X

Mission No. 46

Corneria
Capital City Memorial Cemetery

Guiding Light

X

It was noon when they buried her father's remains.

There wasn't enough left of him to justify reconstruction for a viewing, so instead the funeral home arranged for a hologram to be projected overtop the closed coffin, showing him resting peacefully within, as if asleep. Ultimately it made him look like a ghost, but it was better than seeing what he must have looked like now.

As the pallbearers lowered his coffin into the hole in the ground, Fara realized the last moment she'd seen him was when he left the car to enter the military base. He looked so conflicted when they last spoke, discussing the doubts he had about her involvement in the company's future. It certainly wasn't a happy moment to end on, but it was the ending she got. For the longest time, it never sank in that she could have been caught in that explosion as well. She was so close to death herself; if she'd just left a few minutes later, or gone in after her father to see what the holdup was, she could've joined him. Now, considering the loss she felt, a part of her thought that would've been preferable.

The first clump of dirt hit the top of the coffin, spreading out like collapsing rubble. As more shovelfuls followed, she glanced around at the faces of the other attendees, blurred by the tears pouring from her eyes. She had hoped Peppy would be there, since he was good friends with her father. Maybe even Falco or Slippy, since she knew them in passing and saw them whenever they came to visit Fox. But apparently none of them had her in their thoughts right now.

But she shouldn't blame them. They were probably mourning Fox's death right now. That was the one-two punch to her gut. In the span of a few days she had lost both her father and her ex-mate.

And somehow she found a way to blame herself for both.

It was her fault Fox had gone to Venom. With no one to rein him in, he flew off the handle. She was the reason he returned to his dangerous mercenary job, and she was the reason her father had been at the military base at the wrong place and time.

If only she had stayed with Fox. If only she hadn't pushed him to go back to war. If only she hadn't taken up test-flying again. If only she'd followed her father's wishes and involved herself in the company instead. If only…

She found the tears flowing from her eyes again, but she managed to choke back every sob that tried to escape her frame. If it was just her father that died, she could have run to Fox for comfort. Or if Fox had been the only one that died, she could have found solace in her father instead. But with both gone, she had nowhere to run to, and no one to comfort her.

Instead there were mostly strangers surrounding her, or people she barely had relationships with – some friends she had made while test flying showed up, while the rest were business associates of her father's. She recognized Morgan Fredersen and Yaru de Pon, but hardly any others. None of them knew how to comfort her or what to say, so they just remained silent and didn't interrupt her crying. To them she was only the daughter of their boss or business partner. Attending was merely a formality.

A wing rested on Fara's shoulder. "Let's go, Ms. Phoenix," Ewen's voice softly said behind her. "There's nothing left for you here."

Fara sniffed and nodded, turning to walk with him over the lawn. Some of her fellows from the test flight program met her on the way out, but she shrugged off each of their well-wishes and sentiments, wanting to be alone.

By the time they reached the family limo (she still thought of it that way, even though it was just hers now), Fara's tears had mostly ceased. She got in the far back while Ewen took the wheel.

"The country house," she simply said.

"Right away, ma'am," the hawk's voice came through the intercom.

It sure felt like he took his sweet time getting the car going, but of course that was her just feeling impatient. She wanted nothing more than to get away from the memorial cemetery and all other lifeforms as quickly as possible and just…sulk. A nice long car ride through the country would be a good start.

Before they could pull away, however, a fist rapped on the glass. Fara looked up to see the horns and stout muzzle of a black bull outside, stooping down low so he could see in. She recognized him right away, his face unmistakable around the upper-echelons of Cornerian industry.

Curious, and a little perturbed, Fara rolled down the window for him. She was glad her tears were mostly gone, but she knew her eyes were probably watery and red. She spoke to him nonetheless.

"Yes?"

The bull rested his arms on the window ledge. "My condolences, Ms. Phoenix. I'm Morgan Fredersen; a friend of your father's. I was wondering if I might ride with you a ways?"

Fara huffed quietly, remembering him engaged in a heated discussion with her father the last time she saw him.

"That all depends. Where are you headed?"

"Just to the other side of the city. I can be dropped off anywhere along the way if you're headed in that direction."

Fara's heart sank. She'd hoped his destination was too far out of their way to justify bringing him, at which point she would politely decline.

"You're in luck, then; that's on the way to my house. Please join us, we'll give you a ride."

"Thank you," he said, swiftly ducking into the rear of the limo so he wouldn't delay their departure any longer. When he entered he had to hunch down low to fit inside the car, packing himself into the back like a sardine. His hulking frame and stern visage always intimidated the smaller fennec, but at least this situation brought him a little down to size.

Ewen took off with Fara and Fredersen on either side of the backseat. Fara felt irked having an unwanted passenger, but maybe his presence was for the best. When she was alone these past few days, her thoughts kept turning to unpleasant things, such as her hand in her father and Fox's deaths. Perhaps he could help her keep her mind off it – as long as he didn't start talking about what a great man her father was and what a pity it was he'd died.

They sat in silence for the first few minutes, Fara staring out the window to watch the expansive gravesite pass: the green fields, the flowering trees with pastel blossoms, the rows of white headstones, and the occasional bronze statue.

"Your father never liked these," Fredersen finally said in a gruff voice.

"Hm?" She looked back at him.

"Limos, that is," he clarified. "Or any other rich expense, for that matter. He didn't care for fancy dinners or extravagant houses or the company of house servants. He only bothered because he was a businessman, and it was expected of him. He needed to keep up appearances like the rest of us. Had a knack for business and management, and an obsession with innovation, but the luxuries that came with it? He thought them quaint at best, but a hassle and a distraction at worst. No, if your father had his way with things, he would've dispensed with all that and lived in a tin can if it meant he could work on his inventions all day."

Fara nodded, smiling for once. "That's father alright; we were similar that way. You see, if I had things my way, I'd just be a pilot for the rest of my life."

"He didn't do it for fame and fortune – and yet he wasn't just driven by his curiosity and the joys of invention, either," Fredersen continued. "He was driven by the good he knew his creations could bring about. He was driven by a purpose. And to achieve that purpose, there were certain things outside his original calling he had to contend with."

The fennec raised an eyebrow at him. "Alright Mr. Fredersen – why are you really here? The president of the largest investment bank in Lylat never has to hitch a ride with anyone."

He fixed her with his stormy brown eyes. "Ms. Phoenix, I just want you to start thinking about the future of Phoenix Corp and General Dynamics. Edison made you the sole beneficiary in his will, intending for you to succeed him in the company. You've inherited half the stake in General Dynamics from your father; that makes you the wealthiest woman in all of Lylat. You can't stay a test pilot forever; soon your father's responsibilities will become your own."

Fara rolled her eyes. "Really, I can't believe your audacity. This isn't the time to think about your silly company. I buried my father today, and next week I have to attend the memorial service of my mate. I really don't give a damn."

The bull spoke softly – to the point where Fara couldn't believe such a big creature could pull off such a gentle voice. "Believe me, I know how hard it is to lose someone. I lost my daughter during the war, and my wife before it. But the world hasn't ended. Life goes on, the planets still spin, and time still passes. The company waits for no one, especially when Lylat's future rests on its shoulders."

"Well that's a case of inflated self-importance if ever I saw one," she huffed.

"I assure you, I do not exaggerate; and when you finally accept the reins of the company, you'll see it too. There are millions of people around the system depending on you, and they can't put their existential problems on hold for your grief. You must mourn, but you must also push through it."

His tone came off paternal and firm – encouraging, even. But Fara still didn't appreciate the unsolicited life advice.

"Frankly sir, I don't wish to be burdened with such matters now, and I ask you to respect my period of grief. I'm giving you a lift to be nice; don't make me regret it."

Fredersen sighed, trailing off. His warm exhale was so powerful Fara could feel his breath reach her on the other side of the seat.

Staring outside again, she observed they'd left the memorial cemetery and picnic areas and entered Corneria City's more urban sector. Unfortunately the vehicle lanes were slowing down, with what looked like bumper-to-bumper traffic lying up ahead, even though it was still a week before Fox's memorial service. This was looking to be one long, awkward car ride.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but it may be an hour or two before we reach home," Ewen said.

"Why don't you take a detour through the city outskirts?" Fredersen suggested. "It may not pretty, but you can avoid most of the traffic that way."

Fara agreed; anything to make her journey with the man shorter.

"I'd take him up on his suggestion, Ewen."

"Very good, ma'am."

X

Slippy walked through the dim hallways of Dawson McLean. Most of the lights were off in the building, leaving only the natural light from its spacious glass windows to bounce around and illuminate the deep interior – that and the glow from idle animations morphing away on computer displays.

There was hardly another soul in the building: a few security guards, the receptionists, and some janitors, but otherwise it was just him, it appeared – but that made it worse. On a normal day the office would be swarming with programmers and other staff, and he could blend right in. Now that it was empty and dark, he stood out like a sore thumb, with only the cover of relative darkness to hide him. With no one else to look at, he could feel the eye of every security guard and the lens of every surveillance camera focused on him; one concentrated beam of invisible light frying him like an ant. He was a bug under their microscope, with every little action of his watched. So he had to act like this was any other, normal day.

Every footstep he took, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. This would brand him a criminal. Or even worse – a traitor. But he didn't see any other way forward.

The concerns he raised not only were ignored by his supervisor, but his supervisors as well. He'd seen abuses of his and his coworkers projects on a daily basis, yet no regulations were in place to discourage them.

The Equities Review Board was taking too long to deliberate ColdRead – if they were even deliberating at all. They didn't intend to disclose the vulnerability; it was clear they planned to keep it secret and use it for themselves, leaving billions around the Lylat System open to preventable attacks.

SHAPESHIFT and KRAKEN showed no sign of going away. In fact, with the growing spectre of hidden Venomians in their ranks, they would only be expanded over time, widening the surveillance on allies and even his fellow citizens.

As long as he kept these points in mind, he knew what he was doing was the right thing. Then…why did he have to sneak around like this? Why was he so afraid? Why did he feel like the criminal?

Eventually he ran into the last person he wanted to see: his supervisor. The stoat looked surprised to find him there. He stood up from his desk and circumvented it to meet the frog.

"Slippy! Why are you here? Everyone got the day off today, in light of recent events. You of all people should be taking the time off; I think you need it most."

The frog stopped in his tracks, turning to face him. Rather than give in to his usual anxiety, he concentrated, shifting his response from flight to fight. He clenched his fists and set his jaw.

"I know Mr. Owens, but…this is how I cope with things. I don't like sitting around and being idle when there's something weighing on me. It's not good for my head. I need to be doing something, or else I'll worry myself sick. That's why I'm here. Now more than ever I want to bring about the downfall of the people who killed Fox."

He didn't know it, but he had a fire burning in his eyes. Even though he was lying to Slint, there was still truth behind his words; truth he believed in, and it was enough to convince his supervisor.

He nodded, then patted his back. "Alright Slippy, I understand. In fact I…I think it's admirable. With your bravery and dedication, you could serve as an example to everyone in this department. And, well…if you have anything you want to discuss or get off your chest – heck, even just someone to talk to – I'll be right here."

"Thank you, sir."

Slint returned to his desk, and Slippy marched on – taking great pains not to walk unnaturally fast. When he was sure he was out of earshot he released a pent-up sigh, and his racing heart began to subside.

But his task was far from over; the real danger was just beginning.

As expected, when he reached his office space it was dark and empty like the rest, with none of his other coworkers present. It felt weird seeing it in such a light – or lack thereof – but perhaps it was fitting. This was the last time he intended to be here, after all.

Swallowing, he turned his computer on and logged in. He inserted a data chip containing a copy of ColdRead – the zero day exploit he discovered a month ago that could breach nearly any modern-day system. It was the same exploit the Equities Review Board had kept secret, hoping to one day use it to their advantage. Now it was time to turn Corneria's tools against her, and Slippy appreciated the ironic justice.

Today, for a short time, the watcher became the watched.

Alright then. Let's see what the Cornerian Security Agency is hiding…

X

In the year since the attack, Corneria City had made great strides towards recovery. Buildings were rebuilt, roads repaved, and gardens regrown. They cleared rubble from streets, scrubbed laser scouring from walls, and hauled ship debris off to scrapyards, cleansing most of the city.

Fara was surprised to see that same care did not extend to the outskirts.

She had never seen this side of Corneria City before – at least, not since the war. The outskirts still bore scars from the invasion, which by this point had persisted for months since the war ended, and the city still hadn't gotten around to cleaning them up. Trash and debris littered the streets and alleys, buildings sported singe marks, and some which had been completely demolished still hadn't been cleared out. The people she saw milling about here were so different than the ones she saw within the heart of the city; they walked with hunched shoulders, shoes scuffing the sidewalks, and clothes worn and ragged. They shared none of the same optimism found in the center of the city.

Fara expected to find similar sights elsewhere in Lylat where poverty was still an issue, but never in the capital of the richest city in the system. She felt surprised to learn she lived so close to so much squalor.

Well, now she could see why the traffic was lighter here.

Fredersen took notice of her staring. "You haven't visited this part of the city much, have you?"

She shook her head slowly. "No, it's always been too out of the way," she said as an excuse.

"Quite true. Sometimes it's hard for people of our standing to notice, being so busy with our own matters. Not every place has recovered from the war as fast as Corneria City; and even some sectors still lag behind. Their wounds haven't fully healed from the war, and some never will."

Fredersen leaned closer. "Take a good look at the people who live here, Ms. Phoenix. The loss you now feel is the same loss all these people went through during the war. They lost their loved ones like you – but they also lost their parks, their businesses, and their homes. Unlike you and I, they don't have luxuries to comfort them, nor securities to fall back upon."

Fara felt awkward and out of place; ashamed to be driving an expensive limo around in these people's faces. She didn't belong here; she could see it in their eyes whenever they turned and stared. Perhaps they looked at her with envy, or maybe they had convinced themselves they were doing alright, but when they saw her, she reminded them of the disparity widening between them.

"Driver, stop the car," Fredersen said.

"Yes sir." Ewen pulled over to the curb.

Fara looked at the bull. "You're not getting out here, are you?!"

"No…but there's something more I want you to see."

The vixen waited impatiently – she'd seen enough already. It certainly was eye-opening to find such poverty in the capital, but anywhere else in Lylat it wasn't exactly a rare sight. She imagined many people lived in such a state. It was simply a fact of life. She was sure her father had done many charitable things to help out wherever he could, within reason.

The longer they waited, the more people began to take note of the idling limo. A beggar began walking towards them: a goat with ragged clothes, a torn coat, and gloves with his fingers worn through. He held a cardboard sign with marker scribbled over the front, but Fara couldn't read it. He approached her side of the car, hope in his eyes.

Swallowing, Fara rolled the window down. The man seemed surprised to find someone like her sitting inside, and even more so that someone like her would roll down the window for him.

"Could you spare some credits for a meal, ma'am?" he asked in a hoarse voice, the stench of cigarettes washing over her.

Fara glanced back at Fredersen, then reached into her purse. She fished out a few bills – more than enough for a fast food meal – and handed them through the window.

The beggar took them, careful not to touch her fingers in the process. His eyes lit up when he counted them. "God bless you, ma'am!"

Fredersen spoke after he walked away. "You just made that man's day."

"Well, I'm glad someone can be happy today." Fara reached over to roll up her window again, but found another beggar ambling up to the car.

"Please, my apartment was destroyed in the invasion," he said. "I'm just trying to get my family a place to stay."

His words tugged on Fara's heart, though after the first wave of sympathy she wondered if it was just a story he'd invented. Regardless it looked like he needed it, so she handed over a few more bills.

The man thanked her and left, but two more took his place – and it didn't stop there. A small crowd of people began to accumulate around her side of the limo, with Fara struggling to hand out money fast enough. There were homeless bums, drug-ruined women, elderly men, and dirty children vying for her attention, each with begging hands held towards her, and each with a story to share. They spoke of homes ruined during the battle, family members wounded and needing operations, starving siblings and parents – and still more came every minute.

Soon Fara ran out of smaller bills and had to hand over the larger ones – 20, 50, 100 credits. It wasn't a problem; she could get more anywhere, and she'd rather overpay them than send them away empty-handed.

But there wasn't enough for everyone. She'd emptied her wallet of nearly everything: gift cards, coupons, even wet-wipes, gum, and other candy. All she had left were her numerous ID cards, but still she couldn't fill their empty hands. She turned her wallet upside down, shaking it to show them she had nothing left to give. Even Fredersen handed her a good sum of loose money from his own wallet, but that was eaten-through before she could blink.

The civilians kept hording around the window, begging, reaching out, and telling their tragic stories. Fara could no longer parse one voice from another, or focus on just one person; their speech all melded together, sounding like the buzzing of a swarm of locusts. She began to panic, overwhelmed by it all. Everywhere she looked were grasping hands, dirty clothes, and pleading faces-

Finally it was too much for her, and she broke. She buried her head in her hands and bent down, curling up on her seat defensively.

"Drive on, Ewen!" she cried.

He pulled the car away from the curb and remotely rolled up her window from the front. Behind them the imploring voices of the crowd faded, till the window closed and completely silenced them. Fara took a deep breath and released it, trying to calm herself.

"I don't understand. How can poverty like this still exist – in the capital of all places! Don't they receive any money? Why isn't anyone doing anything?!" She clenched her fists, looking up suddenly to glare at Fredersen. "Why are you all so fixated on your business mergers and asinine projects? You, de Pon – even my father! You're so focused on General Dynamics you don't even care what's happening on your own doorstep. But somehow all your resources go towards some dumb building site around Solar…"

Fredersen waited patiently for her to finish, replacing his now emptied wallet in his coat. "You felt overwhelmed, didn't you? So many hungry people to feed, yet you didn't have enough to save them all. And even if you had enough money to hand out to them, how long would it last? Your impact is temporary; your aid unsustainable. Helping these people isn't as simple as throwing money at them."

"So your solution is to keep doing nothing?"

Fredersen grinned. "Not at all. De Pon, your father, and I have been working on a solution this past year – but it's far from a simple one. It's better than government handouts and temporary aid. It's sustainable. One that would create a bigger, more timeless impact. One that would lift all of Lylat up from the ashes of war."

"I've heard that phrase ad nauseum before. You sure do love it."

"Your father did, too. Fits perfectly with the Phoenix brand. But it isn't just a slogan; he intended to make it a reality, and we still do, to carry on his vision."

He stooped down, closer to Fara's height, and lowered his voice. "We call it-"

X

Project Guiding Light.

Slippy released a deep breath. He'd finally found it. At once he felt relieved and frightened; this was real now, not just some wild conspiracy Peppy had caught wind of.

As he predicted, the CSA hadn't notified their computer software company about the vulnerability. Of course they wouldn't; that would mean giving up their backdoor into everyone's computers, as the company was sure to push a security update for each and every user. Instead they took the gamble that the exploit would go unnoticed for a time, before malicious hackers inevitably discovered it and used it for extortion malware.

Well, ColdRead allowed Slippy to worm his way in right where Peppy wanted him to be. It worked like a charm; a skeleton key that sensed the tumblers in any digital lock and adapted to fit them perfectly. Corneria's unpatched security systems were no match for him – not when he knew their Achille's heel.

From the look of things he'd logged into the account of an overseer on the project, though he didn't recognize the name. At once he began scraping all the data the account had access to, downloading it onto his mega-sized data card.

'Guiding Light'. What a pretentious, self-important name. Whatever it was, they sure were proud of it.

While he waited for the program to download all the data, he decided he might as well poke around for himself. He was curious why Peppy was so obsessed with him finding it. What was so important the hare would have Slippy become a mole in the CSA just to reveal it?

X

"The project has two immediate goals: the generation of infinite energy, and the fair and equitable distribution of that energy to every planet in Lylat. But in the long term, we also plan to eliminate food scarcity and poverty."

Fara couldn't believe the words coming out of Fredersen's mouth right now. "Infinite energy?" she scoffed. "What a wild scheme. There's no such thing."

The bull conceded with a nodded. "A bit of an exaggeration, I confess, but compared to our civilization's tiny needs? More than we could ever use in a billion years, right there at our fingertips."

"But how is that possible? What is Guiding Light really?"

"It's deceptively simple. You wanted to know why all of our resources were going to Solar? Well, now I can tell you…"

X

Slippy blinked, surprised by what he'd found.

The blueprints of a massive space colony stared back at him from the computer screen. Judging by the measurements, it was the largest one to be attempted in Lylat's history. The initial dimensions would place it at roughly the size of Corneria City, but the design allowed for the colony to be further built upon in a modular fashion, potentially without limit. Over time it might become the biggest city in the world – bigger than the sprawling megacities on Eladard.

Unlike free-floating colonies, which mostly used ring-shaped designs that spun to maintain a gravity-like effect, this one was shaped more like a conventional city, with one singular direction acting as down, towards its center point of orbit.

That point was Solar; Lylat's smaller, red dwarf sister star. Together they comprised a binary system, with all planets orbiting one or the other. It was only now that Slippy noticed Sectors X, Y, and Z exclusively orbited Solar, all of which had been the location of Bolse Satellites at one time or another. Was that merely a coincidence, or a legitimate connection?

X

"Ostensibly it's just another space colony, but in reality it's a much bigger gambit. We call it Astropolis: city of the stars - or star, as you will see. The original name was simply Bolsa-A, or Bolse-Alpha. It's based off a long-running, older series of satellites."

"B-Bolse?!" Fara exclaimed. "Like the one Fox destroyed? The one Andross created to protect Venom?!"

Fredersen smiled and raised his hands defensively. "I assure you Ms. Phoenix, nothing of the sort. Bolse-Alpha is the culmination of decades of work. It has nothing to do with Andross's Bolse-V, or Bolse-Venom; he merely built his own design based upon ours. The Bolse project started many years ago, when you were just a child. Each previous satellite failed due to unforeseeable circumstances, including sabotage at the hands of Andross before he was exiled, but we've finally arrived at the final version. No, it has nothing to do with Bolse-V or Bolse-X – Andross's versions. This is something Space Dynamics and Phoenix Corp created themselves – in no small part due to the ingenuity and resourcefulness of your father."

X

It was quite the contrary, Slippy had found; Andross was involved from the start. From the first to most recent, Bolse-Z through Bolse-V, he had a hand in every aspect of the project. It was no wonder Corneria decided to quite working backwards through the alphabet and jump back to the very beginning, starting over with Bolse-A. It was an effort to publicly distance themselves from his involvement…

But a simple name change couldn't erase the fact his fingerprints remained all over it.

Everywhere Slippy looked, he saw Venomian writing. He didn't understand any of the words, but the harsh strokes of the alien characters were unmistakable. Even seeing the writing by itself was enough to strike fear into Slippy's heart, and the fact that it was all over internal Cornerian documents made him feel sick to his stomach.

It wasn't possible to separate the Bolse project from Andross and his empire. He'd been involved since day one, and even during the war he'd continued to work on them. After defeating Venom, Cornerian had seized and compiled blueprints of Bolse-X and Bolse-V, studying them, learning from them, and implementing Andross's improvements into their own design. Photographs and scans of the original Venomian documents were everywhere.

But that wasn't all: they'd kidnapped many of the Venomian architects, engineers, and scientists who'd worked on the satellites under Andross's command – and forced them to continue work. His eyes scanned over hundreds of mugshots of primates and lizards alike, complete with Cornerian-ized names, job descriptions, skillsets, and even current whereabouts.

The name that caught his eye, however, was one Bertholdt Spear – or rather, the alias he was known for:

'Daedalus'.

Daedalus…that was the other name Peppy had told him to search for!

Slippy opened his file, quickly skimming through it for pertinent information. According to its description he was the chief architect of the project – and he wasn't deceased, either, but alive and kicking. Apparently he was one of the highest profile Venomian prisoners tried for war crimes – specifically for using slave labor to build Venom's military installations. He'd been found guilty on all accounts, yet let off relatively lightly in comparison to others, who'd been executed. Instead he was sentenced to years in prison…but was still frequently called upon by Corneria to help with the construction of Bolse-A.

Along with the hundreds of other secret Venomian refugees and criminals.

No wonder Corneria had kept the project under wraps, as this information leaking out would forever tarnish their image. The risks they took were enormous – but was their gambit somehow worth it?

X

"The city will be outfitted with Beltino's gate creation technology, allowing us to open permanent portals from Solar to every major city around the Lylat System, in cooperation with their governments. Through this means we can make solar energy available to every nation in the world for little cost, regardless of how close or how far from the suns they are, whether it's rain or shine, day or night."

"But gates of that size would require a tremendous amount of energy to keep open – especially 24/7! What would you use as the source?"

He laughed and pointed up and out the window. "Isn't it obvious? It's right there! …But don't stare for too long, of course."

Fara looked out the window for a brief instant, squinting up at the bright sky. Solar's small red disc was barely visible – no larger than a moon, while Lylat's blinding white circle nearly swallowed it whole in its own light. She had to raise her hand up to block one sun out to see the other, the light streaming around the black silhouette of her fingers.

When she removed her head from the window, she sat blinking away the dark spot that remained, even though she had looked for but a second.

"You mean everything will run on solar energy?"

"Precisely. Given the colony's proximity to the sun, it will have its own unlimited supply of energy, making the prospect of keeping numerous gates open simultaneously no challenge at all."

X

But that didn't make any sense, Slippy thought. 'Bolse' stood for Bionuclear OrbitaL SatellitE. If it got all of its energy from the sun it so closely orbited, why did it still need 'bionuclear' in the name?

For that matter, what even was bionuclear energy? He'd never heard of it before. As far as he knew, there was no such energy source. Lifeforms couldn't produce that kind of energy on their own – but at the same time, Andross had a particularly gruesome hobby of turning benign creatures into horrifying monsters. Was it possible he created a lifeform capable of generating nuclear energy on its own? Even just thinking it made him scoff; it sounded so ridiculous.

…But he wouldn't put it past him.

If not, then what was the energy source of the previous satellites? The answer alluded him at the moment, but it had to be in here somewhere.

Slippy dove in again, flipping through digital documents at a lightning-fast pace. He cupped his chin in his free hand, using the other to control the mouse as the gears in his head turned. He had to find what powered the core.

So many questions in this riddle, yet a single answer could piece them all together.

Why did Corneria have to stop work on the project for so many years, yet Andross was able to continue?

What did the government recently find on Venom that allowed them to resume work with Bolse-A?

What was this new, experimental energy source that both Corneria and Andross kept so secret?

And finally, how could it possibly need life to function?

The answer came when he finally stumbled across a diagram of the so-called bionuclear core.

It was a hundred-foot tall metal column. He remembered seeing it rise out of Bolse-V's crown to keep from overheating and melting down the rest of the satellite – a fate Star Fox treated it to anyway. Pylons that siphoned the energy away to other parts of the satellite connected to the cylinder at perpendicular angles, as if it were stabbed by many spears from all sides. But inside the tube, lying nestled halfway down its height, was a hollowed-out compartment; a space large enough for a single Lylatian to sit inside, orbited by many concentric rings.

A space for…a person?

He clicked on the compartment, and the interactive document zoomed in, opening a subpage with additional information and images. The seat wasn't just made for any person; a diagram beside it showed the anatomy of a vulpine. Foxes – foxes with blue fur. The profiles of several Cerinian candidates populated the space beside the core, ranked by their numerical subject identifier and estimated compatibility.

Then it clicked for Slippy. The satellites weren't powered by solar energy, or even true bionuclear energy; it was a misnomer, perhaps to mislead intentionally, or perhaps because the scientists didn't quite understand it themselves. They were powered by Cerinians; Cerinians with psychic energy.

The worst part was…it wasn't a diagram of Bolse-Z's core he'd found. Or the core belonging to Y, or X, or even V.

The Cerinian subject was meant to power Bolse-A; the new one being constructed at this very moment.

His blood ran cold when he finally noticed #28's photo, heading the compatibility list.

99%.

X

"I hope you understand, Ms. Phoenix, that sacrifices must be made in order for your father's plans to succeed – the first of which is our time, and the second of which is our emotions. Every second we take for our own pleasure could be better spent in dedication to the project. We must put aside feelings of personal grief for the betterment of all."

"And this will help these people…how?" Fara asked.

"Many nations are still recovering. They need to rebuild, but they lack the energy and resources required to do it – many of which were used up during the war. Once the governments no longer have to worry about energy sources and rebuilding, they can move on to focus on their people. But even in the short term, such a construction effort requires millions of workers. This project will create uncountable jobs for unskilled labor: employment opportunities, health benefits, and housing for the people you saw today. And once construction on the city is done, they can return to much cleaner, more prosperous cities, welcomed home as heroes.

"All we need is you, Fara." He held out his hand, much like the beggars had done – yet it was so much easier to satisfy this one than the dozens that had plagued her before. "You just have to work alongside de Pon and myself – like your father used to. You can be a hero in your own way, just like Fox was."

Fara shook her head, struggling for words. "I'm sorry, I…this is all so sudden! I just don't think I'm ready for this kind of venture yet. I just need time to…to…"

"Fara, when my daughter died, I didn't sulk. I didn't allow myself any of the luxuries of grief, though I was certainly tempted to. Instead I used her death to spur me on, throwing myself at my work and applying myself even harder. You have two choices before you; let Fox and your father's deaths consume and ruin you, or let their memories drive you on."

"I understand, but…I don't think I can! I'm not ready – I don't know the first thing about running a company, or any of the technology he was working on. I'm afraid it'll overwhelm me, and I'll end up failing everyone!"

Fredersen nodded. "I understand. I know being entrusted with something of this size is daunting, especially under such short notice. Edison didn't plan on passing for a long time – like most of us. To protect you from this weight, he would have run the company himself for as long as he could, till old age took him. By that time he intended for you to be properly trained. He never would have wanted this burden thrust upon you at such a young age. But you need not worry; we will guide you. Your father said his assistant can help you manage things before you learn to fly on your own. And during that time, you will of course retain control over Phoenix Corp's half of General Dynamics."

Fara sat up straight in her seat. She dried the tears from her eyes and set her jaw firmly.

"Alright Mr. Fredersen. I'll do whatever I can to help. As when my father was head of the company, you can count on Phoenix Corp's full support."

She shook his hand, finding it gentler than she'd expected.

"Thank you, Ms. Phoenix. I am glad you see the light. It is time. Together, we will welcome Lylat into a new era; an era free of want and need; an era full of prosperity for all."

X

The data finished downloading and compressing several hours later. Slippy had seen enough – at least for now. Looking over anything else would just be overkill, and he was already feeling sick to his stomach from information overload. He'd taken all he could, and with the file on Daedalus in his possession he could hunt the man down and learn anything else he missed.

Now all that was left was getting out of here…

After bricking the computer to erase his data trail, he packing his things and took off down the hall. At once he felt both exhilarated and terrified – even more so than he had on the way in. If they caught him earlier he could've claimed he was just coming in for overtime. If they caught him now, they'd find the data pack and everything on it – an instant death sentence, so to speak. Now he had more to lose, and everything to gain if he could just escape.

Already his mind began to race, trying to figure out what to do with the information he'd uncovered. More than anything he needed to warn Fox about Corneria's true intentions for Krystal, the strange Cerinian he'd rescued – but he just didn't see how. Nothing short of a full attack on the gate, or perhaps another diversion, would allow him to slip through to Cerinia. But then there'd be no coming back for him, either. His heart sank knowing he was likely too late. Now he could only pray that Fox was able to keep Krystal safe on Cerinia, and not let her fall into Corneria's hands.

And what about the Astropolis project? Bolse-A? How could he, Falco, and Peppy fight that on their own? How could one team take on an entire city in the stars?

"Whoa there, kid! Where do you think you're going?" a voice called out to him.

Slippy snapped back to the present. He was nearly at the front glass doors of the building, so close he could walk a few more steps and grab the handle. Looking over, he saw the security station beside the exit, and the guards manning it looking at him expectantly.

He froze in place for a second, like a deer in the headlights. Escape was so close he had it in arm's reach. Part of his mind screamed to just bolt to the door, fling it open, and run out – but if they managed to catch him, that would be the end of it; no way to wriggle out of that one. Yet, on the other hand, if he allowed the security guards to search his belongings, and they checked the contents of his data pack…

"You okay?" another one of the officers asked, cocking his head to the side.

Slippy blinked, then made an effort to calm himself.

"Yeah! Yeah. Sorry, my mind's just…elsewhere."

Slowly sucking in a breath, he turned and sidled up to the checkpoint station, presenting the guards with his belongings. While making small-talk with each other, they went through his jacket, bag, and briefcase, scanning his personage with a metal detector as well, but Slippy tuned most of their chatter out; he was too worried about them finding the data stick.

…Which, inevitably, they did.

One of the guards fished it out of his bag, turning it this way and that as he examined it. Slippy sucked in a breath again, wide-eyes focused on the device in the officer's hands.

He flicked the stick open, exposing the silver connector piece.

"Huh. Rare seeing these around here." His eye flitted to Slippy. "Whaddya got on it?"

Slippy smirked sheepishly. "Uh…stolen secrets?" He forced a wink, after which he could feel bile rising in his stomach. It was just so fake and corny…

The guards glanced at each other for a second, then smiled. One even chuckled. He handed Slippy's things back to him, including the data stick. "It's okay, your secret's safe with us," he whispered, winking back.

"Rare to find a programmer with a sense of humor…" he heard the other one say as they walked back around to their station.

For a few moments Slippy merely stood in place, carrying his jumble of extra clothes and bags. That was it. The last hurdle. He was free. It was just so hard to believe, it took a few more seconds to sink in. For a minute people continued flowing back and forth around him, idly chattering and going about their business. None of them took notice of a portly frog holding his things in the lobby of an information technology company.

He took one step forward, then another. Several more, and he made it through the exit doors. He walked down the stone stairs till he reached the sidewalk by the main street. The fresh coastal air smelled so good. He welcomed the bright sunlight on his face, the expanse of the wide-open street, and the warm air that chased away the air-conditioned office chill. If freedom was a sensation, this was it.

He only now noticed just how much his entire body trembled. His breaths could match the frantic second hand on a clock, and every inch of his amphibian skin oozed cold sweat.

Then the anxiety building up within him reached its apex, and he snapped. Doubling over, he vomited on the sidewalk till he couldn't anymore.

When he finished, he stumbled to-and-fro for a second, straightening back up. People looked at him out of concern, but most hurried along their way rather than stick around to deal with him. Honestly Slippy preferred it. He felt a hundred pounds lighter, as if the source of his anxiety now lay drying and splattered over the pavement, never to haunt him again.

Regaining his composer, he shouldered his jacket and bags, then casually strolled into the outside crowd, disappearing into the thousands of west coast residents who passed the office building every day.

That was the last Dawson McLean would ever see of him.