Chapter 1

The Great Fox drifted slowly near Corneria, the planet the Star Fox team had come to call home. There had been relative peace throughout the Lylat system for nearly two years. Times had changed. It was almost as if the galaxy breathed a collective sigh of relief and attempted to sustain this period of solace. There had been little foreign conflict, and for that matter, limited planet-localized struggles as well.

The Star Fox team had learned quickly that peace makes mercenary work hard to come by. They had started to suffer from a lack of excitement, not to mention income. Nevertheless, they prepared for any given opportunity to serve through routine maintenance on all equipment, periodic weapons training on Corneria, and daily exercise. This activity, however, had not prevented the spread of cabin fever upon the Great Fox. While the rest of the galaxy seemed to finally relax and lower its guard, tensions on the Great Fox began to grow. Even though Slippy seemed to stay content maintaining the Great Fox, the rest of the team were itching to have some kind of action, even if it was a petty recon or escort mission.

As the docile planet of Corneria rotated slowly and indefinitely, floating peacefully in space, Fox stood at the bridge of the Great Fox, thoughtfully gazing out over the surface of the planet and into the vast expanse of the Lylat system, pondering deeply. What's next for Star Fox? Fox wondered. Fox suddenly had the realization that Star Fox and the Lylat system did not move in parallel. When the system was in crisis, Star Fox felt comfortable in its role as protector; while the system was at peace, Star Fox felt out of place, almost unnecessary. What can this mean for the team? Fox pondered. Will this cycle of peace and war ever end? What will become of us if it does? What will happen to the Lylat system?

Fox already knew the answer. The cycle would never end. It was almost as certain as tomorrow following today. There would always be a need for a team like Star Fox, as long as there was evil. Evil must be combated with good, because that was the way things were. Questions were unnecessary for some things. The answer is known, and that is that. The cyclic state of the galaxy seemed to be one of those things. Presently satisfied with his answer, Fox's thoughts soon shifted to his father. What would he think of me now? Fox thought. Have I proven myself to him? Is he proud of me?

Try as he might, Fox could not find any absolutes to satisfy his questions. Was it possible that his emotions were clouding his logic, and there were indeed answers that he was seeking? Fox knew that there must be, but a fog descended on his mind when he probed for them. Fox breathed a subconscious sigh of resignation. He could not know the answers yet, at least while his emotions were clouding his thinking. His only choice was to try thinking about these things later, in the hope that understanding will dawn on him. Until then, he could only imagine the answers.

Something caught Fox's eye at the edge of his vision. Turning to look, he saw two small objects flying around in the distance. At first, they seemed to be moving in parallel, but the one in front suddenly moved erratically and the other attempted to copy its movements. It almost looked as if they were jousting. The two objects pulled close enough for Fox, with his years of flying experience, to identify what they were. They were two small fighters, one chasing the other. Are they fighting? thought Fox. Lylat is at peace! What could they be fighting about? Fox sensed his intuition giving way to his logic, and he only doubted himself more.

Several bursts of light sprung forth from the chasing fighter, missing the second fighter and continuing on indefinitely into space. Fox's logic and intuition suddenly concurred. That ship is attacking the other one! Why? Why isn't the other ship shooting back? These thoughts raced through Fox's mind just as Falco stormed onto the bridge.

"What's going on?" the avian inquired. Fox allowed Falco to get closer before responding, "Are you talking about what's going on out there?"

"What else would I be talking about?"

Fox quickly informed Falco of his deduction.

"Well, we can't just sit back and watch this. It looks like that guy's about to bite it. What should we do?"

Fox understood Falco's reply to mean that he was starting to accept, even anticipate Fox's leadership instinct. That fact briefly warmed him. Fox began to formulate a plan, but that decision was soon made for him as ROB announced in his iron, monotonous voice, "Incoming communication link. Source: nearby commercial fighter, identification code A113-1138."

"Accept that link," Fox stated, "and send everyone else up here." ROB complied, and Fox and Falco's attention turned toward the large communications screen at one end of the bridge, which showed the pending progress of the link connection. The link established itself as the rest of the Star Fox team arrived at the bridge. Fox listened intently as Falco quickly explained the situation to everyone else. They remained quiet. They knew enough to let Fox handle, for the most part, outside communications.

The communications link was finally established, and images of a cockpit and a helmeted pilot came into view.

The somewhat panicked pilot spoke with a deep, chiseled voice, "Mayday, mayday! This is fighter A-one-thirteen eleven-thirty-eight attempting contact with Great Fox. Great Fox, do you copy?"

"A-one-thirteen, this is Great Fox. We hear you," replied Fox.

"Great Fox, I'm requesting immediate fighter assistance. My ship's in critical condition and can't hold out much longer." Fox noticed small flames flaring intermittently into view from outside of the pilot's windscreen.

"This guy means business. Great Fox, can you help?"

Fox was about to reply when Falco interrupted him. "Wait a minute, Fox. We don't know anything about this guy. He could be just as bad as the other guy. For all we know, they both could be criminals fighting over money or something. Why should we help him?"

Fox's earlier satisfaction at Falco's submission to him quickly crumbled. Perhaps that was another absolute, that Falco would always question his leadership. Fox sighed, and without turning to him, asked, "Slippy, run a history check on that ship, will ya?"

"Already on it, Fox!" Slippy enthusiastically replied. Slippy was already at the computer, typing away furiously. Fox couldn't help but smirk. That was one quality that Fox loved about Slippy. He seemed to anticipate what Fox or anyone else needed next and would do something to fulfill that need, something his younger self would not have done. Peppy exchanged silent glances with Fox. He had noticed too.

"Great Fox, I recognize your caution, but I can't hold out much longer!" Fox was about to reply, but Slippy suddenly chirped in the results of the history report: "Here it is Fox! Let's see… it's a small cargo ship that was upgraded to have weapon capabilities, and re-registered as a commercial fighter, all done in accordance to law. No reported offenses. No government affiliation. Come to think of it, it's not even a government-produced model. It's commercially sold, privately owned."

"Thanks, Slip," said Fox, "That says he's not military. No time to run a check on the other ship. I say we trust him."

"Fox is right," interjected Krystal, "We have no choice. Our reputation demands it."

"Well, it's the right thing to do, so we're going to do it."

"I hope you know what you're getting into," Falco said in resignation.

"Great Fox, thanks for your help, but this situation's getting hairy. I think my friend here is improving his aim. Hurry!" cried Pilot A-one-thirteen.

"A-one-thirteen, help is on the way," Fox told him. A small cry of jubilation rose from the cockpit. Fox then turned his attention to the rest of the team. "Alright, Falco, do you think you can handle this guy yourself?"

"I've been waiting for some action," was his reply.

"Fox, I had better go with him," pleaded Krystal.

"Krystal, you're right. You go with Falco and help him out." Fox noticed a look of mild disdain from the avian. "Don't give me that look, Falco. You can't be Captain Solo all the time." With that, Falco and Krystal rushed to the hangar bay of the Great Fox, Falco sulking along the way. Fox then ordered Peppy to stay on the bridge and stay in communication with Pilot A-one-thirteen. "I need you to stay here and communicate anything important to Slippy and I, as well as communicate with the pilot. You're good at talking sense into people, when you're not so crabby all the time," Fox told him with a smile. Peppy received the comment as a half-joke and accepted his assignment. "Slippy, I need you to help me guide our flyboy to a possible crash landing in our hangar bay, as well as tend to his ship afterwards. Are you up to it?" Slippy eagerly accepted, and, like an obedient puppy, followed Fox down to the hangar bay.

Falco and Krystal were soon cruising smoothly through space in the direction of the dueling ships. "Krystal, you attack him high, and I'll go low," commanded Falco. Krystal obeyed, opening up their formation. As the Arwings drew near, the attacking fighter detected Krystal through his windscreen and broke off his attack. Krystal chose that moment to fire a few volleys of laser fire at him. As he twisted away, a few bolts hit him, but the other few narrowly missed and headed towards Falco. He easily dodged them, as if he anticipated them. Nevertheless, he shouted through the radio, "Hey, I'm on your side, remember?" Krystal's silence evidenced the effect of his comment. You just wait, I'm only warming up,she thought. She deftly twisted and looped her Arwing to intercept the fighter, as Falco approached from the bottom. He spun and fired a charged shot at the fighter. The enemy fighter pulled up into a spiraling loop, yet was unable to outrun the spherical burst of energy. The shot landed squarely into the back of the fighter, sending it into a tailspin as the pilot fought to gain control. Just as he did, Krystal dove in from the rear and fired shot after shot of laser fire. The onslaught only ended when the fighter broke apart, burst into a fireball, and disappeared. The attacker had been destroyed. Falco paused, then said, "Well, what do you know, you're improving!" Krystal, having redeemed herself, at least temporarily, breathed a sigh of relief before replying with a simple, "Thanks Falco."

Meanwhile, as the attacking fighter pulled away, Pilot A-one-thirteen struggled to steer his crippled ship towards the Great Fox. Momentarily, the two Arwings from the Great Fox appeared on either side to escort him there. Falco and Krystal received a message from Fox: "Break formation and wait for clearance to land. He's got priority now, so wait until he's landed and its safe for you to land." Fox then sent a message to Pilot A-one-thirteen: "A-one-thirteen, this is the Great Fox. Is your landing gear and braking system functional?"

"Great Fox, my brakes work, but are damaged, and my landing gear's not deploying."

"Fears confirmed. We will have to walk you through crash-landing procedures. You ever crash land before?"

"I'll try anything once."

"I like your wit. Let's hope you're willing to learn. I don't know where you've flown before, but as you might know, flaps out here in space are useless, so don't bother opening them."

"Roger that, Great Fox. Flaps are closed."

"Alright, I can see you now. Do you see the back of the Great Fox?"

"If I'm staring at a big old engine with blue exhaust?"

"That's the back. You will have to head there and line yourself up with the main engine exhaust, the biggest one, and approach the hangar entrance that way. Do you understand?"

"Head to the biggest engine, line up with it, head towards the hangar entrance. Roger that, Great Fox."

Fox waited for the pilot's confirmation of his position before delivering the next instruction. "Set your throttle down to as low as you can while still going forward. Got that?"

"Throttle down to 10%. Going pretty slow."

"That's what we want. Now, I want you to mentally pick a spot at the front of the hangar on the ground and aim for that spot. You will want to come in as shallow of an angle as possible, as slow as possible, so I suggest you drop altitude."

"Dropping altitude."

"You got a spot picked out?"

"Roger, I hope you're not standing at the end of the hangar."

Fox chuckled slightly to himself before replying, "You can be sure I'm not. I can really see you now. Do you see me?"

The pilot peered through the windscreen. "Is that you, jumping up and down and waving all crazy like that?"

"No, that's Slippy."

"Figures, I see you. What next?"

"I'm going to guide you left and right, but it's up to you to bring in the ship smoothly, got that?"

"Roger."

"And you're paying to repaint the floor."

Fox heard a chuckle at the other end of the transmission.

"Alright, seriously now. When you get near our engine, turn yours off and let your momentum carry you. As soon as you enter the airlock, slam on those brakes."

The small fighter was nearing the hangar bay entrance. Fox coaxed the craft left and right, and the pilot demonstrated decent skill in handling the ship. As the ship came closer into view, Fox was surprised at its condition. It was worse than he thought it would be. Portions of its wings were missing, there were blast marks scattered along its surface, and it seemed that its engine in the rear was missing sizable chunks of it and had caught fire.

Silence fell as the fighter drew very close to the hangar bay entrance. It seemed to deviate from the correct course slightly, but, as if it had finally made a tough decision, straightened itself out and dove towards the entrance. Its entry could not have been more accurate. The ship plowed dead center into the hangar bay and hit the ground just past the airlock. Due to the construction of the ship and its lack of landing gear, it tilted on one side as it slid along the ground, sending coarse sparks flying. The wing on the ground gave way slightly, sending a shudder through both the ship and the hangar bay. Both Star Fox and, it seemed, the Great Fox itself seemed to hold its breath as the ship skidded along the ground. It finally came to rest in the middle of the hangar, engine still aflame.

"Slippy, be ready with that fire extinguisher," Fox commanded. As Slippy busied himself, the cockpit of the ship opened and the pilot, now helmetless, hopped out and landed lightly on his feet.

The badger walked a few paces towards Fox. He was tall and sturdy, and his clothes, obviously meant for utility in favor of style, were heavy and loose, just tight enough to hint at the strong, solid frame beneath. There was a faded scar across the cheek, yet it did not appear intimidating in any respect.

Fox began to walk toward the pilot, but was stopped abruptly in his tracks when an explosion ripped through the hangar. Fox shielded his face from the blast, and he saw the pilot fly through the air toward his left. Knocked senseless, the pilot could do nothing to break his fall. He hit the ground several meters from his ship. Hard. Further dazed, he bumped and slid along the floor on his side, suddenly striking the back of his head on a vertical support column, causing his body to spin. He slid to a stop a few meters from the column, flames licking his back. He lay there motionless as Fox, Slippy, and Peppy, who had just arrived, rushed to his aid.