Part Three
Yawning lazily, Sergeant James Fox McCloud dozed briefly on the nose of his XP-Gazer, his back against the front of the canopy. His blue eyes fluttered under the warmth of the Lylatian sun as he woke, and he glanced to his right for the source of the sound which stirred him.
"Hey, Dad--" called a young kit, about seventeen, holding his hand up to shield his hazel eyes from the sun as he gazed up to James in earnest. The kit's markings were nearly identical to his own, though his eyes were his mother's. "Peppy and the guys are looking for you," the kit appeared uncertain whether he was safe conversing loosely with the senior McCloud. James felt a swell of pride at seeing his son in the royal blue and yellow-tipped uniform of the Cornerian Armed Forces.
Sitting up, he waved at his son to relax.
"As you were, Kid." He chuckled, yawning once more as he climbed down the hull of the Gazer. "Did they say what they wanted?" he asked as he dropped to the ground, fastening the top two brass buttons high upon his neck, and his son shrugged--the boy's gaze shifting from James to the Gazer.
"No, they didn't say much except that the Professor wanted to see all of you. He must need the team for something..." he trailed off, turning to walk with his father back into the nearby hangar. His forlorn backwards glance at the Gazer was painfully obvious, and with an amused sigh, James raised an eyebrow.
"Fox--" he called, and the kit snapped his attention back to James, pricking his ears forward. Folding his arms over one another, James bushed his tail briefly. "Gordon told me you aced your mid-terms," he tried to contain the smile that crept across his face as his son beamed back at him.
"The written part was a bitch, but the Canyon was a cake walk, even with those clunky one-seaters they issued us," Fox said, lowering his head as he realized he had just cursed in front of his father. Following in his father's larger foot steps was not easy--it required a great deal of self-discipline, and Fox continually seemed to beat himself up for the smallest of errors.
Clapping his kit on the back, James held him gently by the back of the neck, dipping his head to catch the boy's eye.
"Son--relax. You forget I helped compile the written test for the course; it's defiantly a bitch." he agreed, and Fox smiled slowly. "And besides, we're both men here, correct?" James asked, and Fox blinked as he tried to contain the involuntary 'sir, yes sir' that he knew his father disliked. Silently Fox nodded, and James paused, turning fully to face his son. The two uniformed foxes lingered in the giant garage entrance to the team's hangar, and James watched Fox carefully.
"You push yourself too hard at times, I think. You are the best--it comes naturally. Relax, Fox." But the beginnings of a frown twitched at Fox's lips.
"I'm not the best, Dad." He said softly, "Everyone knows who I am; it's hard sometimes, to be you." Fox glanced away, and his father frowned, reaching to put a hand on his shoulder.
"Then you should be yourself--by comparing yourself to someone else, you stop being you...and this world would loose a great treasure if you stopped being who you are.".
"It's nice of you to say that, Dad..." Fox furrowed his brow, but James chuckled, shaking his head.
"I didn't--my father did. But I figured that if he were here now, he would have said it all the same...because it's true," James laughed, and Fox slowly smiled with him.
"Thanks, Dad; you'd better go see what the Professor wants," he reminded James, and sure enough, a brown and cream prick-eared rabbit entered through the front of the hangar. He peered into James' office prior to continuing into the main bay, and the rabbit held his arms wide as he spied the two foxes.
"Where'd ya find him--Fortuna, for heaven's sake?" Peppy muttered with a smile, and Fox grinned at the sight of his father's right-hand wingman, and best friend.
"I caught him sleeping on the job again, actually," the boy teased, and James shot a vengeful look down to his son.
"You be nice, Cadet, or no extra sky miles for you--" he grinned evilly, when Fox held his hands up, pricking his ears forward smartly.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" his eyes suddenly went wide, and he tried to duck the inevitable noogie his father mercilessly bestowed upon him--until Peppy cleared his throat. Pausing, James looked up, still holding his son in a playful headlock.
"It's that serious, is it?" he asked, and Peppy nodded, raising a furry eyebrow as Fox tried his damnedest to back out of the headlock. His ears betrayed him, though, and James held him easily, idly glancing down to him. "Are you trying to go somewhere?" He mused, and the boy frowned proudly.
"No--I'm doing just fine," he asserted, when James let out a hearty laugh, warm and fond.
"Always like your mother--she stayed when you said 'go', and shot off quick as a wink if you told her 'heel'. A rebel to the last, that vixen. I'll tell you what; after I'm done with the Professor, you and I'll go for a fly and a milkshake." James let his son out of the headlock, and Peppy ushered him to walk along with him. "--And keep your hands off the Gazers--" James intoned, glancing back to find Fox grinning sheepishly, his fingers inches from the hull of Peppy's ship. Drawing his hand back, Fox sighed.
"I promise," he rolled his eyes at his father, waiting for the two officers to leave. Chuckling, James headed out with Peppy, and once they were out of earshot, Peppy smiled.
"He's already drooling on the cockpit by now...if your son gets slobber on my comm screen, I want you to know I'll hold you fully accountable!" The two had a good laugh until they rounded the corner to find Cole O'Donnell grinning his head off. The rough-coated collie met up with his teammates with his son, Wolf, trailing him sullenly; heavy music pouring from the earphones attached to his head. Wolf's grumpiness was in sharp contrast to his father's exuberance, and he grimaced as Cole clapped him on the back.
"Why don't you go find Junior to play with while Jim, Pep and I find Pigma?" he suggested, but Wolf stared blankly at him until Cole popped the bud out of Wolf's left ear by the wire. Leaning to him, the elder O'Donnell lowered his voice. "Don't embarrass me, Boy." He muttered, and then louder as he straightened: "Go hang with Fox while we meet with the Professor, would ya?"
Wolf lifted his lip slightly in a pout as he snatched his earphones back. Gruffly, he started to shuffle toward the hangar, his pants dragging behind him. His father rolled his eyes at the picture of a grotesque dog with glowing eyes on the back of his son's black t-shirt. After he disappeared into the hanger, Cole muttered to his colleagues about the pains of raising a teenager.
"He acts like he doesn't even hear me sometimes." He stuck his hands in his pockets, walking briskly with his teammates toward the main science labs, and James frowned.
"I heard he got good marks on his written exams, though C. He's not exactly a goof-off. He's just...so damned grumpy," he chuckled for lack of a better word, and Cole nodded with an eye roll.
"Tell me about it. Tiamba has just about had it, and I swear the next time that boy gives me lip--" Cole bawled a fist absent-mindedly, and Peppy gave a quick glance to James as the collie between them shook his head. "And yeah, his scores were ok on the written, but God, his run through Brandel's was second class, honestly." Cole muttered in disappointment with his son, but James grumbled at him.
"Cut the kid some slack, C -- I've seen him go through the Canyon with Fox, and he matches him nearly move for move." James reminded his wingman, but the collie frowned sternly.
"His total was 43 points below Tiamba's, 54 below mine--hell, Jim, 67 below Junior's!" He said, and James shook his head.
"You're being too hard on him--"
"Not hard enough! He needs to pay attention to his studies and give up that stupid surfing crap and get his mind back on his priorities and back in the air. What the hell does he think he is, a damned sea lion? Hell..." Cole growled the bitter words of a father hurt by the fact his only son chose not to follow his footsteps to the print. The boy lacked the dedication and the focus which Cole deemed necessary to become an ace pilot, and nothing that he or his wife could say otherwise could motivate him. The only thing that ever seemed to spur Wolf's drive to succeed was the seemingly effortless and innocent way that Fox beat out his scores time and again. Cole had seen the hate in his son's eyes when the classes' scores for the exam run of Brandel's Canyon were displayed during mess. The hate was drive, and the drive would certainly bring out the ability which Cole knew his son had in him. Or rather...this was his theory. The boys had 2 more years of the academy remaining, and Cole would do anything to see his son walk with the highest honors...and so it was with this in mind that he always pushed Wolf to "go make nice" with the McCloud boy. Like mixing oil and water, Cole knew--yet it was this he knew that would further the drive.
Stiffly, Cole threw up his hand to catch Pigma Denger's attention as they neared the science labs to find the pig already waiting at the doors.
Turning his music up, Wolf O'Donnell shuffled drolly into the hangar, bobbing his head in time as he glanced about. Prep-boy was no where to be seen, he noted. Sneering, Wolf realized he would have called Fox a momma's boy.... if he'd had one.
"What's so funny?" came Fox's muffled voice from Wolf's right, and turning his music down, Wolf shot the kit a taunting gaze.
"Nothin'. Just a funny song," he shuffled further into the hangar.
"Did your dad find my dad?" Fox piped up again, and Wolf scowled, turning his music off altogether.
"Yeah, yeah--they all went to go find that fat fuck, Pigma. I'm stuck here until my pop finishes the meeting." he glanced back to find that Fox wasn't any happier about it.
"What about your mom?" he suggested hopefully, but Wolf rolled his eyes.
"What--my mum actually give up a chance to torture innocent cadets? Hell no--she's got another class of newbies to fuck over," he laughed, sarcasm dripping from his teeth like venom. Wolf's mother, Tiamba O'Donnell, held the lofty position of Master Sergeant--which meant not only did she teach Flight Theory, Advanced Warp core Dianetics, and help with the recruitment of unsuspecting civilian boys and girls, it also meant that she had the pleasure of failing any and all from Brandel's Canyon Run.
Brandel's was a state of the art training course that tested the skills of even the older members and flight teams--thus it was quite a challenge for the young cadets. Tiamba would stand sternly with her clipboard and tisk at nearly every cadet who ran the course--doubly so for her son, as he was 'double the disappointment' she often told him. She tisked at every cadet, with the exception of young Fox McCloud. Whenever he ran the course in the rickety single-seater they all had to use, Master Sergeant O'Donnell wrote furiously on her clipboard reports. She had even been known to smile--once or twice.
Upon hearing that she would not be free to pick Wolf up, Fox sighed, kicking the back left landing strut of his father's Gazer lightly in frustration.
"So where's your girlfriend, Lombardi?" Wolf climbed up upon the wing of Cole's ship. His fighter was to the left of James' ship in the formation; Peppy's to his right. Pigma's was directly behind them all. It was how they flew, landed...associated. Pigma always knew he was only part of the team by pity.
Crossing his arms with a sneer, Fox muttered to Wolf in return for his earlier comment.
"He's probably making the most of his tour duty with your mother," came his off-color reply, and strangely enough Wolf burst into laugher rather than beating Fox senseless.
"Good f'ing luck to him in loosening that bitch up!" He tapped the hollow metal wing twice with his palm, and Fox lifted himself up to the wing of his father's Gazer easily. "Unfortunately for Lombardi, my mum's not in charge of tours today--it's that dick, Bernhardt." Wolf pointed out, and Fox winced.
"Man, that does rot." He agreed, but Wolf rolled his eyes, his fingers working over the release buttons to the canopy.
"It sucks, McCloud. It bites." He corrected Fox's modest vocabulary, who twitched his ears forward then back a bit in embarrassment. "How the hell does Lombardi even stand you, anyway? Hell, he's as evil as me," the cub chuckled as he raised the tinted reinforced glass canopy, dragging a few wires out of his pockets.
"What're you doing?" Fox pricked his ears forward in concern, but Wolf cocked a furry eyebrow at him, plugging something in somewhere are hs leaned down into the cockpit. Straining to see what he was doing, Fox jumped as heavy metal music suddenly blared out from the comm. Grinning proudly, Wolf bobbed his head, laughing at the pious sight of the appalled young McCloud. "Your dad's going to kill you..." he muttered, frowning at the boy across from him.
"I'm gonna kill you if you don't lighten the fuck up, Junior." Wolf was pleased to elicit the response he received from Fox, who laid his ears back flat, baring his teeth.
"I told you never to call me that!" He hissed, "I'm so sick and tired of this entire base going on about how great my old man is! Half the people call me that to remind me I'll never be able to live up to him, and the other half think I'm him reincarnated--and when I don't live up to him, they give me shit about scores higher than any in my class!" the kit seethed, when Wolf laughed at Fox's clenched fists.
"Easy, Junior--my mum thinks you're good," he reminded his classmate, but Fox rolled his eyes, leaning up against the canopy of James' fighter.
"My life's goal to impress your mother is complete, Wolf, thank you." He replied haughtily, when the wolf cub growled briefly.
"You may be good--but I'm better; even if my mum doesn't see it." he snarled, infuriated by Fox's sly grin.
"Not likely." he chuckled.
The Professor's office had changed over the years--the numerous experiments and vials had given way to bookcases and drawing boards. No longer the boy enslaved for his work, Andross Pigskowski invented as he pleased. There were those who called him mad, but his funding kept rolling in, and his job was secure as the Head of the Academy.
The chimp's advance in the area was accidental, really--one day he began suggesting advanced new ways to train the cadets, and the next day he found himself rearranging his office. Brandel's was not the only thing to receive a make over; a state-of-the-art training center was bestowed upon the young cadets. It was complete with the most advanced simulators and training devices.
But though the fruits of the Professor's labor had given rise to the most elite Planetary Defense Force in history, what he truly wanted was an Armada. 15,000 ships outfitted with the latest technology and the finest crews. The Defense Council called him overbearing and mad...the Admiral Borgan called him a visionary.
He would have his Armada someday...and then he would take the respect he deserved.
Sitting leisurely in his high-backed leather chair, the Professor nodded to admit the four test pilots who stood anxiously by his door. Confidently, the vulpine in the group took the lead, ushering his teammates to stand next to him. With a cool glance, Andross took in the team: Peppy, who held the Professor's gaze stoically, stood quietly by James' side. James smiled slightly in anticipation of their next test run--the egotistical bastard wasn't even at attention. O'Donnell stood to his captain's left, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the ceiling with a blatant lack of interest. These meetings did not suit the collie, whose only interest seemed to be chasing after James in the sky. It was O'Donnell that the Professor had first thought of going to, but on closer observation he had decided against it. Although the lieutenant thought of nothing but proving to the world that he was as good as James, his jealousy was more a form of flattery. James may have been the one in the spot light, but O'Donnell never truly hated him for it--he was yet another of the mindless idiots who worshiped the famed test pilot.
And then there was Pigma. The captain's star pupil may have been head of his class and willing to tag along on the dangerous test runs James flew, but his piloting skills were second-class in comparison. The chubby swine's envy was deep-rooted and justified. As always, he stood at the back of the room--the tag-along whom James encouraged to be just like him. As if the system-wide famous James McCloud needed any more followers.
The Professor kept the sneer forming at his lips at bay, resting his chin on folded hands. Yes, it was Pigma he had gone to, and his suspicions had been correct.
"Well I must say, you are all incredibly prompt today--eager to win the crowd again?"
"No. Just eager to be back in the sky," James spoke freely, and Cole murmured in agreement.
"Well then, I have a job for you boys. A cargo run." Andross leaned back in his chair, and raised an eyebrow at the snuff that betrayed O'Donnell. "Don't worry, you're not delivering pizza." He quipped, and the collie grinned to James.
"He's funny, this guy. I think too many years heading an Academy full of sarcastic teenagers has finally gotten to him. Please tell him we don't do cargo runs, Chief, pizza or not." Cole rolled his eyes, and James frowned openly.
"Cole, shut it--he needs help with the cargo, or else the Admiral would have assigned him another team."
With a sigh, Cole nodded, glancing back to the Professor, who was mastering himself quite well. The blank piercing stare he gave the team was warm and friendly compared to the glare he held inside. He held no military rank, and O'Donnell never failed to remind him of this. As always, James fed the collie more of his self-righteous bullshit about "helping" the Professor out when "no one else was qualified."
"So what is it? What're we transporting?" Cole folded his arms.
"A bomb."
"A what?"
"You heard me, O'Donnell. I need you to transport a bomb to Yawetag in Aidea, MacBeth. You leave tonight, and will rendezvous with Captain Guiliam in the Y Sector. You'll receive further briefing once you meet with him as to how the delivery will go in Yawetag." The Professor explained loosely, and Cole sighed.
"Just one bomb, eh?"
"Just the one, yes." Andross nodded, resting his chin on one hand.
"Nothing too strenuous, now. So why all the pomp and circumstance over one little bitty bomb? Why d'you need all four of us?" He motioned to his teammates, and Peppy broke his silence at last.
"Isn't it obvious? We're not just the transports--we're the protection." He nodded to the Professor, who let a tiny smile escape him. The rabbit always was the more intelligent of the rabble.
"Quite right--it must reach its destination, and I need the best fighter pilots in the system to ensure that it gets there. Naturally, that means you four get to take a little vacation. Tour MacBeth a bit. Relax at a health spa. Whatever--I just need that bomb to reach Yawetag. Do you accept?" His attempt at flattery won them over, as he expected. With a coy grin, Cole glanced to James, who took a quick pole of the crew.
"Looks like we get to have a fur scrub and a facial at Letni Mineral Springs, ladies. But I'm curious--what exactly is this bomb for, Professor?" James asked good-naturedly, and the ape smiled fully at last.
"Glad you asked--it's not just a bomb. It's the bomb. The one all of MacBeth will thank you and your team for delivering. It's a gravity bomb, and as it's name implies, when detonated it'll restore the proper flux of density to the core of the planet. I'm trying to save this planet, gentleman, and if you do a bang up job you'll go down in history yet again. I'll meet you down at runway 104 at 7 o'clock sharp to go over some last minute pointers. But for now, if you'll excuse me, I have some pressing business..." The ape nodded as James returned his gaze and his smile. All too easy.
"It'll be an honor, Professor--Vixxy would have loved to have reported this..." James watched as Andross' smile fell slowly.
"Yes, well..." He dropped his eyes and continued with what ever paperwork he had been attending to before their arrival. James nodded at this clear dismissal, gathering his crew.
It was not until the heavy oak door closed behind Pigma that Andross put down his pen and looked back up. He was not sure what burned in him clearest--the ache of fumbling his first attempt to kill James, or the elation at having another chance. Either way, he knew it would not bring back Vixxy...but he would be one step closer to ridding his life of the every day reminder that it was never him she had loved.
"So you're leaving tonight?"
"Yeah," James watched as his kit sipped at his chocolate milkshake, sitting across from him in their usual booth at the Daybreak Diner.
"What time?"
"I gotta be at the runway about an hour before take off." James replied. "Nineteen hundred. You ok to stay on your own or did you wanna go to Rosa's?"
Fox wrinkled his nose up in insult, cutting up his omelet.
"Dad, I'm not four. I'm ok at the house by myself. You're only gonna be gone for the week, right? Besides...Grandma always freaks out when I stay with her when you're gone. She feeds me too well. Tries to dress me. And she's always giving me this look, you know the one that she and Aunt Ruby always give you when we go over for the holidays?"
"She just loves you, kid." James mumbled out from his mouthful of patty melt, and Fox dropped his gaze to his plate.
"She wonders why you haven't found me a mother yet," he said softly, receiving a gruff mutter from his father.
"You already have a mother."
"I know, I know, Dad--I didn't say it...Grandma Rosa did. She doesn't understand that we're ok...the two of us."
James paused; holding his son's gaze, trying to read through the motherless mask his kit always wore. Every time Rosa or his sister tried to present James with a young lady whom they thought would be a perfect match, he had always respectfully declined. It was a very rare moment when he pondered over the notion that he might have made a mistake...and now, watching the teenage boy before him, James entertained this notion once more. He had never cried in front of his son, nor had he ever told wistful stories of Vixxy and their past. Photo albums were unbearable to him, and so was the scent of the freshly baked cookies and peppermint candies his wife had always given to their first and only son. Every time he looked into his son's eyes, he saw his wife.
But he had never cried in front of his son, and he had never told him how much he missed the woman who had touched both their lives. Perhaps he had been wrong...as the kit moved to stare blankly at this plate once more, James wondered how much of his son's mother he had taken away by not speaking of her. Fox had been young when she died, and all he remembered was the peppermints...the peppermints that broke James' heart.
"So we're gonna miss our flight through Brandel's tonight, hmm?"
"This time, yes." James nodded. "We'll go when I get back."
Fox nodded in return, picking through his hash browns with the same blank stare. Slowly taking a draught of his soda, James closed his eyes briefly before gazing back to Fox.
"Do you remember what she looked like?" He asked softly, knowing he had caught Fox off guard when the boy snapped his head up, blinking.
"She?" Fox frowned.
"Your mother."
"Yeah, I've seen the pictures." Fox quietly returned to his meal, and James could not help but smile very softly in admiration for how strong his son was trying to be. He had never cried in front of Fox for his wife...and it was just now that he realized that since he was five, Fox hadn't either.
"No, I mean do you remember what she looked like? Her face?"
"I've tried, but I can't. Just her eyes..."
"And the peppermints?" James prompted, remembering shamefully when he had refused to buy a bag of the candies when Fox was but five years old. The kit had held his temper and his tears when they were in the supermarket, but once they were home, he had disappeared into his room for days. Even the tin James came home with on the third day of their silence had never truly made up for his gruffness with his son that week. He had encouraged Fox to put his mother out of mind and out of sight...what you couldn't remember couldn't hurt it?
As Fox looked up, the tears just at bay, James knew he had been wrong.
"The peppermints, yes. I remember those." Fox said. "But I can't remember what she looked like; what she sounded like...what she sang to me at bed time, or any of that. I remember when she rocked me in the rocking chair on the back porch, and I remember that she smelled like vanilla..."
James chuckled, nodding.
"The perfume she always wore, yeah, that was it." He grinned, scratching his chin before sighing. "The song she sang went something like 'Little one of mine, sleep gently on your cloud...um...softly go the hands of time, for this little one of mine.'" Fox looked up in fleeting recognition as his father sang very softly, his hands trembling as he reached for his milkshake. "And she sounded like honey when she spoke to me, and like sugar when she rocked you to sleep. But when she stood in front of a camera, she sounded like fire." James chuckled, smoothing his ears back.
"That girl could report the news, let me tell you. She always believed in reporting stories that mattered, and stories that were true. Remind me one day to tell you about the time she took over the first station she worked at, just to get this one interview she wanted to do on the air."
"She did what?" Fox laughed briefly, and James grinned in return.
"Your mother was a spitfire; she stood up for what she believed in. She could be a devil one moment and an angel the next..." Here, he drug his wallet out to place a small picture of Vixxy holding Fox when he was newly born. "...This was one of those angel moments. I want you to keep this. I don't want you to forget what she looked like..."
Fox held his breath as his father slid the picture across the table at him, taking in the beauty that was his mother. His fingers touched the photograph hesitantly, and as he picked it up, James rested his chin on his hands silently. He watched as his son's eyes swept over the tiny portrait as if he never wanted to look away, and the tears came at last.
"So we'll go through Brandel's when you get home?" Came the deft change in subject, and James blinked, nodding quickly.
"Yeah, kid...we'll go."
"Little one of mine, sleep gently on your cloud.
Rest tonight and dream, of when you'll make me proud.
Dust the sky with stars, and heaven's light will shine.
Love tonight and know, you're always on my mind.
Little one of mine, stand surely on the ground.
Life can be so cruel, until your purpose found.
Catch the light and breathe, hold fast to all you know.
Weather every storm, and in your heart you'll grow.
Little one of mine, I rock thee now to sleep.
Count the blades of grass, and swim in rivers deep.
Worry not for now, I pray for love devine.
Softly go the hands of time, for this little one of mine."
Illustrations: (Cut and paste into your browser)
Serina: http:s92873267.onlinehome.us/starfox/fanart/fara/serinatriqueta2.jpg
Annola Lee: http:s92873267.onlinehome.us/starfox/fanart/fara/annolalee.jpg
The Island: http:s92873267.onlinehome.us/starfox/fanart/fara/islandblurburn.jpg
References
"A Pirate Looks At Fifty" – © Jimmy Buffet
"Remember Me" – © Tim McGraw
"Exile" – © Enya
"No One Like You"- © Sara Brightman
"Honor Him"- © Hans Zimmerman
"Only If..." – © Enya
