Seven Thunders Spoke

A Guilty Gear Alternate Universe

By Seishuku Skuld (skuldchan [a] gmail.com)

            and Skuld no Shinpu (chang.459 [a] osu.edu)

Chapter Three

It was already mid-morning by the time General Baiken stood on the forested edge of the clearing, her single eye squinting up at the sun as she waited for the high-pitched whine of airship engines descending from high atmosphere, heralding the arrival of the weekly freight drop.  Her lieutenants had roused everyone in the camp at dawn and formed a line to transport everything back to their makeshift headquarters.  It had been silent since they had positioned themselves in the shade of the forest, hearing only the occasional twitter of birds or the rustle of animals.  Baiken stared at the sky and the odd patch of cloud that drifted quietly by without disturbing the waiting army.

The past few weeks had been eerily still on the front, broken only by a few occasional skirmishes with Gears scouting the area.  Baiken's soldier's had quickly dispatched them and besides that, there was nothing.  Her mountain sentries and scouts reported to her every sunup and sundown, but every day was the same thing--nothing.  No movement, nothing out of the ordinary except that this silence was itself out of the ordinary.  Aside from a few Gear units retreating every week, there seemed to be no Gear reinforcements arriving, and no plan of attack.  The Gears were waiting, and in response the army was issued to orders to do the same all along the western front. Reports from UFFP central command and the other generals were similar—from the northern plains of Mongolia to the mountains down south, there was scarcely any movement from the enemy.  The temporary peace was a relief to the men, many who'd hardly had any R & R since Dizzy had renewed the war 15 years ago.  Though they were thankful, speculation also ran like wildfire amongst the camps, hope that the Gears were negotiating for a ceasefire and a treaty for co-existence.  But Baiken quashed those rumors whenever she heard her men murmuring about it in the tents. 

"I know Gears," she had told her men simply, staring at them with her one good eye.  She had lost the other one, and also an arm, in the Battle of Rome, the only battle the humans had ever won against the Gears, the fight where Justice was mysteriously slain.  "I've watched them kill, and they will negotiate for nothing.  They're waiting—“ she had said, pointing off to the west where the Gears had already occupied most of the world and the entire western European continent.  "They're preparing for something."  And then she would leave and the men would be left, still hushed.  It didn't matter whether or not they believed her words, simply that she had warned them.

If there really had been negotiations of any sort, Anji Mito would have told her.  They'd grown up as refugees from long-destroyed Japan, they'd fought alongside each other before Dizzy had declared a new war, and he was friend enough that he would have told her about something as important as the beginnings of a peace accord.  But all the orders central command had issued were to wait and to keep the men fit, alert, well-fed, and armed as best they could be.  This one hundred and fifty year war had suddenly turned into a waiting game, and while the men breathed a sigh of relief, the generals sat waiting anxiously.  Waiting for movement, and valuable information.

Baiken put a hand on her hip, wondering when the right answer was going to filter down the grapevine and all the way to her and her troops, buried in the mountain passes and valleys of western china.  She wondered where the Sacred Order of Holy Knights was, the military's secret guerilla and reconnaissance forces, for she had last seen a member about a month ago, which was too long for her taste.

"Time?" Baiken asked to the Private standing beside her.  She strained her ears for some sort of sound, but heard nothing coming from the skies.

"They're late as hell," her aide replied, a young boy of barely over twenty years.  Private Allen had signed up for the UFFP the first chance he'd gotten, and Baiken had watched him grow from an awkward teenager to a sharp fighter.  Allen laughed.  "But what else is new?"

Baiken snorted.  Indeed, the military were more often late than not. "They better have a good excuse for the tardiness this time, " she grunted.  "We've been waiting all morning."

It was another two hours when the sun had near reached its zenith before the airships finally descended and she heard the high-pitched squeal of the submatter engines, six giant sized cylinders to a ship, churning subspace matter into energy in desperate attempts to keep the ships airborne.  The fleet landed in the clearing, giant side doors spilling open as men piled down ramps and began to unload cargo as quickly as they could.

"Here you go, General," the chief of deck ran up to Baiken and handed her a thick envelope with a smart salute.  "These are from Anji Mito.  He asked me to deliver them personally."

Baiken took the envelope.  Something at last.

"Well done, Chief," she said as she took the packet, returning the pilot's salute with a nod.  Allen handed her a list of the delivery's inventory; the shipment was mostly foodstuffs and consumables, but Baiken did note that there were also a considerable amount of weapons being sent to her, and a note that more were on the way.  Someone had obviously been making some smuggling runs to strategic places.

"Make sure everything reaches storage," Baiken said simply, turning to her captains who had already, with the help of the airship crew, begun to carry the items to the other side of mountain where her troops had set up camp.  Inspecting her men as she walked past, Baiken headed back to her tent overlooking the valley, hoping that the contents of her packet were going to be to her liking.

*~*~*

It was another slow day, nothing particularly new.  At least, Frederick thought wryly as he sat at the counter and watched the crowd pass by his door, he had something to work on.  He tinkered absently with an old thermostat from the pile Axl had brought him four days back, as his thoughts wandered, to everything and nothing in particular.  He might have almost dozed off a few times, but quickly roused himself when he heard Ky put down his tools and begin to walk around.  Ky would kill him if he got caught napping while minding the store.  It didn’t matter that there were no customers, nodding off behind the counter was strictly forbidden.

The humidity had dissipated somewhat the four days since Axl’s last visit, but the heat had, if anything, intensified.  Frederick stared out the window, rather glad he wasn’t outside this time, at least he had work in here, and the day was rather dreary anyway—the clouds grey and overcast, blanketing the city and shutting the heat in.  Frederick wondered—hoped it was going to rain, if not today then maybe tomorrow. The summer thus far had been intolerably hot and even a warm drizzle would be a welcome change from the stuffy summer weather thus far. 

Frederick looked up as he heard Ky approach, the blond’s hair matted to his forehead, the first few buttons of his shirt hanging open as he rested his  hands on either side of the doorway and looked around the shop.  “Anybody at all today?” Ky asked.

Frederick shook his head and shrugged.  “Not a soul.”

Ky sighed and shook his head.  “I’m glad Axl dropped by and gave us something to do.”

“You’re telling me,” Frederick said, putting down the thermostat regulator he’d been fixing up.  “So…” Frederick jumped off the stool and looked at Ky expectantly.

“Want to go somewhere for lunch?” Ky said, finishing the rest of Frederick’s unspoken sentence.

Frederick grinned.  “Just what I was going to ask.”

“All right,” Ky said, his good work-ethic being slowly worn down by the boredom of the empty shop and the hot summer, “let’s go.”

“Wait,” said Frederick with dread, as Ky nabbed an amarantyne alloy rotor that looked like it belonged in something awfully familiar.  “Where’re we going?”

“The usual place.”

“But I don’t—“

“Do you want free food or not?”

Frederick scowled and followed after Ky.

“Axl’s coming today,” Ky said as they walked down the streets, in an effort to cheer up Frederick’s sudden sullen mood.  “So we have to get back early and finish some of the repairs we’ve been putting off.”

“At least we’re leaving soon,” Frederick muttered as Ky pretended not to hear.

*~*~*

It was already late in the afternoon by the time the encampment had settled down, the perimeter patrols were replaced, and everything delivered had been stored or distributed amongst the men.  Alone in her tent in the yellowing sunlight, Baiken sat at her makeshift desk scattered with reports, memos, and photographs.  The order from UFFP central command was a simple, single page.  In short, Baiken's orders were unchanged.  She was to wait.  And the most frustrating thing, Baiken thought as she ground her teeth and thought of the Gears sitting in the grass scarcely a mile away and doing nothing, was that any offensive on the part of the UFFP was going to be met with almost certain disaster.

There was the stomping of a boot on the dirt near the entrance to her tent, and Baiken ignored it at first, suddenly feeling a headache coming on.  The stomping came again, with Allen's voice asking, "Sir?  May I come in?"

Baiken sighed, shoved aside the empty envelope and the papers that were the subject of all her ire, and said, "Enter."

Allen's head peeped through the tent flap, checked to make sure that Baiken was in a state to be able see anyone and walked in a little hesitantly, perhaps sensing that now was a bad time.

"All the morning scouts are back, Sir.  The mountaintop watchtowers and all the perimeter patrols have reported in, Sir."

"And?" Baiken asked.

"All reports show no evidence of abnormal or aggressive activity by the enemy.  The men are awaiting new orders, if they've come in, Sir," Allen said, nodding toward the yellow folder on the corner of Baiken's desk.

"Tell them their orders haven't changed, Private," Baiken said simply, and made to go back to reading some important document.

A crestfallen expression crossed Allen's face as he still stood in the center of her tent, half-heartedly at attention.

"At ease, Private."

Allen relaxed.  "Permission to speak freely, General?"

"Granted."

Allen took a deep breath.  "General, if I may ask, what's going on?  What's with all this waiting?"

Baiken looked up from her reading, a small note from Johnny Sfondi of the Jellyfish Pirates.  She waved Allen to continue his speech.

Unperturbed, Allen continued.  "The men are enjoying the break, but Sir!  There's got to be a reason we're waiting out here, doing nothing.  We might like the peace and quiet for a bit, but some of us are starting to feel like cattle being fattened up for the slaughter."

Baiken put her papers down and wry grin crossed her face.  "Allen," she said honestly, "if we were just cattle, they would have killed us long ago."

"That's not funny," Allen replied with a frown.  "And you're dodging the question."

"And what is the question?"

"The men need an answer," Allen said simply.  "They need a reason why they're waiting, or at least a hope that things are going to start up randomly one day and everything will just go the same as it always has since, you know," and Allen flung his arms up in the air, "forever.  And some of them are beginning to think that things might be going worse."

"There has always been that possibility," Baiken admitted.  "In fact, 'worse' is what they should be expecting given mankind's predicament now."

"You're still dodging the question, Sir."

Baiken sighed and sat back in her chair.  She motioned to Allen to take a seat as well, and he did on one of the couches at the edges of the tent.  He waited expectantly for his general to say something to appease him.

"If you want to know the truth," Baiken began after a long silence, "I'm just every bit as anxious as the boys in the watchtowers and the men watching the front everyday.  Central Command has said nothing.  And nobody knows the reason why, or at least they haven't told me, why the Gears have suddenly frozen.  The UFFP has researchers developing new weapons, but there's no way to say when they're going to perfect, or even if they're going to perfect a Gear-killing machine before they wipe us off the planet first."  Baiken raised an eyebrow.  "Are you asking me to lie to the men?  I am as much in the dark as they are, and I have found through my experience, that sometimes the men just need to invent their own reasons for carrying on.  If you want me to give them a message of hope—“

"Well, not quite a message of hope," Allen muttered, but Baiken continued.

“—I’m not going to lie to them.  I've found that men fight much better when they've realized that if they don't, they're going to die."

Allen was beginning to look a little dejected, but Baiken held up a finger.  "Before you pull the long face, Private, I have something that may lift your spirits a little.  This information is not to be repeated elsewhere.  It is strictly top secret and confidential."

"Of course, General," Allen said.

"Here," Baiken picked up the stack of photographs that she had received earlier that day.  She tossed them to Allen.  "Tell me what you see."

Baiken waited patiently as Allen flipped through the images, his brow furrowed as he studied them intently.

"These are better resolution than our cameras can get," he said. staring in awe at the pictures, which were crystal clear photographs of several different places in the world from an aerial view. "Especially of Gear territory."  Allen pointed to an image labeled "Boston, USA" which had once belonged to the Joint Nations of the American Continent, which had fallen to the Gears over one hundred years ago.  From the few photographs he had seen taken by UFFP reconnaissance, Boston had been left in ruins, uninhabited as the Gears lacked their own civilization.  To his knowledge, all Gear resources were put towards the war effort, and it seemed they had no capital or headquarters, for their camps and facilities seemed to move with them every time they advanced.  But the pictures in his hands showed evidence of Gear movements in deep in conquered territories, in cities long abandoned.  "Where did you get these, General?"

"That's information I'm not willing to share," Baiken said.  "But tell me, what do you see?"

"Gears," said Allen, not fully sure of the implications of such a statement.  "I see Gears in old human settlements."

"And?"

"That means less Gears on the fronts, fighting the wars."

Baiken nodded.  "Go on."

"Maybe they're finally starting a civilization of their own, maybe they'll leave us alone now."

"I wouldn't jump that far to conclusions," Baiken said.  "But something is happening.  And we have no idea whether it means good news or bad."

"Hmm," Allen nodded thoughtfully as he wracked his brain for conceivable, likely reasons the Gears were beginning to repopulate old, abandoned cities.  He studied the photographs again, looking intently at the pages as if there were some decipherable code in them.  He flipped to the backside of the images and noticed that on one page there was the name "Commander Potemkin."  Allen wrinkled his nose.  He didn't remember seeing that name anywhere.  "Who's Commander Potemkin?"

Baiken shrugged, an amused but grim smile on her face.  She raised her eyes to the ceiling of her tent for a moment.  "One of the higher ups," she replied.

"Oh..." Allen said, as if he understood.  He figured that the Commander must be one of the heads of reconnaissance at UFFP Central Command.  The fresh name didn't bother him, there were plenty of suits back in Beijing he hadn't heard mention of.  It seemed that Baiken had an unusual relationship with him.  "Higher ups, huh?"

"You could say that," Baiken shrugged.  "But now you see why I'm getting a headache, Private."

Allen nodded.  "Sure can.  It's still a waiting game, General."

*~*~*

“Five days.”  Jam stood with her hands on her hips, glaring down at the two boys as they sat on their bench.  She looked like a mother scolding her children, and about to brain them with that rolling pin her hand.  Frederick was of a mind to tell her to shut up and go back into the kitchen; only his self-preservation instinct kept him silent.

“It’s been five days!” Jam exclaimed again, half the café was looking to see what the trouble was about, while the other half studiously concentrated on their food.  “Have you  been eating properly?”  Jam eyed Ky, and Ky was bright red, looking uneasily at all the eyes that stared at him.  “I bet you’re starved!  Is that why you came to see me?”

“Well, actually…” Ky fished something out from his pocket and put it on the table.  “We came to return this to you.”

Jam squealed and all the heads in the café turned.  Frederick tried to put his head down and hide.  “Oh!” she cried, wrapping her arms around Ky’s shoulders and leaving little handprints of flour, “you fixed it!  Now I’ll have eight working burners again and business won’t be slow anymore!”

And with that, Jam flounced off in a cloud of flour from her apron.  Ky wiped his shirt free of her hand marks.  “I think I’m going deaf,” he muttered and Frederick snorted. 

“At least she isn’t glaring at you.”

“True,” Ky admitted. 

Frederick shrugged.  “But hey, food’s food.”

Two hours later, they were still sitting at the same bench.  Most of the lunch customers had finished and were wandering off, and sitting beneath the tarp were mostly the teatime customers, nursing a cup of iced tea and a few meat buns.  Frederick ‘s resistances had long since worn down, and he leaned his elbow on the table with his head on his hand, a obviously bored expression on his face.  Jam wasn’t even trying to talk to him, which made the boredom even worse.  Occasionally, Ky kicked him from underneath the table.

“Heard business is kind of slow lately,” Jam said, kneeling on the bench next to Ky and practically speaking into his head.  Over the last hour Ky had been inching gradually away from her, but every time he moved, Jam soon followed and now he was sitting on the edge of the bench and if he moved any further, he was going to fall off.

“Yeah?”  Ky said, “where’d you hear that?”

Jam waved at the air.  “Around.  You know me, I hear a lot of things around here.  People tell me things as they eat.”  She spared a look at Frederick, who seemed to be staring off at the sky.  “You know, it’s called conversation.”

“I’m surprised you have time to converse with this place being as full as it is sometimes,” Ky said.

Jam laughed.  “All right,” she said with a shrug and a smile, “I guess you can call it eavesdropping too.”  And then she stopped laughing and hunched down, lowering her voice.  It was just barely loud enough for Frederick to hear too. 

“You know,” Jam said, looking about to make sure nobody was trying to eavesdrop on them, “I hear all the fighting’s stopped on the front.”

“Really?” Ky asked.  He frowned, he didn’t remember hearing news like that, and he read the news every day.

Jam nodded.  “The Gears have just stopped attacking.  There hasn’t been a battle in weeks.”

Ky stared at her intently, and even Frederick started paying attention, sitting up properly in his seat so he too could listen in.  “What are they doing?” Ky asked.  “What’s happening?”

Jam shook her head.  “I dunno.”

“Could it be the end?”

“I don’t think so,” Jam said, brows creasing with worry.  “Everybody wants it to be the end, but I’m sure it’s not.”

“Have things ever even taken a turn for the better?” Frederick asked.  He liked being the cynical voice, though he was half asking because he didn’t know—didn’t remember if there was ever a time since Justice had started the war, that humanity wasn’t fighting for its very right to exist.

“Just when Justice was defeated.  And since then, well, not as far as my memory goes,” Jam said.  “And everything we see around us,” she nodded at her café, the dusty streets, the dilapidated buildings, “tells us so.”

Jam got up as she saw more customers sitting down and looking for somebody to place their orders.  “Anyways, I’ll let you boys go.  It’s about teatime.”

Ky nodded, his expression grim.  “Thanks for lunch,” but Jam was already off.  He looked over to Frederick who didn’t seem terribly affected by the news.  “What do you think?”

Frederick shrugged.  “She hears all kinds of things here,” he said quietly as they got up and out of earshot, “that girl exaggerates like no other.  I don’t care anyway.  We’re just trying to scrape a living while there’re still humans around to protect the rest of us.”

“Hmmm,” Ky murmured thoughtfully.

“Going back early, huh?” Frederick said, as they meandered down the streets back to their home and their shop.  “So much for that.”

*~*~*

“Zato should be glad he’s blind,” Venom thought as he took a seat on the wide couch next to his employer, Zato.  The couch he sat on was large enough for five people to be seated on it at once—Venom, Zato, Millia, Commander General Slayer and his wife, Sharon were all shuffling about and trying to make themselves at home.  Zato had made it a point to sit next to Millia, and Millia had made it a point to move to the clear other end of the couch away from both Venom and Zato and next to the Commander General.  Sharon did not seem to mind where she sat so she took a seat in the middle, her husband on one side and Zato on the other, who enjoyed her company almost as much as he enjoyed Millia’s.

Visiting Commander Potemkin's home was a like a trip to an oversized playhouse--the doorways were higher and wider than normal, and the chairs were larger and taller.  All in all it made his visitors feel like small children, and even Zato who was blind sensed that the room and everything in it was bigger than it normally would have been. 

Potemkin stood in front of them and waited with patient silence for his guests to arrange themselves on his furniture.  To say that he was a big man would be an understatement--he was quite literally a giant.  He towered over everybody else on Zepp, other self-defense force commanders included, and had it not been for the fact that Slayer had personally taken an interest in his raising as a youth, the Commander General would have sworn that Potemkin's size and intellect must have indicated that he was a Gear.

Potemkin cleared his throat and began once his fellow guests from the Reformation had settled down, and he pulled out a sheaf of papers out from his pocket and put them on his oversized coffee table for them to inspect. 

"These are printouts from the latest photographs our surveillance satellites have taken."  Potemkin pointed at the image he had set out at the far end of the table.  "And these," he gestured to the rest at the other side, "are a series of photographs of the same area, 3 days apart."  Potemkin spoke like he walked, slowly and ponderously.  He was a man of relatively few words, for which everybody was thankful, because if he spoke more than he needed to, his conversations would never end.  His voice was a deep, thunderous rumble and about just as clear.  Millia found out early on that if she didn't pay full attention to what he was saying, she was likely not to understand him at all.

"Which area is this?" Sharon asked, perched at the edge of the couch cushion, her toes barely touching the floor.  As a historian, she was interested in any movements of the Gears, even though she was not directly involved in any Reformation activities.

"Washington D.C. and vicinity," Potemkin replied.  He pointed a finger as thick as Sharon's wrist at one of the images.  "The giant circle of debris around the center of the metropolis is the remains of the Beltway.  Note the appearance of several Gear units as the days progress."

Zato stayed silent.  He could not see the images, but he seemed to be thoughtful nonetheless.

Slayer raised an eyebrow.  "And where are these Gears are coming from?"

"Other images indicate they are being pulled from the war front and the supply infrastructure and transported here, as well as several other locations."

"Well," Venom said in a low voice, "that explains why the war's been quiet for the past couple of months."  He seemed relieved that there was a rational explanation for the stillness on the part of the Gears.  "It may give us the time we need to arm a successful counterattack."

"Where are the other images taken?" Zato asked.  "Are they all cities?"

"Boston, London, Paris, Vienna, Rome, and Moscow," Potemkin replied.  "We have not seen unusual enemy movement elsewhere."

Slayer peered at the images, noting that the appearance and movement of Gear units within the abandoned cities seemed to concentrate around several, but specific and clearly delineated areas of the city.

“Any idea what the patterns of their movements mean?”

“We can map the exact coordinates of their units and match it to our database,” Potemkin replied hesitantly, “but our database is sparse.”

“Give them to me,” Sharon said.  “I can identify some of the areas of the city faster than anyone else.”

“There are hundred of images,” Potemkin said, but Sharon was firm.

“I’ll do my best.”

There was a moment of silence and then Zato ventured to speak again.

“That still doesn’t answer the question of what we think the Gears are doing.  Are they building new factories?  Are they trying to rebuild these cities?  Have you noticed any new structures going up?”

“No,” replied Potemkin simply.  “We haven’t seen anything.”

“If I see anything in the larger resolution images,” Sharon said, “I’ll be sure to call an emergency meeting.”

Zato nodded, but he didn’t seem satisfied.  Of all the things he hated most, from wasted time to inefficiency, he hated his own blindness, and the fact that he had to depend on other people to do his work for him.  “They’re doing something,” he said, giving voice to the doubts of every person in the room.  “They wouldn’t be pulling Gears back to every seat of the Joint Nations and Federation if they weren’t up to something.”

Venom raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t realized the significance of those cities before. 

“Information, do you think?” Millia asked. 

“On what?” Venom asked, but Millia merely responded with a shrug.  She had little idea.

“Anything we say now is merely speculation,” Slayer said.

Sharon smiled.  “Which is what I do best.”

An uncomfortable silence followed.  Zato was fond of Slayer’s wife; she had light, airy laugh and in his imagination she was very beautiful.  She was also intelligent and knowledgeable, and for those reasons Zato liked her.  The one things he didn’t like were Sharon’s speculations, her theories on the Gears and how she believed that no major Gear counterattack could be successful without more information on them.  In Zato’s mind, weapons were weapons and they were made to kill.  And the more of them there were, the more would do the job and eventually the Gears would be gone.  Sharon had explained some of her theories to him once, and he had not liked them at all, even if he had not told her so.

“I’ll have the data crystal for you by early morning tomorrow,” Potemkin said, nodding in her direction.

“Thank you, commander.”

“Well,” Venom said, clasping his hands.  It seemed that one item on the agenda of the evening’s meeting had been dismissed, but there were many others to move on with.  It didn’t seem likely that they were going to get any further on the subject of the surveillance images until they had more information.  “Shall we be moving on then?

“Before that,” Potemkin put up a large hand, shushing the silver-haired bar manager.  “How about some tea?”

Drinking out of one of Potemkin’s mugs was like drinking from a bowl.  “No thank you,” they said, all politely declining.

*~*~*

Axl looked to Frederick for help, but Frederick was shaking his head.

“I don’t like the idea, man.  One of the original parts of the deal was that we wouldn’t have to deal with them directly.”

“That’s right,” Ky said adamantly, glad to see that Frederick was on his side.  “You’re the middleman, they want things to get fixed, they go to you and you give the equipment to us.  When we’re done, we give what we’ve fixed back to you, and we don’t have anything to do with the Scavengers, or whatever black market, underworld dealings they have.”

“Look, look, look,” Axl put his hands up.  “It’s not my fault, I can’t do anything about it.  I know you hate the idea of going to see the boss, but…” and Axl looked like he was completely at a loss, “if I don’t get you two to the boss, I get my ass kicked.”  He made a sign across his throat.  “They’re gonna kill me.”

Frederick gave his friend a doubtful look.  “I seriously doubt if they’re going to do something that drastic.”

“All right, they’re not going to kill me, but I’m going to fall a couple of rungs down the ladder, and the boss isn’t going to be happy about that.”

Ky shook his head.  “I still don’t like the idea.”

“Guys please,” Axl pleaded, “he just wants to meet with you.  I bet he just wants to show you more of the equipment he salvaged.”  He pointed at Frederick.  “Like that thing I brought for you the other day.”

Frederick seemed to weigh that with his immediate dislike of having any connections with the Scavengers. 

“What do you mean ‘I bet?’” Ky asked.  “He didn’t tell you what he wanted us for?”

Axl shrugged.  “This is one of the big bosses.  I’d be lucky if he knew my name, he doesn’t tell me what he’s thinking!”

Ky put a hand to his forehead.  “This is such a bad idea.  Frederick, this is such a bad idea.”

Frederick nodded.  “You’re right,” he said.  “I don’t want to do this.  Neither does Ky.  But I have to admit,” and he shrugged a bit, “I’m a little intrigued.”

“Oh god, I was afraid you were going to say that.”

Axl’s face lit up.  “Wonderful!” he exclaimed.

“I’ll go with you, and Ky can stay here if he wants.  I just have two conditions.”

“Name anything,” Axl assured him, “and I’ll do my best.”

“If something bad happens, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“All right,” Axl said, “what’s number two?”

“I want to see that thing you brought to me again.”

Axl seemed in the midst of a reply and he froze.  “What?”

“I want to see it again,” Frederick said.

“If he doesn’t show it to you?”

Frederick nodded.  “That’s right.”

“So what do I do if he doesn’t show it to you?”

“I dunno,” Frederick shrugged.  “That’s your problem.  Steal it, maybe.”

“Do you want to see it or keep it?”

Frederick grinned and clapped his friend on the back.  “Whichever one is easier for you.”

Axl groaned, he didn’t like the sound of those conditions, but reluctantly, he was forced to agree.  “All right, man, a favor for a favor.”

“I don’t like the sound of this at all,” Ky said when the other guys had finished, looking rather pleased with themselves.

“The boss would prefer it if you were there,” Axl said, “but if you really don’t want to go, I’m sure he’ll satisfied with just Frederick.”

Ky shook his head.  “I think I have to go too.”  He glared at Axl, and Frederick—who was impervious, and back at Axl again.  “If something bad happens, I’m kicking your ass too.”

“Done,” Axl said, extending his hand.  Ky stared at it, but didn’t shake.  It was all he could do to restrain himself from socking that silly grin off of Axl’s face. 

“Do we need to bring anything?” Ky said, standing up and dusting himself off.  “Let’s go.  Get it over and done with.”

Axl shook his head and looked around.  “I don’t think anything here is terribly necessary.  Besides,” he smiled, “if you need something, you can always come back and get it.”

Frederick nodded, it was with a sense of forboding that he turned off the lights and locked the door behind him.  It was already past midnight, and the streets were empty, quiet, and dark. 

“C’mon,” Axl cocked his head to the side, leading them away from the city.  “HQ is this way.”

Frederick and Ky looked at each other and wordlessly followed their friend.

*~*~*

Sharon was already dozing off in bed, a book in her lap with the nightstand lamp still on when Slayer climbed into bed with her.  He sighed with contentment, there was nothing like a warm bed with the wife in it after a long and trying day. 

“Slayer?” Sharon asked, blinking sleepily and shielding her eyes against the light.  “Can you turn the light off, baby?”

“Sure,” Slayer said, reaching over and turning off the light as Sharon handed him her book and he put it away.  He settled himself into bed and Sharon scooted over to cuddle, wrapping long, thin arms around his waist as she settled her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. 

“You know,” Sharon whispered, lifting to head a little as she spoke, placing a kiss in the middle of Slayer’s bearded jawline, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“You know the cities Potemkin showed us today?”

Slayer nodded.  “Yes.”

“I’ve sent the Jellyfish there, to all six places, within the past year.”

“But you’ve sent them many other places too.”

“I know,” Sharon said, “but those places.”  She sighed.  “I can’t stop thinking, that maybe they’re looking for the same thing we are.”

Slayer sat up.  “What?”

“I think they’re onto something, and it’s the same thing we’ve been spending the past five years looking for.”

“No,” Slayer said, “that can’t be.”

Sharon shook her head.  She buried herself in the pillows, sinking down into the bed and sheets.  “I can’t stop thinking that that’s what they’re doing.  They’re looking too.  They know as little about Justice’s death as we do.  So they’re going all the way back to square one and looking at clues.  It makes sense.  That’s why they have so many Gear units circling Saint Peter’s in Rome.”

“You checked?”

Sharon shook her head.  “I didn’t need to.  The ruins are unmistakable.”

Slayer was silent for a moment.

“Think about it,” Sharon pleaded.  “It makes so much sense.  The seat of the UFFP, every time something was destroyed and it had to move.  And the Basilica.  They’re searching St. Peter’s.  Justice died there.”

“Maybe they’re just trying to clear up the mystery of her death,” Slayer suggested.

Sharon shook her head.  “Then they wouldn’t be looking anywhere else.  They’re looking for SOL, love. I know they are.  They’re trying to find him, same way we’re trying too.”  Sharon took one of Slayer’s hands in her own and clasped it tightly. 

“It’s a race,” she whispered.  “And whoever finds him first, wins.”