Equilibrium Fan Fiction by Judas Austin Taking Sides 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 Question: is Halls a potential double agent? Answer: oh yeah. Definitely. It's not that I'm suspicious by nature (oh alright then, maybe a little) but anyone who can look at the blood splashed on the walls of Matthews' apartment and make no other comment than 'interesting pattern', is either on Prozium or has a hole in his bag of marbles. As soon as I have a spare minute, I think I'll do a little background research on Cleric Halls. I'm sure I saw his name in that list of records Jurgen gave me. I wish I could find something on him. I don't care what; just something that would give me a valid excuse to get him out. There's going to be trouble with that guy. I can feel it. I just wish I could get Jurgen to listen to me. But no, he's so sure he can trust Halls. If I was feeling irritable, I'd probably write something in here along the lines of how the hell can you trust someone who's had nineteen partners die during the last seven years, most in suspicious circumstances? If I was feeling irritable. I'm still wondering how the hell Halls got to Sector 19 in such a short space of time. If he'd used the Corridor, I'm damn sure I'd have seen him, or at least heard him. The only explanation I can think of is that he was in one of the apartments nearby. Which begs the question; what the hell was he doing there? Sector 19's not particularly tolerant of Clerics, as that little welcoming committee I had proved. I have to admit, I'm already starting to regret getting mixed up in this murder thing. No sooner do I get the answer to one question than about ten more seem to spring up out of nowhere. If this guy was a sense offender, why was he hiding his Prozium when everyone knows that emotions are perfectly legal in New Libria? If he wasn't a sense offender, then what the hell was he doing in New Libria in the first place?? And I have to say, I don't think Jurgen's going to be a lot of help this time. I think I'm on my own for this one, although maybe it's worth asking him if he knows anything. Ancient pre-Librian philosophers once said that no man is an island, and you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Those ancient pre-Librian philosophers used to say some damn stupid things. —John Preston, Grammaton Cleric First Class Preston frowned slightly. None of this made any sense. "It is definitely Prozium, isn't it?" he said, more thinking aloud than anything. "Why don't you take some and find out?" Halls said dryly. Preston shot him a dirty look, wishing—not for the first time—that Halls would go bite a gun. Preferably one with a Cleric on the other end. "Why don't you?" he retorted. He had to admit, it wasn't the most original of comebacks, but something about Halls seemed to put a damper on creativity. Halls smiled thinly. "I don't need any more convincing." He nodded towards Preston's coat pocket, where the Cleric had stashed the vials (which were causing him to clink slightly as he walked). "That stuff's Prozium, Cleric, plain and simple. Like I said, if you don't believe me, stick it in your neck and see for yourself." Preston's eyes narrowed very slightly. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said, loud enough for Halls to hear but just quiet enough for him to pretend he hadn't. Halls blinked. "Excuse me?" You heard, Preston thought irritably. Aloud he said, "Nothing. Just thinking out loud." He pulled out one of the vials, studying it, turning it this way and that thoughtfully. "Tempted, Cleric?" Preston favoured Halls with a cold stare. "Hardly," he said in arctic tones, then put the vial down on the table and pushed it over. "You do it." "Ah…no thanks," Halls said easily, sliding it back to him. Preston took it, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, a smile that vanished as he watched Halls open the fridge. "You shouldn't be doing that," he said sharply. Halls turned around, a caffeine dose in one hand and a sweetener in the other. "Why not? I'm thirsty." He put both of them into the cleanest mug he could find and used the dispenser on the side of the fridge to squirt a liberal amount of hot water into it. "You're also tampering with the evidence." Halls raised a sceptical eyebrow. "What, so you think that after this guy killed Matthews he stopped for a quick cup of coffee before leaving?" Preston felt himself redden slightly. Well, when you put it like that… "It's just a little…odd," he said finally. That wasn't quite the word he was looking for, but it was the closest he could come. "I mean, this guy was stabbed to death not three days ago and you're drinking his coffee." "You think he's going to mind?" Halls said. There was the beginnings of a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. "I think it borders on the…on the revolting!" Preston said emphatically. Again, it wasn't quite the right word, but he didn't know how else he could put it. Halls took a mouthful, only to spit it out half a second later, a disgusted look on his face. "Shit! You're so right. This tastes like something from pre-Libria!" Preston, swallowing down the urge to make a comment along the lines of 'Serves you right' with a superhuman effort, returned his attention to the vial in his hand. "There's only one person who can confirm this for sure," he muttered under his breath. "Who might that be?" Halls said, overhearing. "Cleric Richardson." "Richardson…Richardson…" Halls frowned, trying to place the name, then his eyebrows shot up. "You're not talking about that data-headed eccentric down in the Archives, are you?" "That 'data-headed eccentric' happens to be a Cleric," Preston reminded him, somewhat frostily. Halls raised a mocking eyebrow. "As Alex would have said, if that man's a Cleric, Preston, then I'm the Vice-Council." Preston shifted slightly. "Ah. Yes. I'm…sorry about your partner." "You are?" Halls said, sounding surprised. "Didn't know you knew him." "We've met," Preston said noncommittally. He didn't feel it would be prudent to mention he'd been trying to search Halls' apartment at the time, although there was the faintest hint of a smirk on Halls' face that suggested he was already well aware of this little fact. Hell, thought Preston, why shouldn't he be? Kernachan most probably got on the phone to him the instant I'd left. Halls might not be the most sociable or pleasant of people, but he and his partner stuck together like a pair of damn magnets. Behind them, someone cleared their throat. Both Preston and Halls reacted instantaneously, ejecting their sidearms and whirling around to bring them to bear on the intruder. It was only surprise at the sight of the strange Cleric that stopped Preston—who had been slightly faster—from firing immediately. "Who are you?" he demanded. The other, whose hands had shot up over his head, swallowed convulsively a couple of times but didn't seem able to answer. Halls looked at him, then sighed and lowered his pistols. "Goddammit, Rossiter! How many times do I have to tell you not to go sneaking around like that?" "I wasn't sneaking," Rossiter said, as coldly as he could manage. "I was told to report to this apartment." He straightened up, lowering his hands and regaining a little of his dignity. "Who's responsible for the blood outside?" he said. "You're Cleric Rossiter?" Preston said, still keeping the gun trained on him. He was, he had to admit, somewhat nonplussed. He didn't know what he'd expected Cleric Rossiter to look like, but he knew damn well it hadn't been this. The guy looked vaguely familiar, although Preston couldn't quite remember where from. He thought Rossiter might have been one of the Clerics Preston had watched in training that day, just before he'd joined the Resistance. Yet he was wearing the uniform of a Cleric first class that was so new Preston could practically smell the wrapping. "Yes," Rossiter said stiffly. He had the air of one who isn't quite comfortable with his own authority yet and copes by being as detached and aloof as he possibly can. "What happened outside? There's blood all over the floor." "A bunch of kids came at me with some lead pipes," Preston said brusquely, if not particularly helpfully. "Funny." Rossiter gave Preston a long, searching look. "You don't look like you're injured." "I'm not." Halls glanced at Preston. "Blood?" he queried. "Yeah, Halls, blood. That red stuff that appears whenever you get hurt." "I know what blood is, Preston. I just didn't see it, that's all. Half the lights are out, or hadn't you noticed?" "I'm not surprised you didn't see it," Preston said bitingly. "In fact, I'm surprised you can even see your hand in front of your face." He paused, irritation momentarily giving way to curiosity. He'd been wondering about this ever since he first met Halls. "Why do you wear those things, anyway?" he demanded. "What things?" Halls said impassively, his eyes unreadable behind his dark glasses. "Those." Preston gestured towards the shades. They were the only pair he had ever encountered in his life, and neither he nor anyone else (with the possible exception of Kernachan) had ever seen Halls without them. "What?" Halls said again, then, "Oh, these?" A slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "My eyes are extremely photosensitive, Cleric. Too much exposure to light, even the corridor lights, results in a migraine." Preston narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Grammaton Clerics weren't supposed to suffer from ailments like that. "And the Tetra Grammaton didn't pick that up when you were in the monastery?" he said. "Of course they did. I had a pair of shaded contact lenses there, but for some reason, they irritated my retinas. These were much easier." There was a pause. "Did you find anything?" Rossiter wanted to know. "Nothing," Preston said, after a pause that was just a microsecond too long. Rossiter's eyes narrowed very slightly. "What happened to the TV?" "It was like that when we arrived," Halls said coolly. "Look me in the eyes and say that." "I am." Preston glanced from one to the other, feeling strangely detached from the proceedings. "Take off those dark glasses," Rossiter said suddenly. His own sidearm was now pointing directly at Halls' face. "You know damn well I can't do that," Halls said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Damn you, Halls, that is an order!" "Then you can shove that order where the sense offender shoved his Prozium," Halls returned, his tone never wavering. Now there's an interesting mental image, Preston found himself thinking, and blanked his mind quickly. There was a sudden harsh chatter of gunfire. Neither Halls nor Preston bothered with Gun-Kata—Rossiter had fired harmlessly into the air—but both of them had their own firearms out and pointing at Rossiter before he could draw another breath. "You only outrank me in the Tetra Grammaton," Halls informed Rossiter flatly. "Here, rank is what we make it. Face it, Rossiter; the only reason you rose so far so damn fast is because DuPont was growing desperate." This last was delivered in a sneer that was deliberately calculated to drive Rossiter into a frenzy, and one that probably would have worked too, if Preston hadn't stepped between them. "I'll deal with this, Rossiter. Get back to your assigned post." "This is my assigned post," Rossiter answered, not budging an inch, albeit with a more respectful demeanour than he'd taken to Halls. "I'm assigning you another one," Preston told him. "I want you anywhere but here, and I want you there now." "Sir, with respect, you can't do that. It's not—" "I'm Tetra Grammaton. There's nothing I can't do." The ritual reply was out of Preston's mouth before he had a chance to think about it. Instantly, Rossiter's guns were back up, this time pointing at Preston. "Excuse me?" Rossiter said sharply, no longer respectful. Preston opened his mouth. "Old habits die hard, don't they, Cleric?" Halls said smoothly. There was a beat of silence. "Yes," Preston said finally. "They do." He nodded to Rossiter. "My apologies." Rossiter hesitated, then slowly lowered the guns. His eyes, however, continued to watch Preston narrowly. "Alright," he said finally. "Anyone needs me—" "Yeah, right, like that's gonna happen," Preston heard Halls mutter. Rossiter went on, either not hearing Halls or blatantly ignoring him. "—I'll be in my quarters." Preston nodded again, this time in dismissal. Rossiter stared at him for a second or two longer, then abruptly turned and left. Preston turned on Halls. "What the hell was all that about?" he demanded. "I was about to ask you the same thing," Halls answered. "Why did you defend me?" "Because if you didn't shoot Rossiter, he would have shot you." "Either way, I doubt you'd have cried your eyes out, Preston." "Clerics don't kill Clerics!" Preston said sharply. He knew the statement was vastly inaccurate, and Halls' next remark didn't do much to soothe his temper. "That's rich coming from someone who killed two of his partners in a row." "I was either on Prozium or defending myself," Preston said icily, echoing Jurgen's comment to him. "And your little exchange with Rossiter wasn't either of them," he added, with slightly more emphasis than grammar. "To quote an ancient and time-honoured phrase, Preston," Halls said lazily, "he started it." He nodded towards where Preston had stashed the vials. "Don't you want to take them down to Richardson?" Preston's eyes narrowed until they were little more than cold, dark slits. "Don't you have somewhere else to go?" he countered icily. "You asked me that half an hour ago," Halls reminded him. "I'll give you the same answer I gave you then. No." "I don't think you quite understood me," Preston said flatly, a distinct warning in his voice. "It wasn't a question." "It's going to look somewhat...ah...unusual if we turn up separately to ask Richardson about this," Halls said easily. Clearly Preston's tone hadn't worried him in the slightest. "I'll take that chance," Preston told him bitingly. "You're not even assigned to this case." "Oh, and I suppose you are?" Halls shot back, not missing a beat, then he shrugged. "We're not partners, Preston, and we're not under orders to work together. But that's no reason for us to work against each other." Preston grimaced. The man had a point. "Besides," Halls went on calmly, "it's a free world, or at least, this part of it is, and if I happen to want to check out the Archives at the same time as you, how are you going to stop me?" Short of killing or incapacitating him—both of which, he had to admit, held a certain appeal—Preston couldn't think of anything. And although he was confident he could beat Halls in a fair fight (or unfair, for that matter) a duel between two Clerics would probably take out not just this apartment, but a good few ones beyond it as well. Besides, what harm could it do? He sighed. "Fine. You want to come along for the ride, fine. Just stay out of my way." Halls raised his eyebrows. "Is that a threat, Cleric?" "A promise," Preston shot back, not missing a beat. A slight smile tugged at a corner of Halls' mouth. "Understood." He made an exaggerated gesture towards the door. "Shall we?" "After you," Preston said tightly. Halls quirked an eyebrow, then shrugged in a kind of what-does-it-matter way and stepped through the door, Preston close behind him. The building known as the Archives was in Sector 3, one of the central Sectors and the most heavily guarded area in the whole of New Libria. Everything to do with sense offence and pre-Librian civilizations that wasn't already owned by sense offenders was contained in the Archives. Richardson had once claimed that the Archives were the brains of New Libria, storing and distributing valuable information to the rest. Upon overhearing this, Preston—who had a distinctly unpoetic nature—had remarked rather tartly that based on geographical location, the brains of New Libria appeared to be in its arse, which explained a great deal about its inhabitants. "This is it?" Halls said, glancing around. "What did you expect?" Preston said. "Marble pillars and fountains?" "Something like that," Halls said carelessly. The Archives themselves looked like a combination of a library, a souvenir shop and a science lab. Shelves upon shelves protruded from the walls, all crammed with items, and desks and tables in the center of the room were in much the same condition. The whole place had the look of organised chaos. "Where's this guy Richardson?" Halls said. "Over there," Preston said, nodding towards him. Halls followed his gaze and his eyebrows shot up. "Now what?" Preston demanded. "Are you sure he's a Cleric?" Halls said in an undertone, nodding towards Richardson who, completely absorbed in puzzling out the mystery of whatever he was holding, had just walked into the wall. "He's wearing the uniform, isn't he?" "I could wear a dress, Cleric, but that wouldn't make me a female." Preston narrowed his eyes. "I don't remember giving you permission to read my mind, Halls." Halls' eyebrows shot up. "You were thinking about wearing a dress?" He barely had time to draw another breath before Preston's hand had shot out and encircled his throat, pinning him to the wall. "You are treading on very thin ice, Halls," the Cleric said in a deadly tone. Halls held his hands up in surrender, a cool smile on his face. Warily, Preston released him, still glaring daggers. Halls held the defensive position for a few seconds longer before abruptly dropping his hands and moving away. Preston watched him, wishing that Halls would stay the hell out of his mind and stop echoing his own thoughts. The fact of the matter was, Preston couldn't imagine Richardson as having ever been a Cleric. Halls, no problem, and Rossiter, and even Kernachan in his own way, but Richardson…well, he'd gravitated to the Archives faster than thought. People tended to treat him like an archaeologist who just happened to wear a Cleric's uniform. There was none of that mind-numbing terror that people always seemed to get when Preston spoke to them. Richardson was…well, he was… One of them, Preston realised with a sudden, unaccountable surge of envy, watching as someone paused to ask the Cleric a question, then laughed at his response, clapped him on the arm and moved on. "Makes you sick, doesn't it?" Halls said acidly. Sick with jealousy, Preston thought to himself. Jurgen was the only person—family notwithstanding—who had the confidence to tell Preston exactly what he thought of him when he felt it was needed. This happened a little more frequently than Preston would have liked, but it was oddly refreshing to find someone who'd call him a 'damn bloody idiot' without thinking about it. Everyone else usually sidled out of his way (or scrambled in some cases, depending on how much room there was). Something caught Preston's eye. It was a glass ball, identical to the one he'd found in that room just before accidentally turning on the music-player. Curious, he reached out. "Please don't do that." Startled, Preston dropped his hand, feeling stupidly like a little kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "I just wanted to look," he said. "Besides, you have plenty," Halls added, nodding towards the shelf which housed multiple such spheres, some with buildings, some with long extinct plants and animals and one rather risqué one that had been chained to the shelf, although whether this was to protect it from breakage or theft, Preston didn't know. "I agree," he said aloud. "If one was broken, you have a replacement." Richardson sighed. "I've been getting that a lot lately. Either people break things because they don't understand, or because they think it doesn't matter." He sighed again. "You know, I'm not sure which is worse; ignorance or apathy." "I don't know and I don't care," Preston said, seeking to stop the rambling before it really got started. "I need an analysis on something." "What kind of something?" "This." Preston pulled one of the vials out of his pocket. "I think it might be Prozium." Richardson studied the item thoughtfully. "It certainly looks like it…hang on." He headed over to a microscope, used an eyedropper to put a single drop of the golden liquid on a slide and examined it, adjusting the focusing knobs slightly. "You must get around a lot, Halls," Preston said, taking care to keep his eyes on Richardson and his voice casual. "What makes you say that?" Halls said idly. "Intuition. Where were you last night?" Halls stretched up leisurely onto the balls of his feet, then dropped lightly down again. "Not in Matthews' apartment, if that's what you're thinking, Cleric." "I was wondering if you had sentry duty that night." The look Halls turned on him this time was genuinely astounded. "Since when do Clerics have sentry duty??" he said incredulously. "Never mind," Preston said curtly. It had been a long shot at best. Halls tilted his head slightly to one side. "This wouldn't be about your daughter, would it?" Preston shot him a hard stare. "Is it tattooed on my forehead or something?" he demanded. "No. But Jurgen told all the Clerics to keep an eye out during any expeditions." "He did?" Preston said, momentarily startled out of his rising anger, and not sure whether to thank Jurgen or kill him. "How else would I know?" Halls said rhetorically. "Still, according to that duty roster—" he nodded at the notice on the opposite wall "—Robbie's due in at two thirty. He might have seen something." Halls glanced at Richardson. "What the hell's he doing now?" "Testing it." "No shit," Halls said sarcastically. "I just wondered if…" His voice trailed off as Richardson finished what he was doing and came back over to them, squinting thoughtfully at the ampule. "Well?" Preston said impatiently, when it became obvious Richardson wasn't going to be the first to speak. "Well, it's definitely a vial of Prozium." There was a pause. "You needed ten minutes, a microscope and a chemical test to figure that one out?" Halls said bitingly, only just beating Preston's identical query. "Where'd you find it?" Richardson said. Preston opened his mouth. "Sector 4, Corridor 9, Apartment 17," a voice said. It wasn't his. Preston stared at Halls, mouth still open. The other Cleric shot him a look that said don't argue; just play along. "Who lives there?" Richardson said, clearly more interested in the vial than the answer. "Whoever it is, they're not there anymore," Halls said flatly. "Ah. Exterminated." "I'm not at liberty to disclose that information." Richardson shrugged. "Suit yourself. Well, it's Prozium. I'm not sure what else you wanted me to tell you." "There was one other thing," Halls said crisply. He held out a scrap of cloth that had a rust coloured stain on it. "Can you ID this for me?" "What's that?" Preston and Richardson said in unison. "A sample from that apartment. I want to know the blood group. Oh…and this one as well, if you have time." Halls offered another cloth that had a much fresher bloodstain on it. "Same place?" "Same place, different room." Richardson shrugged. "No problem. I'll see if I can't get it done sometime this afternoon. Where can I find you?" "Don't worry about it, Cleric. I'll find you, when the time comes." Pure habit caused Halls to snap momentarily to attention before turning and walking briskly out. Preston hesitated. Hate warred with curiosity and lost dismally, and the Cleric stepped out after Halls, catching up to him as he reached the intersection. "What was that all about?" Preston demanded. "Who the hell lives in that apartment, anyway?" Halls raised his eyebrows. "I do. Who'd you think?" When no answer was forthcoming, he smiled slightly. "I know you don't like being around me, Preston. I'm not going to pretend I know why, but I know you don't." "Am I supposed to be impressed?" Preston said dryly. "You're a Cleric. It's your job to know what people are thinking." "Really? Then why don't you find out what I'm thinking? Why don't you read my mind and get some of those answers you want so badly?" "That's not how it works and you know it," Preston grated. Halls was seriously asking for trouble. "True," Halls said composedly. Preston wasn't sure if he was responding to the first part or the second. "Why would you implicate yourself with Prozium?" he demanded, changing the subject. Taking Prozium in New Libria was as illegal as sense offence in Old Libria, and was punishable by exile. "Because Jurgen knows I wouldn't take it," Halls responded calmly. "Because I want Richardson to discover that little fact for himself. And because I'm bored and I think there's more to this murder than meets the eye, Cleric, and I know damn well that if Jurgen thinks Matthews was just killed for dosing, then this case is never going to see daylight again." He raised his eyebrows. "Would you rather I'd implicated you?" Preston froze. Then, his tone deadly quiet, he said "Just what is that supposed to mean?" "Touchy, aren't you? Let me put it to you like this, Preston. We're both well aware that Grammaton Clerics aren't exactly known for their friendly and trusting natures. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, and I'd be very surprised if you didn't feel the same way about me." Preston coloured slightly, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on Halls as the other man continued. "Rossiter…well, he wants a partner, Cleric. A Grammaton Cleric without a partner is a little like an animal with only three legs; it functions well enough, but it always feels like there's a part missing. Rossiter's not an archaeologist like Richardson, and he's not a hero like you, and he's not partnered up like I was, so he's feeling like a bit of a fifth wheel right now. Actually, so am I," Halls added, more to himself than to Preston. "Then why don't you partner him?" the other Cleric demanded. "I probably would, except for the little fact that he and I can't stand the sight of each other, and I've yet to find anyone who can survive more than an hour of Richardson's company, much less enjoy it. Right now, I'd say Rossiter's willing to wait until another one of us dies and simplifies the equation for him." "He's going to have a damn long wait," Preston muttered, "unless one of us plans to make it a little easier for him. Like Kernachan did, for instance." "Richardson, now," Halls went on, just as if Preston hadn't spoken, "he's something else." "You don't think he's a Cleric." Halls snorted. "I wasn't serious when I said that, Preston. No, Richardson's as much a Cleric as you or I. He's got his knife into me for some reason, but that's nothing new. I seem to have this tendency to alienate people." "I wonder why," Preston retorted, not bothering to keep the bite out of his tones. "Hmm. Yes." Was that the hint of a smile on the other's face? "Richardson seems to look on me as some kind of a nuisance, or someone to be disposed of at the earliest opportunity." "He's not the only one," Preston said bitingly. Halls raised an eyebrow, clearly unperturbed. "Really? Do you want to kill me, Cleric Preston? Oh," he flicked his fingers blithely, "I know you want me dead. It's written all over your face whenever you look at me. As the saying goes, if looks were Clerics I'd be in the furnace. But do you actually want to kill me?" "Yes," Preston said acidly. Halls spread his hands out to the sides. "Well," he said impassively, "here I am if you want to try it." When Preston made no move, he nodded slightly. "Thought not. You want me dead, Preston, but you don't want my blood on your hands, do you?" "I want you gone," Preston said bluntly, not bothering to even try and soften the blow. "I know. So. Richardson has his knife into me, I have my knife into him, if only because the guy makes my teeth hurt for some reason, and Rossiter has his knife into both him and me." "What's your point?" "My point, Preston," Halls mocked, matching the other's tone perfectly, "is that maybe you should start wondering who has their knife into you, even if you don't know it yet." "You." "Me?" Halls looked momentarily startled, then he recovered. "Oh no, Preston. No, no, no, no, no. I may not like you, I may not like being around you, but I don't want you dead." "Then why are we having this conversation?" "Because I don't think you can get to the bottom of this on your own, and I know damn well I can't..." Halls let the sentence trail off suggestively. For a few seconds, Preston gaped at him. Then, "You're suggesting we team up." "Am I?" Halls considered, then nodded once, slowly. "Yes, I suppose I am." Preston clenched a fist tightly. "Not a chance in hell," he said flatly. "Not if you and I were the last Clerics in Libria." "A simple 'no' would have sufficed," Halls drawled. If he was offended by Preston's answer, he didn't show it. "No." "No? Well, you please yourself, Preston. That's usually what you do in the long run, anyway." He leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest. "You change your mind at any time, you know where to find me." "I wouldn't hold your breath," Preston shot back, not missing a beat. A somewhat cryptic smile appeared on Halls' face for the briefest instant. "I'm not," he said easily. There was no real response to that, and Preston held his gaze for a long, tense moment before turning and stalking off. Even without seeing it, he knew for a fact that Halls was watching him go, with that same strange smile on his face. For the first time in his life, Preston was actually relieved to get home, to put a door and three top class security locks between himself and Cleric Halls. Plan A: find out who the hell was behind this murder. Plan B: find something that could get Cleric Halls kicked out of New Libria in ignominy and let Preston sleep easier at night. If Plan B failed, he'd have to try Plan C, which was to come up damn quickly with a Plan D. Preston sighed. Too many problems, and nowhere near enough solutions. His 'Cleric-sense' was screaming at him to keep away from Halls so loudly that he was half surprised nobody else had heard it. Why? he thought, angry at himself. He knew the guy wasn't on Prozium, so what was the damn problem? Maybe I'm just getting superstitious, he thought, somewhat wryly, then shook his head in a self-deprecating manner. Superstition…yeah, right. It wasn't superstition that suggested you should keep clear of someone who'd lost eighteen partners in the last seven years; it was common sense. A slight smile appeared on Preston's face and he flicked the displayer on and started tapping in the access codes for the personal records. If Halls and Jurgen weren't talking, then he'd get his answers the long way round. The words CLEARANCE GRANTED appeared on the screen. Good. Now maybe he could start clearing up some of this mystery and work out how to solve the problem of Cleric Halls once and for all. Preston began to smile. Chapter 5>>> more Equilibrium Fan Fiction