The Purge Part 3

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.

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.

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."

"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.

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!"

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."

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.

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 h