, that sort of stuff. All the weapons are concealed under panels, mainly to keep dust out." 

Her finger traced the seam of such a panel. "Did you make this originally?" 

"Of course. Just about everything here is of my own design." With a grunt, Darma pushed his small frame out of Demi's metal entrails. His clothes were stained with leaked fluids. "I'm sorry, Demi, but that's gonna have to be it for now. Seeing all the work I'll have to do gives me digestive disorders." His good eye suddenly widened, and a fresh grin spread across his oil-smeared face. "I've had an idea." 

"Wonder of wonders," grumbled Demi, still bitter over his master's negligence. 

"Who's up for some fresh air?"   
  
  
  


The utility lift clambered up beyond the first floor, carrying her to the surface. Trapped deep underground for an uncertain amount of time, Lucca hadn't seen the sun lately. The promise of sunlight and fresh air was worth being deafened by the grinding lift machinery. Demi's body wasn't the only thing in need of repair. At the very least a little oil would go a long way. 

With a final shriek of anguish, the lift halted. The doors parted, flooding the dark lift with intense sunlight. Lucca blinked helplessly as her eyes strained to adjust to the powerful, natural light. The warm rays felt wonderful on her skin and quickly soaked deeper, thoroughly warming her insides. 

Stepping out into the full sunlight, she found that the warmth was short-lived. The year was waning, and winter was asserting itself. The sun helped, but Lucca still felt chilled by the light breeze. 

"Nice day, isn't it!" Darma waved up to her from the far end of the path. Now dressed in overalls and carrying a large chrome bucket, he disappeared into the garden. The lift opened on the top of a low hill, and the gardens were to the north, at the bottom of the slope. Lucca strolled down, finding a simple pleasure in the sunlight and fresh air, which had a strong, woody smell. The view around the garden was blocked by thick forest, so she couldn't begin to guess how far she was from civilization. 

The garden proved to be quite nice. An odd variety of plants, ranging from flower bushes to soybeans, grew in neat rows. The task of maintaining the plants fell on the menagerie of exotic, chrome robots that wandered purposefully through the rows, each performing its particular job in silence. In the center stood a large chrome totem, perhaps Darma's answer to a scarecrow. Its menacing faces were wasted on the wildlife. Birds nested in every mouth, nostril, or other orifice that was roomy enough. She followed her host through the rows to a line of potato plants. Kneeling down, Darma began harvesting, pulling the plants out of the soil, dusting them off, and dropping them in his shiny bucket. "The robots don't do that for you?" Lucca asked. 

"Well, normally they do," Darma explained, brushing an earthworm off his glove, "but I like to do some gardening myself now and then." The spidery robot who was supposed to pick the potatoes had arrived, and it was soon joined by a second robot, a walking bucket. Neither seemed too pleased that their master was interfering with their work. 

"How do you keep this place hidden?" she asked, deciding to evaluate her situation. If his security was really so careless, maybe running for it would be a possibility later on. "I don't even see a fence." 

"It really isn't a problem," he said, heaving another giant potato into the bucket. Most of these vegetables were of horrendously abnormal size. Darma must have been feeding them outrageous amounts of strange fertilizers. "There aren't people anywhere near here, so no one is going to wander into my garden by accident, and there are patrols in the woods, just in case. I've had to accost the occasional cartographer, but other than that it's very quiet." 

That sucked. "Exactly how far are we from a city?" 

Darma thought about this for a moment, then answered, "Let's just leave it at 'very far.'" 

Well, that settled it. She was officially stuck here and at her host's mercy. She'd be an idiot to try and run for it on foot, not knowing which way to go or how far. Resigned, she sat down on the cool earth and watched the two potato pickers move down to the other end of the row and begin work, yanking up the bloated tubers much faster than Darma. "I don't think your robots like you getting in the way." 

Darma didn't answer immediately. He was too busy giving himself a hernia trying to pull an especially well-rooted potato. With a final grunt he let go, nearly rolling over backwards. Rather than complaining, he was laughing. All the robots nearby stopped to watch their master roll in the dirt and laugh until tears streamed from his good eye. Lucca wondered if he always made such a spectacle of himself while gardening. Perhaps the robots enjoyed the show. 

Recovering, Darma tried to get back on his feet, only to fall down again. "Sorry," he said to Lucca. "I guess I had a bit too much fun." He managed to sit up, but thought it best to wait a few minutes before trying to stand again. "I wouldn't bother with the gardening, except that I can use the exercise. And it can be an awful lot of fun," he said, suppressing another wave of giggles. 

Hard as she tried, Lucca couldn't hide her own amusement. Darma had such a disarming personality, she still found it hard to see him as some sort of warrior figure. It may have been his myriad robots that did his fighting, but he still controlled them. As if on cue, one of the chrome spiders, mandibles clicking, darted from the row of tulips, only to disappear just as quickly among some giant ferns. The spiders were all over the compound, constantly watching, always reminding her why she had to stay here. It occurred to her that Darma might be less likely to initiate more attacks against Choras if she continued to occupy his time. Perhaps she should spend as much time as possible around the goofy puppet master. So far he appeared to be easily distracted. 

"You know," Lucca began, "I still find it hard to believe that places like this have been hiding out here all this time." Her eyes scanned over the gardens again, still marveling at the sheer unreality of the place. "It never occurred to me that the boring world I grew up in was full of so many unbelievable secrets." She paused, considering her words. Seeing that she had more to say, Darma continued with his gardening, waiting for her to go on. "I take that back," she said. "I think that it did occur to me that there were secrets out here, and I dreamed of finding them, but I never really believed it." She couldn't help but smile at herself. "While the other girls dreamed of their knights in shining armor, I dreamed of making some great scientific discovery or going on epic adventures. But those were the sort of distracting daydreams you can't help but obsess over, even knowing from the start that they're impossible. Interesting things never happen in real life." 

"Technically," Darma pointed out, "your epic adventure daydream came true." 

She couldn't argue with that. "But that's my problem lately." Darma looked up at her, his good eye interested. She hesitated, then explained, "I don't mean to bore you or talk your ear off..." 

"Please," Darma insisted. "Remember, the agreement was that both of us would be honest and open. If you have something to say, say it! Then I'll give you my honest opinion. Besides, I've already lost an eye, so what's an ear or two?" 

Lucca started slowly, choosing her words with care, "That year, or almost two years if you count the time I've been back in my own time, was literally a dream come true. Exploring the unknown, feeling the rush of battle, it was those crazy daydreams incarnate. But it was more than that." Here she paused again, composing her thoughts. She had done plenty of thinking on the subject, but it was still hard to express those thoughts out loud. "When I was young," she said slowly, deliberately, "I threw myself so entirely into science because of an accident that cost my mother the ability to walk. Before, I'd found Taban's work mildly interesting, if I was bored, but I didn't take it seriously. But after the accident, my perspective changed. I blamed myself, my inability to help Lara, so I devoted my life to becoming better. If the need arose, I wanted to be able to protect the people that mattered to me. 

"The years went by, and that urgency faded. My mother resigned herself to her limitations, and I lost that original momentum. Of course, I stuck with the science; it had become my life. But I didn't have the motivation anymore, the reason to devote myself to my work. I think that's what the daydreams were really about." 

Darma asked, "A reason to stick with your work?" 

"More than that!" Lucca answered quickly. It was a moment before she went on. This was the most important point, and the most difficult to express. "Not just a reason for science, but a reason to live! A reason to strive, to struggle, and to fight, if that was the case. I started out wanting to protect my family, but as a I grew older, I needed more. The old reasons just didn't seem like enough. I wanted something to believe in, you know? Something to believe in so thoroughly that I could throw my entire being into it." 

An understanding nod was all Darma could offer at first. Lucca's audience had grown. The potato pickers had met Darma in the middle, and now sat on either side of their master, listening to the story. "And so we come to your crusade against Lavos." 

"Exactly!" Lucca said. "As much as I hate to admit it, I loved it! On one level, I know I was risking my life and should have been terrified, and I do feel bad about the killing, when we couldn't help it. But on another level, it was the greatest year of my life! For crying out loud, I had a reason to get up in the morning! I had friends to protect and a purpose I could believe in. But then..." She trailed off, unable to continue the thought. 

Her three listeners all nodded, seeing were this was going. "Then you succeeded," Darma said, "and now here you are, back where you started." 

Lucca finally sat down in the dirt, her knees weakened by the weight of her dilemma. "It's 1001, almost 1002. I'm seventeen years old. My life hasn't even begun, but I've already lived it. The battles are won, the world is saved, I did my part for the greater good, yet now I'm back in the miserable place I always dreamed of escaping. Is fate not a bitch?" she asked. "Is this any way to thank me? You'd think that after you saved the world, you'd get treated with a little more respect. The people I have to live with now, day after day, don't give a flying flip that I helped stop Lavos. What does that do to my self-esteem? I devote myself to helping the world, and I get nothing in return. I don't want a statue or parades or anything, but you start to feel like a real dope after a while. All the indifference really erodes your confidence." 

Realizing that she was rambling, Lucca stopped to collect her thoughts again. "Now we get to the sticky part. It's been almost a year, and my future has been looking pretty bleak. I just have a hard time picturing myself living out the rest of my life here. But things are different." She fixed Darma with an accusing gaze. "All of a sudden, I'm learning things I never knew, things I never noticed while hopping through time. There seems to be this weird group of people, going by the name of the Purge, who seem to have been around for a while. The Mystics seem to be harboring hard feelings after all. The great Master of War has children, and rather odd children at that." She was chuckling now. "And to top it all off, the Lavos in this time period has been talking to me in dreams, and he doesn't seem so sure that I stopped him in the future." 

"Perhaps," Darma said, his voice unusually flat and serious, "this great epic of yours isn't quite over." He shrugged. "If Lavos was not dealt with entirely, then maybe you still have something to live for. And there is this slight matter with the Mystics." 

"Let me be honest," Lucca said seriously. "I am truly sick of this place. The Mystics, Guardia, all of it can rot for all I care. Marle would kill me for saying that, but it is the truth." She sighed. "Still, I'll protect Guardia if it comes to that. The place is my home, and that still means something to me." 

Darma considered her latest comments. "Does this mean that you'll lay off me about this whole Choras nonsense?" He hit her with one of those pathetic grins. 

"Oh, of course not," she answered without hesitation. "I'm on an errand for Marle, and I won't let her down." 

"Well, I can hope," Darma said, but he wasn't angry. "Getting back to the subject, how many people have you talked with about all of this?" 

"Not many," she admitted. "I can't talk to Taban and Lara about this stuff. I may have tried to explain the whole Lavos thing to them, but they certainly didn't understand it all. Lately I haven't wanted to trouble Marle. She has enough of her own problems to deal with. I guess Crono's the only one I've really talked to. He feels the same way, more or less. If a gate opened again, I think both of us would dive in without hesitation, just to be away from here." 

Darma gave an absent-minded nod. He said, "You call your parents by their first names." He met her incredulous stare. "That's really weird."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 39 --

  


Five days after her experience in the garden, Lucca found herself in the clearing to the east of Darma's base. At the moment, she was in fact crouched in a trench under the protective shadow of large earthworks. Peering over the top of the mounds of dirt, she watched Darma do a final check on Demi's combat body. With Lucca's assistance, Darma had repaired most of Demi's malfunctioning systems. The bronze melon now had reliable control over his body, so long as he just wanted to move. The weapons were another matter. Today would be the first firing test. Darma was fairly confident that Demi wouldn't explode if he fired a weapon, but beyond that... 

Satisfied that all was well, or as well as could be expected, Darma jogged back to cover. Dropping into the trench beside her, he produced a clipboard and pen. "Final adjustments...check!" he said as he marked off the first item on his checklist. "All that's left to do now is hunker down and hope that nothing too unexpected happens. Exciting, isn't it?" 

"Indeed," Lucca answered. And it was true; she was trembling with excitement, though she tried not to show it. Repairing Demi was a like a second chance to work on Robo. She desperately missed that rusty tin can. Since she'd settled down again in her own time period, she'd wanted to make something as complex as Robo, but so far the laughable Gato was the best she could manage. Design wasn't a problem: she had Robo's specs memorized and could rebuild an R-series robot from scratch if she had the parts. She didn't, though. Some of the materials Robo used just weren't available yet. She couldn't make microcircuits and battery cells comparable to the sort used in 2300, and could find no substitutes. 

Darma had these things. Darma had, buried out here in the wilderness, the means to manufacture electronics that would put Robo's processors to shame. In a matter of moments, Demi was going to fire a slug of metal at nearly 7000 feet per second (or so Darma claimed), and would probably hit within half an inch of his target. He had explained that most of the equipment he used was readily available when Zeal was at its height, though he had greatly improved on much of it over the years. It was a reasonable explanation, but Lucca found it difficult to accept that technology had progressed so far in past ages. She'd seen Zeal, admittedly during its decline, and had seen no trace of such machines, only the pervasive use of magic. The machine was replaced by magic, Darma had explained, and was largely forgotten. When magic was lost, the world was left without either, and had to start anew. 

Lucca had so far refrained from mentioning that Darma himself had preserved a great deal of the ancient science, and could have at any time shared it with others. She knew that he'd stutter and change the subject. It wasn't in his nature to consider such things. 

"Take aim!" Lucca returned her attention to the present. At his master's command, Demi had raised his left arm and pointed the gun barrel mounted on his forearm at the large, chrome bull's-eye at the opposite end of the field. Beyond the shining monolith and just within the forest, Biggs and Wedge cowered behind a pile of fresh targets. 

Checking one last time that no one was out of place, Darma got down with his back to the bulwark. "Fire!" 

The sound of the shot itself was covered by the thunderous crash of impact. The noise left Lucca stunned and her ears ringing for several minutes. Before she could recover her wits, Darma was already out of the trench. As soon as she came out of her daze, Lucca peered over the earthworks to see what had happened. 

Demi's aim was true. The shot had hit dead center, boring a hole deep into the thick metal of the target. The rim around the hole was melted from the heat created at impact. 

"That almost went straight through," Darma observed as he took notes on his clipboard. "Targeting systems seem to be working fine, too. I was a little worried about that. How are you?" he called to Demi. 

"The point of impact is an inch further to the left than I expected," Demi said. "It's the recoil. My actuators aren't compensating well enough. If the target had been at maximum range, I would have missed. I recommend either slowing muzzle velocity or strengthening my arm. Also, the coolant system is hardly working. At the current cooling rate, I'd overheat the gun after ten shots." He paused to let Darma catch up with his notes. "I think I'm good for another shot, as soon as the gun cools." The bronze eye swivelled to Lucca. "It was quite impressive, wasn't it, Miss?" 

"Very," she answered. Despite the ringing in her ears, she was looking forward to the rest of the test. While she could do little to help right now, Darma had promised to go over the results with her, so she'd understand what it all meant. He could have explained the weapons to her in more detail before, but he'd been in a hurry to run the first tests. Lucca understood. Not only was a firing test the best way to find out what was still broken, but it was also lots of fun to blow things up. 

As Crono frequently pointed out, she had a weakness for big guns. 

"Right. Set up the next target, you two," Darma called to Biggs and Wedge. 

The pair emerged from cover with caution. "You didn't say it was that powerful!" Biggs yelled across the field. "If Demi had missed, we would have been fucked!" 

"Just put the new target up," Darma answered. Ignoring the new string of expletives floating across the clearing, he dropped back into the trench. "Biggs and Wedge complain...check." He scanned the list on his clipboard. "Unnecessary delays because of bitter robots...check." 

"I wouldn't want to be standing over there either," Lucca told him. 

"Oh, they're fine," he said as he flipped to a different sheet on his clipboard. "They know I'd put them back together if anything happened." 

"Would anything be left of them?" she asked, looking again at the deep pit in the used target. 

"Their brains," Darma said. "Those are armored enough to survive the hit, but nothing else would. It wouldn't be the first time. Wedge is already on his second body, and Biggs is on his fifth. I think it's because he's taller," he explained. "He doesn't seem to know when to keep his head down." There was still a steady stream of foul language, but the two were now yelling at each other. 

"While we wait, I've prepared a list of questions to ask you," Darma said. "I'm quite interested in your experiences while time traveling. I never have myself." 

He makes it sound like a boat ride, she thought. "Fire away," she said. He'd been fairly good about answering her questions so far, so she was prepared to do the same in return. "But what exactly do you want to know?" 

"Just general stuff. Here's the first one: Is there an 'End of Time?' It's something that the Gurus of Time speculated on for centuries, but none of their writings fully explain it or give any proof of its existence." 

"Of course there is." That was something she'd taken for granted. It seemed odd that Darma wouldn't know, but then he hadn't ever been through a gate. "In fact, there's a Guru of Time stuck there, Gaspar. He was the last, right?" 

Darma nodded as he scribbled notes. "Right. You met the last of the Gurus, all of which are stranded at odd points in time. I know Melchior appeared here a few years ago, but I never heard news of the others." 

"Gaspar is at the End of Time, and Belthasar is in the 2300s. Have you met Melchior?" 

"No, but he hasn't tried to hide. Plenty of people know who he is, they just don't realize that there's more to him than black smithing. Describe the End of Time." 

As Lucca pondered, a fresh burst of cursing exploded. The used target had tumbled over onto Wedge's foot. "You really have to see it," Lucca began. "All there seems to be is a street corner surrounded by nothing. I could never get much explanation out of Gaspar, but I suspect that the street corner setup wasn't always there. I think he made it, or maybe it was Spekkio." 

Darma perked up at the mention of Spekkio. "The Master of War also lived there, right?" 

"Yeah. I still don't know what Spekkio is exactly." 

Darma paused in his notes. "I have my guesses, but I don't know for sure. He trained you in magic, correct?" 

"Trained isn't the word," she said. "He gifted power to us, and we just had to figure it out for ourselves. I always assumed it was the same as magic in Zeal, but-" She halted on the verge of going on and looked away. Lavos had told her much to shatter her old assumptions. If asked directly, she would have refused to share the details of her dreams. The topic was still too...personal. Yet she had almost opened up, without even realizing it. Again, she told herself that she would not discuss it. Not yet. 

Darma made a few more notes. "Explain how you first arrived there." 

She turned back to him, inwardly grateful for his smooth change of subject. When he made an effort, Darma could be very perceptive. "We took four people into a gate at once. Gaspar claimed that was the reason, but I'm not sure. It seems like an odd explanation." 

"Did you ever see anyone else there?" 

"No," Lucca said. "And Gaspar even told us that he was seeing people there more often." She paused, mulling over what she had just said. "Not that there was any normal passage of time there. It was weird. I don't know what Gaspar would have considered recently, or how long he'd been there relative to us." 

Darma only nodded. "How much do you trust the Gurus?" 

Her expression darkened again. A foul taste entered her mouth, a taste that carried with it the cold wieght of a body pressing down on her, the violation of knowing that something could see her thoughts. She couldn't answer that question without mentioning her dreams. Yet, she needed to answer it, for herslf at least. 

"I don't know how reliable the source is," she said, speaking softly. "Someone has suggested to me that Gaspar may have been dishonest, or at least that he conveniently omitted some facts. Spekkio, too." 

"Then I ask again, how much do you trust the Gurus?" Darma's voice was calm, but persistent. 

"I trust Melchior," she said. "He's never given me reason to doubt. Belthasar had little influence on me. He also never gave me reason to distrust him. Gaspar was always vague. He wanted to help me, that was clear, and I trusted his help." She said very seriously, "I want to trust him. I want to trust Spekkio." 

"Do you trust Lavos?" From what she had already told him, it took no great insight to guess. 

"Not for a minute. But..." She was drawing into herself, sorting through her feelings and memories. "I don't think Lavos has lied to me. I don't trust, but I believe." 

Between bursts of profanity, they could hear the two dented robots struggling to put a new target up. Demi continued to stand in position. His grumbled complaints about Biggs and Wedge were too soft to hear clearly. 

"I'll tell you what I knew of the End of Time, and we'll see what you make of it," Darma said. "The Gurus were hypothesizing over a possible temporal nexus, some sort of center, stable point of the time stream. The place of least resistence, I believe they usually said. Obviously, this is all very theoretical, and based on models of time that may or may not be right. Now, one of the past Gurus thought that it would be more than that. The center of Time would be common to all dimensions, so the End of Time would be a nexus of our Time and every other Time which existed. Don't even get me started on whether or not other 'dimensions' may exist. One world is hard enough to figure out without adding the possibility of more. The point is, the End of Time would also be a connection between dimensions. Now, as for how one got there, none of the Gurus had ever seen a Gate, so they certainly said nothing about sending too many people through a time distortion. Honestly, that seems ludicrous to me. 

"I'm sorry if that made no sense. That's the short, short version, and I don't claim to understand it either. It may all be wrong. The Gurus never proved any of it was true, and I'm guessing that Gaspar only assumed that he had found it. Though he is certainly somewhere, I assume he still has no proof that it is the hypothesized End of Time." 

The explanation had flowed easily enough from the Guru's lips. "He was eager to tell us that it was." 

"I'm sure he believes it is, but again, who can say?" He paused to take more notes. As he wrote, Lucca attempted to fit anything he had just said to her own experiences. 

"The plot thickens," she said at last. "Spekkio isn't trapped there. He brought his children to stay with us, but didn't explain how he was still free to move through time. The gates are supposed to be closed. My assumption was that he and Gaspar would have figured out some way to continue to travel, since they had so much free time to work. No much happens at the End of Time. Of course, I'm only assuming that both can. Perhaps it's only Spekkio." She searched for any other clues in her memory. She couldn't remember Spekkio ever leaving the End of Time by a gate, much less through some extraordinary means. 

"Shortly before you were kind enough to kidnap me," she said, "Hops, Spekkio's son, mentioned going through a gate I wasn't familiar with. It was at the bottom of a well in Zeal. Could Spekkio possibly make his own gates?" 

"I certainly don't know enough to explain it." With a flourish, Darma stopped writing and showed Lucca the clipboard. "Look, we've filled a whole page!" 

Lucca squinted at the tiny writing plastered over the paper. "Can you read that?" 

"Oy! Stop ignoring us!" Biggs had directed his shouts at Darma again. He'd been yelling for a few minutes, but Darma and Lucca both had been too engrossed to notice. "I said the target is ready!" 

"Like hell it is!" Wedge yelled. "You dropped this one on my foot, too, and I'm still stuck!" 

It seemed Darma only half heard them. "Take Aim!" he called, not bothering to look up from his clipboard. Now that he looked back over the page, he could see what Lucca meant. In his haste to write everything down, he hadn't been very organized. His notes twisted across the page in dizzying scrawls, and he was becoming quite confused. "Oh dear," he mumbled to himself. 

Demi, who had waited through all of this patiently, was at a loss. "But, Master Darma, Biggs is standing in front of the target." 

"What?" With a sigh of annoyance, Darma bounded out of the trench. "What's so complicated about switching the targets? Everything looks ready to me." 

"My foot!" Wedge wailed. "The ass monkey has trapped my foot under a several-ton block of alloy!" 

Darma was unaffected. "I can make you a new foot, you know. Just rip it off and get out of the way." 

"What!?" 

"You heard him," Biggs said. "Rip the fucker off." 

"It's my FOOT! How can I get out of the way if I don't have my foot. Hop? Roll? I can feel it, you know!? You don't just rip off your own limbs! I'd like to see you cut off your-" Wedge stopped his hysterics. As he had been complaining, Demi had marched across the clearing and now towered over the smaller robot. 

Demi reached out and gripped the target with his massive hands. It took little effort for him to lift it. "Move your foot, please." Wedge complied, and Demi let the target drop back to the ground with a thump. He turned and marched back to position. Lacking anything else to gripe over, Biggs and Wedge retreated to their cover. 

Glancing at his clipboard, Darma said, "Biggs and Wedge complain...double check." 

Lucca, for her part, watched the preceding with amusement. It was a wonder that this dysfunctional family of sorts ever accomplished anything. "You know, Darma," she called, "you only asked me your first question. If we keep getting interruptions like this, we'll never get done." 

"Too true," he said, dropping down beside her. "Of course, you answered several of my questions already. Here's another: have you heard anything about Magus since the Gates closed? Take Aim!" 

Honestly, Lucca hadn't given much thought to Magus since they had parted ways. The wizard was a pain in the ass, though a powerful one, and she was glad to be rid of him. "No. Did you think I had?" 

"Not really, but I felt compelled to ask. There are still a couple of puzzles left in the past that I have yet to sort out, for my book of course, and he's one of them. There seems to be something unresolved with him still, some weird play of the data." He paused, searching for the right words. "Do you get what I mean?" 

"He intended to continue his search for his sister. Could it just be that he never found her?" 

"No, it's not like that. He would have died, and that would have concluded things quite neatly. In fact, he did die. I've come across fairly trustworthy accounts of it. He went back to about 12,000 BC, lived for a few more decades, and passed away. Fire!" 

The second shot was much like the first. As Lucca tried to ignore the ringing in her ears, Darma started a fresh page, making an effort to write large and in straight lines. Demi claimed that he was two inches off, and that the coolant system was getting worse. 

"One more shot," Darma said. "And Demi, could you change the target yourself this time?" Across the way, Biggs and Wedge fighting with each other over some new grievance. Probably Wedge's rather flattened foot. "It'll make things go faster." 

"Of course, Master Darma. I don't see why you had those two incompetents working in the first place." With that, he trudged off to do the job himself. 

"Anyway," Darma continued, "I just wanted to ask about him. It could be that I need more time to sort it out. I may be missing something crucial, or just be too focused on it. Honestly, I wish I understood my data-reading better. I really am working mostly on instinct." 

"I'm still amazed that you manage it at all," Lucca said. "Do you really think it works?" 

Darma gave her one of his trademark goofy grins. "Of course it works! I'd have given it up long ago if it didn't work. I'm just not perfect at it. Or it isn't a perfect technique." He shrugged away his concerns. "Here's my last question for the day, and then we can take a break. I need to go over all the stuff you've told me." 

He now watched her intently with his one eye, looking to see how she reacted to this final question. "Would you want to go back in time again?"   
  
  
  


While her clothes were still covered in the blood and dust of the final battle, Lucca sat beside her mother, looking out the bedroom window until the sun sank low to the horizon and the sky blazed with orange and purple fire. They had not shared such a moment in years. 

It was cool day, but neither was uncomfortable, even with the chill air entering the open window. Taban was away on business, and the house was silent. No words passed between them. Lucca could feel her mother's warm hand over her own. 

She would treasure those moments for the rest of her days. During that time, all feelings of failure and doubt left her, and she was content in way she would never be again.   
  
  
  


"No," Lucca said at last. "I'd rather go forward." 

Darma merely nodded and scribbled in his notes. "Take aim!"   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 40 --

  


Still muddled by sleep, Lucca struggled against the blankets to extract herself from bed. Her bare feet slipped to the cold floor, sending a chill racing up her body. She jolted upright, then stumbled until she found her balance. Her eyes slowly focused on the world around her, but the pounding in her ears came and went. It took her several moments to realize that it wasn't inside her head but outside the door. Another wave of metallic clangs assaulted her, and she almost lost her fragile balance. One hand reached out for the glasses on the desk, and the other stretched to the door release. 

Biggs made a valiant effort not to fall through the doorway, but failed extravagantly. The crash he made rattled in Lucca's head, causing her to slip to the ground as well. This was truly a horrible way to start the morning. Biggs managed to get up easily enough, but it was clear that he could drop again any second. "Master Darma requests that you ready yourself and pack your things, then take the utility lift to the first floor," he informed her, nodding his dented head. "He will meet you there." Bracing himself against the doorway, Biggs set off down the hall. 

Her glasses on and her surroundings more distinct, Lucca crawled back to the bed, reaching underneath for her bag. Everything she owned was either packed or on her person. She didn't have a change of clothes, aside from the floral tourist shirt she had bought with Hops, so Darma had made Biggs and Wedge wash her clothes every few days. She could get quite dirty working on Demi's body or wandering in the gardens. 

She decided to clean up a bit before she left. After taking a quick shower and brushing her teeth, she left her room for the utility lift, her hair still wet but combed neatly. It was odd not having the large helmet she normally wore. At first her head had felt too light, but she was growing accustomed to it. She had caught Darma staring at her when he thought she was distracted, his attention usually focused on her shining purple hair. Well, usually shining. It lost its gleam after a couple days without being washed, a frequent occurrence. It was also getting longer than she usually allowed it to grow, but she hadn't found the time for a haircut. Darma would undoubtedly cut it for her if she asked, but she feared the results. 

As the utility lift lurched upward, she tugged at her tunic and her baggy green pants, trying in vain to make them look less trashy. It was hopeless, though. The clothes she wore weren't especially old, but they had seen more use lately than they could bear. Her tunic hung limply on her shoulders, and the green shirt beneath had faded to a vomitous hue. She had to tighten her belt to keep her pants on now. Darma, always ready to cook his casseroles, had hardly starved her, but she had still lost a bit of weight. Between the increased exercise and inconsistent food supply, she had trimmed up considerably during her time travels, so the continued trend didn't surprise her. 

The lift finally halted, opening onto the first floor corridor. Darma waited there, absolutely beaming, with a sack of his own over his shoulder. Demi, clad in his newly refurbished body, towered beside his master. His blocky form was unfortunately still covered by a worn layer of grey paint. While repairing it, Darma had offered to give it a chrome finish, but Demi had refused. Despite the lack of change in outward appearance, Demi now had flawless control of all his limbs, and several functioning weapon systems. 

"Today is a special day indeed," Darma said in greeting. He held up a hand to stop her from leaving the lift as he and Demi moved to join her. He pressed the button for the surface. "We're going on a field trip today." 

"Really?" Lucca asked, raising an eyebrow. She hadn't been allowed to leave his compound yet. "Are we going far?" 

"Quite," Darma replied. "I dare say we'll be gone for at least a few days." He grinned to himself as he watched the look of joy blossom on her face. "I know I haven't let you out much at all," he said apologetically, "but maybe this will make up for it. I think you'll enjoy the trip." 

Certainly, Lucca thought. While she had come to tolerate her imprisonment here, she longed for a change in scenery. This would be a welcome chance to stretch her legs and possibly get news from the outside world. "Sounds wonderful to me," she said. "Not to insult your home, but any place can wear on you after..." Her voice trailed off. To be completely honest, she wasn't sure how long she'd been here. The days underground had blurred together, and she had quickly lost track. 

"Approximately one month," Demi offered. 

It hit Lucca hard. A month? Had she really let that much time pass? 

"Time sure flies, eh," Darma said with a chuckle. 

"Are you serious? Do you realize how much could have happened in a month?" The next realization hit her harder: she had left a twelve-year-old boy alone for a month. "What kind of a temporary parent am I?" 

"Huh?" Darma and Demi looked at each other, confused. 

"I haven't seen Hops in a month!" she hollered. "He could be starving, panicking, or dead in a gutter for all I know!" 

"Oh, the boy!" Darma finally understood what she was babbling about. "You don't need to worry about him at all. He's been in good hands since I sequestered you." 

"Good hands?" she asked. Darma nodded reassuringly, but the eternally goofy look in his good eye made her doubtful. His definition of child care probably involved a healthy dose of unintentional negligence. "I'm just going to assume that you aren't planning on telling me where he is." Darma was upholding the honest part of his bargain, but his definition of open seemed awfully closed to her. 

"Not yet, at least," he said. "But I assure you that he's been treated well." His words conjured up visions of dark prison cells and traumatized woodland creatures, but she let it drop. 

The lift doors ground open, revealing the gardens bathed in predawn light. The sun had not risen, but the sky was beginning to brighten. They stepped out onto the dirt path, and Lucca paused to breathe in the moist, bracing air. She could see her own footprints in the dirt, signs of her many trips to escape the windowless corridors below. 

"Well then," Darma said, throwing his sack into the small storage space in Demi's back, "we have a full day of travel ahead of us, so we'd best be off." He clambered up Demi's left arm to perch on his shoulder. Lucca followed his example, stowing away her belongings, and with a boost up from Demi, found a comfortable position atop his right shoulder. Convinced his passengers were secure, Demi advanced at a medium pace toward a rough path in the trees beyond the gardens. Lucca couldn't tell if she was shivering with cold or excitement. She swore that no matter what this was about, she'd make the best of it. 

Once on the forest path, Demi sped up to a fast jog. Lucca and Darma were both jostled about on the machine's shoulders, but it wasn't enough to unseat them. The morning progressed like this, with Demi following the trails as they cut through the trees, his passengers riding in silence and relative comfort. She tried endlessly, but Lucca could spot nothing through the trees to give a clue about their location. The forest was thick and shadowy. She could see that the land was irregular. For the most part, the ground sloped up to the left of the path, possibly to hills or even mountains that she couldn't see. The right side was either level or sloping down. Sometimes it was as if the land disappeared at the path's edge, with only the green of more plants to prove that there was dirt far below. In her precarious position, such places made Lucca hold her breath and grip Demi's grey carapace until her hands ached from the strain. 

Time passed quickly as she took in the scenery. She remembered the sun rising close to its highest point, but she must have dozed around that time. She awoke to find herself sprawled across Demi's top, hugging tightly even in sleep. It amazed her that she had managed to sleep balanced on a moving object. She squinted out into the gloom of the forest. It must have been late evening already. The sun had disappeared behind the trees on her left. 

Darma turned her way and, with a gleaming white grin, asked, "Enjoying the trip? You took a bit of a nap." She had no difficulty hearing him. Despite the bulk of his combat body, Demi moved quite soundlessly. 

"Of course," Lucca answered, doing her best to match his smile. "It's gorgeous country. I could ride like this forever." 

"Well, I'm afraid we have to stop at some point. In fact," Darma said, giving Demi a tap on the head, "our first stop is just ahead." 

Demi slowed as they approached a small footpath, barely noticeable in the shadows, running down the slope to the right. Demi lifted his large arms to help his passengers down to the soft earth. Lucca wondered why the tinny voice had stayed uncharacteristically quiet today. Before she could ask if something was the matter, Darma led her into the wood. The path was clear enough, but the branches above didn't provide much head room. Her guide managed to stumble over every root and rock, and sometimes his own feet for good measure. She wanted to offer a hand in assistance, but held back. Over the last month, if that was really how long it had been, she had seen just how frail her captor was. Even so, he had never asked for help, even from his robots. While she only wanted to help, she was afraid to offend him. That thought gave her pause. Was one usually mindful of the feelings of your kidnapper? Of course, her imprisonment had not exactly been miserable, and she could have overpowered her warden at any time. Yet she had stayed, aware that she didn't know the way back to Choras, and Darma would only catch her again soon enough. 

After perhaps ten minutes of Darma's stumbling the trees parted, revealing a small pool with stony banks and dark depths. A small stream fed into it from the opposite side, making tiny ripples roll across the surface. The only sound was the trickle of water, the hum of insects, and their own steady breathing. "It's very nice, Darma," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She feared breaking the stillness that hung, almost tangibly, over this pocket of the forest. Carefully she stepped onto the slick rocks at the edge to kneel and peer into the water. Her reflection stared back, trembling on the surface. Beyond that, the pool dropped away into darkness, its depths hidden in the gloom. 

"It's a fairy spring," Darma said, keeping his voice soft as well. "Or at least, that's what people call it," he explained when Lucca gave him a puzzled look. He joined her at the edge. "I'm not so sure myself. Lysol could always make the little buggers appear, but knowing her it could have been a trick." 

Noticing the name, Lucca dared to ask, "How long were you with them?" 

"Quite some time," Darma said. Nodding, he thought back to those times, times which he rarely pondered these days. "Quite some time," he repeated. "I suppose I miss them. I liked being with the Purge, but after a while I drifted away from the group and set up here." 

Her fingers dipped into the water. It was cold, not surprising for late autumn, but she supposed that it stayed cold year round. "How long ago was that?" 

"Not very long ago. Long enough for me to have made some contacts in the area and dig in pretty well. I haven't spoken to any of them since I left. While traveling with them, it always seemed like I was a burden." He smiled. "None of them believed my nodal point theories, except Shellac. Shellac would sometimes take me seriously, but I suspect it was only when my prediction matched his own. I was wrong a lot back then." 

"How reassuring," Lucca said, still trying to see deeper into the pool. "Am I supposed to believe anything you say now?" 

"I have improved over the years. When I started, it was mostly working with hunches, but while living out here, where it's quiet, I've been able to refine my methods." 

Lucca turned to her captor, who was now squatting beside her. "You're still full of bullshit," she teased. 

"Quite possibly." 

There! Lucca leaned closer to the water, her eyes scouring the black depths for the glimmer that she thought she had seen. "Did you notice anything in the water?" she asked. 

"No," Darma answered. He too peered into the pool. "A fairy perhaps?" 

"Hmph!" Lucca certainly couldn't deny the existence of magic, but she sensed nothing magical about the spring. She continued to search, though, to find what had caught her attention. Again, a hint of movement and light registered in the corner of her vision, but there was nothing when she looked. Her eyes darted over the pool, hunting for anything beneath the surface. It was growing steadily darker, and more of the pool was consumed in shadow each second. She was almost tempted to ask Darma for a flashlight or some matches, but if it was a creature, light would surely frighten it away. 

Her breath caught in her throat. There, in the center of the pool, was a faint glimmering. Unconsciously, Lucca leaned further, her hands tightening their grip on the slick rock. It was barely visible but certainly there. Not a creature, just a tiny point of light. Perhaps something reflective on the bottom, catching the weak light at just the right angle. Transfixed, she watched the light shimmer as the surface of the water rippled. She leaned closer, desperate to see what her discovery truly was. Her breath was creating its own small waves on the pool. As she watched, the tiny glimmering seemed to become two. Lucca blinked, in case her eyes were going out of focus. The two spots remained distinct. The chill of the spring tickled her nose, now mere inches above the uneven surface. A sense of anticipation seized her, growing with each moment as the lights stayed, unwavering. Something else was going to happen. Indeed, the lights soon changed again, shifting from white radiance to that familiar, unearthly green. Two shining green eyes stared back at her from the black depths. His eyes. Her body jerked from the shock. Anticipation gave way to revulsion and terror. Lucca struggled to turn away, to escape those horrible green eyes, but they held her fast. She tried to scream, to attract the attention of her companion, but the world around her had ceased to exist. The light drew closer, rising from the depths to fill her vision, to consume her and all reality.   
  
  
  


The stars shone in all their glory here, far from any cities. Lucca watched them through the gaping hole above her. Sometime, perhaps during the Mystic War, the roof of this structure had been blasted apart, leaving the large chamber open to the sky. She leaned closer to the crackling fire and tightened the blankets around her shoulders. Though mostly dry now, she was still chilled. Darma stood by in the shadows near the large entrance, chatting quietly with Demi. Her mind drifted back to the spring, to perhaps half an hour ago. The shock of cold that drew her out of her trance. The confusion and fear as she fell headlong into darkness. The strong arms that embraced her and pulled her back, even as she fainted, overwhelmed by the hallucination and the cold. 

Footsteps echoed against the ancient walls. Darma approached, his figure becoming more distinct as he neared the fire. The goofy grin had returned, and he paced around the light, studying the high walls. "This place always brings back memories," he said. 

"You come here often?" she asked, her voice still weak. 

He nodded, then pointed all around with a broad gesture of his arm. "This is a place we frequently used as a base of operations, back in the day. It had a roof then, of course, but it still flooded when it rained." He paused, noting her troubled eyes. "I don't mean to pry, but did you see something in the spring?" 

Lucca nodded, but didn't offer a description. Patient as always, Darma sat opposite her by the fire and waited. The fire crackled, and Demi's parts whirred as he patrolled outside. 

"I saw his eyes," she said finally. She spoke deliberately, as if each word taxed her spirit. "At first, I thought they were some of your fairies. An illusion perhaps, but no, they were his eyes." 

"Lavos?" 

Another nod. "He's never spoken to me while I was awake. I thought he could only affect my dreams, but now its obvious that he's just holding back. He doesn't want me to know everything he can do." She looked up, meeting Darma's gaze over the flame. "He's getting insistent. Desperate, maybe. He taunts me with bits of truth, then leaves me more confused than ever." 

"What does he want?" 

"Me, I think. He wants something of mine, but I don't know what. He says that I've been deceived, used. That I don't fully understand the power I was given to defeat him. In my last dream, he said to go to the Sun Keep. He said my answers were there." Darma's good eye was glazed, distant. He was considering something, but she knew not what. "I'm not sure if I should go. It could be a lie, a way to get me where he needs me. To the Sun Keep, or away from the truth, I don't know which." Her lips twisted into a strange, slightly wicked smile. "If he thinks he can play the great Lucca for a fool," she said with renewed spirit, "then he is making a grave mistake." 

She fell silent again and lowered her head, hiding her face in flickering shadow. Darma may have been on the verge of speaking, but he was interrupted as Lucca stood, throwing off the damp blankets, and with blazing eyes continued, "Forget everything I just said. I don't know what he wants, why he wants it, or how I factor into his wants. I don't know, and I don't care." 

She stalked back and forth before the fire, her voice rising. "Let him torment me! The wretch! Begging and pleading, lying and whining, all because he can see his own death through my eyes! He mocks me, mocks my ignorance. I know that I'm ignorant! I don't understand the depth of my situation, the hidden truths that you all deny me. Lavos, Melchior, even you," she said, pointing an accusing finger. "You all dance around the meat of it with vague hints and half-truths. You're all afraid of the truth, avoid it and hide it as if to speak it would tear the very fabric of existence, all while a giant tick does just that with impunity! Is it so important that I remain ignorant? What do they all have to hide? Do Spekkio and Gaspar fear me? Do they fear what I would do if I knew the truth of how they used me? And yes, I believe Lavos. There is no doubt in my mind that those two used me. But why? Why is any of this happening? Can the truth really be so much worse than this terrible ignorance!?" 

The impact rang throughout the chamber, rattling away into the night. Lucca drew her fist back from the wall, surprised to see bloody scraps on her knuckles. She'd acted without thinking. She couldn't see the color in the weak light, but the carved serpent's head, ready to strike if only it were more than stone, was wet with her blood. "I don't know how they've all abused me, but it doesn't matter now. Lavos is a threat to those I care about, and as long as he is a threat I will kill him again and again, on into eternity if I must. The Purge, the Gurus, the Master of War; if they are threats, then I will fight them, too, because that is all I know to do anymore." Darma stood near her now. She turned and met his eye, staring him down with all her anger and frustration. "I'll fight them all and die if I must, because so long as I draw breath I will not fail again." Darma's hand gripped her shoulder. The sudden human contact shocked her out of her rage. Her strength left again, and she fell to her knees, choking back the sobs that desperately wanted out. Her captor knelt with her, never releasing his grip on her trembling shoulder. "What else can I say?" she asked, her voicing broken by dry sobs. "What else matters?" 

She could feel Darma's closeness, his breath toying with the strands of her purple hair. "Long ago," he began, "before the continents of Zeal were raised, someone made the Eyes of Lavos. Someone of great skill and knowledge. The Eyes came to Zeal in the Golden Age, but were lost after the fall. Much later, a man named Draino set out to find them. He found six out of an original nine. He sought the Purge, desiring their connection to the past. He hoped they would have knowledge of the Eyes, or at least be able to help him find such knowledge. Shellac once told me that he allowed Draino to remain with us because the man needed to be watched. He could not be trusted to wander unobserved with the Eyes. I left them shortly after Draino joined, so I haven't had too much contact with him. He always struck me as mad, but not dangerously so. He was obsessed. I never found out from him what he wanted from the Eyes. They are indeed connected to Lavos, but I don't know how they work. I don't know how they were made or what they can do. Draino and Lysol are probably the most knowledgeable about them. The Gurus, particularly Gaspar, may have learned much of them by now, but that's only speculation. 

"Understand that the Eyes were a myth to us. When Draino offered them to us, we had no idea what to expect. We had no idea what they could do. We also didn't think that we could take them from Draino by force. He's held onto the Eyes longer than anyone else, and he has grown strong. 

"Three are still missing. They may have been destroyed long ago, or be lost where no man can ever find them again. They are unknowns. If you wanted to destroy them, you could never be sure of success until all nine lay shattered at your feet. 

"As for your dreams, Lavos is alive and well below us. He won't die for another millennium. I have no idea how he thinks, or what could motivate him. The intricacies of Time and Lavos are beyond my knowledge." 

He squeezed her shoulder again, steadying her as her chest heaved with sobs. "I promised you that I would be open and honest, and now I have."   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 41 --

  


"A thousand steps." 

"That might be an exaggeration." 

"It's close enough," Lucca said, eyeing the endless steps before them. Somewhere at their zenith, in the clouds by the looks of it, was the current center of Choran government. Situated on top of a hill just north of the capital city, it was a complex of temples and meeting halls. Only the royals lived on the hill. The residence was a recent addition, a fair manor called Enhasa, a reference back to the legendary City of Dreams. Lucca had been to the original, and she was willing to bet that this manor bore little resemblance. 

It was grey and overcast that morning. The light rain had started just before they had left the ruins. From there, it had been a short trip to the hill. They had taken the long way around, avoiding the city, and had approached unnoticed. As far as Lucca knew, word had still not spread that ancient machines were plaguing the frontier. They might not have created immediate panic, but the sight of a large robot with a rider perched on each shoulder, stomping down the avenues, would have drawn unwanted attention. At the moment they were avoiding the rain, standing underneath the tall arch of the gateway. Lucca could see an identical archway at the top, a faded, ghostly image through the rain. If it was as large as this gateway, then a thousand steps might be a fair estimate. 

"So this is where you were taking me," Lucca said with a shiver. The air was brisk and damp. Breathing it in brought a sharp chill to her insides. Darma did not seem to notice, and Demi, metal construct that he was, was oblivious. "Did you decide to turn me in?" 

"Hardly," Darma answered with a typical grin. "I said I'd only keep you until you were needed elsewhere." He mounted the polished stone steps and began the climb upward. 

Lucca followed behind, her bag of belongings held above her head to ward off the rain. Glancing back, she saw Demi remain below. His attention was focused on one of the ornamental suits of armor that stood just inside the gateway. She couldn't begin to guess why. A more important question on her mind was, "Why am I needed here?" 

"Because," Darma explained, "you'll be needing to get back to Guardia soon. However, you need to come here first. Her majesty asked to see you." 

"Lady Tyria?" Lucca asked. She had seen pictures of the beautiful and reclusive monarch of Choras, but she had never met her. Marle had made a single trip to Choras not too long ago, but she hadn't had much to say about Tyria. 

Darma nodded. "The last time I spoke to her personally was about two months ago. I got word from her just a few days ago that she wanted you brought here. She said it would be more convenient." 

"Convenient for what?" 

He could only shrug and grin. "Not sure. By the way," he added, "you're little friend has been staying with her. I told you he was okay." 

That was one problem solved. It had occasionally crossed her mind that she had left Hops on his own. The boy had an independent nature and a knack for taking care of himself, so she hadn't been too worried. She could imagine what Spekkio's reaction would have been if she had lost his son. "Drunken indifference," she mumbled with a wry smile. 

"Hmm?" Darma had turned and was now walking up the stairs backwards. 

"Nothing," she answered, waving it aside. "I was just thinking about Hops. You know," she said, her smile returning, "you're going to trip if you keep walking like that." 

"It won't be the first time," he assured her. "Tyria always finds it incredibly amusing when I show up on the doorstep, scrapped and bruised, and usually late. No idea why. In fact, we're a day late. I was supposed to have you here yesterday." 

"Were we supposed to get here last night?" 

"Well," he started, his eye darting about evasively, "I gave the toaster a new chrome finish, and that put me in a bit of a chroming mood, and I tried to chrome the bonzai trees I keep in the third floor bathroom, and that just wasn't working, and Demi wasn't speaking to me because I had tried to chrome his combat body while he wasn't looking, so there was no one to remind me...EEP!" Darma stopped, not because he was out of excuses, but because he had tripped and rolled back down a dozen steps. 

"I warned you," Lucca said. She trudged onward, not waiting for him to recover. 

Laughing as he struggled to his feet, his clothes smeared with filth, Darma was unfazed. "Tyria should be pleased," he said to himself. He took the steps three at a time to catch up, brushing wet grime from his clothes. 

By the Great Kilwala, Lucca thought, we're almost there. The top of the stair was approaching fast. It was just as well. Her legs weren't used to climbing so many steps. 

"At any rate," Darma said, now matching her pace, "I wouldn't worry too much. Tyria never suspected you." 

"Because she already knew you, right? Why the stink then?" 

"Well, Tyria couldn't tell her country about me. I'm rather thankful for that, to be honest. It'd be a real bother if everyone knew I was living out in the woods. Strictly speaking, history says I'm long dead by now, assuming I ever existed at all." He grinned to himself. "Gosh, that's weird." 

"Why are you still here?" Lucca asked. It was a question she had pondered before. How was it that the Purge still lived in this time? Melchior had dodged the question. 

"You know that the Gurus of Zeal, long before the Zeal you saw, trained the Purge, right?" Lucca nodded. "Well," Darma continued, "do you think the Gurus would let their swords break before their battles were done? The Purge will be around as long as they have a task to fulfill." With another big grin, he shrugged and set his good eye on the top of the steps. 

Not much of an answer. Darma was just about as vague as Melchior. "Yes, that makes sense," Lucca said, "but how are you still here? You only gave me a reason why." Darma managed a nervous laugh. "What happened to 'open and honest?'" Lucca pressed. 

"Honestly, I can't say that I know for sure," he answered. 

"What!?" 

"And technically, I'm not even connected to the Gurus, remember?" Darma smirked. "So, how indeed?" 

They'd reached the top of the steps. The hilltop had been leveled flat to provide even ground for the complex. Passing through the upper gate, Lucca tried to guess the uses of each building. It was hard to be sure for most. They were uniformly large, expensive-looking, and red, a color favored in Choras. The grounds were carefully maintained, with every tree trim and neat and every stone path swept clear of dirt and fallen leaves. They were on the widest path, heading for the center building, a large, white structure with a many-columned facade, a ghostly presence in the rain. It didn't resemble any of the others. 

"Enhasa, no doubt," she said. 

"Yep," Darma confirmed. "Silly name. I told Tyria to call it Central Command. She ignored me, of course, and named it as she pleased. I offered to give it a nice chrome exterior." He shrugged. "Tyria ignores my opinion on most things. She insisted that I not chrome her sentinels either." 

"Sentinels?" Lucca asked. She hadn't seen any sort of security here. 

"A pair of bodyguards that I made for her. They look like suits of armor. One of them was guarding the lower gate. You may not have noticed it." 

She had, but had assumed it was decoration. If the thing had wanted to harm her, she would not have been able to put up much of a fight. She couldn't help but feel a little more nervous. 

"It was the red one, with the feline face mask. Atril, I think. The other, Tabanne, is green and looks more like a dragon." He pointed to the house. "See?" 

A suit of green samurai-style armor had indeed emerged from the front doors and blocked the entrance, watching them. Its demonic face mask had a thin, protruding snout and narrow eyes, the classic image of a dragon. To Lucca it looked like one of the less intelligent breeds of Reptites. 

There were more steps up to the porch, but Lucca withheld any complaints and ascended in silence. The long climb up to here had her irritated with this whole situation. Finally, she and Darma stood level with the door, waiting for Tabanne to let them in. 

No part of its face moved when it spoke. "Lady Tyria sends her greetings. She is sleeping in today, but will be ready to meet with you soon." Tabanne's voice was comically high and singsong, but Lucca didn't dare laugh at her. Her fingers sported wicked claws to match her reptilian face. Tabanne turned and went indoors, expecting them to follow. 

"Did you give it that voice?" Lucca asked quietly. 

"Tyria insisted. They both sound like that." 

Darma obviously knew his away around. In the main foyer, he left Lucca alone with the green sentinel at the central staircase and disappeared upstairs. Tabanne turned right and led the inventor into the ground floor of the east wing. The suite of rooms they stopped in rivaled the royal chambers in Guardia Castle. This first room was furnished with a large sofa and several chairs arranged around a coffee table of dark wood. It was some pretty posh stuff. The walls were papered in red. There were two doors on the far wall, both of wood with inlaid gold. 

"I will return for you later. Please keep to your rooms." With that, Tabanne departed, shutting the door as she went. Finally alone, Lucca took in the stillness of the room. The entire manor was possessed with an odd silence. There was no hum of electricity, no sounds of servants working in distant rooms. The house just didn't feel lived in. 

The far door on the left opened, and Lucca sighed with relief. It was Hops. The boy was dressed in his usual clothes and had canned cheese in his hand. She couldn't gauge his own reaction upon seeing her. He just threw his head back, emptied the last of the cheese into his mouth, and added the can to a growing pile of empties in the corner. 

Lucca couldn't help but smirk. "You seem to have done alright," she said. 

"Where were you for a month?" His voice didn't sound concerned, or even curious. 

"Kidnapped." 

Her answer didn't faze him. Hops gestured to the door behind him. "That's my bedroom," he said. "The other door leads to yours. Both have their own bathroom." 

"And this room?" 

"The sitting room," Hops explained. He sat in one of the chairs. "Which is about all it's good for."   
  
  
  


It was a cloudy night, blocking out the sea of stars. Without the stars or the moon, and with no settlements nearby, the night was abysmally dark. It was as if the small area illuminated by the campfire was all that existed, a tiny pocket of fire surrounded by an immeasurable void. It was almost enough to make Windex feel a little claustrophobic. 

The company wasn't helping. Lysol had turned in early, retreating to one of the tents just within the fire light. He would have felt better if she were by his side. A bit of human warmth would help against the oppressive darkness. As much as he wanted to join her, Windex found himself reluctant to go. In his restless state, the flickering flames held more appeal than the bland interior of a tent. 

Shellac was miles away, somewhere beyond the darkness, perhaps seated beside a fire of his own. The scarecrow had left in search of a fresh contract, leaving the others to stew here in the wilderness. 

Windex wasn't sure where the fourth member of their group was or what he might be doing. Old Dutch had wandered off several hours ago and had yet to turn up again. Not that this was unusual or unexpected. Windex made no effort to fathom the motivations of the large, hooded menace, choosing rather to accept anything Old Dutch did as exactly what Old Dutch ought to be doing. 

That left Windex with only one person for company. Draino sat directly opposite him at the campfire, the brooding look on his face made all the more disturbing by the flames dancing in front of him. Even sitting, he leaned heavily on his staff, as if the dark thoughts in his mind were physically draining. 

Of course, Windex was doing some brooding of his own, watching his silent companion. He had long since ceased to openly loathe Draino, but he continued to greatly dislike the man and still could, if he lacked anything better to do, dredge up a respectable hatred for him. He could see no benefit in keeping Draino around. Unfortunately, Shellac saw some need for him, so Windex restrained himself. 

Imagining that Draino wasn't there proved more difficult than one would expect. Windex tried, quite often, but it always failed. The man had some sort of presence, a charisma that Windex couldn't account for. Something about that brooding exterior revealed an inner fire that subtly manifested itself to the world, commanding attention. It was, to Windex, the most disturbing aspect of Draino and the only reason why he offered the man a grudging respect. 

He was suddenly startled out of these thoughts by the sound of a voice, though he did not register what it said. "Wha...?" 

"I asked a question." It was Draino. The distance had left his eyes, and they now focused through the fire to meet Windex's. He spoke softly, but it carried easily in the silence of night. 

"Well, what was it?" If Draino wanted to make conversation, Windex wasn't going to discourage him. Maybe the guy was human after all. 

"Do you know why I sought the Eyes?" There was a hint of a smile on his lips. He asked the question very matter-of-fact, but something else was in his voice. A spark perhaps; a spark of that fire Windex could sense in him. That spark had never entered his voice before, and after this night, would appear again only once. 

"The power of Lavos, right? You want it. All of it." For world domination, or some other stupid reason, he thought. 

"Yes," Draino answered, but he paused afterward, as if he had more to say. He held that pause for many seconds, seconds filled only by the crackle of the fire. "And no," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Windex, at a loss for what to say to that, waited for Draino to go on. 

And Draino was going on, but before he spoke, his eyes lit with that spark in a way Windex had never seen, and would never see again. "I want to feel it," he said. The spark was now a fire of passion, or of madness. "Just feel it. Even for a second." 

"Feel what, exactly?" Maybe he's finally going over the deep end, Windex thought. Maybe Shellac will let us ditch him. 

"What it is like to be a god."   
  
  
  


There was an uncomfortable tension at dinner, and Lucca suspected that she and Hops were to blame. The setting only added to it. It was difficult to relax in the deathly quiet of this mansion. The best comparison she could make was that it was like eating dinner in a haunted house. Yet there were no ghosts, only this eccentric queen and a meager staff. Lucca couldn't begin to guess how Tyria could bare to live here. 

Lady Tyria sat at one end of the long, narrow table. It was a nice table, really. So nice that Lucca felt nervous about eating on it. Delicate glass tracery, so fine that a careless elbow might start it all shattering, lined the edges. Though it was clear that Tyria demanded the finest in all her possessions, it was difficult to tell if she took pleasure in any of it. 

Beautiful beyond comparison, Lady Tyria sat with her back rigid and her hands neatly folded in her lap, resting on a bleached white napkin embroidered with the royal crest and a silver, cursive T. She wore several robes layered over each other, each uniquely patterned, and held tight by a wide silk sash. They were arranged loosely over her shoulders, exposing the creamy flesh of her shoulder blades, the well-defined edge of her collar bones, and quite a bit of cleavage. Framed by her long, blue-black hair, her face was soft and rounded. It was almost homely, though she clearly tried to hide this under makeup that accentuated her high cheekbones and eyeshadow so dark it made the whites of her eyes positively luminous in contrast. 

To Lucca, Tyria appeared to be a stunningly beautiful woman who, in an effort to enhance that beauty, had made herself look like an expensive prostitute. 

Through three courses, she had maintained a expression of calculated indifference. When she did look up from her dinner, her eyes almost always fell on Darma, who sat at the opposite end of the table. Lucca could tell that with each casual glance, the two were exchanging volumes. There could be no doubt that the elaborate setup which had drawn Lucca and Hops to this place had been orchestrated by Tyria and Darma both. Darma had explained his own motives, but what reason had Tyria to assist in a plot which would likely hasten a Mystic invasion? 

To Tyria's left, on the long side of the table opposite Lucca, sat Hops. He, like everyone else, had remained quiet through dinner. Lucca was impressed to see him eating something other than canned cheese. He was avoiding her gaze, mostly glancing up at Darma, the least intimidating of them. Did he understand the situation better than her? 

As the serving staff removed the last traces of the final course, Darma spoke up, as if unaware of how uncomfortable the others were. "Well, that was an exquisite meal. As always, my compliments to the chef, Tyria. It sure beats my cooking." 

Tyria's lip twitched with something very close to a smile. "I don't know how you survive off the rubbish you call food." She very carefully wiped her mouth with the fine embroidered napkin. There was no awkwardness or hesitation in her movements. To Lucca, she said, "I must say, I have enjoyed the company of your young friend. I find his constant air of melancholy quite amusing." 

"She hasn't let me leave the hilltop since I got here," Hops said. "And this building is damned depressing." 

"Isn't it, though?" Her subtle little smile was twisting into something cruel. "It suits me, precisely because it seems to suit none of my guests. My city of dreams. I do enjoy watching people squirm." She looked to Darma again, who was still grinning. "Only Darma is thick enough to be entirely comfortable around me." 

"Huh?" Darma asked, vaguely aware that his name had been mentioned. 

"If I might ask, your Highness," Lucca began, letting more sarcasm slip into her tone than she'd intended, "why exactly have you brought us all here? Darma implied that you wanted to speak with me." 

"Oh, is it such a crime to want to meet a celebrity such as yourself?" Tyria asked, meeting Lucca's sarcasm in kind. "I thought you might like to enjoy my hospitality for a few days. Dismal as it can be, it's luxurious compared to Darma's abode." 

"I'm not sure I have the time," Lucca answered. "According to Darma, I need to leave for Guardia soon." 

"Darma may have exaggerated the situation." She stood, seeming to float out of the chair. "Come," she said, waving for them to rise. "I have a better place to hold our palaver. This whole business is quite tiresome, and I'd prefer to be done with it tonight." With that, she glided out into the hall. 

Darma was the first to clamber out of his chair and fall in behind her like an obedient dog. With an exchanged glance, Lucca and Hops rose as well and followed, a few steps behind their hosts. 

Only moonlight was pouring through the windows. Lucca had noticed that there was no electricity in the mansion, so the only artificial light came from old-fashioned oil lamps. This hall, however, had no such lamps, only the windows along the left wall. Everything was cast in murky blue-grey. Tyria stepped with familiarity through even the darkest passages, leading them to some far corner of the mansion. 

They stopped outside a pair of large wooden doors, featureless in the weak light. Tyria stepped aside, allowing Darma to enter first, then led her guests inside. It was a large, windowless cube of a room. As Darma moved about lighting oil lamps on the walls, knotty wood paneling came into focus on every surface of the room. Five uncushioned chairs were scattered at random in the center. 

"Do take a seat," Tyria instructed. She settled herself into a chair, her posture as rigid as before. Those uninterested eyes watched the others pull chairs into a rough circle and take their seats. They made an odd sight, four figures in a disorganized group, the extra chair off to the side, in a room like a wooden box. 

"As much as I enjoy toying with you," Tyria began, "time may be short, so I'll refrain from my fun and be direct. Anytime now---perhaps this moment, perhaps in week---an invasion force will be leaving Medina to attack both Choras and Guardia. If available intelligence is to be trusted, both states will be hard pressed to repel them." 

"Then it's certain?" Lucca asked. "You've known about this and done nothing to help Guardia, not even give us a simple warning." 

"I have done what seemed best," Tyria answered. With each second, she was seeming less like the idle beauty queen and more like the ruler of a nation. "This invasion is inevitable. It has been so for the last four hundred years. Instead of allowing it to happen at a time advantageous to the Mystics, I have forced their hand. 

"Through Darma, I found out that the Mystics hired the Purge to feed unrest in Guardia. Over the last month in particular, they have been encouraging dissenter groups and attempting to start riots whenever there is the opportunity. The government is harassed and overextended. The kidnapping of the only heir rattled the state enough that Nadia has been forced to take the throne, even though the king still lives. Personally, I do not see King Guardia ever resuming power, but the uncertainty of Nadia's position is destabilizing. 

"The Mystics approached Darma to cause unrest here in Choras. They also wanted him to abduct Lucca so that both she and Crono would not be in Guardia. Never for a second have they underestimated the slayers of Lavos, and they wanted you split up. They feared that simply killing you would force too close an investigation and reveal their plans too soon. 

"When Darma told me of this, I decided to play along. I gave Ambassador Sarkin the absurd notion that Lucca was behind this, and allowed him to fetch her. I've tried to insulate my people from Darma's threat because a panic would have ruined my chances of defending against the invasion. All troops are at their usual stations along the coast, unaware of what is coming, but ready." Addressing Lucca directly, she said, "When you came here on your own, Darma was able to find you before I could." 

The Mystics were trying to be as disruptive as possible before moving ahead, so that both nations would be unprepared to set up a defense. Lucca asked, "Do they realize that you are preparing for them?" 

"The Mystics have been relying on Darma for information," Tyria said. "The bulk of their spies are tied up in Guardia, the main target." 

Darma smirked. "They think that I'm having more of an effect on the government than I am." 

"I can only assume that they know the military is protecting the coast," Tyria continued, "but they may not be aware of the actual numbers. I do not think Choras will fall to them." 

"What about Guardia?" Lucca asked. "Have you abandoned us?" 

"My country comes first, but I have tried to speed up the invasion, for Guardia's sake. They have been waiting on the death of the king, when disorder will be highest in the government. However, they are eager, and their plans have worked too well and too soon. They are anxious and will strike now, while the situation appears to be in their favor, rather than waiting and risking a reversal of fortune. 

"Guardia will take loses in both people and land," she said, "but I think it will survive. Had I told Nadia that the Mystics would betray her, the Mystics would have lost their foolish confidence, and we would have a much bloodier war on our hands. As is, the invasion will be careless, and hopefully we will be able to make it through. We have enjoyed four centuries of peace, but I fear that peace can endure no longer, no matter what we do." 

With a resigned sigh, Lucca accepted the truth she'd been anticipating for the last month. Part of her felt that her time had been wasted here, yet her experience with large-scale conflict was so limited. Could she have done anything more useful with her time? 

All she could recognize in the jumble of her mind was the beginnings of a headache, and the overwhelming desire to get back to her home and her friends. She said, "What now? Are we going to just wait? I agree, that's all we can do." 

"We all feel helpless right now." So sympathetic a statement seemed odd from the aloof queen. "You will be on a boat to Guardia as soon as I can manage it," Tyria told her. "The Mystics will think that you are still here, and the invasion will move ahead." 

Hops had remained silent throughout. He had Spekkio's shot glass out again, and was rolling it in his palm. 

"If I get to Guardia before the invasion begins, what do I tell Nadia?" Lucca asked. 

Tyria was silent for a moment before answering. "Warn her that they are coming. Our intelligence is limited, but we suspect that they will destroy Zenan Bridge and occupy both sides of the channel. They will have a presence in the south to hold off reinforcements from Porre, and a foothold in the north, for pushing on to Truce and the castle. The north will be their priority. I should think that Lockton and Dorino are in the most immediate danger." 

The chamber doors opened with a slight squeak. Tabanne, the green sentinel, entered and bowed. Her high voice said, "A man has arrived and wishes to speak with you, mistress. Demi and Atril are guarding the gate, so they must have allowed him to pass, for whatever reason." 

Tyria did not seem surprised. Rather, her smile revealed again that cruel sense of humor. She said, "Perhaps this night will not be so dull. In all my planning, this is the only thing I left to chance. I'm most interested to see how it turns out. Yes, Tabanne, send him this way." 

"Who is it?" Darma asked. Tyria had not told him about this. 

"Really, my dear, did you think that your sudden reappearance in the world scene would go unnoticed?" She was calm, but Darma still looked nervous and confused. 

The doors opened again, and a man sauntered in. He snagged the fifth, unoccupied seat and joined them, straddling the chair backwards, resting his arms on the back of the chair. He was grinning, and the only sound was the clink of a shot glass rolling out of Hops's hand and hitting the hardwood floor. 

This stranger was a young man, in his late twenties perhaps. He had black hair and roguish good looks. He wore a dark jacket of military cut, but it lacked any name tags or insignia. Two belts, crisscrossed above his crotch, each held a sword sheathed at his hips. The blades were identical, except that where one had a large whole in the hilt design, the one on his right hip had that hole filled with a sphere of green stone that cast a weak green glow. Seeing the stone, the rest clicked, and Lucca knew who this man must be. 

Hops reacted faster, yet summed up Lucca's reaction rather well. "Holy shit. You're Windex."   
  
  
  


The man called Windex nodded, and his grin widened. He left his chair and advanced on Darma first. Darma's good eye was wide with amazement and horror, yet he managed to get to his feet. The two faced off, placing the newcomers quick smile and almost insolent manner against what little nerve Darma could manage. Windex moved first, taking a sudden step toward Darma, and before the smaller man could get away, hugged him. 

"How the hell are you?" Windex asked, clapping his one-eyed friend heartily on the back. He stepped away to look Darma over again. "Look at you! We leave you alone for a while, and you stop cutting your hair and bathing. And your face! I told you again and again, if you weren't more careful with your machines, you'd end up putting an eye out. And sure enough, here you are, chrome eye patch and all!" 

"It's good to see you, too, Windex," Darma managed. "What brings you here?" 

"Oh, that." Windex was circling around the room now. "Draino sent me to kill you." Darma blanched. "The two of you didn't part on the best of terms, and he wasn't happy to find out that you're still around. But don't worry," Windex added. "Draino's an even bigger idiot than I thought if he seriously believed I'd off you. I mean, you're like the kid brother I never wanted! I couldn't kill you." 

"That's awfully reassuring," Darma said, his nerves still on edge. 

"Lighten up. I'm serious. Draino sent me to deal with you, but I came for my own reasons. For one, I wanted to see you again, do a little catching up, that sort of thing." 

He stopped his circling near Lucca. To her, that wide grin suddenly looked like the maw of a shark. "I also wanted to meet this young lady." He loomed over her, still smiling. Lucca didn't turn away, but met his gaze evenly, waiting to see what he wanted. It had crossed her mind before that the other members of the Purge wouldn't be too thrilled with Crono and her. "I was told you were rather plain, yet here I find a beautiful woman." 

"Wha...?" That wasn't exactly what Lucca expected. 

"Spare us," Darma said. "I'll tell Lysol you've been charming other women again." 

Ignoring Darma, Windex continued, "You have my respect, and that's a hard thing to earn. Shellac wouldn't allow just anybody kill him." 

At a loss for how to answer, Lucca finally managed, "It doesn't bother you? He was your partner, right?" 

"True, but from day one, I've always trusted his judgment. He had a weird way of showing it, but there was more sense in that straw head than I've ever had. If he wanted to die, that's his business." Windex stepped away, circling them again. "Of course, that's assuming he really is dead. I saw no body, so I can't say for sure." 

Windex didn't stop by Hops, whose mouth was till hanging open, and he whistled as he passed Lady Tyria. "You're quite the woman, your Ladyship. Darma seems to have gotten himself quite thoroughly whipped." With a wry grin to Darma, he added, "Welcome to the club," though there was no bitterness in his tone. 

Tyria seemed to ignore the comments. "Unless you have something important to add, our business for this evening is concluded. Do you intend to stay the night?" 

"I couldn't refuse so kind an offer from so beautiful a lady." 

"Don't push your luck," Tyria said with a small smile. "It wasn't an offer, but I'll take pity on you. You can stay in the suite with Lucca and Hops, though I fear you'll be sleeping on the floor." Tyria stood with measured grace. As she left the room, she cast a backwards glance over her shoulder. "Try to improve your manners before next time. I am royalty, after all. Come, Darma," she added. Sheepishly, Darma rose and followed her out. 

"Yep," Windex said, "he's whipped. I do hope one of you knows the way back to this suite," he said to the only two people left in the room. He made a show of stretching and scratching himself. "Even if it is just a carpet, I could use a place to rest my head. I'm bushed." 

Hops finally managed to find his voice again. "I know the way." 

For the first time, Windex took particular notice of the boy. "Hops, right? The Master of War's son?" Hops only nodded. "If you don't mind, Lucca, could you wait in the hall? I'd like a private word with the kid." 

"Yes, of course," Lucca answered, and stepped out with a nod to Hops. She didn't know how to react to being addressed so familiarly by so mythic a figure. 

"Well," Windex began, "maybe I'm not the only one feeling out of time and out of place." 

"I suppose," Hops answered in a small voice. He was watching Windex closely through the shade of his bangs. 

"There's no reason to be afraid, kid. I think I can guess why you're here, and I sympathize. I've met your father a time or two, and I know he can be a right bastard." 

"True enough," Hops said with a small chuckle, though his manner remained guarded. 

"Here," Windex said, drawing the sword on his right. Holding it gingerly by the blade, he held it out to Hops, hilt first. The stone imbedded in the hilt cast a green shimmer on the boy's dark hair. 

Hops was eyeing this man with greater skepticism now, though his gaze flitted to the green stone. "What makes you think--?" 

"Just take it," he interrupted. "It's just a hunch, but I think it's what you want. I have no need of it. Never did." Again, he offered the hilt. 

Hops was now staring at the green stone. Embedded as it was in the sword, it looked to be no more than a bit of decoration. He reached out and ran his hand over it from below. Cool to the touch, it fit his palm easily. Though it seemed secure, the stone dropped smoothly away, filling his hand with its weight. 

"Thank you." Windex took a step back and returned his sword to his hip. "Now, if you'll show the way to our suite, I really am quite tired." 

The boy hesitated, his attention still fixed on the stone. With the gentlest tinkle, like breaking crystal, an Eye of Lavos shattered in his hand. The shards fell to the floor, and he left them there to gather dust, or until the cleaning staff swept them away. Without a look back, he led Windex out of the room.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 42 --

  


She awoke to the distant rumble of thunder. Only after she had lain awake in bed for a moment, listening to the constant drumming, did she realize it wasn't thunder at all, but the roar of cannon fire from the coast. 

Her mind was still clouded by sleep, but her body acted immediately. She was up and dressing before she even noticed that it was still dark outside. Surely only a few hours had passed. There was noise coming from the sitting room, so Windex was probably awake, too. Belting her pants, she hunted in the dark for her bag. 

Her door opened a crack, and a pair of eyes peeked in through the shadows. "Are you decent?" 

"Yes," Lucca answered, waving for Windex to enter. "What's the situation?" She cursed the lack of convenient lighting. It was difficult to do a last-minute check of her handgun in the dark. She did what she could, then just jammed the thing into the waistband of her pants. Someday, she would take a break from crazy inventions long enough to make something useful, like a holster. 

"This is a bit sooner than any of us expected," he said, remaining in the doorway. 

Lucca pushed past him into the equally dark main room. Hops was awake, sitting at the sofa. He looked more out of it than usual. "What are we going to do?" she asked. "Tyria said she'd arrange passage to Guardia for us." 

"I'll provide the transportation," Windex answered. He slouched into one of the chairs. "I suggest you sit down and relax. It will be a while before we go, and you'll need your energy. We have a long walk ahead of us." 

Lucca ignored him and instead paced back and forth across the room. "How long?" She couldn't warn Marle now. Guardia was certainly under attack as well. If she could get there soon, she'd be able to lend a hand. 

"If we left now, we might get there this time tomorrow. And that's if we run." 

"What!?" Lucca stopped pacing. "It's that far?" 

"It was a precaution in case the Mystics got here before we left. As you may have noticed, they have," he told her. "Still, we shouldn't run into any trouble on the way. The Mystics are only going to lay siege to the harbor for now. It may be days before they land troops. We just have to avoid the fleet as we leave." 

Lucca glanced again at Hops, whose chin repeatedly dropped to rest on his chest, only to snap back up. She was just as tired, and only the panicked rise of her emotions kept her awake. "We can't get that far without stopping to sleep." 

"I agree," Windex said. "It may take us as long as two days to get there." With a shrug, he added, "Doesn't matter, though. The boat's not going anywhere." 

"Yeah, well I'd like to get home before the Mystics level my house." All this damn waiting! She'd waiting for over a month already, and she was really getting sick of it. "What are we waiting on anyway?" 

"Tyria sent the red armor out to investigate. It should be back soon, and then Tyria can bore us with what little she's found out." He gave her a wry smile. "Maybe we can leave after that." 

So they waited. Lucca finally tired of pacing and sat on one of the windowsills, leaning her head against the cool glass. Yesterday's rain had passed, and dawn was approaching. She could see the faint light on the horizon. She wondered what the coast looked like. She'd never seen any Mystic ships, yet Tyria spoke as if they had an armada. From just the noise, she obviously couldn't distinguish the enemies' cannons from the defenders', and she wondered who had more. 

Now Hops was on his feet, pacing the same trails Lucca had trampled in the carpet. His mouth was moving, though an intelligible sound only rarely escaped his lips. "What am I doing..." he mumbled to himself, but loud enough for the others to hear. He didn't seem to realize it, or to care. "What am I...too much...why am I..." 

"Hops." Lucca didn't lift her head from the window. "Come here." The boy visibly snapped out of whatever trance he had fallen in. He was suddenly aware of the others again, and sheepishly came to stand by Lucca. She patted the unoccupied part of the windowsill, and he sat facing her. "Lean your head against the window. It's cold. It'll keep you awake." 

"Thanks," he said, taking her advice. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah. I'm just..." He sighed heavily. "I'm distracted...and tired." 

Lucca couldn't see his eyes, what with his bangs and the poor light. He was calming down from whatever fit of nerves had struck him. It was hard for Lucca to remember that she was looking at a twelve-year-old boy. So Hops is twelve, she thought, just like Windex over there is twenty-eight. Hell. There was another question that no one was inclined to answer. 

She reached out in the gloom and gently brushed aside the boy's hair. Though she never saw anyone cut it, his hair seemed no longer than it was on the day they'd met. Those young, perfectly human eyes stared back at her. "I like to see your face," she said. "You shouldn't hide it." 

"It just grows this way," he answered. "I'm used to it." 

"We'll be in Guardia soon," she said. "A few days more at most. I'm not sure what's going to happen once we're there, but I'll make sure you're taken care of. Crono and I promised...we promised to watch out for you. You and Malt. We'll have to help Marle...we'll be busy...but we'll watch out for you...because...we..." 

"Lucca." Her eyes shot open. Hops was smiling. Her hand had drifted away, letting his hair fall back over his eyes. "Now you're falling asleep." 

"It would seem that I'm tired, too. And distracted." As she'd nodded off, still speaking words of reassurance, images of her home had filled her mind. She saw Truce covered in snow, as it might be later in winter. She could see herself making a snowman. She could hear Crono suggesting that she make it anatomically correct. 

Fully awake again, or as close to it as she could manage, she imagined that it was all gone, crushed by a war she had never expected. Despite all that she had accomplished, she was still insignificant to the tides of time. She and everything she cared for could be swept away in a heartbeat, and the memory of her life would pass just as quickly. It would be as if she had never existed. How many lives had been lost to merciless Time, never to be remembered, and how many more would come and go, unnoticed, before the world was broken utterly, and nothing lived again? 

"I'm so depressed I'm getting poetic," she mumbled. 

"Angst fuels art," said Hops. "Or so I'm told."   
  
  
  


Time crept by as they waited for news. From her perch on the windowsill, Lucca watched the sky brighten from black to a deep blue. Still the cannons roared, unabated. At last, Windex stood and spoke. "Let's go wait in the foyer. I think the scout is back." Glad for a change, Lucca and Hops followed him out of the room. 

When they arrived, Tabanne stood waiting at the base of the stairs. She surveyed them with empty eyes, but said nothing. 

"So eager to leave?" Tyria had emerged from some hall on the second floor, and now descended the stairs quickly. She was dressed in a gauzy, dark blue nightdress that barely concealed the figure beneath. "I'm offended." 

Windex met her with a smile. "It's not our desire to be parted from so lovely a woman, but circumstances force us." 

She responded with only a small smile. "Atril has returned?" 

"Yes, Lady," Tabanne answered, genuflecting and lowering her face. "Atril gave her report to me and has returned to her post at the gates. She reports no major landings yet, as you predicted. The battle at the harbor is a stalemate. The Mystics lack the resources to overcome the coast with cannon alone, but we cannot overpower them either. On her way back, Atril spotted a lone group of soldiers on their way here: three of the machines and a commander, by the look of his garb. They were moving openly on the road." 

Darma chose this moment to make his own appearance from the second floor. He hastened down the stairs, shirtless, and still fumbling with his belt. "Three machines?" 

"Yours, no doubt," said Tyria. "Are they as useless as you claim?" 

"Against Demi and Atril? They won't last a minute." 

Tyria nodded and swept to the doors. "I'll wait for him outside, and see what this emissary has to say." As she passed through the threshold with Tabanne following close behind, she glanced back. "Then, perhaps, we'll test their mettle." 

"Demi will be pleased," Darma said as he turned to the others with his ever-present grin. "He wasn't happy that I wasted time on such inferior machines, and now he'll get to destroy them." 

"Let me guess," Lucca began. "You sold weapons to the Mystics, too? Kidnapping me wasn't enough?" 

"Only some very substandard equipment," he answered evasively. "I had to keep their trust after all. I charged them far more than the stuff was worth." 

Peachy. Guardia would have a mecha legion to contend with. Substandard or not, it was one more thing for Lucca to worry over. Shoulders slumped, she trudged to the foot of the stairs and took a seat. "Come on over, Hops," she said. "Take a load off. No doubt we'll wait around some more to see what the approaching Mystic has to say. Have anymore of that cheese?" 

Hops dropped down beside her. From his bag, he produced a fresh canned cheese. "Brand new," he said. "Decided to try my vice?" 

Lucca snatched the can, tossed her head back, and let it rip. The flavor of pressurized cheddar filled her senses. "Strong stuff," she sputtered after she had downed the first mouthful. Reaching into her own bag, she found one of her prized canteens and chased the cheese with a stream of poi. "Here," she said, passing the canteen to Hops. "It does the body good." 

He took it without hesitation and proceeded to chug with the skill of a master. When he stopped, he was sputtering, too. "What is this again?" he managed. "It kicks like a mule!" 

"A marvel of the elder days!" Taking the canteen back, she drank again. "Poi, pork broth of the gods!" 

"Hey!" He had been absorbed in conversation with Darma, but Windex now took notice of them. "Take it easy on the strange foods, you two. You'd better be able to walk straight when the time comes." 

"I'll walk my foot straight up your ass," Lucca slurred. She passed the canteen back to Hops. "Take another gulp and act drunk. We can annoy high-and-mighty mister immortal swordsman." 

Unfortunately, their fun was cut short by a voice from outside. It was a bellowing roar, not unlike the voice of a large cat in anger. "TYRIA!" 

"Ah, the herald's cry," Windex said. "How many times has it called me to battle? Bring your things," he told Lucca and Hops. "I expect we'll be on our way shortly." His left hand resting on the hilt of a sword, he strode to the exit with Darma, Lucca and Hops in tow. 

The four emerged from the front doors into the weak morning light. In the east, the sun had not yet risen above the mountains. Far ahead on the stone path, Tyria stood under the upper gate, Tabanne at her side. As they approached, they heard her call, "You have the Lady Tyria's attention! What errand brings you to my city, kitten?" 

There was a screech like a wounded panther. "Do not stir my wrath!" answered the booming voice. "General Lynx stands before your hovel! I come with an offer much kinder than you deserve. In the name of Ozzie VIII, I demand your surrender to the armies of Medina! Cooperate, and we may spare your human city!" 

Now standing a few steps behind Lady Tyria, Lucca could see the small figure below. He was a Mystic of a breed she had rarely seen. He was shaped like a human, but his face was like a cat's. His exposed skin was covered in tan fur. He was dressed in a uniform of black, purple and gold. A half-cape hung from his shoulders, and a black and gold cap sat on his head between his large, furry ears. If he also had a tail, his clothes concealed it. Three clumsy mecha flanked him as an honor guard. They did look like frail toys compared to Demi, who stood with Atril in the shadows of the lower gate. Lynx did not seem to notice them, or paid them no mind. 

The general's face was contorted in rage. He brandished a short-handled scythe encrusted with gold and jewels. "What will it be?" he cried. "Refuse me, and I will not stop until this continent is razed!" 

"Do not threaten me, kitten!" Standing at the thousandth step, even dressed in her silky negligee Tyria was a majestic sight. Her beauty had become a mask terrible to behold. "You underestimate me. I know the insignia of a Mystic general, and you do not bear them. Run, Lieutenant, back to your masters with your tail between your legs. Let them see your empty hands and know what a fool you are!" 

The lieutenant's fresh cry of anger rent the air and set Lucca's ears ringing. "Words alone will not stop me! What force have you to resist me that would make you speak with such confidence?" 

"You live only so long as my hand stays the reaper," Tyria answered. "Your masters may think that the dregs of their might are enough to overwhelm Choras, but they have grossly miscalculated. If they take this land, every inch of soil will be paid for with their blood. Alone, you cannot force me to do anything. Go, kitten, and fight in your war. Die on the battlefield with delusions of glory in your heart, for only a dog's death awaits you at my door." 

To Lucca's surprise, he didn't roar again. Lynx was silent, but his eyes smoldered with hate. Taking a step forward, he brandished his scythe again. "Surrender," he said, "or make good your threats." 

"Let me." Tyria turned to the voice. Windex had moved to her side and was grinning at her. "Allow me to show our guest the door," he said. 

Tyria studied him for a moment, sizing him up with eyes that would wither a lesser man. "If you insist." 

Slowly, Windex began to descend the stair. His face was lowered, watching the steps, but he could feel Lynx staring up at him. He smiled. This might even be enjoyable. 

"Is this who you send to dispose of me, Tyria?" Lynx was watching Windex very closely. The man looked like just another human mongrel, but Lynx would not be caught of guard. If Tyria believed this man could defeat him, Lynx would not hold back. 

"Tell the machines to give us room." Still Windex did not look up at his opponent. "We should do this properly." 

It was not without hesitation that Lynx signaled to the mecha, which backed away, leaving a large open space before the lower gate. "I sense some skill in you. I'll grant you an honorable death." 

"Too kind," Windex mumbled to himself. At last he reached the bottom and stopped just past the gate. He looked up now and met the lieutenant's eyes. Within them he saw only arrogance. "I know your name, but you don't know mine. I'm most often called Windex." 

"I know of two things that bare that name," Lynx said. "One is a substance for cleaning windows. The other is a person spoken of only in the legends of humans. You, sir, cannot be that Windex." 

"You're the expert," Windex said with a shrug. "Shall we get down to business?" 

"Certainly." Lynx dropped into a fighting stance. He was a hunter ready to pounce on his prey. "My father was Yameneko, and I wield his scythe, Hurricane, the blade of my ancestors, forged in the halls of Magus in ages past." He bared his teeth. "You cannot defeat me." 

"My mother was a hamster, and my father smelt of elderberry. I got these swords from a pawn shop." Windex grinned wickedly. "They were a steal." 

With a snarl, Lynx lifted his scythe and charged. 

Windex dashed forward to meet him. His right hand rested on the sword at his left, but he did not draw. 

From above, Lucca watched with interest. There wasn't much space between the warriors to begin with, and it was dwindling fast. She could see the bloodlust in Lynx's eyes, could hear the rage in his roar. Only a dozen feet separated them now. 

In an instant, they met with a flash of steel and a blur of motion. Before Lucca's mind could sort out what she'd seen, they had passed each other. Windex came to a stop a few paces further on, though he did not turn around. His unsheathed blade glittered in the morning light. 

Lynx managed another step, stumbled, and fell to his knees. A dark stain of blood was spreading rapidly over his right leg. 

Neither spoke as the dust settled from their first exchange. Lynx was panting heavily, but he did not cry out. Nor did he stand. The cut was deep and painful. Moving now would only cause more damage. 

Windex turned. "Get that bandaged before you bleed to death," he said as he sheathed his sword. The three mecha still surrounded him, but were unsure of what to do. "Carry him out of here," he said to one of them. 

"Kill him," Lynx ordered through gritted teeth. 

It was wasted breath. The words had scarcely left his mouth when a terrible thunderclap tore the morning air. Stepping out from the shadow of the gate, Demi had unloaded a single round into the first of the enemies, blasting it into unrecognizable scrap. Atril charged forth from her cover toward the second mecha. Whatever weapons it had could not stop the sentinel's razor-like claws and mechanical strength. Atril ripped her enemy to pieces. 

The third took the hint. Windex did not hinder it as it moved cautiously to Lynx's side. With one last hateful look at the swordsman, the Mystic allowed himself to be lifted and born away. "Choras will not stand for long," he called, even as he passed out of sight down the road. "The strength of one man cannot stop the invading army." 

"True words, my foolish friend."   
  
  
  


"Lucca! Hops! We're leaving," Windex called from below. 

At last! Lucca glanced at those around her. Tyria, standing proud and half-naked. Darma, shirtless, rubbing his arms to keep warm in the brisk morning air. Hops, watching her expectantly, waiting for her to give the word. "This is it," she said. "It was an honor meeting you, Lady Tyria." She made a short bow. Curtsies just weren't her style. 

The imperious face Tyria had used on Lynx softened at last. "It was my honor as well, Lucca. Perhaps our next meeting will be under better circumstances." 

"I hope so." She turned to Darma, but she didn't know what to say. He stood there, miserable in the cold, but still smiling at her with his usual warmth. Finally she decided on, "It's been fun." 

"More fun than I have had in a long time," Darma said. He reached out and clasped her hand. "Take care." 

"Of course." That left Hops. "Are you set?" she asked. 

The boy nodded. "Lead the way."   
  
  
  


As he moved to follow her down the steps of the hill for the last time, a hand gripped his shoulder, restraining him. It was Darma. He took the boy's hand as he had done with Lucca. "You take care of yourself as well," he said. 

"I will," he answered. Darma was still a stranger to him, but he was warmed by the sentiments. 

"Here." The one-eyed puppet master pressed something into Hops's hand. It was round and cool to the touch. Hops looked down at it, but the feel alone told him what it was: Darma's Eye of Lavos, another of the six that were not lost. 

"Windex told me to give this to you," Darma explained. "He didn't say why, but I can guess. Do with it what you will." 

The stone was light in his hand. Hops felt that he should say something, but he could think of no reply. He took a step back, then glanced over his shoulder: Lucca was nearly to the bottom of the hill; Windex was watching his exchange with Darma. 

"Don't get left behind," Darma told him. 

"Right," he said. He managed a weak, "Thank you," and then turned to leave. Almost as an afterthought, he slipped the Eye into his pocket.   
  
  
  
  
  


-- 43 --

  


Two days later, they came at last to the coast. It was another chilly morning, and the dawn seemed more ominous this time. Would the light in the east bring hope, or a clearer view of the end? The noise of cannons had slackened through the night, and now the air was quiet and still. As they pushed through the last line of shrubbery between them and the beach, Lucca dared to mention the change. "The shots have stopped. Any idea what that means?" 

Windex shrugged. He'd spoken little as he led them across miles of empty country. His mind seemed occupied, so Lucca had not tried to pester him. There had been no time for it anyway. Except for two short breaks for sleep, they had been on the move nonstop. "The Mystics may have fallen back for a while," he said. "Things may pick up again soon. It's also possible that they've finally landed troops. We're pretty far from the harbor and wouldn't hear ground fighting." 

At last they breached the last line of bushes. From here, coarse sand sloped down to the waves. Lucca glanced back to make sure Hops was still with them. He had no trouble keeping up, but preferred to hang back. He, too, seemed occupied. 

A rickety pier jutted out over the water. At it's far end, a rather familiar boat waited. A stout figure stood by the moorings, watching their approach. Even from a distance, Lucca could see the glint of sunlight on his thick spectacles. "You know Melchior?" she asked Windex. 

"I hadn't met him before, but he believed me when I told him who I was," he explained. "I was looking for a ride, and his was the only boat heading this way. He'd just returned to Truce after bringing you to Choras, but he was glad to make another trip." 

"You left him waiting here?" 

"It's not like a forced him," Windex said. "He volunteered. Said his supplies could last him a month, so there was no rush." 

Lucca took a cautious step onto the pier. It was in disrepair, isolated and seemingly forgotten, but it would last a while longer. Melchior met them half way. He hadn't lost any of his usual good cheer. 

"Windex," he said with a nod to the swordsman. "It's good to see you again so soon, Lucca. And you, Hops." 

Hops, who was still hanging back, gave a nod of greeting. 

"He hasn't become any more talkative since you last saw him," Lucca said. "I guess this will make two round trips to Choras in a little over month." 

"Indeed," Melchior said, "I should start charging you. But let's get off this breezy pier." He gestured to his yacht. "I dare say it's more comfortable onboard. You must tell me how you're stay in Choras went." 

As Windex followed the guru down the pier, Lucca glanced at Hops again. He wasn't following. "Hops," she called. He looked up, as if startled. "Come on." 

"On my way," he mumbled. His hand slipped into his pocket and found the stone there. He brought it back out, into the morning light, and turned it in his hand. Light...cool....flawless. It looked solid, not clear like glass, yet a weak light somehow emerged from it. 

"Hops!" Lucca was further away. "We're going!"   
  
  
  


He started down the pier, his eyes fixed on the boat ahead. As he walked, he cast a handful of green dust and stone fragments to the wind.   
  
  
  


Studio Dhampir  
  
2004 


End file.

Chrono Trigger, Fantasy