Part I: An Heir Without a Throne
The butt of his cigarette burned in the darkness of their damaged carrier, dimly lit by what few internal lights they could afford to replace. He had meant to swing by and buy a lamp the next time he docked in Katina or Papetoon but it had slipped his mind for some reason. Wolf sat in his chair, its faded violet cushioned back supporting him as he relaxed. Banishing the tension from his body, he permitted himself a moment to let the panic soak him, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling the chaos and smoke both. In the moments after, he began rebuilding himself, starting with his own goals and ideals.
"Is it true that he's dead?" Pigma asked from the table, still bandaged from head-to-toe from their last scrap with the Star Fox team.
Wolf's single violet eye flitted towards the hog, disdain in his wrinkled muzzle. Yet he said nothing, taking another drag from his cigarette and puffing it out. A few taps and it showered embers onto the metallic floor of their melancholy mobile hideout. They faded almost instantly, swept away by Wolf's boot. He turned and glanced at his monitor, wondering how fast the Cornerians would find them if they remained in orbit around the smoldering green Venom. Would they dare send an extermination squad to destroy the rest of Andross's forces? They were all but operating on fear now, the fall of their glorious and noble leader creating a power vacuum that was beyond painful to watch. What was left of their forces were scrambling for power and order. But it was futile. Wolf knew it all too well. They would fight amongst themselves and the Cornerians would swoop in with their coup de grâce.
That was, of course, assuming they stayed and Wolf was not too keen on it.
"Seems that way," Wolf answered Pigma, knowing that Leon did not care enough to spare him words and that… Well, others were grieving.
He looked to Andrew, sitting by the window, staring into the darkness of space with a look that Wolf knew all too well. Hopelessness had overridden all of Andrew's functions; since the news of Dr. Andross's demise had been announced, he had barely uttered a word. The despair was enough to make a man drink but Wolf knew of the four of them sitting in that room, he was the sanest. Alcohol wasn't going to make things better, no matter how much his tongue craved the burn of whiskey.
"So what's next?" Pigma asked the silent room. Wolf could have thrown the empty Cornerian soda can that had been plaguing his desk for the last three weeks at the selfish hog when he dared to speak. Yet, he cautioned himself, knowing the sleezebag was a wild enough card to turn them all in for a pretty penny and a clean slate from the Cornerian Army.
"First things first," Wolf said, still puffing away on his cigarette. He stretched out his legs, resting them on a nearby storage chest. "We need to get the ships repaired and that ain't gonna happen on Venom."
His single eye swept across the other three faces, sensing little response from any of them. Leon nodded—ever the perfect soldier, unaffected by any of the loss, the bitterness of defeat. He kept moving and Wolf liked that. Pigma was quivering in his chair, clearly restless at their grim situation. And Andrew… Wolf gave a sigh of pity, snuffing his cigarette on his desk.
"We've got options. I know a few guys on Eladard that can patch us up without a problem. Just have to keep our heads low 'til we get there," Wolf shrugged. "Once we get there, I think we might be able to get a few leads and keep goin'."
"Keep going?" Andrew asked, looking over his shoulder. "W-what do you mean by that?"
"War's over, kiddo. Andross is dead. The rest of the army's gonna split before the Cornerians can get to 'em. If they're smart, they'll run for bandit country. Papetoon wildlands, Eladard underworld, heck, there's even a few space stations out there they could hide at. But it doesn't matter. Venom's done," Wolf said, looking to the despondent heir.
He's grown since Andross gave him to me but he's still got a lot to learn about the world.
"Eladard's fine by me, I got a few connections there too," Pigma said with an eager hand rub. Leon all but scoffed at that, looking towards the vastness of space outside without comment.
"Leon? Got anything cute to add to the conversation?" Wolf asked, raising his bushy grey brows.
"I care not where we go. Before his death, Andross put his faith in you. Thus, I shall go wherever you do," Leon said with a shrug. He pulled out one of his knives and began to twirl it absent-mindedly. Wolf pondered if the assassin was contemplating dicing up Pigma.
"Glad we're all in agreement," Wolf shrugged and began to punch in the coordinates to Eladard from his computer on his desk.
"We're not," Andrew said firmly. "We can't just abandon the troops. Everything my uncle worked for… All those people that were relying on him. We can't just abandon that, Wolf."
Out came the sigh that Wolf had been holding, knowing those words would come. He looked to Andrew, wishing sorely he had not snuffed his cigarette. He rubbed his forehead, making sure not to disturb his eyepatch. "You ever been to prison, kid? It's not sunshine and rainbows, I'll tell ya that much. We try to rally the troops, we stick around here, and we're past done at that point."
"Is that the great Wolfrik O'Donnell running away from a fight?" Andrew turned to face him, rising up from his position by the window. His hands had become fists at his sides, his eyes filled with a childish determination that made Wolf almost pity him.
"Listen, kid, I don't like this any more than you do. But I ain't gonna go back to Chasma Penitentiary because you got some vendetta against the Star Fox team," Wolf retorted.
"How can you say that? They beat us! Twice! And didn't Fox's dad put you in prison to begin with?" Andrew asked incredulous and enraged.
"So did that guy," Wolf jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Pigma, who waved awkwardly with an uncomfortable chuckle. "And do you see me pounding his face in with my fists? Naw, because it's work. It's business. Ya just gotta stay profess—"
"What about the guy that took your eye, Wolf? What about—" Andrew began.
Wolf rose from his chair, a snarl resonating from him and his lips pulled back to bare his fangs. "Sit down and pipe down, kid. You don't know what you're talkin' about so just shove off." Ears back he glared the young heir down until he conceded, tearing his gaze away with a teenager-like scowl and scoff.
"Why is it different for you, then? Why can't it be the same for me?" Andrew asked with an edge in his voice.
"Because the guy that did this," Wolf pointed at his eyepatch, the whites of his teeth still bared. "Wasn't the entire goddamn fucking Cornerian Army. We're pulling outta here and you better learn to like it real quick. The world doesn't wait." He began to input the coordinates to Eladard, feeling his rage slowly fizzling out. Though Andrew had returned to his chair, he could feel his brooding wrath from the other side of the room.
What's he gonna do? He can't go back to Corneria now. He's a traitor to the empire and he's gonna get himself killed if he doesn't get his head on straight.
Their rackety Androssian carrier began the jump into hyperspeed, its hull creaking as it lurched forward. Wolf's eyes skirted the interior thoughtfully, musing darkly over how their getaway vehicle needed hefty improvements. He pulled out a piece of paper and began to doodle as he sometimes did when an idea was trying to work itself out of his mind. A ship was coming to mind, large enough to host their measly crew and yet large enough to store a plethora of vehicles. He chewed at the pencil in his hand, thinking on the vessel for a few long minutes before inevitably giving up on the drawing, sliding it into a folder on his desk.
Time ticked on slowly, painfully. He turned on the radio, letting it play tunes that reminded him of his parents. It was an old rock station, one that defeated the awkward silence that loomed. Wolf let his eye wander about only after thirty minutes of the radio, flitting towards Pigma especially, who was rocking back and forth in his desk chair, its back creaking so loudly that Wolf was waiting with bated breath for the hog to tumble onto the ground. Leon seemed to be waiting for the same thing, leaning forward eagerly in his chair. Pigma shot him a glare, clearly unamused by his staring, to which the reptile replied by licking his own eyeball with surprising speed. The hog gave a scoff and went back to playing around on his computer.
The radio could not blot out the uncomfortableness in the air, but Wolf tried his best to ignore it. When Andrew got up, unannounced, and left the room, he felt a little more at ease. Wolf gave a sigh, melting into his chair, and willed the ship to move faster towards Eladard. He eventually gave up and decided to go to his personal room, trudging his way to the dormitory area. He passed Andrew's room by, noting that the door was closed and locked. The canine gave another sigh and entered his room, plopping down onto the bed. He closed his eye, not even bothering to throw the covers over himself.
Just another day in the business. People die all the time. We just keep going. No sense in mourning. Happens to everyone one day.
Something cold pressed against his throat and his single violet eye snapped open, flitting towards the intruder immediately. He was surprised that the ape had been so quiet; perhaps he had paid attention to his training after all. Andrew lurked over him, holding a switchblade in one hand, its tip pressing against Wolf's grey fur. There was a light in his dark eyes that Wolf recognized; the realization that everything was gone. It took the one-eyed mercenary back to a time that he did not like to recall. He wanted to feel bad for Andrew but the infamous leader of Star Wolf could not afford sympathy for the kid. Not this time.
"Turn the ship around," Andrew said coldly.
"Or what? You're gonna stab me?" Wolf growled.
"I will if I have to," came the reply, but even Wolf could tell that Andrew's hands were shaking.
"You don't wanna do that, kid," Wolf sat up slowly, his hands lifting, bent at the elbow. His sole eye studied the enraged, grief-ridden face of the simian, feeling his own anger boil in his chest. Andrew was still such a novice, still wet behind the ears and used to keeping his head low in the Cornerian slums. He had leagues to go before he could even amount to anything in the underground world of Lylat. Wolf understood this, trying to suppress his own anger for… a reason he could not quite put into words. Perhaps he wanted to see the kid thrive…?
"Turn the ship around!" repeated Andrew Oikonny, teeth gnashed. The tip of the knife drove further into Wolf's fur, pricking at his skin. The mercenary gave no indication that it hurt but his ears were pressing flat against his head.
"Oikonny," Wolf said in a low voice, haggard by his conflicting emotions. "Put the knife down."
"Do what I say! I'm the heir to Venom… I'm your boss!" Andrew began and Wolf gave a laugh.
"Point out where it says that on the contract."
Andrew's rage manifested in his eyes first, smoldering with the glassiness of tears on their surface. Wolf moved before he could, however, seizing the ape's wrist and turning it with such a force that the knife spilled onto the floor with a clatter. He rose and pushed Andrew back, fur and hackles rising in tandem. Andrew stumbled back, throwing a hand over his face. Wolf grabbed his forearm, bearing down upon the kid with a snarl.
"You're on my ship, so you're gonna obey my rules. In case you've forgotten, I've been doing this for a while now. So I think I know what this group should do to stay alive right now," Wolf said vehemently. "You wanna die, you can pilot your fucking Wolfen back to Venom and wait for the Cornerians to come get you."
"I…" Andrew began, a quivering mess under Wolf's shadow. "I just want…"
"You wanna do what your uncle did. Fight the Cornerians for… Social justice, or whatever it was," Wolf let go of his arm, but did not back away from the ape. "If you wanna get off at Eladard and look around? Be my guest. But until then, you're gonna listen to my rules and do what I say."
Andrew did not reply and Wolf gave a scoff, walking away from the trembling, lost simian. He stooped down, snatching the blade from the ground. With a finger, he tested the edge, careful not to nick himself. The canine's only eye moved back to Andrew, and he added gruffly, "And the next time you think it's cute to try something like this, I'm gonna dropkick your ass out into the middle of space. Am I clear?"
The simian's head bobbed up and down. Wolf kept the blade, tucking it into his pocket with a growl, "Now get out." He watched Andrew go, sulking like a child out the door. When Wolf shut his door, he gave yet another heavy sigh and wandered to his bed again. He sat down, rubbing his forehead, careful not to disturb his eyepatch.
Specters ate at him, visions of the past drifting within his mind's eye. He thought of his crew, the one he had lost in their final raid against the Katinans. There had been no way to tell that the Cornerians had set a trap for his pirate crew, led by the renowned Star Fox team. But it did not matter; Wolf blamed himself for their deaths, for his time spent in Chasma Penitentiary on the lost corner of Macbeth. Had Andross not intervened, Wolf knew he would have been condemned to live the life of a prisoner, mining for the government that had spurned him since the moment he had been born. In a way, he mourned in that moment, silently staring holes through the wall. His hands became fists and he exhaled angrily into the air, breath fringed with a growl. This was twice now that he had lost to the Star Fox team—once against their original carnation and again against the son of James McCloud. He questioned his own talent, despairing for a few moments before a darker part of himself snapped, telling him to pull himself together.
It happens to everyone, remember? No sense in getting nostalgic, no sense in getting sentimental. We keep going.
He had not won every battle or every war, but he had survived, and that was what counted. Mercenary work was tough and it did not reward the soft or kind-hearted. Wolf laughed bitterly into the silence of his room, pulling the switchblade from his pocket. He toyed with it, looking at his reflection cast from the silver of the blade. His mouth twisted into a savage grin.
He really almost stabbed me with this.
Perhaps there was hope for young Andrew Oikonny after all.