Black Skies
Author's Note: I know I've been saying this a lot, but this is one of the last chapters of Lylat! It is the penultimate (second-last) chapter! And with that...I present to you, chapter thirty-four of Black Skies- Lithomania!
...for anyone who abhors Latin, it means rock crazy, literally.
Chapter 34 Lithomania
Staying angry had been easy for some time, and had been as natural as breathing. But now, watching the flickering line of a medical monitor jump and beep with ever-increasing regularity, Fox found himself unable to harbor fury for Krystal- that anger had been born of fear and indecision, dislike for situation he'd been put in.
On the cot, Krystal gave a weak stir- Fox was there almost immediately, coaxing her back down when she tried in vain to push herself into a sitting position. She lay then, content, staring at the ceiling and watching it come slowly into focus.
Abbey turned around in her seat, paws straying from the controls as they were raised at Slippy. "Would you cut that out?" she demanded. "It's getting on my nerves!"
"Hey, hey!" replied the toad, voice indignant. "I'm working here!" Slippy turned back to his console, returning to pressing keys and drawing up maps. A few more minutes passed, until the console let out a loud, piercing, whining chirrup. Abbey exploded, this being the last straw.
"Alright, that's it! Get off the bridge, now!"
"You've got your consoles in Main Engineering," advised Falco as Slippy stalked towards the lift. "Maybe you can do your thing there?"
"Thanks," muttered Slippy, before he jammed the call button with his thumb and stepped into the open car.
"It was a close call," admitted Fox. "Your ship depressurized and you were without oxygen for about a minute and a half. Your core temperature fell about six degrees, and there were a few other things that began to come up. We spent the last few hours reviving you."
Krystal blinked tiredly. "Thank you, though," she whispered, before her eyes closed and she slipped back into darkness. She was asleep.
Fox's eyes strayed to a medical terminal, eyes following the lines of her heartbeat, blood pressure, and metabolism. All were stable.
Fox was leaving the sickbay as Slippy came by, with what amounted to a thunderstorm above his head. Seeing the vulpine, Slippy slowed and turned on his heel.
"How's Krystal?" he asked, eyes darting to the closing door. Fox gave a slow nod and a shrug.
"She's recovering. She just needs rest."
"Good to hear," affirmed the toad. "Well, I'll be in Engineering if you need me," he finished, and with that, he set off back towards Engineering. Fox gave another, tiny shrug, then began his way back to the bridge.
Main Engineering was awash with the beautiful, azure hue cast by the towering antimatter power core, the beating heart of the ship. Lit from within by the swirling of matter and antimatter, lit occasionally by the flash of mutual annihilation, the core powered almost every function on the ship, supplemented by the ten fusion and fission auxiliary power cores situated throughout the ship.
Keys emitted soft tones as they were depressed by able paws, computer diagnostics scrolling off across the screen at high speeds as diagram after diagram, scenario after scenario played out on the screen in colored lines flying across the screen.
Scrolling data rolled on in a relentless march, straining Slippy's eyes as he watched, face illuminated by an azure glow. Every few seconds, a bar would sweep across the screen to refresh the data there, telemetry updating with each meter traveled and other information changing by the minute.
As his numbed brain took in the facts on the screen before him, his mind was wandering elsewhere. Numbers and video captures of previous battles and missions. The strength of the lasers, their powerful engines and lightning maneuvering.
As his mind continued to wander, a single word ran through his mind in a monotonous mantra. Energy...energy...energy.
The answer came to him in a lightning flash of images, sounds, thoughts, and memories.
Fox, taking up Krystal's staff for the first time, blue lightning running down its length.
Krystal's telepathic abilities, scouring Meteos for signs of life.
Krazoa spirits roared from orbit around a crystal and crashed into the stone head of the Krazoa god.
Energy. It all came down to energy. Figures from technical reports on generators and power cores, none of which could provide the aparoids with the energy they had needed to sustain their own civilization, much less invade others.
General Pepper was giving him a briefing on the situation, talking in great detail about the SpellStones. Wondrous artifacts, he'd called them, preventing the energy of the planet's core from ripping it apart.
Only magic could sustain the aparoids. That was their reason for invading Lylat. It was never about Corneria, never about Fortuna. All along, it was about Sauria.
He reached for his terminal and keyed in a sequence. The ship flew into alert status, cautionary read headings swirling at the top of every screen. Force fields rose around the antimatter core, and the shim began to hum as the auxiliary reactors threw themselves into high gear.
"What's the story, Slippy?" asked Fox as Slippy stormed onto the bridge, illuminated and colored a wan shade of orange green by the harsh, flashing red of the emergency lights, affixed to the ceiling at regular intervals. Slippy tossed a key code into the situation projector, and brought up a map of the Lylat System.
"The whole thing was about Sauria. It was always about Sauria," replied Slippy, pointing at the planet in question, the map focusing upon it and expanding the image to fill the projection.
"What? The whole what?" demanded Century, stepping forward to look at the map.
"The Aparoid War, dimwit!" shot back the toad, voice rising. "The only possible source of energy that is large enough to fuel the aparoid machine is that of magic. Cernia had it. So does Sauria."
"You're saying..." whispered Abbey into the horrified silence, voice trailing off as her tone cracked and wavered, fear now thick in her expression.
"They didn't go to Sauria to kill a bunch of dinosaurs," replied Slippy, voice flat. "I've reviewed the data we got from Pigma's core memory. It turns out that there are three strains of aparoids, each attuned to a different magic source. Eliminate the source, and the aparoids dependant on that strain will die off. It also seems," added the toad, voice hardening, "that there is a queen for each of the three strains. One's genetic code has degraded so far, I suspect it has already died out. The second strain was destroyed by us. The third must have been planted on Sauria. I think they knew we would defeat them." He took a breath, preparing to deliver the worst news he had yet.
"I think the entire Homeworld Battle...the Aparoid Invasion...was a decoy."
"How fast, Abbey?" demanded Fox, pacing back and forth near his command chair. Without looking up, the otter gave him the answer.
"Stream factor seven. We try to go faster, we'll explode."
"We'll make it, Fox," assured Peppy, crossing over to Krystal's still-deserted comm station. "I'm sending a call to James and Pigma right now."
As the elderly hare donned the headset, Fox remembered Krystal. His ears drooped as he realized that someone had to break the news. Excusing himself, the vulpine left the bridge.
By the time he returned, with a rather determined vixen in tow, Venom was looming large on the sensors. Fox lost himself in thought for a moment, watching the planet draw closer and closer. He looked over at Krystal and gave a tiny nod. The cerulean vixen knew immediately what Fox wanted, and after helping Peppy from her chair, she sat down and opened an audio channel.
Venom flashed by, a blur of wavering green and clearing yellow. Krystal looked up at the same time that Slippy did.
"I'm detecting ships on the surface moving about- some are readying to go to warp!"
"I got through to Andross," said Krystal, looking at Fox. "He's agreed to help us. The Third Patrol Squadron is out for maintenance, but someone you know will be joining us soon. Andross has battleships on the way."
"Reassuring," remarked the vulpine. His face then turned into a frown. "Who?"
"Buckley O'Reilly."
At that moment, the tiger was prepping his Silverian for launch, moving with only the slightest traces of discomfort. He gave a thumbs-up to the mechanic outside his sealed cockpit- soundlessly, the otter nodded, gave him the same gesture, and moved off.
The Silverian roared from the mouth of the escort carrier Falchion, circling around to a trench of sorts in the ship's hull. The Falchion aligned itself with the Great Fox's warp stream.
Buckley checked his restraints and settled himself, drumming his paws nervously upon the armrests of his seat. He fought to keep unsteady breathing under control, a drop of sweat beading upon his forehead. A technician had told him that the Great Fox was traveling at stream factor seven, and there was only one way to attain that velocity in his fighter.
As a precaution, the tiger flicked a switch he had never touched, controlling the inertial dampeners. His paws moved to his controls as a voice crackled to life over his comm.
"Patrol One, you are ready for warp stream injection. Standing by in t-minus ten..."
"...nine..."
"...eight..."
"...seven..."
"...six..."
"...five..."
"...four, catapult initialization..."
"...two..."
"...one..." Buckley braced himself, sucking in his breath and offering a prayer.
"...zero!" Rippling green tractor beams latched onto the sides of his repaired fighter suddenly flung him forwards. A second set grabbed him- then a third, a fourth, and finally a fifth.
The Falchion blurred out of sight behind him as he fell into a blue-spinning tunnel of light and color. And in the distance, he could just make out the Great Fox.
"Warp stream entry," intoned ROB looking up from a secondary systems console. "Identification tentatively listed as a Silverian-type fighter."
"That'll be Buckley," said Fox, giving a nod. He turned to Abbey. "Slow to stream factor four and open the aft launch bay doors."
"Slowing to factor four," answered Abbey, drawing the warp regulator down until it rested at the indicator for the fourth stream factor."
The Great Fox was drawing near as Buckley's fighter continued forwards at stream factor six. With each passing second, his speed dripped lower, but the Great Fox always slowed to accommodate.
The launch bay was now yawning open before him when his Silverian shuddered and his computer announced his stream factor had fallen to four.
Noticing this, Slippy rapped in a key sequence and turned to Abbey. "Drop our speed by three stream factors."
"Right then..." muttered the otter. A loud, draining hum filled the bridge as power drained from the warp drive. There were some seconds of silence then, before the entire ship shuddered slightly. Slippy looked down at his console.
"We've got him," he announced. Peppy reached up to scratch one ear, turning back to the situation map.
"We're about a quarter of the way there. We'll arrive within about fifteen minutes."
Fox stood up at this, a list compiling itself in his head of what needed to be done. Like lasers from an attacking Arwing, orders flew from his maw at lightning speeds.
"Abbey, arm the weapons and raise shields to full. Polarize the hull plating and put the ship on full alert. Slippy, Falco, get down to the hangar and start prepping the Arwings. Temper the armor again if you have to. Century, ready the Arwing IIIs to be on hot standby. Krystal, Peppy, with me. We need to decide exactly where the aparoids are before we can attack. Come on, people, let's move it!"
Within seconds, the bridge was mostly deserted. Fox looked around for Peppy and Krystal, then gestured for ROB to bring them the last geographical reports of Sauria. The vulpine looked at the surface of the planet, floating serenely before him.
He only wished it could stay that way.
Sparks went rushing from the tip of Falco's armor tool, spattering down onto the armor of the GaleStorm. The hard durasteel glowed a cheery red before fading back to silver, hardening into an impregnable barrier tougher than the hardest diamonds. Working as a pair, they had soon gotten almost every Arwing prepared and the Jet-Lag besides when Fox came over the ship's comm.
"We're about to drop out of warp, guys. Falco, Slippy, I hope you guys are done down there. Get the Arwings prepped for launch- we're going to fly a recon run as soon as we drop out of warp. Fox out!"
Slippy looked over at Falco, then at Krystal's untempered Arwing. "Shoot," he groaned, dropping his armor tool in dismay. "Should we tell Fox?"
Falco was staring up at the speakers from which his friend had sent his message. He shook his feathered head slowly, reaching up to ruffle his headfeathers. "No," he answered. "I figure Foxie's got enough on his mind."
"You'll be joining us, Buckley?" inquired Fox, on a brisk trot down to the launch bay. The tiger gave an absent shrug.
"Wouldn't be here if I wasn't going to," he drawled, stopping short at a fork in the path. "I'll see you in the air."
"Alright. Be careful out there," warned the vulpine, calling back now over his shoulder. "This isn't exactly running a patrol mission."
"That's for sure." Always one for the last word, Buckley sent this comment off at the top of his lungs before stepping onto a lift and shutting the doors, muting Fox's response- if he'd had one.
A piercing klaxon was blaring a regular tone every few seconds, signaling the ship's alert status. All over the ship, airtight doors were sliding shut and locking, indication lights changing from two green lamps to one red and one green, the indicator for a battle lockdown. Shield generators hummed with energy as they projected the maximum amount of energy they were rated to handle into the surrounding void. A faint blue haze of intermittently flashing sparks swept over the hull, leaving the durasteel glowing a faint, residual shade of azure.
Within the ship's hull, an ambient hum grew into a loud, steady drone as electricity flooded into focal laser ports, the director assemblies swiveling about to test for any failures. Magnetic plasma refraction grids snapped on around the streaming plasma cannon cell arrays, projecting their influence beyond the ship so as to attain the desired plasma spread. Interface locks and magnetic containment fields came online, and empty conduits were suddenly filled with blazing plasma, ready at the drop of a hat for the command to fire the main guns.
Plasma sparklers were readied, cylindrical holding canisters filling themselves with a single charge with several others on hot standby. Rows upon rows of ion-detonated mines were arranged neatly beneath the armor, ready to be fired up a long chute and into the battlefield.
The final deployment of the Great Fox's fearsome power came in the form of two sets of rectangular double doors retracting up and down between both sets of wings, just aft of the point-defense turrets. From them extended two pairs of metallic arms, each supporting a large, streamlined shape with one large, imposing engine mounted behind and a sleek, rounded prow at point. These were Polaris missiles, fitted onto the Great Fox at Corneria at a clandestine location. They were warheads of tremendous power, each fully able to defend itself from attack with a smattering of automated, but powerful laser cannons, both two large forward-mounted beasts and arrays of smaller, point-defense guns.
The lift door opened with a soft whoosh, and Abbey gave a nod to ROB as she stepped onto it. For a moment, she hesitated, looking around the room. Its lights were dimmed, no beast inside to need them. ROB would hold the fate of the ship in his claws for as long as they were out there.
For a moment, her thoughts flickered back to the Aparoid War. She had been younger then, but she still well remembered the fear the aparoids could strike into the hearts of many. Death had rubbed shoulders with many of the furs in Lylat, but the Aparoids were something else- harbingers of a twisted non-life after death, an unescapable pit of despair and torment at the hands of the one.
She shuddered, then pressed the button for the hangar. As the lift doors slid shut and the car began to move downwards, she spotted the last of the lights flickering out, the bridge now dark but for the glowing red visor of ROB.
Fox had debated with himself long and hard over the payloads each Arwing would carry with them. There had been no time to appraise Beltino of the situation, and even if he had, there would not be the time for him to retrieve the core memory from its resting place in Corneria Base and reveal its secrets. There would be no easy way out, no self-destruct program. To win this battle, they would have to strike ruthlessly and relentlessly. If even a fragment of the queen escaped, it might live on to bring a new army into Lylat. The being would have to be completely destroyed, or they would die trying.
Choosing between carrying the heavier Nova bombs and the lighter, but more accurate Smart bombs had been a key point in his thoughts. Eventually, however, he decided on the former. Smart bombs had fallen out of fashion early in the Lylat War, and while the new varieties boasted greater ranges and effectiveness, it was still a new technology, and not at all one Fox fully trusted.
Likewise, he had also considered the fitting of plasma weapons on the Arwings. The queen, he knew, was protected most often with anti-laser reflective and dispersive armor. In the end, however, he decided against it- while lasers drew power only from the ship's power core, plasma weapons, while undoubtedly more effective against armor, would draw their ammunition directly from the Arwing's fuel supply, limiting both their offensive capability and their range.
He looked up when he realized Slippy was calling for his name. Huffing and puffing, the toad ran up to Fox, holding a data pad in one hand.
"It's your dad, Fox! He says they've been over the planet, and they haven't found anything!"
Fox shrugged. "Let's see what we can do, then!"
Five Arwings and the custom Jet-Lag roared from the underslung main hangar in brilliant flashes of light and a thunderclap that rolled about unheard behind the hangar force field. The five were joined soon then by a lone Silverian which streaked from the rear hangar, pulled a quick roll, then peeled back and into formation.
"Fox," said Slippy, checking his sensors. "I'm reading a Venomian fleet on sensors. They'll be here within about an hour and a half."
"Sounds about right," said Buckley, nodding his head sagely. "Andross likes his ships prepared for every eventuality, so he'll take his time- less, of course, now- in getting his ships out."
"Fine with me," replied Fox. "Good to know they're coming at all, really." The Arwings continued their lazy orbit around the planet, each ship running detailed scans of the surface underneath.
Falco was the first to spot the three Arwings spinning over the planet's edge. He pressed the button for his comm. "Yo Foxie, looks like pop, Gen, and Pig are here!"
"I can see them now, Falco," replied the vulpine. "Many thanks."
General Pepper, James, and Pigma all coasted past the combined squadron, engines inactive and lights dim. Seconds after, their engines flared brightly, and pulling a Immelman, all three ships landed neatly within the middle of the formation.
"How're you doing, Junior?" asked Pigma, stretching his pudgy arms above his head. Fox gave a nod to that. Pepper extended the same cordial greeting, showing no sign of the emotional drama he'd undergone not long before.
Finally James spoke. "Son," he began, voice strangely awkward. Fox blinked. His father had always been a confident man. Then the older vulpine regained himself.
"Let's kick some tail!"
There were cheers from the group, halted only when Sauria began to come apart beneath them. A huge portion of the surface seemed to heave upwards, spewing debris behind it as it came. Fox could only guess at the tremendous size of each piece, to be visible from orbit. Wrenching itself free from its earthy constraints, the entirety of Dragon Rock was shorn loose from the planet's surface, pulling a colossal mountain of rock beneath it.
In place of the barren, yet habitable surface that had been there seconds ago, a large, twisted inferno of rock and lava, twisted, fiery contrails of molten metals swirling together over this great scab in the earth. Glowing and flickering with an evil light, the gaping aperture seemed now to be a gateway to the eternal hell some cultures believed in.
Fox's eyes narrowed. His brain running fast, a shrewd guess had already formed within his mind. He directed his comment at Pigma. "Are there any shafts or tunnels leading down in from the surface?" The pig shook his head, still wordless from the horrible scene below them. Abruptly, the squadron was forced to race apart to prevent the mass of Dragon Rock from cannoning into their midst. The planetoid swirled out for some time longer, before it was arrested by Sauria's gravity and held in place.
"So the Queen must have gotten in while she was very small," guessed Fox, "while she could have still used the warp pads. Therefore, I see only one way in." There was silence. James, Peppy, and Pepper knew immediately what Fox was planning, but it was several seconds more before Falco, blanching, gave a cry.
"You aren't thinking of going into that mess, are ya, Foxie?"
"Actually, that's exactly what I intend to do," replied the vulpine. His paws tensed over his controls. "After me!" he called, rolling his Arwing sideways and sending it into a plunging dive.
Without a word, the rest of the squadron fell in behind him, flying side by side and vying with one another to enter the molten, hideous hellhole that could be their final resting place.