Disclaimer:

Star Ocean 3: Till the End of Time is the creation and property of Tri-Ace, who created this wonderful anime/video game series, and the publishers at SquareEnix. Anything not attributed to them belongs to their respective owners, such as references to Cowboy Bebop (the Swordfish II) that is a creation of Sunrise and Shinichiro Watanabe. This story is written purely just for fun, guys; please for God's sake, don't sue me! I'm just a high school student with too much free time on his hands! On the other hand, any specific author created characters I created for this fic (despite how unoriginal they may be at times) are mine. So without further adieu, let's get on with the show!

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk. This might take you on a trip to some happy lovey-dovey place.

Oh, and yes, there's a very high Fayt x Maria coupling possible here, or I could completely screw everybody over and do the unexpected, ja?

Fates Intertwined

Chapter 04:

Interlude

A Star Ocean 3 fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

The captain's quarters, which was inherently Maria's study, office, and personal chambers, was quite spacious compared to the modest crew quarters. Though the extra space wasn't a luxury that Quark's leader particularly appreciated, she didn't mind the adjoining bathroom and bedroom conveniently attached to her quarters. It certainly beat having to trudge on down to the communal baths that would've been shared by the rest of her "crew."

Then again, it wouldn't have really been that troublesome since her "crew" consisted of only herself, Eight, and the droids, not much "human" company to screw things up.

Her furnishings were somewhat predictably modest: a wide bureau, a comfortable chair to recline in, and an assortment of high-tech necessities that no potential galactic leader worth her (or his) two cents should not be without barring early retirement. The only real amenities present were a workbench that seemed out of place among her office's openly utilitarian decor and a smattering of personal effects, such as photos of the crew aboard the Diplo, herself, her amiable "Godparents," and other memorable mementos. In short, the room was an apt reflection of its very owner, on the ball and in charge.

"Yes, he's with me," Maria affirmed casually as she cradled the hand-held communicator to her ear, much like a cellular phone of yester year. "No, he doesn't know yet."

The response of the speaker was notably curious.

"He doesn't know about me, either."

The speaker was a touch suspicious of her motives.

"Don't worry, I'll tell him when the time is right. He needs some time to think right now. He He has been through many things in a very short amount of time: losing his family and childhood friend on nearly the same day, then marauded in an escape pod for a week, and finally this incident with the Rezerbian."

The speaker acquiesced. It was a perfectly legitimate concern, after all.

"Yes, I'm fine. It wasn't anything I couldn't handle, though I was surprised that the Rezerbian had an arm slave with him."

The speaker reply was solicitous.

"There's nothing to be fuss over. He's been dealt with."

The speaker inquired into her methods.

"Yes, I had to use my power to take care of him. Eight was a little too slow to provide support in time."

The speaker affirmed and asked about the plan.

"We'll meet at the coordinates for 'Action C.' It's risky but we need to get him to safety as soon as possible. I don't feel comfortable flying solo in the open with the Vendeeni still lurking about in the sector. Any news on the girl? And what about Hyda-Four?"

The speaker's reply was apologetic. Matters from the front had gone from bad to worse.

"Captured - I see. To think they razed the planet to ashes just for him is disconcerting. We'll have to be more careful from now on. Our options will be limited until our contacts can provide us a lead to the whereabouts of the professor. Nonetheless, do what you can for now. I'll be seeing within the day."

The speaker bid her farewells, offering some small advice.

"Godspeed, Mirage," Maria replied solemnly before she ended the private, encrypted transmission. With that matter settled, the leader Quark set the communicator upon her bureau as she reached back with her free hand and pulled upon the white ribbon in her hair. A crisp rustle of cloth accompanied the deft motion that freed her long silken tresses from the ponytail she had worn, billowing outwards into a fine cape across her shoulders. "I just hope you can convince Cliff to keep his 'cool' a little longer before he does something reckless."

Reckless.

My, oh, my, wasn't she just surrounded by rash people as of late? Perhaps, this was the universe's perverse gift to her: to put one Maria Traydor, just nineteen years old, single, in charge of an intergalactic mediating philanthropic organization that was filled with enough hot-heads and dysfunctional hack jobs to make a keg of good old fashioned trinitrotoluene (also known as TNT) blush. To sweeten the deal, she had never had time for any attempt at all at a normal childhood, never had a date in her entire life, certainly never had time to consider even shopping for a significant other, and her beloved organization was largely considered to be a bunch of crazy counter revolutionaries by the mainstream media. Joy.

Hence, the noticeably dim atmosphere in her quarters, created in part by not turning on the lights and having her observation windows shut completely, suited her mood perfectly.

Maria listlessly slumped back into her reclining chair, as if she were boneless, allowing the white ribbon in her hand to slip through her fingers and onto the carpeted floor. An audible sigh reverberated through the air and if someone had been unfortunate enough to see her young face then, they would've been terrified by what they saw. Her noble light blue eyes had aged, gone was that youthful spark and its place was a weathered hollowness that spoke of too many battles, too many horrors to count. In an instant, it seemed she had been visited by twenty years of wear and tear, the weary lines of age prominent in her eyes.

There was little room for doubt in her condition. She was old and lost, not that bright young woman who had lived every moment of those heartfelt nineteen years with utmost resolve, always seemingly steadfast and never wavering, in spite of the role she was thrust into by circumstances beyond her control. Maria was exhausted, an arm dangling lifelessly at the mercy of gravity and momentum while the other lay splayed across her lap, as she stared aimlessly into the black shadows. Her exhaustion though was not just in body, but in spirit as well, an ancient affliction that eventually caught up with many of her station.

Maria stood alone at the top of the mountain, the weight of the world on her shoulders, with her closest "friends" only able to stand with her, pledging their hands to her shoulders, ready to make haste at the smallest word. It was the loneliest job in the entire universe: to be a leader.

She was alone, all alone.

"I wish I could sleep, Mirage..." the light blue-haired young woman sighed with contemplative pause, "but there's still so much more to be done. Every day I wake up, having gone to sleep the night before at the summit, I only come to the same realization that in the middle of the night, somebody had come and moved the summit higher, ever higher, from right underneath my nose. It never ends, and I - I just don't want to sleep anymore."

A disembodied chiming beep echoed from the intercom speakers installed in her quarters, nudging Maria temporarily out of her lethargy. Her trained ears recognized the warm urgent note, one that her constant companion aboard her ship had always used as a secret greeting between themselves.

She forced her wasted complexion into a feeble smile by shear will. Willpower was all that kept her going now and the young woman would sooner die than give up the fight in any way, big or small.

"Yes, Eight?" Maria answered faintly.

"Miss Maria! What's wrong?" the artificial intelligence cried worriedly in her sweet childish voice suited much more for an innocent seven year old child than a warship of her considerable capacity. "My sensors are indicating all sorts of..."

"I know, I'm just...tired, that's all."

"Then you should rest, Miss Maria! Organic sentients have a very low tolerance to extended fatigue. That battle you were in just a few hours ago was completely crazy. You could've collapsed on the spot, or worse, died! I told you eighty-four hours, thirty-five minutes, and ten seconds ago that youneeded more rest. You're driving yourself into the ground and that's not right! Now, please get some rest, pretty please? I'll cry if you don't, and then I'll tell Mirage and Cliffy that you haven't been sleeping or eating right for the past week."

It was all Maria could do littlenot toburst into light-heartedlaughterat the antics of her well-meaning digital friend, who was positively fussing over her like an overprotective little sister (or a mother).

"Its ironic, even Mirage suggested in her own ambiguous, roundaboutway that I had better be fast asleep and snoring like a baby by the next time we meet, or she would have me strapped into a straightjacket and tied down to a bed in med-lab aboard the Diplo for a month."

"Eeek!"

"And Cliff would hear about my 'silly shenanigans.' I think we all know how that's going to end."

Oh yes, everybody remembered the infamous Sweet Sixteen Incident quite well, and it would follow all who were involved straight to the afterlife, not to mention many virgin minds who had yet to hear the delightful tale. Bleagh!

"...Mirage is scary when she's mad."

"I imagine about a hundred times scarier than the average Klausian matriarch of her kin family usually is, and that is quite fearsome already."

"Gaou... Miss Maria, please get some rest."

"I wish I could."

There was an uncomfortable silence, for a moment, exchanged between the two: human and AI alike. If anything, it was as if Eight was biting on her imaginary nails, trying to decide whether she should broach a rather tender subject.

"Miss...Maria?"

"Yes, Eight?"

"It's him, isn't it?"

"'Him'?"

"That blue-haired guy you rescued! Mister Fayt Leingod! ...it's him, right?"

"I'm not sure I quite follow you, Eight. Must be the fatigue, I think. Could you explain to me?"

"You're disappointed with Mister Fayt, aren't you, Maria?"

Now that wasn't something that happened every day, Eight calling her by her first name alone. It was a sure sign that she was being completely, unabashedly serious with her "big sister."

"Hmm?"

"You were hoping for so many good things, Maria; you thought Fayt was going to be your best, best friend in the entire world! Somebody you could lean on for once; somebody you could laugh with, cry with; somebody who would accept you unconditionally because you're so much alike, but at the first sign, he already wants to run away from you. He's afraid of you, Maria, and he hasn't even thanked you for everything you've done for his sake!"

"Fayt has been through a lot, Eight. Whatever expectations I had of him were completely unfound. The countless simulations I had conducted personally had already proven that he's as fallible as any other well-meaning sentient. His fear is understandable. Anyone with half a sane mind would be afraid of a single individual who commands that much power. Such a being is - unnatural, a thing that exists outside the natural boundary of life."

"But it still hurts! Doesn't it? Doesn't IT? What about you, Maria? What about your feelings, and your suffering, because of him? Doesn't it mean anything at all? I don't care what you are or who made you, you're still Big Sister Maria to me, and you will always be, always!"

It was too late to take back what had been said, what was done was done. A tenuous line had been crossed and things would never be same again. If Eight had had real fingernails, she would've chewed straight through them in an instant. The silence was deadly. Even though she was an artificial construct, right then she was certain she felt it, a touch of bitter frost, and the temperature in the air of her captain's quarters plummeting rapidly. There was fear in the air, malice untold yet tangible.

"Gaoou! I'm...I'm sorry, Miss Maria!" the AI stuttered uncontrollably. "I didn't mean to shout. Th-There must be something wrong with my personality matrix that's..."

Maria's answer was cool and impersonal, "Did he ask for something?"

"Oh, yes! Of course! Mister Fayt wanted to have access to the replicators in the Workshop so he could create some basic mechanical-"

"Go ahead, permission granted."

"Yes, ma'am! Uh, um, please get some rest."

"I will, I'm certain," the light blue-haired young woman hissed curtly, a clear deadly sign that this conversation was over.

The intercom transmission went dead faster than the fearful, apologetic squeak that should've punctuated Eight's depart. It was honestly not her fault. The embroiled hatred was not for her in the slightest, but for another.

Maria smoldered, her purplish azure eyes like angry slits. The sound of cracking frost was audible in the rapidly cooling air, a visible white fog building up in the enclosed room. White plumes of hot breath exuded from her face openly as a low guttural growl emanated from her throat. She trembled violently all over, like a mad beast about to pounce and rend flesh from bone. Angrily, the young woman wanted to destroy something, anything, to vent her hate upon.

Spotting the blue gleam from the fiberglass case of her communicator, she lunged for it, nearly crushing the device in her iron grip. It crystallized into a block of ice almost instantaneously from her touch. The seemingly offending object in hand, Maria then gave a feral snarl and hurled the frozen communicator with all her might into the encroaching darkness, sending it whipping through the air effortlessly. A pitiful crash seared the frosty air, the device shattering into a thousand fragments, like broken glass, upon the door. It was a vain gesture against the "cruel" world for in truth the one thing, the one person she hated the most was herself.

She wept then, a river of tears for nineteen years of struggle, nineteen years of loss, and nineteen years of hollow victories; in the end, she had found no peace, no self-fulfillment in this journey. Every morning was another facet of a fatuous war that consumed the flesh and blood of the living unceasingly. Oh, the end was always in sight, it was just a question of how much more she was willing to sacrifice. Those tiny voices whispered bittersweet quick silver in her ears.

Take them all, Maria. Do it! There's nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be sorry for; they all came along willingly in the first place. They know the price.

It was true. Everybody knew the price that must be paid, whether they acknowledged the fact or not, everybody knew.

In the End, you will be all alone anyway.

Maria cried harder, bawling loudly like a pitiful child, hoping that tomorrow would never come.

Mommy and Daddy would be so proud of you, Maria.

Black.

"There, that looks about right," Fayt said aloud with a satisfied smile, blissfully unaware of other troubles brewing aboard the Swordfish II. He stood confidently beside a workbench in the ship's superb "Workshop," a quite impressive engineering bay fitted with some of the latest manufacturing replicators and gadgetry money could buy. One could probably start a small war with the plethora of products from this modest abode. "I shouldn't have any problems making slight adjustments to these parts to fix the gearbox for Meena's music box at all, if my memory's off a little."

"Who's Miss Meena?" asked a familiar sugary voice that would've made a demon sweat bullets.

Inwardly, the young Earthling shuddered at the memory of a certain Peppita Rossetti. He had honestly only been trying to be realistic and not raise the rather enthusiastic girl's hopes too high. Of course, she went right ahead and signed his shirt anyway with a black marker (he hoped it was the washable kind), handing him and Sophia both a pair of tickets to the next show. She then indignantly declared that he would treasure his autographed shirt for the rest of his life.

The young Rossetti and Eight would've gotten along just fine.

"Well?" The AI prodded. "Is she some kind of - uhh, let's see, what would Cliffy say? - really, really nice native girl you really rocked the house with?"

Fayt did a double-take and banged his thigh accidentally against the hard edge of the workbench. An irritable oath erupted from his mouth before he knew it, as he limped about on foot, hopping back and forth while clutching on his tender limb. Eight laughed her collective digital self off, earning an aggravated look from the young man.

"Hey, that's not funny!"

A holographic avatar suddenly blipped into place in front of him, sending Fayt hurriedly jerking backwards. He nearly fell on his rear thanks to that little surprise and gave a vexed scoff at the strange angelic creature hovering in mid-air before him. Adorable white fluffy wings and a gold halo hung disembodied to an exaggerated, anime-like orange-stripped cat with a seemingly ever present grin on its face. From its red leather collar, a golden number eight dangled to complete the persona. Not a bad choice, considering Eight had an insatiable curiosity that Fayt was quickly associating with the feline creatures.

"But it is so funny too!" she giggled enthusiastically as the avatar's wings fluttered lightly, propelling it towards the blue-haired young man. "You should've seen yourself, Mister Fayt. Your face like blew up, got really red, your eyes got really, really wide... Oh, I'll have to show pictures to everybody!"

The angelic neko was positively swooning, and it was taking all of Fayt's willpower not to sigh in commiseration. Enthusiastic people just didn't seem to like him much at all, or they just loved to mess with his head on purpose. Was he really that cut and dry? Sophia was always bugging him about not being outgoing enough. He ought to have been hanging out with his college friends and doing more social activities than spending so much time with video games.

"Look, it's not like that at all, okay?" the young man contested defensively.

"Oh, really-really?"

"Meena is Nicholas's sister and from what I gather they're both orphans now..."

"...Because of the bad man, right?"

"Yes, Meena and Nicholas's father along with a number of villagers were killed by him when the village refused to give into his demands. They never stood a chance against our advanced technology."

"Hmm, it's sad that no matter how advance sentients become, the will to dominate other life forms still exists even now."

"Huh?"

"Oh, never mind! Gaou, hehehe. Just thinking aloud!"

"Okay, if you say so..."

"Don't worry your silly head over it, Mister Fayt. So what's the parts for, huh-huh?"

"Well... Hey, who's silly?"

"Nobody said anything about any silly heads here, except for you."

"Hrrghhmmnnn! Whatever, anyway these parts are for Meena's music box. It's an old family heirloom passed down from her mother's side of the family. I don't think she's alive anymore from what I could tell, and with their dad gone, so..."

"So you're fixing it up for them! Awwww, that's so nice of you, Mister Fayt."

"Well, it's the least I could do. Meena was the one who found me collapsed outside the village. She and Nicholas took me in and nursed me back to health. I had no idea I was that exhausted to begin with."

"So they saved your life, right?

"Yeah."

"THEN WHY ARE YOU SUCH A JERK TO MARIA, YOU BIG SILLY HEAD?" Eight roared suddenly. The shear volume of her amplified voice was pure overkill, sending an unnerved Fayt straight to the floor on his rear, while her avatar glared menacingly at him with "the look."

Bewildered surprise perfectly suited him at that precise moment, staring dumbfounded back in return. "Wha?"

"Mister. Fayt. Leingod. do you have some kind of PSY-CHO-TIKU PARA-NOI-YA COM-PRE-XU?"

"Uh...well, um..."

"Do you realize that ever since you've got on this ship you have been nothing but a not very nice, suspicious silly, silly bighead? GAOU!"

"...I..."

The angelic cat was positively furious, shaking a righteous paw at him, as an aura of fire snapped into place around it.

"That's. No. Ex-cuse! for the way you've been behaving, MISTER! Meena and Nicholas saved you, didn't they? That's why you're planning to fix their music box, right? To thank them? Well, this isn't any different either! Miss Maria saved your life too! So what's the big deal, Mister Leingod?"

"I have eyes and ears too, you know! I saw what Miss Maria did to the bad man and that doesn't change a single thing to me. She's still Miss Maria. She would never use her power against other people without a good reason, ever! Do you hear me, you silly head?"

Okay, that pretty much hit the nail on the head, in more ways than one. Admittedly it has been a rough couple of days, and Fayt acknowledged he had been acting somewhat paranoid. However, maybe his paranoia was sound. It was just too convenient. His expectations had wagered that it would've taken at least a month before any rescue would've come, factoring in how long it would've taken Federation investigators to analyze the encrypted data from the Helre's black box.

Of course, that was assuming they even found it in the first place.

Maria's concern, her ambiguity to her intended purpose, and the mysterious client she referred to; it was all so unreal. Yes, he had wanted to be found, to be rescued, and was grateful that someone had come for him, but he had never wanted to be rescued in such an auspicious manner. This spoke ill of events in sharp contrast to his good fortune. To trust someone who had delivered his salvation wholesale on a silver platter, deus ex machina come from behind the stage to rid the people of Whipple of Norton and claim two birds with one stone...

Man, what's happening to me? Fayt thought with a weary sigh, ignoring the righteous indignant angelic cat, as he closed his eyes. When did I become such a misanthrope, anyway? Mom was always saying that I should trust other people more, and even Dad said that trust is the key in any relationship. If you can give it, then you're already across a major hurdle.

So why shouldn't I believe in Maria? Eight feels pretty strongly for her, all right. She didn't have to go out of her way to take down Norton and could've just smuggled me out without a care in the world. Nicholas would still be back in Norton's dungeon and that thug would still be in charge. Maria's been extremely patient with me, took care of me and Nicholas while I was out, so why shouldn't I trust her?

Heck, I should go apologize to her right now and thank her, like Eight said! So what the hell is the problem?

A string of whispers bubbled to the surface of his thoughts, strong scaly voices befitting of hissing pit vipers in a nest.

Because she's dangerous.

Unnatural.

An abomination.

No one should have that power.

What if she's lying?

Betrayal.

What if?

What if she's using you?

That's insane! the young man nearly shouted as he gave a guttural snarl in an effort rid himself of these hallucinations.

She has a plan.

For you.

For us.

For everybody.

Do not trust.

Trust: Kills.

Fayt shot up to his feet in a sudden frightening blur of motion. His green eyes were wide and alert, fresh blood pumping through his hot veins with a new sense of purpose. His sudden change of demeanor was enough to send Eight rushing off in an explosion of ephemeral feathers behind a workbench, poking her head tentatively over the edge to glance at him with a worried "Gaouuuuuu..." at her lips, accompanied by a visible "sweatdrop."

"Uh, Mister Fayt, are you...all right?" the AI asked him.

The young man made eye contact causing the angelic feline avatar to shrink some more, its halo drooping pathetically. He spoke in a clear voice, belying no emotion save for his determined resolution:

"Where's Maria? I'm going to see her."

To be continued...

Author Notes:

Okay, guys, I could got screwed by the pooch again. Many apologies in advance here if you come across some screwy punctuation and styling, I did try my best to catch them all. In the meantime, a big thank you to all you readers out there who worked up the guts to leave a review, and the homies who've stuck it outand keep coming back to drop an anvil (in other words a review)on my doorstep (Fufufufufufufu!), despite my bizarre twists of moods. Reviews are always appreciated 'round here, and trust me, I do very much have my eyes and ears open to you folks, especially for when I screw up big.

Peace, and look forward to the next chapter. (I promise I'm going to get them off this rock soon!)