Falling Star

Part 7

"T-mius seven seconds," a uniformed crew member began, his face illuminated only by the glow of a three-dimensional plasmagraph showing pre-recorded frames of the day's events. "Fox's Arwing is clipped by the Great Fox's primary laser cannon." Gathered around the display, Salk, still near mumified in medical gauss and submitted to a wheelchair, Falco, and a select few of the division's high-ranking commanders looked on with silent cynicism as he walked them through it.

"T-minus five seconds," he continued, "Fox's Arwing enters a high velocity somersault as a result of the impact, experiencing gravitational force in excess of ten times that of Corneria sea level." His head sinking deeper and deeper with each passing word, a vicious sigh escaped Falco as the fingers of his right hand tapped away on his left forearm.

"T-minus three seconds – Fox fires one smart bomb, managing to strike a direct hit on the Troades' main engines."

"T-minus one second – the following blast catapults Fox's Arwing down underneath the Troades' hull. Simultaneously, the damage from the smart bomb ruptures the engine's primary manifold." A twitch breaking out from his strained brow, Falco slammed his hands down onto the display, sending a deafening reverberation through the room.

"So where's Fox!?" He roared, leering into the flinching crewman's eyes.

"Mister Lombardi, I understand your frustration-" Salk attempted to say, only to be promptly interrupted by the subject of his diffusion.

"Don't give me that crap, Salk!" Falco snapped, extending an index finger towards him in full disregard of any formal show of respect. "I didn't come here for you to refresh my memory. I saw the whole thing."

"Stand. Down." Salk growled, a clear lack of impression unrelenting in his tone as he stared the pilot down from across the display. "If you desire my help in figuring out what happened to your friend, then I strongly suggest you learn your place aboard my ship. You're lucky I even allowed you in here."

"The Cornerian fleet is not obligated in any way to assist you, mercenary. You'd do well to remember that." The realization that burning unfortunately essential bridges was also not what he came here to do hitting him like a brick wall, Falco relaxed himself back into an upright stance and returned his arms to a crossed position.

"Go ahead," Salk spoke, clear in his intention though he was unable to turn his head to directly address the still shaken crewman. Taking a moment to compose himself, the crewman nervously activated the final frame.

"T-minus zero," he shuddered. Plunging the room into an ominously noticeable darkness in contrast to the previous frames, the lot of them could only look in awe as a gaping maw of pitch black rippling into the vacuum surrounding it lay where once stood a formidable war vessel, and Fox's Arwing along with it. "Troades' warp drive enters overload, and the rupture allows all eighteen-thousand megawatts of power to escape into the manifold, creating a concentrated free radical region of warp space."

"Meaning?" Falco asked, looking to each of the members present for an explanation he could find coherent.

"Troades generated a warp stream when the manifold was ruptured, but it was unable to channel power through to the engines, which would have otherwise allowed it alone to travel to the other side in a stable manner." Salk explained, head lowered and eyes shut. "Instead, the stream was opened directly inside the warp drive, and it swallowed whatever was nearby, your friend included."

"That is correct," the crewman confirmed, shifting his weight back to a less defensive stance.

"Okay, so we just have to find out where the stream was opened to," Falco reasoned, developing a slight pacing motion as he pieced everything together. "The warp drive wouldn't be able to generate one without a destination, right?"

"True, but the only way we'd know for sure would be to access the Traodes' itinerary computer, which, well..." The crewman replied.

"Wait, so wouldn't that mean he'd have to be somewhere in the Lylat system?" Falco jumped, moving back to the display and leaning onto it towards him.

"Theoretically, yes," he confirmed, "and seeing as Androssian warp drives have notoriously short jump limits, it's possible he's relatively close."

"That's all I need to hear," Falco declared, beginning immediately for the door with a tensioned stride.

"The division will search the systems between here and Corneria as we head back for repairs; I'd start with Venom if I were you," Salk said.

"Way ahead of you, Salk," Falco replied, raising his left hand in a half executed send off as he made way through the door towards the shuttle bay. This plasmagraph powering down as he exited, the usual cold fluorescent lighting of standard operation returned to the room. With it, an even colder silence lingered as the commanders awaited the golden words, a drowsy glaze having come over their eyes.

"You are dismissed," Salk stated, prompting all but the crewman to spring from their aching stances and leave with a compulsory salute.

"Take me to my quarters," he lazily beckoned to the crewman, the pain of relying on a subordinate to move him from place to place only slightly overtaken by the pain still running through his arms.

"Right away, sir." The crewman complied, racing behind him and pushing him out the door. As he entered the hallway, two things became infuriatingly apparent. The squeaks and bumps from the chair rattling down the hallway as they turned into it would have been foremost in his mind, that is, had it not been for a sickly-looking hare leaning up against the wall adjacent the door. Still unable to turn his head, he caught but a glimpse of the swollen and discoloration encompassing his left eye, and the utterly downtrodden look that over shadowed his disposition, before it too disappeared behind him.