level_act47side_03_end

Survival of the fittest, culling of the unfit... since when has Rhine become one of the 'unfit'?

Oh... Mr. Jagger! What are you doing here?

That's my line. What are you doing here, when you should have already cancelled Lucky Cystybeast's registration?

I'm not doing anything illegal! We solved our technical issues before we filed the cancellation. What a stroke of luck...

You solved it? Why didn't anyone contact Engineering?

Maybe word didn't have time to get around because of how sudden it was...

A-Anyway, Mr. Tannen announced that all technical inspections by Rhine Lab are suspended.

I don't need to report to you anymore.

How could they have solved it all of a sudden, when three days didn't do it?

The Lucky Cystybeast's luck?

Quick, take the readings before their people come back.

All the data is good. Too good, in fact. It's almost as if they were specifically calibrated to the benchmarks.

Wait... these aren't Propeller Paradise standard-issue screws, are they?

They're completely soldered. Won't budge... the whole core energy module is sealed shut.

But no power unit on Propeller Paradise sounds like this. No legal power unit, anyway.

Where did they get this weird non-compliant stuff from? I thought all procurement on Propeller Paradise goes through—

Ah... I get it now. Silly me, for thinking that survival of the fittest was really the rule on Propeller Paradise.

Still helping that bastard put together the report for the accident at Rhine?

Forget it. Director Lunorey would just dismiss me for not having evidence.

Who else can help...?

My ride will be there in five minutes. I'll bring you a Propeller Paradise mascot plushie if I find one.

I'm not a kid.

See you later, then?

You've been playing catch with your 'branches' in the corridor ever since you stepped out of Saria's office.

You're stalling. I can tell.

There really ought to be a law about invading an individual's privacy with a water clone.

Not likely to happen, unless there's another Water Elf in Columbia.

The 'branches' on Nasti's belt suddenly grow, pointing in the direction of the Water Elf, and twist open a tool attachment.

As though rehearsed a thousand times, Muelsyse takes a step to the right, dodging the bionic branch robot's trick.

You know I'm stuck in Kjerag and can't come in person.

Maintaining a water clone at long distance is a draining task. Are you so worried that I might flub up Kristen's legacy?

It's you that I'm worried about, not some derivative of Galleria Stellaria.

It takes time for a seed to grow into a sapling, and all the more so when you hope it will become a towering tree.

Relax. Not even Ferdinand would complain about the results you're pulling.

That's because I blocked his email.

Ahem...

You helped make Kristen's dreams come true by digging away under the Trimounts suburbs. Now it's your turn.

Have you ever thought about...?

I'm not going back to the Convallis.

The serene tranquility of the Convallis does not belong to a flawed Banshee, nor can it inspire her.

But...

It's time to go.

Just a sec. Here.

A potted plant?

Ecological dug it out of the desert. It's resistant to heat and cold, and just as stubborn as you... call it a goodbye prezzie.

No need for vivariums, just remember to water it. It'll keep a watchful eye on you... maybe even help you.

In return, take care of the vivarium and yourself, and—

Get me a Propeller Paradise mascot plushie, if they really exist!

The withered branches on the first-floor planters have been cleaned up. This potted plant is the only one from the exhibit that survived.

I'll take it.

What about the underground 'plants'?

Transmitted data are as expected, but monitoring coverage is limited. We haven't had time to send someone to check on site.

I'll go. Thanks.

Director Lunorey.

Anyone from outside here?

No, ma'am. We've continued to simulate experimental conditions here.

Mm. Just in case...

(In Sarkaz) Reveal.

No sign of entry... was it really an accident?

We've compiled the report on the dead plants. Do you want to review it now?

Alright, let's go.

Nasti Lunorey, Director of Engineering. Credentials confirmed. Welcome.

Where the heck did those two go?

Did something happen, sir?

Uh...

No need to be alarmed. We're just simulating missions on the Shadow-Moon. Mr. Tannen's orders.

Columbia keeps our people safe, wherever they are.

(Split up. Keep a low profile.)

(Roger.)

So it was a drill... it's just like a Wrankwood blockbuster! What was it called...? <i>Battlefield Shadow-Moon</i>, I think?

See? Those guards are Kazimierzian space-knights. Don't give us away!

Skip the comedy, impostor. Where do you go next?

Not many places to hide on the Flying Donut station, while the ring corridor in the back is perfect for an ambush...

Then what do we do? I signed your tour contract, you gotta get me out of here!

Settle down, Real Oakley. You're on Propeller Paradise. Forget what you think you know about Terra Firma.

That's a Volvort Kochinski jump-board you're testing, right? Can we borrow it?

Sure.

Huh? What's that sound?

Look up!

How the frick did they get on top of a floating pod?

Oh, I forgot. People look up on Propeller Paradise.

What do we do?!

Shoot them down!

Oh! Is that simulating the air cannon the villain fires in the climactic scene?

Wait, I think I smell Originium powder...

Fire!

Run!

Trash, all of them! It took so much work just to put Rhine down, but now we have a rogue tour guide on the loose...

I would have gone after that Feline myself, if I didn't have business to do.

Would you like me to eliminate those ignorant Terrans, Sky Conqueror? Show them true power from beyond Terra?

No need, Five-Four. She's a tour guide, not a special agent.

First, report on Gustave.

He and his retinue are floating around Cloud and the VIP area. They have passed through the ring corridor, but no one has found the hidden door yet.

Hah. When I first joined ATAO seven years ago, Gustave would notice if I swiped a liquid Originium lighter from a stowaway.

I thought he didn't like me because he used to be a soldier, hated crooks and wanted everything to be done the right way. Only later did I find out it was because I left too many loose ends.

I learned everything from him, his way of doing things, his way of talking, even how I dress. As for the result—

This pod holds treasures from across Terra.

It's much bigger than ATAO's dirty lockers.

Gustave on one side, Nasti on the other. So what?

I'm not the clueless kid from seven years ago. They'll never find out what I did, unless I hand-deliver the evidence.

Once the exhibition opens, and thousands of exhibits fly into the sky, all the 'secrets' and 'illicit transactions' won't matter anymore.

Every one will know that it was Gordon Tannen who lit the fire under Propeller Paradise. Not Rhine, not D.C.

Warning! Terran approaching!

What's that sound?

Don't blow it up... might be somebody... below...

Don't try to... talk... way out of...!

...Oh...!

Gordon Tannen looks up in the smoke and dust as he forces his teary eyes open, trying to see just what is going on.

A familiar figure descends amidst the rubble and dust, her legs flailing wildly. He just ordered her arrest several hours ago.

They are only about ninety centimeters apart, both their brains working feverishly to process the situation.

Time itself feels frozen, as Gordon and Ferne stand off against one another, scrambling to take in each other's expressions.

(They really blew it up! Where the hell am I, anyway? This place isn't on my map! There was a hidden door in the ring corridor?)

(And why am I staring at Tannen right now? Was this a trap? But why is there such a look of surprise and shock on his face?)

(Are these exhibits on the walls?)

(Wait a second... I've definitely seen these Arts units at the street stalls when I got dragged into the black market by the Sarkaz. And that hat over there—isn't that standard issue for the Zhayedan in Sargonian tombs...?)

(Shoot, is it too late to pretend I never saw any of this?)

(Oh no, please don't hit the high-explosive Originite grenade, or this entire pod goes up in smoke!)

(Dammit, it's been one thing after another since this fake guide came to Propeller Paradise!)

(Is she Rhine's enemy, or Nasti's spy? She ruined my plans once at the Vivarium, and now she's doing it again!)

(What's she looking at? The active Originium storm guide beacon, or the Zhayedan's witchcraft helmet? Shit, she recognizes these!)

(What's she gonna do with the dirt on me? Is she gonna sell it to someone? If Nasti or Gustave find out...)

The delayed gravity pulls Ferne sharply downward. Gordon has no time to save his collection; all he can do is watch as the Feline approaches rapidly.

The distance between them disappears, as do the complicated thoughts flashing through their minds. As they await the impending impact, there is only time for them to say a single word—

Shit...