Chapter 1: Reflections
Flying is life, son. When you've got your wings and your wingmates, you don't need anything else. You depend on them, they depend on you. And you finally feel like you belong somewhere.
-Captain James McCloud to his son, Fox, Corneria, 10 years before the Lylat Wars.
Corneria City, Corneria
Fox McCloud slouched over his drink, inhaling the fumes to block out the various stenches of other species gathered in the bar. He sat in the corner, draped in shadows. It was a good place to sit for someone who wanted to be left alone.
He stared at the glowing red mixture before him, not really seeing. The color was unsettling; it reminded him of Titania. For the last week, everything had reminded him of Titania.
He could see the motion-blurred red ground below his Solar-class Firesplash starfighter. He could feel his ship being rocked by the strong dust storms. And he could still hear the screams of his dying friend.
It had been such a simple job. So simple. He and the rest of his mercenary squadron, Star Fox, had been hired to ward off unwanted attention from a convoy of Titania Elements Inc. bulk carriers.
The mission had gone smoothly until they came out of the canyon. Then in an instant they were surrounded by screaming black fighters. Each fighter had borne the mark of Emperor Andross. No surprise there. The surprise came in the sheer quantity of fighters sent to overtake the convoy. There were no less than thirty.
Fox's memory blurred.
Fox had destroyed his sixth target when he heard the plea for help coming from one of his squadmates over the comm system. He looked starboard, and through the angry swarm of enemy fighters he watched Matthew Hound, his good friend for ten years, perish in a ball of flame.
That's when his memory went blank.
The rest of his then three-man squadron had somehow chased off the remaining enemy fighters. One of the bulk carriers had been shot down but remained in one piece; the raw material within was easily salvageable. Star Fox had successfully escorted the convoy to the rendezvous, received their pay, and left the planet for Corneria. It'd been a silent ride home.
Fox drained the burning red liquid, hoping that somehow doing so would dash the memory from his mind forever.
He'd gone through the flight academy with Matt and had flown with the hound for years. When Peppy Hare had returned from Star Fox's mission to the poisonous planet Venom five years ago and delivered the news that James McCloud was gone, Matt had been there to share Fox's grief at the loss of his father. Days later, Peppy recruited Fox and Matt to be the new replacements for the mercenary squadron. And now, after all that they'd been through, Matt was gone. In an instant. Forever.
This never happened to Star Fox, not since the day James McCloud had been betrayed by Pigma Dengar, a heartless mercenary who would shoot his own friends for a week's pay. No one died on Fox's watch, not until now. He had failed his squad but worse, he'd failed his friend. The very thought of it made him want to blast something.
"So this is what you've come to, Fox? Drinking booze in a low-life place like this?"
Fox's eyes began to focus and he found himself staring at a little less than two meters of gray fur and sharp teeth. He knew who the figure was before his eyes completely returned to focus; the cocky, menacing growl of a voice gave it away.
"And yet I'm still the better pilot, Wolf."
Wolf O'Donnell allowed himself a toothy grin. "Witless as usual, I see." He sat across the booth from Fox. "Any good business lately?"
Fox narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What do you want?"
"I'm just trying to be friendly. What, I'm not allowed to catch up with old friends anymore?"
At the mention of "old friends," Matthew Hound flashed across Fox's mind again, followed by that terrible flare of flame and debris.
When Fox returned to consciousness, he realized that he was leaning halfway across the table with a fistful of Wolf's flight suit in his hand. Slowly he released his grip and sat back.
"We lost a squadmate on Titania," he said, a lump rising in his throat.
"Tragic."
A female tiger approached the booth, datapad in hand. "Can I get you something to drink?" she asked Wolf.
"Cornerian Ale, please."
"It's on the house, Wolfy," she purred and retreated to the back room.
"I see I'm not the only one who comes here," said Fox.
"I meet customers here in between assignments. I don't brood over my past and get drunk."
"I'm not drunk yet. I can still aim my blaster just fine, and it's pointed right at you."
"I have too many friends here. You'd never make it out alive."
"I might be willing to test that theory."
The tension was thick enough to suffocate anyone near the corner booth. Fox stared straight into Wolf's yellow eye; Wolf still wore a patch over his left eye, a souvenir given to him in a past encounter with Star Fox. The patch made him look even more sinister than he used to, a perfect indicator of the pirate that he truly was.
Suddenly someone screamed across the bar. Instinctively, Fox and Wolf both turned their heads to see what the ruckus was about.
A blue falcon had his left arm wrapped around the throat of a lizard; he jammed a blaster into the victim's temple with the other. In a blur of motion, he swung his prey around and slammed the man backwards onto a tabletop. The lizard yelped in pain and struggled against the unbreakable grip of the falcon.
Fox was not interested in the possibility of a fight; brawls broke out everyday in Cornerian bars. He was more interested in the patch that the falcon wore on his white leather jacket. It was frayed and faded, yet nobody in the galaxy could have mistaken the meaning of the white fang emblazoned there: it was the mark of a bounty hunter.
The next surprise came when Fox took his eyes off the patch in time to see Wolf approach the hunter and reach for his blaster.
"Boss," said the lizard. "Don't…"
"Let him go, Lombardi," Wolf growled.
The falcon looked up at Wolf, an almost-cocky grin on his face. "Not another step," he warned.
Wolf stopped a meter from his companion and the hunter. He stared at the falcon for what seemed like an eternity but was in reality only seconds. Then he stepped forward.
In one smooth, fluid motion, the bounty hunter swept his leg under Wolf's legs and had a blaster trained on him before his knee hit the ground.
Wolf, now in a reverent-appearing position, slowly looked into the barrel of the hunter's blaster and snarled. "No one does this to Star Wolf."
"Nothing personal, Wolf. It's only business." Lombardi turned to the lizard. "Now, you're coming with me, dead or alive. It's easier to deal with you dead, so don't make me angry."
Fox had never seen Wolf kneel before someone, even if he had been physically forced into the position. Sometimes even the galaxy's best could be brought to their knees. Or worse.
Spontaneously, Lombardi pistol-whipped Wolf into unconsciousness and dragged the lizard across the bar toward the door. He flipped a coin to the bartender as he left. "Here. Buy yourself somethin' special. And take care of the hairy one."
Fox shook his head in disbelief, slightly impressed, and watched the bounty hunter leave.
Slippy Toad wiped the grease off of his webbed hands and tossed the grimy rag into a pile with all the others. He turned back to the Firesplash and sighed. This shouldn't be taking so long.
All three Star Fox Firesplash starfighters were lined up in the Great Fox's landing bay. The immense dreadnaught Great Fox herself was docked in a Green Sector bay of the Corneria City Spaceport.
Each Firesplash had varying degrees of damage. Slippy had already patched up Peppy Hare's fighter, which alone had taken more than fifteen hours. Now he was working on Fox's ship, which always saw more action than the other fighters but somehow took less damage. Slippy always appreciated Fox's defensive abilities.
Such abilities were never perfect, however. A char mark the size of Slippy's arm marked one of the Firesplash's four pointed wings, leaving wires dangling and sparks flashing.
He picked up a welding wrench and pulled a helmet over his head.
"How are you doing, Slip?" asked a kind old voice. Peppy Hare walked into the landing bay.
"I'm okay. I finished working on your fighter."
"That's great. But you know what I meant."
Matthew Hound's death had hit them all hard. Slippy flipped the activation switch on the welder. Sparks flew.
"Take it easy, son. I know it's tough."
The blue flame glared on the visor of Slippy's helmet. He didn't want to talk to Peppy or anyone, really, about what had happened back in that canyon. He just wanted to fix things. It helped him vent his feelings.
Peppy made his way back toward the door of the landing bay. He stopped in the doorway and turned toward Slippy again.
"By the way, where did Fox wander off to?"
Slippy turned the welder off and picked up a screwdriver. "He's probably downtown dealing with things."
"Ah." Peppy's long gray ears drooped.
Suddenly alarm klaxons wailed throughout the ship. The hare's ears perked back up in alarm.
A monotonous voice sounded over the intercom system. "Peppy, Slippy," said ROB 64, the ship's robotic Ship Operations Officer. "I've picked up a number of hostile targets headed toward the city on the radar. Please come to the bridge now."
Slippy traded an astonished look with Peppy as Peppy began to run toward the dreadnaught's bridge. The landing bay door slid shut behind him. Slippy glanced down at his screwdriver and the damaged ship beneath it, then he hurled the tool as hard as he could into the wall.
Fox stood over Wolf's limp body on the floor of the bar. It was time to get back to the Great Fox, but something was keeping him from leaving. He knew that he hated Wolf, but deep inside him lay a grudging respect for the ace pilot that Wolf O'Donnell was. He knelt beside Wolf, put him over a shoulder, and slowly rose under the weight of his new burden.
"You a friend of his?" asked the bartender.
"I'm more of an acquaintance. I'll take care of him."
The bartender nodded and continued wiping out a glass.
Fox was almost to the door when the lights went out and the building shook. Small chips fell from the ceiling into Fox's fur. He brushed them away with his free hand after he regained his balance.
Scanning the bar for signs of trouble, Fox absorbed the scene before him. Several women were screaming in panic; two leopards were clawing at each other on the far side; the bartender was checking the damage to his ceiling; and through the hole in the ceiling Fox could see an invasion force landing in Corneria City.
