Dark Angel
By Edward Weldon
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Star Fox characters, as Shigero Myamoto or some body
else at Nintendo owns them. The same is true for my use of the songs "Voices" and "Info High"
from the maccross plus soundtrack. So please don't sue me.
Oh by the way if I catch you using my characters, then I will hunt you down and gut you like a
fish…Kay?
(Chapter 1)
Venom fighters screamed in all directions and lasers criss-crossed the sky, half the squadron
had already been shot down and it didn't look like help was coming anytime soon.
Flight leader Jessa, a rather portly bloodhound in his mid forties hated these patrols into the
Corneria asteroid belt. And now with a full Venom imperial fleet hunting pack chewing up his
pilots he just realised how much he truly hated the "rock sitter run" as it was called among the
younger pilots.
When that damned carrier loomed out of the shadows of one of the larger asteroids he thought
he must still be asleep in his bunk back at the Cornirian defence force barracks and this must be
a nightmare. "I mean how does a ship that big get past our picket ships and get this far into our
space."
But then when it's two escort cruisers slunk out from behind the rocks and started pelting his
squadron with laser blasts he got the rude message this is no nightmare. Then when the carrier
started churning out wave after wave of fighters, like a swarm of angry hornets from a hive the
old dog started wishing this was a nightmare.
"Hell there goes Siddens" He exclaimed as another of fifteen Bulldog class fighters under his
command exploded to his right, small fragments of debris pinging off the hull of his own ship, it
was a rather morbid irony but today was Siddens's birthday.
Despite the losses his men were taking Jessa and the rest of them were giving as good as they
got. He figured that his side was getting a kill per pilot ratio of at least
6-1 but that bloody carrier just seemed to keep churning out more ships for every wave they
defeated.
There was a rumour that Andross himself had designed these ships with an onboard
construction line and a hold full of pilots in cryogenic storage so they could just build as many
ships as they needed. Well by the looks of things it may as well be true.
At any rate it looked as if they would win any way. Between the seemingly infinite fighters from
the carrier and the constant pounding from the cruisers with their heavy weapons a kill ratio of
50-1 wouldn't have mattered, the squadron was being ground down with shear weight of
numbers.
Almost as if to accentuate the point another of his pilots was smashed into an asteroid the size of
a medium sized office building after taking a hit from one of the cruisers. Jessa figured another
twenty minutes of this and there clear all the way into the civilian trading lanes and then the real
massacre will begin.
"Where a miracle when you need one," Jessa exclaimed. Suddenly as if in reply a massive
explosion ripped through the carrier's flight deck as a nova bomb detonated in its cavernous
depths setting off fuel and ammo in a blinding flash blasting it into dust. "What the frak?!" Jessa
shouted as he searched for the bomb's launcher.
Then he saw it. Their saviour was a single fighter; its design was…elegant if uninspired, painted
pure white with a black stripe along the leading edges. The basic hull was similar to Arwings
flown by the famous Star fox team but the wings were forward swept in an aggressive blade like
arc that made it resemble some kind of flying dagger.
The com-link in Jessa's helmet searched for the new comer's frequency. " Attention unidentified
pilot, thank you, you saved our hi…"A young sounding male voice suddenly cut him off, "That's
nice, now shut up and focus old timer because you still got two cruisers and a whole keg of
fighters still to deal with," the reply snapped back.
The stranger's voice was like his ship, elegant and cultured but strained with the rage that comes
from having one's concentration broken whilst playing a carefully planed game of chess, it
reminded Jessa of old holovids about the knights that once upheld the peace on Corneria
hundreds of years ago.
"Have your pilots continue to focus on the fighters leave the cruisers to me," The stranger said
again, calmer this time, "Affirmative," Jessa replied.
With the carrier gone the low performance invader class fighters were no mach for the sleek
bulldogs. The dagger ship proved to be fast and agile as it looked, dodging and jinking past the
laser blasts from the first cruiser's turrets as if it were simply dancing.
Then the lethal looking craft lashed out with it's own guns positioned at the tip of each wing,
slicing off each turret with such precession as to make Jessa think this ship really was some kind
of blade, clearly this was the work of a seasoned master.
Screaming just feet over the top of the cruiser's conning tower and then looping over to come at
it again vertically the dagger ship fired its second nova bomb strait into the Cruisers Bridge,
Vaporising the ships command and control systems.
Jessa and his men cheered as they watched the big capital ship's power core over load and
take it down in flames.
With it's sister ship and the carrier they was assigned to protect both destroyed and half its
turrets already blown off the remaining cruiser powered up its drives and ran.
As the remainder of Jessa's squadron formed up and prepared to return to Corneria the strange
dagger like ship formed up on Jessa's wing. For the first time he noticed an insignia on its side, a
sword, a winged sword and below it the words: Angel of vengeance.
"Who are you" Jessa asked looking over to the other ship he could see the mysterious pilot for
the first time. He was a fox, definitely young, he couldn't have been older than twenty-three,
twenty-five at the most, darkly handsome with short sleek black fur, a white muzzle and cold
marble green eyes like two spheres of glowing green ice.
Looking over himself and smiling a not entirely comforting smile, he answered " I am Cameron
Winter and that is all you need to know for now, oh and be sure to inform Fox Mcloud," And
with that he hit his after burners and vanished into the night.
Oh flight leader Charles Jessa would inform Fox Mcloud, him and every one else in the Lylat
system. There's a new player in town, a dark angel. A dark angel now stalks the stars.
(Chapter 2)
General Pepper stood in thought and looked out of his office window at the Corneria City
skyline. The seemingly endless skyscrapers all shone silver in the summer sunlight.
Three mysteries had presented them selves of late. The first was of pressing concern for the
security of Corneria if not the whole Lylat system. The only reason that the enemy carrier group
had been discovered before it had reached striking distance of Corneria its-self was that they
had bumped into an errant fighter patrol. The second mystery had been that the patrol (Out
gunned and out numbered) had been rescued from certain destruction by a single ultra high
performance fighter, flown with all the skill and daring of some of the C.D.F greatest aces. The
third mystery was the fighter's pilot or rather his parting words to the patrol leader.
At that moment the com-panel on the wall behind the General began to chime. Turning and
tapping a few keys on the keyboard on his desk, the old bloodhound activated the screen and
was faced with the familiar features of Fox Mcloud.
"Ah Fox, I see you got my message," The General said as if greeting a favourite nephew. "Yes
sir and as requested this is a secure channel but if I may ask, Why all the secrecy?" Fox replied.
"Fox, have you ever heard the name Cameron Winter before?" The General said in a more
serious tone. "No sir, I can't say that I have," Fox returned. The General tapped a number of
buttons on his keyboard and the gun camera footage of the dagger like fighter, as well as an
enhanced image of the black fox pilot were displayed.
"Forty-eight hours ago, one of our patrols into area-6, quadrant-C of the Cornirian asteroid belt
was ambushed by a Venomian carrier group consisting of a Volga and two Azans. The carrier
group was then itself ambushed by a single unidentified fighter of unknown design. After inflicting
heavy losses on the carrier group and forcing its retreat, the pilot identified himself as Cameron
Winter. I hardly think I need to tell you that I think this is more than a coincidence that this
Winter fellow should help out our patrol," The General explained.
"So you think this guy has some kind of agenda?" Fox asked. The General nodded "I do
indeed. And what ever it is he has made it clear that it involves you personally," He said gravely.
Tapping a few more keys he played the audio sample of the mystery pilots exchange with flight
leader Jessa. "Oh and be sure to inform Fox Mcloud." The voice was calm, assured and it
chilled Fox right to the bone.
"Intelligence has yet to find out anything on this young man or what his intentions are but be
careful all the same. He's already demonstrated that he is a formidable opponent," The General
added. Fox nodded and thought for a moment. "Understood, Mcloud out."
Aboard Great Fox the General's face was replaced with the insignia of the C.D.F. Fox the
turned across the lounge to face Peppy and Fara who had been standing just out of view.
"You heard the General, let's be careful out there. Peppy, have Slippy check and double check
all the Arwings and prep them for launch at a moments notice and try to contact Kat and Bill,
we may need some back up if this Winter guy turns out not to be friendly," He said.
Peppy said nothing. He just nodded and turned to head to the bridge. There was a look on his
face. "Peppy? Is there some thing wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost," Fara asked
softly. Peppy just shook his head "No, its probably nothing but he reminds me of some one I
used to know," He said tiredly.
As Peppy left for the bridge, Fox felt a certain sense of déjà vu as well. Looking at the print out
copy of the picture the General had sent them, he thought there was some thing familiar in that
face.
"Who are you?" He thought as he stared into the stars through the nearby porthole.
(Chapter 3)
The Angel's hull plates, still hot from re-entry, creaked as they contracted in Fortuna's cold
atmosphere. Cameron's head was still heavy from being in soft-sleep for almost four days but
was rapidly regaining his composure.
The white tundra stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. The snow capped
mountains and ice forests below flashed by as the Angel flew low like some great bird of prey.
Setting the auto-nav to scan for a suitable landing site he was soon rewarded with a low chiming
sound. The M.F.D on his right automatically displayed the co-ordinates and topographical
layout of a medium sized settlement about fifty clicks north.
Cameron throttled back as the settlement came into view. The town consisted of a series of
interconnected complexes that resembled some sort of techno anthills as well as a small star
port nearby.
Coming around for a single low speed pass, Cameron was pleased to note the lack of a clarion
call from the local police or customs office. The landing field itself was a reinforced concrete
square about fifteen hundred meters along each edge. Most of the field was taken up by
individual landing pads for small ships about the size of shuttles but most of these were taken up
by a rather motley assortment of fighters. Further down the field were large hangers for
freighters that were in all likelihood the life blood of a place this remote.
All of this told the young black furred fox in the Angel's cockpit that this was the perfect place
to lay low.
Engaging the vertical thrusters, the Angel settled down gracefully onto one of the unoccupied
landing pads, kicking up a mini- snowstorm as the landing legs extended and touched down.
Powering down the engines and going through all the usual post-flight checks and procedures,
Cameron popped the canopy and stood up, stretching and rubbing some of the blood flow
back into his limbs. Sitting back down again for a moment, he programmed in the triple layered
system encryption that made illegal access to the Angel's computer and flight systems nigh on
impossible.
Once this was done he vaulted out of the cockpit, landing on the fresh white snow, swishing his
long, bushy tail from side to side to keep it warm and to help further return the blood flow to his
legs.
Despite the fact he had been virtually inert in a cramped cockpit for the last four days, his fit,
well-toned body still felt strong and healthy.
He was wearing a long black great coat with matching fatigues, a white T-shirt, black leather
gloves and a pair of well polished, fine Vornskire hide jackboots.
After limbering up for a few moments, Cameron removed one of his gloves and pressed his
hand against the cold metal of a camouflaged palm-plate. Reading his palm-print, a hidden
compartment under the Angel's port wing opened up.
The compartment contained a veritable arsenal of weapons that included a whole catalogue of knives, a
matched pair of blaster pistols; a gauss rifle fitted with a sniper scope and a variety of explosives.
From this arsenal, Cameron selected the twin blasters, which he strapped to his belt at the back
of his waist underneath his coat, a deadly looking combat dagger which he slipped into his right
boot and a beautifully crafted katana.
The katana (which was a family heirloom, passed down for more generations than Cameron
cared to think about) had a pommel and hilt made of gold and the handle was made of ebony
and engraved with the stylised image of a dragon. The scabbard was made of polished red-star
wood and was also bound with gold at both ends, with a rope of braided gold thread for a
strap.
Slinging the sword onto his back he then activated the mag-seals on the cockpit to deter any
potential ship thieves (as if the system lockouts weren't enough) and then closed up the
weapons locker.
Finally he activated the controls that closed up the clam shell ship covers on the landing pad. In
harsh climates like Fortuna's, almost all landing facilities had thermally insulated protection
systems to stop small ships from freezing up. Of course the Angel would easily withstand even
the harshest sub-zero temperatures but this was more to ward of undue attention from the
Angel's rather unique design.
Once that was done Cameron made his way across the landing field towards the maglev train
that provided access to the main part of the town. Already Cameron felt hungry and was getting
a headache. This was normal after being in the cockpit for so long, his body was just readjusting
to the local gravity and atmosphere.
As he reached the train, Cameron noticed a large painted sign that read "Welcome to
Freeholm," In bright but worn letters.
As he boarded the maglev carriage, Cameron thought to himself "Well Freeholm, lets see what
you got."
(Chapter 4)
Freeholm was a nice enough place. The outer domes were mostly taken up by residential
complexes, whilst the central district was primarily a series of market places.
Small shops and stalls sold just about every commodity imaginable. Regardless of whether or
not it was legal.
On a nearby table, a scrawny looking German Shepherd sold a whole variety of weapons from
serrated combat knives to military grade assault rifles and even some light squad support
weapons like pulse cannons and plasma chain guns.
Making his way through the crowded, noisy streets, Cameron could easily pick out the various
groups that made up the local population.
Fortuna's inhabitants could generally be divided into four distinct categories. First there were the
Cornirian military personnel, posted in greater numbers now since the planet was re-taken about
a year ago. How ever they mostly stuck to their barracks due to the almost constant threat of
attack by Venomian raiding forces.
The second group was the hunters. Fortuna was home to some of the Lylat systems most
vicious predators. The Fortunan ice wyvern, a lethal winged reptile almost fifty feet long with
diamond-hard fangs and claws, was second in notoriety to the Titanian sand devil. But the
rarest, most difficult to obtain commodities always command the highest price. The hide of one
of these beasts could fetch anything up to ten thousand credits. The men and women who
hunted the ice wyverns and other similarly deadly animals were almost as surly and dangerous
as their prey. Some hailing from families that had live on Fortuna for generations.
The third group was the prospectors. Although it had been proven that the Cornirian asteroid
belt was a more profitable and convenient source of minerals, it had long been claimed that
Fortuna was a treasure house of riches. But the rigors of mining such a harsh planet meant that
no major corporate holdings had ever been set up. None the less with tales of those who had
the tenacity to take what this freezing world had to dish out, being rewarded with massive
strikes of gems and valuable metals like gold, silver or even tirbidium, there was still no shortage
of freelance miners and treasure hunters, willing to take a chance at being richer than god.
The fourth and final group was the broadest. It consisted of the rouges, thieves, traders,
adventurers and wanderers. Young Cameron Winter fell into this category.
Looking around it was easy to pick out the hunters, thick set and bedecked with pelts, fangs
and bones, some of really quite impressive size. The traders in their refined and fashionable
cloths were a stark contrast, half cringing from the huge trappers as they bartered for the days
catch.
The wanderers were easy enough to spot simply by how wildly varied they were. Bored sons of
wealthy merchants rubbed shoulders with mercenaries and pirates.
This was the sort of place Cameron liked. Despite the fact that Katina was the furthest
Cornirian held planet; Fortuna because of its harsher climate was by far the more "frontier"
world. As such law and order were far less formal here. Freeholm was by no means lawless but
it was simply a case maintaining the peace rather than enforcing any written code of conduct.
Said peace was upheld by a locally appointed official and his assistants I.E a sheriff and his
deputies.
As such certain rules were relaxed or in some cases weighed altogether. Such as for example,
the public ownership and display of weapons. This was even to some extent actually
encouraged. On frontier planets like this it was considered a status symbol to have a weapon, as
it showed you were prepared to defend you home and property if you were forced to.
The result being that so long as you had no intention of using it except in self-defence, it was
perfectly okay to walk around armed.
In fact, Freeholm's residents displayed a rather bewildering array of knives, blaster pistols. So
the sight of a sword wielding young fox was nothing new. Indeed various types of swords and
daggers were common enough accessories among the pirates and thieves who hid out here.
Stopping at a food stall Cameron purchased a bowl of fried noodles with some unidentified
meat. As soon as he had paid, Cameron wolfed it down in seconds. He hadn't eaten in almost a
week and he wasn't going to waist time inquiring just what kind of local pest he was eating.
Having eaten he set about finding some where to stay. Freeholm seemed like the perfect place
to lay low for a while and he was quite sure that things were going just as they should.
Meanwhile on the other side of the system, Fox stood on Great Fox's bridge, deep in thought.
The same three questions had been on his mind ever since the General had informed them of
Cameron's appearance.
Who was he? Why was he here? And most of all, why did he seem so familiar?
He had dismissed it at first but now Fox had to admit, there was a certain resemblance between
them. Age difference and fur colour aside, the two of them could almost be brothers.
But most of all it was those eyes. Those piercing green, eyes that looked like they could take in
a whole galaxy in a glance. They were like some thing half-remembered but all the same so
intensely familiar.
At that moment, Falco interrupted Fox's reverie as he sprinted in from the com-room.
Screeching to a halt he said, "Yo Fox, the General just called. He says that the Cornirian
surveillance net just picked up a ship matching our new friend Cameron Winter's, entering
Fortuna's atmosphere, about twenty minutes ago."
A broad smile crossed Fox's face. "Bingo, this is just the break we need. Rob; lay in a course
to Fortuna at maximum speed. Falco, tell Kat and Bill to meet us there," he said emphatically.
"Got ya man," Falco replied as he headed back to the com-room.
Rob didn't say anything but Fox could already feel the ship turn and the deck rumbled as the
ship's drives powered up. "Soon," Fox thought, "Soon I'm going to get some answers."
(Chapter 5)
The next four days were uneventful. With the exception of one deputy giving Cameron a
suspicious look things had gone fairly well. As it happened a local informed Cameron that this
particular deputy gave this look to every one, so he shouldn't worry.
On this particular evening, Cameron had decided to explore the local nightlife. Up till now he
had just been laying low and was finding that he was getting very bored at night.
Across the street from the rather run down hotel that he had been staying in, Cameron noticed a
cantina and had decided to investigate. The sign above the door was painted in bright, colourful
letters and read "Mama Belle's Kingston Kitchen." Even out in the noisy street Cameron could
clearly hear the lilting, Reggae music being played inside.
Striding through the door, Cameron was then hit by the strongest smell he had ever
encountered. Not a bad smell per-say, just overpoweringly strong. It bypassed his nose, shot
strait up his olfactory nerve and hit his brain like an electric shock. Even under his long coat his
tail stood out strait like a bottle brush and all his fur fluffed up as if he was cold.
The barkeeper, who was a large friendly looking cat lady in her late forties, with grey fur and
dreadlocks, noticed this. "I see you been noticin Mama's special winta warma. Only tirty
chinyen," she said with a warm Jamaican accent.
As mind pummelling as the smell was, Cameron had to admit that his sense of curiosity (not to
mention adventure) had been piqued. Pulling up a stool at the bar he said "Ah, Mama Belle I
assume, well I think I will try the special," his clear English accent, tempered with a somewhat
friendlier tone than normal.
"Hmmm, looks like we be avin a real gentalman in the de old place tonight, fix ya right up me
darlin," Mama replied and then danced off to the kitchen. When she returned she placed a bowl
containing a generous portion of a meat stew of some description on the bar in front of
Cameron. "Eat up, Mama's got plenty more," she said and then turned to serve another
customer.
Cameron examined the contents of the bowl in front of him. The first thought that crossed his
mind was "Is it me, or is this stuff changing colour?" Indeed the stew seemed to start out a dark
red, then change to a sort of orange and then a dark yellowy.
He finally decided that it was just the lights. Dipping his spoon in he thought for a moment that
the stuff seemed the fizzle but brushed that thought aside as he tasted it.
He then stood up, blinked twice, moved a table that was behind him out the way and then
keeled over onto his face with a loud thud. The last thing Cameron heard before every thing
went black was Mama Belle's voice, somewhat more concerned this time "Oh man, me thought
that I be puttin too much fire-spice in de stew today."
When the young fox began to regain consciousness he felt like some one had just run about fifty
thousand volts through his body. His head hurt, none of his limbs worked yet and his eyes took
a moment or two to clear.
But what he saw was worth waiting for. Kneeling over him was the most beautiful girl young
Cameron Winter had ever seen in his entire life.
She was a wolf roughly his height, with soft light grey fur, long dark hair and a white stripe
running up her head between her shining ice blue eyes.
Thinking fast he said "Wow, I must be dead and you must be an angel." Or at least that's what
he would have said if his vocal chords had been working yet. What came out was a sort of
strangled moan, like some one dying of a heart attack.
The wolf girl's eyes bulged as she banged both fists down onto Cameron's chest to try and
restart his heart (which was already beating) saying "Oh no, oh no, breath dammit, don't you
dare die," her voice had a musical, contralto tone but was at this point somewhat flustered.
Fortunately Cameron's voice box decided to start working again. "Um, you can stop trying to
save my life now," said weakly, his voice still some where in between his normal, cultured
English accent and that of some one following a car accident.
Relieved the lovely wolf exhaled and smiled warmly down at him. It was a smile that Cameron
was hoping to see much more of.
To be continued…
By Edward Weldon
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Star Fox characters, as Shigero Myamoto or some body
else at Nintendo owns them. The same is true for my use of the songs "Voices" and "Info High"
from the maccross plus soundtrack. So please don't sue me.
Oh by the way if I catch you using my characters, then I will hunt you down and gut you like a
fish…Kay?
(Chapter 1)
Venom fighters screamed in all directions and lasers criss-crossed the sky, half the squadron
had already been shot down and it didn't look like help was coming anytime soon.
Flight leader Jessa, a rather portly bloodhound in his mid forties hated these patrols into the
Corneria asteroid belt. And now with a full Venom imperial fleet hunting pack chewing up his
pilots he just realised how much he truly hated the "rock sitter run" as it was called among the
younger pilots.
When that damned carrier loomed out of the shadows of one of the larger asteroids he thought
he must still be asleep in his bunk back at the Cornirian defence force barracks and this must be
a nightmare. "I mean how does a ship that big get past our picket ships and get this far into our
space."
But then when it's two escort cruisers slunk out from behind the rocks and started pelting his
squadron with laser blasts he got the rude message this is no nightmare. Then when the carrier
started churning out wave after wave of fighters, like a swarm of angry hornets from a hive the
old dog started wishing this was a nightmare.
"Hell there goes Siddens" He exclaimed as another of fifteen Bulldog class fighters under his
command exploded to his right, small fragments of debris pinging off the hull of his own ship, it
was a rather morbid irony but today was Siddens's birthday.
Despite the losses his men were taking Jessa and the rest of them were giving as good as they
got. He figured that his side was getting a kill per pilot ratio of at least
6-1 but that bloody carrier just seemed to keep churning out more ships for every wave they
defeated.
There was a rumour that Andross himself had designed these ships with an onboard
construction line and a hold full of pilots in cryogenic storage so they could just build as many
ships as they needed. Well by the looks of things it may as well be true.
At any rate it looked as if they would win any way. Between the seemingly infinite fighters from
the carrier and the constant pounding from the cruisers with their heavy weapons a kill ratio of
50-1 wouldn't have mattered, the squadron was being ground down with shear weight of
numbers.
Almost as if to accentuate the point another of his pilots was smashed into an asteroid the size of
a medium sized office building after taking a hit from one of the cruisers. Jessa figured another
twenty minutes of this and there clear all the way into the civilian trading lanes and then the real
massacre will begin.
"Where a miracle when you need one," Jessa exclaimed. Suddenly as if in reply a massive
explosion ripped through the carrier's flight deck as a nova bomb detonated in its cavernous
depths setting off fuel and ammo in a blinding flash blasting it into dust. "What the frak?!" Jessa
shouted as he searched for the bomb's launcher.
Then he saw it. Their saviour was a single fighter; its design was…elegant if uninspired, painted
pure white with a black stripe along the leading edges. The basic hull was similar to Arwings
flown by the famous Star fox team but the wings were forward swept in an aggressive blade like
arc that made it resemble some kind of flying dagger.
The com-link in Jessa's helmet searched for the new comer's frequency. " Attention unidentified
pilot, thank you, you saved our hi…"A young sounding male voice suddenly cut him off, "That's
nice, now shut up and focus old timer because you still got two cruisers and a whole keg of
fighters still to deal with," the reply snapped back.
The stranger's voice was like his ship, elegant and cultured but strained with the rage that comes
from having one's concentration broken whilst playing a carefully planed game of chess, it
reminded Jessa of old holovids about the knights that once upheld the peace on Corneria
hundreds of years ago.
"Have your pilots continue to focus on the fighters leave the cruisers to me," The stranger said
again, calmer this time, "Affirmative," Jessa replied.
With the carrier gone the low performance invader class fighters were no mach for the sleek
bulldogs. The dagger ship proved to be fast and agile as it looked, dodging and jinking past the
laser blasts from the first cruiser's turrets as if it were simply dancing.
Then the lethal looking craft lashed out with it's own guns positioned at the tip of each wing,
slicing off each turret with such precession as to make Jessa think this ship really was some kind
of blade, clearly this was the work of a seasoned master.
Screaming just feet over the top of the cruiser's conning tower and then looping over to come at
it again vertically the dagger ship fired its second nova bomb strait into the Cruisers Bridge,
Vaporising the ships command and control systems.
Jessa and his men cheered as they watched the big capital ship's power core over load and
take it down in flames.
With it's sister ship and the carrier they was assigned to protect both destroyed and half its
turrets already blown off the remaining cruiser powered up its drives and ran.
As the remainder of Jessa's squadron formed up and prepared to return to Corneria the strange
dagger like ship formed up on Jessa's wing. For the first time he noticed an insignia on its side, a
sword, a winged sword and below it the words: Angel of vengeance.
"Who are you" Jessa asked looking over to the other ship he could see the mysterious pilot for
the first time. He was a fox, definitely young, he couldn't have been older than twenty-three,
twenty-five at the most, darkly handsome with short sleek black fur, a white muzzle and cold
marble green eyes like two spheres of glowing green ice.
Looking over himself and smiling a not entirely comforting smile, he answered " I am Cameron
Winter and that is all you need to know for now, oh and be sure to inform Fox Mcloud," And
with that he hit his after burners and vanished into the night.
Oh flight leader Charles Jessa would inform Fox Mcloud, him and every one else in the Lylat
system. There's a new player in town, a dark angel. A dark angel now stalks the stars.
(Chapter 2)
General Pepper stood in thought and looked out of his office window at the Corneria City
skyline. The seemingly endless skyscrapers all shone silver in the summer sunlight.
Three mysteries had presented them selves of late. The first was of pressing concern for the
security of Corneria if not the whole Lylat system. The only reason that the enemy carrier group
had been discovered before it had reached striking distance of Corneria its-self was that they
had bumped into an errant fighter patrol. The second mystery had been that the patrol (Out
gunned and out numbered) had been rescued from certain destruction by a single ultra high
performance fighter, flown with all the skill and daring of some of the C.D.F greatest aces. The
third mystery was the fighter's pilot or rather his parting words to the patrol leader.
At that moment the com-panel on the wall behind the General began to chime. Turning and
tapping a few keys on the keyboard on his desk, the old bloodhound activated the screen and
was faced with the familiar features of Fox Mcloud.
"Ah Fox, I see you got my message," The General said as if greeting a favourite nephew. "Yes
sir and as requested this is a secure channel but if I may ask, Why all the secrecy?" Fox replied.
"Fox, have you ever heard the name Cameron Winter before?" The General said in a more
serious tone. "No sir, I can't say that I have," Fox returned. The General tapped a number of
buttons on his keyboard and the gun camera footage of the dagger like fighter, as well as an
enhanced image of the black fox pilot were displayed.
"Forty-eight hours ago, one of our patrols into area-6, quadrant-C of the Cornirian asteroid belt
was ambushed by a Venomian carrier group consisting of a Volga and two Azans. The carrier
group was then itself ambushed by a single unidentified fighter of unknown design. After inflicting
heavy losses on the carrier group and forcing its retreat, the pilot identified himself as Cameron
Winter. I hardly think I need to tell you that I think this is more than a coincidence that this
Winter fellow should help out our patrol," The General explained.
"So you think this guy has some kind of agenda?" Fox asked. The General nodded "I do
indeed. And what ever it is he has made it clear that it involves you personally," He said gravely.
Tapping a few more keys he played the audio sample of the mystery pilots exchange with flight
leader Jessa. "Oh and be sure to inform Fox Mcloud." The voice was calm, assured and it
chilled Fox right to the bone.
"Intelligence has yet to find out anything on this young man or what his intentions are but be
careful all the same. He's already demonstrated that he is a formidable opponent," The General
added. Fox nodded and thought for a moment. "Understood, Mcloud out."
Aboard Great Fox the General's face was replaced with the insignia of the C.D.F. Fox the
turned across the lounge to face Peppy and Fara who had been standing just out of view.
"You heard the General, let's be careful out there. Peppy, have Slippy check and double check
all the Arwings and prep them for launch at a moments notice and try to contact Kat and Bill,
we may need some back up if this Winter guy turns out not to be friendly," He said.
Peppy said nothing. He just nodded and turned to head to the bridge. There was a look on his
face. "Peppy? Is there some thing wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost," Fara asked
softly. Peppy just shook his head "No, its probably nothing but he reminds me of some one I
used to know," He said tiredly.
As Peppy left for the bridge, Fox felt a certain sense of déjà vu as well. Looking at the print out
copy of the picture the General had sent them, he thought there was some thing familiar in that
face.
"Who are you?" He thought as he stared into the stars through the nearby porthole.
(Chapter 3)
The Angel's hull plates, still hot from re-entry, creaked as they contracted in Fortuna's cold
atmosphere. Cameron's head was still heavy from being in soft-sleep for almost four days but
was rapidly regaining his composure.
The white tundra stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. The snow capped
mountains and ice forests below flashed by as the Angel flew low like some great bird of prey.
Setting the auto-nav to scan for a suitable landing site he was soon rewarded with a low chiming
sound. The M.F.D on his right automatically displayed the co-ordinates and topographical
layout of a medium sized settlement about fifty clicks north.
Cameron throttled back as the settlement came into view. The town consisted of a series of
interconnected complexes that resembled some sort of techno anthills as well as a small star
port nearby.
Coming around for a single low speed pass, Cameron was pleased to note the lack of a clarion
call from the local police or customs office. The landing field itself was a reinforced concrete
square about fifteen hundred meters along each edge. Most of the field was taken up by
individual landing pads for small ships about the size of shuttles but most of these were taken up
by a rather motley assortment of fighters. Further down the field were large hangers for
freighters that were in all likelihood the life blood of a place this remote.
All of this told the young black furred fox in the Angel's cockpit that this was the perfect place
to lay low.
Engaging the vertical thrusters, the Angel settled down gracefully onto one of the unoccupied
landing pads, kicking up a mini- snowstorm as the landing legs extended and touched down.
Powering down the engines and going through all the usual post-flight checks and procedures,
Cameron popped the canopy and stood up, stretching and rubbing some of the blood flow
back into his limbs. Sitting back down again for a moment, he programmed in the triple layered
system encryption that made illegal access to the Angel's computer and flight systems nigh on
impossible.
Once this was done he vaulted out of the cockpit, landing on the fresh white snow, swishing his
long, bushy tail from side to side to keep it warm and to help further return the blood flow to his
legs.
Despite the fact he had been virtually inert in a cramped cockpit for the last four days, his fit,
well-toned body still felt strong and healthy.
He was wearing a long black great coat with matching fatigues, a white T-shirt, black leather
gloves and a pair of well polished, fine Vornskire hide jackboots.
After limbering up for a few moments, Cameron removed one of his gloves and pressed his
hand against the cold metal of a camouflaged palm-plate. Reading his palm-print, a hidden
compartment under the Angel's port wing opened up.
The compartment contained a veritable arsenal of weapons that included a whole catalogue of knives, a
matched pair of blaster pistols; a gauss rifle fitted with a sniper scope and a variety of explosives.
From this arsenal, Cameron selected the twin blasters, which he strapped to his belt at the back
of his waist underneath his coat, a deadly looking combat dagger which he slipped into his right
boot and a beautifully crafted katana.
The katana (which was a family heirloom, passed down for more generations than Cameron
cared to think about) had a pommel and hilt made of gold and the handle was made of ebony
and engraved with the stylised image of a dragon. The scabbard was made of polished red-star
wood and was also bound with gold at both ends, with a rope of braided gold thread for a
strap.
Slinging the sword onto his back he then activated the mag-seals on the cockpit to deter any
potential ship thieves (as if the system lockouts weren't enough) and then closed up the
weapons locker.
Finally he activated the controls that closed up the clam shell ship covers on the landing pad. In
harsh climates like Fortuna's, almost all landing facilities had thermally insulated protection
systems to stop small ships from freezing up. Of course the Angel would easily withstand even
the harshest sub-zero temperatures but this was more to ward of undue attention from the
Angel's rather unique design.
Once that was done Cameron made his way across the landing field towards the maglev train
that provided access to the main part of the town. Already Cameron felt hungry and was getting
a headache. This was normal after being in the cockpit for so long, his body was just readjusting
to the local gravity and atmosphere.
As he reached the train, Cameron noticed a large painted sign that read "Welcome to
Freeholm," In bright but worn letters.
As he boarded the maglev carriage, Cameron thought to himself "Well Freeholm, lets see what
you got."
(Chapter 4)
Freeholm was a nice enough place. The outer domes were mostly taken up by residential
complexes, whilst the central district was primarily a series of market places.
Small shops and stalls sold just about every commodity imaginable. Regardless of whether or
not it was legal.
On a nearby table, a scrawny looking German Shepherd sold a whole variety of weapons from
serrated combat knives to military grade assault rifles and even some light squad support
weapons like pulse cannons and plasma chain guns.
Making his way through the crowded, noisy streets, Cameron could easily pick out the various
groups that made up the local population.
Fortuna's inhabitants could generally be divided into four distinct categories. First there were the
Cornirian military personnel, posted in greater numbers now since the planet was re-taken about
a year ago. How ever they mostly stuck to their barracks due to the almost constant threat of
attack by Venomian raiding forces.
The second group was the hunters. Fortuna was home to some of the Lylat systems most
vicious predators. The Fortunan ice wyvern, a lethal winged reptile almost fifty feet long with
diamond-hard fangs and claws, was second in notoriety to the Titanian sand devil. But the
rarest, most difficult to obtain commodities always command the highest price. The hide of one
of these beasts could fetch anything up to ten thousand credits. The men and women who
hunted the ice wyverns and other similarly deadly animals were almost as surly and dangerous
as their prey. Some hailing from families that had live on Fortuna for generations.
The third group was the prospectors. Although it had been proven that the Cornirian asteroid
belt was a more profitable and convenient source of minerals, it had long been claimed that
Fortuna was a treasure house of riches. But the rigors of mining such a harsh planet meant that
no major corporate holdings had ever been set up. None the less with tales of those who had
the tenacity to take what this freezing world had to dish out, being rewarded with massive
strikes of gems and valuable metals like gold, silver or even tirbidium, there was still no shortage
of freelance miners and treasure hunters, willing to take a chance at being richer than god.
The fourth and final group was the broadest. It consisted of the rouges, thieves, traders,
adventurers and wanderers. Young Cameron Winter fell into this category.
Looking around it was easy to pick out the hunters, thick set and bedecked with pelts, fangs
and bones, some of really quite impressive size. The traders in their refined and fashionable
cloths were a stark contrast, half cringing from the huge trappers as they bartered for the days
catch.
The wanderers were easy enough to spot simply by how wildly varied they were. Bored sons of
wealthy merchants rubbed shoulders with mercenaries and pirates.
This was the sort of place Cameron liked. Despite the fact that Katina was the furthest
Cornirian held planet; Fortuna because of its harsher climate was by far the more "frontier"
world. As such law and order were far less formal here. Freeholm was by no means lawless but
it was simply a case maintaining the peace rather than enforcing any written code of conduct.
Said peace was upheld by a locally appointed official and his assistants I.E a sheriff and his
deputies.
As such certain rules were relaxed or in some cases weighed altogether. Such as for example,
the public ownership and display of weapons. This was even to some extent actually
encouraged. On frontier planets like this it was considered a status symbol to have a weapon, as
it showed you were prepared to defend you home and property if you were forced to.
The result being that so long as you had no intention of using it except in self-defence, it was
perfectly okay to walk around armed.
In fact, Freeholm's residents displayed a rather bewildering array of knives, blaster pistols. So
the sight of a sword wielding young fox was nothing new. Indeed various types of swords and
daggers were common enough accessories among the pirates and thieves who hid out here.
Stopping at a food stall Cameron purchased a bowl of fried noodles with some unidentified
meat. As soon as he had paid, Cameron wolfed it down in seconds. He hadn't eaten in almost a
week and he wasn't going to waist time inquiring just what kind of local pest he was eating.
Having eaten he set about finding some where to stay. Freeholm seemed like the perfect place
to lay low for a while and he was quite sure that things were going just as they should.
Meanwhile on the other side of the system, Fox stood on Great Fox's bridge, deep in thought.
The same three questions had been on his mind ever since the General had informed them of
Cameron's appearance.
Who was he? Why was he here? And most of all, why did he seem so familiar?
He had dismissed it at first but now Fox had to admit, there was a certain resemblance between
them. Age difference and fur colour aside, the two of them could almost be brothers.
But most of all it was those eyes. Those piercing green, eyes that looked like they could take in
a whole galaxy in a glance. They were like some thing half-remembered but all the same so
intensely familiar.
At that moment, Falco interrupted Fox's reverie as he sprinted in from the com-room.
Screeching to a halt he said, "Yo Fox, the General just called. He says that the Cornirian
surveillance net just picked up a ship matching our new friend Cameron Winter's, entering
Fortuna's atmosphere, about twenty minutes ago."
A broad smile crossed Fox's face. "Bingo, this is just the break we need. Rob; lay in a course
to Fortuna at maximum speed. Falco, tell Kat and Bill to meet us there," he said emphatically.
"Got ya man," Falco replied as he headed back to the com-room.
Rob didn't say anything but Fox could already feel the ship turn and the deck rumbled as the
ship's drives powered up. "Soon," Fox thought, "Soon I'm going to get some answers."
(Chapter 5)
The next four days were uneventful. With the exception of one deputy giving Cameron a
suspicious look things had gone fairly well. As it happened a local informed Cameron that this
particular deputy gave this look to every one, so he shouldn't worry.
On this particular evening, Cameron had decided to explore the local nightlife. Up till now he
had just been laying low and was finding that he was getting very bored at night.
Across the street from the rather run down hotel that he had been staying in, Cameron noticed a
cantina and had decided to investigate. The sign above the door was painted in bright, colourful
letters and read "Mama Belle's Kingston Kitchen." Even out in the noisy street Cameron could
clearly hear the lilting, Reggae music being played inside.
Striding through the door, Cameron was then hit by the strongest smell he had ever
encountered. Not a bad smell per-say, just overpoweringly strong. It bypassed his nose, shot
strait up his olfactory nerve and hit his brain like an electric shock. Even under his long coat his
tail stood out strait like a bottle brush and all his fur fluffed up as if he was cold.
The barkeeper, who was a large friendly looking cat lady in her late forties, with grey fur and
dreadlocks, noticed this. "I see you been noticin Mama's special winta warma. Only tirty
chinyen," she said with a warm Jamaican accent.
As mind pummelling as the smell was, Cameron had to admit that his sense of curiosity (not to
mention adventure) had been piqued. Pulling up a stool at the bar he said "Ah, Mama Belle I
assume, well I think I will try the special," his clear English accent, tempered with a somewhat
friendlier tone than normal.
"Hmmm, looks like we be avin a real gentalman in the de old place tonight, fix ya right up me
darlin," Mama replied and then danced off to the kitchen. When she returned she placed a bowl
containing a generous portion of a meat stew of some description on the bar in front of
Cameron. "Eat up, Mama's got plenty more," she said and then turned to serve another
customer.
Cameron examined the contents of the bowl in front of him. The first thought that crossed his
mind was "Is it me, or is this stuff changing colour?" Indeed the stew seemed to start out a dark
red, then change to a sort of orange and then a dark yellowy.
He finally decided that it was just the lights. Dipping his spoon in he thought for a moment that
the stuff seemed the fizzle but brushed that thought aside as he tasted it.
He then stood up, blinked twice, moved a table that was behind him out the way and then
keeled over onto his face with a loud thud. The last thing Cameron heard before every thing
went black was Mama Belle's voice, somewhat more concerned this time "Oh man, me thought
that I be puttin too much fire-spice in de stew today."
When the young fox began to regain consciousness he felt like some one had just run about fifty
thousand volts through his body. His head hurt, none of his limbs worked yet and his eyes took
a moment or two to clear.
But what he saw was worth waiting for. Kneeling over him was the most beautiful girl young
Cameron Winter had ever seen in his entire life.
She was a wolf roughly his height, with soft light grey fur, long dark hair and a white stripe
running up her head between her shining ice blue eyes.
Thinking fast he said "Wow, I must be dead and you must be an angel." Or at least that's what
he would have said if his vocal chords had been working yet. What came out was a sort of
strangled moan, like some one dying of a heart attack.
The wolf girl's eyes bulged as she banged both fists down onto Cameron's chest to try and
restart his heart (which was already beating) saying "Oh no, oh no, breath dammit, don't you
dare die," her voice had a musical, contralto tone but was at this point somewhat flustered.
Fortunately Cameron's voice box decided to start working again. "Um, you can stop trying to
save my life now," said weakly, his voice still some where in between his normal, cultured
English accent and that of some one following a car accident.
Relieved the lovely wolf exhaled and smiled warmly down at him. It was a smile that Cameron
was hoping to see much more of.
To be continued…