A/N: I wrote this chapter November 9th, 2009. Why didn't I post it? I wanted to add a few lines or something… then got involved in Reflections of Marcus McCloud. Amusingly enough, I like the way the last chapter of THIS story ties into the game series way more than Reflections ties into it. LOL. Either way, I liked SF: Command because I'm a fan of various outcomes, alternative or otherwise parallel universes and what-have-you. Okay so I was sick the other day and just laid in bed alllll day. I re-read this whole story for fun and ENJOYED it. But LORD do I have a lot of spelling mistakes and BOY do I NOT edit this story before posting. I laughed when Watson was yelling at Miyu, mixing his lecture with a pep-talk, and said "When the Admiral of the navy gave me this ship, I felt INVISIBLE." Really? Invisible, huh? No one could see him? LMAO. I mean WOW… talk about a lot of editorial needs. You're supposed to do several hours of editing and re-reading for every hour you spent writing the material. You change the way things are worded in narration and double-check the way words are typed. Then come back later with fresh eyes and do it again. Sheesh. Okay so… Regardless of liking SF: Command, I'm a huge Fox and Krystal fan. I'm glad multiple endings of that game portray Fox with her. I know a lot of people hated it because Krystal was so nasty to Fox but… a woman scorned will take things pretty personally at times. ANYHOW. Let's tie up some loose ends before things get crazy.
ALSO! I have "deleted scenes" available by email for those that wish to see what happen with Jules and Miyu in Tokyo and, later, on the GreatFox before they fly to DC together. Finally, Krystal will be well enough to fly in G-defused fighters very, very soon.
Chapter -17-
"A Call to Arms"
"Okay, now we're going to rinse out the fluoride." Jackie Harrison entered the Dental Office and nodded to the man that just spoke then turned her attention to Krystal. The blue-furred vixen looked uncomfortable but, in consideration of what she'd been through as of late, Harrison could easily tell that Krystal was adjusting admirably.
She watched as the telepathic alien leaned forward towards the little sink attached to the side of the dental chair. The agent's eyes cut back to the dental officer. It was no secret that the dentist pulled double duty as the secondary ship's physician. "Clean bill of health, Doc?"
The dentist nodded to Harrison with a thin smile. "Actually, I also looked over her abdominal scar before starting on her teeth. Now that the fur is just starting to grow back, she's beginning to show signs of a seroma; it's a collection of serous fluid. I used a hand pump with a needle on the end to drain it out. Other than that, her abdominal muscle tissue is healing well and the entry-point wound on her lower back is looking ten times better than the exit wound section. The doctor and I have been monitoring Krystal's healing process closely and have been working with her through her physical therapy sessions, Agent Harrison. Luckily, so far as dentistry is concerned, Fay, Fox, Krystal and Peppy have outstanding teeth. I'm not sure about the other alien, the bird one… I've not seen him in here and… I can't imagine what the inside of his 'beak' looks like; my office is not prepared for that sort of anatomy. Humorously enough, I know more about birds than our ship's physician – to him, the term 'clutch' is something in a stick-shift vehicle… not that the avian pilot would lay eggs, himself, but… I'm just saying."
Krystal swished a bit of water about in her muzzle then spit it into the small sink and turned towards the two humans. "I once asked Falco about his mother, Kestrel Lombardi. We spoke for a little while about her and, at one point, he mentioned that she was pregnant but had a miscarriage. It was one of the earliest memories he had of her before she passed away due to serious illness. From what I can understand, Falco's avian race has several important commonalities with mammal races. In fact, I do believe he's equipped to mate with other Cornerians and that the bone-make of his beak is flexible in a way that makes him far different than avian creatures of this planet."
The dentist drew off white gloves, tossed them in the trash then ran his fingers back through his hair. "Kestrel? She was a falcon named Kestrel?" He furrowed his brows then shook his head. "I swear if I wasn't your physician, Krystal, I would say that your people were nothing more than an elaborate hoax. There's no possible way that you all have names relating to the English and Latin words for your genus as Earth animals. You're the only exception. I often wonder if our people haven't somehow met before and that's how we've had such an ancient fascination with anthropomorphic beings, like the Egyptian deity, Ra the sun god. After all, in one of his forms, Ra has the head of a falcon. It's thought that Ra traveled in a boat… perhaps he traveled in some sort of spaceship and the Egyptians referred to it as a boat, because both words are synonymous with 'vessel'. Perhaps Pyramids were built to honor aliens who, at some point, eventually stopped visiting to check up on us. Or maybe they were part of an elaborate low-tech guidance system to help with landing or direct communication. God only knows. The thing is… there are too many coincidences."
Harrison cocked her brows at the dentist. "Fred March, where are you getting all this??" Other than Daniel Watson, the doctors were the only crewmembers using their names.
Krystal glanced over at Jackie and shrugged. "The first word to come to his mind is the Internet. Apparently people around the world are trying to come up with explanations for us and tie our appearance into their local historical relics to try and get a better understanding of Star Fox and our kind. Some theorize that Earth has been visited more than once. However, Corneria doesn't appear to be the culprit if such is true. I'll speak to Rob on the matter – he's back on the Great Fox dreadnought and will have access to clips and pieces of the oldest historical Lylat knowledge.
"I seriously doubt it was people from Lylat, however. They've only just achieved interstellar travel within the last seventy-five Cornerian years. The oldest space-fairing Lylat ancestors were from Titania and, if you go back further, you can count the race that once inhabited Sauria. From what I understand, the people of Titania never made it beyond the system boundaries. The race of Sauria… Not much is known and it's not yet been proven whether or not they were interested in leaving their planet. Also, their appearance is nothing like any Earth art I've ever seen. I can safely rule them out." She drew off the white paper bib and placed it into a nearby trashcan then eased off the table with Harrison's help.
"I heard you got poked and prodded today," said Jackie.
Krystal nodded, placing an arm around the agent's neck until her feet were on the deck. "I was. It was miserable but sitting up and bending over will be easier, now." She turned back to the dentist and said, "Doctor March, thank you for your time." The petite vixen offered a grin. "Again, you'd be quite surprised by how differently Cornerians care for their teeth. This concept of constant brushing seems archaic by comparison." She offered him a smile then went with Harrison to the wheeling chair just outside of the office.
Harrison held the chair still while Krystal sank into it and adjusted her tail. The agent turned her about in it and began to roll her down the deck. "You must hate this chair more than most – it's obvious that Navy vessels were not designed to accommodate wheelchairs. When do you think you'll be flying again?"
"The doctor says two weeks or less so long as I'm in a G-Diffusing cockpit. At the rate I'm going, though, it feels like it'll be another month," said Krystal. "Fox, Falco and Fay have a patrol this afternoon. Lucky them. Do you know what we're doing today?"
"No, why?"
Krystal looked up at Harrison with a Cheshire smile. "We're going to rendezvous with ships from the Coast Guard – they've worked overnight hours to find all the Venom ships that were shot down by our escort fighters. Only a few managed to escape the Arwings. In fact, the Navy pilots managed to take down several fighters before the Arwings arrived on the scene. We're going to do what we did to the Flea class fighter – remove its shield generators. We're also going to remove the one installed on Fay's Arwing."
Jackie blinked in realization. "We're going to reverse engineer them and try to install them on human fighters?"
"That's the idea." They boarded a personnel elevator and its large metallic door eased shut. The vixen lifted a paw up, examining her red nails. They were starting to chip. "I need another color – what do you suggest?"
Jackie grinned broadly. "I'm glad to know, despite all the differences between humans and Cornerians and your race, that the females are still… feminine. And… how about we introduce ourselves to the female sailors aboard this ship… and see what colors they have onboard, hmm?"
"Sounds good, Jackie." The door swished open and Krystal relaxed in the chair, pushed along the deck by the human female. Three pilots came in the opposite direction – Krystal recognized all of them. She lifted a paw, causing Jackie to stop. Krystal reached for the youngest of the three males and said, "Tailhook, right?"
Wild Bill and Doomsday moved away from the younger pilot, being mindful of the space they had in the hallway. Tailhook took Krystal's paw, noting to himself how soft the padding was on her palm. "Yes, ma'am. You remembered me, huh?"
"I've heard the report, pilot." Krystal smiled at him. "I wanted to compliment you on your brilliance. You identified a design flaw for atmospheric conditions in two enemy fighters and utilized your surroundings to defeat them both. I am absolutely impressed by your piloting. You then managed to defeat a third without using missiles." She brought her other paw overtop of his, patting the backside of his hand. "Outstanding job." She gave his hand a gentle tug and he leaned forward. Krystal arched her back and leaned up, whispering into his ear. "Revlon is also quite impressed. However, she's a very professional career-minded pilot. My suggestion is to try something more traditional… be sweet to her. Attempting to impress a lady will only get you so far – she's a literary major with a secret adoration for poetry."
Tailhook's eyes widened, leaving Jackie, Doom and Bill curious. Krystal released his hand and offered him a knowing grin. He stood up straight and backed away from her chair. "Yes, ma'am. I appreciate the advice, Miss Krystal. Thank you for your compliment."
The vixen chuckled, shaking her head slowly. "You can be a rather genuine person at times. It's no wonder you've been branded as a flirt and go by the handle 'Tailhook'. Now, don't forget what I've told you."
He nodded with a suppressed smile and a gleam in his eye. "Ma'am, no ma'am. I'll do my absolute best."
Krystal glanced back at Jackie then announced, "Female on deck!!" Regardless of having had a conversation with the pilots, all three of them stiffened up, backs straight. The vixen glanced back up at Jackie again. "I'll never get tired of that." A wan smile was offered to the pilots then she said, "At ease… thank you for having a good sense of humor, boys." She paused then told Harrison, "To the bridge."
Wild Bill shook his head with a muffled chuckle and a grin. He liked that the aliens had a human-esque grasp on the concept of humor. The three pilots continued down the hall together, headed for the elevator.
Meanwhile, Jackie and Krystal went further down the hall with the chair. At the end, Krystal stood up while Jackie held the chair still. They parked the chair against the bulkhead to keep it out of the walkway then took the stairs up to the main bridge to relieve Fox so that he could tend to his scheduled patrol with Falco and Fay.
Meanwhile… (three days prior to the attack…)
Miyu sat up in bed and stretched. She arched her back beyond the ability of a human being. The feline rubbed her face, pushing back her whiskers. She then brought her paws to her eyes. "How'd you sleep?" she asked aloud.
The soft white illumination of an external florescent flood lamp filtered in through the small bedroom porthole. Gambit didn't answer. Miyu reached for the nightstand and pushed a button set into a panel atop the furniture. "Polarize the windows in my quarters." The window tinted at her verbal command. "Jules Lenis Guillot, wake up." She reached for him with a slap on his rump using the padded flat of her palm.
He grunted while lying on his stomach with his face buried into the pillow. He said something unintelligible then rolled onto his side and sat up, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed. "Bonjou' ma chatte. Or is it bonswa?" At this hour, the profuse Louisiana Creole dialect made 'bonjour' and 'bonsoir' sound thicker and more indistinct than usual.
"How're you doing, babe?" She grinned, seeing him hunch over in the dark. The vertical slits of her eyes were now wide and round, watching him closely in the darkness.
"C'est bon, mèsi. Konmen lé-z'affè?" He lifted his hands to his face and, like Miyu a few moments ago, rubbed his cheeks with his palms. "Sorr'a, hon. Comment vont les affaires?" he asked a second time but without the heavy accentuation. A slow shake of his head was offered to her. "Right. Your translator doesn't know French, good or bad French at that. Gimmie jus' a second to get at m'self, den you can aks' me sometin' or what eva'. Dose boys in Washington DC're gunna have'ta wait. Nuff said on dat'." His dialect was so thick this morning that her translator was flat-out skipping some of his words.
"What did you want to do today, other than Washington DC?"
He chuckled wearily. "Fais do do," he mumbled.
"Did you just say I'm a dodo?" she gave him a playful push, as the translator had interpreted his wording wrong.
"Alors pas, chérie." The last word sounded something like, 'sha'. He eased off the edge of the bed and stumbled ungracefully through the dark towards the door, hunting for the bathroom.
Miyu watched him with ease in the gloom. She giggled softly a split second before he stumbled on a shoe. He knelt down and snagged some cloth off the floor. "Caleçon," he murmured, pulling the underwear to his left foot and stumbling with them. Finally, with his undergarments on, he added, "Mo chagren, amour. I cain't see nuffin' 'sept dat' dim-ass wind'a on'na wall."
"I know. I just tinted it, too."
"Quo' faire??" The term sounded somewhat reminiscent of the word, "Coffee," yet it was anything but.
Assuming his Cajun inquiry was something to the tune of, 'why?' she rolled across the bed then reached out and swatted his cloth-covered rump. "Because it was too bright. Hey, I have an idea… before breakfast we should take a shower together in the dark. Take your translator out and give it to me so I can put it on a charging pad."
Jules reached for his right ear and fumbled with the little device clipped into place. He then turned towards her and groped through the darkness until he found her paw. He placed the translator into it then, knowing she was obviously able to see with her sharp feline eyes, he gestured towards the bedroom door. "Allons!"
Miyu placed the two earpieces on a small metallic square on a desk adjacent to the nightstand. They immediately went into charging mode, each with a blinking orange dot on the side. The lynx gracefully traversed the bedroom without stumbling on anything. She took Jules by his wrist and led him out into the larger section of the personal quarters. She opened the bathroom door for him, guided him to the toilet, kissed the side of his face then went to the small shower stall on the other side. She opened the glassy entrance and placed her paw on the flat control panel built into the wall.
The small room was dimly illuminated by the red and blue temperature controls and by several gray buttons with Cornerian labeling. She operated the panel easily and, within a matter of seconds, the shower nozzle hissed to life. She spoke to him in Cornerian, telling him to hurry up, even though she knew he wouldn't be able to understand her.
Forty minutes later…
Gambit stood before a wall monitor that acted as a mirror. He gave a gentle tug on his shirt then ran a thumb along the buttons over his torso. It wasn't his dress uniform but he theorized that one would be waiting for him in Washington DC later on. He saw Miyu approach him from behind in the projection. He saw what she had her in paw and he turned towards her. She handed him the translator, they shared a brief kiss then he put it into his ear and clipped it into place. "Is there food on this ship?" His dialect wasn't as strong now that he was awake enough to speak properly.
"I have Rob making something. It's time you try Cornerian food. Don't worry, it's not a vegetarian meal, babe."
"It didn't spoil after almost five months of sitting?"
"Synthetic meat," she said with a shrug. "It's not like that crap you guys put in your food… the preservatives. And it tastes so much like the real thing that the only way you can tell is to eat real meat and synthetic meat, raw, side-by-side. Once you cook'em, it's impossible to tell the difference."
"So why not just carry real meat? Shelf life?"
"Well yes," she murmured, switching off the virtual mirror for him. "Real meat doesn't have a great shelf life, but… on Corneria, real meat is impossible to find. You have to go to Papetoon or somewhere backwater… like the Bolse trading outpost… it's this seedy little defense-station-turned-outpost, run by thugs and punks. But they trade real meat on the illegal market and you can get food that you can't try anywhere else… At least not legally."
"Black Market grubs, huh?" He crossed the room and opened the door for her by placing his hand into the doorway. The door slid open and he placed a hand over it, gesturing for her to go first. "I'd be delighted to try your food. I hope you have some spices in the kitchen."
"No need," she said with a chuckle. "We've got Rob connected to the World Wide Web. I told him to look up something about spicy Cajun food, so that he could make yours a little hotter than my dish." They began walking together. "What do you think you're going to say during our speech?"
"I'm going to wing it, chère. I'm going to do something different than the average-Joe for this speech. I'm going to take questions first, so I know what I should talk about." Within a few moments, they arrived in the kitchen. Rob was placing plates of food on the table. Jules stopped in his tracks and blinked. "Mon Dieu, ya' friend is a Terminator, Miyu."
"A Terminator?" she asked. "I'm not sure what that word means the way you're using it."
Rob glanced back at the two and shook his head. He paused briefly to look up the meaning on the Internet, to which he was wirelessly connected. He told her, "A Terminator is a fictional robot on two legs that is a cult-classic icon as the harbinger of humanity."
"Cult-classic?" she asked.
"A classic icon of culture. Cult is short for culture the way they use it."
"I see," she murmured, sitting down at the table. With only the two of them, the table was far larger than necessary.
Gambit settled at the table, watching Rob. "So you're programmed to learn all these things to say and do in order to react to situations better?"
Rob, having had the language programmed into the ship's databanks when Slippy and Beltino made the translators almost five months ago, was able to speak English easily. "I have my own intelligence. I learn just like you. Oh, and I read about your stunt in Japan, you two. I would appreciate it if you don't bring attention to this facility. I don't need that crap trust me. I'm better off without it."
"He's incredible," mused Jules to Miyu.
"He's annoying," said the feline in reply.
"He's like Gepetto's Pinocchio, chère."
Rob shook his head. "Hey, you two… I'm RIGHT HERE. Do I have strings? No. I'm no puppet, pilot. And this is the part where you slip into the uncanny valley where you distrust me because I act sentient but don't look it. But rest assured, it didn't take the Turing test to figure out that I have a healthy mortality salience and even pathogen avoidance to a degree. When it comes to mate selection, though…" he paused as if about to deliver a punch line. "I bet I'd do a better job than either of you two dopes." Rob rotated at the waist then his lower half turned about followed by his head. "Pardon my pejorative profanity, but it's true… you're both dopes." He crossed the small galley. "I've been looking your race over… the way you guys change your fashion trends, the term 'dope' is subject to melioration at this point. It's nearly there, now! The great semantic change – 'Oh, wow that Split-S was totally dope!' But yes, if you need clarification, I said it to be insulting."
The robot simulated the clearing of his throat. "I think for myself, Mister Gambit. Your military collogues have annoyed me to no end with everything from variations of the Turing test to the Sorites paradox. And you know what I tell them? "Who cares if the sand is in a heap? At some point, you get down to a mess of sand, then you get down to a pinch of sand, then, finally, you're down to a fleck of sand; they're most impressed with the fact that I can substitute it with any number of vague predicates and logical connectives. I usually follow up with, 'Now get that dirt off my bridge,' because without a crew here… it has been MY bridge."
Rob continued his mostly-monotone rant. "I don't want any other scientists coming in and asking me questions about my intelligence – the Turing test? The Chinese Room thought experiment? They asked me to learn several musical instruments then explain to them which one is my favorite and why. They asked me how inkblots make me feel and if I could decipher very POORLY drawn words on a screen. They came here and held a symposium and discussed how my intelligence is more natural than this or that… because I make mistakes! They championed me because I made mistakes! How do you think that makes me FEEL? To be a screw up is good on this planet?! I told them that they ALL failed the Common Sense intelligence test; I don't want more morons coming here to STUDY ME. So… again… don't draw attention to this facility."
"I'll do my best," said Jules, not quite sure how to react to Rob's personality.
The robotic Great Fox pilot lifted both hands in the air. "Earth is freaking doomed." He went through the door; it shut behind him.
"That was… interesting."
Miyu pushed Cornerian utensils, similar to a fork, spoon and knife, closer to him. "He's in a mood because Slippy didn't come straight here – instead, he went to The Ranch. You get used to that bucket of bolts. There are far more interesting models all around Lylat."
He couldn't understand how Rob was capable of being in a 'mood'. "…And they don't try to take over?"
She glanced over at him, cocking a brow. "Why would robots want to take over everything, let alone anything? You have to be driven to certain aspirations to conquer something and typical machines, excluding Rob, could care less whether or not they rust or get rebuilt."
"It's one of the most popular doomsday scenarios," he told her. "When robots think for themselves and are able to self-replicate without our help…? Will they ever reach the conclusion that our species would interfere with theirs? And if so, would they take over the entire planet and exterminate us?"
Miyu shook her head and turned her attention back to her plate. "That begs the question… why would robots want the planet for themselves? It'll eventually run out of metals and it's just… a chunk of dirt. Without sentimental attachments, how worthwhile is our planet to them? More like worthless if you ask me. If robots suddenly wanted to get away from people, they'd just build a spaceship and leave. There're more metals out in the universe, there is no one around to tell them how to exist, and there would be no need for conflict because that just wastes resources, time and space. A big old hunk of rock, like Corneria or Earth, would probably not have any sentimental meaning to them so why stick around to 'conquer' it?" She took a forkful of food and stuffed it into her muzzle.
Jules feigned a slight smile. "I wonder if James Cameron or Larry and Andy Wachowski pondered that angle?"
After a moment Miyu continued. "And to answer your question, Lylat androids have simulated emotions to a degree. If they give a damn about something there's no reason to leave or ignore our needs. If you make them a crewmember that can get promoted, they're going to work to help the crew and, in turn, the crew will treat them as more than a fancy calculator. That way, the robots continue to help the way we designed them to help. Rob, however, can get a little dramatic at times. When I hear 'woe is me' more than the average male says it, I get doubly annoyed." She cast a grin in his direction. "Try the breakfast. I think you'll probably like it. After all, we have a big day ahead of us in your nation's capital."
Pentagon… two days remaining…
The Pentagon conference room was silent. It didn't last long. The commotion began as people stood up. Camera operators began breaking down their equipment. Robert Gates and one of his aids stood at the front corner of the room speaking to another person with a military uniform. He shook hands with Secretary Gates, turned then walked away.
In all the commotion, no one could make out anyone else's conversation. Gates turned to another uniformed officer, shaking hands. The Pentagon Spokesman, up on the podium, closed a binder and tucked it under his arm. He stepped down from the stage area and engaged in conversation with the teleprompt operator. "Some of the reporters ask the dumbest questions," he groused. "Why does it matter that the President has pushed his interview back two days? Why do I care about his possible NASA plans? People are becoming obsessed with this angle if you ask me!"
The teleprompter nodded in agreement. "By the way, you did good up there tonight. Sorry about the lag near the end, there. I've got a loose connection on the video output. I'll have it fixed before you're in the spotlight again. You did good."
"Thanks," said the spokesman, his voice trailing off, lost in the ambiance of the others in the room. Meanwhile, the reporters were ushered out with their camera crews until the room finally began to settle, somewhat.
Gates folded his arms, nodding in conversation to one of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "That's exactly what I'm talking about," he told the General. "The Pentagon is already in position to handle space. It's easier to keep an eye on the sky than to combat the weather for a clear shot of a license plate from above, especially when the target is parked in an alley. I'm actually far more comfortable moving to a field above us. We just need to make technological changes. I've heard it from the President, himself, that we're going to focus more on space defense very soon. A lot of change is about to happen and, trust me, if Earth is still run by human beings in two more years… I can guarantee you we'll have another four years of democratic reign in the White House. No republican can deny that the Dem's will have done a good job of carrying a war on an all new battlefield – and not one of them can say a damned thing if humans still govern this planet when the dust settles in 2012. Leaps in technology will be the key in just about everything."
The gentlemen continued to chat amongst themselves, talking politics and other various things. The Secretary waved his hand to another man, gesturing him to come over. John Fitzgerald approached Robert Gates. The two smiled and shook hands. "John!"
"Secretary Gates, good to see you again; how's Becky?"
"Good, John, very good." The Defense Secretary began walking with Fitzgerald away from the hustle and bustle of the room. They headed back behind the staging area. "You know this is my last year as Secretary of Defense, right, John?"
"I'd heard that you implied leaving before the end of Obama's first term. When are you leaving?"
"Soon. I just have a few loose ends to tie up," said Gates. "As you know, I started the troop withdraw back in 2008; Obama is getting the credit for it. But when you're doing for better or for worse in the polls, you're the target of blame. But I've always stood by my decisions."
"You mean like canceling new Raptor orders and investing more of that money into Special Forces?" John patted the elder man's shoulder. "Secretary Gates, you don't have to sell me – I'm your biggest fan." He grinned, adding, "How often does a Second Lieutenant run the CIA? How often does a Second Lieutenant have Generals and Admirals call him 'Sir', Mister Secretary? You're good at what you do, no doubt in that."
"But I'm ready to relax," said Gates with a dry chuckle. "As excited as I am about this space defense bit, I'm ready to let it become someone else's headache. I'm meeting Mike Mullen in San Diego on Tuesday for more than just a round of Golf, John. If you don't have something better to do than hang out with two old sixty-something fogies like us… you're invited."
Fitzgerald grinned. "I'm not going to be your caddy, am I, Bobby?" Both men laughed. John brought his hand to Gates' shoulder again. "But honestly, I have some business to tie up and I can't be anywhere near California at the time. I'm meeting with the DARPA Chief on Monday and we're heading to Tennessee that afternoon. There's been some things in development that I need to take care of."
"Oak Ridge, huh?" Robert tapped his chin with his index finger for a moment then lifted his left hand outwards. "I saw the report on my desk but I've not had the time to read it. What's going on?"
"We're discussing the possibility of arming the leader of the aliens with something special for his future mission against …whatever it is that's hiding out passed Neptune. It's something new that they've developed down south… I've got a lot going on, but I appreciate the invite. How's the Admiral doing?"
"Mike's well," said Gates. "Enjoy your trip to Tennessee. Say hi to Dolly Parton for me, would ya?"
John laughed with a nod. "I sure will, Bobby. That's not all I'll say hello to if I get the chance. But I'm afraid I'll be down there for business and pleasure'll get pushed to the backburner. There's some serious stuff going down right now. Even the president pushed back his meeting with the alien and human… for forty-eight hours, just to be safe. And… I heard he's taking the meeting to a far more secure location. Something's up."
"Who knows? I was just having this conversation with Negroponte this morning. And you're right – all of us agree… something is up. If I hear anything to confirm it, though, I'll keep you in the loop."
"Thanks," said John. "I appreciate that. I'd better head out for now. Have yourself a good night." Fitzgerald shook Gates' hand one more time then the two went their separate ways. John Fitzgerald pushed his hands into his pockets, heading out of the conference room. Right now, all he cared about was getting hold of the alien technology in order to make human-use of it a reality. With the rumor of the president wanting to focus on space defense, Fitzgerald felt more vindicated, now more than ever, to do his best and pirate the technology right away.
(Third day… twenty-four hours remain)
Krystal wiggled her finger. The little plastic object clipped to her fingertip was bright red on the inside. A wire connected the outside of the object to a machine with a monitor. Two more wires ran to her body, hooked to a spot on her shoulder and a spot on her opposite arm. The little white material that helped the electrode stick to her arm had a brand name written on it. "Radio-Trace" was written in blue lettering with an EKG pulse scribble between the two words. She looked at the monitor then back to the Dentist from her recent teeth cleaning.
"All the wires seem excessive," she murmured.
He shrugged in reply. "It's best to be safe by monitoring you, Miss Krystal. Either way, we're almost done. Are you comfortable?" He glanced up at the monitor showing her heart rate.
"I'm a touch chilly, Doctor March." Her eyes remained fixed upon his every movement. The doctor gently snipped with the tiny scissors then used forceps to draw out the next stitch.
He brought the tips of the forceps to a small plastic trey and placed it in the bottom with the others. "I'm monitoring you for more than just worry. I'm taking your blood pressure and monitoring your oxygen levels. Remember how you had a light reaction to the initial pain pills? It made breathing difficult?"
She nodded, offering a moue of disgust from the memory. "I didn't like it; I felt icky."
Fredrick March nodded, snipping at the next stitch on her soft, shaven belly, where she'd been wounded when crashing in Manhattan not too long ago. He used the forceps to gently remove the next stitch. "I'm monitoring the oxygen levels of your intake like we did yesterday to ensure that there was no lasting effect on the oxygen levels in your blood. Most recover after a few deep breaths but I've known of patients who develop complications from … who knows. The situations with the pain medication… or with the healing process itself; it seems there is always something to make doctors want to take extra precautions. Thus your wires. Hey, good news… you'll be walking out of here without your chair. The skin may feel a little stretched but you'll need to stand up straight from here on out in order to help with that. No more chair, isn't that exciting? In fact, you're almost done, Miss Krystal. No worries."
Krystal nodded. "No worries," she murmured, watching him eliminate the next stitch. Her fur was growing back but it was still short in that section. He carefully evaded the sapphire strands of her pelt, going for the next stitch. For some reason, her mind was wondering elsewhere… she sensed trouble brewing but couldn't pinpoint anything. She could only hope it wasn't anything involving Miyu or Gambit…
"What's wrong, Krystal?"
She offered a lopsided smile to McCloud and settled on the mattress of their bed. A paw came to the hem of her nightgown and she toyed with a piece of thread at the bottom. "I feel something nagging in the back of my mind. Something that bothers me but I can't tell what it is… I can't think clearly because of the pain pills I took this afternoon. It's dulled my senses somewhat and… whatever is out there is beyond my range."
"Hey, I'm sure everything is fine," he told her, settled besides her. Fox reached for the light switch and turned it off. He slid his arms around her waist and placed his head on her shoulder. "How's your tummy?"
"The stitches are gone." She reached a paw to the side of his face, pulling his head closer to that they were cheek to cheek. "I can sit up and walk without feeling the sensation of something tugging at my skin – it's great. But it's still tight when I stand up straight. I'm much better than I was two days ago. Maybe I will be ready to fly again soon."
"Hey, you remember when you first had that operation to remove the flight stick? They were telling you it wouldn't be much longer than a week."
"That wasn't too far off the mark." She reached over with her other paw and placed her fingers on his chest. Krystal took comfort in the feel of his heartbeat against her paw.
"I suppose, considering the severity of your injuries. You're a quick healer, though. I mean… you had a hole right through you. You had me so worried."
"It takes more than a crash landing to stop me, Fox. After all, I would never hold you back." She probed his mind to make sure he didn't judge her in the situation then smiled. "I love you."
He smiled brightly in the darkness. "I love you."
A hint of playfulness overcame her. "I love you more."
"I love you most," he murmured with a hint of challenge.
She turned to him and said, "I love you more than most." Then, before he could rebut, she cupped either side of his fuzzy face and kissed him. Her tail fluffed up from the feeling of goosebumps beneath her fur. Her heart pounded in her chest in reply to the sensation of his arms wrapping around her shapely frame.
The kiss eventually ended and Fox remained quiet but he consciously thought words in his mind for her to hear. 'Remember when we left Lylat four months ago? We were nervous about sharing quarters together because we were afraid our relationship would complicate things… I'm so glad I listened to my heart instead of my mind. Holding you every night has been the greatest experience in my life.'
Krystal swooned, hearing and feeling the intensity of his adoration. It was the sweetest thing he'd ever said and she tingled from adrenaline. It was akin to having your crush willingly admit they fell in love with you at first sight. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Fox… I really needed that. Thank you."
"What was that word you were so fond of?" He paused then smiled and whispered into her ear, causing a shiver to race down her spine from the feel of his warm breath. Fox was in an unusually amorous mood tonight and it made her feel giddy. "Krystal, you're the one I want to spend my life with. You're my sweetheart."
"Make a vow to me," she whispered back.
He held her close in the affectionate hug. "With pleasure." Then, like before, he spoke his thoughts in his conscious mind. 'I will love you forever. I want you by my side forever. You complete me and I will always do my best to complete you, too. We may be a team but when we're together like this… we're one. I pledge my heart to you – I love you.'
She was dazzled. Never had she heard him speak or think in such a way before. Giddy and overcome with a fantastic emotional high, she clung to him. She wasn't sure what brought about his mood tonight but it was appreciated because it brought her out of a slight slump. Her mind raced with the sensation of feeling complete. Her heart sang loudly, pounding like a hammer on fabric.
Fox eased from the embrace, captured her paw and brought it to his chest so that she could feel his own heart was out of control. Just knowing she had such a physical effect on her boyfriend caused her to nearly swoon again. She felt light headed yet her body felt afire with a surge of emotional adrenaline. Her lower lip even trembled.
"I don't know what's gotten into you, Fox," she said, attempting to whisper so as not to explode in a metaphorical sense. "But you're saying all the right things tonight. I didn't know it was possible to fall deeper into love with you but… I know it's possible now… because I just have." She began to lie back on the bed, pulling him with her.
The couple snuggled up, face to face, intertwining their legs and embracing one another. They held each other lovingly, both excited and happy to have just taken such an unplanned next step in their relationship. Fox felt lighter, having just gotten everything off of his chest and Krystal felt as though she were floating. After all this time together… she now felt as though he truly would be the man of her life, her future husband… even the father of her children one day. This… THIS was love and she recognized it for exactly what it was… a blessing.
Washington DC… Day Four
The Arwings set down on their tracks. Two Bolling Air Force crewmembers hurried out to the spacecraft. The canopy retracted and Jules eased himself over the side then down the footing pads that eased from the hull of the Arwing. He turned about to face one of the men on the runway.
"Major Edwards Tiller, Eleventh Wing." He saluted Gambit who offered a returned salute.
"M'appelle Jules 'Gambit' Lenis Guillot. My wing mate, Miyu Lynx, requires a security escort with the highest level of security clearance available on their military record."
Tiller nodded in understanding. "Major James Clearwater and I have been assigned as your detail. We'll be taking you to Andrews by chopper where you'll meet the President. The interview will take place via Air Force One; this section of the base is secured."
Gambit turned towards the other Arwing and lifted both hands into the air, waving them with a slow deliberate gesture. The canopy opened. Regardless of having seen Fox and Krystal on the news, both Tiller and Clearwater held their breath.
Miyu Lynx stood up; her bobbed ears and shapely feline face peered down at them from above. She eased over the side then leapt from the cockpit. The lynx dropped to a crouch on the concrete deck, squatted with her left paw planted on the ground between her knees. She rose slowly and offered each of the men a slow smile. Miyu turned to Gambit and spoke in unintelligible Cornerian chatter.
Jules turned to the men and said, "Since you boys dun' have an in-ear translator …and since we only have one extra on us meant for President Obama, I'll have to translate for you fine Air Force lads. She asks if we can make a pit stop before heading to Andrews; she wants to freshen up."
Tiller tilted his head but Clearwater understood. James motioned for everyone to follow. "The 'head', as you Brownshoes call it, is right this way." He began walking back towards the building closest to the Arwings. "Don't worry, you two, the Chief's Own will take care of you."
Miyu leaned in and whispered to Gambit as they followed James and Edward, speaking in the language neither Air Force Major could understand. The Naval Pilot smiled and replied to the biped animal in a soft tone. "Brownshoe is just a nickname for a Navy flyboy, kinda' like how 'Bubblehead' is a nickname for a submarine operator."
The Air Force officers opened the double doors to the building then led them towards the nearest bathroom. Tiller opened the door and gestured to Miyu who replied with a mock curtsy then entered the tiled section.
Tiller and Clearwater turned back to Jules Guillot, eyeing him suspiciously. A grin was offered in reply to the two Majors. Finally, Tiller asked, "So… you and her…? Like the newspapers suggest?"
"Oui, Major… Konmen lé-z'affè? All is well, non?"
"Is that… supposed to be French?" asked Tiller. "What did you just ask?"
Gambit's grin broadened. "Rekon I asked, konmen to yê? Jus' making small talk, land lover."
In a proper French accent, Edward Tiller said, "Ça va bien; comment ça va?"
"C'est bon, mèsi." Jules' relaxed grin remained broad and friendly looking. "Tu es mignon, metaphorically speakin' o'course; it's not ever'day someone thinks to try'n correct me – Creole is a protected version o' da' language and accepted as legit. But ya' Canadian dialect make me laugh, mon ami. Quebec?"
Tiller nodded. "My mother's side, Brownshoe. What's your rank, Gambit?"
"He who can lick can bite, non? I was given permission to give you m' name; mo chagren mes amis. I cain't give ya's no moe'n that. But I'll give you'a hint. You boys outrank me but not by much." The bathroom door opened and Miyu stepped out. Jules offered her a brilliant and gentlemanly smile. "Ma chère, welcome back to th' party." He lifted a hand, making a circular motion to the Air Force majors. "Allons!"
"Follow me," said Tiller in a soft voice.
"Très bien," murmured the Navy pilot. Walking alongside Miyu, he said, "President Obama awaits, chérie, are ya' nervous?"
She smiled at him and shook her head. The quartet made their way outside, around the backside of the building and to a waiting helicopter. Jules took her paw and helped her up into it then climbed in next. Tiller and Clearwater boarded the chopper and sat down immediately.
Gambit crawled up into the cockpit, nodding. "Salut, monsieur pilote!" He smiled at the helicopter pilot then moved back into the personnel section, sliding into a seat adjacent to Miyu. She was already strapped in and reached for his seatbelt. Jules let her operate the fastening, securing it over his body. She gave a firm tug at the strap, providing pressure to his torso, thighs and crotch. Jules grunted, uttering a soft, "Oof!"
Tiller smiled. "She's a bit more mature than yourself, eh Brownshoe?"
"She's a lady after all," he returned with a decisive nod.
Tiller wrapped on the side of the chopper and called up to him in a loud, clear voice. "Let's get this party started!" Abruptly, the chopper lifted off the deck.
"Party?" Jules grinned. "Glaces? Gâteau? I'm ready manger, where de' geedunk?"
Tiller and Clearwater looked at one another. Tiller leaned towards his counterpart and said, "He asked if the party will have ice cream or cake. I think geedunk is a Naval term for junk food. Just ignore him."
"I have no comment," said James Clearwater with a shrug. "His personality doesn't bother me; don't let it bother you, either, Eddie. I will say this, though… I don't see why you both can't just speak English."
Edward lifted his hands slightly, as if in defense. "Say no more, Jimmy – you're absolutely right."
The helicopter ride went without incident. A short time later, they set down at Andrews Air Force Base. The two Air Force officers guided Jules and Miyu across the runway to a staircase leading up into a large Boeing 747. The tail number read, '28000' and Jules memorized it, following Miyu up into the aircraft. They were led down the port side corridor. On their right, two more Secret Service agents were stationed in two comfortable looking brown leather chairs, facing one another with a room lamp positioned behind the second chair. It gave the hallway a homely feel.
The agent that met everyone at the entrance motioned for Tiller and Clearwater to have a seat in a section with rowed seats, looking much like a first class airliner section. Miyu and Jules were led to another section, resembling a conference room. There was an elegant wooden table at the center of the room with an offset rectangular white light in the ceiling. Eight white leather chairs surrounded the table mounted to raised white-carpet square mounts that melted into the white carpet flooring. On the side, opposite of the windows, was a white-leather sofa with little brown velvet square pillows. In the back corner, a lamp glowed softly, adding a cozy touch to the area.
Jules and Miyu each took a seat side by side. She reached for his hand. He took her paw, running his thumb overtop of her knuckles. The agent left the conference room and shut the door behind himself.
"How long will we wait?"
Gambit shrugged. "Not long, ma chère; the president's name is Barack Hussein Obama II, and, if his wife is with him, her name is Michelle Obama. In Lylat, does the female take the surname of her husband?"
"Typically a wife takes the surname of her husband," she told Jules with a nod. "I remember being surprised when I learned that it's common practice almost everywhere on Earth. Anyhow, I read he has two children?"
"Daughters," Jules replied. "Natasha and Malia Ann, I believe." He rubbed his chin for a moment then shook his head. "Wait, no… Malia Ann and… Sasha. Natasha? Sasha? Both names sound right for some reason; I think it's better to feign ignorance and ask him, yourself, to be sure. I don't want to sound like an idiot. Just… ask if he has kids and smile."
Miyu grinned. "I can always avoid the subject all together. Something tells me they won't be present."
The Navy pilot scoffed. "Fine, take the easy way out." He paused then cut his eyes over at his mate. A grin spread across his mouth. "I know you've seen him on television, speaking to Fox and Krystal. There is a possibility that a white-skinned guy'll follow him. That would be the vice president, Joe Biden. I'm not sure if Biden will be here, though. It's kinda' rare for those two to be together. If something happens to the President, the Vice President takes his place… so typically those two don't hang out together."
"Will there be anyone else here?"
Gambit shrugged, using his free hand to tap his bottom lip in thought. "I suppose there might be a camera crew. I brought a spare translator. If First Lady Michelle is present, I'll give it to her."
"Actually, I think I remember seeing her on television not too long ago, talking to Miss Jackie Harrison. They were together on an afternoon talk show with another woman. Someone told me that the talk show hostess was a household name but… I don't know anything about her."
Jules snapped his fingers. "Oprah! Da's right; I forgot Jackie was on Oprah with the first lady. I think you and your friends were still livin' in Wyoming at the time. And to think… Oprah is retiring from show business."
"We were." She fished out her spare translator and placed it on the table. She gestured to Jules to follow suite. He retrieved his spare translator earpiece and placed it on the table. The plane began to move forward on the runway. Gambit relaxed in the chair. "Once we get up in the air, you may need to swallow a few times to help your ears adjust to the change in air pressure. You don't have that problem in the Arwing, I noticed. I can really get used to technology like that."
"I wanna fly one of those Raptors and see what it's like in that dinosaur. …No offense, of course."
Jules laughed, giving her paw a gentle squeeze. "None taken, amour! We can train you how to land on a moving aircraft carrier. Just don't get yourself killed, okay?"
"I'll do my best," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "How hard can it be? I've landed on a rotating asteroid once… without computer guidance, might I add. My ship was too damaged to automate the landing… I think I can manage to set down on a ship moving at thirty 'knots', sweetheart."
"You'll do fine," he told her with a soft smile. "Don't mind my worry – I've become really fond of having you around." His sincerity brought a genuine smile to the feline's muzzle. The Boeing aircraft shuddered gently, leaving the runway.
"Excited?" she asked her beau.
"Aren't you?" He ran his thumb over the back of her knuckles again. "And yes, I am, m'chaton. I never met the president before. After today's interview, I'll have my own Wikipedia page." He paused then shook his head. "Actually, after yesterday's edition of the newspaper… I probably already have one; I didn't think about that 'til now. I could get used to the pampering of the spotlight."
"Fame comes and goes depending on how you act in public, Jules. Usually, the media spotlight is accompanied by a rather large magnifying glass. Keep your nose clean, babyboy. It only takes one slip up to tarnish a reputable name."
"Too true…" They both grew quiet. Minutes later, one of the Secret Service agents opened the door to the conference room. Two people walked in, one of which had a television camera on their shoulder and a folded tripod in his other hand. The other person, a woman, held a microphone, file folder and a hairbrush. She sat on the sofa while her coworker began setting up the tripod and camera at the far end of the room. Both human beings attempted not to stare at Miyu so as to remain professional but it was obvious that they were both curious.
Miyu plucked one of the translation earpieces off the table and offered it to the woman with the microphone. She spoke then gestured for the woman to place the piece into her ear. Once the lady put it into place, Miyu said to her, "I take it you're not the first lady. No worries… if she comes in, you two can decide who gets to use that thing."
The woman gaped. "I can understand you perfectly." She blinked in surprise.
"Yes, of course you can… that's what it's for."
The news reporter blinked again then adjusted the earpiece, not used to wearing it. "I, well… Michelle Obama isn't aboard. She won't be here today; I'm sorry."
"No reason to apologize," said Miyu with a shrug. "Big deal, one less cook in the kitchen. Nothing wrong with that." She noted the semi-blank expression on the reporter's face and asked, "What? Did I use that expression wrong? The cook-in-the-kitchen thing? Ah, nevermind… It's something I heard recently. So are you nervous?"
Another blink. "No, uh… no, you used the metaphor correctly… I just… I didn't expect you to be so… human-like. I'm surprised."
"Oh." Miyu gave Jules' hand a squeeze. "I'm not exactly the most professional person. I'm sure Fox and Krystal are nervous as hell knowing that I'll be representing Lylat. I admit, I'm skeptical about this whole thing… One minute I'm kissing Gambit here… the next minute I'm an ambassador of Peace because of it? I mean, seriously… between us girls… what kind of joke did I cause for myself, right?" Miyu leaned over her armrest, offering her free paw to the woman. "Miyu Lynx. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" Her tone was somewhat flirty in nature.
"Lauren Russo," said the reporter. "Don't worry, your personality is surprisingly disarming. I mean, I can relate to what you're saying… that's a good thing."
"Neat." She kept her paw extended.
Russo leaned forward, taking Miyu's paw. The two women shook then relinquished their offered hands. The door to the conference room opened. Everyone froze, turning to face the President. Lauren's eyes widened. "You're early!"
Barack looked relaxed, coming in and nodding with a half-wave gesture to everyone else. One of his agents took a stance in the doorway. He smiled in a friendly manner and motioned to the earpiece on the table. "Is that one for me?"
"It is; it's the latest model with all the bells 'n whistles, Sir," said Gambit. He picked up the earpiece and underhanded it up in the air. The president caught it and attached it behind his right ear then picked up a pen in his left hand, reaching for a notepad with his right. He sat across from Gambit. The pilot made eye contact and tilted his head. "Before the camera rolls, Mister President, I had a question for you that I'd like to ask off the record because it wouldn't be fair to put you on the spot with this issue."
"Go ahead, young man, what's on your mind?"
"Why did you end the Raptor program?"
"Congress thought it cost too much – the F-35 program was far more cost effective and produced almost the same results minus small edges like power, climb, speed and maneuvering. Both planes achieve the same objectives in stealth and the like. Plus the F-35 can be deployed in more directions. Why do you ask?"
Gambit leaned across the table, offering his right hand. "Jules Guillot, sir; I'm asking because the F-35 isn't as effective against these enemy fighters that we've been encountering over the Pacific. Routing power for the Mobile THEL and using thrust vectoring to out maneuver enemy attacks by turning sharper, faster, has kept pilots alive. Instead of converting a fraction of our existing Air Force planes over… we should have built ones for the ground up to be used in the Pacific Theater." The president placed his notepad on the conference table and took the pilot's hand.
Obama nodded slowly. "I wasn't aware of your exact situation, Mister Guillot. What I'll do is I'll research it tonight and see if I can provide you with an answer as soon as possible. It may be in our benefit to scrap the Raptor program all together and redirect that budget allowance towards a joint operation between NASA and either Lockheed or Northrop… perhaps it's time we put fighter pilots above the stratosphere – on that note, how do you like flying the alien aircraft?"
Distracted from his initial direction, Gambit found himself enticed and charmed by the thought of flying a human-version of an Arwing. "Is this the part where you tell us about a grand idea for the future of our space program?"
"This is the part," said the president, "Where I confirm my commitment to human space exploration and defense, and the goal of ensuring that the nation is on a vigorous and sustainable path to achieving our boldest aspirations in space. But I'm not going to sit here and quote Nick Shapiro, Mister Guillot. Actions speak louder than words, after all, right?" He released Gambit's hand then reached for Miyu's paw. "Miss Lynx, was it?"
"It was," she said, clasping his empty right hand firmly. They shook then she settled back in her chair. "I suppose we should allow Miss Russo to do her job." She offered a wink towards the reporter who turned to face her cameraman.
Russo slid her microphone beneath her left arm and took out a hairbrush, quickly touching up her bangs. She signaled to the camera operator. "All right, Winston, you're ready?"
He knelt down to one knee, becoming even with everyone who was seated at the table. He kept the camera supported on his right shoulder and, with his left hand, gave an 'OK' sign with his thumb and forefinger. "Miss Russo, we're cued – five, four, three, two…"
"Lauren turned to Barack and said, "I have with me, here, Barack Obama, Forty-fourth President of the United States of America, Julies L. Guillot a United States Naval Officer, and special guest Miyu Lynx, an extra terrestrial from the planet Corneria." She turned back towards the camera and said, "I'm afraid to say that President Obama and Mister Guillot have already begun a rather fascinating conversation and, if you both don't mind revisiting your recent conversation, could you gentlemen clarify what you spoke about previously?"
The pilot gestured towards the President. "Raptors, Lightnings and the future, oh my." His accent was purposely less thick so as to be more understandable on tape. He offered the President a slight grin. "Would you be so kind as to start, Sir?"
"Satellite feed coming online in four, three, two… whoa." Everyone on the Ford's bridge fell into silence.
Fox McCloud narrowed his gaze and clinched his teeth together. "Garudas. Garuda tanks have the upper body of a robot, complete with arms and a head, but make no mistake, Captain Watson, that thing has a pilot and it is receiving nasty orders from its superior officer. Where is this taking place?"
Daniel Watson sighed. "Africa, New Zealand, Antarctica, and Indonesia."
"What military significance do these four locations hold?"
Watson frowned and, as before, sighed. "New Zealand might give them access to Australia and Japan but it doesn't do much else. The other three locations are simply hard-to-fight areas. They're large battlefields with a lot of potential for headaches. Indonesia is a chain of islands so your challenge becomes fighting over the water. Antarctica is the coldest area on earth and your challenge becomes fighting over ice in a blindingly white region. Finally, Africa has so many geographical possibilities that we won't know what we're up against until we can zero in on their exact location. It's a very poor place in most parts… All three of those large areas would be easy for an enemy to conquer. New Zealand I'm not so sure about though."
"Report coming in for your eyes only, Comman– …Captain!" a shipmate called from the other end of the bridge. Watson nodded to Fox and Krystal then left the front section.
Krystal leaned in towards Fox and they whispered amongst one another. A moment passed then she told him, "Apparently, the transport ship that dropped off enemies and supplies in Antarctica has only dropped ordinance on New Zealand on the way out the door. Perhaps it was out of spite or perhaps it was a random target. Most likely, however, the reason was to create a diversion… a civilized area. Perhaps they didn't know that Earth's global tracking network was good enough to do much – they may have assumed that New Zealand's cry for help was a communication relay situation."
Fox shook his head. "You sensed all of that from Watson while he was reading his private message on the other side of a wall?"
She nodded in return. "He's emotional right now. But he's calm and collected enough to stay levelheaded. I can read him easier because of it. If he got emotional and cloudy, it would be almost impossible to know anything more than the basics, like perceiving his raw emotions; I can do it from across the area without direct line of sight. Should I go down to the brig and ask Caiman what he knows about this attack?"
McCloud shook his head again. "You said you didn't sense an imminent attack from him four days ago. He probably didn't know." He drew a communicator from his belt and opened a channel to Slippy. After a few seconds, the frog answered. "Slip, I need you to have your father work with Rob. I've got a job for you, bud." Another pause, then, "I want you to link up with the American Army's tank experts; take a Mark I and Mark II Land Master… two of each if you can afford it, and start a campaign in a place called Africa. I'm not sure which part yet but… Satellite – you know what to do."
"Okay Fox! You know that if I want to see action, I feel the most comfortable from inside a Land Master!"
"I know," replied Fox. He closed the communicator and frowned. "This is going to get interesting real fast. How in the heck did Andross get troops on this planet undetected?"
Krystal touched the small of his back. "I fear it wouldn't take much to mask themselves from human technology."
"This is going to get sticky," said Fox. "We're left with no choice… it's time to do our thing." He reached for her paw and gave it a reassuring squeeze.