Chapter 6:
Fox regained consciousness later on, sharp pain aching all over. He couldn't move a finger, and his eyelids fell over his eyes heavily, drooping like lead curtains. He couldn't open his eyes. All that accompanied him in lonely cockpit of his Arwing was the sound of his own faint breathing and his heart pounding in a deathly slow pace. It was cold, dead cold. He wandered how much longer he would last, and most of all, why he wasn't dead.
At last, his eyelids slowly drew open. As soon as he regained a blurry vision, his head began to throb painfully, as if a hammer was constantly beating upon his skull. He could not pull his hands to his head, as he normally would. Instead, Fox weakly gasped in pain, his breaths coming out in puffs of fog. No doubt it was cold. He could see a crack on the glass canopy, droplets of water frozen and crystallized at its fringes. It was impossible that his Arwing survived that blow. Normally, the internal air pressure would have caused his ship to explode, should a minor crack ever appear on the hull. Perhaps it was Slippy's safety design again. Other parts of the Arwing, however, were melted, burnt, and blown away, leaving just the cockpit intact.
It was obvious he wouldn't be alive for long. No planet was in his line of vision – not even meteors or satellites. The chances of stumbling into help were grim. All he could see were stars shimmering brightly and romantically from light-years away. Perhaps they were there to send him off to the other world. From the reflections on the glass, he could see himself. Thick blood flowed from a wound above his left eye and from his chest. A livid red stained the white and brown fur on his face. He coughed feebly, shuddering. His lungs burned. A new stream of blood streaked down his muzzle; he must have sustained internal damage.
Fox chuckled faintly. He was to suffer a painful and solitary death away from the Lylat System, away from Corneria, away from his crew… away…away from Fara. A death away from all he knew and all he grew attached to over the years; a death that was most befitting for a pathetic failure he considered himself to be, best Cornerian pilot or not. He had brought this upon himself, and realized that he had just wasted his life. He left Corneria in search of father and an answer to his troubled thoughts. He lived in the past and forgot about the present, thrusting those closest and dearest to him into the shadows of neglect. Father would never have wanted him to do that. James led the Cornerian Federation into glory. Fox lived up to his father's military fame as he promised, but failed his father in a saddening way; he forgot to live his life to the fullest. He forgot to live for himself, rather than for Corneria – rather than for his father's vengeance.
It was all too late, and soon it would no longer matter. Thinking over his life for the last time, he realized that there was much that he could have done. He loved Fara dearly, but never gave her the attention she deserved. Hardened by the flames of war and the curse of orphanage, he forgot the scents of life without turmoil. His eyes welled with tears. Fox wanted to see Fara one last time before he parted this world forever, but knew his wishes will never be fulfilled.
Slowly, consciousness slipped from his grasp. He began to black out again, only this time, the survival instincts that he had gained from battle told him he would never wake up again. Fox fought the invading drowsiness with all his remaining energy. His strength was fleeting. In his mind he could see his father's silhouette, standing in the fields he had dreamt of earlier - standing in his usual posture, with his hands tucked behind his back and his head tilted towards the sky, as if waiting for someone.
"Not yet, father. I'm sorry… I cannot…" he told his father in his mind. James McCloud did not turn to face him. He did not seem to even hear.
Amidst the cold silence and darkness that swelled in the lonely space, the panel screen of Fox's Arwing lit up. Fox was too tired and injured to see who it was.
"Fox, this is Peppy, do you copy?" Peppy's familiar raspy voice rang on Fox's headphones.
Fox breathed weakly, trying to at least make a noise. He could not speak, nor could he move. How did they find him? Fox lay cold and still in his seat, eyes half closed and head drooping to one side. Blood continued to trickle down his face and torso.
"Oh god… Fox, hang on! We're coming."
With that, an imposingly large gray carrier hovered slowly to a position above him. It was at least as large as the Great Fox. He could hear the powerful engines roaring – a funerary requiem that the universe sang for him. A hatch opened on the bottom of the ship, and a beam of warm light fell upon Fox's Arwing, like a shaft from the heavens, only this time, father was not beckoning him. Slowly, his Arwing levitated into the hatch. The rays of the soothing warmth and radiance washed all over him.
Soon, the hatch was sealed, and Fox found his Arwing lying on a metal floor inside a docking bay of a large carrier. Peppy, Slippy, and Falco rushed to him, pounding on the glass canopy over the cockpit and shouting words that he could not hear. Fox had abandoned them so coldly and abruptly; yet, his crew came searching for him, and now gave him their help completely unreserved. He was laden with guilt and sorrow as he silently watched them try desperately to save him from the icy coffin. Not even Falco left him. At last the cockpit was pried open.
"……Falco…" Fox breathed with his remaining strength.
"Shhh… Don't talk. I know… We have all heard. You'll be all right," Falco climbed over to placed a finger next to his muzzle, then gently picked him up from the frozen cockpit. Despite his feigned composure, he could see Falco's anxiety flashing in his uneasy eyes. Fox's limbs dangled as Falco carried him out, and his head swayed lifelessly upon his shoulders, mouth open, dripping with dark, cold blood.
Fox smiled weakly and tiredly. His senses were failing, and he could hold out no longer. He closed his eyes and let darkness take over him. Falco, Peppy, and Slippy dropped to their knees, setting Fox down on the floor and calling his name in hopes of seizing him from the grasps of the grim reaper. Yes, Fox could hear very faintly… his crew has forgiven him. He was both moved and comforted. At least god smiled graciously upon him before his solitary departure to the unknown realm…
Fox regained consciousness later on, sharp pain aching all over. He couldn't move a finger, and his eyelids fell over his eyes heavily, drooping like lead curtains. He couldn't open his eyes. All that accompanied him in lonely cockpit of his Arwing was the sound of his own faint breathing and his heart pounding in a deathly slow pace. It was cold, dead cold. He wandered how much longer he would last, and most of all, why he wasn't dead.
At last, his eyelids slowly drew open. As soon as he regained a blurry vision, his head began to throb painfully, as if a hammer was constantly beating upon his skull. He could not pull his hands to his head, as he normally would. Instead, Fox weakly gasped in pain, his breaths coming out in puffs of fog. No doubt it was cold. He could see a crack on the glass canopy, droplets of water frozen and crystallized at its fringes. It was impossible that his Arwing survived that blow. Normally, the internal air pressure would have caused his ship to explode, should a minor crack ever appear on the hull. Perhaps it was Slippy's safety design again. Other parts of the Arwing, however, were melted, burnt, and blown away, leaving just the cockpit intact.
It was obvious he wouldn't be alive for long. No planet was in his line of vision – not even meteors or satellites. The chances of stumbling into help were grim. All he could see were stars shimmering brightly and romantically from light-years away. Perhaps they were there to send him off to the other world. From the reflections on the glass, he could see himself. Thick blood flowed from a wound above his left eye and from his chest. A livid red stained the white and brown fur on his face. He coughed feebly, shuddering. His lungs burned. A new stream of blood streaked down his muzzle; he must have sustained internal damage.
Fox chuckled faintly. He was to suffer a painful and solitary death away from the Lylat System, away from Corneria, away from his crew… away…away from Fara. A death away from all he knew and all he grew attached to over the years; a death that was most befitting for a pathetic failure he considered himself to be, best Cornerian pilot or not. He had brought this upon himself, and realized that he had just wasted his life. He left Corneria in search of father and an answer to his troubled thoughts. He lived in the past and forgot about the present, thrusting those closest and dearest to him into the shadows of neglect. Father would never have wanted him to do that. James led the Cornerian Federation into glory. Fox lived up to his father's military fame as he promised, but failed his father in a saddening way; he forgot to live his life to the fullest. He forgot to live for himself, rather than for Corneria – rather than for his father's vengeance.
It was all too late, and soon it would no longer matter. Thinking over his life for the last time, he realized that there was much that he could have done. He loved Fara dearly, but never gave her the attention she deserved. Hardened by the flames of war and the curse of orphanage, he forgot the scents of life without turmoil. His eyes welled with tears. Fox wanted to see Fara one last time before he parted this world forever, but knew his wishes will never be fulfilled.
Slowly, consciousness slipped from his grasp. He began to black out again, only this time, the survival instincts that he had gained from battle told him he would never wake up again. Fox fought the invading drowsiness with all his remaining energy. His strength was fleeting. In his mind he could see his father's silhouette, standing in the fields he had dreamt of earlier - standing in his usual posture, with his hands tucked behind his back and his head tilted towards the sky, as if waiting for someone.
"Not yet, father. I'm sorry… I cannot…" he told his father in his mind. James McCloud did not turn to face him. He did not seem to even hear.
Amidst the cold silence and darkness that swelled in the lonely space, the panel screen of Fox's Arwing lit up. Fox was too tired and injured to see who it was.
"Fox, this is Peppy, do you copy?" Peppy's familiar raspy voice rang on Fox's headphones.
Fox breathed weakly, trying to at least make a noise. He could not speak, nor could he move. How did they find him? Fox lay cold and still in his seat, eyes half closed and head drooping to one side. Blood continued to trickle down his face and torso.
"Oh god… Fox, hang on! We're coming."
With that, an imposingly large gray carrier hovered slowly to a position above him. It was at least as large as the Great Fox. He could hear the powerful engines roaring – a funerary requiem that the universe sang for him. A hatch opened on the bottom of the ship, and a beam of warm light fell upon Fox's Arwing, like a shaft from the heavens, only this time, father was not beckoning him. Slowly, his Arwing levitated into the hatch. The rays of the soothing warmth and radiance washed all over him.
Soon, the hatch was sealed, and Fox found his Arwing lying on a metal floor inside a docking bay of a large carrier. Peppy, Slippy, and Falco rushed to him, pounding on the glass canopy over the cockpit and shouting words that he could not hear. Fox had abandoned them so coldly and abruptly; yet, his crew came searching for him, and now gave him their help completely unreserved. He was laden with guilt and sorrow as he silently watched them try desperately to save him from the icy coffin. Not even Falco left him. At last the cockpit was pried open.
"……Falco…" Fox breathed with his remaining strength.
"Shhh… Don't talk. I know… We have all heard. You'll be all right," Falco climbed over to placed a finger next to his muzzle, then gently picked him up from the frozen cockpit. Despite his feigned composure, he could see Falco's anxiety flashing in his uneasy eyes. Fox's limbs dangled as Falco carried him out, and his head swayed lifelessly upon his shoulders, mouth open, dripping with dark, cold blood.
Fox smiled weakly and tiredly. His senses were failing, and he could hold out no longer. He closed his eyes and let darkness take over him. Falco, Peppy, and Slippy dropped to their knees, setting Fox down on the floor and calling his name in hopes of seizing him from the grasps of the grim reaper. Yes, Fox could hear very faintly… his crew has forgiven him. He was both moved and comforted. At least god smiled graciously upon him before his solitary departure to the unknown realm…