ㅤ

Mission No. 66

Corneria
Capital City Memorial Cemetery

"Guiding Light"

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

It was noon when they buried her mother's remains. There wasn't enough left of her to justify body reconstruction for a viewing, so instead a hologram was projected over the closed coffin, showing her peacefully resting on a bed of flowers within. Ultimately it made her look like a ghost, but it was better than seeing what she must have looked like now.

As they lowered the coffin into the hole in the ground, Fara realized the last moment she'd seen Edelyn was when she left the car to enter the military base. She looked so conflicted when they last spoke, discussing the doubts she'd had about Fara's involvement in the company's future. It certainly wasn't a happy moment to end on, but it was the only ending she got.

For the longest time it didn't sink in that she could have been caught in that explosion as well. If she'd just left a few minutes later, or gone in after her mother to see what the holdup was, she could've joined her. 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 mother—and now all she had left of James. 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 too busy mourning Fox's death instead. That was the one-two punch to her gut. In the span of a few days she had lost both her mother 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'd returned to his mercenary job, and she was the reason her mother had been at the military base at the wrong place and time.

If only she'd stayed with Fox. If only she hadn't pushed him to go back to mercenary work. If only she hadn't taken up that silly test-flying again. If only she'd followed her mother'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 mother that had died, she could have run to Fox for comfort; or if just Fox died, she could have found solace in her mother. But with both gone, she had nowhere to run to, and no one to hold her. And of course, not even her estranged father was present.

Instead there were mostly strangers surrounding her, or people she barely had relationships with—some friends she'd made while test flying were present, while the rest were business associates of her mother'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," said Ewen's soft voice. "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 limousine (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 do it.

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 so he could see in.

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 watery and red. "Yes?"

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

Fara huffed quietly. "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 that direction."

Fara's heart sank. She'd hoped his destination was too far out of the way, and she'd get to curtly decline. So she raised her chin and put on a strong face. "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.

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, like her hand in her mother 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 woman Edelyn was and how her death was such a pity.

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

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

"Hm?" She looked back at him, noticing the tall bull had to hunch down to fit in the car; he was packed in like a sardine.

"Limos, that is. Or any other rich expense for that matter. She didn't care for fancy dinners or extravagant houses or the company of house servants. She only bothered because she was a businesswoman, and it was expected of her. She 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? She thought them pleasant at best, while a hassle and a distraction at worst. No, if your mother had her way, she would've dispensed with all that and lived in a tin can if it meant she could work on her inventions all day."

Fara nodded, smiling for once. "You're right; we were similar that way. I'd much rather be a pilot for the rest of my life."

"She didn't do it for fame and fortune—and yet she wasn't just driven by her curiosity and the joys of invention, either," Fredersen continued. "Edelyn was driven by the good she knew her creations could bring about. She was driven by a purpose. And to achieve that purpose, there were things outside her calling she 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. During the merger, Edelyn made you the sole beneficiary in her will, intending for you to succeed her in the company. You've inherited half the stake in General Dynamics from your mother; that makes you the wealthiest woman in all of Lylat. You can't stay a test pilot forever. Soon your mother's responsibilities will become your own."

Fara bared her fangs. "Really, I can't believe your audacity! This isn't the time to think about your silly company. I buried my mother 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. "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 spin, and time still passes. The company waits for no one, especially when Lylat's future rests on its shoulders."

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

"I assure you, I do not exaggerate; and when you finally accept the reins, you'll see it, too. There are millions of people around the system depending on you, and they can't put their 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.

"Can't you respect my period of grief? I'm giving you a lift to be nice, but maybe I should toss you out here."

Fredersen sighed, his warm exhale was so powerful Fara could feel his breath from the other side of the seat. At least he shut up.

Staring outside again, Fara 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—and 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 be pretty, but you can avoid most of the traffic that way."

"…I'd take him up on his suggestion, Ewen." Anything to make her journey with Fredersen shorter.

"Very good, ma'am."

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

Slippy walked as naturally as he could through the dim hallways of Dawson McLean. Most of the lights were off in the building, leaving only the light from its spacious glass windows to bounce around and illuminate the 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 appeared empty—but that made it feel 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 vacant and dark, he stood out like a sore thumb, with only the cover of the 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, like 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. When his coworker Darcy had spoken up, questioning their intentions for her programs, they silenced her. He'd seen abuses of her projects and everyone's projects on a daily basis, yet no regulations were in place to discourage them.

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

CHAMELEON and KRAKEN showed no sign of going away. In fact, with the growing specter of hidden Venomians in their ranks—proven by the attack on the Capital City Airforce Base—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?

"Slippy!"

The frog stopped in his tracks, turning to face 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.

"Why are you here?" Slint asked. "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."

Rather than give in to his usual anxiety, Slippy 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. 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.

Slint nodded to him, then patted his back. "Alright Slippy, I understand. In fact 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 to their advantage. Now it was time to turn Corneria's tools against her.

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

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

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

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 the same care did not extend to the outskirts.

She had never seen this side of Corneria City before—at least, not since the war. 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 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 was surprised to learn she lived this close to so much squalor.

Well, 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 out of my way," she said as an excuse.

"Well, when one spends so much time at the tops of towers, it's hard to be aware of what goes on at the bottom. Not every place has recovered from the war as fast as Corneria City—and even some sectors of this city 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 on."

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 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 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 mother had done many charitable things to help out wherever she could, within reason.

The longer they waited, the more people began to take note of the idling limo. A beggar walked 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!"

Once he'd walked away, Fredersen spoke. "You just made that man's day."

"Well, I'm glad someone can be happy today…"

Fara reached 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. "My family hasn't had a place to stay for a year!"

His words tugged at 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 her larger ones—20, 50, 100 credits each. 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 purse of nearly everything: even gift cards, coupons, wet-wipes, gum, and mints. All she had left were her numerous ID cards, but still she couldn't fill their empty hands. She turned her purse upside down, shaking it to show them she had nothing left. Even Fredersen handed her all the money from his 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 couldn't parse any of their words out from the clamor 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 behind them the imploring voices of the crowd faded. 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 mother! 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 the sun… "

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 mother, and I have been working on a solution this past year—but it's not 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 from the ashes of war."

She rolled her eyes. "I've heard that phrase many a time. You must love it."

"Your mother did, too. Fits perfectly with the Phoenix brand. But it isn't just a slogan; she intended to make it a reality, and we still do."

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

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

Project Guiding Light.

Slippy released a deep breath. He'd finally found it! At once he felt both relieved and frightened.

Unsurprisingly, the Cornerian Security Agency hadn't contacted their computer software company to patch 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. Instead they gambled that the exploit would go unnoticed while they capitalized off it.

Well, ColdRead worked like a charm: a skeleton key that detected the tumblers in any digital lock and morphed to fit them seamlessly. Corneria's unpatched security systems were no match for him—not when he knew the weakpoint in their heel.

This was exactly where Peppy wanted him to be. He'd logged into the account of an overseer on the project, though he didn't recognize their name. At once he began scraping all the info the account had access to, downloading it onto his data card.

"Guiding Light." What a pretentious, self-important name. Whatever it is, they're sure proud of it.

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

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

"Project Guiding Light has two immediate goals: the generation of infinite energy, and the fair and equitable distribution of that energy to every planet in Lylat. 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. "Infinite energy?" she scoffed. "There's no such thing."

The bull nodded. "A bit of an exaggeration, but compared to our people's miniscule needs? More than we could ever use in a billion years, right at our fingertips."

"But how is that possible?"

"You wanted to know why all of our resources were going to Lylat's center? Well, now I can tell you…"

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

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 attempted in Lylat's history. The initial dimensions would make it 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.

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.

And that point was Lylat: the star at the center of the system.

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

"Ostensibly it's just another space colony, but in reality it's a much bigger gambit. We call it Astropolis: City in the Stars. The original name was Bolsa-A, or Bolse-Alpha; it's based off the old 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, it's nothing of the sort. The project started many years ago, when you were but a child. Bolse-Alpha is the culmination of decades of Space Dynamics and Phoenix Corp's work—in no small part due to the ingenuity and resourcefulness of your mother. It has nothing to do with Andross's Bolse-V, or Bolse-Venom; he merely built his own design based upon ours."

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

Quite the contrary, Slippy found; Andross was involved from the very start. From Bolse-Z all the way to Bolse-V, he had a hand in every aspect of the project. It was no wonder Corneria decided to start over from the beginning of the alphabet with Bolse-A. It was an effort to distance themselves from his involvement—

But 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. He'd been involved since day one, and even during the war he'd continued to work on them. After defeating Venom, Corneria had seized blueprints of Bolse-X, Bolse-V, and his uncompleted Bolse-W. They studied them, learned from them, and implemented Andross's improvements into their own design. Photographs and scans of the 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 his work. Slippy's eyes scanned over hundreds of mugshots of primates and lizards alike, complete with Cornerianized names, job descriptions, skillsets, and even current whereabouts.

The name that caught his eye, however, was one Albert Sifaka—or rather, the alias he was known by:

"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 his description he was the chief architect of the project—and he wasn't deceased either, but alive and kicking. He was one of the highest profile Venomian prisoners tried for war crimes; specifically for using slave labor to build Venom's military installations when he was Minister of Industry—including Bolse-V. He'd been found guilty on all accounts, yet let off relatively lightly in comparison to others, who'd been outright 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 hundreds of other secret Venomian refugees and criminals.

No wonder Corneria had kept the project under wraps. The risks they took were enormous—but was their gambit somehow worth it? What was its use?

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

"The city will be outfitted with Beltino's gate creation technology, allowing us to open permanent portals from the sun to every major city around the Lylat System—in cooperation with their governments, of course. Through this means we can make Lylat's energy available to every nation in the world for little cost, regardless of how close or how far from the sun 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! What would you use as the source?"

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

Fara glanced out the window for a brief instant, squinting and raising a hand till Lylat's sunlight streamed around the silhouette of her fingers. When she removed her head from the window, she sat blinking away the dark hand-shape that remained, even though she had only looked for a second.

"You mean, 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 no challenge at all."

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

But that doesn'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 have "bionuclear" in the name?

For that matter, what even was bionuclear energy? As far as he knew, it was completely made up. Lifeforms couldn't produce that kind of energy on their own—but at the same time, Andross had a gruesome hobby of turning benign creatures into horrifying monsters. Was it possible…?

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. 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?

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

And finally, what kind of lifeform could produce so much energy—seemingly from nothing?

The answer came when he finally stumbled upon a diagram of the satellite's core.

It was a hundred-foot tall metal column. He remembered seeing one such core protrude from Bolse-V to keep from overheating and melting down the rest of the satellite—a fate Star Fox doomed it to anyway. Pylons that siphoned the energy away to other parts of the satellite connected to the cylinder perpendicularly, as if it were stabbed by many spears from all sides; but inside the tube, lying nestled halfway down its height, was a hollow compartment: a space large enough for a 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—but not Lylatian foxes. The profiles of several Cerinian candidates populated the space beside the core, ranked by their compatibility score and numerical subject identifier.

Then it clicked. The satellites weren't directly powered by solar energy, or even "bionuclear" energy; it was a misnomer, perhaps to mislead intentionally, or 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 which he'd found. Or Y, or X, or even V.

The Cerinian subject was meant to power Bolse-A: the newest one.

His blood ran cold when he noticed Number 28's photo at the very top of the compatibility list.

Krystal!

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

"I hope you understand, Ms. Phoenix, that sacrifices must be made in order for your mother'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.

"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 and drained dry 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 countless jobs for unskilled laborers: 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 mother used to. You can be a hero, just as 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. I barely know anything about running a company, or any of the technology Mom was working on. I'm afraid it'll overwhelm me, and I'll just fail everyone!"

Fredersen nodded. "I understand. I know being entrusted with something of this size is daunting, especially under such short notice. Edelyn didn't plan on passing for a long time—like most of us. She would have run the company herself to protect you till old age took her. She never would have wanted this weight thrust upon you at such a young age. But you need not worry; we will guide you. Your mother said her assistant can help you manage things before you learn to fly on your own. And during that time, you will of course retain complete 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 mother was head of the company, you can count on Phoenix Corp's full support."

She shook his hand, taking solace in the firmness of his strong grip.

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

ㅤ⧬ㅤ

The data finished downloading and compressing several hours later. Slippy had seen enough—at least for now. He'd taken all he could, and with the files on Daedalus and Guiding Light in his possession, he could hunt down the satellite's creator and learn even more.

Now all that was left was getting out of here…

Packing his things, Slippy took off down the hall. At once he was both exhilarated and terrified—even more so than when he had entered. If they caught him now they'd find the data pack and everything on it—an instant death sentence.

Already his mind began to race about what to do with the information he'd uncovered. More than anything he needed to warn Fox about Corneria's true intentions for Krystal—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, and soon Pepper would be announcing his death to everyone in Lylat.

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

"Hey-hey! Where do you think you're going?!" a voice called out to him.

Slippy snapped back to the present. He was nearly to 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 there looking at him expectantly.

He froze in place for a second, like a deer in the headlights. Escape was so close, it was nearly in arm's reach. Part of his mind screamed at him to just bolt out the door—but if they managed to catch him, that would be the end of it. 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 old things still around here." His eye flicked to Slippy. "What you got on it?"

Slippy smirked sheepishly. "Uh… stolen secrets?"

He forced an impish wink—then nearly puked.

The guards glanced at each other for a second, then smiled as well. 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 winked back.

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

For a few moments Slippy merely stood in place, holding his jumble of extra clothes and bags—and the data stick.

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 to flow back and forth around him, idly chattering and going about their business. None of them took notice of a portly frog gawking at a random data stick in the lobby of a software security company.

"Heh… heh-heh…"

He took one foot forward, then another. Several more, and he was out 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 freedom of the open street, and the warmth 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 second hand on a clock, and every inch of his amphibian skin perspired with 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. People looked at him out of concern, but most hurried along their way rather than stick around and deal with him.

Slippy felt a hundred pounds lighter now, as if the source of his anxiety now lay drying and splattered all over the pavement, never to haunt him again. Regaining his composer and still giggling, he shouldered his jacket and bags and casually strolled into the crowd, disappearing among the thousands of west coast residents passing the office building every day.

And that was the last Dawson McLean ever saw of Slippy Toad.