AUTHOR'S NOTE: Holy shit. I never thought I'd actually get to the point in my life where I'd write this story. So much has changed for me since I wrote "War Stories" that I'm hardly the same person anymore. So I suppose that's as good a reason as any for me to finally return to the Lylat System and advance the stories of Fox and Wolf for you all in my long-stalled sequel to my original story "A Great Day To Die". Here we finally see how Lylat has changed since the Lylat Wars, in many ways for the worse, and we also see a much more mature, cynical Fox, no longer as idealistic as he once was as he attempts to rebuild his life. For you new readers: Go back and at least read "A Great Day To Die". Seriously. It's a pretty short read. And you'll understand so much more if you read "Cubs" and "War Stories" as well. And, standard operating procedure: This story is going to be knee-deep in profanity, violence, and some sexuality and drug use. Don't say I didn't warn you. But you'll enjoy it. I guess there's no better way to really begin this but to dive right in and save my comments for later. Enjoy and review, guys. It's nice to be back.
-Dreams and Hard Realities-
It didn't rain often in Corneria City. The weather satellites that weakly influenced the planet's climate directed most of the rainfall to the agricultural regions in the countryside, ensuring that the megacities of Corneria enjoyed clear skies for the most part. In order to prevent it from suffering a full-on drought, however, the city was scheduled for a period of rainfall every two months in which the heavens opened up and a monsoon-like deluge fell upon the metropolis. This was one of those days.
The polished white buildings and silvery grey spires of the city were dulled by the monochromatic clouds and heavy rainfall that splashed onto the windshields of every skycar that flowed through the congested airlanes. Even the lit-up, flashing holographic advertisements and news ticker displays of Inari Square were little more than colored ghosts through the haze. Buffeting the downpour amongst the super-modern and rounded skyscrapers was the comparatively squat, fortress-like form of Powerscourt Palace, shrugging rain off of its sand-colored stone walls and metal bastions. Among the oldest buildings in Corneria City, Powerscourt was the seat of The Most Noble and Righteous Parliament of Corneria and Her Commonwealth Worlds, the bicameral houses of Parliament that had governed the Cornerian Commonwealth for more than two hundred and forty years. Though the building itself was nearly six hundred years old, predating the invention of modern blasters, AI networking and deflector shields, no expense had been spared in keeping Powerscourt as modern as possible without replacing the building entirely. Thus holograms, deflector shield generators and interactive computer networks interspersed throughout the building mingled in a somewhat contradicting manner with the ancient stone walls and hand-carved wooden doorways that seemed more appropriate to a museum. In the first basement level below the cavernous rotunda that could host a session of both the House of Commons and the House of Consuls, a squad of Corneria City Metro Police officers stood at attention outside a pair of large doors. As if this wasn't enough security, a pair of Chang Robotics Enterprises CY-500 police droids stood guard, armed with Cornerian ArmsCor EX-3 blaster rifles. On the small holoscreen next to the doors were the words: 3:00: Special Meeting of the Parliamentary Appropriations Subcommittee on Defense.
Though regular meetings of the Defense Subcommittee were always closed to the public and of a highly sensitive nature, the extra security was due to the fact that some of the most powerful players in the Commonwealth's executive branch were in attendance.
Inside the dim conference room, the fifteen representatives from the House of Commons and the four representatives from the House of Consuls sat at the outsides of a sloping long table shaped like a large letter C. A single seat at the end was missing, for Justice Keith Williamson, a ram in the House of Consuls who was undergoing doloxan treatments for lung cancer. Sitting at the middle position of the table was a young, attractive yellow Labrador in a well-fitted navy blue suit with a matching tie and a cream-colored shirt. At thirty four years old, Robert Fitzroy was the youngest person ever to be elected Prime Minister of the Cornerian Commonwealth. He'd only served two terms as a Member of Parliament before being selected to lead the Labor Party, and had been more known at the time for dating actresses and supermodels and being named the "Best Dressed Politician in Lylat" by Chic holozine. Many assumed that Robert Fitzroy was going to be a puppet for the Labor Party at best, a political pushover at worst when he was first selected. Fitzroy enjoyed proving those people wrong. He found his strongest issues were the public's concern with crime and the military, which was his primary reason for personally overseeing this special meeting of the Defense Subcommittee. He looked down to a long straight table in the space made by the curving committee table, where nonelected members of the government and of the Ministry of Defense sat. Each had been called to give their voice to the committee which would, in essence, determine the future budget and the roles of the Cornerian Defense Force and the Cornerian Army as well as the Commonwealth Security Bureau.
"Your Grace, I'd like to once more voice my opinion on the proposal for a CSB starfleet. It's an issue that, clearly, needs to be resolved," a hoarse voice from the contributor's table called, breaking the silence.
"The committee has not yet recognized you, General Hare," The Subcommittee Chairman clipped sternly with his beak.
Fitzroy looked over to the middle-aged leporid in the red officer's uniform standing up at his seat. Even with the addition of eyeglasses and somewhat bushy facial fur, General Peppy Hare still bore great resemblance to the revered Lieutenant Commander of Team StarFox that he used to be. The respect he commanded as General of the Armed Forces was almost as great as his predecessor, George Pepper, though many agreed that he would never escape the StarFox shadow. Fitzroy couldn't really remember the last time he'd heard of StarFox in more than a year. He had to wonder if they were still around.
"That's fine, Mr. Chairman, we can begin here," Fitzroy said smoothly and with a nod, looking over to the Defense Subcommittee Chairman, an avian with yellow plumage.
After a moment of pause, the Chairman responded, "Yes, your Grace. The chair recognizes the General of the Armed Forces."
"If we're going to re-open this discussion, General Hare, I think we need to hear something from you, first," the Prime Minister began. He almost lost focus when two stenography droids hovering above the table nearly collided, but soon returned to his question, "Do your objections on this issue come from a legitimate strategic concern? Or is it just because the ships for this CSB fleet will, of course, be taken from the starfleets of the Army and Defense Force?"
"I think both of those facts represent a problem, your Grace, so I object on both counts," Peppy Hare answered.
Robert Fitzroy gave a bemused smile.
"Well, lets hear your basis, General," Fitzroy sighed.
"First off, I think downsizing the Starfleet for any reason is a mistake at this time," General Hare explained, "The Aparoid Invasion was only a year ago, and we're still rebuilding and recovering from that. The Lylat War was just a decade ago, and I don't think this is any reason to--"
"And who would we fight, General? Who would you propose?" Fitzroy interjected with a raised canine ear, "Andross is dead. Venom is still under Cornerian control. The Venomian Remnant is a…joke hiding out around Fortuna with barely enough ships to cause disruption, let alone threaten the Commonwealth. The Aparoids are extinct. And we're at a very stable peace with both Macbeth and Fortuna. Meanwhile, the cost of rebuilding the Starfleet to pre-Aparoid proportions would be... astronomical, General. The loss of the ships required to build up a CSB-controlled fleet wouldn't harm the ability of the Army and the Defense Force to protect us from... whatever interstellar threat just happens to come out of nowhere. The Army's still getting that new Ajax-class battlecarrier. And in the event that the impossible happens, those ships can always be returned to your control, General."
"Your Grace, this goes back to the concerns that General Pepper and now I have about how the CSB has changed since the Lylat War," General Hare persisted, "The safety of interstellar commerce and travel has been the responsibility of the Army and Defense Force for hundreds of years."
"General Hare, the military has always failed at taking care of both internal and external security in space. It's just too big of a job. That's why we felt like we needed to rely on privateers like your StarFox Team to pick up the slack. The people are tired of both. They don't like being policed by the military or having to pay someone to do a job that their government can't. That's why the CSB has changed, General, because times have changed."
"With all due respect," General Hare said, clearly struggling to be civil, "There's a reason the CSB has always been under the control of the General of the Armed Forces, because intelligence-gathering has always gone hand-in-hand with the role of the Army. It was one thing to make the CSB independent from the Army. It's going even farther to give them their own space power."
"Alright, I think we need an additional perspective on this. I'd like to recognize the Director of the Commonwealth Security Bureau," one of the committee members voiced.
"I agree, the chair recognizes Director Gillian Morrow," the Chairman nodded.
From the other end of the contributor's table rose a thin, middle-aged female arctic wolf. She wore a black pantsuit with an orange blouse, which caused her snow-white fur to stand out brilliantly and vaguely showed off a toned body shape more akin to a much younger female. Most notable were her eyes: a pair of bright yellow orbs that stared out coolly at the world around her.
"Director Morrow, please reiterate for General Hare what we have determined to be the greatest threats to Commonwealth security," Fitzroy inquired.
"According to our analysts, the greatest threats include the rapidly-expanding drug trade, especially the markets of Substance D, synthetic hypersteroids and cotamine. Organized crime is on the rise, along with the prevalence of political subversives and terrorist groups, most of which recieve a great deal of profit from drug trafficking. Piracy remains a threat, but it's been overshadowed by the previous three," Gillian Morrow responded frigidly, "In each case, we've determined that the Army is insufficient to fight these threats."
"Which is exactly why the CSB and Director Morrow report directly to me now instead of you, General Hare," Fitzroy informed, "The Army was made to fight our enemies, not stop drugs and organized crime. It can't really even stop piracy that well. An independent Commonwealth Security Bureau with its own fleet is what we need to fight the war on crime and drugs."
"Your Grace, I understand the need to take care of these problems," General Hare responded, "But we're treading on dangerous ground here. From what I've seen, Director Morrow seems intent on spying on our own citizens to get the results that are expected of her."
"With all due respect General Hare, if our citizens have nothing to hide, then they have nothing to worry about," Morrow shrugged.
"I beg to differ, Director Morrow," General Hare replied with narrowed eyes, "That sounded like something Andross would've said."
"We're not going to tolerate mudslinging in here, General," Fitzroy chided, growing bored, "There's a different kind of war out there, and the Army isn't equipped to fight it. The CSB is. And regardless of your reservations, that's how things are going to happen. The proposal for the CSB task group remains on the docket. Let's move on."
Krystal never left him. Not really.
She wasn't physically there, of course, not in any material way.
But still, Krystal lingered in his mind, in his dreams and his memories. It got to the point where something seemingly inconsequential would almost affect his senses. The touch of the sheets in his quarters would remind him of her soft fur, and suddenly Fox could almost smell her. He would be in the hangar bay of the Great Fox, looking at the disused Arwing that had once belonged to her, and out of the corner of his eye he would see her suiting up. It was like she was just in the next room, just out of sight. Just out of reach.
That somehow made it worse for Fox McCloud, feeling that she was still there somehow but knowing that she was gone because of what he'd done, how he treated her on that night.
He could still see her in that bar in Anaxes. He couldn't even remember the name of the place.
She was talking and laughing with the rest of them, sitting next to Slippy while Peppy and Falco were at the other side of the table.
"Heyyyy, sugartits!!" Falco called abrasively, "How 'bout some more shots for tha' champions of tha' universe?!"
"I have a name," the feline waitress snapped from across the room.
"Well keep it to ya'self 'n gimme my drinks, honey!" Falco shot back.
"I think you've had a bit too much, Falco," Krystal giggled softly.
"I agree," Peppy grimaced disapprovingly.
"An' I don't think either of ya' have had enough! Whaddaya say ta' that?!" Falco shrugged.
Fox remembered where he had been standing: near the doorway to the bar, watching them enjoy themselves and unable to do the same because of what was going through his head. There could've been a hundred things speeding through his mind at that moment that might've prevented him from being so stupid. He could've been thinking about how much he'd have to fight with the Cornerian military and the insurance companies to get enough money to buy another Dreadnaught-class space cruiser to replace the Great Fox after Peppy and ROB rammed it into the Aparoid home world. He could've been thinking about how he'd pay for it without draining the once-enormous trust fund that had been handed down from Fox's grandfather to his father to him, in the likely case that the government couldn't afford to pay them enough with the costs of rebuilding parts of Corneria City and the decimated Cornerian Starfleet. He could've been thinking about whether or not it was selfish to ask Peppy to stay on the team instead of retiring like he'd talked about doing.
Had he been thinking about any of these things, he might've had the wisdom to ask for someone else's advice on what he was about to do. Or he might've eventually realized how much he really did love Krystal before it was too late.
Instead, all he was thinking about was how much it would hurt to watch her die, like he'd almost seen several times in their fight against the Aparoids. And somehow, it seemed like a better idea to just keep her caged up and safe.
She lifted her head and those turquoise angel-eyes froze him in place. For a moment, Fox wondered if she knew what he was going to ask of her. Then time sped back up and she gave him a soft, loving smile from across the room. She had no idea.
Why would she?
His feet felt like blocks of ferroconcrete as he walked towards the table, as if the rest of the bar didn't even exist.
"Foxie!!" Falco called jovially, "Have a seat! I'm orderin' shots! I wanna…give a toast ya' know, ta' Wolfie n' his team for helpin' out. Or…at least ta' their memories, iffff… they're all dead n' stuff. Did we eva' find out about that?"
Peppy and Slippy looked at each other for a moment, then Peppy bluntly replied, "No."
Ignoring them all, Fox looked over at Krystal, who was still smiling. He couldn't really look her in the eye.
"Can we talk outside?" Fox mumbled awkwardly.
The smile dropped from her face, replaced by a look of slight confusion.
"Sure," Krystal nodded politely, sliding out of her seat.
There was a part of him that wanted to reach for her hand. She wouldn't have stopped him if he had. But he didn't.
They exited the bar onto a skybridge between the building that the bar was located in and the adjoining structure. Beyond the durasteel railing stretched the glass towers and mile-high skyscrapers of Anaxes with its glittering lights and its bustling lanes of air traffic. As they stepped a few feet out onto the skybridge, Krystal looked left and right, making sure no one else was around.
"Oh, I can't wait to get somewhere private," she smiled, "Feels like it's been months since I've had you all to myself."
Then without warning she put a warm hand to his face and softly pressed her lips to his. She was soft, almost like she wasn't there. Fox didn't kiss her back, even though he wanted to.
After a moment, Krystal pulled back and looked him in the eye. He found it hard to meet her gaze.
"Fox, what's wrong?" Krystal inquired with concern.
"I've been thinking about some things. About you and me," Fox murmured.
"What about you and me?" she probed softly, smiling with her eyes.
"It's…hard for me to care about someone. Like, really care about someone," Fox forced out with difficulty, "You know I lost both of my parents…so…"
"I know," Krystal spoke softly, returning her hand to his face, "You get numb inside after losing what feels like your world. I know how it feels."
Fox sniffed and willed himself to continue, "It's easy for me to be close to Slippy and Peppy because they've been around so long. It's like they're my family. Even Falco and I didn't get that close until after the war, and when he left and came back we kind of had to build it back up. But…you… you're different."
Krystal smiled.
"Go on," she said, as if expecting him to say something good.
Something in Fox's chest began to physically hurt.
"I care about you, Krystal. A lot. I—I've never felt about someone the way I do about you," Fox whispered, looking down at the ground, "It scares me how much I care about you."
"I care about you, too, Fox," Krystal smiled, stroking his cheek, "So why are you scared?"
"Because I don't want to lose you out there. You came so close, so many times Krystal," Fox stammered, "I don't want there to come a day when I can't save you."
For the first time, something in Krystal's face fell. She seemed to understand that this was going somewhere she wouldn't like.
"What are you saying?" Krystal breathed.
Fox breathed hard, determined to bring it out without messing up. "I don't want you flying anymore."
"What?" she inquired, confused.
Fox suddenly found it easier to speak. He was speaking to her more as a Commander now rather than a lover. His first big mistake.
"I don't want you to be on active flight duty anymore. Maybe one day I'll feel more comfortable letting you go out there, but not now," Fox said calmly.
"I…I can train more, if that's what you want," Krystal protested, still flabbergasted.
"No. I… I don't know. It's not the training, it's just…" Fox trailed off.
"It's just you can't handle the idea of me putting my life on the line like everyone else," Krystal said in a somewhat stronger tone, "Or you don't think I've got what it takes and you don't have the balls to tell me outright. But I think I'm good enough for this team. I think you're letting your… insecurities cloud the issue. You'd rather I just stick around as your… pet or something, wouldn't you?"
Fox didn't answer.
"Well I won't," Krystal refused.
"What?" Fox demanded quietly.
"This is my life now. This is what I love doing, Fox," Krystal explained carefully, "I don't have anything else but you and the team and those ships. I care about you, Fox. And if you care about me you'll let me a part of my new family, and realize that no matter what you're going to lose me someday."
Fox's mouth fell a little bit, and he exhaled softly. Then he made the biggest mistake of his life.
"Then I don't what you on the team anymore," Fox said.
Krystal looked as if he had struck her.
"No," she whispered.
"If you won't let me keep you safe, then I don't want to be around to see you lose your life to this job. I can't let you keep doing this," Fox reasoned.
"What about us?" she breathed.
"If it means you're out of danger, I'm willing to sacrifice that," Fox answered quietly.
Krystal put a hand to her mouth and stepped back, her eyes welling up with tears.
"No…" she sobbed lightly, "You can't do this. You and the others are all I have, Fox! I've already lost everything once, you know that. Don't make me lose everything again…"
She fell to her knees and shivered pathetically, her whole body shaking.
He couldn't look at her. He knew he was right. And he knew that if he kept talking, he might change his mind.
Fox began, "I'll get you a hotel room and enough money for you to start out on your own--"
"No!" Krystal cut off, grabbing Fox's hand and glaring at him through her tears.
Her aqua-colored eyes bored into him as she shuddered at him through gritted teeth, "No, don't you do this to me, you bastard. I love you, Fox. Don't leave me. Don't make me go."
He wanted to say "I love you, too." He tortured himself for months afterwards, wondering why he didn't just say those four little words.
Instead, he pulled his hand away from hers, his body stiff as a board.
"Goodbye, Krystal," Fox said hoarsely, then turned and started walking away.
"Fox," Krystal croaked.
He stopped for a moment, not turning around, his shoulders feeling stiff.
"If you can do this...You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me," she told him.
Fox regained the use of his legs and walked away from her.
"Fox!" she cried desperately.
He only walked faster. This had to be the right decision, even though it felt so wrong. He just didn't want to lose her. Why had it seemed so logical to give her up instead?
An even louder, hysterical scream of "FOX!!!" seemed to echo in his head, morphing into the blaring sound of an alarm as Fox McCloud's eyes flew open.
In the darkness of his cabin on the second Great Fox, the red flashing light of the ship's general quarters alarm turned the room into a cycle of dull red light followed by darkness.
"Attention all hands, hostile contact confirmed. Pilots to hangar bay for launch. Main batteries standing by for target bearing. Repeat, hostile contact confirmed…" came the voice of ROB-64 over the ship's intercom.
Fox shook the cobwebs out of his head, threw the sheets off of his body, and leapt toward his clothes.