chapter two: company policy

"Every tool is a weapon if you hold it right."

--Ani DiFranco

"Shit!"

Ellis glanced up in alarm from one etherized Jenova rat. "What is it?" he asked sharply. Kal winced, squeezing one hand in the other as he turned away from the counter.

"Oh, it's all right; just put my hand down on a scalpel." He chuckled a little, embarrassed. "I think that means it's time I started sleeping more."

"Probably," Ellis agreed with a little smile, standing up to approach the older man. "Let me take a look at it." Kal turned his hand obediently palm-up; Ellis probed the injury briefly, and looked back up with a nod. "It's a nasty cut, but fairly shallow." He smiled a little. "I think you'll live."

Kal laughed, scratching absently at his short blonde beard as he returned to his work. "Oh good. Hojo would be furious with me if I had the nerve to die before analyzing his culture." Ellis chuckled and sat back down with the rat, watching where Kal put his hands now with just a touch of concern. He was fond of the older man, and they seemed to share a lot in common, having spent more than one slow afternoon absorbed in their own scientific discussions. Kal was more than a little unusual in appearance as well as disposition for the group: a well-built, fair-haired, amiable biochemist who looked as though he'd be more at home chopping wood outside a cabin somewhere than deciphering carbon compounds at an electron microscope; he must look more than a little strange chatting all the time with a thin, pale red-headed med student, Ellis had thought more than once. He knew Gast was fond of Kal, too; they'd known each other for many years before the Project.

The older man turned back to the counter now, shuffling the samples arranged there absently. Neither he nor Ellis had any way of knowing that Emerson, smearing the plates that morning, had slipped and left a tiny, transparent daub of Jenova cells on the plate's lid; nor was Kal looking closely enough at the plate to see those cells move, slowly and steadily, up the plastic and into the cut on his hand. He only felt a sudden jolt in the injury, and jumped, thinking for a moment he heard a burst of voices murmuring incoherently somewhere inside him.

Ellis looked up again when Kal started, frowning. "Something wrong?"

Kal pulled his hand off the plate, staring at it bemusedly for a moment. "No," he said at length, looking up at Ellis somewhat sheepishly. "Just stings a little. I ought to put something on it."

"Yes, you should," Ellis confirmed, perhaps a little severely. Kal smiled slightly and edged around the table, toward the first aid supplies, trying to tell himself he'd imagined that... and that he was also imagining the occasional whispers he heard beginning in the back of his mind.

*

Professor Gast took a deep, slow breath, closing his eyes briefly with his hand on the knob of the door before him. At last, he forced himself to turn it, and walked into the next room.

"Jeffrey." Vice-president Shinra--the boy, they'd been calling him for years and continued to call him though he was well into his thirties now, an ironic nod to his hereditary position, gained only by being the president's son--looked up from a pile of paperwork on his desk that seemed to be largely ornamental, and offered a richly polite smile with no warmth whatsoever. A politician's smile, Gast thought to himself, returning it with about the same level of sincerity. "Please, have a seat. I haven't seen you in quite some time; I trust our project is going well?"

Our project? Gast wondered with a purely internal smirk. Cute, Jonathan. I'll remember that next time you cut funding.

"Fairly," he said shortly, taking the hard wooden chair that sat on the near side of the vice-president's desk--the only other piece of furniture the cramped, dim room would allow. "We've made some real breakthroughs of late, and I think we're getting much closer to deciphering the nature of the specimen."

"Really?" Shinra leaned forward across the desk, a glint of foolish eagerness showing in his eyes. "What sorts of breakthroughs? What have you discovered?"

Gast suddenly found himself suppressing a mad urge to reply brightly, Well, actually, it turns out Jenova shits gold and pisses gasoline. Its brains make an excellent lubricant, if you plug it in it can power six cities, and it gives pretty good head, too. How does that grab you, sir?

Instead, he turned his head to one side and coughed into his fist to disguise a bark of wild laughter, and began to explain--using the smallest words possible, he thought with another inward ironic smile--the basics of their discoveries. The viral behavior of the cells... their strange multicellular cohesion... the biochemical structures they'd begun to find...

"Well, that's fascinating," the vice president interrupted at length, suddenly, with an ingratiating smile, "but is there anything really important?

Gast froze. It felt as though his entire body clenched.

God. He wanted the first answer.

"What exactly did you have in mind, sir?" he asked with impressive--if forced--politeness.

His superior's smile remained, somehow growing steadily more infuriating as time went on. "I just thought you might have come to some more conclusions, about the--implementation of this creature, this--Jenova. We are a corporation, of course, with corporate interests, and while scientific discovery is certainly an added asset--"

"I was under the impression, sir, that scientific discovery was the goal of this project," Gast interrupted coldly.

Another smile. "One of them," Shinra said calmly, with the air of a man soothing an aggravated mental patient. "We have many goals--many wishes--for this project's achievements. And of course, we've come to expect only the best of achievements from you, Jeffrey."

"Of course," Gast replied dryly, resisting the impulse to add, Jon. "So what you want to know, more or less, is how we can use Jenova to benefit Shinra. Correct?"

The vice president smiled again, looking almost relieved; the mental patient was beginning to talk sense. "Correct."

"As a tool or a weapon?"

The question was a bit blunt for Shinra's boardroom manners; he looked startled for a moment, then put on a chummy co-conspirator's look. "Well, any tool can be a weapon, Jeffrey; it just depends on how one holds it." That greedy glint returned to his eyes. "Either way would be satisfactory; how can we use it?"

"I don't know," Gast replied pleasantly.

For a moment the smile disappeared, and the young vice president's face showed a flash of a much less politic and much more real ugliness. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared; but Gast could still see it lurking below the surface. He had known it was there all along anyway.

"I don't think I will know for quite a while, in fact," he continued, standing up from the chair. "Scientific discovery is something of a lengthy process, and in a matter such as this, it is the only way to any understanding. We'll need longer to produce your results."

Shinra's smile had become a little less diplomatic and a little more feral. "I only hope my father chooses to continue to bankroll the project for as long as you need," he returned with an acid tinge. Gast smiled back, bitterly, as though returning enemy fire.

"Don't worry about that, sir. I'm sure the president will finance the project as long as you continue to take such a wonderful interest in its findings. Its... scientific discovery, so to speak."

"I'm sure," the vice president said coldly, all trace of his smile gone. "You're dismissed, Jeffrey."

Gast nodded his head, in a sort of ironic half-bow. "Thank you. Sir."

And left.

*

Ellis and Ruth looked up when the door of the lab banged open; Hojo only continued frowning into the eyepiece of the microscope, and Kal was staring distractedly at one blank wall, looking preoccupied and disquieted. He seemed to shake it off, however, as Gast slumped irritably into the room, depositing himself on one of the stools surrounding the central table and dropping his forehead into one hand.

"How did the interview go?" Kal asked mildly.

Gast snorted, rubbing his temples. "How does it ever go?" he asked dryly. "Good Lord, that man's head is so far up his ass he could sniff his prostate." He cast a glance at the interns. "Don't repeat me, please." Ellis smiled; Ruth snickered and returned to cleaning the test tubes.

"What is it this time?" the elder scientist inquired knowingly, sliding a few plates of cell cultures into one of the overhead cabinets. "Are you still too young to be a department head?"

"Oh, no. That's all done now. He just wants to know when I'll have Jenova singing and dancing for the next company ball." Gast shook his head, standing again, with a bitter little twist to his mouth. "As if it weren't enough of a hint to have Heidegger and Nasuri lurking around here..."

"Ugh." Hojo wrinkled his nose, joining the discussion without turning from the microscope. "Don't remind me. I could feel the collective IQ of the building sink as they arrived. Not to mention the floorboards."

"Ghouls," Kal muttered darkly. "If I wanted to help them build their arsenal for whenever things heat up with Wutai, I'd be back in Junon building bombs for minimum wage."

Gast gave another sardonic little snort. "It's not even a question, Kal. We all build the arsenal one way or another, or else we don't get the paycheck. That's company policy: everybody gets blood on his hands to get cash in his pocket." He sighed, and pulled off his glasses, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. "Well, anyway. End of the daily rant. Anything new?"

"Yes, maybe," Kal replied, a bit more brightly. "Hojo's been working on something Lucrecia came across last night. The cells are..." He trailed off, looking distracted again, then shook his head as if to clear it. "Sorry. The--the cells are doing something very strange for viruses, and we're trying to figure out why."

The project head frowned at him as he came up behind Hojo's shoulder at the microscope. "Are you all right, Kal?" he asked.

"Yes," Kal answered, perhaps too quickly. "Fine."

Gast looked at him oddly for a moment, but at last turned his attention back to Hojo, shrugging slightly. "Well, what are the cells doing, exactly?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Hojo replied absently. "We're not certain yet... but it looks like when the cells attach to animal cells to reproduce themselves, they're also transmitting additional mRNA, besides the reproductive information, which is being transcribed the same way by the host cells and used to actually change their own structure."

"They're what?" Gast leaned in closer, bumping up his glasses. "What's happening to the host cells?"

"They seem to be--strengthening," Hojo said, almost as though to himself, his frown deepening. "Increased productivity, far more resilient membranes... the cells are actually improving performance, somehow. And their spacing is different, too; they seem to be dispersing, loosening the packing. Dr. Darmin has been investigating the chemical changes in the cellular bonding." Kal nodded in affirmation.

"Hmm." Gast straightened again, giving the younger man an approving clap on his shoulder. "Fascinating. You and Lucrecia have certainly been putting together a great many pieces of this puzzle; you two are quite the hard workers."

Hojo shrugged modestly, shifting backward to change the plate in the microscope. "Well, I can't really afford to slouch if I intend to receive a doctorate."

"You also can't afford to work yourself to the ground if you intend to live that long," Gast pointed out dryly. Hojo flapped his hand at the elder scientist in an impatient shooing gesture, returning his attention to the viewer; Gast chuckled and walked back over toward the door. Kal rose then, with a troubled look, and stopped him on his way out, pulling him aside.

"Do you think Shinra's going to try to shut us down, Jeff?" he asked in a low voice. Gast shook his head.

"No. The boy still needs this to go through, one way or the other. He couldn't let the Project go even if it turned around and bit him; it'd be too big a hit to his credibility. Old man Shinra's no fool, and he knows his son won't make much of a president. It'll just take Jon one big embarrassment to lose himself his bid for the throne."

Kal nodded slowly. "You've got him by the balls."

"So to speak," Gast agreed. "He knows it, and he can't do anything about it. He needs the Jenova Project, and the Jenova Project needs me. No matter how much he wants to, he can't throw me out; but he can try to make my life hell for the next few months, and I have no doubt he will."

Ellis frowned, standing and rounding the table to join them. "If you don't mind my interrupting--what does he have against you?"

"That's a long story," Gast muttered.

"Jeff has a bit of a history with Jon Shinra," Kal explained, with a tight, mostly false little smile. "They've had a few--disagreements over certain concepts. Such as ethics, logic, science... And they've seen some of the same things go by. Suffice it to say there are more than a few skeletons in the boy's closet, and Jeff knows them all by name. Jonathan doesn't care much for men who don't have to jump when he says frog."

"And so the science wing of Shinra gets just enough money to keep the imbalance from attracting attention," Gast picked up, a bit viciously. "That's company policy, too. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer... and keep all of them muzzled if they look like they might bite." He looked at Ellis squarely, measuredly. "That's Shinra," he said quietly. "Remember that if you ever find yourself doubting what they're about."

Then Gast left the lab again and Kal returned to his work, leaving Ellis to ponder on his own.

*

So much fuss over one small man.

Kal jerked upright suddenly in his chair, looking around a bit wildly. That was no mistake; he'd heard it--that quiet, slightly amused feminine voice, a voice that somehow seemed to be many voices in one--as clearly as if someone had spoken into his ear. His gaze flew to Ruth... but she was across the lab, humming under her breath and racking cleaned equipment.

And he thought he knew better, anyway.

He doesn't matter, the voice continued in its strange whisper. We'll take care of him, if we need to. Won't we?

Stop it. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly as though dizzy, and pressed his palms against his temples. Get out of my head. I don't know who you are, but--shut up!

But you know who we are, it persisted implacably. You know us. Yes. Don't you?

And the worst of it was... he almost thought he did.

It had started two mornings ago, after he'd cut his hand on the scalpel while working on some of Hojo's early samples, and the loose cohesion he'd seen between the isolated Jenova cells. It was getting louder, slowly; it was beginning to fill his head, telling him things... strange, unsettling things.

At first he'd wondered if he might be going mad. But now he thought that madness might have been a blessing.

What did I do to myself? In God's name, what the hell did I do?

Good things, the voice soothed. Nice things. You're fine. We're all fine. We'll take care of everything.

Who are you? he asked it again, almost fearing to.

You know. We are us. You are Kal. We are Kal.

We are Kal's friend. We love Kal.

But some are not our friends.

We love Kal.

The boydoctor fears us. He is not our friend.

Be our friend, Kal. We love Kal.

Kal.

Kal.

Kal sealed his fists against the sides of his head, as though he could squeeze out the offending presence from it like pulp from an orange. "Shut up," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Just shut up!"

"Doctor?"

Ellis's concerned voice broke through his tattered consciousness. Kal raised his head slowly, lowering his fisted hands gradually back to his sides. Ellis, Ruth, Gast (when did he come back? he wondered feveredly. How long have I been like this?), and even Mike were gathered around him, looking worried, hovering over where he'd slid halfway out of his chair. They looked like pallbearers gazing down into a coffin.

"Are you well, Kal?" Gast asked quietly. Kal looked around at them, dazed and slightly wild-eyed.

"Yes," he answered in an airless whisper. "Fine. I'm fine. Excuse me."

He bolted out of his chair, dodging his head from their eyes, and left without another word.

*

Vincent rapped briskly again on Lucrecia's door, shifting his weight uncomfortably. The little house, down in the body of the village and away from the mansion, was originally rented for the research team's use, but almost all the scientists had contrived to relocate into the mansion, closer to the lab. As far as he knew, only Lucrecia still stayed here; and she more or less lived in the laboratory anyway.

He shook his hair back impatiently, raising his hand to knock again. I hope she's there... but I already checked the lab, and I can't imagine where else she would be. ...What the hell am I doing here, anyway? Why should I expect this to go any better than it has before? If I had any sense, I suppose I would have given up on her long ago... but I haven't. I don't think I can.

Now if I could just find her.

His fist had barely landed the next frustrated blow before the door swung open under it, revealing Lucrecia's face through the gap. Her hair was down, shoulders bare of her customary lab coat. "Vincent," she acknowledged with mild surprise. "Is something the matter?"

Aside from that I'm going crazy trying to chase you down? "No," he replied quickly. "I just--" He cleared his throat. "I heard you might be promoted within the Project. Congratulations."

She smiled--a real smile now, he thought, warming to him with the comment. "Well, it's not definite yet, but thank you," she replied. "It would be nice to finally get some kind of credit."

"You deserve it," he said adamantly, seriously. "I've seen how hard you work there... I don't understand why you haven't gotten more attention as it is."

Lucrecia gave him a brief, bitter smile, as if to say that she did, and she thought he did too. "Well, let's keep our fingers crossed," she said instead, briskly. "How are you doing these days?"

Vincent almost started at the question. "Fine. Thanks. We don't have a lot to do--I think soon Megan might start cutting off my extremities for sport--but the quiet is actually relaxing, really." She chuckled a little, leaning in the doorway. A soft breeze--an unseasonably warm one, in fact; Lucrecia didn't look uncomfortable at all out here, really, and she was relatively lightly dressed--breathed across the step, tousling her hair softly through the brief silence.

Well, if you're planning to say anything, you'd best do it now, his mind admonished in a mutter. There'll be no better time; maybe not even any other time...

Vincent cleared his throat again, raising his head slightly to meet her eyes. "Lucrecia--" She cocked her head inquiringly. "There's something--I'd like to speak to you about. If that's all right." He gestured vaguely at the doorway, in suggestion. "Is there any chance we could--"

"Lee?" a voice interrupted him from inside the house. "Who is it?"

Vincent froze at the sound of the nickname--she let very few people call her that, he knew only too well--and Lucrecia managed to look perplexed, irritated, and relieved all at once. They both turned to see Hojo appear in the doorway, also dressed down from the lab, coming to Lucrecia's elbow. He lifted an inquisitive eyebrow in her direction; she smiled patiently, turning toward him.

"Vincent was just stopping by to congratulate me on my possible promotion," she explained in a smooth, practiced diplomat's tone. "And us both on the engagement, I imagine."

The--engagement? They... what...

Vincent's eyes followed her vague indication to her left hand, taking in the slender gold band--how did I miss it? how long has it been there?--with a sensation vaguely like an enormous blow to his head. He looked up to both expectant pairs of eyes, one neutral, one hostile, feeling at once numb and profoundly, astronomically stupid.

"Yes," he concurred in a voice that felt disconnected from both his mind and mouth. "Congratulations. Good luck to you both."

Apparently satisfied, Hojo gave a small, not entirely cold nod, and stepped back slightly with a brief touch of Lucrecia's hand. She smiled at Vincent, almost apologetically.

"Gast isn't fond of the idea in the middle of his project, of course, but if it's legal it's really out of his sphere of objection," she explained briskly; he barely heard a word, still wondering why his lungs were processing such an alarmingly small amount of air. "But I suppose that's another story entirely..." She seemed to focus on him then, frowning curiously, almost suspiciously -- it seemed he wasn't the only one just beginning to realize the obvious...

"Wasn't there something you wanted to discuss with me, Vincent?" she asked slowly, carefully.

Vincent's eyes went, against his will, to Hojo, standing behind her shoulder, and he shook his head. "No," he answered, still somewhat distractedly. "No, nothing. Well--I'll see you later. Both of you, I suppose. Congratulations again."

And with that, he turned blindly away, and headed back down into the center of town, barely hearing the door shut behind him. It sounded like a lid falling on a tomb.

*

As long as it makes her happy, I don't mind.

Vincent stared dismally--and a touch blurrily--down into the neck of the bottle he clutched in one hand, sloshing around the liquid inside. He couldn't even remember what it was. Not that it had mattered to him. Rip had handed over the bottle without a word when he'd asked, without any particular regard for commander-subordinate appearances; if it had had a label, he would have been too drunk by now to read it anyway.

I doubt seriously he's supposed to have it in the mansion at all. He snorted a little, taking another pull and resting his arms on his knees. Not that Rip cares what he's supposed to do; he could pillage, rape and murder and the execs would still lick his boots. They know they could never find anyone else to do his job half as well. And besides, what right do they have to say no? What else should we do when everyone in this one-horse town's one-horse bar looks at us like we're rabid pit bulls the minute we set foot in the door?

He took another long swallow from the bottle, grimacing and swiping a hand across his mouth afterwards. Vincent supposed he'd never be the kind of drinker Rip was, or even Megan; but after that afternoon... he needed it tonight. He needed something tonight.

He sighed, leaning back against the rear wall of the mansion, tilting his head up to look at the brilliant, emerging stars. How could I have been such an idiot? All that time--there must have been signs, something that I should have seen--could have stopped making a fool of myself... Well, I guess it's over now anyway. Once and for all. It's my problem, not hers; if he makes her happy and keeps her well, then I won't stand in the way. I can't. And that's that.

But I can always drink.

And he proceeded to do so, sloshing the unidentified stuff a little as he did to gauge the amount left. Near empty. Well, I imagine Rip wouldn't have given it to me if he didn't expect me to drain it, knowing him. He smiled a little, bitterly. And besides, what's a boss for?

Damn it, why her? In Shinra, when I was training for the Turks, when I was in school, there were always women who could have caught my attention, who would certainly have returned it... why couldn't it have been one of them? Why Lucrecia; why her beauty, her intellect, her spirit? Why not another, one within reach? Whose cruel joke was it to make me love her?

He snorted then, scrubbing at his face with his free hand. And why do I have to be such a damn maudlin drunk? I should stop now, before I can start stalking parapets lamenting to a skull...

Vincent wasn't used to functioning through the haze of alcohol; his senses were so dulled that he didn't even notice the approaching figure until it was within a few feet. He jerked his head up when he finally did, one hand leaping by still-unmuddled instinct inside his unbuttoned jacket to the butt of one semi-auto pistol; it fell away again when he identified the countenance of Megan Zafara, his contemporary and fellow Turk, gazing amiably down at him.

"Mind if I join?" Her voice was unmistakable through the dark, drunk or no: a low, throaty almost-purr, with light touches of a vague, unidentifiable accent. She waved a bottle from one hand as he looked on. "I brought my own."

He spread one hand in a sort of neutral half-shrug. "It's a free wall."

She smirked a little and sat easily beside him, pulling at her narrow black necktie and pulling apart the neat ash-blonde braid down her back. Megan was exotic in appearance as well as voice: tall and willowy, delicate, fair of hair and skin but with deep, startling black eyes like spheres of onyx. She had never been particularly forthcoming about her history, but he heard she came to Midgar from the secretive people who lived in the deserts around Cosmo Canyon. Whether that particular rumor had any truth in it or not, of course, was anybody's guess. All that Vincent--or anyone, as far as he knew--could be sure of was her enormous prowess in knife-fighting, a trait which by itself had easily won her place in the Turks.

"Who's minding the store?" he asked suddenly, train of thought taking an abrupt swerve. She shrugged eloquently, pulling the top off her own bottle and chucking it into the bushes with an air of tradition.

"Rip said he could hold down surveillance by himself tonight. Told me to take off." She leaned back on the wall, pulling her knees up into a casual sprawl that mimicked his own, staring reflectively out into space like a narrow female Buddha. "He's bored out of his head, I think. I mean, we all are; but there's so much more Rip could be doing than this shit."

Vincent nodded slowly. "Everyone knows it's a bullshit assignment," he agreed quietly. "The boy's trying to break him."

Megan snorted in the middle of a swig, almost choking; she managed to swallow before coughing out a harsh burst of laughter into the back of her hand. "The day that brainless prick breaks a Turk," she pronounced with an illustrative movement of her bottle, "will be the day the man in red and horns downstairs invests in ice skates." Vincent chuckled down into the mouth of his own booze.

"Amen." They clinked the bottles together in a mock toast, and drank in near-perfect unison.

Both were silent for a moment, looking out into the darkness, in their own thoughts. Finally, Megan glanced over at him, dangling her liquor by the bottle-neck from her graceful fingers. "I didn't think you were much of a drinker, Vince," she commented casually. Vincent half-smiled.

"I'm not. Usually." He took another swallow, grimacing a little. God, that stuff really is vile. Better now than at first, though.

Megan was quiet again for a brief time, following his example. "Is it that girl?" she asked suddenly. "The scientist. What'sername."

He started slightly at that, then let out a forced, bitter chuckle, tipping his head back. "That obvious?" She didn't respond, and at last he nodded slowly, eyes still on the sky. "Yes. It's... a long story. I'd rather not discuss it."

"Good," Megan said shortly.

Vincent turned his head to look at her, somewhat surprised, and found her deep black eyes staring steadily back at him, glistening with swallowed moonlight. "Good," she repeated. "Don't talk about it, don't think about it, and don't care about it. Boring as shit or not, we do have a job to do around here. We're a team, dammit; and since you started following that chick around, you haven't been a hell of a teammate. So you forget about this shit, and it'll go away; and we'll all breathe a little easier with you thinking straight again." She turned peremptorily back out toward the faded lot, features set in stone. "We're not supposed to have problems on Shinra's time, Vince," she said quietly. "I thought you knew that."

He stared down at his hands, at the bottle clasped between them, holding down unreasoning anger. "I do," he replied measuredly. "I just didn't realize I was--worrying you that much."

Megan let out a dry ghost of a laugh. "Love is against company policy," she said bluntly. "Realize that if nothing else."

Vincent had nothing to say to that.

*

Kal couldn't sleep.

That was an understatement.

Kal was not being allowed to sleep.

The voices were a cacophony, a rising chorus of din. They seemed to speak in a million different tones, tongues, directions at once, and yet to all be united in what they said. Trying to ignore them was laughable; he might as well try to ignore a radio someone had implanted in his skull and turned on full blast. He had tried shutting them out, reasoning with them, had even resorted to pleading with them; now he finally gave in, listening to their mad wanderings, firing despairing questions into their roiling depths without even expecting answers.

Why are you here? Why won't you leave me alone?

Because, they murmured, their tone almost soothing. You are ours. Kal must go forth for us. That is the destiny. The blessing.

Why? What do you want from me? What do you _want_?

Blood. Fire. Sacrifice. The response was clamoring, eager and immediate. Kill for us. Make us glad.

No. No. He flailed, as though he would escape. You're-- you're not real. You can't be. You're just in my mind--

Minds are not real? Soft, silky laughter. We are real. You are real. You are ours.

Defeat. It was like fighting the tide. Who are you? he asked again, not knowing or caring if they would respond.

And he was startled by a clamor like trumpets in his mind.

We are all, and we are none. We are mother, child, lover, forgotten one. We are all we need to be, and we are but the spaces between words. We are fear in a handful of dust. We are a stranger in a strange land where we know all and reign. We are alpha and omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last. Our name is Nothing, No One, Nowhere. Our name is Legion, for we are many. Our name is Edward, Marilyn. But most of all, our name is Jenova. Jenova the Cetra named us first; in their tongue it means She-Who-Changes. Ask your Gast where he thought that name from. See if he can remember. We whispered it in his ear one night as he dreamed he slept. But now we whisper to you.

Listen to what we whisper, Kal. Listen to our dreams, and dream them.

Listen.

And Kal lay in his bed, prone and helpless, and listened.

*

Ellis stumbled, at long last, out of the small library, rubbing at his eyes. The hour was positively ungodly, and the only thing he could think about was just making it up the stairs and falling into bed. Any bed. Possibly a chair. A soft carpet might also do.

I should know better than this. He sighed a little, shutting the library door tightly behind him and adjusting his notebook under his arm. At this rate, if my thesis ever does get done, it'll have to be a study into the effects of sleep deprivation on the mind of the common medical student...

He had just reached the door of the lab when he heard the rustling.

Ellis frowned, holding position with his hand on the knob. What was that?

It came again: soft, grainy, animal-like. Almost like scurrying; too distant to tell... And there again. He turned toward it, cocking his head slightly to listen.

It sounds like it's coming from the specimen room. Ellis forced his sleep-muddled mind to process that thought... and let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, chuckling slightly with inexplicable relief. It must be the rats; why they're up this time of night is anybody's guess. I suppose I should check in on them for Mike...

He set his notebook down on a counter, walking over to the door of the tiny room. One hand reached inside, and clicked on the light...

...and Ellis froze in the doorway.

The three Jenova rats had been congregated in a single cage; all were female, and they had seemed amiable enough for it to be safe. What Ellis saw, now, however, appeared to suggest otherwise; or, at least, that their continually unchanged health had been deceptive.

One of the rats was dead. It lay in the center of the cage, stiff and faintly odorous, feet frozen in a grasping gesture toward the ceiling. Its face wore the unmistakable look of a creature that had been in enormous pain; its eyes were yellow-gray and bulging, its thickly swollen tongue poking obscenely out one side of its mouth.

The other two rats stood over it like mourners. They turned when Ellis switched on the light, looking directly at him; their eyes seemed filled with knowledge, and with mad laughter.

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