STARFOX: SUNRISE OVER LYLAT
By Eric "Erico" Lawson
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: HOMEFRONT
Star Wolf- A mercenary organization created eight years prior to the Lylat Wars and led by Wolf O'Donnell, Star Wolf spent nearly its entire operational career being seen as the rival and opposite of Team Starfox, which was formed four years later. Star Wolf gained a reputation as being willing to do unsavory jobs if the price was right, and joined up with Andross in his ill-fated attempt at domination over the Lylat System. Following their defeat, they continued on and played a significant role in bringing about the end of the Aparoid Invasion. They were listed as enemy combatants during the rise of the SDF and the Pirate Rebellion, and are credited with the death of Fox McCloud. The last remnants of the organization were destroyed while defending a space pirate outpost in the shadow of Solar's orbit, poetically shot down by Lieutenant Carl McCloud and his wingmates of the 21st 'Growler' Squadron.
(From the After-Action Report of Operation Cutlass Blitz, Captain Lars Hound)
"The presence of Star Wolf at the space pirate facility was not reflected in military intelligence reports, but my pilots did not let their reputation interfere with our duties in the destruction of the base and its equipment. Ensign Ostwind, Lt. JG Quail, and Lieutenant McCloud maintained discipline throughout ACM, with Lt. McCloud being responsible for the destruction of 2 of the 3 Wolfen fighters. One survivor from Star Wolf was collected in his escape pod by our military escort for processing and summary judgment. Notably, Star Wolf co-founder Leon Powalski was not a participant in the fighting or on the base. Interrogation of the prisoners may help in resolving the lingering question as to the unconfirmed report of his demise."
Resistance Base Epsilon
Titania
35 Years after the Lylat Wars (40 Years Ago)
A lot had changed since Fox McCloud had taken up the banner of the Starfox Team. They no longer had the Great Fox, which had been sacrificed 26 years ago during the final hours of conflict on the Aparoid Homeworld. Slippy had hung up his pilot's wings and was back home on Corneria, working as Chief Engineer for his father's company. There were some rumors going around that the aging Beltino Toad might be thinking about retiring in a decade or so, but Slippy showed no interest in the business side of the company. Peppy had retired from Starfox and worked as their liaison to the government, but he'd quit his government job 5 years ago. He was living out on some dirt farm on Papetoon these days, and his health was flagging.
Some others remained, though. Falco still flew with him, and even though their son Maximillian was living on Katina in their home, Krystal insisted on flying with Fox. She'd been begging him to retire ever since Max was born, settle down with a quieter job, but it was in his blood too deeply. So while they flew, Max, now fourteen years old, was looked over and protected by ROB. Without a mothership, ROB proved to be just as useful as a caretaker.
In truth, Fox knew he was getting too old to keep doing this. They all were. Peppy had been ancient even before he became their SDF liaison, and the job had worn the last vestiges of life out of him. Still, Fox fought through the arthritic pain in his hands and knees when he woke up every morning. He refused to settle down, even though his pre-breakfast jog and calisthenics went slower, and he had to take more aspirin afterwards. He refused to stop, because he needed to keep his flight status. To Fox, being able to stay in the air was nearly everything.
Krystal and Max were everything else.
The promise of this latest mission had just been too great. Their Arwings were getting older now, as they only had the Arwing Model C and not the more updated Model E which Arspace still had in development, and on exclusive contract to the SDF. One last job, Fox had insisted. A big one, to help the still fledgling SDF take out a space pirate base that spysats had located on Titania. One last job to fill in their retirement funds, to make sure that they could raise Max in comfort, that he and Krystal would never want for anything in their old age. Enough, perhaps, to even sustain Falco's reckless lifestyle of alcohol and females of nearly every species.
Fox McCloud was 53 years old, and his once lustrous brown fur was going gray.
One last job.
Launch Bay 2
Resistance Base Epsilon
Titania
No matter how old he got, Wolf still felt the adrenaline rush when the alert klaxons started wailing. In this case, it was a proximity sensor; they had inbound bogies.
"All hands, general quarters. This is not a drill, repeat, this is NOT a drill. We have multiple inbound Cornerian SDF fighters, five minutes out."
Wolf chuckled, bringing the engines of his Wolfen spacefighter from idle to full thrust. It was fortunate that he and the rest of Star Wolf had been preparing to take off for practice maneuvers. He didn't use gray fur as an excuse for being lazy, as it had always been gray. He and his team were professionals, paid to do a job. His strict regimen of training and vehicle maintenance ensured that they were always at their best.
The G-Diffusers in his Wolfen held off the worst of the shudders as his fighter lifted up from the ground and began to scream down the hastily constructed launch tunnel.
"Epsilon Actual, Wolf 1. We're taking off."
"Roger that, Wolf 1. We're scrambling the rest of our interceptors, but it'll just be you and our BARCAP fighters. Keep them off our throats."
"Hey, it's what you're paying us for, isn't it?" Wolf chuckled through the G-Forces. A few seconds later, just before he emerged from the launch tunnel, he flipped the green HUD monocle of his commset into position. There were times that being blind in one eye was an absolute pain, and more than one animal had questioned just how deadly someone without depth perception could be, to their ultimate ruin. His monocle flickered to life and linked to his ship's systems, displaying all the tactical data of his HUD on a transparent overlay. All systems green, and fully charged lasers and fuel. No munitions, but then Wolf had always been more of a knife fighter. He preferred his aerial encounters up close and personal, and the blast screens of his deflector shields kept it that way.
Wolf's Wolfen emerged into the brilliant orange light of a scorching hot Titania day, and his HUD monocle tinted automatically to accommodate, sparing him sunglare. The technology to tint an entire cockpit canopy automatically still didn't exist, but visor tinting was old hat. He leveled out at 1000 meters and set his bearing on a northwestern track, right for the cluster of incoming bogies. His radar displayed the IF/F tags of Epilson's BARCAP fighters well ahead of him, but holding position until he and the rest of his squadron could meet up and reinforce them. Smart. Only soon to be dead idiots rushed in against astronomical odds.
"All ships, report status." He radioed, glancing around him. The rest of Star Wolf formed up in their standard diamond formation.
"Leon here. Let's collect some pelts." The Venomian chameleon who was Wolf's most loyal and longstanding associate on the team chuckled darkly as he hung off of Wolf's port wing.
Off to starboard, the black furred head of Panther Caroso turned in Wolf's direction before the predatory cat purred in satisfaction. At least he'd given up the habit of taking a rose up with him every time he flew. "Panther is ready to hunt." The feline drawled in his thick accent. He was older too now, but still not grizzled like Wolf or Leon.
And behind Panther Caroso was Wolf 4, the newest and youngest member of the Squadron: Wolf's own son, Fennec. "We're here, old man." Fennec snorted. "Maybe this time we'll get to make some noise."
"That's enough sass out of you, pup." Wolf growled. "Leon's with me. Fenn, I want you covering Panther's six. Don't move to single ship attacks until we get these numbers in control." Microphone clicks answered his order, and with a prolonged two second burst from their boosters, Star Wolf shot off towards battle.
The four BARCAP fighters, old JF-12s commonly known as 'Cornerian Fighters' had seen their heyday in the lead-up to the Lylat Wars. Their lack of shielding made them easy targets, but they were cheap to get, and easy enough to modify. The JF-12s used by the Lylat Resistance had been repainted from their green and white color scheme to a matte black, and now carried 'Ravenclaw' radar-homing missiles in addition to their single laser cannon mounted in the nose. They were outlawed on Corneria, but the Resistance wasn't bound by such restrictions. Their hull armor had seen some improvements, but everyone knew it'd only take a few solid hits or one laserlock burst to wipe them out. Star Wolf didn't come cheap, but the fledgling resistance needed some muscle to back up their aged air forces. Wolf could almost swear he heard the four Resistance pilots sighing in relief, even though the radio was silent. They slipped in behind the Wolfens, deferring to his command.
Wolf checked out his forward radar and zoomed it out. He squinted for a moment, then swore to himself. The blips on his radar were all fuzzy. The last thing he needed was to have his eyesight go out on him. "Panther, what's your read on the inbounds? How many are we looking at?"
"I'm counting twenty separate returns." Panther answered. "I think…Ay yai yah." The groan made even Wolf cringe. Panther was a shameless flirt, but he wasn't one for disparaging remarks like that. "It looks like eight of them are Arwings. The other twelve are JF-16s."
"Lightly shielded, twin guns." Wolf murmured. "And then eight hard hitters. The SDF must really want this place wiped out." He switched to the Resistance main frequency. "BARCAP fighters. Target the 16s with your missiles, then fall back and rearm. You don't stand a chance against those Arwings."
"Roger that, Wolf 1. Targeting now…"
A few seconds passed before the aged JF-12s got lock-on to their technologically superior cousins and ripple fired, filling the sky with vapor contrails from a full complement of sixteen Ravenclaw missiles that streaked on ahead.
"Missiles launched. Falling back. Good hunting, Star Wolf."
"Roger." Wolf switched back to his squadron's personal channel. "Leon."
"Yes, boss?"
"You think we're going up against Model Ds here?"
"Likely. At least we haven't gotten any news that the SDF has the Model E in service yet." The chameleon remarked.
Fennec O'Donnell let out a sharp, disgusted little laugh. "Those stooges have been harping about it for ages. If they had the Model E on hand, they would have blurted it out over the subnet just for the scare value."
"Don't be too sure about that, Fenn." Wolf reminded his offspring. "They may be confined by regulations, but even career soldiers can surprise you if you're not careful."
"They're scattering." Leon reported, cutting off the chatter. "They're trying to break clear of the missiles."
A few moments later, the fuzzy blips on their radars decreased in number. "Target disintegrations." Leon confirmed. "It looks like that strike wiped out…nine of those JF-16s."
"So. Four of us, eight Arwings, and 3 of those pitiful staple fighters."
"Three to one odds." Panther summarized. "This will be interesting."
"Remember your training." Wolf reminded his team coldly. "We've fought against the best pilots ever to fly in Arwings. These SDF clowns are nothing compared to them."
"Yes, but you always lost to Starfox." Fennec reminded his father, trying to goad a response.
Wolf ground his molars together and ignored the barb.
"Entering combat. Split into teams and get busy. Arwing kills pay extra." He ordered.
Their orders were to hold off the attack and keep any inbound fighters from shooting off high explosive rounds at the base defenses. This wasn't a permanent fixture, after all, so there wasn't much invested in long range aerial defenses. Thankfully, Star Wolf didn't half-ass anything, and they certainly hadn't gone soft. The SDF had Arwings, but as Wolf took his Wolfen through its paces, one thing was abundantly clear; the new crop of Arwing pilots didn't have nearly enough experience to take their machines to their limits. Or perhaps they were still trying to fly the Arwings like ordinary fighters.
Their loss, and Wolf's gain. With Leon keeping his tail clear, their two-ship formation tore through the Arwings, splitting off and reforming effortlessly in a way that the formally trained SDF pilots couldn't keep up with. One Arwing was shot down. Then a second, taken down by Leon. Panther took down two on his own, weaving about with such finesse that it left his pursuers stymied. They all ejected, their cockpit escape pods bringing them groundwards where Epsilon's forces could easily retrieve them for use as POW's. The last of the JF-16s tried to bug out and fly on towards the base while Star Wolf was occupied, but a quick application of firepower from Fennec dusted them, adding blood and burning metal to the already red skies and soil of Titania. The last four scrambled to defend themselves, but Star Wolf landed too many solid blows on them, whittling away at their impressive shields.
Things were going smoothly, yet Wolf was slightly disappointed. Even as he started to envision that he'd still be breathing tomorrow, facing off against these establishment clowns was like watching his edge dull. Even dogfighting with his own team members gave him more of a workout than this.
Wolf should have remembered the age old cautionary sentence; be careful what you wish for. His radio came to life, and it wasn't any of the enemy pilots or his own squadron mates chattering at him.
"Hello, Star Wolf."
Wolf's claw froze on the trigger, failing to fire the shot which would disable another Arwing.
He knew that voice. He'd never forgotten it, but…it couldn't be.
"Impossible." Wolf uttered, looking to his radar, ignoring his immediate prey. It made to bug out, and Wolf let it go. He had bigger concerns, because there were three more signatures coming onto his radar scanners. These were Arwings too, but just in how they flew…Wolf knew. "You're retired."
"Almost." Came the dry laugh of Fox McCloud. "Then I got word that you were stirring up trouble. So, here we are."
"Hey, there's four of you now? You haven't had four since you flew for Andross." The gravelly, yet still sarcastic voice of Falco Lombardi came over the airwaves next.
"Attention, surviving SDF Arwings! Fall back for repairs. The Starfox Team will handle things from here." And there was a female voice. Krystal. It had to be, what with how Panther's lusty growl suddenly cut into the airwaves.
"Star Wolf, form up!" Wolf snapped. The battered SDF Arwings limped away as Starfox closed in, and Wolf got his first good look at Starfox, after years and years of their absence.
They were flying in from above, coming right out of the light of Lylus. Using the sun to their advantage…Wolf had done the same thing at their first meeting, back during the Lylat Wars. Fortu…No, Fichina. Strange how some animals could get an ice world and a jungle planet mixed up.
"Leon?" Wolf said.
"I've got the featherbrain." The chameleon cackled. Actually cackled. He was excited for this. Wolf would be lying if he said he wasn't as well. At last, a real challenge…the challenge he'd spent nearly his entire career preparing for.
"Fenn, you're with Panther. Go after Krystal."
"Hey, I'm old enough that I can dogfight alone…"
"Don't argue with me cub, just do it!" Wolf snarled.
"Fenn? Who's this one supposed to be?" Fox inquired cheekily.
"My boy, McCloud. But your fight's with me today."
"Always has been. But you're not a young fella any more."
" Neither are you, Fox." Wolf taunted his rival. The Wolfens and Arwings flew straight for each other, their guns silent, and they passed by one another, allowing the pilots to get a good look at their opponents…and identify them. "Star Wolf, break!"
The aging aerospace superiority fighters split from their formations and started banking into hard turns, each moving in against their own foe. Panther and Fennec to Krystal, Leon for Falco, and Wolf…straight at Fox.
It was chaos. It was perfection. It was a dance and a furball, all in equal measure. Strafing laserfire rattled through the engagement zone, with only glancing blows suffered. With all of the pilots true aces, living legends, the match wasn't quick. Star Wolf had dispatched the SDF Arwings in short order, but Starfox was at their level.
Fox pulled his Arwing into a tight loop and Wolf followed, not even blinking when Fox pulled up short. Wolf hit his brakes as well and punished Fox for the feint, pumping a wild salvo of shots into his rear shields before Fox twisted his Arwing into a roll and deflected the rest of the attack away harmlessly, diving into the clear.
"Unh! Heh, you're still pretty good, Star Wolf."
"Did you think I'd go easy on you, Starfox?" Wolf demanded. "Who else could push you this far? Who else challenges you as much as I do?"
The Arwing made for the deck, towards a cluster of rocky formations in the iron-red terrain. He pulled up fifteen meters shy of the ground and entered a craggy canyon, Wolf hot on his heels and continuing to fire away.
"And who else pisses you off as much as I do, Wolf?" Fox taunted. "Come on, let's see if you can keep up with me. My ship's more maneuverable and you know it!"
The two fighters blazed through the canyon, bobbing and weaving through tight passages, passing underneath arches. Wolf grit his teeth; Fox was right in that. The Arwing and his Wolfen were very comparable fighters, but the sleek lines of the Arspace Dynamics headliner lent itself to this kind of an obstacle-rich environment. The Wolfen's four-winged layout made it harder for Wolf to turn the corners as tightly, and fewer shots were fired in Fox's direction as a result. Wolf had to spend the bulk of his focus just making sure he didn't end up as a fiery grease spot on the canyon walls.
"You always did love to fly fancy." Wolf pointed out with a snarl. "I'd heard you were doing airshows these days."
"Keeps the skills sharp." Fox said. "Hup, sharp turn!" His Arwing banked hard through a particularly narrow section of canyon, and Wolf's eye went wide. There was no way he'd be able to clear it, not at his size.
"Shit!" Left with no choice, Wolf pulled his nose up hard, and the Wolfen flew nearly straight up into clear airspace. He winced as he did, and for good reason; Fox jerked his Arwing clear and glommed right onto Wolf's tail. Just like that, the tables were turned.
"I didn't forget how you fight, Wolf. And I also didn't forget how fat of an ass your Wolfen has!"
"Insolent pup!" Wolf snapped, soaking three hits before he jinked clear of the line of fire. He spun into a corkscrew dive, and Fox followed. He pulled up, and Fox matched the move flawlessly.
"Tell me something, Wolf." Fox grunted over the intercom as the G-Forces added up. Not even a G-Diffuser system could fully stop the shifting tides of inertia brought on by fierce air-combat maneuvering, after all. "Why do you even bother? You know how this is going to end; the same way it always does."
"You seem so sure of yourself." Wolf scoffed. "You shouldn't be. Scuttlebutt was you were out of the game. My team never quit. You were doing airshows? I was killing for money."
"Any day you want to knock Wolf out of the sky and help the rest of us out, Fox, you just let me know!" Falco snapped over the airwaves, cutting into their conversation.
"What's the matter, birdbrain? Can't handle it?" Leon laughed as he and Falco looped around each other, firing wildly. Leon's turn was just a little sharper, though, allowing him to score several blows before Falco turned out and tried for a different tack.
"Fox, I could use some help here!" Krystal's panicked chirped in next, and Wolf chuckled at the situation. It was almost too predictable, and Fox's pursuit of him seemed to become slightly lackluster. He wiggled a little slower in his next jink to test his theory, and was pleased when Fox's reaction was slightly sluggish.
"What's the matter, Fox? Are your wingmates so useless that they need you to rescue them all the time? I could have sworn that it's tradition almost."
"Oh, it is." Leon wheezed hysterically. "Go on, Falco, I know you're dying to say it. One of your sarcastic oh marvelous, Fox just saved me again quotes!"
"Cram it up your tailpipe, lizard!" Falco snapped.
"Do not worry, Krystal. I won't hurt you…much." Panther purred.
"Oh, stop flirting with the enemy, you flogging skirt-chaser!" Fennec growled. He shot past Panther and pumped a few more shots into Krystal's Arwing, and one of the quad thrusters on her starboard G-Diffuser exploded, letting off a thick trail of smoke.
"AAAH! Fox!" Krystal cried out, louder than before.
Wolf grinned. The perfect time to strike, when Fox was at his most distracted. He jerked the nose of his Wolfen down and hit the retros, and when Fox tried to follow, he screamed past Wolf, reversing their roles of predator and prey once more. Fox jerked back on the stick and his Arwing screamed skyward to try and disengage, but Wolf followed sharply.
"Too bad, Fox. Looks like you lose this time."
"You know what your problem is, Wolf? If you're spending all your time hunting me down, you lose sight of the bigger picture." Fox retorted. Wolf narrowed his eye, about to question what Fox meant by that, but the vulpine made a sharp turn again, cutting off the discussion. Wolf followed, trying to draw a bead in on him, but failed as Fox managed one quick jink after another, twisting in wild, disorienting directions.
Wild turns…but turns with purpose, Wolf realized too late to do him any good. As he closed the gap on Fox, a blur of movement shot by them. He widened his eye and realized that it was Krystal's Arwing, with Fennec hot on her exhaust and Panther trailing after his hotheaded offspring.
Before anyone could react, Fox opened up with his guns. Fennec's Wolfen was strafed from nose to rear fins in a storm of perfectly aimed laserfire, and an explosion tore off half of the ship's upper starboard wing. Fennec O'Donnell screamed over the radio and peeled off, as did Panther, keeping his wingmate covered and discouraging Fox from trying anything else.
"You fuckin' asshole, McCloud!"
"Hey, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Fox retorted smugly.
"Damnit!" Wolf snapped. He jerked back on Fox's tail, but the vulpine kept clear of his wild shots. Wolf was too flustered, and Fox was laughing over the radio the entire time. "Fennec, disengage! RTB, before your ship shakes itself apart!" Though Fennec continued to swear, he did seem to listen to common sense, and headed for the ground, turning away from the melee and towards Epsilon Base.
"Thanks, Fox." Krystal exhaled in visible relief, and her Arwing tilted up and away from the furball, bugging out as well. "I'm pretty banged up myself, so I'm falling back."
"Fox…" Wolf gnashed his fangs together.
"Get the picture now, Wolf? Or do I have to cripple Leon's Wolfen before you'll catch on? I'm better than you. I always will be. Surrender now, and I'll even let you and the rest of Star Wolf limp away from this base before the SDF levels it."
Something broke inside of Wolf then. Too many years of being constantly overlooked, of being in the shadow of Fox's father, then Fox himself. Too many fights where Fox always managed to pull a stunt and win victory. Too many years having to pull quick repair jobs on the durable, but aging Wolfens. Too many years of scraping by just to put in a newer shield or power upgrade to keep them suitable for work. Too many times of losing.
It all added up. It all boiled over. It was finally enough. So he screamed. He felt red filling his vision, a bloodlust he had always tamped down to stay cool, to stay professional. Wolf O'Donnell didn't kill in the heat of passion, he was never mindless. That was his trademark.
Had been his trademark.
"Not! Better!" Wolf howled, his voice blood-curdling. Though he didn't notice it, the chatter from both squadrons fell silent as he slipped into madness. His Wolfen came after Fox, hard and fast, and even the leader of Starfox lost his self-assuredness, flying tighter than before. Wolf locked on, and Fox peeled into a loop to break it. Wolf followed, firing a wild storm of regular shots. Fox went into an aileron roll in the middle of the loop, but only deflected some, and he pulled out early to put some distance between them.
Wolf had seen the tactic before, and he didn't fall for it. He broke out of the loop himself and followed, the powerful thrust-vectoring engines of his Wolfen allowing him to follow at the cost of G-Forces that weren't entirely nullified. He grunted against the strain, ignoring the blackness that built on the edge of his vision. Fox went into a corkscrew spiral towards the ground, dodging as he bled off speed and forcing Wolf to draw closer.
"Always in my way. Always stealing victory." Wolf rasped. His Wolfen shot past Fox's Arwing, but he was already turning hard in. Fox tried to follow, pulling out of the spin, but Wolf had too strong a lead on him, and was quickly outpacing the nimbler Arwing. Using what his ship was stronger in, a better thrust-to-weight ratio thanks to his powerful engines, Wolf changed the fight.
He blazed off in the distance, then pulled an Immelmann and doubled back, charging his gun. Fox matched the maneuver as the gap between them narrowed. Like knights of old, the two warriors faced down in the joust, their lances pointed with a fence separating them. It became a matter of who would flinch first.
The Wolfen's threat alert screamed at him of the lock-on, but Wolf didn't budge from his track. He waited, his single burning eye glaring out at Fox through the panicking display of his HUD monocle. Fox fired first, a potent red laserburst that would knock off a third of his shield strength if it landed. Wolf watched the projectile close in, yet continued to wait. He was watching a separate distance close down as well.
When the red laserburst had nearly swallowed up the whole of his vision, Wolf fired his own homing shot and swerved up and away. He narrowly scraped by the blast headed right for him, and his own shot, to a bellow of approval, had been fired too late for Fox to avoid it. The Arwing had tried, but all that had done was expose the Arwing's broad and vulnerable belly to the blast.
As Fox struggled to gain control of the shuddering silver and blue ship, Wolf latched on to his tail and didn't let up.
"Soft. Weak. Stupid. Bloated on your reputation!" The leader of Star Wolf shrieked out, punishing Fox for every misstep, every poorly timed aileron roll, every predicted jink. Between the two, they had decades of piloting experience, but if there was one thing that Wolf had more of than Fox, it was sheer tenacity. Getting beaten down by life and circumstances, always having to pick himself up again with no help. Having to do whatever it took to survive. Fox was certainly a brilliant pilot, but he didn't have the same bloodlust. He wasn't a dyed-in-the-wool killer.
At last, three and a half decades since their first encounter, Wolf had worn down his rival's abilities, and reclaimed the edge.
"Fox, get out of there!" Falco screamed, though he was no better off, his ship trailing smoke from a pair of blown thrusters after Leon's punishing attacks. "Agh! Jeez, Powalski, I give, I give! Stop banging me!"
"Oh, you take all the fun out of this…" Leon snorted, and though the chameleon's guns fell silent, he stayed on Falco's tail with a locked on shot, following the bird away from the furball. "Just give me an excuse to bake you. I ordinarily pluck the feathers from my meals, but we can make an exception if you insist on it."
"Wolf! What the hell's gotten into you?" Fox demanded. There was more fear in his voice than anger now, however.
"No more. This time…This time…" Wolf panted out, sucking down air in heavy gasps as his overtaxed body struggled at the demand for oxygen.
"Wolf! Stop! STOP!"
"Graaah!"
"You win, okay? YOU WIN! PLEASE!"
The red in his eye faded away, and Wolf O'Donnell snapped back. He blinked rapidly, still shaking, and tried to recall where he was. He'd been so angry. Ahead of him, an Arwing, its shields flickering erratically and its thrusters just as unsteady.
"You win." Fox repeated, exhaling out a long breath. "I…I'm done."
Wolf didn't dare blink, didn't dare let go of his control stick. "You're done."
"Yeah. Krystal and Falco are already disabled, flying back to the SDF base. I don't think my ship can take another hit. We're done. You…Wolf. You beat me."
Wolf said nothing for a few moments, breathing heavily, then let out a weak chuckle.
Then another.
And finally, a throaty, relieved laugh for several seconds.
"Hey, mind not rubbing my face in it?" Fox asked wearily. Wolf eased off and rubbed at his eye. His sweat-matted fur, he ignored.
"I'm not sorry."
"Nah, didn't think you would be. You wouldn't be you if you didn't act like a vicious asshole."
"You have your way of doing things, I have mine."
"Fox, are you okay?" Krystal's voice on the radio cut in.
"Fine, honey. A little banged up, but I'll live. Looks like Starfox finally lost. Guess that's as good a cue as any to quit."
"Retiring for real now?" Wolf asked dubiously. He flew up and placed himself at Fox's wing instead of behind him, keeping pace as the badly damaged Arwing flew west out of Epsilon Base's airspace. "What's wrong with you?"
"I got old, Wolf. So are you. Why are you still doing this, anyways?" Fox sighed. He looked out the side of his cockpit's transparent canopy towards Wolf, who mirrored the glance. With the empty Titania air flying past them, the two rivals at last were able to talk face to face.
"What else can I do, McCloud?" Wolf replied coolly. "I made the mistake of fighting in the Lylat Wars on the losing side. I'm an outlaw on Corneria, Katina, and the other 'civilized' worlds."
"You think my life is perfect?" Fox snorted. "I took this last job so I could finally retire, and be able to give my wife…my son…a good home. A stable one. I didn't want Max to grow up worrying about having to pay off a debt like I did."
"Heh. I hate to say it, but you're still doing better than I am, Fox." Wolf snorted. "At least the payday from finally beating you should be enough to let us fly off somewhere and not care when freedom dies in the Lylat System."
"…You think that the SDF is wrong?"
"You think what they're doing is right?" Wolf countered. "How's their plan for unification any different from what Andross was doing when you stopped him? How is a lot of heads any better than one?"
Fox seemed to wrestle with the question in his mind, and his shoulders slumped. "Peppy said about the same thing before he jumped ship."
"The old long-ears loved to talk, but he had a brain. More than birdbeak does, anyways." Leon harrumphed, likely smirking as he did so. "You want an escort, Wolf?"
"No…no, I can handle this." Wolf replied after a pause. "Star Wolf, return to base and refuel. No telling when the SDF is going to try something else."
"Not for a while, at least." Fox admitted. "We were supposed to be the trump card against you, for all the good it did." He laughed weakly. "Boy, you were really pissed off."
"Thirty-five years of losing against you, and you think I wouldn't have a grudge?" Wolf asked.
Fox had to smile at that, and he shook his head as he looked over to Wolf again. "Are you saying that you stayed active for as long as you have…just for another shot at me?"
"No, that's not what I'm saying." Wolf huffed. "Got a high opinion of yourself, don't you McCloud?"
"Heh. Maybe. But for what it's worth…I'm glad that the last fight I ever got into was with you. Would have been wrong, somehow." Fox McCloud sighed and tipped his head back inside of the cockpit. "I will miss this."
"You always did get too emotional." Wolf rolled his eye. "In what universe would you and I have been able to fly freely?"
"I don't know." Fox admitted, looking over his shoulder to Wolf in his Wolfen with a sad smile. "But I think I might have liked to live in that universe."
"Heh. I had a taste of it back during that Aparoid mess. You left us for dead."
"We left the portal open to home, didn't we?" Fox pointed out, wiggling his eyebrows. "I figured you'd all survive. And we aren't exactly big on favors, after all."
"What do you call what I'm doing for you now, then?" Wolf grunted.
"Gloating." Fox retorted. The two stared hard through the canopies of their fighters for several seconds, then both fell into laughter, the respect due to warriors who had fought against one another for years and admired their adversary. "Who knows, Wolf? Maybe some day, your boy and mine…"
The conversation ended in a hail of laserfire, striking at Fox's Arwing from below and blasting enormous holes through it. The cockpit's interior exploded, and the canopy splintered out a thick mist of red smoke coating the once pristine airframe. Unable to cope with the damage, what was left of the Arwing disintegrated in a massive explosion. Wolf jerked clear of the attack and stared, stunned, at the aftermath. Then he whirled his head around for the source of it.
A Wolfen, flying up from the hard deck, passed by the cloud of fire and debris. Fennec's.
His son.
"Fox? FOX! FOX!" The terrible, grief-filled scream of Krystal pierced the dead silence.
"Arwing kills are extra." Fennec O'Donnell said coldly, wiggling his wings once before turning back around and hitting his boosters.
"You rotten sons of BITCHES!" Falco shrieked.
Wolf felt a terrible pain squeeze at his chest. It took him a moment to realize it was his heart.
"What did you do." He said softly, looking between what had once been his most trusted rival, and his offspring. "Fennec, what did you do?"
"Epsilon Base, one member of Starfox killed. The others are in retreat." Fennec called out over the radio, ignoring the screams of pain and the question from his father.
With the sound of a thundering heartbeat rattling in his head, Wolf could only repeat the question with a dry mouth. "What did you DO?!"
Wild Fox
Katina Orbit
Present Day
26th Day of the Primal War
There was no mistaking the tension aboard the Wild Fox. It lingered in the air, humming like a tightly drawn guitar string. It had been like this since they'd gotten the news about Arspace Dynamics being overtaken by the SDF military, and Slippy Toad's subsequent arrest as an 'enemy of the state.' Nobody on board even thought for a minute that there was any truth to the claim, but they weren't around Corneria. And, as General Grey firmly reminded everyone, including a seething Wyatt, they weren't about to go declaring war on the homefront when they were staring down the barrel of annihilation courtesy of the Primals. Privately, the old hound was as frazzled as anyone, and perhaps even more pissed off than Starfox. ROB hinted as much the few times he inquired if General Grey required some sort of sedative from the Medical Bay., going so far as to even set up an appointment which had promptly been cancelled.
But it wasn't just the Arspace thing that had everyone on edge. Sometime, in the wee hours of the morning, a strange ship had docked with the Wild Fox while nearly everyone was asleep.
A Primal ship. General Grey and XO Dander had tried to keep things quiet, which had worked up until the Starfighter had been dragged down to the hangar bay and placed in a cordoned off area. There had been a few engineers on the night shift still on call, and they'd seen it all. By breakfast, the news was all over the ship, and it was only because of a communications lockdown rigidly enforced by ROB that the rest of the Lylat System was in the dark about it.
Now, there was a Primal prisoner of war locked in one of the empty cabins aboard the Wild Fox, and his ship, a menacing fork-nosed black terror with red running stripes, was resting in the hangar bay, with Wyatt Toad looking it over with a fine-toothed comb. None of the other engineers dared to get close to Wyatt, who looked to be one interruption from shoving a hex wrench down someone's throat.
The same could not be said for the pilots. But then, they were used to risking their lives.
Captain Lars Hound strolled past the gawking staff and crew, noting their trepidation. It didn't sway him as he went up to Wyatt.
"So. This is the Primal superfighter." Hound murmured, stopping six feet past the ship's cordon. Wyatt, who had half his torso shoved up inside of the thing's fuselage, froze at his work before a grunt echoed back down.
"Yup."
"Doesn't look like it'd be fun to fly against."
"Considering that the pilot of this starfighter fought Terrany to a stalemate…no. I wouldn't think so." Wyatt finally climbed down the stepladder he'd been perched on and turned about, staring at Hound coldly. "I would have thought the fence would get the message across."
"Son, being alone is the last thing you need right now." Captain Hound pointed out. "Talk to me."
Wyatt sucked in a deep breath quickly, then let it out in one prolonged huff. Wiping his webbed hands on his coveralls, he removed his cap and rubbed at the top of his moistened head. "The planet we're all killing ourselves to protect arrested my grandfather. If I can't bury myself in my work, I'm liable to go crazy. I'm angry. I feel betrayed. Why should we even be doing this, fighting this war, if it means rotten bastards like the military leadership get to keep sucking down air?"
"Because we took an oath." Hound said, although he blinked and corrected himself shortly after. "Well…I did, anyways."
Wyatt glowered at him just long enough to get the message across, then spun back to continue his examination of the captured Phoenix. "You know, back when we were on Ursa, we were a mixed bunch to begin with. Military, civilians, we still all got along. When Ursa was destroyed and we got this ship, we added mercenaries to the mix. Three different groups and we all still got along. We were united in our cause. Now, though?" Wyatt pointed behind him and past Captain Hound as he climbed the stepladder again. "You've got everyone here wondering if we can even trust you military goons any more." His head disappeared up inside of the Phoenix just as he finished his sentence.
Hound risked a sidewards glance over his shoulder, noting that not all the stares directed his way from the Project Seraphim and Arspace crewmembers were particularly sympathetic. "I've noticed." The canine grunted. "Pugs overcooked my eggs this morning. He never overcooks eggs."
"If that's the worst you've gotten in the way of dirty looks, consider yourself lucky. I've heard nastier talk. And no, I'm not saying who. Frankly, a part of me would love to shove you all out the airlock as well." Hound raised an eyebrow at Wyatt's poisonous response, but kept quiet. After a few tense moments of silence, Wyatt exhaled again, easing the tension in the air. "A part of me. The rest understands that you aren't like the rest of the corrupt military machine. You, your men, or the Landmaster crew."
"So all it took for you to not act on your poorer instincts was us disobeying orders for redeployment?" Hound folded his arms.
"That and you constantly getting the shit kicked out of you flying with Starfox. Hard not to trust someone who's willing to bleed for your sake." Wyatt paused in his work again, then reached for a flashlight in his pocket. "I've only just gotten started on this thing, so I'd appreciate some peace and quiet while I work."
"Can I get you anything? Coffee? Doughnut?"
"You want to help me, captain, then get my grandpa out of prison. Or get that Primal off of this ship. Scum like that doesn't deserve to step foot on her."
"Not much I can do about the first request, sorry to say." Hound admitted. "As for the second, you'd have to take that up with Major McCloud. I haven't heard diddly about the situation. Why he and the general are insisting on doing the interrogation themselves instead of getting a professional from Katina is beyond me."
"Guess they don't trust you either." Wyatt concluded, banging on the interior of the Phoenix a little louder than he needed to. Finally taking the hint, Captain Hound threw up his paws in defeat and trudged off.
Habitation Deck
Quarantined Room
There weren't nearly so many empty rooms aboard the Wild Fox nowadays that a prisoner which was kept locked down could escape notice. Not that there were any overt signs of it, but given that the crew had begun putting nametags on doors to indicate habitation, and the empty rooms all slid open if you got close enough to their sensor, it was merely a process of elimination.
Right now, an observer wouldn't even need that. The presence of Milo, Rourke, Dana and Carl McCloud all lingering outside a presumably empty cabin was a dead giveaway, especially considering that both Milo and Rourke had their laser pistols out and primed to fire. Dana had a tray of food, nothing that required silverware per General Grey's hastily constructed directive to the galley.
"Everyone ready?" Carl asked, looking to his former wingmates with a lifted eyebrow. The Starfox Team all nodded back at him. Carl drew in one more reassuring breath, then looked up and down the hall slightly to the nearest security camera. "ROB, go ahead and open it."
Aside from the faint sound of an electronic lock releasing, all was silent, as the telepresence-wired robot felt no need to offer a verbal reply to the command. The door hissed open a fraction of a second later due to their presence, and Rourke and Milo quickly peered inside from their positions on either side of the door before heading in, covering the room.
Telemos Fendhausen, their captured Primal pilot, was standing at the transparent, reinforced window of the bedroom, his hands folded behind him and his back facing the room's singular doorway. It was evident by how he'd tensed up that he had recognized their presence, yet he didn't turn around.
"No sudden moves, Primal." Rourke growled out in warning.
Telemos raised and lowered his shoulders with a sigh. "As if I could do anything. I would imagine you have three guns pointed at me to discourage anything foolish, from different angles and positions." At last he turned about, lifting an eyebrow. "Only two guns? I feel as if I've been snubbed." He paused and looked to Dana, who was setting paper plates of food down on the small table in the room, as well as a flimsily constructed plastic water bottle. Nothing which could be turned into a shiv. "You leave nothing to chance. Interesting, though. Judging by the smell, that's a rather savory meal there. I'd expected bread and water, being a prisoner of war. Or perhaps nothing to eat at all."
"You may treat your prisoners that harshly, Telemos, but we don't." Carl explained.
"Hm. I've never seen a prison cell like this either." Telemos folded his arms and motioned with a thumb to the window. "Most aren't big on views."
"We don't have a brig." Rourke snorted. "If we did, we'd have tossed you in there in a heartbeat."
"Really?" Telemos smiled mockingly at the threat, which revealed the puffiness of his eyes. He hadn't gotten much sleep either, it seemed. "For as deadly and feared as this ship is, I find that fact surprising. You Cornerians truly have a curious way of doing things."
"Yeah, keep talking." Milo grumbled, the barrel of his laser pistol never wavering from its aim at the Primal's center of mass. "Piss us off enough and we'll turn you over to the SDF, let their interrogators have a crack at you."
"If you were going to do so, Marksman, you would have already." Telemos rolled his eyes. "It has been hours, and even running under a loose calculation and accounting for your clock and schedule, any other authorities you could have alerted as soon as you had me sequestered away would have been here three hours ago. After all, you're in orbit among one of the worlds my people did not manage to conquer."
"You mean they didn't try." Dana chirped in, glaring at him as she fell back beside Carl, the now empty serving tray tucked under one arm. "And what's with the nicknames? Pale Demon? You call Milo 'The Marksman'? Next you'll tell me that Rourke and I had names as well."
Telemos shrugged. "Not that I can recall. Perhaps you weren't threatening enough." The way that Dana seethed made the Primal smile all the wider, and he kept on talking before anyone else in the room could get in a comeback. "Not that I don't enjoy a bit of verbal jousting with you all…believe me, it's not something that we Primals ordinarily have the time or inclination for…but what exactly are your plans for me?"
"You're a prisoner." Carl told him.
"So it would seem." Telemos shrugged. He walked over to his bed slowly, ignoring the two pistols which tracked his every step, and sat down on the end of it. "And yet I am being kept in quarters which were likely designed for a regular crewmember, being given a rather sizable meal, and I've not been stripped of my clothes."
Carl harrumphed. "You want us to treat you worse?"
"I was expecting it." Telemos stared up at the crutch-equipped vulpine, an appraising glint in his eye. "The absence of it…is unnerving. Perhaps it's all some sort of psychological ploy. You've poisoned the food and you mean to make me lower my guard."
"Says the bastard who has two guns pointed at him." Rourke deadpanned.
"Enough." Carl sighed. "Look. It's been a very long night and I'm sure we all are about equal on the not trusting each other quotient. But you told Rourke and Milo here something when they arrested you early this morning."
"About your sister." Telemos inferred. When Carl blinked, the Primal tilted his head slightly. "I saw your broadcast."
"Ah. Right." Carl rubbed at his forehead. "Were you telling the truth, or just trying to keep them from plugging you?"
"Couldn't it be both?" Telemos inquired plainly. "However, before you go any farther, I have to know…what are you doing to my plane?"
"…Why?" Milo felt the need to ask.
"Because I'm rather fond of it, even if it does give me headaches from time to time." Telemos said, finally frowning at them all. "My Phoenix is more than just a high performance spacefighter. It's a symbol of my pride, and my honor. Something I imagine that you all could never understand."
"Uh huh." Carl stared back at him. The two pilots, one injured and the other a prisoner, stayed unblinking in their poses, waiting for the other to flinch. It was Carl who broke first, impressed with how much fire the defeated, exhausted Primal had left in him. "Well. One of our engineers is looking it over, but I don't think he's ripping it to pieces just yet."
"Hm." Telemos looked up at the ceiling, arms still crossed. He thought it over for a while, then nodded. "She is being held prisoner on the world your people call Titania. Where, exactly, I do not know."
"And how do we know you're telling the truth?" Dana demanded.
"You don't." Telemos said. At their unamused gazes, he shrugged again. "Just being honest. You can't know if I'm telling the truth. This could all be a lie, some elaborate ruse. After all, I am your enemy. A prisoner, yes, but still an enemy. However, if you choose to believe me, then take this as a statement of my claim's veracity. I was given the information by a very devious, self-serving prig of a Geasbreaker who thought to goad me with it to rub additional salt in my wounds. I didn't exactly have time to confirm the report before I left the homeworld, but I don't imagine he was fabricating it. The truth, after all, always hurts worse."
When Carl and his team didn't react, Telemos lifted a hand up and waved them off. "Enough. Unless you plan to torture me to try and prove the truth of my claim, leave me be. I'm hungry, and I need to sleep."
Rourke and Milo exchanged a look, then the two glanced to Carl and nodded. The Flight Commander of the Wild Fox nodded to Telemos in response.
"Don't get too comfortable. Our doctor is going to come in later today to give you an examination."
"Of course." Telemos said, getting up and moving to his food. Without silverware, everything on his plate was designed to be eaten by hand. "I imagine you'll just kick me in the ribs if you need to wake me up."
"Don't tempt me." Rourke warned him. In reverse order, they left Telemos' room; Carl and Dana first, then Milo, and shortly after, Rourke. When they were all back out in the corridor, the door hissed shut and then locked. Only then did the retired sniper and the mercenary holster their weapons.
"Well, that was something." Milo observed laconically.
"You think he was telling the truth?" Dana asked with obvious concern.
Carl leaned against the wall, bracing himself with the crutch. He was getting stronger, but his endurance still needed some work. "I'm not entirely sure. I want to believe him, but…"
"He's not lying." Rourke cut in, ending the bickering. The other three turned and looked at the gray-furred wolf, who was slowly rubbing his chin. "I don't think he's telling us the entire truth, though. Not that I would either in his situation, but whatever he's doing here, I don't think it's sanctioned by his government. Or his military."
"I've been led to believe that they're one and the same." Carl said. He ran a paw through his headfur, breathing out slowly. "Titania."
"Well, we could at least see what the SDF spysats can show us." Milo added diplomatically. "Couldn't hurt."
"It could be a trap." Dana pointed out.
"Maybe." Carl looked to Rourke. "How sure are you?"
"He's worn out, battered, and defeated. His plane is in our custody, and ROB hasn't detected any hidden EMCOM coming from him or his ship. He's on his own. Nobody's coming to rescue him, and if they were, we'd see them coming." Lieutenant O'Donnell shook his head. "All lies get him at this point is a short walk to a firing squad, and he knows it. I'm pretty sure he's telling the truth. At least, he thinks it's the truth. I just wish I knew why he was so keen on risking everything to fly out and tell us that."
"The million credit question." Carl agreed wearily. "And we may never know the answer."
Karristan Naval Penitentiary
20 km west of Corneria City, Corneria
No prison was ever very attractive to stay in, but at least civilian prisons had some amenities. Military prisons, on the other hand, had only the basics, and didn't put much stock in television privileges, much less temperature controls. As a livid Senator Theodore Toad stormed through the corridors of the SDF prison complex beside the warden, the chill in the air caused him to tighten the straps of his coat even more. The prison was situated so that the morning sun barely reached the facility, tucked into the side of a high bluff with much of the complex contained within once natural tunnels extended and shaped for their purposes. The only exercise its inmates got was from the hard labor of turning stones hauled from the outside in into gravel.
"Senator, I hope you understand…" The warden again nervously tried to explain, "…These are unusual circumstances. I was merely following orders. We've kept him out of the general population, though."
"My father is over 90 years old. That he is still capable of running a premier aerospace company is a testament to his sheer stubborn tenacity." The blue-skinned amphibian snapped at the warden, cutting him off. "And for a war hero to be incarcerated in this fashion, to be charged with treason…" He shook his head almost violently, unwilling to finish whatever dark thought he had been entertaining. "Admiral Weyland has overstepped the bounds of his authority, and if it takes every last shred of the political favors I have built up and my seat on the Armed Forces Committee, I am going to see that he burns for this. Take great care, warden, that I do not include your head on a platter as recompense for this debacle."
The contingent of prison guards who were escorting the two animals glanced to one another and said nothing. Their boss was sweating bullets, and the rage in the air was palpable. No sense adding to the fire, as it were.
To the relief of everyone, they finally arrived outside the prison cell in question. Not wasting any time, the warden stepped up to the bars himself and produced an old-fashioned brass key for the old-fashioned lock. Turning the tumblers over, he unlocked the gate and slid the cell door to the side. The senator affixed him with one last dirty look before he went inside.
Slippy Toad, the last living member of Fox McCloud's Starfox Team, lay huddled on the cell's cot with the blankets tucked all around him. Theodore Toad knelt down beside his father's unmoving form and gently shook the fellow's shoulder.
"Dad. Dad, come on. Say something."
A weak groan and an even weaker, phlegmatic cough came in response, and a few moments later, the large bulbous eyes of Slippy Toad slid open. "Tad?" Slippy croaked out.
"Yeah. It's me, dad." Theodore managed a weak smile, and reached for his father's webbed hand. He found it colder than it should have been.
"Come to get me out, have you?" Slippy cracked a weak smile. "I don't think you can. The military's got a stick up its ass this time."
"I'm a senior member of Parliament and you're a Creator-damned war hero. I'll do whatever I want." Theodore squeezed his father's hand, and only the faintest squeeze was returned.
"Not this time." Slippy wheezed. "They took…everyone. If they can kidnap…my people…arrest me…no stopping them." He was fatiguing quickly, and the spark which Theodore had always seen in his father was fading fast.
"Dad?" Theodore shook his father's shoulder again. "Dad, come on. You're scaring me."
"It's all right." Slippy reassured his boy, starting to doze off again. His eyelids were fluttering rapidly. "Just tired. Going to…rest for a while." And then his eyes shut, and his breathing, already shaky, went shallow.
"Dad! Dad, no! Dad!" Theodore screamed. He whirled around on the warden. "You bastard, he's dying! You've killed him putting him in here!"
The warden went pale and turned to his guards. "Get Mr. Toad to the infirmary, now."
Moving quickly, his honor guard pulled up Slippy, cot and all, and took the bed and its occupant out of the cellblock and towards the center of the penitentiary.
Theodore, fuming, watched them cart his father off before he recalled that his own feet worked as well. He started to follow, but the warden's hand gripped at his sleeve, stopping him.
"I had no idea. If we had known, I would have…"
Theodore finally snapped, and with a scream born of fury and frustration, he slammed the stocky warden back up against the iron bars of what had been his father's cell. The wild look in the senator's eyes, combined with the sudden violence, caused the warden's apologetic voice to stutter out and die.
"I am calling my lawyers. I am calling my personal physician, and I am staying here until my father either recovers or dies. And if you dare to say another word to defend yourself, you miserable, sniveling shit…"
Unable to finish the threat, the senator shoved the warden hard against the bars one last time and stormed off. Wincing from the bruises, but more shaken from the power and political weight that Senator Toad could levy against him in revenge if things went pear-shaped, the canine decided to wait where he was for several minutes before following.
Or perhaps, crumpled on the floor, it merely took the warden that long to stop being so afraid of the possible consequences of things to move again.
Cornerian Space Command
Corneria City, Corneria
The holoscreens set up at the Joint Forces Chiefs' conference room were all broadcasting live feeds.
Parliament. The CSC itself. Arspace Dynamics. Pepper Air Base. All were surrounded by angry mobs who hoisted signs with ferocious slogans. For the moment, the demonstrations were peaceful, though each site was surrounded by armed military police in riot gear.
General Kagan hit a button on his remote, and the images faded just as a few of them reverted back to well-dressed news anchors back in the studios. The lynx turned and affixed a grim stare on Admiral Weyland.
"Congratulations, Sam. You just set off a powderkeg." He told the head of the SDF's Naval forces bitterly. "What in the hell were you thinking?"
"Survival." Admiral Weyland said, earning raised eyebrows from Zamrust and Sanderson. The two Forces Chiefs of the Army and Special Force branches didn't offer a vocal response, letting their expressions do the talking for them. Or perhaps they were merely waiting out the argument between Kagan and Weyland, trying to determine which way the wind was blowing. Kagan wouldn't put it past them. When they wanted to, they could be infuriatingly opaque about their opinions until other's positions were known.
"And by survival, I mean both the SDF and our civilization." Weyland elaborated. "We lost the 7th Fleet at the start of this war. We lost the 4th Fleet due to the enemy's gambit. The fact that we have any Arwing Squadrons left on station to protect Corneria and Katina is a miracle, but those ships can't do it alone."
"So you sponsored a military acquisition of Arspace under the Military Appropriations Act to force them to build more Arwings?" Zamrust asked.
The terrier shook his head, his furry ears twitching slightly. "That would hardly do us any good until the newest crop of Arspace-capable pilots graduates from the Academy. I would press them into service now, but their instructors have strongly opposed that move. No. What we need is a new Fleet, and with the shipyards at Macbeth lost to us, we are limited to what we can create for ourselves here on Corneria. If you were wondering where those Arspace engineers and technicians were carted off to, that's where."
"They're at Geddiston?" Sanderson raised his eyebrows.
"The Geddiston Shipyards, yes." Weyland nodded. "Rest assured, they're being well taken care of. It is the Primals that are our enemies. I'm merely having my staff ensure that Arspace's former employees are being put to the best possible use."
"Of course, you realize that most of the protesting is happening because the citizenry see this as a gross misuse of power?" Zamrust pointed out.
"I looked at the alternative." Weyland said flatly. "I much prefer that the animals and the government we swore an oath to defend and protect remain alive…even if they do start calling for our heads. It is not enough to win this war if everything we hold dear, our beliefs about proper government, our rule of the Lylat System, is lost in the process. We had finally won dominance over our home. The Space Pirate menace, the mercenaries, the rebels, we had beaten them all. We must emerge from this not only victorious, but stronger than ever, or else all the chaos we spent decades of blood and treasure to remove will come back. Starfox emboldens that chaos. You know that as well as I. Even now, sympathetic elements flock to their banner." Weyland looked around the table with a strong bitterness.
"General Sanderson, your reservist, Major Boskins, took his tank and his team to fight with them. The 21st Arwing Squadron ignored their redeployment orders to stay with them. Even the 17th and 5th Arwing Squadrons drop everything when Starfox so much as crooks a finger in their direction. The Starfox Protocol flies in the face of proper military leadership, and the only reason that Parliament endorsed General Kagan's poorly thought out emergency directive was because they bend to public opinion like reeds in the wind."
Kagan drummed his fingertips on the table. "Are we up to open insults in session now, Admiral?" He asked in a very low tone.
"We can no longer afford to varnish the truth." The terrier answered.
"The Starfox Protocol made it possible for our forces to win the battle of Sector Y, and to win the ground campaign on Darussia."
"Victories whose results were quickly reversed by Primal counteroffensives."
"And they have been stripped of so many of their toys and troops by now, they've started to turtle up!" Kagan snapped back. "They haven't moved since they lost their Super-Saucerer. Having an active SDF Fleet may work wonders for public morale for the regular military, but in this conflict, the 'tried and true' way of running engagements has been rendered obsolete. We're in a new kind of warfare here, gentlebeings." Kagan said in warning. "Overwhelming force doesn't work on the Primals. Surgical precision does. And the Fleet couldn't deliver that precision. Starfox has."
"Enough." Zamrust rumbled, silencing the argument. "You're arguing in circles around each other. While it may have been overreach on Weyland's part, it is done, and it was done to fast-track our military readiness. The facts remain that we need a Fleet or else we have no means of deploying and supporting our ground forces. Also, the Primals still have a sizable Armada. They may have pulled from other deployments, and those ships may be reassigned to defensive positions over their territorial gains again, but the threat is there. If they were to mass their ships for a strike at Katina or Corneria, there is the very real danger of them wiping out the heart of our remaining production capabilities before we could hail Starfox for help." He raised a paw up to silence Kagan, who was about to speak. "I know that you can reach them instantly via Omega Black frequencies in dire need, and that they can arrive just as instantly with their warp gate drive."
"Portal generator." Kagan corrected with a grumble.
"That being said, we still require a Fleet, and this is the best way to speed that process along. Unpopular as it may be publicly."
"Marvelous. Can we move on?" General Sanderson snarked, twitching his whiskers. "I'm more concerned with winning this war than the eventual ramifications of mercenary troops in regular military service again. The politicians can figure that one out."
"Fine." Kagan was as tired of the argument as anyone else, for the lynx gave his head a shake and moved on to the next item in his list. "While the CSC has kept the news from leaking out, we have a report that a Primal transport emerged from FTL in lunar airspace, with Venomian refugees on board."
"I can verify that." Admiral Weyland nodded quickly. Sanderson and Zamrust were surprised at the news, but held their silence and waited for the dog to explain. "Apparently, a few dozen SDF soldiers and officers who had been stationed on Venom at the start of the war were able to manage a prison break. Security at the Primal's military headquarters was light enough that they were able to make good on their escape. They fought their way to the hangar bays, liberated the Primal transport in question, and beat feet off of the planet. They broke into FTL before the Primals could make chase. BARCAP patrols guided them to Lunar Base for debriefing and medical treatment. They're malnourished, banged up and brutalized, but they're alive. We have ground crews looking over the stolen transport to see if they can make out anything of intelligence value right now."
"That's…rather excellent news. With any luck, we can learn something about the Primal defenses on Venom. Maybe something about their organizational structure." Sanderson was quickly becoming excited about the prospect.
"Of course, Admiral Weyland left out the most interesting part of their escape." General Kagan cut in calmly, earning a sharp glare from the terrier. "They had help."
"…Primal help?" Zamrust inquired, lifting a thick eyebrow.
"Yes." Kagan said, ignoring how Weyland looked off to the side and scoffed. Perhaps the dog had meant to keep that detail hidden, or thought it unimportant. "A Primal who had apparently been imprisoned himself broke free, set our men loose, and then even used a stolen fighter plane to blast apart a Golemech threatening their escape. Without his interference, they would have never broken free. What this means is that the Primals are perhaps…not as united as we once thought. But then, why would they be, when we ourselves are not?" The head of the CSC, and the SDF's vast intelligence network, shook his head. "I guarantee that the Primal leadership is drooling over the schism between the pro and anti-Starfox factions protesting outside this building. I wouldn't put it past them to try something."
"You needn't worry about that." Weyland harrumphed. "We have the 17th stationed at Lunar Base for early warning and BARCAP defenses, and a picket line of our remaining cruisers and frigates in Cornerian and Katina orbit. Typhoon Squadron's keeping an eye on Katina from planetside. We've also begun to implement several orbital weaponized satellites recently launched up, purchased from Corwill. For the moment, we have them in geosynch above Corneria City, but we'll be expanding that coverage. If the Primals try to hit us, they'll find more than one nasty surprise waiting for them."
"Let's hope it's enough." Zamrust mused. "I'm not one for much faith in drone technology."
"It will be." Weyland reassured him, glancing over to see if Kagan would protest further. The lynx wasn't even looking at him, but was instead examining his watch.
They'd be sending the next laserburst transmission to the Wild Fox above Katina soon. A shame he wouldn't be able to fit in the details about this meeting. At least the report about the Primal fighter pilot helping their escaped POWs was included in it, thanks to Commander Pellerton's quick thinking.
Given their earlier mission reports, Kagan thought they'd be intrigued to find out the Primal pilot so obsessed with Terrany was now a runaway traitor himself.
Macbeth Orbit
Primal Command Carrier Ironforger
Praetor Kroff had been in charge of a large task force for all of one day, just long enough for Praetor Goulfax to spring the trap of the Worldbreaker upon the Cornerian Fleet and drive them straight into Kroff's waiting jaws. Now, the Fleet was destroyed, the Worldbreaker was annihilated. But Kroff and his flagship remained.
Starfox was still standing. And the only orders given from Command were simply, yet frustrating: Hold on station, protect his conquered operations area, and await further instructions.
Kroff hated waiting. He was terrible at it. Kroff had earned his reputation as a first strike commander, and to simply hold down the fort went against all his finely honed talents. So, while the Tribunes dithered, Kroff stayed busy the only way he knew how; he planned.
His current mobilization proposal was the most controversial yet. He knew it and understood the risks of presenting this to Command, but given how the fortunes of war had stalled, or perhaps even reversed after their disastrous losses at Sector Y and Katina, he wagered that they would at least consider it. Before, they would have shot it down in a heartbeat.
The Praetor's door chimed, and he grunted in approval. A moment later, his second in command stepped inside and bowed politely. "Praetor. A resupply ship from Macbeth has just docked. Anticipated offloading time should be about four hours."
"Good." Kroff nodded, not bothering to look up. He just kept typing away.
"Sir, permission to ask a question?"
"You mean to ask me what it is I'm working on." The Elite Primal stated. "Come around, have a look. You'll want to familiarize yourself with it."
His subordinate did so, flinching at what he saw. "That's…rather extreme."
"So is the situation." Kroff replied. "Desperation is often the key to allowing plans that would have otherwise never been entertained. And if Command authorizes this…I'll finally be able to fight this war the way I want to."
"But to cause that much damage…"
"A single planet's devastation to spare the rest of this system from the ravages of continual warfare? Statistics, commander. Cold, efficient, statistics." Kroff stopped in his typing and exhaled slowly. "We require a means of draining the fight out of these Cornerians. Of separating Starfox and their ship from their lines of support. This is the fastest way to achieve those ends. And besides, the world will not be dead for forever. This is a tactical strike. A mere fraction of the destructive power that the Worldbreaker wielded. Command always saw the Ancients' superweapon as a symbol of fear, not a permanent weapon. Multiple uses of it were never going to be authorized, even for Goulfax. Now that he is gone, we must find victory elsewhere."
"I see." His Commander finally nodded, if not fully on board with the plan, at least remembering his loyalties. "What do you need me to do, Praetor?"
"Confer with Armada Intelligence. Assuming I am given the go-ahead on this, we will want to make sure that the destruction of their support assets is total."
"Understood." The Commander nodded. "It shall be done." He bowed again and left, but paused halfway across the room. "Oh, Praetor, there was one other thing I wanted to report. It seems that there's some manner of infighting among the Cornerians right now. Something about the balance of power between their regular military and Starfox…which is considered a mercenary unit. Apparently, the regular military has begun kidnapping civilian workers from a company whose loyalty was considered in question."
Kroff snorted, and couldn't help but smile. "The fools. They only make this easier for us."
Wild Fox
Command Conference Room
Captain Hound, Major McCloud, and Lieutenant O'Donnell expected bad news when they were contacted by General Grey for a meeting. Given the lack of their wingmates, and Wyatt representing engineering, it couldn't be a regular sortie.
The XO, who was on the bridge, waved them on in. There they found General Grey already puffing away on his corncob pipe, the fumes being drawn up into the ceiling ventilation via some targeted fan suction; ROB's work, no doubt.
"Come in and have a seat." If there was one thing that Rourke liked about General Grey, it was that he didn't insist on military ceremony, and hadn't during his time as overseer of Project Seraphim. The wolf did so, glancing across the table as Captain Hound pulled a chair out slightly to make it easier for Carl to sit down. The recently promoted flight commander offered a nod in thanks and braced his arms on the cane and the edge of the table as he sat down.
"What's the news, general?" Captain Hound asked.
General Grey shook his head slightly. "First, tell me what the mood on the ship is."
"Bad." Rourke said. "It's the worst down in engineering and the hangar bays, but it's pervasive elsewhere."
"It's something we're trying our best to defuse." Carl spoke up quickly, looking to Captain Hound. "The problems going on back home back at Corneria are worrisome. Eventually, they'll calm down and realize we're all still on the same team."
"You would think that, Carl." Rourke snorted. The other two pilots in the room glanced at him, and the lead pilot of the Starfox team rolled his eyes. "Look. Most of the people on this ship aren't military. They're civilians. Arspace civilians, or specially hired folks who expected to crew and maintain a derelict space station, and have been shoved headfirst into a war on board what may as well be the flagship. Now, their company, their friends, Wyatt's effing grandfather, they've all been either arrested or impressed into service. That's the kind of shit which kept my own grandfather…kept me…fighting on the losing side of the rebellions. If you want everyone to hold paws and hands and stand around in a circle in the cafeteria singing kumbaya, you're going to need to do something drastic which gives a big middle finger to the SDF establishment."
"You're awfully free-spirited with your opinions." Hound observed in a clipped tone.
"I put him on the team for his flying skills and a talent for leadership. Not because he knew how to act at the Academy Ball." Carl cut in. The brown-furred McCloud rubbed at the scalp between his ears with a sigh. "And you're right. Any ideas on what?"
"When I get one, I'll let you know." Rourke muttered, looking to the wall. "I've been a little preoccupied lately."
"And that brings us to today's latest compressed laserburst transmission from General Kagan at the CSC." General Grey calmly changed the subject. He took a moment to knock the ashes out of his pipe into an ashtray, then reached for his datapad. A few quick button presses activated the room's hologlobe, and brought up sensor data from Lunar Base. "It seems that yesterday, a Primal transport dropped out of FTL outside of Corneria's moon. They were intercepted by Raptor Squadron, and provided old, but accurate verbal IF/F codes. A group of SDF prisoners of war managed an escape from the Primal stronghold on Venom."
"Shit, that's some good news."
"As you can imagine, the brass back in Corneria City are all over that. But there was one piece of information which I thought you all might like to know about their escape. They say they had help from a Primal who was breaking out of prison himself. Though they took alternate routes, they ended up in the same hangar bay in the confusion, and the Primal took out a Golemech pursuing them, then flew escort until they escaped the planet's atmosphere." The three officers' ears all perked up with interest, and Grey nodded. "According to them, he told them his name…was Telemos."
"The same bastard we've got locked up in a guest cabin right now." Hound whispered.
General Grey drummed the pads of his forepaw on the table's edge. "What have you learned from him?"
"Aside from claiming that Terrany's alive, he also says she's on Titania." Carl explained.
"Which could be a lie. Or a trap." Hound pointed out reasonably.
"Yeah, I thought that too." Rourke agreed, though his tone indicated he'd changed his mind on it. "But if he was in jail, and if he's turned traitor to help a bunch of our people escape…maybe he's telling the truth after all." He waited for someone to disagree with him, but instead, General Grey motioned for him to continue. A rare show of faith for one of his opinions. "I mean, sure. I suppose the Primals would do this as some sort of deep cover sting operation, but what's in it for him? He's a prisoner, and his ship, which we know is more advanced than the fighters we've gone up against so far, is sitting down in our hold being picked apart by Wyatt with a fine toothed comb. It didn't explode. There's no biological agent being spread around the ship. There's no tracer sending out a signal saying Starfox is here, send the fleet to wipe them out. It's just one pilot we know is obsessed with Terrany, whose actions are so out of the norm for how we expect Primals to act…I think he's on the level. Crazy, yeah, but he's being honest."
"Whether or not he's telling the truth about my sister still being alive, though?" Skip remarked sadly. "I want it to be true. Hell, I know you want it to be the truth as well, Rourke. But they broadcast her execution. We all grieved. What if this is some sick, cruel joke that this Telemos isn't even aware of? What if he only thinks she's still alive when she isn't, and the Primals are working some deep psych operation here?"
"If she's on Titania, we could ask General Kagan to take a peek at it with his spysats." General Grey offered. "I think he owes us after the shit that went down yesterday. He claims that Admiral Weyland acted unilaterally…and for my part, I believe him. That lynx trained under my command, and he can't lie to me."
"And if there's a Primal presence there…" Captain Hound summarized.
"Then we go in there and we get our ace back." Rourke completed the sentence before anyone could offer a contrary opinion. Captain Hound still looked dubious. General Grey had that damn military mask on, hiding whatever he was thinking. And Carl still looked unsure.
That was enough to make Rourke scowl, and point at his CO. "You know what's really funny about this? Everyone assumed that you were dead, Skip. Even I'd written you off as a lost cause. But once Terrany got over the shock of the news, she kept insisting, insisting that you were still alive. And she was right. So enough with the hesitation. Trap or not, we're getting her back."
"We'll see what the spysats tell us." General Grey said, offering no promises or commitment. "Once we have more information, we'll go from there."
Carl glanced between the old general and his hot-headed former second, who he himself had left in command of the Starfox team.
He could see the sparks flaring between their eyes.
Karristan Naval Penitentiary
Infirmary
Evening
It was quiet in the medical quarters of the military prison, save for the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. The aged Slippy Toad had been laid in an overlarge tub that had kept cycling in fresh, warm water. An intravenous drip pooled precious liquids into one arm, but he was still unconscious.
His son, Senator Theodore F. Toad, sat in a chair beside the tub, watching his father with all the worry one might expect under the circumstances, even as fatigue started to get the better of him. Nearby, a male nurse dutifully recorded the latest vital signs into a chart, as the Senator's personal doctor had left for the evening after doing everything possible to help make Slippy more comfortable and to assist in his recovery.
A knock at the door stirred Theodore back to wakefulness, and he glanced up with a sour look on his face. The warden had tried to come in and offer a feeble apology a few hours earlier, and he was just stupid enough to try the stunt again. Theodore might have to chuck something larger than a bedpan this time around for the asshat to get the message that he wasn't wanted.
It wasn't the warden who arrived, but a young female canine mixed breed that the Senator was vaguely familiar with. "Mind if we come in?" She asked politely.
Theodore nodded, pausing right after to do a double take. "We?" He added warily.
The youngish female smiled and came inside, with a young and precocious looking boy trailing behind her. "Theodore, right? You're the President's son. I'm Evelyn Cloudrunner, President Toad's personal secretary. And this is my boy, Tony."
"Ah, right. I think I saw you on Katina when Slippy went to help my son make repairs on that big ship of theirs." He stood up and offered his hand in greeting.
"Right you are, sir." Evelyn came inside and took his hand. "It's good to see you again. I just wish…well. Circumstances."
"Absolutely criminal circumstances." Theodore agreed with a growl. He settled back down a bit later, careful of his youthful audience. The Senator looked at the boy, who was gawking at the unconscious form of his father.
"Hey there." He said to Tony, jerking the pup's attention away from the sight. "Do you know him?"
"Yeah. Sometimes momma can't get a babysitter, so I come and sit in her office. Then Slippy plays with me."
"Really?" Theodore asked amusedly. "What do you play?"
"'Puter games." Tony said. He reached out and laid a paw on the side of the tub. "Is he okay?"
"Well, he's pretty sick." Theodore said. "You ever get sick?"
"I threw up a lot once." The cub offered helpfully. Theodore glanced to his mother, who sheepishly mouthed the words 'stomach flu'.
Theodore nodded at the explanation. "Well, my dad is very sick right now. That's why he's sleeping. He needs to sleep a lot so he can get better. When animals get older, they get tired easily, and it's easier for them to become sick. And when they brought him here, they weren't very nice about it, and he got sick because of it."
"Then they should say sorry." Tony said stubbornly. "When I do sumthin' wrong, momma makes me say sorry."
Theodore laughed a little. If only everything were as simple as it is in a child's mind. "They should, but sometimes adults don't always do what they should."
"Adults are stupid." Tony pouted.
Theodore sighed and rubbed his scalp. "You'll get no argument from me, Tony."
"I wouldn't phrase it in exactly that way." A new female voice came from the doorway. Senator Toad jerked his eyes towards the entrance and blinked at the source, an orange and white feline he was rather familiar with. Senator Winona Clawsfield, a representative two years his junior, the head of the Senate Agriculture Committee, and someone of the opposing political party. She gave him a gentle smile and came in, smoothing the wrinkles out of her blue suit. "I've always thought that adults and children both argue and quibble the same. It's just that adults don't forgive as easily…and tend to use fancier words to cover up their simpler desires."
"Senator Clawsfield." Theodore stood up and nodded stiffly at her. "You were probably the last soul I expected to see coming here."
"I was on a fact-finding tour in the provinces west of Corneria City when I got the news. By the time I got here, I found Miss Cloudrunner and her son in front of the gates of the prison, arguing with the guards."
"They weren't going to let us in, but the Senator convinced them otherwise." Evelyn provided helpfully.
Theodore blinked. "I…thank you for that, Winona."
"Just because you and I sit on opposite sides of the aisle doesn't mean we should forget about decency." She dismissed his gratitude. "Or maybe I have a soft spot for mothers."
"Heh." Theodore rolled his eyes. "So what's the latest from the Senate?"
"They're riled up like you wouldn't believe. Some are demanding a recall of the Joint Forces Chiefs, others are saying your father got exactly what he deserved."
Senator Toad stilled at that, his blue skin taking on a faint glow from the room's ambient lighting. "What do you think?"
Winona shrugged. "Honestly? I don't see all the reports you do. Arspace has commanded untold respect. Your family is a household name. And he's a living legend, one that's risen in popularity since General Grey's motley crew of misfits flew in and saved Corneria City. Arspace has always operated with a lot of secrecy, but I've never felt that it was in any way malicious. In-house protections, certainly, to keep their competitors from stealing innovations, but Slippy ran a tight ship. The impressment of his employees and the charges from the Navy just…seemed to come out of nowhere."
"That's been my thinking." Theodore nodded, relaxing a little. "Would you be offended if I said I was surprised you reached the same conclusion?"
"A bit." Winona countered easily. "Nobody deserves to have their father, someone as old and venerable as yours, dragged out of his place of work and shoved into a hole buried in a mountain. How's he doing?"
"My physician's done all he can for him." Theodore sighed. "It's a nasty bout of pneumonia brought on because of his age, the conditions he was in, and stress. We've got him soaking in a tub of warm water to keep him moisturized, an IV drip of nutrients and the butt-kickingest antibiotics his body can handle, and we're keeping him monitored. He even gave him a Trach-suckout. All we can do now is wait to see if he's got enough energy to bounce back."
"He'll bounce back, Theodore." Winona promised him. "You Toads are stubborn that way."
"Heh." The blue skinned son of Slippy Toad sank back down onto his chair. "I wonder if it's really true, though. I've seen him banged up, but…never as…defeated."
Of everyone who could have offered him solace, it was the young pup, Tony, who showed the initiative to do so. He toddled over from father to son and squeezed Theodore's arm.
"He'll wake up. I gave him a g'wellbracelet."
Theodore looked over, and sure enough, saw that Tony had wrapped a small red elastic band with printed white letters over the first three webbed fingers of his father's hand. He smiled again.
"Every bit helps, Tony."
CSC
Corneria City, Corneria
"General Kagan."
The lynx glanced up from his latest batch of intelligence reports from Papetoon to note the presence of Commander Pellerton. The feline's whiskers twitched as he held out a datapad. "The latest laserburst transmission from Katina just arrived. There's an Eyes Only report from General Grey for you."
Kagan nearly raised his eyebrows at that. Grey didn't usually classify his reports to that degree.
"Bring it over, I'll sign for it." When Pellerton gave Kagan the datapad, he pressed his forefinger to the scanner at the bottom of the device. Technically, he didn't sign for anything; it merely read his fingerprint to authenticate the receipt, but the term had stuck through all the technological developments. "Thanks, Dack."
"No problem, general. I'll sort through the rest of the intel and let you know the highlights. I just thought you might need this immediately."
"Keep this up, you'll be taking over as station chief somewhere important after all this is over." Kagan praised him. "Scoot along on." Pellerton saluted and left his office, and Kagan opened up the file from his old mentor.
He scanned in a few lines, then blinked. No, that can't be right…
He read it again, and confirmed it. "Unbelievable." He muttered.
Grey claimed he had actionable intelligence that Terrany McCloud was still alive. What he needed was confirmation from a second source.
It'd be a great help if you could redirect your spysats to give us a better look at Titania. The team is anxious to charge headlong into the fray, but I need to be sure. Keep this under your hat, write as soon as possible. –Old Dog
After the debacle with Slippy Toad, Arspace, and Admiral Weyland, Kagan knew exactly why Grey was playing this close to the vest. He did have his own questions, specifically about how they came up with the information, but it wouldn't do to call without following up on the lead first.
He stepped out of his office and headed into the CSC War Room. Commander Pellerton noticed his approach and came over.
"I'm not done putting together my outline yet, General, but you're welcome to look at what I have right now."
"Forget about that for now." Kagan brought him to the side and lowered his voice. "Retask our spysat along the Sector X corridor. Get me close-ups of Titania, along with any EMCOM and ship traffic in the region."
"…of course, sir. Might I ask why?" Pellerton inquired. "And what exactly am I looking for?"
"Primal presence. Look for any activity clusters. As to why…it's a personal request."
Pellerton didn't have to think very hard to connect the dots to the Eyes Only message he'd delivered only minutes earlier. "I'll take care of it personally, General."
"Good." Kagan didn't know what to make of the old dog's hunch, but he recalled one lesson his teacher had instilled in him a long time ago, when it came to intelligence reports:
Be thorough.
Wild Fox
Telemos Fendhausen's Quarters
A strange chirping came from a panel on the side of the wall, stirring the imprisoned, yet strangely unharmed Primal out of another one of his small naps. He opened his eyes, but didn't move. It wasn't the door alarm, that much he knew from the day's previous visits from the pilots of Starfox, and one particularly surly doctor who was one of his Cornerian, simian, cousins. His bicep still stung a little from where the doctor had none too kindly taken two vials of blood for 'testing.'
It chirped again and Telemos rolled his eyes. "Whoever is there, if you want to interrogate me, you could at least do me the courtesy of showing up in person."
A crystal clear voice responded. "Yeah, right. Like I'm going to walk into a room with a highly trained Primal pilot. You're not exactly on my list of friends."
Telemos rolled his eyes. "And who are you supposed to be?"
"The Arwings your Armada is so obsessed about? I helped make them."
Telemos considered that for a half second, then sat up and looked in the direction of the voice. A small screen displayed an amphibious face, a little haggard and weary, but with its large bulbous eyes still sharp.
"I must be seeing things." Telemos murmured, blinking twice.
The toad, dressed in a mechanic's jumpsuit, puffed out its cheeks and chuckled slightly. "Nope. I've been staring over your ship since you got here."
Telemos narrowed his eyes. "If you've torn it to pieces, I will be very upset."
"Well, we can't have that. Had a question about it."
Telemos got up and walked over to the tiny screen. "You Cornerians have very strange interrogation techniques."
"What? I'm not…Oh. Right." The amphibian croaked and rolled his eyes. "Your missile bays…There's some kind of odd subspace reading I'm getting from them. Are they…extradimensional storage?"
Telemos blinked. "What would make you think that?"
The toad grinned. "So I was right. Thank you." Telemos started to fume, and the toad went on. "You know, it's one hell of a fighter. Maybe a little overboard on the weapons…not sure if you really need quad laser cannons on top of that monster set between your forked nose fins, but I've never seen the like. I was proud of the Seraph, but your people obviously put some real work into this as well. Though, not all of it at the same time. The extradimensional storage bays are more recent than the chassis."
"…You must be a very skilled engineer to make that assessment." Telemos grumbled, irritated that there was someone aboard the Starfox vessel who could deduce so much in under a day.
"Well, thank you. Runs in the family. Skips a generation, though." The toad's face sobered up then. "But one last thing…This 'Ghost Drive' of yours…just how much have you been using it?"
Telemos shrugged. "Why should it matter?"
"Because we dinked with the tech about 75 years ago…or rather, an enemy of ours did. Of course, he called it a Dimensional Transport system. We ended up scrapping it and going in a different direction, because further research showed that it wasn't safe for biologicals."
Telemos blinked rapidly at that. "Come again?"
"Something about synaptic disruption or nodule growth, leading to altered consciousness, personality changes…maybe insanity. It's more of a long-term problem, but we weren't willing to risk it." The toad stared at the dumbfounded expression Telemos wore. "I guess you Primals don't worry as much about the consequences of that. You've probably had some headaches, right? They don't go away, even with blood dilators?"
Telemos didn't have an answer to that, and the toad winced. "Right. I'll just call Doc Bushtail, let him know that he should give you a full CAT scan and look for irregularities."
"Why do you even care?" The captive Primal rasped. "I am your enemy. The only reason I came was because my own people are traitors to the code, and the only thing I have left is my own pride and honor! If I perish because of my own hubris, for relying on my machine over my own piloting skills in combat, then you should be rejoicing over it! Your greatest threat, the Primal who fought your precious Terrany McCloud to an undecided stalemate, dead!"
"Boy, you really don't know anything about us, do you?" The toad sighed. He reached for a cap and slipped it on his head. "Of course, it's not like we know a whole lot about you, either. Aside from the fact that you're related to the simians of the Lylat System, and that you claim your people came from here."
"This is truth." Telemos snapped off, tiring of the conversation.
"…So why did the Primals ever leave in the first place?" The bothersome amphibian asked, honestly curious.
Telemos stared back for a moment, then walked away from the screen. His obstinancy was rewarded with the click of the intership call ending, and then silence.
He'd said enough.
For ROB, reality existed in more than one frame of reference. There was the perceptions he experienced through his robotic body, but then also there were the perceptions he felt through the Wild Fox. Were he a biological entity, it would have been appropriate to say that what the ship felt, he felt.
However, he did not ascribe feelings to himself, neither did he experience pain. Or joy. Which, upon reflecting for a very long period of a few millisceconds as he scanned the various interior cameras of the ship, was likely a good thing. When the Wild Fox had been crippled at Sector Y with its shields blown out and its upper starboard wing blown clean off right to the strut, being able to experience pain would have been a deleterious condition.
If ROB had been forced to try and put what he felt into words...reality, for him, was more or less operating as a sort of floating consciousness. It was liberating, in some ways, yet at the same time, impersonal. He'd tried, for a few years during his tenure in exile with Krystal aboard the ship, to counteract it by spending less time staying actively linked to the ship's systems, confining his 'self' within the robotic body that he'd been fabricated with all those long years before. It wasn't like there was very much to experience during that time period, after all.
It had been a novel experience, to say the least. But having only Krystal to interact with, it limited the sample size. And then when she had passed, ROB had found the silence very unsettling. It had been unsettling enough that he'd shut down his higher functions and installed a recursive program stasis loop to bring them back online if someone attempted to access the ship's asteroid hangar, through the accepted parameters or otherwise.
Wyatt had, ROB presumed jokingly, referred to it as him "Setting his alarm clock."
But since the arrival of the others, ROB had largely returned to the omnipresent permanent uplink between himself and the ship. With the Primal war, it was a matter of tactical sense, and that was first priority over his experiments.
An inbound signal relayed from Katina's SDF command captured his attention. Filtering it through the Wild Fox's firewalls, he checked it long enough to confirm that it was the anticipated laserburst broadcast from the CSC at Corneria City, Corneria. He reviewed the data for a good second and a half, then allowed it passage to the waiting inbox of General Grey. On afterthought, he ensured that a carbon copy ended up in the care of Major McCloud and Lieutenant O'Donnell. They would likely want to see it. It broke with military protocol, as the message had been marked for General Grey only, but ROB felt it was necessary.
It was good news, after all.
Wild Fox
Conference Room
30 Minutes Later (2200 hours CST)
Major McCloud, Captain Hound, and Lieutenant Hound all received the summons from General Grey to meet in the conference room not long after the military head of the former Project Seraphim received the intel dump. XO Dander and the old dog were both waiting inside when the three came in, and they didn't waste any time on niceties.
"ROB sent the Titania spysat footage to me as well." Major McCloud started off. The General, his mouth half-open, paused and raised an eyebrow.
"Same." Rourke folded his arms.
"Hey, I didn't get anything." Captain Hound protested.
"Well. Nice to know where our ship's robotic helper's loyalties lie." Dander huffed.
"Enough." Grey pulled out his corncob pipe and set it down on the table. "I've had my suspicions about ROB for a while now. Seeing as he hasn't gone robot apocalypse on all of us, I'm willing to put up with his...eccentricities."
"Your faith in me is refreshing." ROB cut into the room's channel. "I merely wished to disseminate the relevant information to all concerned parties."
"ROB, not now, all right?" Rourke sighed. The communicator chirped to silence, and the five officers shared a glance before Rourke waved to Grey. "Go ahead, general."
"Right." Grey cleared his throat and activated the room's holo-emitter. As the lights dimmed, a picture of a rust-red world appeared. "So. Titania."
"The dustbowl of the Lylat System." Carl added.
"Archaeologists have made cursory sweeps of the ruins in the past, but were never able to find any definitive links. Some of the more obscure theories tried linking Titania to the lost civilization of Aquas, but couldn't make it work." General Grey went on. "Suffice it to say, Titania's a desert wasteland, with rust red soil, and a fair amount of latent radiation in the atmosphere. It's not at life-threatening levels, but it's elevated above the norm for the other worlds in the Lylat System."
"Supposedly, Fox McCloud and the team went there on a mission during the Lylat Wars." Captain Hound sounded softly.
"If the story granddad told my pops is accurate, it was to rescue Slippy after they investigated a base in Sector X." Carl smiled, giving his head a small shake. "Too bad we can't call the old wart up and ask him if it's true."
XO Dander cleared his throat. "If you're all done reminiscing..."
"Quite right." Grey fiddled with his datapad, altering the holographic image and spinning the planet around in an accelerated orbit. Red outlines of ships were dotted around it. "As you can see, Titania has a small Primal presence. When the Spysats tasked to get a bead on it zoomed in, they made out one supply ship and two smaller escorts. On the ground, they have more significant assets, located around one of the larger archaeological sites, the Blackwolf ruins." The image zoomed in from orbit to the ground, displaying grainy footage.
"Unfortunately, as there were only long-range spysats available for the sweep, we can't make out exact troop numbers or deployments. Still, Kagan personally handled the analysis, and he pegged their numbers at around 250. On the ground. We can assume, based on our intelligence files of their assets in orbit, that they have another 1200 souls there as well. They have at least two dozen ground vehicles, make unknown. EMCOM chatter indicates that they have cycling patrols and keep in regular communication with their orbital assets, but don't broadcast their purpose over the radio."
"What did the general offer as a suggestion for their presence there?" Major McCloud asked.
"Glad you asked." General Grey grunted. "When I sent him the request, I asked him to keep the reason for it under his hat, but I did make him aware that we'd uncovered some intelligence about Terrany still being alive, and possibly being held on Titania." He looked down to the table. "On reflection, I likely should have kept the reason for the intelligence request blind to him. In his opinion, the Primal presence there was too minimal for a major operation. It seemed more in line with some sort of an excavation, in his estimation."
"That's just him being cautious." Lieutenant O'Donnell drummed his claws on the table. "You wanted evidence that there were actually Primals on Titania, and now we have that evidence. Our Primal prisoner of war is telling the truth."
"Primal presence is not in dispute." Grey sighed. "But our response...that's the issue." He leaned back in his chair. "With the friction aboard the ship right now between the civilian and military assets, it would be good to have a unified response. Believe me, I'm well aware of that. But the last time we raced in blind on a rescue mission, we got jumped by the Primals, and it was only because we got the Wild Fox operational again in such short order that we managed to stave off their reinforcements for a retreat. We got you back in the process, Major, but we lost her. If we go and make the same mistake again, on intelligence provided by an enemy with a rationale we still can't wrap our heads around, we may take worse losses. And going after what's likely a red herring, no less."
"The distress signal that you picked up from Skip's Seraph wasn't a red herring, and neither is this lead!" Rourke snapped. "We have to do this!"
"Easy, lieutenant." Carl told his subordinate in warning.
"The fact is, there are too many unknowns to attempt this operation." Grey went on in a weary tone. "How long would it take them to hail for reinforcements? What is their actual troop presence on the ground? And if Terrany IS there, how in the Creator's name are we supposed to get her out before they decide to kill her just to spite us?" He laid his palms flat on the table. "I'm not giving you this news on a spur of the moment decision. I took some time to think about all our options."
"We've gone in blind on missions before." Rourke kept after it, refusing to stand down from the argument. "Hell, nearly every mission we've gone on has involved the fog of war, or some unknown element! The rescue mission on Aquas? We went there to search for survivors from the 7th Fleet, and we got jumped by a ship left there just to piss with first responders. We went for Venom to disable their hacking of the spysat network, and we ended up in an all out melee with an ace squadron, and the Wild Fox duking it out at three to one odds. Oh, and how about on Darussia? We were just supposed to escort the Landmaster to Major Boskins, and I ended up having to keep the damn thing from cratering, to say nothing of that monstrous anti-air platform we had to take out afterwards."
"And the costs we've suffered at every engagement for running fast and loose?" XO Dander stepped into the squabble with an elevated eyebrow and a cold expression. "Every member of the Starfox Team's been either forced to crash land or bug out of the fight because of damage. Wyatt and his team of engineers, constantly pulling double shifts, running themselves ragged keeping this ship and your Arwings in fighting shape after all the abuse you put them through. Starfox gets results, but you're always overextending yourself. By contrast, the 21st Squadron has kept damage to a minimum since they've come aboard."
"Every minute we sit here arguing about it and not going after her is another minute that Terrany's suffering at their hands!" Rourke screamed, slamming his paws on the table hard enough to rattle it.
Grey, Hound, and Dander all stared at the suddenly hot-headed pilot like he'd grown a second head.
"That's enough of the bluster, O'Donnell." Grey growled. "Your feelings on the matter are quite clear, but I'm not authorizing another half-assed rescue mission. I'm not putting the costs of that on my conscience again. We will move on Titania, but only after we have a much clearer picture of the situation there, both in the skies and on the ground. And we still have other obligations. Starfox may be a mercenary unit that operates freely, but there are still other planets under Primal occupation that we need to take on. Kagan also sent along information from the recent interviews of the escaped SDF members at Lunar Base. The Primals have been operating a full-scale campaign of genocide and simian brainwashing on Venom, and from what we saw on Papetoon, we can expect they're doing the same thing on every other world they've got their grubby mitts on."
"So what are our orders?" Major McCloud inquired, maintaining a professional tone. Rourke whipped his head around and looked to the last soul in the room with incredulity.
"You too, Skip?" He uttered. "I thought you, at least, would back me up."
"I want Terrany to be alive too. And if she is, I want her back. But the general's right, Rourke. We can't play this fast and loose. We could end up losing everything if we did." Carl tapped the side of his leg with his cane to emphasize the point.
"Your orders," Grey announced loudly to end the squabble, "Are to remain on standby. I'll put in another personal request with Kagan at the CSC for more detailed, high-resolution shots of Titania. While we wait for those to develop, I'll work with Major McCloud to build a portfolio of possible targets for Starfox, Growler Squadron, and the Ground Fault to take on next. We will move on Titania, but we're going to take the time to do it right. And that's something that isn't up for negotiation."
"Screw the lot of you." Rourke uttered lowly. He got up from his seat and stormed out of the door. Dander seemed ready to follow, but Skip cut him off, holding out his arm.
"Let him go. He was going to take the news badly. I kind of figured he would, based on the CSC assessment, and how Grey would react to it."
"You predicted my move?" Grey snorted.
Carl had a pained look on his face. "You're SDF, born and raised. It wasn't too hard to see which way you'd blow in the wind."
"And should we be worried about what Rourke is going to do?" Captain Hound asked.
Major Carl McCloud sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. "We'll have a hole in some wall, a weapons discharge sensor alert, or he'll be in the Medical Bay for a broken hand. Depending on the wall."
"I'm not sure I approve of destruction of public property as a means of anger management." General Grey complained.
"It's either that, or he leaves somebody in traction. Take your pick." Carl shrugged. "Give him some time to vent, and he'll be okay. I'm not sure if he'll ever look at us all the same way again, though."
"That's okay, son." Hound comforted his former wingmate. "He owes you a lot. If he ends up hating the rest of us, you'll always be good in his book."
But out on the bridge, the crew watched with a mix of fascination and fear as the pilot in question stomped onto the turbolift and jammed his knuckles into the buttons. When the doors hissed shut and he started his descent, he screamed loud enough to make his own eardrums hurt.
After he got his breath back in him, he started fuming. "Screw all of you. You don't want to save her? I'll do it myself."
"Such an action would be statistically unsound, Lieutenant O'Donnell." ROB spoke up from the turbolift callbox. "One pilot, even one as skilled as yourself, would not be able to retrieve Terrany McCloud from imprisonment and escape before they were destroyed."
"Got any better ideas then, robot?" Rourke fumed loudly.
"I have four better ideas. Of those, there is one which has a high probability of success, but only if implemented rapidly, without prior authorization, and with the understanding that it violates at least five different SDF regulations."
"Yeah?" Rourke stood up a little straighter. He stared up at the tiny camera in the corner of the ceiling. "Never cared about regulations anyways. What else?"
"We will need to hijack two transports, one which is parked in the hangar bay. And you will need to make one more stop along the way."
Rourke paused at that, catching on to ROB's scheme. "...You're serious."
"You did not blink an eye at the thought of grand theft, dereliction of duty, or conduct unbecoming an officer. What is so different about this particular task?"
"Simple, ROB." Rourke eased back and crossed his arms. "I genuinely don't like the bastard."
Telemos Fendhausen's Room
Midnight
The simian doctor had had a rather sour disposition, and his subordinate, the female rabbit who had made a cursory checkup following the numbing conversation with that amphibian engineer hadn't been much better. She had made the attempt at smiling, but Telemos had felt the glare behind it. Had there been a scalpel in her hand instead of the strange brainwave detecting skullcap she'd brought along for the short examination, Telemos had no doubt she would have shoved it through his brainstem. At least Dr. Bushtail, as he called himself, was more honest in his abhorrence. Telemos could appreciate that honesty, even if it was honest hatred. Deception left too much of a foul taste in his mouth now.
He was nearly asleep when the door to his locked cabin hissed open. Telemos sighed and rolled on to his back, staring up at the ceiling of his makeshift prison instead of the entryway.
"You've taken blood from me and scanned my brain. I suppose you need to do a rectal exam next?"
The door closed shut, returning the room to darkness. Telemos strained his ears, wondering why the doctor or his female associate hadn't yet said anything.
It wasn't their footsteps that approached him, though. These were too soft, rehearsed in their practice of stealth. A warrior's footsteps.
Telemos jerked up to see the wolf pilot of the Starfox Team staring at him in the darkness. He held an object lazily down at his side in his grip…a pistol, no doubt.
"You come to kill me in my sleep, Cornerian?" Telemos seethed.
"Lights." Rourke said calmly. The room's illumination brightened steadily in response, moving in slow increments to allow Telemos' eyesight to adjust. Rourke glanced down at his laser pistol for a moment before looking back to the prisoner. "This is just to keep you from getting any funny ideas, Primal."
"I have a name, you know."
"So do I." Rourke countered. "Do you really think we should be using them?"
Telemos considered that grim question before running a hand through his coarse hair. "What are you doing here?"
"…Let's get one thing straight, Primal." Rourke began, stowing his pistol in its hip holster. "I don't like you."
Telemos eyed the weapon, well aware that the wolf could draw it far faster than he could muster an attack. He grunted. "Good. I don't like you either."
Rourke folded his arms, staring hard at him. "About what you said…"
"About the Pale Demon being alive?"
"Would you stake your life on it?" Rourke growled.
Telemos chuckled at that. I already have, you buffoon. "Yes. Yes, I would."
"I thought you might. See, I personally believe you." Rourke nodded. "My bosses, however, they want more evidence. Me? I want to go get her right now."
"Admirable. Do you know what you're going up against?" Telemos asked.
"A supply ship in orbit. Some escorts. Troops on the ground."
"Hnnh. Risky."
"But not impossible."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, that's easy, Primal. I asked you if you were willing to stake your life on it."
"…You want me to go with you?"
"Yes. Heh. I really don't think you have a choice in the matter." Rourke grinned at the stupefied pilot. "Just tell me one thing; If I'm going to trust you to do this…if I'm going to put my life in your hands…her life in your hands…" Rourke stepped closer and leaned in, putting their faces closer together. "…What's in it for you?"
"An honorable death." Telemos explained, feeling the weight of it, and holding it close. That was what his betrayal all boiled down to. Whether he was in his right mind or not…it was what had guided his decision. "Our fight was never concluded. We still do not know who is the better pilot." Telemos narrowed his gaze. "She goaded me with it. And it eats away at me. If I am to die, let it be at her hands, when she is flying in her ship."
"Which got blown up, by the way."
"Then build her another one!" Telemos snapped. "But I will have my honorable death!"
"…You're an idiot." Rourke countered, making Telemos blink rapidly as he recoiled, as surely as if he'd been slapped. "Stop trying to die with honor. That's a stupid waste. Try living with honor."
Telemos blinked some more, tilted his head to the side, and let the remark sink in. "…you have a very strange way of looking at things, Cornerian."
"No stranger than you…Primal." Rourke eased back a few steps and let his arms drop to his sides. "So. Are you in?"
"To rescue her? To…live…for my honor? Yes. I am in."
"You do realize that this may involve you shooting at your own people."
"Not my people." Telemos refuted him. "Not anymore." Whoever Telemos Fendhausen was now…he wasn't Primal. Not by the definition of the Praetorian Code. Not even by the Commandments of the Lord of Flames. The only souls among his people he had any regard for now were his squadmates, and the Grandflight.
But they weren't here now. He was alone, and he would have to act on his own compass.
Rourke nodded, not quite accepting the answer. "Just remember what you came here for. For her. Not them."
"That's all well and good, Starfox, but how exactly were you planning on getting the two of us to Titania? Through my people's defenses? Through your people's defenses? Lest you forget, I'm a prisoner of war, aboard your best ship."
"That's covered." Rourke pulled a small headset out of a pocket and set it in his ear, letting the molded plastic microphone curve around his cheekbone. "ROB. How are we looking?"
"I have set internal security cameras on a loop, and the outer corridor is clear. I advise you to use the service tunnels."
Telemos blinked as Rourke nodded to the response he couldn't hear. "Who are you talking to?"
"The fella who keeps this ship running." Rourke explained. "You may never see him…"
"But I am always watching." The robotic voice of ROB echoed from the room's console speaker. Telemos got out of bed, and Rourke took note of his dress. Still in his full uniform, save for the coat, which was quickly thrown on.
"You Primals don't let your hair down?"
"I never knew my hair was up." Telemos responded, giving Rourke a funny look. When the wolf didn't react, Telemos rolled his eyes. "Never mind."
"If you have the energy to joke, then you must be doing all right." Rourke turned and walked out of the room, and Telemos followed.
Macbeth Orbit
Primal Command Carrier Ironforger
Praetor Kroff was in his quarters, yet still awake. He'd submitted his plan to Command, and now was waiting for the answer. The waiting was the hard part of it. He squeezed a springloaded hand gripper and stared out of his window, looking down upon the manufacturing world that the Cornerians called Macbeth. If there was a jewel in the necklace of their captured worlds, Macbeth was it. With the facilities on planet and the orbiting shipyards, they had secured the means of rebuilding their forces, albeit slowly, and of producing the munitions at a more accelerated rate. The war went on, regardless of the losses on both sides.
He preferred to bring it to a close, and as quickly as possible.
His computer chimed at him, and Kroff brought up the message. With a tense of trepidation, he put in his authorization code, unlocking the missive from Command. He read it slowly, forcing his racing mind to slow down.
With our holy war to reclaim our home star system at a standstill, Primal Command must be willing to entertain unorthodox ideas. That being said, your plan, while it would strike a decisive blow, also carries a significant amount of collateral damage to what we hoped would be an agricultural asset.
If your plan is successful, it will do as you intend, and very likely suck the last bit of resistance out of the Cornerian's normal forces. The survivors will kowtow to save themselves, and perhaps at last, listen to reason and abandon this system as originally ordered. If we are lucky, Starfox will also lose the will the fight on.
The Star Recall Project is still in the construction phase, and our options for retaliation are limited, as subduing the populations of our remaining conquered worlds and keeping them productive is proving to be challenging.
Command grants you tentative authorization to move forward with your plans, and shall contact Shadow Group to arrange for the necessary Missile Cruisers to be retasked to your battle group.
Do not commence your attack until you have finalized the battle plan with Intelligence. We do note that you have proactively begun this process. Your attack will have only one chance, and failure will mean a tightening of their defenses, rendering further moves ineffective. Maximum destruction must be assured.
For the glory of our Lord of Flames.
Praetor Kroff smiled and closed the message after routing an acknowledgement to Command in return. He agreed with Command that this attack was all or nothing.
But it would do what the Worldbreaker could not. Fear alone was not enough to force surrender.
He would take away their will to fight entirely.
Corneria's Moon
Lunar Base
27th Day of the Primal War
0440 Cornerian Standard Time
A blip appeared on the radar screens of Operations Specialist Jackal. She blinked and rubbed at her bleary eyes, quickly coming to as the disturbance pulled her from the monotony of the graveyard shift.
It showed up on the IF/F as a Rondo transport. Bringing up the registry number, she reached for her headset.
"Transport Romeo 8853, this is Lunar Base. We have you on sensors and on approach for Lunar airspace. Please transmit your clearance code."
"Lunar Base, Romeo 8853. Transmitting clearance code now."
The Operations Specialist glanced at a different screen, comparing the clearance code to her file. It matched, but she frowned when she brought up the transport's flight plan.
"Romeo 8853, your clearance code is valid, but your filed flight plan indicates that you are routed for a delivery from McNabb AFB, Katina, to Pepper AFB, Corneria."
"We are experiencing a thruster stabilizer malfunction, and cannot safely perform re-entry. Requesting permission to dock at Lunar Base to make repairs."
The Officer of the Watch came up behind her chair with a frown. "A problem, O.S. Jackal?"
"A transport bound for Corneria says it's experiencing mechanical difficulties and needs to land here for repairs before attempting planetary re-entry." Jackal explained.
The Officer harrumphed and fixed his hat. "That's the third time I've heard of the problem since this war started. SDF Command should really ground the fleet, but they can't afford to."
O.S. Jackal nodded and keyed in her mike again. "Romeo 8853, are you declaring an emergency?"
"No, no need." The pilot of the inbound transport chuckled. "No sense waking up everyone on base. I can put her down safely. Shouldn't take me more than 15 minutes to make repairs."
The Officer of the Watch pulled out his datapad and checked it. "Hm. Only docking bay with enough open space to accommodate that Rondo is Docking Bay 3."
"The one with that Primal transport? You sure?"
"They're not staying long, Jackal. Just message the guards we have on it not to panic."
"Will do, sir." Jackal spoke into her headset again. "Romeo 8853, you are cleared for approach and landing. Taxi to Docking Bay 3 for repairs."
"Roger that, Lunar Base. Thank you. Romeo 8853 out." The radio went silent, and O.S. Jackal hit the base intercom, reaching out to Bay 3.
"Bay 3 security personnel, be advised. We have a Rondo transport with mechanical difficulties preparing to dock there. Sorry for the trouble, but they should be out of your hair in less than an hour."
"So noted. Thanks for the heads up." Came the reply.
The Officer of the Watch returned to his chair in the command station overlooking a scenic lunar landscape, with the blue and green orb of Corneria hanging in the black sky above them. "What I hate most about these unscheduled visits is the paperwork." He sighed.
O.S. Jackal turned away from him and smiled to herself. At least she didn't have that chore to look forward to.
Rondo Transport R-8853
On Approach to Lunar Base
The transport pilot, a Venomian lizard named Corph, keyed his radio microphone off and leaned back into the driver's seat with a miserable look on his face. "Well, that's great. I've just made a false claim, I'm breaking my flight plan, and I'm not even flying the right transport." He looked over to the fellow in the co-pilot's seat and glowered. "You know how much trouble I'm going to get in for this stunt, Rourke?"
Rourke O'Donnell unfolded his arms and set his palms down on his knees. He gave Corph a momentary glance before staring out of the ship's angled canopy. "Not nearly as much as the rest of us are getting into. Relax, Corph. Just tell them I pulled a gun on you."
"You did pull a gun on me!" The lizard yelled back at him.
Rourke laughed a bit at that. "See? You don't even have to lie about that."
"Ugh. You really are crazy, you know that?" Corph complained. "My family is stuck out in the middle of the Cornerian farmlands. I was looking forward to getting a promotion soon, earning enough money that we could maybe move to Corneria City. I'll be lucky if I get to keep my job after this." He looked behind him, his face souring even more. "And what in the Creator's name is that piece of garbage doing with you, anyhow?"
Captain Telemos Fendhausen of the Sixth Noble House of Radiance took the insult with remarkable aplomb from one of the back seats of the transport. "Helping." He said. "Although I would feel safer if you'd given me a gun."
"You're not getting a gun." Rourke dismissed the idea. "Besides, you'll have your hands full getting that Primal transport moving. I just hope they haven't disabled the FTL on it."
"So this is your plan. We just fly into Lunar Base, you all jump out, take out the oodles of guards they've probably got protecting this Primal transport, then you all lah-dee-dah sail off to wherever you hope they're holding Terrany hostage, get past their defenses, land, pull her out of whatever hole they probably have her stuffed in, and get out the same way you came in?"
"See, when you say it, it sounds suicidal." Milo chirped, stepping through the rear hatch that connected the cockpit of the transport with the cargo hold. Like Rourke, he was dressed in a black, unmarked BDU. Unlike Rourke, who only had his laser pistol, he also had an older model projectile sniper rifle slung over one shoulder, and a bandolier of ammunition. "At least when Rourke says it, it sounds better."
Rourke nodded gratefully to the sergeant. "Are you ready for this?"
"Ready as I'm going to be." The veteran soldier told his commanding officer.
"You still remember how to fire that thing?" Rourke asked, motioning to the weapon.
Milo smiled faintly at that. "Like breathing." He answered.
"My Seraph is loaded in the back gantry, and I've finished connecting it up to the Rondo's systems." Dana announced, coming from the back and standing beside Milo. She was dressed in the same black outfit. "I'll be able to remote launch when we need it."
"If we need it, you mean." Milo said. Both Dana and Rourke gave him a look, and the former sniper sighed. "You're right. When."
"There's no going back from this, I hope you all know." Corph reminded them all nervously. "You'll all be wanted criminals after this. Are you sure?"
"They are willing to put their careers on the line to rescue an ally and uphold their honor, lizard." Telemos said, with more force in his voice than he'd had for the entire trip. "You should praise them for that, not condemn them."
"Do I gotta sit here and take this from him? He's one of the enemy!" Corph protested.
"Not this mission." Rourke disagreed. Corph sighed and reached for the engine throttle, bringing it slowly towards idle.
"Final approach. Lemme concentrate."
Rourke meandered back and took a belt of stun grenades from the small crate beside Dana, strapping it around his waist. The four pilots, three Cornerian and one Primal all shared a glance. They saw trepidation, the edginess of adrenaline.
But no hesitation in the cause.
"Here we go, Starfox." Rourke whispered.