Disclaimer: See first part. Snifit is copyright to Tyler Paul. Starball is copyright to both of us.
Author's Notes: This is sort of just a short filler chapter. It is not happy, of course. Then again, how many of my stories are?
Collateral Damage Part II: Starball
The Starlight Fortuna Army Base was tucked among the more temperate of the planet's climates; temperate meaning that it generally stayed around zero degrees Farenheit.
It was like any other base on the arctic planet. The Fortunians were a proud people, and rightfully so. They had survived in the most foreboding of natural landscapes and they were thriving.
The majority of the population was made up of military personelle and their families, with only a few scientists and mercenaries. They were the champions of the Lylat System in a game known as Starball; a game which can only be described as a quite rough mix between football, basketball, and soccer played on air skates. In fact, the only planet they had trouble beating was Corneria, though Macbeth was their rival and perhaps had the most obnoxious fanbase in all of the system.
These were the kind of things the people of Fortuna talked about in their strange language which no one in the system seemed to understand. They talked of Starball and Macbeth and rumors of what weapons the scientists were building for the great war with Venom.
Oddly enough, the war rarely entered the militant people's conversations. They expected protection from the Cornerians, as they had expected food and water and money from them in the times past and had never gotten.
It was true this time, too.
But the Fortunians did not know this, so the men, women, and children at the Starlight Base spent their last hours in the mortal realm in a parade-silly thing, really-to welcome back a small-town hero.
Zanu Iceblade knelt down and kissed his little girl, Sanu, on the forehead. She was three, goibng on four, and her little polar bear paws gripped the slick, shiny fabric of her daddy's jersey. It was pretty, cyan and white-Fortuna's national colors-with a snowflake and a star like the flag that she saluted sloppily every day in nursery school before cookie time.
Zanu was a defender on the Fortuna Starball team. They had just beaten Macbeth in the finals, and thus everyone was very happy, at least for the moment, except for the Macbethians of course. It had gone into overtime and was all quite exciting, but Zanu had missed a shot that forced them into overtime. He told the opposing player-friend, really-that he would get him back for that next year.
He would not get the chance.
The attack happened quickly and would have been painless if it did not have the stinging irony found so often in war. The last thing the people of the Starlight Army Base saw was the confetti and the fighters and the bombs and the golden trophy-their passion and sweat and tears. The trophy that was set to make the rounds to each city, but like them would never make it...
"Ouch!" the young coyote yelped after being whacked on the back of the head by a beer bottle. It did not break, and he instead glared angrily at the clumsy drunk who hit him. The cheetah hiccuped out an uncomfortable apology, then went back to his raucous celebration. He was not alone. There were people dancing on chairs and tables throughout the seedy bar. It resembled an Irish pub after a huge victory in soccer.
He shook his head and stared back at the soda he was drinking. He was only seventeen, still too young to drink by any Lylatian laws. Not that he minded too much. He glanced back up at the vid-screen, which was replaying the final goal for the hundredth time that day. The soldier was only slightly interested in sports, but he did enjoy his countrymen's pastime. He wondered silently if he ever played it as a boy . . . if they even had it then.
Suddenly, the screen changed from the sport to a news bulletin:
"The people of Fortuna seemed to have suffered a great tragedy today. At 1:30 standard Lylatian time, an unknown group of ships destroyed the Starlight Military Base. Witnesses to the attack said that they appeared to have Venomian markings, but this remains unsubstantiated at this time. The people of Fortuna, if you are watching, you are in our thoughts and prayers. Thank you. Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming..."
The coyote sat up in his seat as soon as the broadcast began. He narrowed his cool colored eyes and glanced around the room. Sure enough, few of the other patrons seemed to have even noticed the bulletin. The ones that did, however, quickly grabbed their uniforms, hats, and rifles from the doorway and ran off, either to their posts or to their families. After a few moments to get over the shock, the coyote followed suit, but at the last moment turned around to yell out a warning to the others in the bar. "Vens are coming! Get out while you can!"
He did not wait to see if they heard, but instead started running across the street, dodging a few cars along the way. His eyes changed quickly from green to blue in the sunlight, though they were narrowed to slits out of stress. As he rounded the corner, however, the sight that stood before him stopped him in his tracks. There were dozens – no, hundreds – of Venomian cruisers and fighters approaching the small base and town.
"Celm," he swore quietly.
Author's Notes: Ha ha ha.