Author: Unryu
Disclaimer: Star Fox and all related characters (except those created by me) are owned by Nintendo. This fan fiction is for entertainment purposes only and may be freely distributed provided I am given due credit. Rated T for some scenes containing strong language and violence. If you are offended by such material, please do not proceed further.
Author's Note: For some readers who have been following this piece from the beginning, I made a few very minor cosmetic changes to Chapters 1 and 3. Apparently Nintendo now reports that Fox and Bill have been friends since childhood, and while I promised myself I wouldn't let details from Star Fox Command affect material I had already written, I decided to make an exception in this case, as it may affect Bill's further role in this story. Bill and Fox have now met "on the playground" as children rather than "as first year cadets" at the academy. The remainder of Chapters 1 and 3 reads exactly as before.
Prologue"Okay, I think that should do it." James McCloud smiled in satisfaction as he made the final adjustments to the small antigravity unit. Calibrating its micro circuitry was a difficult and time-consuming operation, and even the slightest variation in its field pulses could cause a loss of control. However, the lengthy process was finally at an end. All that remained was attaching it to the model starfighter. Closing the small access panel, the fox's gaze wandered from the black, hemispherical device to the surrounding basement. Various instruction booklets, mechanical parts, and electronic pads lay strewn across the cluttered wooden table before him, a testament to the hours of labor that had gone into the project over the last couple of weeks. Every moment that could be spared found him acquiring necessary parts or working in this cramped, untidy room with Fox. True, neither of them was an engineering expert, and it had definitely taken its toll, but it was well worth it. In the entire world, there was nothing James enjoyed more than spending time with his son.
The vulpine leaned back in his seat, stretching as a tremendous yawn split his maw. What time was it? He glanced wearily at his watch, blinking as the display read 0630. "Morning already? Mmm, no wonder I'm so tired." Another yawn—wider this time, "I think I could use some coffee." Rising to his feet, he ran one hand through the scruffy, matted fur on the back of his head, "Or maybe I should turn in for a little while." The heavy boots that he had neglected to remove made dull, clomping noises on the floor as he made his way to the stairs, pausing with a chuckle as he beheld a small, unconscious form sprawled unevenly across them.
"Rise and shine Junior," James said, leaning against the banister.
"Mmm," the kit groaned. His father's voice was slow to draw him back into the woken world.
The elder McCloud chuckled again, "I guess you couldn't keep up with me after all huh?"
"Mmm…huh--! Ugh, I'm awake! I'm awake!" Fox sat up sharply, shaking his head to rid it of cobwebs as he looked up with heavy, sleep-laden eyes. "One microlite scanner right?"
"It's okay Fox. I got it myself hours ago," James smiled softly, seating himself next to his son. "You really should have gone to bed and let me finish it."
"No way Dad! We're a team remember," the young vulpine replied.
"Yeah, and I'm proud of you," James said, placing an arm around him. "You were a big help, and you stuck with it every step of the way."
Fox eyed the green-and-white ship on the table eagerly, his sluggishness evaporating like magic, "When can we fly it?"
"It's all finished. We can try it out today if you'd like."
"How about right now?"
"Hmm, I don't know," his father said. "It's kinda early to be awake on a Saturday. I think we could both use a few hours of decent sleep."
"Aw, c'mon Dad," Fox pleaded. "Just for a few minutes? I promise it won't take long."
"How about this afternoon? Knowing you, I think it would be a lot longer than a few minutes," the elder McCloud remarked, suppressing a grin. Anything remotely dealing with aviation was certain to occupy the kit's attention for hours on end. Of course, he noted that he was no different when he was a youngster. He was born to fly.
"Please? I just wanna see if it works."
James thought for a moment, weighing the prospect of a shower and crashing into bed for a well-deserved nap against the look of disappointment on his son's face. Though he was exhausted, it was tough to say no to Fox's enthusiasm. At last a weary smile tugged at the corner of his muzzle, "All right Junior. Let's see what she can do."
---
The first rays of the morning sun brightened the eastern sky as father and son ventured out into the backyard. Though modest in size like the house, the absence of trees and overhead obstructions made it an adequate place to send the model Thunderbolt on its maiden flight. The dew still clung to the wet grass, and the sleepy birds were slow to begin their morning songs. With the exception of the McClouds, the neighborhood was almost silent. No one else was awake.
"Fox, will you do the honors," James asked as he set the fighter on a clear patch of ground.
"All systems active!" Fox replied as he keyed the flat control pad in his hands. "Nova Base, this is Alpha 1 requesting permission to take off."
"Kzzt--Alpha 1, this is Nova Base," James grinned, playing along. "Permission granted. Get off my runway!"
As the younger vulpine pressed gently backward on the control pad, the Thunderbolt came to life and slowly rose into the air with a soft whirring noise. A few moments later the miniature thruster jets engaged, and in no time at all, Fox had it soaring high overhead, pitching and rolling the model fighter this way and that.
James smiled contentedly, pulling a pair of shades from his shirt pocket as Solar's disc peeked over the horizon. He didn't feel so tired anymore. "Looks like everything checks out. Whaddya say we—" Before he could finish, a sharp crack and a bright, blue flash jerked his gaze back to the model. The antigrav unit had burned out. Veering out of control, the once graceful bird dropped like a stone into the unyielding sidewalk pavement at the edge of the yard, sheering off its wings and crumpling its fuselage against the concrete.
"Oh no!" Dropping the pad, Fox dashed over to the remains of the craft, his father following at an easier pace. It didn't take an aerospace engineer to see that it was completely ruined. Trying to repair it would take even longer than starting over from scratch. James dropped to one knee, sighing as he grimly examined the smashed body of the vehicle. They were back to square one.
"We can fix it—can't we Dad," Fox asked half-heartedly, holding up a severed wing.
"Hmm, I don't know," James murmured. "It got bashed up pretty good—and not just the frame." What a tough break this was. They had both looked forward to flying the model for a long time, and a couple of minutes in the air were hardly satisfying after weeks of painstaking work. He watched his son kick a piece of gravel dejectedly and sit down.
"Aw man, it'll be a month before we can put another one together," said Fox as he watched a short-range fighter streak overhead on its descent vector toward the nearby airbase.
"Maybe not quite that long," James mused. "This time we know how to build it. We'd have it done twice as fast." He paused, following the craft's trajectory as it set down on the far end of the main runway. A smile crept back onto his face. "Wait, I think I have a better idea…"
---
"You strapped in nice and tight Fox," James asked as he climbed into the rear seat of the ST-4 sub orbital trainer. Used mostly for third year cadets, the craft brought back memories of his days at the Cornerian Space Academy. An old workhorse, it was practically useless in real combat against modern interceptors, but it was still reasonably fast and fun to pilot. He had earned his wings in these ships, logging hundreds of hours at their controls, and it felt good to take one up for a short hop again. It was like being reunited with an old, familiar friend.
"Yeah, I'm ready Dad," Fox grinned eagerly, giving a thumbs-up from the front of the cockpit.
The elder McCloud smiled, "All right then—let's do some REAL flying." He engaged the startup sequence. The canopy descended gradually until it locked into place, while the engine roared to life with a high-pitched whine. Under the power of its landing thrusters, the ship rose off the ground smoothly to hover 30 feet above the runway. "Hang onto your hat Junior," James smiled, throttling up. A slight jolt pushed them back into their seats—the inertia from rapid acceleration subsiding a bit as he pitched the nose upward into a steady climb. After a few moments, he glanced at the altimeter. "Hope you're not afraid of heights," he said as he banked left, allowing a view of the ground.
"Wow!" Fox exclaimed, his eyes roaming over the landscape. "Everything's so small! I can see our house from here!" Glancing over his shoulder, he studied the tiny buildings far below, "Is that the base?"
"Yep," his father nodded, "And that's Corneria City just on the horizon," he gestured with one hand. Despite being the jewel of the Lylat System and home to more than half its population and industry, the factories and transportation systems were all built in perfect harmony with the surrounding ecosystem. As a result, the minimal air pollution afforded excellent visibility in all directions. For a few long moments James circled in a wide, lazy spiral, allowing the younger vulpine to gaze at the earth from high above. It was quite gratifying to see Fox's expression as he pressed his nose against the canopy—drinking in all of it. The kit was having the time of his life.
"How much higher can we go," Fox asked.
"All the way to the edge of space," James replied. "But it's most maneuverable right about here." With that, he pulled back and left on the control stick to put the craft on its tail.
"Whooooah," Fox blinked in surprise as he suddenly found himself upside down, but he recovered almost instantly. "Cool! Do it again!"
James chuckled and barrel rolled the craft a few times, "How's that?"
"Yeah!"
"Uh-oh, I got a bandit on my six!" James laughed, "Can't shake him!" Carefully keeping shallow pitch angles and changing directions at half-speed to minimize G forces, the elder McCloud threw the craft all over the sky. Banking, diving, climbing, looping—he moved effortlessly from one maneuver to the next, the trainer becoming an extension of his body. He felt truly at home in the sky, almost as much as the birds themselves.
"Yaaahoo!" Fox whooped. With a final somersault, the sky and earth returned to their proper places as James righted the ST-4. "This is way better than flying a model!"
"When you're older, if you get accepted to the academy you'll be flying one of these on your own," his father said.
"And when I get out, I'll be flying with you right," the kit asked, already jumping ahead.
"Mmm, I don't think command is too keen on assigning family to the same units Junior," James said. "But I'll never be far away," he continued as he banked gently to the left again.
"I know," Fox nodded, looking over his shoulder. "You've never let me down before."
"And I have no intention of ever letting you down," James said. "I'll always be here for you Fox. No matter what happens, I'm always behind you one hundred percent. Never forget that."
Chapter 1
Fourteen years later…
Peppy stared at the photographs on the table before him in silence. In one frame stood his best friend and comrade, James McCloud, wearing his flight suit and trademark aviator's sunglasses. Against the backdrop of an old ST-4 trainer, the vulpine grinned as his young son sat atop his shoulders. The hare sighed quietly. He remembered that afternoon at Sky Eagle Base very well, as he had taken the picture himself. His gaze wandered to the more recent photograph in the other frame, which contained two equally familiar figures. James and Fox were there once again, standing in front of the Cornerian Space Academy Flight School. While the elder McCloud had changed only slightly, the handsome, confident, uniformed cadet beside him hardly resembled the kit of years past. Indeed, Fox was a natural born pilot and at the top of his class. He could fly rings around the practice drones, endure weeks of harsh survival training, navigate any asteroid field, and fell a gnat with a laser pistol. Intelligent, strong, and brave, his father could not have been more proud of him.
Bowing his head, Peppy removed the pictures from their frames and carefully placed them in a small, cardboard box along with a pair of dog tags and some other personal articles. Lastly, he pulled a small, black marker from his pocket and scrawled across the lid: COMMANDER JAMES MCCLOUD – STAR FOX ELITE STRIKE UNIT. Well, that was it. Only one thing remained, but how would he ever find the right words to tell Fox of his father's fate? In all his life, the hare could not recall a father and son that shared so strong a bond. Knowing the news would be devastating and possibly affect the cadet's performance during his final proficiency exams, Peppy had refused any visitors for the last two weeks while he recovered in the hospital. However, graduation was in a few days. He could delay no longer. After a last look around, the veteran pilot closed his fallen comrade's locker for the final time and picked up the box. Moving out into the hall, he paused. "James old friend," he murmured, swallowing a lump in his throat, "I promise I'll look after Fox as long as I'm living. You can count on it." He took a breath and closed the door softly behind him.
---
"You can run Bill, but you can't hide!" Fox grinned as he shoved the control stick hard right, his fighter banking sharply to stay on his opponent's six. With their last exams behind them, he and Bill Grey had been unable to resist taking their craft for a final run through the training area outside Corneria City. Ever since they had met on the playground way back in kindergarten, he and Bill had stuck together through thick and thin, good times and bad. Along with Falco, the avian and former jetbike gang member, they were the very best of friends. For the next few minutes however, they were rivals.
The vulpine gritted his teeth, feeling his g-suit adjusting with a sharp hiss as inertia pressed him firmly against his seat. While greatly lessening the stress on his body, it couldn't compensate entirely. Squeezing the red trigger button, a short burst from his twin, cowl-mounted cannons narrowly missed his opponent's left wing.
"You haven't won yet Fox," Bill replied, weaving back and forth to avoid the holographic laser bolts. His fighter pitched upward abruptly into a nearly vertical climb, its plasma engine exhaust glowing brightly as it corkscrewed away from its pursuer. Fox followed right behind, grunting as he fought off the threatening darkness closing in on his peripheral vision. "Don't black out," he told himself. If Bill could take it, so could he! An alarm klaxon sounded sharply as he pushed the envelope of the craft's design—and his own endurance. Another short burst issued from his cannons, practically scraping simulated paint off his comrade's hull. Vision narrowing to a tunnel in front of him, he saw Bill pull back into level flight to avoid a stall. Deprived of speed for a split second, he was vulnerable.
"Gotcha," Fox said as his HUD crosshairs turned red. "What the—"
"You snooze, you lose pal," came Falco's voice as a simulated smart bomb slammed into Fox's rear shield.
"Craft destroyed," announced the monotonous computer voice. "Simulation terminated."
"Hey, no fair," Fox protested. "This was one-on-one!"
"You know I never miss a party—or a good brawl," Falco replied.
"How about a free-for-all Fox," asked Bill, forming up on Fox's wing. "That should really make things interesting."
"I'm up for it," Fox nodded. "You in Falco?"
"I guess," Falco muttered, bringing up the rear. "But I want a team match before we're done."
"They're only three of us hotshot," Fox reminded him with a smirk.
"I know that Einstein! Maybe together you two might actually have a chance of bagging me," Falco said, his voice filled with bravado.
Before either of the others could respond, they were interrupted by another voice on their comm.channel. "Base 1 to Green Flight. Come in Green Flight."
"This is Green Flight," Fox replied. "Does everyone want a piece of me today?"
"Warrant Officer McCloud, you are instructed to return to base immediately. Report to your CO as soon as you land. Base One out."
Fox's grin faded to a look of puzzlement. "I wonder what this is all about?" Surely he wasn't in trouble—at least he didn't think he was in trouble. He had received clearance for this flight nearly an hour before, and it couldn't have been anything related to his exams, which he had passed with flying colors. "Hey Falco," he said, patching in his comrades on a different frequency from the control tower. "They couldn't have noticed that we were the ones who snuck out that bottle of Zonessian Brandy from the officers' mess right?"
"Not a chance," Falco assured him. "I covered our tracks so well that Andross himself couldn't have traced it!"
"I passed it to a good friend of mine in the city," Bill added. "It'll be safe with him until grad night."
Then what was it? For the moment, Fox was stumped. Oh well, it was probably nothing serious. After all, what could possibly go wrong now? "Guess I'd better see what they want. I'll meet you back at the base," he said as he broke formation and peeled away from the others.
"Looks like it's just you and me Billy Boy," Falco challenged. "Think you can handle another round?"
Bill mock saluted, his fingers moving to rest over his trigger button, "I was born ready!"
---
Donning his khaki duty uniform, Fox slammed his locker shut and headed down the hall to the nearest communications terminal. Perhaps the important message was from his father? McCloud Sr. had been on a routine reconnaissance mission to Venom, and had not called in nearly three weeks. "He probably didn't want to bother me until after my final evaluation," Fox thought to himself. Now he would have some very good news to report.
Reaching the wall panel's alcove, the cadet placed his thumb squarely on the touch pad. "Voice print authorization required," a dispassionate, male computer voice informed him.
"McCloud, Fox, Serial Number 118500D-Theta," Fox responded to the audio sensors.
"Analysis complete. Recognize Chief Warrant Officer Fox McCloud. You have one recorded message pending."
"From Peppy!" Fox smiled. "This should be good!" He took a step back, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall of the small booth. "Begin playback." After a few moments, the hare's familiar image greeted him on the flat screen.
"Hi Fox. I want to congratulate you for an outstanding four years at the academy, and on your new commission with the Cornerian Space Defense Force."
"Heh, thanks Old Timer," Fox grinned, though upon a closer inspection he sensed that something was wrong—terribly wrong. Peppy looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"I can't tell you how proud we--" the hare paused abruptly as if catching himself, "How proud I am of you." He heaved a sigh, dropping his gaze uncomfortably for a moment. "Fox, there's something I need to talk to you about right away. Come to my apartment as soon as you can. Once again, congratulations."
"End transmission," stated the computer voice as the monitor switched off.
Fox was no longer smiling as he stared at the blank screen where Peppy's image had been just a few seconds before. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he murmured, glancing to his watch. Well, now was as good a time as any.
---
The chime's low tone elicited no response from within. Fox tried again, pressing the small panel with one finger. Again, there was no answer. Surely Peppy had to be home around this time. Raising a fist, he rapped his knuckles firmly against the metallic surface.
"Err? What? Hold on a second," came Peppy's voice from within. A few moments later, the hare appeared in the doorway looking slightly embarrassed. "Sorry Fox, I guess I got a little distracted," he said, smiling sheepishly.
"It's no problem," Fox replied. "You know how I love staring at the walls and the floor."
"Very funny," chuckled Peppy. "Try spending a couple of weeks in a military hospital for a change. You won't have much else to see!" He turned and led the way into the small, meticulously tidy living room. Sparsely furnished, a gray sofa sat in one corner, only sharing the expanse of the worn, cream-colored carpet with a square table and four chairs. A flat-panel display occupied one wall, while the others were adorned with various pictures of all sizes and colors—some recent, and others quite old.
"Can I get you anything," Peppy offered.
Fox shook his head, "Thanks, but I'm not thirsty."
"Are you sure? I've just made a pot of coffee."
"Well, maybe I'll have some then." There it was again, the same burdened look that he'd noticed in the recorded message. It wasn't blatantly obvious, but everything Peppy did seemed to take on a slightly artificial tone—as if he was trying desperately to conceal something that deeply troubled him. Fox was certain this time. It wasn't just his imagination. Before he could say anything however, his friend disappeared into the kitchen.
Alone for a few moments, Fox meandered about the room, his gaze wandering across the various photographs on the nearby wall. Poor Peppy—it was too bad that he'd never been able to start a family of his own. Most of the frames contained pictures of others—friends, neighbors, and comrades from the defense forces. Hmm, what was this one? His eyes settled on a larger frame and a team of cubs in red and white baseball uniforms. Ah, this one certainly brought back memories! It had been taken on a warm summer afternoon, and each of the spirited, young faces seemed to fairly radiate an eagerness to give it his all. The cadet couldn't help but grin as he spied a very familiar fox kit, down on one knee in the front row with a black streak of grease under each eye. Strange—it seemed as though a lifetime had passed since then, but at the same time, he felt as if it had been only yesterday when he had played with the Firebirds.
"You had just celebrated your eleventh birthday," Peppy beamed as he appeared over Fox's shoulder, a mug of coffee in each hand. "You were quite a center fielder. I can't recall anything getting past your glove."
Fox smirked, "Hey, my batting average wasn't too shabby either."
"No it wasn't," Peppy agreed, plopping down on one side of the small table and passing the other mug to his companion. "Ah, what I wouldn't give to be a kid again sometimes."
Fox sat down across the table, the aroma filling his nostrils as he drank a swallow of the warm, brown liquid. "Well, I dunno…sure, there are some things I miss about being a kid, but I don't think I want to go through it all again to get here—not after graduating from the academy." His dreams of being a fighter pilot were all coming true, and it wouldn't be long before he'd be soaring among the stars and visiting other worlds. In all respects, the present couldn't get any better.
"You just wait until you're old and gray like me," the hare remarked sagely, though his eyes twinkled slightly in amusement. "We'll see how much you'll miss it then!"
"Aw, c'mon!" Fox laughed, "You're not really THAT old Pep! Dad's only a couple of months younger, and he hasn't lost his edge." He took another sip of his coffee, "Speaking of which, where is he?"
Peppy's smile vanished, and he lowered his gaze, staring at the mug in front of him without seeing it. The air in the room seemed heavier all of a sudden. Fox's brows knitted with concern as he studied the far-off look in his friend's eyes. "Peppy, what's on your mind," he asked after a long moment. "It's not like you to be distracted like this."
"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry—I guess I'm just a little tired…"
"No," Fox frowned slightly, "I think I know you a little better than that. What's bothering you?" Peppy shifted uncomfortably under the young pilot's gaze, continuing to hesitate. "Just spit it out," the vulpine urged, "Whatever it is, don't keep it to yourself." He paused as realization dawned on him. It made sense now—the hare's two week seclusion, half-hearted congratulatory message, the summons to his apartment, his sluggish reaction to the door chime, and his disturbed silence now. Peppy was the bearer of very bad news and was desperately seeking the right way to break it to him. "Peppy, look at me," he said in a gentle, but firm tone, "I'm twenty-two years old. I appreciate you trying to let me down easy, but I'm not a kid anymore." Bracing himself for the worst, he nodded once as their eyes met, "Give it to me straight—I can take it."
Peppy heaved a sigh and rose from his chair, disappearing into the bedroom. A few moments later, he reappeared carrying a small box in his hands. He sat down again, placing it in front of the cadet with a resigned expression.
Fox stared at the large, black letters on the lid. He looked to Peppy uncertainly for a moment before reading the words once again. A name…his father's name, one he was usually so pleased to see. Then why was he suddenly uneasy? A sick, awful thought began to form in the back of his mind, but he dismissed it so quickly that he was almost unaware of it. Of course his father was all right. He was probably just very busy—but if that was the case, why was this box sitting in front of him now? Shouldn't it have been delivered to its rightful owner? The terrible thought continued to grow, but once again he forced it away sharply. Maybe the box was from his father—a graduation present perhaps? No, it wouldn't come in a worn container like this, and Peppy wouldn't be the one giving it to him. The thought loomed over him like a rising thunderhead as he placed his hands on the sides of the box. "Go away," his mind snapped. He was being silly—what a ridiculous thing to imagine. It was impossible! He lifted the lid and looked inside. Pictures, desk items, and a few souvenirs were here and there—all a reflection of James McCloud and the life he lived, but Fox didn't see any of it. His eyes were fixed on three items at the top of the pile—a pair of broken shades, a flight pin with golden wings, and a set of charred dog tags. He raised his eyes to look at Peppy, unable to ask the obvious question. It wasn't necessary—his friend's expression said it all. As the horrible truth began to sink in, the light seemed to utterly drain from the room until he could see nothing—nothing but the three cold, unmoving objects in the box before him.