A/N: This is a contest entry I wrote for a challenge over on the Foxhole forum. The prompt was to write a short story starring an original cast of characters while still setting it in the Star Fox universe. This is the bizarre result.
(Image credit: Rob Grave's Instagram)
Party Boat to Venom
The Fashionably Late Arrival
Beneath a russet sky of clouds lapped a gentle ocean, only broken by a scant few gravel banks and sharp rocks. The sea's tranquility was an illusion; it only revealed its deadly potential in contact with a sandy shore or rocky outcropping, where it foamed and hissed acidly. Reflected in the dark, sickly-green sea were flashes of lighting in the perpetual storms above, rocking the sky with awesome force. Not a sign of life was to be found on land, air, or sea.
This was the planet Venom: the harshest, most inhospitable land in all of the Lylat. A criminal sentence to Venom was a sentence worse than death itself; those sent to Venom could expect a slow and torturous demise. The only food was fossilized plant matter in the form of coal. The only water sources were acidic seas that burned the internal organs. And the air itself slowly killed those that breathed it.
It was also a niche tourist hotbed.
From the frothing curtain of clouds broke the prow of a star cruiser. The stern of the spacecraft carried three bridge prominences, each of which jutted forwards over the massive hull. It was the DTS Pleiades, the largest commercial cruise ship in the System. Operated by Lylat Luxury Cruises, LTD., the Pleiades offered the most sought-after pleasure cruises only Lylat's wealthiest could afford. The dream liner took passengers on a scenic pilgrimage around the entirety of the Lylat System: popular Cornerian vacation hideaways like Aquas and Zoness, the snow-covered ski resorts of Fichina, safaris through the lush jungles of Fortuna, and the mysterious, awe-inspiring ruins of Titania. This particular trip marked the Pleiades' first voyage to Venom. A calculated but equally daring marketing maneuver.
After gently descending through the deadly heavens the cruise liner settled upon the acidic ocean like a swan landing on a muddy puddle—10/10 on execution, but the setting left much to be desired.
No sooner had it came to rest when a second, smaller vehicle entered the picture. A banged-up, rust-covered desert hopper emerged from the clouds behind the Pleiades. Its descent matched the trajectory of a meteor headed for planetary collision. A trail of smoke and orange fumes escaped the rear engines, and the craft was barely holding together regardless.
Aboard the desert hopper two figures violently argued back and forth. A grimy-looking jackrabbit clung to the stabilizer arm holding the boarding ramp open. The violent wind created by their descent buffeted him back and forth, and would have drowned out his words if he wasn't yelling into a radio unit inside his gas mask.
"Vecchio, Vecchio? What the deuce is going on back there?! What are you doing to the ship?!"
Through a narrow hall in the interior of the hopper, the jackrabbit could see the seabird at the controls. The brown-feathered skua was getting on in years—which made sense since the jackrabbit had picked him up from a retirement home. He was shaking and shuddering along with the rest of the ship, teeth chattering on an empty wooden pipe as he fought against the control wheel.
With the loudest voice he could muster from his usual high-pitched, wheezing manner he called back, "I haven't done her no harm skipper!"
"Then why is all the fire in hell spurting from the engines?!"
"It's a miracle your ship lived this long. Even with all your modifications and tacked-on warp engines you can't ready a desert hopper for interstellar flight! You can tape wings to a trout, but it won't fly if you throw it."
"Can you still land her in the hangar?!"
Vecchio's eyes opened wider than they already were. "If I never wanted to experience my old age I would've committed suicide years ago."
Knowing he lost the short exchange the jackrabbit changed the subject. "Well I've got a plan! Put her down on the Pleiades' bow, but bring 'er down low enough so I can hop off first. Got it?"
The elderly skua wiped at his perspiring brow, shaking his head hopelessly. With one hand fighting the wheel he drew a large hip flask from his pocket, removed his gas mask momentarily, and took a swig. After reluctantly putting the flask away, he gripped the control wheel with renewed determination. "We can do it Jasp... Here goes nothing!"
Vecchio pulled all the way back on the controls, bringing the desert hopper gliding a few scant meters above the Pleiades' top. The jackrabbit watched the patterns in the steel exterior race by underneath him, gulping when he imagined the next step. After mentally cursing himself for several seconds to stall, the hare built up the necessary gumption and jumped backwards off the hopper. It had minimal impact in rectifying the speed differences between the two crafts. His feet struck the metal roof only to instantly rip out from under him. He curled into a defensive ball before his torso struck the surface next, bounced a few painful times, and rolled to a stop.
After his wits caught up to him the jackrabbit raised his head and located his aircraft. Vecchio tried desperately to land the desert hopper, but it was an impossible task. The ship bounced whenever it struck the Pleiades' unwilling runway, and when it finally settled against the metallic hull it sent up a storm of sparks and found no purchase. As the old skua hurriedly popped open the canopy and spun the ship around, it slid closer and closer to the edge. The hare and the seabird's eyes met for just a second before the hopper tipped over the edge and disappeared from sight.
"N'awww... piss!"
The jackrabbit climbed to his feet, then went through a routine of stretches to pop his bones back into place. He jogged over to the side of the Pleiades where the hopper went overboard, but he didn't know what he was expecting. It was a ship he had grown attached to over many excursions, eventually learning to treat it like a family member or spouse. He never wanted to admit it, but the hopper had become obsolete years ago, and it wasn't aging well. He just didn't want to see the old girl go.
Vecchio, on the other hand, was an old alcoholic fart he unintentionally saved from a retirement home. The geezer had clung to him like a rescue animal, and he didn't like clingy types. Whenever he picked a two-man job he always found a new fellow to help out. Never the same poor bastard twice. That way he could ruin even more people's lives and not have to live with them afterwards.
Arriving at the edge of the cruiser he dropped down on his hands and knees, peering over the side. The hopper had gone over a little to his right, and the hare could see a steaming white area in the ocean below where it landed. Even if he could rent a salvage crew and convince them to come to Venom, the acidic ocean would leave it with more holes than a pound of Swiss cheese (the existence of which may raise a lot of questions for the Star Fox universe but please suppress them).
The longer he stared into the watery grave the more his frown turned into a sneer. He stood back up, withdrawing and lighting a cigarette which he had to remove his mask to enjoy.
"Jasper!"
The hare looked around, wondering if he had just imagined someone calling his name.
"Jaaaasper!"
There it was again. He jammed his pinky finger into one of his large ears, attempting to clean out the wax that had accumulated there.
"Is that you old man?"
"Over here!"
Jasper walked over to his right a bit, closer to where the ship had fallen from. With the utmost care he approached a series of handles jutting from the hull that together formed a maintenance ladder. The ladder disappeared over the curved edge, but bracing himself on the uppermost rungs he was able to look down.
A dozen or so rungs beneath him clung a very frightened Vecchio. Their gazes met, and the old seabird let out a deep sigh.
"You shouldn't smoke like that, boy," Vecchio scolded. Keeping himself steady with one wing, he removed his hip flask again and drank greedily from it. "It's bad for your lungs."
"Why didn't you climb up sooner ya bastard?"
"I wanted to see if you'd come and try to save me," the skua wheezed.
Jasper crossed his arms. "Well I wasn't gonna. Just checking on the ship."
"I can see I should have known better!" The seabird shook a fist at him. "You wouldn't have the honor to save your own mother!"
"Now-now, I'm glad to see you're alive. Else you wouldn't be around to..." Jasper removed a similar hip flask from his own pocket. "...Appreciate that I stole your other can right out from under your beak!"
"Ha! I was counting on it!" Vecchio fired back. "Knowing your deplorable nature I let you steal it. That way I could hold more flasks while you carried one of them the entire time."
"RRRGH!" Jasper slapped a palm over his face, then angrily took a few gulps from the bottle. This elicited a remorseful, worried look from Vecchio, who faintly reached for the disappearing alcohol. But if the seabird could get him to talk he'd have to stop drinking.
"Hey, Jasper lad, where do we go from here? The hangar's not an option anymore. How do we get inside this glorified sardine can?"
The jackrabbit stopped drinking long enough to look around the top of the Pleiades. He scratched at the prickly stubble growing on his chin. Then his eyes drifted back to the maintenance ladder Vecchio was clinging to.
"I have a plan!"
"Each of your plans saw another year off my already short lifespan, but what is it?"
Jasper pointed down the ladder. "There's likely a service hatch at the end of this. I brought my welding tools, so cutting in is no problem. Or we get lucky and it's unlocked."
"With your luck?"
But the rabbit was already descending. He dealt a swift but clumsy kick to Vecchio's head, encouraging him to get moving. They set off down the side of the ship, in spite of the howling wind and the steaming sea hundreds of feet below that was eager to catch them.
While the guests lavished in comfort the two bandits had a valuable item to steal.
The Party Foul and Quick Recovery
The command bridge of the Pleiades was located inside the middle of the three protrusions from the stern. A wide glass window wrapped around the bridge's prow, giving the occupants a view of the ship's dagger-like front and the surrounding area. While navigators and other crew members bustled about in the lower pits three prominent figures remained still at command central. A zebra reclined in a ridiculous position in the captain's chair; gaudy pink sunglasses blinded anyone who attempted to stare into his eyes, his hat was on sideways, his tie and collar loosened to expose coils of gold chains, and he somehow managed to make his white admiral's uniform look like a disco suit. Standing sharply at attention on his right hand was a warthog. The captain's uniform he more was kept orderly and ship-shape, regulation in every way—probably to make up for the appearance of his superior. His face was scary to behold, from its bulbous warts and prickly hair to the tusks he polished and waxed every day. On the admiral's left stood a pig unaffiliated with the crew. He wore a business suit and was none other than President Pulcifer, CEO of Lylat Luxury Cruises.
"Utterly revolting," the warthog commented. All three sets of eyes were trained on the dreary wasteland outside the ship.
"I dunno Captain dude," the zebra said in a surfer's voice. He had an annoying habit of stretching out his U's. "It kinda makes you appreciate everything you currently have. You know, at least you're on a pleasure cruise and not an exile living down there."
"How'd you even get to be an admiral," the warthog mumbled to himself.
But his words did not escape Admiral Neighlson. "Whoa-ho dog, uncalled for. My motto is work hard early on so you can party hard for the rest of your life. Now look who's sitting in the commander's seat with like... I dunno, fifty bars on his sleeves, and look who's still a captain. Booooom, you got hit hard man."
"If it'll help you understand, Captain Snowflake," President Pulcifer timidly interjected, "Lylat Luxury Cruises rotates vacation destinations each year—we can't just keep going to Aquas or Zoness. We never considered Venom before, but with the proper marketing techniques it was an easy sell." The pig clenched his tiny little hands. "There's something exhilarating about being so close to an inhospitable wasteland, but still being safe in the lap of comfort!"
The warthog stared him down. "Just Captain will suffice, Mr. Pulcifer."
The pig shrunk back behind the Admiral's chair.
"At the very least," Captain Snowflake continued, "The Pleiades deserves a military escort. Venom is a very dangerous corner of the Lylat. Who knows what enemies might lurk here."
"Bro, you need to chillaaax," Neighlson dismissed him. "The exiles couldn't mount an attack against an ice cream truck, much less the universe's biggest party boat, amiright Porkums?"
"Still," Snowflake huffed before Pulcifer could agree, "Cornerian Intelligence has been recording disconcerting activity in this sector. And don't forget the pilot that went missing not too long—"
Suddenly the Pleiades' proximity censor went haywire, interrupting him.
"Ensign, what is that?" Snowflake demanded of a subordinate.
The crew mate scanned a few radar displays before reporting back. "A small vehicle is approaching on a collision course at high speeds!"
"Is there any danger to the ship?"
The ensign studied the size of the incoming vessel. "Frankly sir, they're toast."
Movement outside the viewscreen demanded their attention. Everyone in the bridge looked over in time to see the desert hopper crash against the Pleiades' hull, bounce, and skid over the edge.
Neighlson raised his sunglasses, then chuckled. "Gaw-hawd, I am jealous of those dudes."
"What?"
"Why?"
The zebra replaced his sunglasses, crossed his arms, and leaned back in his chair.
"Death by acid trip."
At that moment the lights in the bridge flashed emergency red, causing all of the crew members to stop what they were doing.
Neighlson's jaw dropped open. "Okay, which one of you installed rave lights in the bridge? Because that is totally awesome."
"God help me," Snowflake mumbled, "It's another warning sign. But this is ten-times more serious! It's on Corneria's universal emergency system, broadcast to every screen in the Lylat!"
The live-broadcast message was in fact a video feed linked to the Cornerian Military HQ. General Pepper appeared on the monitor, but not against the usual backdrop of Corneria City as viewed from the military headquarters tower. Instead he was in an elevator descending deep below the surface of the planet, most likely to the cave system of safety bunkers.
"Fellow Cornerians and citizens of the Lylat Federation, this is indeed the System's darkest hour..."
The video was shaky and obviously recorded from his wrist unit, but technicians soon overlayed video footage from Corneria City proper—and it wasn't pretty. As the Consulate General droned on in a steady but ominous voice, the images of destruction soon numbed the audience in the bridge to his words. It was awful. Corneria City lay in smoldering ruins. Mysterious fleets larger than any the Cornerian Defense Force could muster did battle in the capital's airspace, but most of the opposition was caught on the ground. Reports flooded in of similar attacks on Zoness, Macbeth, and Katina.
It wasn't difficult to figure out the mastermind behind the attack. After all, his ugly mug was plastered on every frigate, battleship, and fighter large enough to fit it—as if to say, "I'm back!"
Andross, the mad scientist whose exile trial was broadcast on live television years prior was now on every vid display once again. The difference this time around was that he was in power.
It was completely unreal: watching the fall of the Cornerian Empire that moments before was the largest conglomerate in the known world.
It was apocalyptic.
"Oooh, that's a party foul," Neighlson moaned.
"The origin of Andross' forces is Venom?!" Captain Snowflake exclaimed. "That means we're right in the middle of the enemy! They know we're here, and they'll be coming for us any minute!"
"B-b-b-but we're only a harmless cruise ship!" Pulcifer stuttered. "What would they want with u-u-us?"
The warthog rounded the admiral's seat and grabbed Pulcifer by the shirt collar, bringing him uncomfortably close. "They're after your company's dimensional transporter! The most advanced leap in transportation technology, squandered on a cruise ship, and flown right into Andross' hands! This is what happens when you turn research over to the private sector!"
Another ensign waved for Snowflake's attention before he could unwittingly strangle the poor pig. "Captain dude... uh, I mean Captain Snow—dangit, Captain, just Captain, the guests are panicking! They have live news feeds playing on every bar and toilet stall vid screen!"
The ensign brought up several camera feeds of different areas of the ship, all showing the party-goers completely out of their minds. DJs wouldn't DJ, bartenders wouldn't tend, and strippers wouldn't strip. The Lylat System's eminent destruction turned each and every one of them into party-poopers.
The atmosphere of despair only fueled Snowflake's determination. He grabbed an intercom mic and used it to send his voice barreling into every ear on the Pleiades. "This is Captain Sn... This is your captain speaking! All personnel employed by Lylat Luxury Cruises must remain at your posts! And that's an order! As for the passengers aboard this ship... STAY PERFECTLY CALM!"
The zebra flinched at the Captain's shouted words. "Whoa there Admiral Acne, not cool. Relaaax." He gently took the mic from Snowflake. "Listen up my peeps, this is your official party horse comin' at you. Sure, I know things look edgy, and the emo kid inside us all just won dibs on the playlist of your soul, but it's not his turn yet. Remember, you only live once. Clubbing is about dying young and wild! Now is the time where true party animals prove their dedication. If this is the party at the end of the world, we're gonna make it the raddest in all history, and only a guest list as large as the Pleiades can make that happen. So to all you employees out there, return to your stations and crank this gig up! And to all my boys and girls on the dancefloor I wanna see you shake what ya mamma gave ya and drop it like the sky is falling. Admiral party horse, out!"
Snowflake scoffed at the Admiral's last words. "What're you trying to do, sentence us all together? They'll turn into a rioting mob down... there..."
To the amazement of the bridge's occupants Neighlson's hype speech did the trick. The crew returned to their posts and the party-goers quit trampling over each other. At first everyone stood around without knowing what to do or how to continue on, but then the strobe lights and thumping music kicked back in, and the rave continued whether they liked it or not.
The terrifying images of Corneria in ruins, however, still played across many of the vid screens in the bars.
Snowflake grunted. "Should we lock the TV stations off the news?"
Neighlson shook his lustrous mane. "Nah man, seeing the world end will infuse their revels with more abandon. It'll make magical moments happen that wouldn't happen otherwise, since they have nothing left to lose."
"Magical... moments?" Pulcifer asked.
"Beautiful moments. Somewhere, in front of a burning image of C-City, a couple is gonna try it up the butt."
The One-Sided Gift Exchange
After blow-torching their way through the service hatch, Jasper and Vecchio entered the Pleiades. It was mostly dark inside, but their focus turned to closing the hatch and shutting the violent wind out. When they turned around to find where they were, they realized they were standing atop a skeletal steel walkway spanning the rafters high above the main floor. Both the jackrabbit and the seabird's eyes were dazzled at the amount of flashing lights blinking and slicing through the darkness below.
"Golly!" Jasper exclaimed, "feels like I just got high off those colored permanent markers you find at the craft store."
"The image of true desperation."
"Hey, a while ago you used up all our jeep's carburetor fluid trying to distill alcohol."
"Walking did your fat ass some good."
Giving up, Jasper looked left and right. "Now we have to find a way down from here. The doovalack is towards—"
"The dimensional transporter?"
"—yeah, that thing. It's towards the back of the ship, near the engine room. So we're headed in the aft direction... that way." He pointed to their right and took off down the catwalk. On their way they passed a variety of bars, dance floors, dining areas, and floor shows, but Jasper ignored the scenes taking place on the vid screens. It was something about an attack and the end of the world as they knew it, but it was unimportant to his ultimate goal: stealing the transporter.
Walking down the long series of hallways was tedious; they passed dozens of personnel and a few security guards along the way, but no one paid them a second glance. It turned out their attire didn't stand out from the rest of the crowd. There were numerous masquerades and costume parties underway. Vecchio passed as a Zonessian sailor in his threadbare denim shirt, high-waisted pants, and white captain's hat. Jasper was easily identifiable as a hooligan from the Titanian bush—from his drooping safari hat to his tan cargo shorts. These were the perfect disguises because they weren't disguises; no one would suspect they were actually what they presented themselves to be.
Jasper noisily breathed in a booger. "Lousiest security I've ever seen! Where are all the guards?"
"Exactly where I'd be if I knew you were coming to swipe the transporter: living it up with the rest of the guests. We all know you're gonna mess this up before we even get halfway there."
"When I want your opinion I'll ask for it!"
To Jasper's elation, the engine room only contained a skeleton crew and a scant few guards. The powerful hum of the ion engines and vibrating turbines filling the room effectively masked the sound of their approach, and any communication they shared between one another. The engineers paid them no mind, but the guards often looked their way.
After touring a chunk of the enormous room they located the dimensional transporter. Unfortunately it was a lot larger than Jasper had anticipated. It was more of an installation on the ship than a small gadget. The station was built into the left wall of the engine room, behind a wall of cooling rods. The confining walls of the transporter enclosed a glowing red room which pulsed with energy. Set into the outside walls were a jumbled mess of dials, monitors, and switches—the majority of which were already turned to 'off'.
"I don't think we can hide that in your jacket like we normally do," Vecchio commented. "If you had actually put some thought into this escapade we could have struck when they service the thing off-ship, then snatch it with the hopper when they save us the trouble of getting it detached." He leaned in closer to Jasper, still facing the device. "Though of course we don't have a hopper anymore, do we?"
"Maybe we can just steal the core?"
"We don't even know if it'll work with just the core!"
"Yeah, but we can still brag that we stole the core to the dimensional transporter!"
Vecchio looked confused. He stole a quick drink to clear his head. "So you don't really care about being able to use it?"
"Using it is not the point! It's something I mount on the wall at my bungalow to show my grandkids when they come to visit!"
"When are you going to steal something useful for a change? Like money so I can buy more gin."
"Then we'll strike a deal old man. You help me swipe this, and I'll sell one of my older prizes my nieces and nephews are tired of seeing. Then we'll have some moolah."
"I can't believe anyone in your family looks decent enough to sire kids with, but okay," Vecchio crowed. With the guards out of sight he stepped into the compartment, locating the source of the red glow. "By golly there is a core... but it's locked in. See if you can release it."
Jasper smiled mischievously as he began figuring out the controls. Some switches were helpfully labeled or positioned next to diagrams and dials that they controlled. He threw the lever for ON and waited for the show to begin.
Warning lights blinked erratically. The inner compartment grew an even brighter red and began to heat up. As a low hum began to rise in pitch, Vecchio exploded out from the cabinet, holding his hat in place.
"Aw Jasper you bastard, why'd you go and do that!"
The jackrabbit merely leaned against the control panel, clutching his sides. "You beat it out of there like your tail feathers were on fire!"
Vecchio glared at him, stomping his foot. "One of these days your good-natured trick will get me killed, and then you'll have to do all the dirty work yourself."
Jasper cocked his head. "That's... uh... the point."
"Well now look what you've done! The crew must be suspicious. They're on their way here!"
Jasper threw the switch back off and shoved Vecchio inside again. "Then you better grab the core fast old man!"
After totally shutting the construct down the hare was able to release the lock and allow Vecchio to snatch the core. The skua ducked out of the cabinet, carrying the device. It was a little larger than a PDU, with two arced handles on either side of a tablet-shaped body and a pulsing red orb set in the center. The rest of the material was a shiny chrome-plating, except for a few buttons and knobs and a rudimentary LCD screen.
"Quick, let's run!" Vecchio urged, but Jasper caught a hold of his sleeve. He gestured to the incoming crewmembers.
"No time, mate. We'll have to use it!"
Vecchio positioned the dimensional transporter so they both held one of the handles. The problem was neither of them knew exactly how to operate it.
The seabird tapped a set of three dials and counters. "These look like X-Y-Z coordinates, measuring our translation in meters—"
"No-no!" Jasper corrected, waving his paw, "Cornerians use those backward imperial units. They're measured in feet!"
"But does it calculate position based on global coordinates or local coordinates?"
"How should I know?" Jasper snapped. "Let's just point it in the direction we want to go. Let's try... 30 feet that way."
"But that's through several walls!" Vecchio warned. "What if we materialize inside one of them?"
"Aw, it's prolly got a safety feature for that." The rabbit turned the Z-dial until the green counter above it read 30. He paused to scratch his chin. "Now is Z forward or upward? Bugger all. Let's just try it anyway. Aaaaand start!" He jammed his thumb down on a conspicuous button below the position dials, but nothing happened.
Vecchio grabbed the controls. "You numskull! It's obviously this button!" He confidently pressed a larger button near the top, but received a similar result.
"Naw, I just didn't push it long enough!" Jasper wrenched it back into his own possession, pressing and holding the button down longer. "Funny, this is how I turn my washing machine on..."
The elderly avian grabbed the other end of the transporter, but this time his partner didn't let go. "Hey, give it back! You don't even use your washing machine, let alone own one."
"You've gone senile old man! That or the alcohol has addled your brain."
"Leggo! Your stubborness will get us both—"
"What're you doing?!"
The two accomplices stopped fighting and looked up to find a horrified guard. He stared incredulously back and forth between them and the transporter.
"Just because it's the end of the world doesn't mean you can take whatever you want. You could hurt yourself with that. Give it back, now!"
The Cornerian guard rushed forward, snatching the transporter away by the tablet piece instead of the handles. In clumsily mishandling the device he pressed a button. The same industrial whine began to hum again, and the red orb glowed brighter. One second the dog was there, and in the next—vanished.
"Blimey, where'd he go?"
They looked all about the engine room until Vecchio spotted him and pointed.
"What did I tell you? He's in the wall! Oh I can't look! These poor eyes have seen enough. Think of him, guts sawn in half!"
Jasper's eyes alighted on the Cornerian's tail and hind legs. His rear end protruded from the wall bordering a parallel passageway. He walked over to the dog, scratching his chin stubble as he examined him from multiple angles. Then he dealt a kick to his rump. In response, the guard flailed his hind legs and whipped his tail back and forth.
"Vecchio you old coward; he's fine!"
The avian worked up the courage to have a look, then visibly exhaled. "Oh, good. For a moment there I thought... Hey, then where's the dimensional transporter?"
At that moment several more guards and engineers converged on their position, quickly putting together what happened.
"There they are! Get 'em!"
"Run for it Vecchio!"
The bandits high-tailed it from the engine room, taking a right turn down the exterior passageway. They came upon the front half of the Cornerian they teleported into the wall. The guard hung in a humiliated fashion from a hole in the partition, trying to reach the transporter which lay on the floor beneath him. His arms and fingers stretched desperately for it, but it lay just out of reach, taunting him.
Jasper patted the dog on the head and scooped the device out from under him. "Thanks mate! You're a big help."
"Hey, no! You can't take that! That is property of Lylat Luxury Cruises, and if you don't return that the Pleiades can't teleport! Even worse I'll lose my job—as if today already wasn't bad enough."
But the hare and avian were already off. Jasper turned around long enough to quip, "It's no wonder you're not with the rest of the party. You really are a wallflower."
"Oh if my blaster wasn't in my hip holster!" the Cornerian roared.
The Inevitable Sting
In the command bridge of the Pleiades the proximity censor went off a second time. Captain Snowflake was the first to investigate.
"Another kamikaze attack, ensign?"
The squirrel officer shook his head. "Negative Captain. Radar indicates a much larger, cruiser-sized ship. Heavily armored and loaded with weapons. It's on an intercepting course!"
Snowflake slammed his fist down on Neighlson's armrest. "Blast! If this were a military vessel I'd have those exile scum turning tail and running back into the mud."
Pulcifer was quick to implore the captain against such action. "Please Captain! Remember the thousands of paying guests aboard, remember science's first dimensional transporter, remember the expensive cargo—and the ship itself! The Pleiades is Lylat Luxury Cruises most iconic—"
The warthog snapped his fingers. "That's it! We'll teleport out of danger. It is not in my blood to retreat, but with the lives of thousands of Cornerian citizens at stake I will make an exception." He brushed LLC's president aside and gave orders to the second mate. "Plot a course with the dimensional transporter. Send us 100,000 miles out—any direction!"
"Yes sir!" The second mate turned to his control screen and tapped away. Yet the more he input commands the more he grew frustrated. Finally he ran a background check, the results of which made his blood run cold. "Captain, there seems to b-be a problem..."
"Don't trail off like that!" Snowflake snapped. "Now, a problem with what?"
"With the dimensional transporter, sir."
"Well, what is it?!"
"It's uh... gone?"
"GONE?!" the warthog roared. "It can't be gone. If it's a routine maintenance check tell them to cancel it and reinstall the device!"
Another officer stood up, placing a hand over his earphone piece. "Captain, the engine room is reporting the dimensional transporter is stolen. Two civilians dressed in a sailor's costume and a hobo costume teleported a guard through a wall and ran off with it. They're still aboard the ship, and several officers are in pursuit."
Snowflake emitted a guttural growl from his fat throat. He proceeded to belt out a series of orders. "Order every guard in a two-sector radius to search for people matching their descriptions. And close off all access to the hangar—they may have an escape vehicle." He turned to the gunnery officer. "Prep the defensive weapons. We'll have to blast our way through that exile cruiser!"
"Ohhh!" Pulcifer swooned against the Admiral's chair, patting his sweat-covered face with a handkerchief.
Neighlson shook him. "Easy there porkums. It's too early to black out." Sitting up in his chair he addressed Snowflake. "Hey Mr. 56-yo with acne, hit me up with whatever you're smoking. What kind of guns do you think we've got? The most lethal weapons we have are party poppers, and confetti won't do much against standard cruiser armor."
"We can't just let them shoot us down without a fight! We can use the ship's defense cannons—even if they are measly in comparison."
By now they had visuals on the enemy cruiser. The angular, green-colored warship hovered above the acid sea a thousand feet away from them.
"They're hailing us sir!"
"Good," Neighlson answered, though the crew had started to direct all reports to Snowflake. "Fire up MuzzleTime."
Once the crew established a video connection a feed popped up onscreen of the enemy cruiser's bridge. Occupying the captain's seat was a caracal—a larger feline species with chestnut fur and long, black-tufted ears. While she wore a sharp green uniform she chose to cover it with a ragged, hole-filled cloak draped around her shoulders. Her fur was unkempt and mangy in some areas. In other places it displayed ink tattoos of skulls and Katinese characters. Her nose was pierced with a silver ring that distractingly caught and reflected the light, drawing one's attention to her face—whereupon they would find a particularly dark gaze glowering back at them.
Admiral Neighlson leaned forward in his chair, toasting her with a champagne glass. "Hey-hey there Ms. Sour-puss! Glad you could make it to the bash. You brought your own refreshments and snacks, right? Maybe some... sushi or noodle dishes?" He flashed an awkward but full-toothed smile, eyes hiding behind his sunglasses.
The caracal stared him down for several tense seconds, pursing her lips and holding her damaging glare. Finally she broke away to glance around her video screen. She spoke in Katinese, and a rather distressed-looking canine shackled to her chair translated.
"I will speak with the one in command."
Smile still plastered on his face, Neighlson smoothly stood up and walked away. Standing in the elevator, he turned to face the crew.
"You can find me on dance floor 11, possibly behind the DJ deck. Peace out!" The elevator doors closed behind him, leaving Snowflake to deal with the Venomian.
"I am the captain of the Pleiades. This is a luxury passenger ship full of civilians with no military involvement. You have no right to—"
The feline barked out a few choice harsh words, then waited for her translator.
"And I am General Liufang, 21st regiment of the Venomian Army. I do not barter with Cornerian scum."
Liufang smiled coolly, resting her chin on a fist.
"Your ship is carrying a revolutionary propulsion device that the Emperor seeks. We are prepared to take this item by force if you do not freely hand it over. I would hate to risk the lives of your passengers needlessly, dear Captain."
Pulcifer summoned the gumption to speak. "B-but we don't have the dimensional transporter! Someone just—"
"Silence!" Snowflake ordered. Turning back to Liufang he continued, "Neither do Cornerians barter with exiles, you Katinese rebel! If the traitorous Andross wants the transporter so dearly he can come aboard and take it himself... over my dead body!" The warthog proceeded to draw his commando blaster and brandish it. "Ha-ha! And I'll be ready for him! Bang-bang!"
Without realizing it he fired two successive bolts into the display screen, ending the video feed. Holstering his blaster the Captain sulked over to the rear of the bridge, where he folded his arms and faced the wall, contemplatively. His back was to the crew.
"I may have been a bit impulsive."
Luckily the audio still worked. The translator's voice came through with a final warning: "Have the dimensional transporter ready in ten minutes, or your ship will cook in the sea.
"Prepare to be boarded."