c h a p t e r    t w o  The Atago lifted gently on the swells in Balamb Harbor, tugging gently at the mooring ropes that held her to the pier.  Captain Konavalov shouted orders to his deckhands, who jumped to the docks, and began to yank the thick hawsers off the bollards.  Squall and Rinoa watched their activities with interest.  “Prepare to engage main engines!” Captain Konavalov shouted up to the bridge.  The man in the pilothouse waved in reply, and the Atago’s main turbines began to revolve, making the ship shudder.  “Back on board you scurvy dogs!” he bellowed, and the deckhands leaped aboard the ship.  Konavalov raised a hand, looking at the ship’s pilot, and dropped in downward sharply.  With a roar, the ship began to move forward, cresting the gentle swells, and coasting down the other side.  The Atago began to move away from the dock, white foam trailing in her wake.  Zell and Irvine wandered up on deck, followed by Quistis.  “Yo Squall!” Zell yelled, waving across the open deck at him.  Squall waved back.  The Atago moved slowly past the breakwater, into the open seas, where she slowed, and stopped, her turbines producing just enough power to keep her steady.  From the harbor, a small boat raced alongside, stopping just underneath her bows.  The harbor pilot, a short stocky man, scrambled across the deck, tossed a large black bag into the boat, and followed it himself.  Squall walked over to the captain.  “Captain, who was that man?”  Konavalov turned, and looked at him.  “The harbor pilot.  We don’t know these waters that well, and he hired a pilot to bring us in, and take us out.”  He chuckled, and tossed his cap back onto his head.  “Wouldn’t do well for us to run aground, would it?”  “No, I suppose not,” Squall said, turning back to Rinoa.  “You might want to get some sleep, Squall.  It will take us at least two days to reach Esthar’s nearest harbor,” he said after him.  “Dinner will be served in another three hours.”  “Thank you Captain,” Squall said, without turning around.  With a wave, he summoned Quistis, Zell, and Irvine over to him.  “What’s up?” Zell said, resting his hands on his hips.  Squall pulled out the small metal case he had carried with him from Balamb Garden.  “Guys, it’s time to Junction our Guardian Force.  Now is as good a time as any.”  “YES!” Zell shouted, leaping up in the air.  Irvine grinned, and ran a finger along the brim of his hat.  “Which Guardian Forces are we using, Squall?” Quistis said, leaning on one leg.  Squall sat down on a large coil of rope, and lifted the lid.  Inside, resting on a bed of cut foam were twenty small capsules, stoppered with crystal.  He selected four of them, and handed them to Quistis.  “Here, Quistis.  Shiva, Siren, Doomtrain, and Tonberry.”  “Thank you, Squall,” Quistis said, plucking the capsules from his hand.  Squall grabbed another four, and handed them to Zell.  “Here Zell.  I chose these especially for you,” he said with a smirk.  Zell took them, and looked at them carefully.  “Ifrit, that’s cool.”  He stuffed it into his pocket, and looked at the next one.  “Alexander,” he said, stuffing it into the same pocket.  He looked at the last two.  “Carbuncle and Pandemona?”  He looked back at Squall.  “Come on, now...”  Squall grinned wolfishly, and held out the next four to Irvine.  “All right, then,” Irvine said, leaning down and grabbing them.  “Brothers, Cactuar, Cerberus, and...”  He looked strangely at the last one. “Leviathan?”  With a condescending look, he stuffed them into his pocket, and leaned back.  Squall handed the next four to Rinoa.  She looked at each of them, smiled, and tucked them into her breast pocket.  Squall picked out the final four for himself.  Quezacotl, Bahamut, Diablos, and Eden.  The last he took gingerly.  Eden did not like being Junctioned at all.  He placed them in his jacket pocket, and closed the case.  “Hey Squall,” Zell said.  “I thought you only had sixteen Guardian Force.  Where did the other four come from?”  The others, save for Rinoa and Squall pulled out their Guardian Force crystals, and stared at them.  “I purchased some new ones, guys.  The Pet Shop in Esthar had a half dozen that nobody wanted, so I picked them up.”  He held out his hand, and Rinoa dropped her four crystals into it.  He held the first one up.  “This is Guardian Force Hecate,” he said, and handed it back to Rinoa.  “This is Guardian Force Janus,” he said, passing it off to Rinoa.  “And these last two are Guardian Force Fenrir and Guardian Force Oroboros,” he said with a flourish, and handed them off to Rinoa.  She stuffed them back into her pocket.  Quistis blinked.  “Do you think we will really need to use all our Guardian Forces, Squall?”  She sat down on a crate.  “After all, this is just a simple kidnaping investigation, correct?”  Squall sighed.  “The Headmaster left out one vital piece of information, guys,” he said, resting his forehead on his palm.  “He neglected to mention that Eldrene Kerenmosa was a sorceress.”  He realized the potential danger that waited for them in Esthar.  “No way!” Zell shouted.  “That’s pretty serious!” Irvine breathed.  Squall nodded grimly.  “That’s why I insisted on being fully stocked, and junctioning all of our Guardian Force while we have the chance to.  If someone could kidnap a sorceress, then that makes for an even tougher time for those of us without sorceress power.”  He looked over at Rinoa, out of habit.  Her hands were clenched, lips no more than a thin grey line.  “Rinoa?” he asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.  “I’m not feeling well, guys,” she said, shrugging off Squall’s hand, and standing suddenly,  “I think I’ll take Captain Konavalov’s suggestion, and rest.”  She walked towards the stern, and disappeared below decks.  “What’s that all about?” Zell wondered out loud.  “I don’t know,” Squall said, standing.  “I think I’d best find out, though,” he said.  “Excuse me,” he said, pushing past Zell.  He stopped halfway down the deck.  “I suggest that you all junction your Guardian Force now, and rest.  I know Junctioning takes a lot out of the one junctioning them.  Best to get it over with now.”  With that, he turned, and followed Rinoa’s trail.  The large metal sails unfurled over the afterdeck, and fanned upwards towards the sky.  They locked in place with loud clanks, and extended high into the air.  The engines shut down, leaving them in an uncomfortable silence, which was finally broken by the sound of waves slapping against the hull.  The Atago moved swiftly over the waves, slashing through them.  “We must be clear of the harbor,” Zell said, sitting down on a spare crate, and juggling his Guardian Force around in his hand.  Zell probably knew more about the sea than any one of his friends; he had grown up in Balamb, after all.  And the Garden, back when it was land-borne, had required a course in sailing as part of the curriculum.  “Twenty points to port!” Captain Konavalov yelled, and the helmsman waved in reply.  The ship listed slightly to starboard as her rudder bit into the seas, and the ship swung her nose towards the east, towards Esthar.  With a fine wind behind her, and calm seas, the Atago would reach Esthar in two days.  Evgeni Sigismondavich sat at his desk in the Wilburn Hills facility, going over the plan Sorceress Lahliel had set before him an hour before.  Personally, he thought it was a harebrained plan, that had little chance of succeeding.  But apparently, his sorceress thought otherwise.  His room was a stark contrast to Sorceress Lahliel’s chambers.  The carpeting was black, and stretched over all the austere metal flooring.  The walls were paneled with polished, aged oak wood, carved in simple designs.  There were some plants, some puritanical furniture, and his mahogany desk, upon which was his computer, networked through the entire facility.  He sat in his chair, behind his desk, a glass of scotch at his elbow, going over the plan.  “So, she wants one of the Ragnarok-class of space shuttles, does she?” he muttered to himself.  “The woman is insane.  Absolutely insane,” he growled, punching keys.  He was planning an orbital track for the remaining two shuttles, still in a geosynchronous orbit above the world.  He had gone over the design for the shuttles over and over, and he was still amazed by their inner workings.  Their source of power was a piece of the Crystal Pillar, that when subjected to neutrino bombardment, produced enough power to light up half of Esthar.  They were outfitted with machine guns, and an advanced version of an ionic cannon.  It seemed as though every piece of them was designed to be functional, to work beautifully.  Still, at the moment, that did not matter, if he couldn’t bring them back intact.  “Computer, calculate orbital flight path, for the Telamon and the Apocalypse.  Plot the most viable course to Wilburn Hills, via atmospheric reentry.”  He sat back, and looked over at his drink glass.  “Processing,” a cool female voice said.  “Inform me when the results are in,” he said, rolling his chair back from his desk, and standing.  He grabbed his drink, and waited for a response.  “Affirmative,” the computer said.  Evgeni stood, swirling his glass of scotch around, and sipping at it.  He grabbed his weapon, and sat down in one of the soft plush chairs near the bookshelf, leaning his sword against it.  Unbuttoning his jacket, he tossed it aside, and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt.  Looking over at the bookcase, he selected one, a thesis on the containment of sorceress power, written by Doctor Odine, of Esthar.  He flipped to the second chapter, and began reading.  A knock came at the door.  “Who is it!?” he shouted.  “Major General Delan, sir!  You requested my presence?!”  “Come in,” he growled, and shoved the book back onto the shelf.  He stood, and tossed his sword onto the nearby couch.  Major General Delan pushed the door open, and closed it behind himself.  Delan was a fine man, honorable, loyal, and unafraid.  He brushed his dark hair back from his green eyes, and saluted.  “You wished to discuss something with me, sir?”  Evgeni looked down at him, and frowned.  “Are you a drinking man, Delan?”  Major General Delan seemed taken aback.  “I, I do enjoy a drink every now and then, sir.”  He knuckled his brows.  “Why do you ask?”  Evgeni blinked.  “I’m offering you a drink, Lance.”  He raised his glass.  “Would you like something to drink?”  He lowered his arm.  Delan cracked a thin smile.  “Yes sir, I would like that.”  Evgeni smirked, and crossed the room to the small bar.  “What would you like?”  Delan tucked his officer’s cap underneath his arm.  “A vodka and cranberry, sir.”  Evgeni turned around, and he hastily added, “If you have it.  Sir.”  He turned around, preparing the Major’s drink.  “Of course, Major, of course.”  He turned around, handing Delan his drink.  “Sit down, sit down, I must talk with you about matters of some importance.”  He took a seat next to the fireplace, and leaned back, sipping the remains of his scotch.  Delan sat down in a chair across from him.  “What is it that you wish to discuss, sir?”  Evgeni rubbed a temple with one finger.  “Major, are you familiar with the Mobile Research Facility?  Or, as you may know it, Battleship Island?”  He nodded, sipping his drink.  “Battleship Island was a major military base used by Centra, over a hundred years ago.  It was a deep-water facility, built over the remains of an ancient civilization.”  He leaned back, crossing his legs.  “It fell out of use well over fifty years ago.  Why do you ask, sir?”  Evgeni smirked.  “We’re going to reactivate it, Delan.”  Delan choked on his next sip.  “Easy pal,” he said, reaching over and slapping his back hard a few times.  “You drink too much, and it’ll kill you.”  He sat back with a contemptuous grin.  Lance finally managed to clear his throat.  “May I ask what do you intend to do with Battleship Island, sir?”  He returned to his seat, and settled back.  “You said it was a military base, for Centra, correct?”  Delan nodded in assentment.  “Well, that is exactly what we will use it for, Delan.  The waters around the facility are deep enough for attack vessels to anchor, the facility is large enough to house our troops, and the landing pad is big enough for a Ragnarok-class shuttle to land on.  The Wilburn Hills can’t hide something that big from the world forever, Major.”  He finished his drink, and set it on the table.  “Am I right?”  Delan mouthed the words ‘Ragnarok-class shuttle?’.  “Sir, what are you suggesting?”  Evgeni smiled.  “Orders are orders, Delan.  We will soon have a Ragnarok-class space shuttle in our hands; and I intend to keep it as an ace in the hole for as long as I can.”  He looked at Delan strangely, as one might regard a bug.  “Do you think you can have the facility prepared in a week?  The landing pad, anyway?”  Delan sipped his drink, and sighed.  “I don’t know, sir.  I haven’t been to Battleship Island in years.  The last time was fifteen years ago, when Galbadia explored the possibility of slicing through the landing pad to recover the computer cores stored underneath it.”  He shook his head, and finished the glass off, ignoring the burn it left in his throat.  “Even then, the landing pad was overgrown.  It’s useless, sir,” he stated.  Evgeni leaned forward, and slapped a hand down on the table.  “If you can’t do it, Delan, I will find someone who will.”  Exasperated, he leaned back.  “But I would prefer it if you would do it.  You know the area, better than anyone else we have.”  He sighed, and crossed his fingers across his chest.  “If all goes according to plan, Delan, you will have enormous power under your command.”  He set his empty glass on the table, and leaned back.  “How much power are we talking about, sir?  I must know if I am to accept what you’ve set before me.”  Evgeni sighed, and leaned forward.  The question he had been dreading to ask had finally come up.  “Who are you loyal to, Lance Delan?  Are you loyal to me?  Or are you loyal to Sorceress Lahliel?”  Delan scratched his head.  “I don’t understand, sir.  What are you talking about?  Loyalties and all?”  He set a hand on the table, leaning forward.  “What is it you mean?”  Evgeni cocked his head to one side, and gazed at Delan with cold eyes.  “You know what you’ve done, Delan?”  His gaze hardened.  “You’ve thrown your life away on a promise.”  He smiled icily.  “That’s exactly what you’ve done.  You’ve given up everything, all because Sorceress Lahliel promised you that when she conquered the world, you would be exalted above all.”  He straightened his head.  “Isn’t that right?”  “Well,” Delan started.  “Isn’t that right!?” Evgeni bellowed.  “Yes!” Delan shouted back in his face.  Evgeni settled back into his chair, and was silent for some time.  “He who exalts himself shall be humbled, Delan.  Remember that phrase.  It happened to Vinzer Deling.  It happened to Sorceress Adel.  And I suspect something similar happened in the Garden as well.”  He leaned forward, menacingly.  “It will happen to Lahliel.  Mark my words,” he said icily, glancing down at his empty glass, and debating on having another.  “Will it be your doing, or mine?” Delan said acidly.  Evgeni snapped his head up.  “I will have nothing to do with her death, Delan.”  He rested his head on one hand.  “I am offering you a choice, Delan.  Trade in this life of hazard.  Serve Lahliel, but follow me.  Go where I say, do what I say, and no harm will come to you.  I swear it.”  With that, he leaned back, and waited.  Delan was silent for a long moment, lost in thought.  Finally, he looked up, and stared Evgeni straight in the eye.  “What do you want me to do, sir?” he asked gravely.  “I need you to gather a team.  Thirty, forty men you can trust.  Good men, reliable ones.”  He reached behind his chair.  “Can you do that?”  “Yes,” Delan said, resignedly.  “What do you want us to do?”  Evgeni handed Delan a file folder, with papers spilling out of it.  “There is the technical stuff.”  He held it a moment before giving it to him.  “And here is the game plan.”  “Sir?”  Evgeni punched a key on the arm of his chair, and swivelled towards the fireplace.  The large painting over the mantle slid upwards, revealing a large computer screen, on which a model of the planet was superimposed, and two glowing dots.  The dots left a glowing trail behind them, that arced around the planet.  “These two dots represent the remaining two Esthar space shuttles, Telamon and Apocalypse.  The game plan Lahliel set for me was to board one of the ships, send over a technical crew to man the other one, and bring both ships back to the Wilburn Hills facility.”  On the screen, the two dots descended to the planet’s surface, and stopped above the nation of Galbadia.  Delan sat back, and pointed at the screen with a bent arm.  “You mean to tell me that you want my team and I on one of the ships?”  “Correct,” Evgeni said, reclining.  He jabbed another button.  “To be more specific, Sorceress Lahliel and I will board the Apocalypse with approximately forty technical personnel, and forty others, destined for the Telamon.  You will lead the second team, which will board the Telamon.”  “I assume we are to link our ships in tandem, to bring them back with us?”  “Correct.”  He gestured to the screen.  “We will enter the atmosphere approximately here,” he said, and a glowing red dot appeared over the ocean, near Fisherman’s Horizon.  “Then, we are supposed to proceed here,” he said, gesturing to another glowing dot, over Galbadia.  “We will encircle the globe once, before we enter the atmosphere enough for the drag to slow us down.”  He looked over at Delan.  “That’s when the accident happens.”  “Accident?” Delan asked, looking more than a little worried.  “Yes,” he said conversationally.  “A thruster malfunction.  The power core scramming.  Something to cause you to lose altitude.  Rapidly.”  A simulation showed one of the ships spinning out of control, plummeting into the ocean.  “But the accident will be staged.  While I take the Apocalypse back to Galbadia, you and the Telamon will proceed directly to Battleship Island, and begin preparing the facility for my imminent arrival.”  Delan nodded.  “A thruster misfire along her dorsal vane should produce the desired results,” he assented.  But what about supplies?”  “Already taken care of,” Evgeni said.  “By the time you arrive there, a transport full of materials should be waiting there for you.”  He leaned forward, resting a hand on the table.  “Use them wisely, Delan.  I cannot provide any other assistance.  That means if you run out of something, I can’t send extra stocks.  If a man dies, I cannot replace him.”  He was deadly serious.  “Exercise extreme caution.”  Delan stood up, put on his officer’s cap, and saluted smartly.  “It shall be as you say, sir.”  “Excellent,” Evgeni said, standing rapidly.  He held out his hand, and Delan shook it firmly.  “You’re a fine man, Lance Delan.  I’m glad to have found you.”  “And you as well, sir,” Major-General Delan said firmly.  “Thank you, sir.”  “Don’t thank me yet, Major,” Evgeni said, picking up his weapon, and strapping it across his back.  “We’re not out of this yet,” he grunted.  “Yes sir.”  “And another thing,” he said suddenly, making Delan jump slightly.  “Gather your team quickly.  We leave in two days, and I don’t want you to be caught unprepared.”  “Aye sir,” Delan said.  “May I be excused?”  Evgeni Sigismondavich looked at him closely, then waved him off.  “Dismissed, Major.”  As Major-General Delan stepped out of his office, Evgeni sat down heavily behind his desk, and rubbed his face with both hands.  There was no turning back now.  He was doomed to a single course of action, and doomed by what he was; and what he could never be.  The meal aboard the Atago was a relatively simple one.  There was meat, for those who wanted it.  There was grilled fish, platters of greens and bread, but little else.  Drink was restricted to water, or alcoholic drinks.  Captain Konavalov was unusually silent, and retired to the bridge early, with a small word of apology.  Squall pushed his plate of half-eaten fish away from him.  Quistis noticed.  “Not hungry, Squall?” she asked, taking another bite of steak.  He sighed, and looked over at her.  “I’m worried about Rinoa, Quistis,” he said tiredly.  “She won’t talk to me, she won’t answer the door.”  He looked back down at his plate.  “I think knowing that someone took a sorceress without anyone knowing about it disturbs her,” he said, picking at his meal with his fork.  “If someone took down a sorceress without anyone knowing about it, then that spells trouble for us.”  He looked up.  “All of us.”  Zell grumbled around a mouthful of greens.  “Frickin’ hell,” he muttered, slamming a hand down on the table.  “What are we supposed to do, then?!” he shouted.  “How are we supposed to fight something that could make a sorceress disappear without anyone knowing about it!?”  “I don’t know, Zell,” Squall said, twirling his fork around on top of his fish.  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”  He dropped his fork to his plate with a clatter, and stood.  “Not before.”  He stomped out, sighing, and running a hand through his hair.  Quistis leaned back in her chair, and sighed.  “I didn’t see that coming,” she said, and took another bite of fish.  Irvine sat down on the edge of the table, and crossed his arms.  “Something is seriously wrong here, guys,” he grumbled.  He gestured to the door.  “Squall is acting all moody, and Rinoa,” he said jabbing his thumb at the floor.  “Rinoa is being seriously antisocial.”  He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and gnawed the inside of his cheek.  “Dammit!” Zell shouted, punching the floor hard enough to make the table rattle.  “We’re about to face someone or something that nobody knows anything about, and our leader is off on another one of his own fantasy worlds!”  He stood, and smacked the table, making the dishes rattle.  “What are we supposed to do!?”  Quistis tossed her fork down with a clatter.  “I don’t know, Zell!” she shouted.  “What am I supposed to do about it?!  Squall does what he wants, when he wants!”  She leaned back in her chair, frowning.  “That’s the way it’s always been,” she said quietly.  Irvine got up, and rested a hand on her shoulder.  “Go talk to him, Quisty.  Maybe we can stop this before it becomes a big problem.”  She looked up at him.  “You think he’ll listen to me?”  He smiled down at her.  “I know he will.  You’re like a big sister to him, Quisty.  I know he’ll listen.”  He stepped back.  “And if he doesn’t, Zell and I will pound some sense into him.”  He grinned, and Zell chuckled a little bit.  With a smile, Quistis pushed her chair back, tossed her napkin on her plate, and stood.  “All right, I’ll try,” she said.  “But no promises.”  Zell raised a hand, waving.  Irvine gave his cocky little wave, just before she walked out the door.  She found Squall at the bow of the ship, leaning against the railing, looking down at the dark seas.  He turned around at glared at her before she could come up behind him.  “What is it, Quistis?” he grumbled tiredly, sitting down on a pile of coiled rope.  She took a seat on a crate next to him, and folded her hands in her lap.  “I want to talk with you Squall,” she said at last.  “We’re worried about you.”  “Don’t be,” he said, resting an elbow on the railing, and staring out at the horizon.  She ground her teeth.  “We are, Squall.  Ever since this mission began, you’ve been less and less yourself.”  He turned around to glare at her, but she went on.  “First, Rinoa won’t come out of her cabin.  Second, you’re retreating into your fantasy world again.”  She held up a third finger.  “Lastly, you’re becoming moody and antisocial.  Again,” she finished, and dropped her hand.  “Talk to me, Squall.  Tell me what’s wrong.”  For a long moment, he was silent.  Finally, he turned his head away.  “You wouldn’t understand, Quistis.”  He sighed.  “Nobody would.”  “Try me.”  He whipped his head around, glaring fiercely.  “You want to know the truth?  The truth?”  “Yes,” she said adamantly, folding her arms across her chest.  “Fine,” he spat.  “Rinoa is worried,” he said, dropping his gaze to the decking.  She knuckled her eyebrows.  “About what?”  He sighed, and held one of the small Guardian Force crystals up to the mast light.  “She’s afraid of what she is, Quistis.  She’s afraid for who she is.”  He tucked it back into his pocket, and looked over at her.  “Someone kidnaped a sorceress, Quistis.  Right out from under Esthar’s nose.  That’s what she’s worried about.  She’s afraid someone will come and steal her away, just like Eldrene Kerenmosa.”  He sighed, and leaned back against the crate behind him.  “I can’t honestly say I’m not afraid too, in some small way.”  Quistis nodded slowly, and stared up at the stars.  Like brilliant diamonds on rich black velvet, they were scattered across the heavens, glowing brilliantly.  “Squall, have you ever considered the fact that we care about Rinoa too?”  He looked at her strangely.  “How do you mean?”  “Well, not in the romantic sense,” she said softly.  “I can’t speak for Irvine or Zell, but for now, that remains the fact,” she said with a smile.  “For all practical purposes, Squall, she’s one of us.  We won’t let anything happen to her, any more than you’d let anything happen to her,” she said.  Squall was silent for a long time, fiddling with a stitch on his gloves that was coming undone.  She smiled thinly.  “Squall, it’s like you told us yourself.  If it happens, it happens.  There’s no use changing what was meant to be.”  “I never said that,” he said, confused.  “Oh?” she said, with mock concern.  “Why, those Guardian Force must be messing with my memories again,” she said, chuckling a little bit.  Squall groaned, and looked away, shaking his head.  “Oh, come on, Squall,” she said, patting his back.  “I was making a joke.”  “This is serious!” he snapped.  “I know it is,” she said softly.  “But if you don’t keep a sense of humor, then all will be lost for sure,” she said lightly.  Her tone turned serious again.  “What I’m trying to say, Squall is that you shouldn’t rely on yourself all the time.  You can’t move the world by yourself, you know,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder.  “Everyone needs help.  And we’re here to help you out, when you need us,” she said, rubbing his back.  He sighed, and rested his head in his hands.  “You’re right, Quistis,” he said at last.  “The truth hurts sometimes, Squall,” she said, patting his back.  Then, an idea hit her mind.  “Do you remember those nights when we were children?”  He looked over at her slant-eyed.  “We used to go out to the beach, and watch the stars together.”  She pointed skyward, towards the glistening gems above.  “Let’s do it again, Squall.  For old times’ sake?”  She held out her hand.  He smiled, a thin, short smile, and took her hand.  “For old times’ sake,” he echoed.  “Come on,” she said, and tugged him to his feet.  She ran over to the middle of the wide open deck, and sat down slowly.  Squall, still standing, looked down at her quizzically.  “Come on, sit down,” she said, patting the deck next to her.  With a strange look, he sat down next to her, stretching his legs out over the deck.  “What now?” he asked.  With a grin, she grabbed the collar of his jacket, and tugged him back.  He fell on his back to the deck, and Quistis landed beside him.  “Now, we watch the stars,” she said impishly.  She raised a hand, and pointed to a column of stars that marched across the heavens.  “Remember the name of that constellation, Squall?”  He squinted upwards, then sighed, smiling lightly.  “Hydra.”  He looked over at her, ignoring the cold that seeped through his jacket from the deck.  “Constellation Hydra.”  “Very good!” she laughed.  She pointed to another one, a small cluster of stars, that shone brightly.  “How about that one?”  She dropped her hand.  “I remember that one best of all.”  “I forget,” he said, with a small chuckle.  She nudged him with an elbow.  “You dog!  Constellation Raiden!”  Zell and Irvine watched the touching scene from the bridge.  Both of them were wedged against the windows, between the helm and the wardroom.  “Think she got through to him, Zell?” Irvine said, pushing his hat back up on his head.  “I hope so,” Zell said, popping his back loudly.  “Damn, this ship is cramped,” he muttered, rubbing his neck.  “It wouldn’t be cramped if you two would kindly get off my bridge,” Captain Konavalov mumbled, swinging the wheel a touch to the left.  “It’s already small enough in here.”  “Hey, you were the one who invited us up here, Captain,” Irvine reminded him.  Konavalov hung his officer’s cap on a hook above the helm.  “So I did.  For a few minutes.”  He sighed.  “I don’t like this at all,” he sighed.  “I’m a combat captain, not a pleasure ship captain!” he complained loudly.  Zell blinked.  “I didn’t think Esthar had a navy,” he said.  Konavalov shrugged.  “Esthar doesn’t.  Not one to speak of, anyway.  We have some small cruisers, and one large capital ship.”  He tapped a finger on the polished wood wheel.  “The rest of our sea power is tied up in ships like this,” he said, waving an arm around the bridge.  “Precocious little transports and pleasure craft.  Nothing more,” he sighed, taking the wheel in both hands again.  “I so want to be back on my ship now.”  Zell grabbed an empty stool, and sat down backwards on it.  “What kind of ship do you command, Captain?  C’mon, tell us, we wanna know,” he pestered.  Konavalov didn’t turn around, but instead continued to hold the wheel.  “Come on, Zell,” Irvine said, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, and hauling him out the door.  “Let’s not harass the good captain any more than we have to.”  He pushed Zell down the stairs, and poked his head back into the bridge.  “Sorry to bother you, captain,” he said, closing the door.  “No problem,” Auld said to an empty bridge.  A panel on the helm bleeped softly, and a flashing red light appeared on the panel on front of him.  Cursing, he stabbed the button.  “Captain Konavalov,” he ground out.  The screen in front of him lit up, revealing the face of a young dark-haired man, with ice blue eyes.  “Captain?”  “Yes Sudents?” he said, looking down at the panel.  Sudents looked away for a second, and there was a sound of ripping paper.  His face reappeared.  “Captain, we’ve received the latest weather report from Esthar.”  He frowned.  “It doesn’t look good.”  “Well don’t leave me hanging, Sudents, what is it?” he said, looking back up, and readjusting the wheel with practiced ease.  Sudents pressed his headset to his ear, then scribbled something down on a piece of paper.  “Just a moment, Captain,” he said, writing furiously.  “Get it over with, Sudents!” he shouted.  “We’ll be crossing the Transcontinental Railway in a matter of hours.  If something’s wrong, I want to know about it right now!”  “Yes Captain,” Sudents said, looking mollified.  “Weather Station 9 reports a large mid-oceanic thunderstorm on our present track.”  He pressed his headset to his ear for another second.  “Gale-force winds,” he said, and paused again.  “Snow,” and another pause.  “Horizontal rain.”  He tugged off his headset, and tossed it to the table.  “They also want to warn us about the possibility of pack ice.”  “Pack ice?  This far north?”  Konavalov was mildly surprised.  “It is winter, sir,” he said, scribbling something on a notepad, and passing it off to an Ensign in the background.  “And I guess the ice just pushed a little farther north this year than planned.”  He put his headset back on.  “Esthar reports that two small passenger ships have been ensnared by ice just twenty miles south of the Tsushima Straits, two hundred miles south of Syne Harbor.”  “Damn,” he swore out loud.  “Thank you Sudents,” he said acidly.  “Get some sleep, now.  We’ll be at Esthar tomorrow afternoon.”  “Tomorrow afternoon, sir?”  Now it was Sudents’s turn to be surprised.  “I’m not taking any chances with pack ice, Sudents,” he said, flicking a switch on the side of the telemotor.  “I’m going to speed up to get us there before the storm hits.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this is not exactly a ship built for heavy seas.”  He cursed again.  “Why couldn’t they just let me take the Agamemnon?  She could have taken pack ice ten feet thick without complain.”  “Sir?”  “Forget it, Sudents.  Go to bed.”  “Yes sir,” he said, and the panel went dark.  “Good man,” Konavalov mumbled.  He jabbed another switch on the column in front of him.  “Captain Konavalov to Chief Engineer Borodino,” he said loudly.  He let off the switch, and waited.  A few seconds later, the panel bleeped softly.  “Chief Engineer Borodino,” a smooth feminine voice said.  The panel blinked to life, and Chief Engineer Borodino’s face popped up.  She was a fine woman, with straight blond hair, and brown eyes.  Pretty, but not a heart stopper.  “Yes, Captain?”  “Borodino, we’re about to run into some heavy weather,” he said icily.  “We’re going to have to switch over to the main engines, and bring the turboprops online.”  He looked down at her face.  “I intend to make Esthar’s Syne Harbor by noon tomorrow.”  Borodino ran a hand through her hair, and sighed.  “That’s pushing it, Captain,” she said.  “I can bring the turboprops online, and the main engines, but I can’t guarantee that you’ll make Syne Harbor by tomorrow afternoon.”  She turned around, and shouted orders to a man behind her, who ran off.  “The best I can promise you is tomorrow, around sunset.  And even that’s pushing it almost to the max.”  “You just do your job, Borodino,” Konavalov said acidly.  “Unless you want to be stuck in pack ice, and have to walk a hundred miles to shore for help?”  Borodino scowled, then jerked around.  “Prepare the main engines!”  She turned back to the panel.  “All right, Captain.  I’ll have you at Syne Harbor by noon tomorrow.  But if we blow a bearing, I’ll have to shut the engines down for at least three days to fix them.”  She smirked.  “Discretion is the better part of valor, after all,” she said, and the screen went dark.  “Damned woman,” he said, and grabbed the microphone to the intercom system.  “All hands, this is the Captain,” he said, his voice echoing through the ship.  Crewmen turned their heads up from their work to listen.  “Due to imminent bad weather, we are switching over to main engines, and the turboprop drives.”  He paused for a breath.  “I repeat, we are switching over to main engines, and turboprop drives.  All hands prepare for heavy weather.”  He hung up the microphone, and reached over the panel for a silver button, covered by a clear cover.  “And that one,” Quistis said, pointing to a box-shaped formation of stars.  “That one is named Vulpine.”  She moved her hand to the south, towards a cross-shaped group of stars.  “There’s Constellation Tenbras.”  “I swear, I don’t remember any of these constellations,” Squall said, smiling.  “It’ll come back in due process,” she said, smiling.  “And that one,” she started, but was interrupted by the sudden vibration of the deck.  She sat up sharply, looking around.  Squall leaped to his feet.  “What’s happening?” he muttered, looking around.  Quistis scrambled to her feet.  “They’re furling the sails,” she said, pointing towards the large metal fans that sprayed upwards from the stern.  As they watched, the large metal fans retracted, and folded downwards, out of sight.  The ship began to slow, the sounds of cresting waves across the bow fading away.  The ship rapidly came to a standstill, rocking gently with the waves.  “What the hell is going on here?” she wondered out loud.  “I don’t know,” Squall said acidly.  “But I think it’s high time we found out.  Come on!” he waved, and stomped towards the bridge.  Quistis followed, her face dark.  But before they had crossed half the long sloping deck, the ship began to vibrate even more than before.  It was a struggle merely to keep their footing on the vibrating deck.  “Squall!” Quistis shouted, leaning over the railing.  He dashed to the railing, and peered over the side.  “What in the world is that?!” he almost shouted.  The side of the Atago was splitting apart along a seam; no, it was extending something behind that hull plate.  The plates tumbled into the water with loud splashes, bobbed for a second, then sank out of sight.  In their place, two long pylons were extended, shoved out about ten feet from the hull, and locked into place loudly.  The vibrations slowed, but didn’t stop, even as spume cascaded from the ends of the pylons.  “Hey, what the hell is going on?!” Zell shouted from the doorway leading below decks.  “Did we hit something?!”  “No!” Squall shouted across the deck.  “Come see for yourself!”  Zell and Irvine made their way across the shaking deck to the side, and peered over.  “What the hell is that?!” Irvine shouted, stepping back.  “I have no clue,” Squall said icily.  “But I’m going to find out.”  With that he turned, and stomped off across the deck toward the bridge.  He burst onto the bridge minutes later, slamming the door open.  “Captain, what the hell is going on!?” he bellowed.  “We’re speeding up,” he muttered, flipping a switch on a nearby panel.  “I suggest you had better hold onto something,” he warned.  “The turboprop drives aren’t noted for smooth acceleration.”  “Turboprops?  What on earth are those?!” Zell snapped.  Konavalov sighed, and turned around, leaning against the wheel.  “In about five hours we’ll be facing a nasty storm, with conditions similar to that of a mid-oceanic typhoon,” he said icily.  “I ordered the turboprop drives activated to get past it before it turns nasty.”  He turned back around, and twisted the wheel to the left slightly.  “Also, we’ll be facing pack ice in less than a day.  If we get caught in it, it’ll crush this ship like an eggshell.”  He turned back around.  “Sound like fun?”  “Not really,” Irvine muttered.  “Here,” Konavalov said, walking over to a large chart hanging on the bulkhead of the cabin.  He traced their course south, along the Esthar coast, between the Tsushima Straits, and north through the Inland Sea, to Syne Harbor.  “This is our present course.  This is how far the pack ice extends,” he said, dragging a finger just south of the Straits.  “Esthar winters are not noted for their loveliness.  We’re talking about driving snow, winds of gale force, and biting cold that slices through clothes.  And if the Inland Sea freezes over before we can get to Syne Harbor, we’ll be in serious trouble.”  He walked back to the wheel.  “Do I have your permission to continue with my operation, Commander?” he asked acerbically.  “You don’t need my permission, Captain, Squall muttered loudly.  “It’s your ship, after all.”  With that, he turned, and clomped down the stairs, cursing under his breath.  With a snort, Captain Konavalov lifted the microphone to his lips.  “Borodino, activate the turboprop drives.  All hands, brace for acceleration!”  He hung up the microphone, and grabbed the wheel tightly.  “You might want to hold on,” he said behind him.  “The turboprops pack quite a punch.”  Quistis grabbed hold of the binnacle, and Zell grabbed onto the doorframe.  Irvine stood on the stairs, unbelieving.  The ship began to vibrate slightly, then shuddered violently.  The bow lifted out of the water several feet, then slashed back downwards.  Amid the cloud of spray, the Atago roared across the waves, kicking up an enormous wake that could be seen for miles.  On the bridge, Quistis and Zell held on for all they were worth as the deck slanted, while Irvine plummeted head over heels down the stairs, cracking his head on a bulkhead, and rolling down the passageway below.  The ship thundered across the seas, leveling out after a short time.  “Irvine, man, you all right!?” Zell yelled down the passageway.  A bruised and battered Irvine staggered up the stairs, rubbing a knot on his head, and muttering not-so-muted curses. “Just peachy,” he grumbled.  “How fast are we moving Captain?” he asked, holding a hand over the lump.  Konavalov checked the panel in front of him.  “Oh, roughly seventy miles per hour,” he said conversationally.  He turned back to Irvine.  “I told you to brace for acceleration.”  He noticed the large lump on his head.  “Didn’t believe me, did you?”  “No,” he grumbled, glaring at Quistis and Zell, who were stifling laughs.  Captain Konavalov snickered, and put his cap back on his head.  “Well, you can’t say that I didn’t warn you, now did I?”  In her cabin, Rinoa listened to the muffled shouts of graphic swear words, that involved someone’s corpse and a bodily function.  She smiled shortly, then her face drooped.  She rested her head on her knees, and sighed.  Her stomach growled loudly, complaining.  She ignored it.  The ship was moving faster now, she noted, a lot faster.  The gnawing fear in her stomach began to climb again, until she stamped it down as hard as she could.  Even then, it got back up, and began to grow again.  Esthar was only a few hours away, now.  She lightly held Squall’s ring in her hand, and turned it over and over again, admiring the design.  “Why can’t I be as brave as you, Squall?” she muttered.  “Will I be this way forever?”  She felt a tear come to her eye, and she dropped the ring.  “God, I’m such a coward,” she sobbed.  Rinoa reached over, and picked up the four Guardian Force crystals from her small desk.  They glowed softly, in different hues of green, white, purple, and crimson.  Why are you afraid?  She jerked her head up.  The voice wavered through the air, seemingly coming from everywhere, but conversely, nowhere.  “Who said that?” she whispered.  We did.  Why do you feel such terror?  She looked back at the Guardian Force she held in her hand.  “Who are you?”  We are your Guardian Force.  We want to know.  Why are you afraid?  She sighed, thinking offhandedly that maybe the sorceress power had finally driven her crazy.  “I’m afraid.  Someone kidnaped a sorceress in the city we’re about to arrive at.  I’m afraid they’ll try to take me as well,” she finished, sniffling.  “I don’t want to become a slave, or be killed,” she said, her voice cracking.  “I’m scared!” she wailed fearfully, clutching the stones tightly in her palm.  They will not take you.  We will protect you.  Forever.  You are the one.  “What do you mean?!” she shrieked.  “Tell me!”  Do not raise your voice to us, child.  Hecate!  That’s more than enough.  Leave her alone.  The poor child is terrified.  Do not speak to me in such a tone, Fenrir.  Someone has to speak some sense.  Both of you!  Knock it off.  You’re acting like children.  Rinoa smiled in spite of herself.  “Thanks guys,” she said, rubbing the crystals lightly.  They shone in reflected moonlight, glowing in different colors.  Do not fear, child.  No harm will come to you.  We will protect you.  That is how it has always been.  Rest now, child.  And eat.  We will be quite hard on you when you junction us.  Yes.  You are our master now, child.  We are yours to command.  The voices faded from the air, leaving a pleasant sense of contentment.  The air seemed full of a cheerful presence, and the icy touch of being alone vanished with the kindly voices.  Rinoa actually smiled, and set the crystals on her bed.  One by one, she picked them up, and pressed them to her weapon.  They vanished into the cool metal one by one, and the luminous angel wings took on a lively sheen.  Thank you, child.  We are forever in your debt.  “No problem, guys,” she said, smiling.  Patting the Shooting Star with one hand, she pushed herself off her bed, and left the cabin.  Halfway up to the deck, she ran into Quistis, who was laughing insanely.  She stopped, however, when she saw Rinoa.  “Rinoa!” she gasped.  “I didn’t expect to find you here.”  A look of concern painted her face.  “Are you all right?  Squall told us you were,” she stopped, look abashed.  “I didn’t mean to pry, of course...”  Rinoa waved a hand in the air.  “It’s all right, Quistis.  I just needed someone to talk some sense into me, that’s all,” she said, smiling.  “Is there anything left to eat?”  “Um, yes, I think the cooks are still on duty,” she said, pointing down the hallway.  “Come on, I think the fish they served at dinnertime wasn’t done well enough,” she said, rubbing her stomach, and grimacing.  “Maybe I can find something better to eat as well.”  They both had a good chuckle out of that.  As Rinoa walked along the corridor with Quistis, she felt her spirits begin to rise.  Perhaps the Guardian Force were right.  A gust of wind from the open door above made her shiver.  It was definitely getting colder.