Author's Note
All right, as long as I'm using clichés, first things first: the universe that these stories happen in are a little different from the ones y'all are probably used to. Since Star Fox was a game made in the nineties, my 'future' setting for this story will have an image of the future that was expected in the nineties. If you have seen Aliens, The Matrix, or played the original Starcraft, you should know what to expect. Think power armor, railguns and fusion reactors existing side by side with paper money, jukeboxes and VCR-looking visual feeds. It's a style choice that I would like to try, both to see if it fits in with the story and because of the "rule of cool". If this keeps you from suspending your disbelief, then you should probably stop here. If I don't think the style fits, the next story won't have it.
This story will be a short one. Think of it as a test run to see what I can make out of some OCs, a premade setting, and some spare time. If things turn out well, maybe I'll make stuff with the actual main characters. Let me know in the review section what y'all think, and I'll act on it.
This story starts in a converted airport placed in the middle of a dusty, scrubby plain. Surrounded by short bushes and low hills and at almost eighty years old, the main building was supposed to host craft moving both supplies and people from one continent to another. Originally designed as an adjustable military base to deter future aggressors, the place started out as little more than a few hangars, two fuel depots, some asphalt, and a token building with a dirt floor. With each new addition, the age of the base became more pronounced. Cobwebbed bunkers, ancient wire gates, rusted warning signs, and flickering lights were highlighted as they found themselves juxtaposed with shiny new buildings that had fiber-wire, decent light bulbs, tile floors, and adjustable launch pads.
Decades passed, and as the aggressors either collapsed or dispersed, both the base and the world had undergone enough changes to convince the original owners that it would be more lucrative to sell it off to someone who could actually do something with it. As a result, it became a mid-sized commercial launch pad for both cargo and passengers, located in a spot that could reach an orbiting ship with minor fuss.
It was in the early morning, when dawn was still hours away and the thick fabric of night was only pierced by small red and yellow pinpricks of color dotted along the airstrips and windows of the shuttle port, when a single car began pulling into the front past the gates. Stopping by the entrance, a lone figure clambered out before the car backed out and quickly pulled away.
The figure, pulling a large bag over his shoulder, made the slow trek to the main building. As he approached the pale, bright lights overhanging the glass doors, his features became more apparent.
Approaching the automatic doors with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder was a tall, lean bobcat. Wearing a thick, brown bomber jacket, a blue cap, denim pants, and dark boots, he stopped at the door and squinted through the glass beneath the light. Looking through the doors, he saw the check-in terminals: a long row of tan-colored consoles with convex screens and keyboards, all at waist-height. The whole building looked deserted save for one figure: a tall hairless cat in a dark suit. He was standing near the terminals, leaning over a single softly glowing terminal as it gave him a faint greenish silhouette. All the other terminals had blank, dark screens. He was not typing.
Taking off his cap by its bill and scratching his broad, triangular ears, the bobcat replaced his cap and trudged in, his breath leaving small clouds as he entered. At that exact moment the figure straightened up, picked up his suitcase, and made a slow walk towards one of the nearby hallways. As he walked away the suited cat made one brief sidelong glance at the newcomer before turning away and disappearing around a corner.
As he approached the check-in terminals, the bobcat went from a slow walk to a brisk jog, zig-zagging past the empty waiting chairs and stopping at the sole glowing terminal. Dropping his bag, the bobcat fumbled around his jacket pockets until he pulled up a single scrap of paper. Looking at the terminal's glowing green typeface, he held the paper in one hand and began typing on the keyboard with the other.
USER NAME?:
/
USER NAME?:
/ Neil Binch
ENTER FLIGHT:
/
ENTER FLIGHT:
/ Lowell-Tang 48ZKI
ENTER FLIGHT:
/**ERROR**
FLIGHT NOT FOUND
ENTER VALID FLIGHT NUMBER
The bobcat frowned, sighed, and retyped the code.
ENTER FLIGHT:
/
ENTER FLIGHT:
/ Lowell-Tang 448ZKI
ENTER FLIGHT:
/**ERROR**
FLIGHT NOT FOUND
ENTER VALID FLIGHT NUMBER
Narrowing his eyes, the bobcat reentered the code again.
ENTER FLIGHT:
/
ENTER FLIGHT:
/ Lowell-Tang 448ZKI
ENTER FLIGHT:
/**ERROR**
FLIGHT NOT FOUND
ENTER VALID FLIGHT NUMBER
Swearing softly, the bobcat looked back at his paper, and typed it in one more time, this time getting a new message:
**PLEASE WAIT FOR FLIGHT SECURITY**
"Oh, no."
Groaning and looking around, there was a few seconds before the bobcat heard some footsteps echoing off the halls and the sterile, white-tiled floors. Approaching him was a stout badger, wearing a blue uniform and a neon yellow safety vest.
"Hey!" the badger boomed,
"Are you Binch?"
The bobcat froze. He was fifty meters away from the badger, who was calling from the security terminals that crowded around the nearby hallway. He nodded. The badger responded by turning around and waving him over. The bobcat paused, tilting his head forward and peering through narrowed eyes before bending down and picking up his bag to follow the badger. The guard, followed by the bobcat, entered the security terminals, passing right through the metal detectors, ignoring them as they buzzed. Catching up, the bobcat walked beside the badger, turning his head to look more at his features.
Slightly shorter than the bobcat, the guard had a small pistol on his side, black shoes, and a flashlight. His face was gaunt, with deep bags under his sunken, yellow eyes; he had a small brown streak trailing under his muzzle. Breathing in, the bobcat could smell the guard's sour breath, tainted by cigarettes and dip.
Casting a jaundiced eye at the bobcat, but with his face still forward, the guard rumbled:
"You're the one with the private shuttle, right?"
The bobcat nodded, his eyes trailing the windows of the building. His eyes roved from one feature to another: the shuttering lights that lined the ceilings, the ripped leather on the waiting chairs, the dark windows that let you see the airstrip, lighted only by some slowly-flashing guide lights.
"This is the one you're lookin' for."
Pointing a gnarled claw at a single set of doors beneath a dimly glowing EXIT sign, the guard moved forward, pushing them open. A few hundred meters beyond him was a single shuttle. As the bobcat stepped forward, the badger abruptly turned and slammed the doors behind him. The bobcat looked back with raised eyebrows before trudging forward, with the wind blowing dust softly across the tarmac.
Silhouetted against the darkness was an ugly, white-with-black-streaks, delta-shaped craft with a rounded nose cone and ramp leading to its single, open airlock. With only a single bright white light above its door, there was another figure standing in it. An orange-uniformed guard: a snow leopard wearing a bulletproof vest, combat boots, cargo pants, and a helmet with a small mounted camera, all while holding a small submachine gun pointed at the ground. She stood at the top of the ramp. Rousing herself from her leaning position, she watched him approach the airlock. Giving him a quick glance-over from foot to head, and finally focusing on his face for a few seconds, she put away her gun and pulled out a small clear tube with a needle in it and motioned for the bobcat's hand.
The bobcat looked at the needle with suspicion, curling his lip. The leopard explained,
"Standard operating procedure. Just need to check."
He didn't move. She sighed again,
"Look, if I wanted to kill you, I'd have done it by now. This is nothing. Just need to make sure you're the guy."
There was a few seconds' pause until finally, the bobcat put his left hand forward. The leopard held the tube between two fingers and reached into her vest, pulled out a small eraser-shaped sponge, crushed it and began rubbing the bobcat's wrist. Throwing the sponge away onto the tarmac, she took the tube and pressed it against his wrist. Pulling it away, a small bead of blood formed where it was pressed. Pulling out a grey box from her belt, she stuck the tube into one end and watched the small LED screen. After a while, she nodded, and then stepped aside.
Ducking his head to get into the airlock, and with the guard following him, the bobcat waited as the outside door closed. After the slow hiss followed by a loud chunk, the inner door swung open. Entering it, the bobcat walked towards the rear past the seats and started looking for a place to drop his bag.
"I'll take that."
He turned around to see the leopard, with her weapon over her shoulder, offering her hand. She was a little taller than he was, and slightly stocky, with the muscles on her forearms showing prominently as she extended her hand. On her face was a bored expression, with her eyelids lowered and her head tilted forward, and accompanied by a small, wry grin. He paused again. After looking back at her holstered gun, he gave her his duffel. Turning around, she moved to the front of the cabin, entering the door at the front end. After the door closed, he was left alone.
The inside of the craft was lit both by floor lighting and by light bulbs above each seat. There were few windows. With only three seats, the width of the cabin was barely enough for someone to squeeze between the chairs and the walls. Electing to choose a seat near the front, the bobcat settled in.
After locking himself in, the lights on the shuttle went dark, and the floor lighting gave the cabin an eerie red glow. The cabin shuddered, and he began to feel the ground moving beneath him. As the cabin rumbled, the bobcat slowly turned to see through the window. Through it, he looked over the tarmac. Among the numerous craft that littered the pavement, from small drone-cargo craft that could ship single crates into orbit to a single massive passenger liner, the bobcat's gaze wandered to one small point. The control tower, a concrete spire some two hundred meters high, had a single large window that circumscribed the entire top floor. Inside was a single dog standing up, away from the computers, and talking to a suited cat.
Some minutes passed. After trundling up through the tarmac, the shuttle's engines began a deep basso rumble. After a few more minutes, they started to roar; and finally, after some effort on the part of an aging chemical-powered motor, began a high-pitched whine. Skipping once, twice, and on the third hop, the craft left the ground: a glowing yellow torch that began its sharp ascent at almost a ninety degree angle. A few moments later it broke the dark clouds above the starport. Soon after, it was gone from sight.