Backwards, and on Fire
He was comfortably holding second place, when he sensed something was wrong. Runner faltered under him, shuddering. Then an alarm started to wail. It was the fire warning alert. The displays changed, alerting him to an overheat in one of the starboard compartments.
"Oh for fuck's sake." Falco muttered, pulling the fire extinguishing lever by his leg. The engine was still outputting power, unaffected, but the coolant lines on that side were registering a fault. He reduced the engine power, hoping to avoid a full fire. He watched in dismay as two racers passed him in quick succession. He'd been holding on to second up until that point. Swearing to himself he had to make a decision, push and risk more catastrophic damage, or limp home and loose places and points. Fortunately the race was almost over. Behind him, Flying Fox was breathing down his neck, matching him move for move. He grit his beak. He was not going to let that little whelp McCloud pass him, even if it meant burning his engine out. He pushed harder, pulling away from him.
"He's insane." Slippy commented across Star Fox's comm.~
"Can you tell what's wrong?" Peppy asked.
"Probably that coolant line I told him to replace. Don't get too close to him Fox, something might explode."
"Jeez I hope not." Fox said. "Can you reach him and warn him?"~
"Don't need to, he knows."
Fox dropped back from Blue Runner slightly, and kept to his right, effectively blocking the pursing racers from passing either of them. Falco seemed to realise Fox's plan, and kept to the left half of the track. Despite Runner's stricken systems, Fox couldn't pass him, so a brief alliance formed between them. Striking Cobra in sixth pressed at Fox's tail, but they never made any meaningful attempts to pass him. Fox and Falco held this position for the rest of the race, until the final few corners, in which they really started squabbling for fourth. At the line, they crossed for a photo finish.
"Falco held on." Slippy said. "Another few metres and you'd have had him."
"Oh well..." Fox said, powering down his engines. "That was fun though."
Peppy laughed. "You're both in one piece, I'll chalk that one up as a success..."
Fox brought Flying Fox into the hanger. Falco had continued on along a longer stretch of pit lane, winding Blue Runner down more slowly. Fox parked Flying Fox up and shut the engine down, hopping out, taking his helmet off, rubbing his finger into his ear.
"Bleh, makes me so hot."
His fur was slick to his head with sweat. Beside them, Blue Runner limped into the hanger, smelling of smoke, making a slightly wounded noise. A moment or so later its engine whined into silence and Falco jumped out of the cockpit. He threw his helmet into his cot, walked over to his bench and kicked his tool chest, hard.
"Fuck's sake!"
Everyone in the hangar jumped, Peppy visibly wincing at the metalic clang.
"Jeez, calm down." Fox said, watching him. "You got fourth, you're still in contention."
Falco turned round and was about to say something, when two decidedly unwelcome faces appeared at the hanger doors.
"Hey Lombardi!" Simpson shouted. "Enjoy the race?"
Falco's hands balled into fists, but he didn't move.
"Enjoy repairing that mess." McAndrew said, wandering into the hanger with Simpson following close behind. "How 'bout I come and take a look, maybe I can help."
Peppy started to move to get between Falco and them. Falco's hand slid along his workbench and closed around a spanner.
Simpson laughed. "You're wasting your time, Jacob. Can't repair that with string and ducktape."
Falco glared at them, he ground his beak until it made a strange clicking noise. Simpson laughed, looking Falco up and down with a predatory stare.
"Come on Jacob. Lets go." He turned "See you at The Sails, loser!"
Simpson laughed and he and McAndrew walked off up the street.
Falco let out a long breath, put the spanner back and sat down in his cot.
"Ignore them." Fox said. "They're idiots."
Falco didn't answer. He cracked his fingers then rubbed the heal of his hands into his eyes.
"C'mon, lighten up, it won't take that long to do the repairs."
"Go away." Falco said in a low voice.
"Don't be such a sore loser." Fox said with a half-smile. "Didn't you enjoy our little dance?"
"Would you fuck off!" Falco yelled, his voice cracking. "None of this matters for you, does it? You entitled little prick!"
Fox stepped back. Shocked. Peppy and Slippy were both staring at him.
"Can't you mind your own business?"
"Fuck you Falco." Fox said shaking his head, going over to his side of the hanger. Peppy, followed him.
"Do you want me to help you?" Slippy asked, softly.
"No!" Falco took a deep breath and calmed his voice. "Th-Thank you Slippy... but I can manage."
"C'mon Slip, leave him to it." Peppy called.
"Alright... See you later then..." Slippy said, and followed them out.
Despite Peppy's objections, they'd ended up at The Three Sails again. It had won out over more salubrious bars on the basis of location. It was on their way home, and was therefore too convenient to pass up. Slippy had decided not to join them, so Peppy and Fox sat in a corner, nursing a couple of beers. The conversation wasn't flowing that evening. Both were absorbed in their own thoughts, though the silence was comfortable. Peppy was watching a sports game on the TV, more because it was there than because he was interested, when a disturbance and a familiar voice caught his attention. Falco was standing with his back to the bar, squaring up to Simpson, who was surrounded by McAdrew and a couple of his cronies.
"I don't do that." Falco said, his arms folded.
"How bout I take you out the back, can do what I want with you then." Simpson laughed.
Falco scowled and stepped towards them. He was taller than both of them, but outnumbered. He opened his mouth to speak and his vision exploded with sparks. He staggered sideways. Warm liquid ran down the side of his head and onto his shirt. He stood up again, lights still flashing at the edge of his eyes. McAndrew stood opposite him, the broken end of a beer bottle in his hand. Falco stepped forward, his instinct was to strike back, but someone took hold of his arm, and held him. Another body got between him and them, the bouncers were running towards them. The person who had his arm was pulling him away, towards the seating in the corner. He looked across. It was Peppy. He felt himself do a double take, and managed to shake his arm free. Something dripped into his eye, he reached up to wipe it away, and looked at his hand to see it smeared with blood. He groaned. Though he'd shook his arm free, Peppy had managed to guide him to a chair and he sat. With a lot of shouting and swearing, the bouncers pushed Simpson and McAndrew out of the door.
"Here." Peppy said, handing him a piece of pale coloured fabric, which Falco held to his head.
"Bastards." Another familiar voice with a Cornerian accent said succinctly.
Peppy was leaning over him. Fox was stood between them and where Simpson had been, his shoulders back, tail swishing side to side in anger. Falco winced and pulled the fabric away from his head for a moment to look at the damage. It was stained with blood and when he tentatively felt the wound there was no obvious sign of it stopping. He sighed, putting the fabric back. Jasmine came towards him.
"Get lost Lombardi." She said handing him a few notes. "No one's going to be interested in you now."
Falco glanced down at the money in his hand before shoving it in his pocket, getting up. Peppy put his hand out to try to stop him, but missed.
"Where are you going?" Fox said.
Peppy was mid-conversation with someone on a comm on his arm. He seemed to be confirming the address of the bar. Falco waved dismissively, stepped around Fox and headed for the door.
"Hey!" Peppy yelled after him. "You should get that looked at!"
Falco pretended not to hear, and walked out.
Back in the bar, Peppy apologised to the operator on the other end of the comm and hung up.
"I don't think I like this place anymore."
"No, neither do I." Peppy said. He got up, swiped his hand over a device on the table to pay their tab, and pulled his coat on. "Lets go back."
Fox grabbed his jacket, and followed him out. The sun had set since they'd entered the bar. The streets were now dark, a pale white mist was settling, making the streetlights cast a ghostly milky glow. There were a few people moving about, but the chill seemed to have driven most inside. They walked quickly, neither spoke, but both knew their intentions were to catch up with Falco. It didn't take them long. He was weaving along the pavement as though he were drunk, although neither of them could remember seeing him drink anything alcoholic. They walked up behind him. Falco turned and looked at them, on edge, his hands balling into fists, then recognising them he looked ahead again. They fell into step either side of him.
"Piss off." Falco said, a slight slur at the edge of his voice.
Peppy and Fox were momentarily overcome by deafness. Up ahead, at a side alley, they heard footsteps. Falco was immediately on the alert again, as Simpson and McAndrew stepped out. They both seemed somewhat taken aback when they saw Fox and Peppy.
"Hello boys." Peppy said, dryly, in his best scolding parent voice. "Rather cold tonight to be hanging about in an alleyway. Anyone would think you were looking for trouble."
Simpson looked Fox up and down. They were about equal in height, but Fox was younger and fitter.
"Why don't you both fuck off." Peppy said, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "Because I can assure you, I'm armed with more than a bottle."
They took one more look at them, then crossed the street and slunk off into the night. The three of them kept walking.
"Did you bring your sidearm to a bar?" Fox asked a moment later.
"Of course not!" Peppy said with a chuckle. "But they don't know that."
They walked along in silence a bit longer. Finally, Falco spoke. "Well, thanks and stuff... I'm going this way so... bye." He pointed vaguely in the direction of the hangars.
Peppy shook his head. "I really can't let you go on your own with a head injury. You can either come back with us, and I'll try to stick you back together, or I can deliver you to A&E."
Falco sighed. Fox was standing nearby with his arms folded, a look of exasperation on his face, although in his confused state, Falco couldn't quite work out if that was aimed at him or Peppy.
Peppy waited, tapping his foot slightly.
"Fine." Falco said, relenting. It seemed pointless to argue.
Peppy nodded and continued on down the street.
The apartment they led him to was modest by racer standards. A mid-floor unit in a four-story block that overlooked a street filled with small shops and beauty salons. Inside it was clean if dated, the walls were painted that awful yellowy off-white colour that seemed to plague cheap rentals. The TV was on and Slippy was sprawled on a lumpy brown sofa in front of it, a bag of crisps in his lap. He looked up as they walked in.
"You're back early. Oh, hi Falco!" He said.
"Hey Slip." Falco said slowly, a genuine smile on his face.
"What happened to you?" Slippy said, coming over. He tried to look at the wound on Falco's head, but he was so much shorter than him the effect was comical.
"Simpson was still sore I've got more points than him."
"Sit." Peppy said, heading into one of the back rooms Falco assumed was a bedroom.
Slippy went back over to the sofa and moved the crisp wrappers and a discarded tablet to make room for him. Falco sat down next to him. He rested his head back against the sofa. He felt a little queasy now, a feeling that was coming from his head rather than his stomach. He opened his eyes when he heard something being put down on the coffee table in front of him. Slippy was watching him with concern, Peppy was pulling on a pair of blue gloves.
"I think I can glue it." Peppy said. "I'm just a bit worried about sticking your feathers to the wound."
"Just cut them off..." Falco said.
Fox walked back into the room and handed him a glass of water and a packet of painkillers. Falco took them gratefully and swallowed two in one go. His body's immediate reaction was to wretch, it took all his self-control to suppress the urge to reject the water and the drugs. An intense wave of nausea washed over him, and his ears rang. Fox was saying something to Slippy, but he heard it from far away, and all with a metalic ring to it, like a damaged radio. Peppy was stood over him and opening a packet of surgical glue strips, watching him all the time, a slight frown on his face. He pressed his head back against the sofa again, hoping to quell the nausea and silence the ringing in his head. After an intensely unpleasant second or two, his focus cleared a little, and he became aware of Peppy examining his head with surprising gentleness. He supposed given his history, Peppy must have been trained in field medicine. This was a scratch compared to what he must have seen. Falco decided to let Peppy get on with it. He had no fight left in him, and just sat, hoping the painkillers would kick in soon.
"Fox, have you got a shirt he can borrow?"
"No." Fox said. "Have you seen him? He's nearly a foot taller than me."
"Well you're the closest." Peppy said, slightly exasperated. "He can't sit around in that, its soaked in beer and blood."
Fox pouted slightly and went off towards one of the back rooms. "I'll have a look."
Peppy shook his head and turned his attention back to Falco. He pulled his finger away from the glue strip, he'd narrowly avoided sticking himself to Falco's scalp.
"'s Ok... I'll go ssoon." Falco said, he could hear the slur in his own voice. He wasn't totally sure he could stand up, but he said it anyway.
"You'll go nowhere apart from to bed."
Falco grumbled vaguely. Mostly he wished the room would stop spinning, and that the light would be less bright. He sat with his hand over his eyes. Peppy began wiping the blood from the side of his head with a damp cloth, it was a strangely soothing sensation, which eased the throbbing pain. Fox came back, and he was distantly aware they were discussing whose bed he was going to sleep in. Then, Fox was helping him up.
"Come on." He said, irritably, but there was a tenderness in his touch which was at odds with his voice. Falco tried to pull away, but the world slid out from under him, and his weight fell against Fox's shoulder. Fox grunted with surprise but held him. Falco managed to straighten himself a bit, but was painfully aware he couldn't stand up without his help. Fox half guided him into a bedroom with twin beds. He expected Fox to dump him into one of them and disappear, but instead he sat him down on the edge and crouched next to him.
"Take your boots off."
"Ahshaanta." Falco said.
"What?"
Falco tried to bend down to take his boots off, but the world spun away and it was all he could do to suppress the urge to vomit. Fox rolled his eyes and took hold of his boot and yanked it off for him.
"Your feet are weird."
"So's your face." Falco slurred.
Fox smirked slightly, but didn't bother asking Falco if he could take his shirt off himself. His eyes had glazed over and weren't looking at him, or anything. Fox pulled it off and let out an audible gasp, though he doubted if Falco would have heard him. Fox had found a shirt he thought would almost fit. Falco was semi-responsive as Fox pulled it onto him. It was only slightly too short, but it draped massively over his frame. Fox sighed and pushed him to lay down.
"Thank... you..."
Fox nodded. "Get some rest."
Fox walked back into the kitchen and watched as Peppy wrapped a bag of ice in a tea-towel.
Seeing Fox's face, Peppy frowned, "Are you alright?"
"He's thin..."
Peppy tied the towel in a knot. "Avions are supposed to look like that."
They exchanged a glance that said they both knew that wasn't true. Fox looked at the kitchen workbench, on it was a small portable medical unit they used for taking blood tests. The screen indicated it was being used to analyse a sample. Peppy saw him looking and pushed the scanner out of his line of sight.
"Here." Peppy said, handing Fox the ice. He'd expected Fox to object, but instead he turned, and dutifully went back into the bedroom.
He awoke to the sight of an unfamiliar off-white wall. He was warm and comfortable, except for his head, which throbbed painfully. He wasn't sure where he was, but at the same time, he didn't want to move. He lay there for a while, looking at the wall, knowing waking up in a strange place was never good, but unable to summon up the energy to be worried. As he came more fully awake, he remembered the previous night, the memory of McAndrew hitting him was clear, meeting Fox and Peppy a little vague, he'd gone home with them, which explained where he was, but after that there was only a haze of nausea, the feeling of someone touching his face, then nothing. He shifted and turned slightly, confused. On the bedside table there was a partially disassembled micro-computer and a half-eaten tube of sweets. He sat up slowly, sending white light across his eyes for a second. When it faded, he looked around, Fox was laid on his side with his back to him in the bed next-door. His tail was sticking out from under the covers, drooped over the side, twitching occasionally. The steady heavy sound of his breathing told Falco he was still deeply asleep. He guessed he must be in Slippy's bed. Knowing that sent a pang of guilt through him. He got up slowly. He was wearing a shirt that didn't belong to him, and his trousers. This thought sent him back, to his mother scolding him for laying on his bed in his daytime clothes. He winced, his boots were sat neatly at the end of the bed. He bent to pick them up, the movement sent more white light across his eyes. He had to hold onto the bed to steady himself and beat down a wave of nausea. The bedroom door was ajar, he went out quietly and along the hallway, heading for the door.
"Morning."
Falco jumped at the sudden voice. Peppy was sitting on the sofa in the small lounge, nursing a cup of coffee. A few blankets and a pillow were scrunched up around him. Falco sighed. His intention had been to slip away unnoticed.
"There's fresh coffee." Peppy said, getting up.
"I'm fine thanks. I'll go."
Peppy wandered into the hallway, looking him up and down. Falco bent hastily to pull his boots on, a movement he instantly regretted. He heard himself let out a hiss of pain and had to put his hand onto the wall to support himself as the world spun briefly.
"You should stay for breakfast, plenty here. Have a shower if you want, wash off the beer. Slippy and Fox won't be up for hours so it's just us."
"No, I'm fine."
Peppy was leaning casually against the doorframe, watching him, coffee in hand. The smell of it drifted to Falco, it smelt good.
"So, you're living in the hanger then." Peppy said, conversationally.
Anger and shame flashed through Falco in equal measure. It stung worse than his head.
"You're a nosey little man." Falco said crossly, pulling his jacket on. "You'd do well to keep out of other people's lives."
"And let them get bottled in the street?"
Falco snorted dismissively "I know how to look after myself."
Falco tried to go out the door but Peppy grabbed his arm. Falco swung round at the touch, and went to punch Peppy. Peppy caught his wrist, and held it, tight enough to let Falco know he was in total control of the situation, but not enough to be painful. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Peppy absolutely calm, Falco with a mixture of anger and panic. Peppy let go of Falco's wrist, and he let his hand drop to his side.
"I am trying to help you."
"Don't."
With that, Falco walked out the door.
It was several days before they returned to the hangar. But for Flying Fox's continued presence, Falco would have been afraid they'd moved out to a new base. He hadn't meant to try to punch Peppy, it had been an instinctual reaction. The thought of what would have happened had Peppy not stopped him was a constant source of anxiety which went round and round in his mind. Falco thought he might have died of shame, if Peppy hadn't flattened him before he got the chance. They had been trying to help him, an act of mercy he didn't deserve and he'd repaid them by attacking the one who had instigated it all. The thought of what might have happened with Simpson and McAndrew had they not been there was something he preferred not to think about. So it was that when they arrived on the Thursday morning, he was relieved to see them.
"Morning Falco!" Slippy called, cheerful as always.
Falco walked out from behind Runner. He'd finished his repairs, and was running diagnostics ready for a test lap later that day.
"Hey guys." Falco said, smiling a little uneasily. "Was beginning to think you'd abandoned me."
Fox and Slippy laughed and headed off to their side of the hanger to work on Flying Fox, Peppy came over to him. Falco found himself uneasy in Peppy's presence, scared perhaps of the dressing down he deserved. But Peppy for his part, seemed to hold no ill will towards him. His smile was genuine.
"How's the head?" Peppy asked.
"Still sore."
"Can I look?"
Falco sat down on Runner's wing so that he no-longer towered above the older man. "I guess so."
Peppy stood next to him, and gently parted the feathers around the wound. The kindness in that touch instead of being comforting, made Falco feel like he was sinking into a dark hole he couldn't quite explain. "Looks alright. Any headaches, memory loss, all that good stuff?"
Falco sighed. "I don't remember anything between getting in your apartment door and waking up in the morning. Does that count?"
"I'd have said so." Peppy said with a slight smile.
Falco sighed. "I'm... sorry."
Peppy made a confused noise. "Huh?"
"For trying to punch you."
Peppy laughed. "Oh you remember that bit then? Don't worry, I should have known better. I knew exactly what was going to happen the moment I touched you. I'm sorry if I frightened you."
Falco didn't say anything, just looked at the floor.
"Don't worry Falco, you're not the first guy that's tried to punch me, and you definitely won't be the last. I have one of those faces." Cautiously, he reached out, and gave Falco's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You should be really careful if you race on Saturday. Your reactions might not be what they usually are."
Falco nodded. "Yeah, I nearly lost it on a practice lap."
"Can you withdraw from this one?"
"Not really, I haven't got a reserve pilot. I'll be alright by Saturday."
Peppy briefly toyed with the idea of offering to fly Runner for him, but thought better of trying to race an unfamiliar rust-bucket. His Arwing wasn't new anymore, but he at least knew its quirks.
"Well, promise me you'll be careful, ok?"
Falco looked up at him, an expression on his face Peppy couldn't figure out, and nodded. "I promise."
Team Star Fox were disturbed from a discussion about the relative merits of spaghetti bolognaise verses lasagne when Runner's engine whined into life and the ship rose off the ground.
"Where's he going?" Peppy asked, watching as Runner flew out of the hanger.
"We can ask him." Slippy said. "He gave me his comm codes." Slippy wandered over to the team computer and added Runner to their communications. "Hey Falco, whatcha doing?"
Out on the run up to the track, Runner lurched to one side. "Jeez Slip' you gave me a fright."
Falco reached the course, surged Runner's engines and powered into the first corner.
"How many laps you planning to do?" Peppy's voice. "Don't overdo it with your head."
"It'll be getting dark soon." Slippy added.
"Most of this course is under cover, its actually easier now there's no sun glare." Falco said, gunning the ship along a relatively straight tunnel. Even so, he made sure that all of Runner's external lights were on. He was alone on the course for now but it might not stay that way.
"Can't this wait until morning?" Peppy said.
"Jeez do you guys always talk so much? You're really distracting."
Slippy and Peppy looked at each other, they didn't say anything else, but Slippy brought up the displays to monitor Falco's progress. Fox wandered over to watch too, keen to pick up any insights into the course. Falco completed his first lap without incident, then as he drew into the last quarter of the course on the second lap, he came out of a corner too fast, and misjudged something, Runner lurched from a sudden control input, and one of its wings skimmed the barriers with centimetres to spare.
"That's enough now." Peppy said.
"Yeah you might be right." Falco said, and Runner's engines visibly powered down, and Falco headed for the pits.
The cockpit hissed slightly and opened, but Falco remained sitting where he was, rubbing his face. His head hurt and he felt slightly motion sick, which was almost unheard of for him. He sat for a while until it settled. When he looked up he realised Peppy was standing on the ladder at the side of Runner, peering in at him.
"You ok?"
"Yeah. Tired." He said and stood up.
Peppy got down and Falco climbed out behind him.
"You wanna come to ours for dinner?"
Falco sighed "I'd like to, but I can't, I have to work."
"Runner's ready to go, what do you still need to do?" Fox asked, wandering over with Slippy trotting at his side.
Falco gestured vaguely. "Just some stuff."
Peppy was frowning, silent, sucking on his bottom lip a little, making his top teeth stick out.
"Any tips on the course?" Fox asked.
Falco rubbed his face wearily. "It's not too bad. The camber on turn twelve is steeper than it looks, if the simulator hasn't replicated it properly, which it might not have, you could end up swinging out of it into the next bend, its subtle but it's enough to throw you off." He rubbed the heal of his hands into his eyes, trying to clear the ache in his head. "There's a fucking great hole in the track after turn six. It shouldn't affect you but if you're following someone close it might create weird wake turbulence, just be prepared for that. It's a longer course too, more to remember. The last couple of corners you can take fast, but watch you don't get carried away and burn your boost out. Corneria Canix were shooting sparks out of their back end on a practice lap earlier, engine got too hot and set something alight."
"Flying Fox is designed to cancel the boost before it gets that bad." Slippy said.
Falco managed a half smile. "So was Canix"
Slippy frowned. "I'll dial the boost back."
"Thanks Falco." Peppy said. "You sure you don't want to come to dinner?"
"No, I can't." He sighed. "I don't think I'd be much company anyway." He watched as Fox and Slippy wandered off. "Peppy... have you got any painkillers? I've run out."
Peppy sighed. "Not with me, but I have some at home."
"Don't worry, thought I'd ask on the off chance. See you tomorrow."
Peppy looked as though he was going to say something then just smiled wearily. "Goodnight Falco." He said, and followed the others out.
"Oh stars. Again?" Peppy said by way of greeting the next day.
Falco was sat on the side of his cot, nursing a black coffee. He looked up at Peppy's voice. One side of his beak was darkly bruised.
"Spose you're going to tell me you fell over." Peppy said, holding out a bottle of painkillers.
Falco took them and went back to staring at his coffee. "Yeah let's say that."
"Onto someone's fist?"
Falco didn't respond, just remained looking at his drink. Slippy, who had been observing all this quietly, sat down on the cot next to Falco, and hugged him. Falco's first reaction was to freeze. Then, he let out a deep sigh and relaxed. He let his head fall onto Slippy's. He wanted to sob. It took all his self-control not to. It was the first hug since Katt had left. He heard himself let out half a low groan, which he strangled back down into his chest. Wordlessly, Slippy offered Falco a boiled sweet from his pocket. Falco took it, and they just sat. Shaking his head, Peppy walked away.
"He's done this to himself, Peppy." Fox said wearily when Peppy joined him outside the hanger.
"I know." Peppy said.
"He's chosen this life. There's always a choice."
"Yes, Fox. But sometimes the choice is between a bad option and a worse one."
"We can't help him if he doesn't want us to." Fox said. "He doesn't want our help."
"That doesn't mean he doesn't need it."
Falco was soldering a circuit board when Peppy came over to him. It was fiddly work and he was finding it hard to concentrate.
"Hey, I'm going up the shop to buy lunch, you wanna come?"
Falco put the soldering iron down and switched it off. He'd already burned his fingers twice. He needed a break. Maybe some fresh air would improve things.
"Yeah sure, I need some milk anyway."
"C'mon then."
Outside the sun was shining, but the air was cold. Falco was wearing the coat Slippy had bought for him. The fleece lining was almost too warm. It was a luxury which made his day better each time he put it on. He and Peppy walked through the yard in silence. A few of the hangers were open, Peppy glanced into those that were, most had teams of half a dozen people lounging about or working on their ships. Music echoed out from a few of them. As they walked along the edge of the track where the three of them had leaned over the railings on their first day on Karasa, a racer roared past.
"Tsk. Swallow still need to tune up that engine. You can hear the exhaust manifold rattling."
Peppy raised a brow. "You can hear that just from it going past?"
"Mmhmm, but only because it's a redesigned Chimera, it's from the same manufacturer as Blue Runner, a lot of the basic design is identical." He laughed slightly. "Just a little newer."
"So, did you redesign Runner."
Falco nodded. "Yeah, but design is a bit too grand a word. Bodged it till it worked would be a better description. I tried things, saw if they worked and took them off again if they didn't. I mean I'd love a shiny new ship, but I'm reasonably happy with Runner now."
They headed out of the racers yard and down the street towards the supermarket. A discarded bottle rolled up along the road, blown by the wind.
"How much did you need to do to her?"
"She'd had some sort of massive engine fire when I got her, but that suited me, her flight engine was no-use in a racer anyway, so I took it out, the g-diffuser too-"
"You race without a g-diffuser?"
"Sure. Runner can't produce anything that's outside of my tolerance. I mean it would be nice to install one, but you can't get one of those and have much change from three quarters of a million credits- least not for one that isn't liable to explode, so I just do without. It's not like I'm going to be doing barrel rolls in Runner. Well, if I am something's gone seriously wrong."
Peppy raised a brow, impressed. In an Arwing, the g-diffuser stopped their organs turning into soup on some of the tighter manoeuvres, on high gravity low atmosphere planets it compensated for the lack of lift, but most of the time it just made life more comfortable. Falco stepped behind Peppy to allow a family to pass them on the narrow pavement.
"I think I'm just built for this stuff." Falco added as they went into the shop.
"Avions certainly do well at the academy." Peppy said, distracted by looking at the shelves.
"If they get there." Falco said, a slightly resentful note in his voice.
Peppy realised abruptly that they'd stumbled down a path that required more of his attention than idle chatter, when he looked up though, Falco had disappeared down one of the aisles. Peppy frowned, sandwich in hand, beset by the feeling he'd missed an important opportunity. He sighed, picked out food for the three of them, and looked around. Falco's head was visible over the top of the shelves as he took milk out of one of the chiller cabinets. He headed towards the tills.
"You not buying lunch?" Peppy asked. Falco's hands were empty, but for a small bottle of milk.
"I have food at the hanger."
Peppy sighed. As they walked down an aisle he picked up an extra sharing bag of crisps and some sweets. Falco waited for him, and let Peppy get in the queue before him.
"You sure you don't want anything?"
Falco didn't answer him. At the till Peppy paid for his stuff with his biochip and Falco presented his meagre pint of milk. He dug in his pockets and pulled out a crumpled 100 credit note. Peppy raised a brow but didn't comment. It was so rare to see cash. These days anyone who used it was typically up to something illegal. Amazingly, the automated machine was set up for it, Falco smoothed out the note and fed it into the slot, the machine clunked and spat back some change and they went out.
Falco led them back along a slightly different route, away from the track, where there were now a couple of racers running practice laps, the noise of which echoed off the low buildings.
"Falco." Peppy said
"Mmh?"
"Who did that to you?"
"It doesn't matter."
Peppy didn't say anything, but he stopped, and looked at him, waiting for an answer.
Falco stopped with him and frowned slightly, glancing across at him. "He didn't mean to. I wasn't paying attention and he elbowed me in the face. It looks a lot worse than it is."
"And who is he?" Peppy knew he was in 'nosey little man' territory again, but while he expected he knew exactly where Falco's various mysterious injuries came from, he wanted Falco to know he'd noticed.
"His name's Riley." Falco said after a silence which stretched for long enough to indicate the words of his answer were chosen carefully. "He's just some guy I see occasionally. He got a bit carried away. I'm usually quick enough to avoid things but," He shrugged. "Just not as sharp as usual right now."
"You should try and be a bit more careful." Peppy said, starting walking again. He was aware he was skirting round the issue, but equally sure that now wasn't the right moment to address it directly. "You've already got a head injury; you shouldn't be doing anything to make it worse."
Falco didn't respond, the opportunity to ask for help dangled in the air, but he didn't take it. They walked the rest of the way to the hangar in silence.
The morning of the race, Peppy walked in to the hanger early. He found Falco sat on Runner's wing, waiting for the ship to run through some pre-flight self-checks. He was dressed in his race gear, the flame proof jacket and trousers that were supposed to be tight fitting but weren't.
"Morning." Peppy said.
"Kettle's just boiled."
Peppy made himself a coffee. There was a loaf of bread out on the worktop, and a toaster he'd not seen before. "Pre-race breakfast?"
"Something like that, help yourself if you want some, there's jam in the top cupboard."
Peppy put some bread in the toaster. "I left Fox and Slippy at the burger van."
Falco smiled and looked across at him. "Didn't they learn their lesson the last time?"
"Apparently not." Peppy said, finding a knife and spreading strawberry jam on the toast. Not finding a plate he wandered over to Falco, holding it carefully, trying not to get jam on his fingers. Falco shifted a little to give Peppy more room, and he sat down next to him.
"How you feeling?" Peppy asked.
Falco picked absently at his toast, pulling it apart with his fingers. He'd hoped it would ease the queasy feeling in his stomach, but what little he'd managed to force down wasn't helping.
"Alright."
Peppy gave him a look that indicated he knew he wasn't being entirely honest and crunched on his toast.
"Tired, all the time." Falco said eventually. "No matter how much I sleep."
Peppy eyed the mostly untouched toast. "Nauseous too?"
"A bit, I guess."
"Visual disturbance?"
"Not anymore."
"Are you well enough for this?"
Falco got up, took his plate over to the kitchen and binned the leftover toast. "I have no choice."
"There's always a choice Falco. Dying on the course is the only thing that would change that."
Falco cast him a slightly contemptuous scowl. "This is a game for you guys. That's fine." He said, a hard edge to his voice. "But it's my job. It doesn't come with sick pay. If I miss a race, I'll drop so far down the table the rest of the season becomes pointless. I if I don't race, I don't eat or pay rent."
He walked back over to him and picked up his flight helmet, which was sat on Runner's wing, and pulled it on.
"There are services to help-" Peppy began.
"No." Falco said, cutting him off, his flight helmet hid the expressive parts of his face, but his body language was all anger and defence. "There aren't. This shithole isn't Corneria. There's no money here. If you don't work, you die. If you get sick and can't pay, you die."
"This is Federation territory, there are universal-"
"The Federation doesn't give a shit." Falco turned and headed for Runner's cockpit. Peppy followed him. Falco put one foot onto the ladder to climb aboard, and sighed heavily. "Tell Slippy Fox needs a good adaptive light visor in his helmet, if you can get one, the sun is low in the sky and coming in and out of the tunnels might blind him long enough to fuck him up."
Peppy nodded, something at a loss. Falco climbed into the cabin, his hands ran over the controls, and the engine kicked into life. Just before the cockpit closed, Peppy swung up the side of the ship and peered in at him.
"You promised me you'd be careful."
With his helmet on, Falco's expression was impossible to read. His hand hovered over the button to close the canopy. The engine rumbled.
"Get down." He said, barely audible over the engine noise.
Peppy sighed and jumped from Runner's side. Falco waited until he was clear of the wings, before he took the ship out.
Flying Fox cruised up to the starting line and took position on the grid. It was a bright warm day. Blue Runner was directly in front of him, its engine exhausts glowing faintly. The narrow twin blue tailfins made it look a little like an Arwing, but not quite as much as Flying Fox did. He watched as the control surfaces dipped in turn as Falco ran a final check. Fox didn't follow suit, Slippy had already triple checked everything, and was monitoring all of the ship's systems from the hanger.
"Good luck Fox." Slippy said.
"Thanks."
"Be safe." Peppy said.~
Fox didn't answer. The timer ticked down. The last few ships took their places. Striking Cobra whined into place beside him, its black bronze coloured hull glinting in the sunlight. The ship sat low to the ground, all smooth edges. The dark cockpit managed to look like a sinister eye. Where Flying Fox and Blue Runner were undoubtably mechanical, Striking Cobra seemed to convey an organic a predatory air. Fox shook his head and looked back at the track. He'd take an Arwing any day.
The race was incredibly fast. Easy on paper, the speed at which the pilots insisted on taking it put any thoughts of a simpler day to the back of Fox's mind. They only had to do three laps, but this was by far the longest course of the season. He kept getting the order of the corners confused. He was sat in eighth place, frustratingly middle of the table. Striking Cobra sat in seventh. Blue Runner was far enough ahead that he couldn't see it.
"Slippy, can you give me any extra boost?" Fox said.~
On each straight he got tantalisingly close to passing Cobra, but at the corners, its low profile gave it an advantage, and Simpson out manoeuvred him.
"No." Slippy said. "Your engine is already running quite hot-"
In the background, Fox heard Peppy swear.
"What?" Fox said, alarmed as he swung into a long-left hand bend. He half expected to come out of the corner into the hail of shrapnel that accompanied a bad crash. A second later the track took them into the city, the skyscrapers either side blocked out the light. There was no crash.
"Sorry." Peppy said, "Ignore me."
"Blue Runner's having issues." Slippy supplied. "Keep at it, Fox, the integers are starting to get longer, the race is slowing a bit, that'll work for you."
Fox flicked the thumb switch to change his data screens. As he watched the blue hawk icon that represented Blue Runner dropped from second to fifth. They crossed the start line and swung into the second lap. The course took him up a long straight, following the path of the river, then dipped into a tunnel. Fox's visor adapted to the changing light conditions almost instantaneously, keeping the flickering light from distracting or blinding him. At Falco's advice, Slippy had updated something in his helmet at the last moment, and he was intensely grateful for it. Up ahead, Cobra and Canix were fighting over sixth and seventh place. He watched them, but was unable to close the gap. They boosted out of the tunnel, emerging on the other side of the river, again his visor adapted to the change. For a while they raced through a wide park, trees whipped past either side, instead of buildings, then they plunged back under cover. Fox chased Cobra and Canix, as fast as his engine would carry him, but was unable to close the gap. Behind him, Fang the racer belonging to the Veterans of Huskey and Bulldog Squadron, stuck close, but not quite close enough to give him any real worries. They swung back round into the wide left-hand bend that took them back into the city, and Blue Runner came into view. Fox thought that strange. They weren't doing a fast-enough pace to be catching him. Then, as they flashed out from the buildings into the sunshine again, crossing the start line to go into the last lap, Canix and Cobra parted, and overtook him, one on each side.
"What's going on?" Fox said, mostly to himself.
"I dunno." Slippy said. "Runner doesn't look damaged-"
"Eyes on the course Fox." Peppy said. "Pay attention to what you're doing."~
Blue Runner was now directly in front of him. They cruised along the straights and Fox came tantalisingly close to passing him, then on the corners he'd pull away.
"Shit! Fox be careful, Dagger's just wiped out on the ninth corner, as you come out of the tunnel."
"Confirmed." Fox said. As he watched his display, the white dagger emblem that represented the ship blinked out, and his rank clicked from eighth to seventh. "Are they ok?"
"Looks it, but the ship is still on the course, on the right as you come out, be prepared."
"Got it." Fox said as he entered the tunnel.
Blue Runner ahead of him swung along the course, keeping central, Fox pulled Flying Fox to the left, to allow himself to pass the crash. Without the team updates, Falco would probably know Dagger was out, but have no idea where. Then as they neared the tunnel exit, warning lights in the top of the course flicked on, and Runner shifted left, and they both passed the crash unharmed. Relieved they pushed on. Then, with about half a lap left Runner drifted slightly off the racing line, taking the corner wider than it needed to. Fox gunned his boost and managed to slip past on the inside.
"Haha! Gotcha Feathers!" He yelled, even though Falco wasn't on the comm to hear him.
"Whoohoo!" Slippy said. "Try and catch Cobra!"
"Nicely done Fox." Peppy said. "Keep it up."
Fox shot off to the tunnel that led under the river, Blue Runner pursued, but was dropping back a little on each corner. They skimmed through the parkland, the large trees casting green shadows over the track, then they dipped back under the river, into the city, and crossed the finish line. Flying Fox took sixth, and Blue Runner held off Fang just long enough to take seventh.
Back in the hanger, Peppy breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
"What happened?" Slippy said.
They were sat in the corner of the hanger, in the section designed for race teams to monitor their pilots and the status of their ships. Of the half a dozen monitors, one had been switched over to follow Runner instead.
Peppy didn't need to ask what he meant. "He's sick." He said with a dismissive hand gesture.
"Why did you let him race?"
Peppy let out a loud barking laugh. "He's not on our team. I can't stop him!"
Slippy frowned, opening his mouth to say something, but at that moment Blue Runner returned to the hanger and Flying Fox followed it in. Both ships shut their engines down in sync. Fox jumped out of Flying Fox, fist pumping the air. He high-fived Slippy. Fox trotted over to Blue Runner as its cockpit popped open and Falco scrambled to his feet.
"Woohoo! Suck that Feathers! I finally beat you!"
Falco dropped down to the floor. "Good job, Furball." He mumbled, not really looking at him. He pulled his helmet off, his feathers were plastered to his head with sweat. "Ugh. That was a pile of steaming donkey shit." He said and stumbled across the hanger to the bathroom and shut the door.
"Ok in there?" Peppy called a while later.
Falco sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. White lights flashed behind his vision and the world spun slightly. His ears rang. He felt hot and sick, but there was nothing in his stomach to bring up but bile. He rubbed sweaty tears from his face. Trying to get his voice to sound normal. He wretched a bit.
"Yeah."
"I need to piss." Fox called.
Falco hauled himself to his feet, holding onto the wall for support. He wiped his face and unlocked the door. He went out and Fox shoved past him.
"You look like death." Peppy said.
~Falco screwed his strength together enough to be able to walk over to his cot and sit in it. Peppy followed him, he was tempted to say I told you so, lecture about not racing with head injuries, being more careful, taking a break, all those normal things he'd say to Fox in his place. But none of that really applied to Falco. Instead he went to the sink, ran Falco a mug of water, found the painkillers and brought both to him, rattling the bottle at him.
"Thank you." Falco said, taking them.
Peppy cautiously sat down beside him, wary both because he wasn't sure the cot would take both their weight for an extended period and because he wasn't sure how Falco would react. To his surprise, Falco shifted over a bit to give him more room.
"The next race will be better." Peppy said softly. "Runner is undamaged so won't need much work. You can rest."
"Seventh isn't good enough."
"Can't do anything to change it now." Peppy said. "Just be ready for the next race. Try and stay away from people like Riley in the meantime."
Falco didn't answer, just took the painkillers in one gulp. Peppy sat with him in silence, uncertain. Falco was losing condition in front of them. He seemed even thinner
now than he had a week ago. Just for an instant, Falco shifted slightly, and their shoulders rubbed together. Peppy leaned into him a little and pressed back. He had a sense Falco desperately wanted more than that, but was scared to seek it.
"Are you hungry? Do you want to come back to us for lunch?"
"No and no thank you. I just want to sleep."
"You could sleep on our sofa, little one..."
Falco winced in a way that had nothing to do with pain. Knowing Peppy was a privilege he'd never expected to have. He'd turned out to be a kinder, wiser and better man than anything his childhood self had been able to imagine. Part of him desperately wanted to let him in, but they would leave at the end of the season. Getting too attached would only shatter him later.
"It's ok, my little piece of the world is fine."
Except it wasn't and Falco was losing his grip.