So, I figured with the insanely long time between updates, I would put a little bit of a recap up here at the top, just so those who have already read this far don't have to look back through all the past chapters, and so the new comers can catch up with reading all the back story. Ahem…
Star Fox is a mercenary crew for hire in the year following the Lylat War (Star Fox 64, or Lylat Wars for our European friends). They enjoy mixed obscurity due to the fact that General Pepper never really let it be publicly known that the Star Fox troupe played the largest part in the victory over Venom. Their most recent major contract was an escort job for some weapons smugglers in Meteos.
The convoy Fox and Falco were meant to protect came under fire in the Briar Pocket of Meteos, where one of the three transports was destroyed. Of the six attacking starfighters, only a fighter and a bomber escaped. One of the assailants was disabled in a head-to-head joust with Fox. Upon arrival at the Riley Freeport in Meteos, the smugglers refused to pay Star Fox due to the loss of one of the freighters. In addition, the mercenaries are threatened with forced servitude to the criminal organization. Fox and Falco escape and swipe the smuggler boss' weighty wallet as compensation.
On the way back to the Great Fox outside Meteos, they stumble upon and rescue the broken ship of the unconscious pilot he had hit head-on in the previous skirmish. The lynx and her beaten ship are taken back to the Great Fox.
Upon arrival, she is placed in the Great Fox's meager medbay and treated as much as she could. She awakens once on the trip back to Corneria, and acquires a fury towards Fox for destroying her ship and leaving her in her current condition. She is either unaware or doesn't care that he also saved her.
Once on Corneria, she is offloaded to a hospital near the starport, and the Star Fox team takes a ground contract from the Cornerian police to bust an illegal arms deal. Still, despite a successful bounty, the Star Fox team still finds itself in dire straits as far as funding goes.
The lynx meanwhile, and unbeknownst to Star Fox, has escaped the hospital, and is currently hunting them down.
And that should bring everything up to date.
VII: Downtime
The Cornerian Planetary Library was quite a sight to behold.
A high ceiling of crystal-clear glass panels blanketed the rows upon rows of traditional bookshelves and banks of personal data desks beneath. Only the thinnest of support beams threaded their way through the virtual dome of sparkling transparent material, lending the illusion of open skies to the studious occupants below. Contrary to the traditional stereotype of the dreary library enthusiast, the bright, shining sun seemed to invigorate every manner of person as they went about their search for knowledge.
Down on the fiber-carpeted floor, the elegantly decorated hardwood bookcases were accented by the occasional exotic potted plant, some arranged in clusters to allow a few book enthusiasts to sequester themselves away in a miniature forest with a favorite tome or portable datapad. The bookshelves would break at regular intervals to allow room for a group of comfortably cushioned chairs and loveseats, or an information kiosk.
Unique to the library, and complimenting the authentic plant life, a genuine stream curved and ran its way through the grounds in a channel of rock and granite, elevated to waist height. The ambient sounds of the river as it twisted its way around the library joined with the reproduction calls and titters of several species of tropical, non-sentient birds being pumped through hidden speakers to give the massive store of data and literature a soothing and relaxing soundtrack.
In the middle of the structure, a casually dressed lynx occupied a seat at one of the many public datadesk banks that dotted the grounds. She had ditched her previous outfit before entering the library, knowing that the nurse's uniform's solid sky blue color scheme would stand out more than she'd like. And besides, she preferred the faded green trousers and black tee-shirt she had been wearing all along. As a mental side note, she realized that she didn't remember acquiring the black shirt from anywhere, and assumed that the mercenaries she had been 'saved' by had loaned it to her for one reason or another. She shrugged to herself with indifference. It was comfortable regardless.
However, the train of thought had brought her back to her original purpose at the library. Punching in the general access code on her terminal she brought up the search function, making sure the public privacy settings were activated. A tiny flashing icon on the screen ensured that the tint of the monitor was such that only those standing directly behind the lynx would be able to see anything other than a blank screen. Satisfied with the privacy settings, she entered her query, using the only concrete information she knew about the mercenary troupe that would get her anywhere.
"Fox…McCloud…"
She repeated the name to herself as she typed it in, somehow managing to sound incensed by the name even in her own thoughts. A small hourglass appeared onscreen as a gradually filling bar symbolized the search's progress through every text and digital source contained in the library.
Ever since the thought had seared itself into her mind that this 'Fox McCloud', or at least one of his wingmates, was responsible for the utter destruction of her ship and her own extensive injuries, the young lynx had made it her all-consuming goal to track the mercenary down. What she would do if she ever found him again, she hadn't yet reached in her mental calculations, but there was time for that later.
The hourglass icon faded as the bar filled completely and was replaced instead by a menu of the top search results for her query, starting with a government file from the Exterior Resources department of the Cornerian Military. Following the link with a click of her pointer, the lynx found herself looking at a roster of several mercenary teams hired by the Lylatian Navy over the past few years. A relatively ancient constitutional bylaw had stated that this sort of information was to remain public, but the military officials had found loopholes around it for truly sensitive information.
Luckily for the lynx though, she wasn't after any of the classified info: only names and pictures. Scrolling down the page, she eventually found the entry for her 'Fox McCloud', and opened the squad register for the unit. Her lips curled into only the faintest of smiles as she assessed the information presented to her.
The basic headshot of the vulpine labeled as the team leader matched her savior-turned-antagonist to the very shade of rusted fur and annoyingly verdant eyes. Lingering a second on the picture of the fox, and noting that the emotionless look he had given the camera was a far cry from the expressive visage she had witnessed, the lynx moved on to the other, more important information.
Underneath all of the text on the team's fairly limited digital infocard, the lynx noted an orangish-red watermark logo, shaped in the silhouette of an ancient, pre-evolved vulpine with added wings. She took this to be McCloud's team's insignia, which by itself was fairly insignificant for her purposes. However, when combined with everything she either knew or assumed, it was all she needed to find him.
She knew that Fox's mercenary unit owned their own capital ship, and, by the size of the med bay she had been preliminarily treated in, it was probably a smaller model. Chances were, when they had touched down in Corneria City, they had logically looked up the closest medical center to deposit her in. So now, it was simply a matter of going to the starport nearest to the hospital she had been kept at for the past two weeks, and locating a smallish capital ship with the crimson insignia she had just found. And then…well, what would happen once she found the fox again was still unclear.
"If they're even still on planet," she reminded herself, taking a final look at the pictures of each of the four listed members and signing off the public desk.
The lynx instinctively reached for her personal duffel bag as she pushed her chair out, only to grasp empty air. She cursed quietly to herself, remembering that all of her personal effects were still onboard her fighter, or what was left of it, on the deck of McCloud's capital ship. Sighing, she shrugged to herself and mentally chalked it up as another reason to track the mercenaries down.
She noticed an older hare occupying the terminal directly across from her giving her a reprimanding look as she stood to leave. It took a split second to put two and two together to realize that he must've overheard her cursing to herself moments before. As she understood though, she merely returned the look with a venomous gaze of her own. She hated when people didn't mind their own business.
"I would say nine…maybe ten thousand credits total, guys."
Falco sat up in disbelief, leaning forward in his comfortable rec room chair. Like the rest of his team gathered in various states of worn relaxation around the lounge, the avian and his work garb were caked in grime and oil, left over from both their mission the previous day, and from some preliminary evaluation and sizing up of the derelict former-spacefighter occupying a spot in the Great Fox's landing bay.
He ran a hand through his head plumage in frustration, "That's it? That hunk of space debris is worth less than ten grand?"
Slippy consulted a holo-clipboard for a moment and nodded slowly, speaking without looking up, "I'm afraid so." Then, fixing his gaze on the avian in an uncharacteristically unfaltering stare, he added, "I mean, you said it Falco; that pilot's ship isn't much more than a piece of wreckage. Fox really did a number on 'er."
"Pfft…" Falco uttered dismissively, "But c'mon; even half a starfighter should be worth more than the fifteen grand we found in that gunrunner's briefcase. That was enough to buy barely a handful of sidearms. You're telling me that lynx's fighter's worth less than that?"
"I'm afraid so," Slippy repeated. After a pause though, he trailed off, "Although…"
"Although…what?" Falco asked, raising an eyebrow with interest.
"No, Slippy," the previously quiet Fox interjected from his own seat, already knowing where the toad was going, "We're not tearing apart the cockpit. There's probably personal stuff in there."
"But, there could be some pricy avionics in there also," Falco said, catching on and rubbing his hands together, smiling slightly, "We could just-"
"No," Fox said again, with more force, "I don't care what's in there; we're not invading that pilot's personal property."
"Guh. Seriously?" the avian said, rolling his eyes and staring over at Fox. He was fully expecting the vulpine to object on some moral ground or another, but he wasn't ready for it to be so stubborn. "You're seriously going to pull the 'I'm so noble' card? Ease up, man."
Fox's face took on a more serious tint, and his eyes narrowed. To him, there was no question to the issue, "I'm not going to go rooting through someone else's stuff."
"Relax Foxie," Falco quipped, meeting his friend's stare, "What do you think we're going to do? Yank out her purse and start passing around her pictures and makeup, giggling and gossiping like a coupla school girls? 'Oh, did you see her in this one? She looks so ugly. Oh my gawd'."
Slippy stifled a giggle of his own as Falco continued gesturing. Peppy, who until this point had watched them all with a thoughtful hand on his chin, smiled slightly and put his hand out, "Cut it out Falco."
The avian smirked but stopped, reluctantly obeying his elder. The tension between him and Fox slowly simmered and subsided from the room as Peppy held their attention, silent until he was sure the effect had taken place.
"Listen guys, you both have valid points," he began, folding his hands into a steeple and leaning back in his chair. He then extended the left palm, face up, as if he were holding something, "On the one hand, Fox is absolutely right. I feel like a father teaching his kit a lesson here, but we don't go rooting through other people's things. Sure, we're a mercenary troupe, but I think it's obvious to all of us that we've made a point to stay on the morally correct side of things in the past as much as circumstances allow."
Peppy then repeated the motion with his right. "And on the other hand, Falco's suggestion is correct as well. We need the money more than…well, more than I'd like us to, and we could use every credit we can jump on. Whether or not we compromise morals is dependent on the situation, but ultimately, if it comes down to it, I'd rather take this opportunity than let it pass and file for bankruptcy."
Peppy let his hands fall to his lap, and sighed, turning to Fox. "However, as much as I appreciate you all listening to an old man speak, it's ultimately your decision Fox. You're our commander here, and we wouldn't be much of a mercenary crew if we didn't follow the occasional order."
Falco folded his arms and exhaled in frustration, glancing at the vulpine, crestfallen. It was fairly obvious that when given control over the situation, any sane individual would choose to trust his own opinion over someone else's. However, much to his surprise, Fox didn't immediately order the dismissal of the avian's idea: he just stared at the ground, lost in thought. Several silent moments passed before he finally looked up again, finally speaking.
"Fine Falco," he said reluctantly, as if each word had a weight attached to it and it took effort just to utter them. "Just, promise me that if you find anything that could be considered personal, you'll leave it alone."
Recovering from his surprise, the avian just grinned, knowing he had won and loving it. Standing and slapping the weary vulpine on the back, he said, "You made the right choice buddy." After beckoning Slippy towards the door from the room, he added, "I think I just felt my second wind, too; I'll get started on it right away."
And, just before they went through the doorway, Falco stopped and leaned back, unable to let one more quip go, "And trust me, our coffers will thank you."
Dawn was barely cracking over the New Memories' cluster of hangers and docking bays when she reached the front door. A series of layers split the sky into rough stripes ranging from a deep purple to blazing orange, smoothly and subtly fading into the bordering stripe. Not a cloud occupied any of the airspace above Corneria City, pointing to a bright, sunny day ahead; the kind of day where one couldn't help but smile when they walked outside. The kind of day where one could make an entire afternoon out of simply sitting in the sunshine.
"Too bad it's still barely morning."
A lone figure stood across the street from the entrance to the space port, leaning against a tree that provided enough shade to mask her identity. A shiver ran down her spine as she hugged herself for a moment for warmth before refolding her arms. Regretting her decision to throw away the relatively warm nurse's dress and apron, she shrugged off the early morning chill and continued to watch inside the small building.
Inside was a plush, if cursory, lobby, containing a large waiting area and a hallway in the back that lead to the huge complex of corridors and hangers that made up the body of the port. However, it was clerk's desk that she was watching. Or, more specifically, the clerk.
She had timed her arrival at the front of the space port to coincide with the end of the graveyard shift of most businesses, which provided the most likely chance of catching the clerk in the position he was in currently. The leopard behind the desk bobbed his head every few seconds, only to have it shoot right back up as he regained full consciousness, at least, until he began falling asleep again. It was the telltale sign of anyone who had been on an all-night shift for a bit too long.
"It should be just a matter of minutes now," the figure thought as she popped another biostimulant in her mouth, noting with casual indifference that her supply was already running low. The stimulants had done their job admirably, as the lynx felt very little other than energized, despite the reasons for her stay in the hospital. Some muscles and joints felt a little stiff and foreign, but none of them had impeded her so far.
Sure enough, within the next five minutes, the clerk was down, face buried in his folded arms on the counter in front of him. Waiting a few moments to make sure he was really asleep, the figure under the tree made her move, and crossed the deserted, early morning street to the building. The door opened with nary a sound, and she was in.
Padding carefully across the empty lobby and towards the hallway in the back, the figure switched her gaze between the corridor and the snoring clerk. It wasn't that she was necessarily doing anything illegal; the hanger wasn't commercial, so none of the rigorous security checks would be necessary, and visitors were always welcomed. It was just that she figured the clerk would let them know ahead of time that she was coming, and he'd probably ask too many questions she wasn't willing to answer.
So, she successfully snuck by the leopard, easing open the hallway double doors and slipping through, beginning her search of the ship that represented her objective.
The room was dark.
The sort of inky, indelible blackness that could only be achieved by an indoor space at night. Not that there were any windows to the outside world. The room simply felt like how a bedroom at night should feel; comfortable and still.
A streamlined, modern-looking grandfather clock hung on one of the walls of the room, though it still retained the signature quiet-but-firm ticking its kind traditionally emits. A dozen pictures and trophies dotted the desk and dresser, taken and won, respectively, in a past, an era which had been kinder to the Star Fox team. The next day's clothes sat folded, piled neat and straight, on top of the reclining chair located in the far corner of the rectangular space. Those adjectives could probably be reused on the entire room as a whole; the vulpine who dozed in the single bunk seemed to appreciate the appeal of keeping one's sleeping quarters clean.
It was into this sanctuary of quiet solitude that a certain toad burst, panting and shouting the occupant's name.
Fox yawned, shooting his arms out to his sides and basking briefly in the sterile glow of the hallway's dim lighting. Stretching his weary muscles to their fullest, he let his hands fall back to his sides as he continued to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He wasn't exactly used to getting up this early, and it showed.
"So, tell me again why you got me up at…" he began, glancing down at his wristwatch as the massive yawn finally subsided, "Five seventeen in the morning?"
"Well, I think it'd be best if you just saw for yourself," Slippy replied, oblivious to the slight tint of annoyance present in his friend's voice. Then, as they turned a corner and approached the bridge, he continued with unhidden enthusiasm, "He hasn't opened a video channel yet, but over the audio he said that he had a job offer, and that it was for your ears only."
"Really?" Fox thought, considering the stout toad's words, "So, at least it's a legit reason to get up then. But who makes a call to a mercenary troupe this early in the morning? And who does that and requests that it be for me only?"
The Great Fox's bridge appeared to be in the same powered down state as the hallways of the rest of the ship. Only a fraction of the operation consoles were activated, and the amount of lights blinking with life was dwarfed by the number that weren't. And all of the most active terminals were located at Slippy's own station, indicating the toad's lack of sleep that night, although that was hardly unusual.
What was unusual though was the flashing green switch located on the communications console, indicating a transmission in waiting.
"For my ears only?" Fox wondered as he took his seat at the center of the small bridge, falling heavily into the cushioned chair and suppressing another yawn of exhaustion, "I wonder what that could mean…"
"Alright Slippy, put 'er through."
Slippy nodded and flipped the green, flashing toggle, prompting the massive, stretched viewport in the center of the bridge to spawn a large rectangular box. It has essentially created a digital window on the Great Fox's main viewport, rendering it in a way that made it appear to float in space between the vessel itself and walls of the starport hanger that contained it beyond. Per the transmission qualifier he had just told Fox, the toad then left the bridge.
The transmission was initially filled with static, but it slowly subsided, gradually forming a sharp image of a canine waiting patiently against a plain, nondescript grey wall. The caller stared into space, quietly lost in his own thoughts. As the picture cleared though, Fox sat up and blinked the remaining sleep out of his eyes. The canine wore the gunmetal grey and dark green of a Cornerian officer, though the lack of a significant number of campaign ribbons or rank patches indicated his lower echelon. Still, despite the official uniform and stately stature, it was impossible to ignore the signature shades perched up on his head, or the mussed hair caused by a starfighter pilot's helmet.
Now completely yanked from his state of semi-conscious awareness, the vulpine's lips curled into a familiar smirk as the canine on the other end became aware that he was no longer on hold. The caller returned the grin with one of his own, and opened his mouth to speak.
"Fox; it's been way too long, man."
"You're tellin' me Bill," he replied, somehow laughing and retaining his smirk at the same time, unable to keep his voice calm and neutral, "How've you been buddy?! It's been ages!"
Bill's response was just as jovial, tinged with the same growing excitement as the vulpine, "I know, dude! I'm doing pretty well for myself actually…" He trailed off, slyly shifting his weight so that the rank insignia on his right shoulder came into view.
"Are those Flight Sergeant's chevrons?" Fox exclaimed in amazement, "Congratulations, man! When'd you get 'em?"
"Well, technically they're uh," the canine began, coughing in mock snobbery, "First Flight Sergeant chevrons to be precise. I got them pretty recently actually. I was doing a standard two-man sweep of a section of Meteos near the Briar Pocket and my wingman and I stumbled upon these two smugglers. A fighter and a bomber, I think; they looked like they had just come from a fight. Anyway, long story short, we wasted them and it was enough to push my promotion over the edge I guess."
"Huh," Fox replied, trying desperately to cover the extreme sense of coincidence that had abruptly washed over him, "Well hey, that's two less smugglers, right?"
"Sure is," Bill said with a grin, faltering slightly though as he continued, "Oh, ah, sorry about the early wake up though; I sorta forgot the time change between Katina and Corneria."
"Ah, don't worry 'bout it," the vulpine insisted, leaning forward and cracking his knuckles, "But while we're on the subject, what's up?"
"Well, my promotion to First Flight Sergeant for the Cornerian garrison here comes with a few added responsibilities," Bill said, sighing, "Sadly, they have nothing to do with flying a starfighter. They're all related to being an adjunct for the town nearby. Ya know, they provide us with food and civilian grounding and we supply them with protection and military preference, yada yada yada."
Fox nodded and shifted his hand, a visual cue for him to keep going.
"Anyway, one of the more recent requests we had was by the town's biggest company, and source of most of the resident's employment, Blue Arrow Shipping. They ship all sorts of stuff, but more recently, they've been doing some runs to one of our supply dumps near Sector X for our base; basic small arms munitions, spare parts, things like that. We've been paying them well and good, and they seem pretty happy with it, especially since we use the runs to train new recruits, which means they're never at a loss of protection. However…"
"Alright, alright, I'm up!"
Falco burst onto the bridge with all the grace of bear fresh from hibernation. Still in his pajamas, and with a heavy dose of the closest thing avian had to 'bedhead', he clearly had not woken up from his slumber intentionally.
"I could hear you two from halfway down the friggin' hallway!" he exclaimed, bracing a hand on the bridge doorframe, "It's five-thirty in the friggin' morning! Why can't you guys talk at a normal friggin' civilized time-"
"Falco!" Bill greeted him, smiling and wearing a surprised look on his face.
"Wha?" the drowsy avian replied, turning from Fox to the viewscreen, squinting through sleep-encrusted eyes. It was as though he had never seen a transmission window before. A moment of peering uncomprehending at the viewscreen passed before he finally responded, "Oh, hey Bill." Then, turning back to the vulpine he opened his mouth to yell at him again before what he had just seen finally registered.
"Bill!" Falco exclaimed, eyes brightening and completely shedding his tired, irritable self from sheer seconds before, "How the hell are ya man?! Dude I haven't seen you since what, just after the the Lylat War-"
"Falco, shut your trap for a second," Fox barked uncharacteristically, surprising the avian and amusing the canine in the viewport window, "Bill, go ahead."
Falco tilted his head back in mock whiplash, stunned from the vulpine's sudden outburst and mumbling under his breath, "Well, jeez, just greeting an old friend…"He made his surly way over to his designated chair on the bridge and took it, crossing his arms and leaning back to hear what the canine had to say.
Bill grinned and kept going where he left off, now speaking to both mercenaries. "Um, yeah, so everything's been going pretty smoothly up until a couple of days ago. A shipment of small arms and ammunition was making its way to the supply dump and had just reached the edge of the Sector X debris field when we lost contact with them. We still haven't heard back from them. From any of them; the convoy was four freighters and half a squadron of fighters large."
"Well Sector X isn't exactly known for getting good com reception," Falco quipped, "Maybe they just couldn't get a signal out?"
Bill nodded, "That's what we thought too, but even after they should've reached the supply depot, they still didn't make contact. The depot said they never heard from the convoy either." He sighed and continued, clearly not happy with what he was about to say next, "But, command insisted that they keep the shipments going, so we set up another convoy, this one with some more support, and sent them off."
"And…?" Falco trailed off.
"Same result," Bill replied sadly, "But this time, we got a lead. One of our escort fighters managed to fire off a message pod that broadcast as soon as it got out of range of the Sector X com distortion. It said that a pair of corvettes was the source of the lost convoys, and that they and a squadron of fighters had just raided that second convoy. The message cut out after that."
"So why don't you guys just go and tear up those corvettes with the big guns?" Fox asked.
"We would," the canine answered, shrugging, "But especially after Grand Admiral Markiss' retooling of the fleets to go after the Warlords, anything larger than a gunboat has been hard to come by. And without a substantial vessel to hold off those corvettes, our fighters are pretty much useless. So, since command calculated the cost of casualties in sending half of our base's fighter wing to secure the trade route and didn't like the figures, they, along with Blue Arrow, put out a sizeable, closed contract on taking down those corvettes."
"And when I was promoted to First Flight Sergeant, one of my duties entailed finding suitable private contractors to fulfill cases like this." Bill grinned, adding with a smirk, "So, are you interested?"
Fox and Falco's eyes widened and met each other for a split second, smiles also starting to spread across their faces, too. It was all too easy to etch imaginary credit signs in their eyes; they wore their excitement so openly.
"Are you kidding?" Fox replied eagerly, "When do we start?"
Bill laughed, appearing just as happy as the mercenaries were to receive the assignment. "Really?" he asked jokingly, "But you haven't even heard the conditions or payment!"
"Dude, it's a job," Falco said, the grin still plastered to his face, "I don't know if Fox told you already, but we're broke as sin right now. And if there's one other person we can trust in Lylat, it's you, bro."
"I'm glad to hear it Falco," came the reply, the canine hiding his emotions well. Then turning to Fox, he finished.
"To answer your question though, you start immediately."
So, just like always, I'm always open to any and all reviews. Criticisms, compliments, current events discussions...one sentence or several pages, it all works for me. And, also like always, thank you for reading my work.