Star Fox: Regime – a fan fiction by Wolf Reynolds
"Star Fox" and all related characters and trademarks © Nintendo, Inc.
Story ©2011 Wolf Reynolds

Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long, guys – this chapter has really been kicking my butt. My hours at work changed substantially, so I haven't had as much time to work on this. On top of that, I hit a huge writer's block with this one. My story had some good momentum, and then I slammed into a brick wall that my original outline (yes – I'm one of those geeks who actually uses an outline even for a fan fiction) didn't anticipate. I've reached a point in the story where I want the atmosphere and overall tone to be perfect (and I realize it's only a fan fiction, but I don't like lowering my personal standards of writing for anything) because any mistakes in mood could cause parts of the story to be drastically misinterpreted. You, my faithful readers, have my sincerest apologies and my assurances that updates in the future should be considerably swifter.

CHAPTER 25

Cawdor Street – Norantrova, Planet Macbeth. (0147 hours CCT, 0847 hours local time)

The protostar Solar, the lesser Lylat sun, shone dimly through the polluted sky of Norantrova. The sun, though fully risen, provided little light for the grimy city; the streetlamps flickered all through the day and night, their electronic eyes barely able to distinguish night from day through the murky veil. Even through the pollution, though, Norantrova was not entirely without hope. Clean rain fell on the city, swept in across the vague (but still present) continental divide from the Nollion Sea to the east. Norantrova's runoff polluted the western sea, but the waters of the Nollion were still pristine, relatively untouched by the urbanization that had contaminated much of the planet. Indeed, the Nollion Sea provided what little clean water was available to Norantrova, and even the soaking rains that blew in from the east were not able to wash away the decades of grime that had accumulated on the city's buildings and roads.

Still, the rain came as a relief to Miyu as she walked through the gloom. She didn't bother to cover her head with the hood of her military-issue raincoat but let the rain run down her hair and the sides of her face; it was the closest thing she'd had to a shower since the battle in Outer Sargasso. In spite of how dirty she felt, Miyu was quite proud of herself. She had managed to give the police the slip after killing one of their sergeants while at the same time managing to locate the sergeant's files concerning the local police force's knowledge of the resistance. She'd found the files with considerable ease, and while she was proud of herself for finding them so quickly and effortlessly, she was rather disappointed by their substance (or, rather, their lack of substance). Miyu had been disappointed to learn that Macbeth harbored very little of a resistance movement, and what was there was little more than a shell of the city's former barons of industry who were more interested in restoring their social prominences than they were in ousting the authoritarian regime that now controlled the system. As long as the money kept flowing (usually under the table), the local authorities were basically content to ignore the so-called "Macbeth Resistance". What Macbeth had would hardly qualify as a "resistance" movement, Miyu thought. None of those suit-wearing, cigar-smoking cretins would have any idea where Fox McCloud could be found. That was just as well; Miyu wasn't particularly keen on talking with any of them anyway. One thing Miyu did know: the Pleiades was on her way. She knew the task force's schedule as well as any of the other commanders; the ship would resupply in Norantrova and head back out to rendezvous with the task force in the Bolse sector. That meant that Norantrova would shortly be host to the crew of the Pleiades. Miyu doubted anyone other than Admiral Grey would recognize her, but she wanted to keep out of sight while the starship was in port.

Despite the initial setbacks she had suffered shortly after her arrival on Macbeth, Miyu was doing a fairly good job of keeping a low profile. She had been forced to neutralize that one policeman, but the other cop that had been in the police office never got a good look at her face; she'd made sure to keep her head down or look the other way the entire time she was being taken through the office. She wasn't quite sure where to go now; she aimlessly wandered down Cawdor Street through the rain, searching for any clues related to the whereabouts of Fox McCloud. A search through her ship's log and the Defense Force database had proven fruitless; according to the DF's top-secret files, Fox's last known whereabouts had been Sargasso. Miyu already knew that, though; she had been there, after all. The state media network and other official channels continued to report that Fox McCloud had been killed when the Cloudrunner exploded.

Everywhere Miyu searched, she seemed to find nothing but dead ends. She was beginning to wonder if Macbeth was the best place to look. Not that she had a choice; her ship had given everything it had just to get her this far. At the moment, she was stuck. Miyu knew she couldn't get off the planet without a working ship, and that meant that she had to either find a new ship or find parts and fix the one she had. Everything seemed to amass on top of Miyu; she felt trapped, and she knew she had to get out of the trap. Miyu had never thought of herself as being especially attractive, but her experience with the police sergeant had made her more conscious of the stares from the male pedestrians who passed her. That experience made her wonder how far she was willing to go to accomplish her goal. Would she use her feminine attractiveness as a weapon? She abhorred the very thought, but she didn't dismiss the necessity. She was inexperienced in that realm, and she knew it, but she wondered how much that would matter if she ever had to travel that road.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind as she walked through the steady rain, focusing on the problems she faced in the immediate future. She didn't want to be stranded in Norantrova any longer than necessary. The Pleiades would arrive in two days, and she had no leads on Fox McCloud, the effective resistance, or where she could replace her ship. She was weary, hungry, and dispirited. On top of that, she was alone. Still, Miyu remained hopeful. No one was looking for her, so she was confident in her ability to stay hidden. In her present situation, that ability could very well be the difference between life and death.

On board the L.R.S. Pleiades – Deep Space Traffic Control Sector X, Area Four, in the Mactan Corridor (0217 CCT)

With the defiant flag of the Republic proudly emblazoned upon her outer hull, the Pleiades lumbered silently through the absolute cold of interplanetary space, the blue cloud of the Sector X nebula faintly visible astern. The Mactan Corridor, the safe navigation route between the orbits of Macbeth, Papetoon, and Titania, was quite empty since the ouster of the old Federation. The Corridor used to be a major thoroughfare for merchants transporting goods back and forth between the Lylat System's two most industry-based planets, but since the coup, the lane had been choked by Republic checkpoints. Mainstream merchants now preferred routes which were once impractical but were now more expedient, sometimes going as far out of their way as Zoness to avoid the Republic's notoriously-slow checkpoints and their often-aggressive Manifest Inspection Officers, known as MIOs.

The Mactan route was still occasionally used, but it had become more of a route for Defense Force supply convoys using Macbeth as a stopover on their way to the remote military outpost world of Titania. A spaceship might travel this corridor for days without encountering another soul. The passage served the Republic flagship's purpose for now; the leviathan glided through the darkness in total silence, with no air to carry the mighty roar of its formidable engines. The Pleiades had left the rest of the fleet behind; on the orders of Central Command, the Pleiades had separated from the Internal Security Task Force for a brief resupply on Macbeth.

The ship was alone in space but for the two Arwings serving as its escorts. Any other captain might have felt vulnerable under such circumstances; Bill Grey did not. He judged the situation according to the information he had. The Republic considered the Mactan Triad to be secure; the three planets connected by the Corridor were firmly under Republic control, and what little government resistance that was present did not have access to any spacecraft capable of challenging even the merest fraction of the Pleiades's substantial firepower.

The source of Bill's tension was not rooted in their solitude in space; his anxiety lay elsewhere. It was always the same dilemma that tormented him: was he doing the right thing or not? It was too late for Star Fox; how many other lives was he destroying by serving the Republic? Everything had changed for Bill; there were no longer any certainties. Fara was his only solid anchor. If not for Fara, Bill might have already given up on the whole Republic. This is why they don't let husbands and wives serve in the same units, he thought, I just happened to be able to arrange it with the Chief of Staff. I'm such an idiot. I should have sent her somewhere safe.

Bill didn't know what he had been thinking when he started; it was too late to do anything about it now, but he wished he had it to do over. If he did, maybe Miyu would still be safe. Bill felt responsible for what had happened to Miyu; she was still missing, and after several days with no contact from her, Bill had had no choice but to follow standard procedure and update her status to "presumed dead". He had scraped for months – years, really – to get an admiral's flag and a major command, and now he was beginning to inwardly doubt his fitness for command. Bill was, by any reasonable evaluation, psychologically compromised by the situation. He was emotionally involved, which made him liable to unsound decisions.

Right now, Bill was in command, though; liable to bad decisions or not, he was in a position where he expected to have his orders obeyed. With the possible exception of Fara, Bill wasn't sure how far he trusted his crew. At first they had all seemed eager to follow him, but since the encounter at Sargasso, that had changed. Oh, they still followed his orders without question, and he was still on friendly terms with all of them, but the fervor that had been present at the start didn't seem to be there anymore.

"Sir?" a voice from the helmsman's station shook Bill out of his thoughts.

"What is it, Sullivan?" Bill asked.

"Oh, nothing serious, sir," the helmsman replied, "Some of us were just wondering how you were going to spend your liberty."

"Well, Norantrova's not exactly the best place for a liberty," Bill answered with a dry smile, "I figured I'd just stay aboard. What about you, hmm?"

"Oh, I - I mean we, the guys and I -" the others on the bridge nodded as Sullivan spoke, "We were just gonna go out on the town. You know, check out the night life. We thought... well, sir, we thought you might want to come with us." A chorus of agreements came from the rest of the bridge crew.

"I appreciate it, guys," Bill said, somewhat surprised by their offer, "But this is going to be the first time since we set out on this mission that I'll have a chance to relax. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather just stay here aboard the ship. It's more comfy here, and Norantrova hasn't got much of my kind of night life, anyway. I'm a married man, remember?" They all looked somewhat disappointed by his decision. "Hey, hey," he said, "Enough with the long faces. I wasn't going to try and keep any of you guys from going. I just wanted a bit of down time, that's all." Well... Bill thought, This feels... awkward. I feel like a stick in the mud now. "I'm not trying to stop your fun, guys. When we get there tomorrow, you should all go out and have fun. Someone's got to stay behind and take the duty, right? Better me than you, right?"

"Well, I guess since you put it that way..." Sullivan smiled. They all had a laugh over that, but Bill sensed something he hadn't sensed in his crew members up to this point: tension. He might have been losing his edge. He was still in firm command, but he was beginning to wonder if the crew was able to relate to him as well as they once had. As sad as it was for Bill to admit, he was no longer certain of where the crew members' loyalties ultimately lay. Were they loyal to him, or to the Republic? There was a time when that would not have been a divided loyalty; to be loyal to Bill was to be loyal to the Republic, because that was where Bill's own loyalty was to be found. Now, though, Bill wasn't sure of his loyalty apart from Fara. Ultimately, his loyalty and duty was to the Republic, even now, after all that had happened. The Republic's government had its faults – he counted Star Fox's plight among them – but he had to believe in it. The rule of military law was not to be taken lightly, but in Bill's thinking, if the myriad resistance fighters that had appeared all over the Lylat System were not in such opposition, then there would be no need for the system-wide martial law. Lylat's soldiers would be able to stand down soon (and indeed, would have been able to stand down long since) if the people would only cooperate and trust, as he himself trusted, that the scales of democracy would balance. He was beginning to wonder, though, whether that trusting attitude might have been terribly naïve. That was what gnawed him; he was no longer sure who to trust.

Everything would be resolved soon, one way or the other. According to the reports that the Republic Intelligence Bureau had communicated to Bill, the insurgent groups within the Lylat System were dwindling in strength and in number. The Republic was slowly establishing order. Bill supposed he should not have been surprised; any major change in government would meet significant resistance, but when the government had the support of the general populace – as the Republic seemed to – that resistance would eventually fade away by the demands of popular sovereignty. Bill's job, which he took very seriously, was to protect the decisions of that popular sovereignty.

"Sir?" the communications officer interrupted Bill's thoughts.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Bill asked.

"I… I'm not sure, Admiral," the officer said, "I'm picking up some kind of radio emissions."

"Well, we're fairly close to the nebula, Ferguson," Bill answered, "It gives off all sorts of weird signals."

"No, sir," Ferguson answered confidently, "This is different. I'm pretty sure it's artificial."

"Telemetry?" Bill suggested.

"I don't think so, sir," the lieutenant shook his head, "But I can't isolate it, so I don't know. I didn't think we had any probes here except for the ones in the nebula. It's getting closer, whatever it is."

Bill took the headphones at the comms station and put one side to his ear. Ferguson was right; it definitely wasn't coming from the nebula. Bill could hear the nebula's normal ambience – he was experienced enough in deep space to be able to pick that out – but this sound was coming in over the nebula's noise. Bill was also experienced enough to know that this sound was artificial, and it sounded suspiciously like the interference created by an ion engine using a disjunction drive – an engine like one an interplanetary fighter might use. Forgetting his musings over crew tension and political dynamics, Bill changed himself back into "captain mode." The change was completely internal, of course; no one in the crew noticed any difference. He looked over his shoulder at the tactical officer. "Levinson, have you got anything over there?"

"No, sir," the lieutenant replied simply. That's odd. Bill thought, putting the headphone back to his ear. It sounds fairly close. It couldn't be stealth fighters, could it?

"Levinson," Bill ordered, "Scan for ion emissions. I think we might have company."

"Aye-aye, sir," Levinson answered. Bill waited in silence for the lieutenant's report as the ion resonators came online. Who could possibly have stealth fighters, Bill thought, and how could they possibly get here? Any number of patrols and checkpoints should have caught that. An ion scan didn't lie, though. "There is ion engine activity, Admiral," Levinson said, "Low off the starboard beam. I'm reading six distinct signatures."

"Sound general quarters," Bill said calmly to Lieutenant Ferguson.

"Aye-aye, sir," Ferguson answered. The lights in the bridge turned red, followed by three loud rasps from the alarm, and Ferguson spoke into the ship-wide intercom system: "Now hear this; now hear this. All personnel report immediately to battle stations. Repeat, all personnel to battle stations. This is not a drill. That is all."

"Energy deflectors to 'enable' and prime," Bill ordered. He felt strange; this was his first time commanding a starship in battle. He had led men in desperate fights before, but that had been back when he was just a hotshot squadron leader on Katina. Now he was the one making all the decisions. He was surprised by how calm he was – not only how calmly he was acting, but how calm he actually felt. Despite the blaring alarm and the pulsating red light, Bill didn't feel the same adrenaline rush he had always felt before past battles.

"Enabled," the systems officer replied, "Shields primed to five gigajoules."

"They're closing around us, Admiral," Levinson said, anxiety building in his voice, "Shall I prime weapons?"

"Negative," Bill answered immediately, "We're safe for now as long as we keep our shields up. We won't fire unless they fire first. Ferguson, tell our escorts."

"Aye-aye, sir," Ferguson answered and began to signal the two Arwing pilots.

"All engines stop," Bill commanded, still calm but with a little more urgency in his voice, "Levinson, prime energy relays for anti-missile fire."

"Yes, sir, Admiral," Levinson answered, complying with the order. He then noticed a new reading on his control panel. "Sir," he said, "The unknown spacecraft are dropping their cloak. They've taken positions on our port and starboard abow, astern, and amidships."

What are they doing? Bill scratched his head, wondering. I outgun them probably thirty to one. They can't seriously be thinking of trying to attack. He had abandoned his wonderings over who had stealth fighters and how they had gotten here; those questions would have to wait. Who they were and how they were there weren't important; that they were there was the only thing that mattered at the moment.

"Admiral, sir…" Ferguson said in a confused tone that implied mild surprise, "They're hailing us."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "Put it on the main screen," he said. The image of a dinosaur appeared on the screen. It was an Earthwalker – educated and of high status, by the looks of him – looking somber and grave. On his crest, he wore the insignia of an officer in the Saurian Militia. What is this? Bill thought in shock, The Saurians are peaceful. Why are they here?

"Greetings, Admiral Grey," the Saurian spoke, "I am Malonga Sha, Shield-Lieutenant to His Majesty, King Tricky."

"Greetings, Lieutenant Sha," Bill said formally, "I wish I could welcome you properly, as befitting a true Saurian, but you have entered a restricted sector…"

"I shall speak, Admiral," Sha interrupted, "You shall listen to me. I speak on behalf of our king and our planet. His Majesty has given me leave to speak in his name. We wish to deliver a message to the central government of the Republic."

"Couldn't you just visit the Consulate's emissary on Sauria?" Bill asked.

"He is no longer welcome there," Sha answered contemptuously. Bill was taken aback by both the lieutenant's tone and his message. The crew obviously shared Bill's surprise; one of the bridge officers (Bill couldn't tell which) audibly gasped. The Earthwalker continued, "You, Admiral, are deep in the upper circles of the Republic. This message is best communicated through you, as commanded by our king," Malonga Sha's passion became increasingly evident in his voice, "We, the people of Sauria, have been trapped by slavery ever since the fall of our Cerinian protectors. First it was the armies of Andross, then the tyranny of the Sharpclaw, and then the threat of the Aparoids. Now the Republic tries to crush us under its heel. No longer! Our slavery is ended, and our chains are broken. We are free, and we are a proud people."

What does he mean by that? Bill thought in surprise, He sounds as if they're starting a rebellion. The Saurians are peaceful! His thoughts raced. "What are you saying, Lieutenant Sha?" Bill asked, his throat feeling dry and constricted.

"His Majesty wishes the Republic's leaders to know that the Sauria Sector is forthwith closed to the Republic," Sha said, sounding ceremonious but not particularly happy with the list of demands he had to deliver. Still, he gave Bill the Saurians' treasonous ultimatum, apparently without regard for the danger in which he had placed himself. "All Republic warships and trade vessels must exit the sector, and all Republic officials must leave. Those are our demands, and we will accept nothing less. The Republic has forty-eight hours to comply."

"But you can't do that!" Bill protested.

"Then I swear to you" Sha said angrily, "that to the very last Saurian, we will die trying."

"Come with us," Bill pleaded, "We'll escort you back to the capital." In your illegal ships, Bill remembered; he couldn't overlook that fact. Right now, though, he had to try and stop one of Lylat's most productive societies from falling away from the Republic's protection. "I'm sure the Central Committee can work something out with you," Bill said, hoping he wasn't appearing weak to his crew, "They'd be honored to receive you."

"I'm sorry, Admiral," Sha replied, not sounding sorry at all, "We are returning to Sauria now."

"But don't you understand?" Bill said, "I can't just let you go! You've come into a restricted sector in ships that have been illegal since the Uprising!"

"You would be wise not to impede us, Admiral," Sha said, "Sauria is our home, and we do not intend to spend the rest of our lives in a Cornerian cell waiting for the great and glorious Republic leaders to hear our pleas for mercy. We are returning to Sauria now," he repeated, "If you choose to stand in our way, the blood will be on your hands, not ours. Our meeting is at an end." Sha's image disappeared from the screen.

"No, wait –" Bill stopped talking, realizing the futility of the situation.

"Sir, they're priming weapons," Levinson said, some heat evident in his voice. "What are your orders?"

Bill stared through the front window into the field of stars. His orders rang in his head: "The Task Force shall neutralize all subversives and dissidents, using lethal force if necessary." He didn't want to fire on these Saurians – curse it all, he didn't want to kill Saurians! The Saurians were peaceful. He had never seen this side of them. It was obvious, though, that capture was not possible. He couldn't just let them go; his crew would eat him alive, not to mention the fact that he would be betraying his duty.

"Sir?" Levinson said more urgently, "Your orders? Admiral?"

"Our orders are to meet dissidents with all deliberate force," Bill reminded him finally, "Prime turrets and open fire." And may posterity curse me for seven eternities for spilling Saurian blood.

"Aye-aye, sir," Levinson answered gravely. The fight was over quickly, and it went just about as Bill expected. The last bursts of particle fire from the Pleiades's cluster flak arrays faded away, and there was nothing left. Bill felt as if he had just killed a brother. He had not known Malonga Sha for more than those few minutes they had spoken, but Sha's death would be forever etched in his brain. Bill's duty had forced him to kill his own countrymen, and oddly enough, he still felt that the engagement was his fault, not theirs.

"Helm, continue on course for Macbeth," Bill ordered wearily, "Ferguson, you have the conn."