NOTICE:Final Fantasy VIII and all related characters, locations, and odd-sounding words are copyright © 1998 by Square. Absolutely no revenue is made from the use of the aforementioned or from this story in general. This is a fictional, unofficial story, and the ideas expressed within may or may not reflect those of Square or anyone else. Duplication of this work without the knowledge or consent of the author will seriously annoy him, and the use of this story for profit-making purposes may cause Square to sue you. This text applies whether you read it or not. All your base are belong to us.

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- - — IN THE PALE MOONLIGHT — - -

A Final Fantasy VIII fan fiction

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Right and wrong are not what separate us and our enemies. It's our different standpoints, our perspectives that separate us.
...There's no good or bad side. Just two sides holding different views.

—Squall Leonhart

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The sea was calm, stretching out like a tabletop with the water appearing as flat as it could possibly be. A near-perfect reflection of the full moon shone on the water ahead. There was no sight of land anywhere on the horizon, and not a single cloud to obscure the brilliant vista of stars in the night sky. It would soon be winter at this latitude, and there was a chill in the air that wavered just at the edge of discomfort.

Sails retracted, the ship sliced through the water, its twin hydrofans producing only a slight whirring as they pushed it forward through the calm, silent sea. Nonetheless, this whirring was the only sound of any kind to break the quiet around them. It was the sort of moment where time seemed to stand frozen: there was no hurry to get anything done, no need to rush; everything was calm, peaceful, and still.

If only it were true.

Stepping onto the ship's deck, Janson spared a moment to remove the off-white headband that was intended to secure his long, dark hair. He immediately replaced the band, securing his hair against the slight wind he had just stepped into. Though it wasn't wind, really. The ship was cruising at a steady thirty-two knots, and he was feeling the resistance of the still air as the ship drove through it.

Not that it made much difference either way.

"Hey! You cheated!"

"Did not!"

"Did too! Janson, Vincent's cheatin' again!"

Janson looked at the trio of children gathered under the bridge ladder, apparently in the middle of a card game. Crouching down, he fixed his eyes on the youngest of the three, who was glaring indignantly at one of the others. "Vincent, what did we tell you about dishonesty?"

"But I didn' do an'thing!"

"Vincent," Janson said forcefully.

After a moment, the boy threw down his cards — he had two more than a full hand — pouting, "I jus' wanted to beat Furg'son fir once."

"If you have to cheat, you're admitting that you'll never be able to beat him," Janson chided. "Just be fair, and you'll win sooner or later. And trust me, it'll feel a lot better."

With that, he left them to their game and proceed forward to the bow of the ship. A lone form was standing there, hands clasped unconsciously in the traditional 'at ease' posture behind her cream-colored uniform. Her reddish-brown hair was caught in the apparent breeze and, despite the best efforts of her headband, was flapping about much as it pleased.

"Hello, Lina," he said.

She didn't respond at first, except with a slight motion of her head to acknowledge his voice. "It's a beautiful night," she said softly, not taking her eyes off the expanse of ocean ahead of him.

"Yes, it is," he agreed, in a tone just as soft as hers.

Lina's sigh was barely audible. "You know, standing here like this, it's easy to forget that we're running for our lives."

A shadow crossed over Janson's face. "There's nothing we can do for now. Either we've lost them or we haven't; we'll just have to wait and see."

He sensed Lina's smile. "So we might as well enjoy the view."

The memory of their recent battle had caused Janson's shoulder wound to begin throbbing once more. He did his best to ignore the pain, to concentrate on the vastness of the water and the brilliance of the moon and stars above, but the moment had passed. "It's nothing to worry about," he said, more to convince himself than her. "We've gotten out of tougher situations than this."

She sighed. "I know. But..." She turned to him, and Janson abandoned the sea and the stars to return her gaze. "We can't keep running forever, can we? I mean, what are we doing out here? Maybe...we should just settle down, join one of the Gardens. I'm sure they would..." She trailed off.

"We can't, Lina. They run the Gardens; you know that." He gestured behind him, toward the invisible fleet. "We're the only true SeeDs left, and we can't let them take us too."

Nodding slightly, she looked down at the wooden deck plates, unconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know. But sometimes...I don't know how I feel. I wonder...is this how I'll spend the rest of my life? What kind of an existence is this? I don't know if I can go on, Janson."

"We have to. We have to continue Garden, the way Matron wanted."

"I know. It's just hard facing this, day after day. Especially at times like this."

"It's hard for all of us. But we can't give in. That's when they'll have truly won."

Suddenly, the night's quiet peace was shattered by an unmistakable high-pitched whistle. Janson spun around, searching the sky with an efficiency born from far too much experience. He saw nothing, but an instant later, there was a clap of thunder and a blinding flash erupted not a hundred meters off their bow.

"Everyone, get below decks!" the loudspeaker commanded. Without another word, Janson and Lina broke off in a run — she to usher the younger children off the deck, he toward the stairs that led to the ship's bridge. Another shell plowed into the water some distance ahead of the ship, and he could feel the wave as he scaled the stairs. By now, the sea was far from calm.

"What happened?" he demanded of the SeeD manning the bridge. "Why didn't we get some kind of warning?"

"They came out of nowhere!" Davis exclaimed, pointing at the tiny radar screen while nervously running his other hand through his curly black hair. "A minute ago, I couldn't see a thing; the first clue I got was when the shelling started!"

Janson looked at the radar display, then through the binoculars out behind the ship. The Galbadian fleet was barely visible, even with night vision, as a few dots on the flat horizon. The only light he could see was a flash as one of the ships fired another shell into the air.

"They were running silent," he observed. "It wasn't your fault." And it can't be helped now, in any case. "Where are we? Let me see the automap."

Davis complied, narrating, "It'll be hours before we reach Centra. But our only other choice is to turn around, make a run back to Galbadia. And I don't think that would be any quicker."

"Can you get anything more out of the engines?"

"Not without burning them out again, like last time. We'll have to power down in a couple hours as it is."

"Well, is there anything we can do?" Despite his best efforts, desperation was creeping into Janson's voice. This was all happening too fast, and he feared they might have already run out of time.

Davis shook his head, looking very tired and worn out. "Not unless we can learn to fly."

After all this time, is it going to come to nothing? he thought, looking back at the fleet on the horizon. Is this the end of it all?

Another shell impacted the water off to starboard, and the concussion from the blast rocked the ship to one side. For the barest of moments, Janson thought they were going to capsize.

Around then, he decided that he would never accept defeat. I'm not giving up without a fight, he resolved. If they want us, they're going to have to work for it.

"Tell Rey to push the engines as far as they'll go," he commanded. "Drop everything heavy that we don't absolutely need over the side. And find us a wind!"

"Aye-aye, sir!" Davis saluted, and began relaying the orders to the crew. Satisfied that he had done all he could for the moment, Janson looked back at the fleet, invisible to the naked eye.

And he saw a dark object falling straight for the ship.

"Look out!" he shouted, throwing himself to the floor as the shell exploded, almost exactly above their center sail. He automatically shielded his ears against the miniature thunderclap, but there was no way he could escape the wave of compressed air forced outward by the explosion, and the flying shards off glass and wood that had been the bridge's back wall. Before his mind could sort out the confusion, he had abandoned consciousness entirely.