The massive hangar doors of the space outpost, evidently triggered by motion detection, slid open as Leon flew towards them. He landed his Novek-7 fighter in the hangar, opened the cockpit, and looked around. The giant room was filled with all manner of aircraft.

Outpost frequenters moved about the hangar, paying little attention to Leon as he walked through the room. He was neither an administrator nor a commander anymore; he was just another face in the crowd. The anonymity was refreshing.

The chameleon noticed a corridor at the end of the hangar with a sign over it that read "Residencies." He walked down it and wound up in a lobby-like room, with a scruffily attired hawk sitting behind a counter. Four hallways extended out from the lobby, labeled "A," "B," "C," and "D"; countless doors aligned the walls of the each hallway. They looked to be apartments.

"Excuse me? Do you, by any chance, accept Lylatian dollars here?" Leon asked the hawk.

The hawk chuckled and cleared his throat.

"You're in luck, pal, 'cause we do. Hell, most of the folks here were born in the Lylat System. Rooms are 25 bucks a night. I take it you're new to the outpost?"

Leon nodded.

"I thought so," replied the hawk with a smile. "You probably know this already if you came all the way out here, but I'll tell ya anyway. There are only two things to do at this place: be a mercenary or hire one. You planning on one of those?"

"Yes. I'm hoping for the former."

"Okay. If you've got any skill, you'll have no trouble getting the money. The reward for one mission alone is usually enough to cover a couplea' months rent. Word to the wise: the place to be for mercenaries is Harry's Restaurant. You can get there from the main hangar. If you're looking for a contract, all you hafta' do is sit at one of the wall seats. That's where all the transactions take place. Well, enough with that. You said you were looking for a place to stay. How's room B234 sound?"

"Like any other room, I suppose."

The hawk laughed loudly, breaking into a hacking cough.

"You're a funny guy, you know that? Here's the key to the room. Rent is collected each morning. And one more thing: good luck out here, pal."

The hawk winked and handed Leon the key to B234. Leon nodded his thanks and walked down the hallway labeled "B." He found his room, unlocked the door and, feeling exhausted, lay down on the bed. The room wasn't exactly accommodating, but Leon had the best night's sleep he had in ages.


The food at Harry's Restaurant was better than anything that had ever been served in a Cornerian mess hall. Leon had gone there in the morning and sat along the wall, eating breakfast and waiting, but no one seemed to notice him. The hawk hadn't been fooling about the place being a center of business; Leon saw the furtively moving figures walking to the wall seats, quietly conversing with the diners sitting there, handing them briefcases or bags, and walking away. Perhaps they were avoiding him because he was new to the outpost. Did they only trust well-established mercenaries? Leon took a sip from his coffee mug. All he could do was wait.

As he took a final drink of coffee, Leon heard the sound of approaching footsteps, the noise a bit muffled by the carpeting. Someone was walking towards his table. The stranger wore a brown overcoat, a grey felt hat pulled down across his face, and sunglasses. It was difficult to identify his species.

"You have any experience?" asked the stranger in a hushed voice.

"I was in the Cornerian Air Force for over a decade. Wouldn't you call that sufficient?"

"Good enough. Now listen closely. A guy by the name of Durande started running a weapons smuggling racket around here last month. Don't know much about Durande's outfit, but I do know this; business at my organization has been suffering ever since he muscled into the outpost. I need you to send a message to this pesky interloper by disposing of one of his shipments. Naturally, you'll be compensated for your efforts."

"And we're talking along the lines of…?"

"1000 bucks. 250 before, 750 after. Durande makes a shipment in about two hours. Do the job today. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Excellent. You'll find 250 bucks and some maps detailing Durande's shipping routes in this briefcase. That's all you'll need for now. Meet me here tonight when you're finished and you'll get the rest."

The stranger placed a briefcase on Leon's table, turned around, and walked away without saying another word.

His first contract as a mercenary; it was a proud moment for Leon.


Leon sat waiting in his fighter, alone in the emptiness of space. A note on a map the stranger gave him informed Leon that Durande only made one shipment a day. There was only one chance to destroy the target; knowing that made the situation feel even more exciting. Leon looked over the maps one last time. He was definitely in the right place.

Leon could see Durande's space freighter off in the distance as it slowly trekked along. It was a lumbering mass of a vehicle, severely lacking in agility but more than compensating with thick armor. Leon fired an electromagnetic chaff rocket, temporarily cloaking his fighter from the freighter's radar. It had been years since the last time he stalked his quarry; he really did miss the feel of the hunt.

The Novek-7 flew undetected as it approached the vehicle. A gigantic laser turret sat on top of the freighter; Durande obviously took precautions when it came to defending his shipments. The turret did not appear to be covered with the same impenetrable armor that protected the rest of the ship.

The temporary concealment offered by the chaff would soon run out. Leon took advantage of the last moments of safety and aimed for the turret. He fired a slew of missiles just as his fighter was picked up on the freighter's radar.

The freighter shook as the missiles detonated on the turret, but much to the chameleon's surprise, it appeared to be undamaged. The freighter's crew was now fully aware of Leon's presence; his fighter was suddenly peppered with fire from small anti-aircraft guns on the hull. The laser turret was charging, its muzzle glowing a bright red. Leon's heart was racing. A battle only became exciting once your life was at stake.

The turret, like the freighter itself, was powerful but slow. It would be difficult for the weapon to hit a nimble jet like the Novek-7. Leon fired his engines and maneuvered his fighter in an erratic path. A blast from the turret whizzed past his vehicle, narrowly missing him. Again came a surge of adrenaline. Leon was alive. He flew as fast as he could towards the turret. There was, perhaps, one way to destroy it.

Leon moved in close to the ship. He was safe from the side mounted anti-aircraft guns, but the laser could still reach him. He discovered that the freighter wasn't completely unscathed by his attack; a small crack had formed on the turret. If he was quick enough, he could do it before the laser had a chance to recharge…

Leon felt overcome with a fury as he attacked the fissure. He simply blasted it as fast as he could with his plasma cannons. The weakened metal along the fissure glowed white hot as it was heated by the plasma blasts. The turret laser, aimed directly at Leon, was almost fully charged. The victor of the battle would be determined in a matter of seconds.

The fissure finally cracked open, leaving a small hole in the turret. Leon fired an incendiary missile through the opening; the freighter, loaded with weapons and explosives, was a tinderbox. Leon activated the fuel boosters on his fighter and flew away as quickly as the jets would take him, practically destroying his engines in the process.

The first explosion, caused by the missile, was not exceptionally large. The second explosion, caused by the freighter's volatile cargo catching fire, resulted in the vehicle blowing up in a brilliant, chemical-tinged fireball.

Safely distant, Leon watched with satisfaction as the freighter was annihilated. The combat high lingered; he felt intoxicated. He was back in business.


The service at the bar at Harry's Restaurant was excellent as well. They offered a wide array of drinks, and Leon ordered a brandy to celebrate his success. A sense of alcohol-amplified nostalgia swept over him. He felt happy, even optimistic, for the first time since his early years in the Air Force. He could envision a bright new future for himself at the outpost, full of excitement. Life would be perfect.

As he sat on a barstool, Leon felt a metal object jabbed into his back. He heard a voice speak from behind him.

"One wrong move and I pull the trigger. If you value your life, I suggest you pay attention to everything I say."

"You're threatening me here, in a crowded place like this?" Leon asked calmly. He took a sip of brandy. "That doesn't strike me as the wisest choice. I daresay you wouldn't get away with it."

"Maybe so, but even if I get caught, you'll still be dead . Now listen up, 'cause you've only got two choices here. A: You keep playing the smartass game, I unload this blaster into your spine, and we both face the consequences. B: You do what I ask and I might let you live. Now what'll you choose? A or B?"

"Very well," replied Leon with a sigh. "What, precisely, do you want me to do?"

"Walk slowly out of the restaurant, and down the hall. No sudden movements. Keep walking until I tell you to stop."

Leon got off the barstool and casually walked out of Harry's. Unlike the restaurant itself, the hallway leading away from it was deserted. The voice spoke again.

"Okay. Now turn around."

Leon slowly faced his assailant, wondering what he would look like. The owner of the voice turned out to be a rather short possum. He was far from a physically imposing specimen, but the blaster he gripped in his hand made him quite deadly.

"I expect you to fully answer everything I ask. Got it?" The possum's voice, though quiet, was noticeably agitated. "I work for a certain Mr. Durande. My boss was less than pleased to learn that his latest shipment was destroyed en route to its destination. We don't like it when someone decides to interfere with our business. Our organization has plenty of connections out here, and we've learned that you were the one who blew up the freighter. That's all we know so far, but I'm gonna change that. Now tell me: who hired you to do it, and who did he work for?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Even if I did, I doubt I would divulge such information with the likes of you."

"Wrong answer, wiseass. You've got 'till the count of three to spill your guts, or I'll spill 'em for you."

The possum aimed his blaster at Leon's chest.

"One!"

Leon simply had nothing to say.

"Two!"

There was no way out. Leon kept his eyes wide open, curious as to what his own death would be like.

"Three!"

A piercing bang echoed throughout the hall. The possum slumped to the floor. Behind him stood the lean figure of a wolf, clutching a smoking blaster. The wolf looked to be several years younger than Leon. A black patch covered his left eye.

"Nice shot," remarked Leon. "And with one eye, no less. What prompted this heroic rescue?"

"I happened to sit down at the other end of the bar a few minutes ago. This fellow here thought nobody noticed when he lead you out of the place at blasterpoint, but, as you can see, he was mistaken. That bastard Durande has agents all over the outpost. I figured that anyone on his group's hit list couldn't be all that bad. The name's Wolf O'Donnell, by the way."

"Wolf? How apt."

"Yeah…my parents were nice folk, but they weren't exactly what you'd call the creative types."

"I suppose I should introduce myself as well. It's the least I can do after being saved. Leon Powalski, at your service."

"The Leon Powalski? Cornerian war hero? I remember hearing about you back when I lived in the Lylat System. Didn't think you'd be the deserting type."

"'Learn something new every day,' as the old adage goes."

"Apparently so. Well, I'd love to stay and chat with you, Leon, but this place is loaded with Durande's goons. Once they discover that our possum friend isn't playing possum, they'll be all over us. You might want to consider hightailing your ass out of here. That's what I plan on doing, at least. Not exactly a glorious escape, but at least I'll be alive."

"Sound advice."

As they ran to the hangar, an angry voice from behind them shouted, "Shit! They wasted Marco, and now they're gettin' away!" Wolf turned and fired a few blaster shots down the hall, silencing whoever was at the other end. They reached the hangar, and Leon quickly hopped into his Novek-7. He saw Wolf jump into his jet, and the two flew out of the outpost and into the depths of space.

Leon turned on the radio in his fighter and contacted Wolf on his frequency.

"Again, I thank you for saving me," said the chameleon. "I assume that neither of us are welcome at the outpost anymore."

"I think that's a safe bet."

"Damn. Most of my money is still in my room."

"While I won't deny the incredible degree to which it sucks losing your money like that, you should be glad to be rid of that outpost. Durande isn't the only one who runs a smuggling ring there. I can't even count the number of competing 'businesses' who call the place home, and the way I see it, it's only a matter of time before there's an all-out war between them."

"Oh."

The two said nothing for a while, but Leon couldn't bear the silence for long. He felt a need to learn more about this being who saved him for no apparent reason.

"If you don't mind me asking, Wolf, how did you end up at the outpost?"

"It's a long story, but hey, I've got the time. I used to work for a Lylatian-based interstellar protection agency. I'd be assigned to accompany ships traveling between planets, solar systems, whatever, and keep them safe. You know, protect them from bandits, Space Pirates, and like-minded scumbags. It was a great job, I must admit. I had a hell of time out there. On one mission, I was assigned to a mineral freighter traveling from the Ozoul to the Lylat System, and the convoy was attacked mid-voyage by a swarm of bandits. My fighter took a lot of damage in the battle and a piece of shrapnel embedded itself in my left eye, thus rendering me the cyclops you know and love so well. Even though I could still pilot a fighter just as well as when both my eyes worked, my boss didn't care. He said I was a liability, and he canned me as soon as he discovered what happened. I was none too pleased to find out that I had been fired from the one job that meant everything to me, and…let's just say my boss learned firsthand that the only tool you need to perform a full-frontal lobotomy is a blaster. I can't say I'm proud of what I did, but what happened, happened."

Wolf paused, as if innocently shrugging his shoulders.

"Obviously it wasn't safe for me to stay in the Lylat System after that, so I looked for another place to go. That's when I went to the outpost. I wanted to be a mercenary. I wanted to get the same thrills I felt when I was in the agency. Fighting makes me feel, ah, it's hard to describe…alive, I guess. When you fight, you get a rush unlike anything else. I didn't want to lose that feeling, and that's why I became a mercenary. It's not quite as stable as working for a prestigious agency, but believe me, it's just as thrilling."

Practically dumbstruck, it took Leon a long time before he could make a reply. Never before in his life had he met someone who echoed his own feelings so closely. Living to fight, fighting to feel alive: Leon was almost talking with himself. He instantly felt an admiration towards Wolf, partially for saving his life, but mostly for having such a familiar mind. Leon realized that he was not quite the singularity he had always believed himself to be.

"Wolf, have you ever considered forming a team?"

"I've entertained the thought. Why do you ask? Are you looking for someone to latch onto now that you're broke?"

"Ha! It would certainly be nice to remedy my money woes, but that wasn't why I asked. There are certain advantages to working in a team. The team is harder to destroy than the singular. The team can accomplish what the singular cannot. You seem to be one of the most capable pilots I've ever met. Even with one eye you're still an excellent shot! Plus, you appear to have the mindset of a true fighter. At the risk of sounding a bit peculiar, I do believe you're the only being I could actually coexist with."

"Really? How flattering, in a creepy way. You're a smart guy. I can find a reason to hate just about anyone, but…you know what? I don't think I hate you at all. Trust me, I'm just as surprised as you are. Got any ideas for a team name, Leon?"

"You're putting me on the spot here, but I'll try. Personally, I'd like 'star' to be incorporated into the name. It's concise, relevant, and even powerful in a way. How about 'Star Wolf?'"

"Again with the flattery."

"You did save my life. It only seems fitting for you to receive top billing. Besides, 'Star Chameleon' doesn't quite have the same ring to it."

"You have a point there. Star Wolf…I like it! Well, there's another outpost pretty close to here. As far as I know, this one isn't the epicenter of a smuggler's war. Might be a good place for us to go."

"Sounds like a plan."

Leon scanned the radar, looking for the coordinates of the other outpost. He couldn't even imagine what the future held for the team of Star Wolf, but he really didn't care. Whatever happened, it would undoubtedly be interesting. That was all that mattered.

-The End-