Chapter Fifteen: The Search For Celestra
"Whitewater Intelligence, this is Fox McCloud and the mercenary unit Star Fox. We are approaching your cruiser and wish to board immediately."
Falco's head throbbed madly as he focused his eyes upon the majestic Katinan craft. His blood felt frozen in his veins, his eyes strained as he stared down at Titania, and his stomach churned with guilt. They had left Celestra behind! She may be mortally wounded from the crash, dead even, and the four of them had turned tail and fled for their appointed meeting with the Katinan fleet? What sort of a friend, a lover, was he? Subconsciously the avian opened his beak, compelling himself to say, "We've got to go back for her", but no words followed this action and a few minutes later they had docked and left their craft.
"We've got to speak with Captain Anilora," Slippy ordered one of the escorts as they were being led to their living quarters.
The boy blinked several times. "I apologize, sir, but the captain is holding council with the other heads of the fleet and cannot speak at this time."
For a moment it looked as though Slippy would accept this, then he came forward in an infuriated rush and slammed the escort against the wall, collar clutched menacingly in his balled fists. "That wasn't a request, damn it! This is important and something Anilora would want to know. So I suggest you take us to him before my friends and I lose our tempers, you get me?"
In an attempt to gain aid in his predicament the boy glanced helplessly at Falco; the avian settled one wing upon the barrel of his electron rifle but made no outward threat. Understanding his precarious situation the escort nodded assent and Slippy snarled but roughly released him. They started off swiftly down the hallway, traversing most of the ship to reach their destination, pausing only to knock at the door to the meeting room before entering the war council.
Seven men were seated at a rectangular rosewood table; the eighth, Captain Anilora, was on his feet at the head of the table, hands braced upon it as though he had been delivering important information before the interruption. Bill Grey was leaning against the wall behind his captain, flanking the man with one hand resting warily on a knife at his utility belt. Everyone's expressions changed into surprise and delight when they recognized their mercenary allies; Bill rushed forward to grasp hands with Fox.
"Great to see you lot again!" the male assassin exclaimed, and Falco couldn't help but flinch at the jovial tone. "Glad ya made it through alright."
A silence descended upon them all; Peppy glanced nervously down at Slippy, who shuffled his feet and looked away. Falco cast his stricken gaze upon the floor. Anilora straightened and asked delicately, "Where is Celestra? Why is it she is not with you?"
Everyone glanced, terrified, to Falco. Bill released Fox's hand. "Yeah; where is she?"
Falco ran a hand down his face, guilty rumbling intensifying within the pit of his belly. For some reason he couldn't explain he locked eyes with Anilora, who gazed worriedly back and clutched dependently at the back of his chair. It hit the avian as hard as a punch in the face from Leon Powalski when a subconscious voice whispered in his mind that Captain Anilora never would have left Celestra behind, regardless of the situation at hand. Feeling inferior to the Katinan captain Falco glanced away and muttered quietly, "Celestra's been shot down."
For several seconds no one spoke, then Bill growled in rage and stalked toward Falco, slamming him hard against the wall and shoving his shorter frame up close to the avians'. "She fell, and you left her?! YOU LEFT HER BEHIND?!" When Falco failed to respond Bill reared back a fist and punched him hard in the beak, causing the avians' head to smack against the wall behind him with a crack. "She's been through hell to make sure we all get through safely and you LEFT HER?!" Still Falco could not speak, features not even remotely handsome now as they were smothered beneath a mask of submission and guilt; Bill punched him in the stomach with increasing force.
"WILLIAM GREY!!!"
All eyes turned in fear to Captain Anilora, who now stood straight and seemed to tower over them all, so awful was the look upon his otherwise handsome face. As Anilora stalked up to Bill, Falco was shocked to see the steadfast male assassin trembling under the Katinan captain's wrathful glare; with barely a movement he separated the brawling pair and fixed Bill with a look that clearly displayed his disgust.
Then his eyes were upon Falco, and his expression changed to one of pleading. "You must tell me now what ill has befallen Celestra. Be courageous, now, and tell me, I beg this of you."
Slippy, still angry that his team had departed without the assassin, spoke up before Falco could and relayed the whole tle to the council, beginning with their entrance into Sector X. A devestated hush fell over the room; Bill sat heavily down on the floor, covering his face with his hands, but Anilora rose and looked at them all, seemingly confused.
"You all act as though she's dead," he pointed out simply.
Fox rubbed his eyes and said dully, "It is highly unlikely that Celestra crash-landed on Titania, and even more unlikely that she would survive the crash. There is little hope that she's still alive somewhere."
Anilora chuckled to himself and shook his head. "In all this time you've fought beside her, have you learned nothing? Celestra's will and stubbornness to survive renders her beyond such things." He motioned for Bill to rise and follow him and nodded to the mercenaries to invite them along, then turned his attention back to the war council. "Gentlemen, my deepest regrets, but my friends and I must depart. This event was unforseen to me, and I must now take the necessary steps to rectify it."
They set off down the magnificent hallway, the captain leading, the other five trailing behind him wearing incredulous expressions and wondering just what Anilora was planning to do. Nearly every man in authority they encountered attempted to engage the captain in conversation, but to every person he only answered firmly, "I have important business to attend to; please excuse me."
Cresting the bridge connecting living quarters with the docking bay and helm areas, Anilora steered them in the direction of the technological research board, and soon they were all inside and in the company of the top Katinan technician, a man by the name of Jered Nasmun.
"What can I do for you, Captain?" he inquired briskly, shaking Anilora's hand.
"I have a very important task for you, Jered," the captain began, accompanying his colleague to the research motherboard. "I need you to locate a transmitter distress signal, most likely set off automatically in a time of crisis."
Jered rubbed his hands together and began typing. "Piece of cake. Do you have a license number or other registration information?"
Anilora folded his arms and frowned slightly to himself. "The craft's name is Rage of Macbeth, but you will find this particular Arwing is registered under the name Legacy, licensed to Jarius Marquette. The registration company was a Fortunan location, but it no longer operates in accordance within the Cornerian Army guidelines. Will that do?"
The technician kept typing, eyes focused keenly upon the code scrolling across the screen until at last a picture of Celestra's demolished Arwing came up. Falco gasped--the craft was no longer spiraling through empty space, but surrounded by pale golden sand! The assassin herself was not in sight, but the avian knew that if they could not see her, it was because she was already on her feet and seeking a new means of transportation or at the very least protection and shelter.
"There, gentlemen," Anilora assured them, patting Bill upon the shoulder. "Celestra lives still, just as I predicted. Jered, I am forever in your debt." Then the captain himself bent a small, courteous bow to the head technician, causing the man to blush slightly, and they swept back out into the hall again in the direction of the docking bay. "Of course the four of you will be away to save her as soon as possible, Fox?"
"Of course," the vulpine responded. "And the advance will be delayed until our return?"
Anilora sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I will hold my forces back as long as I am able. You must be quick."
"We'll be back soon," Bill promised, face set.
His superior halted mid-step and eyes the assassin pointedly. "Your uses lie with your kindred; you cannot be spared, even for a short time. If the invasion is forced to move on before the mercenaries return, we will be crippled physically and emotionally without you."
Bill seemed torn by opposing his beloved captain and leaving his dearest friend behind, but at last he insisted, "I've gotta go."
"Understand," the Katinan captain began again calmly, and his friend sighed sadly. "Celestra would not wish for you to risk the greater good of Lylat to save her life. I know it pains you--I too am grieved, for I cannot go--but were she in the same position she would do her duty in the end. You must remain, Bill; I will need you and your people will need you."
Bill nodded, hating what he had to do but knowing he was bound to the Katinan fleet. Then he turned to Falco, who expected to get punched again, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go and get her back, Lombardi," he ordered passionately, his eyes narrowed at the prospect of entrusting Celestra's fate to someone else. "Bring her back to us, so we can teach the scum who attacked her a lesson."
The avian nodded his agreement and sprinted away with his comrades to their respected spacecraft; Captain Anilora and Bill watched them depart with heavy hearts, then rushed back to the war council.
An arid wind whipped relentlessly against her fair face, stinging her cheeks with sand until she was driven back into consciousness. Bloodshot blue eyes stared up incoherently at the clouded bronze sky; through the curtains of endless sand the Solar nebula was a pale pink ball of fire that burned her sightless eyes until she nearly felt blind. It was hot, devilishly hot, especially laying prone upon sun-baked metal remnants that seemed to soak in the intense heat. She could feel blood drying unpleasantly on her exposed skin and vaguely wondered what was the matter, and eventually Celestra Marquette attempted to struggle to her feet.
Excruciating needles of pain sliced into her left foot and ankle, and she gave a grunt of agony and buckled to fall back onto the sand. She made to brace her hands against the ground and relieve the pressure but only winced and groaned loudly again when she realized the bones in her right wrist were shattered. Drops of blood from a deep gash across her cheek dripped onto her cutoff jean shorts; Celestra collapsed onto her back, staring incomprehensibly up at the sky.
Never in her years as an assassin had she experienced such intense physical agony; her entire body felt broken as she lay there, pointedly telling herself not to move for all the discomfort it would trigger if she did. Glancing at her mangled wrist she discerned that blood loss would soon become a problem if she did not wrap a few of her wounds with a cloth of some sort. Walking would be an awful chore, but Celestra had already decided that she could not stay put for long. She had fallen onto Titania, the Planet of Ever-Shifting Sand, the Keeper of Lost Souls.
Using her elbows Celestra crawled back into the ruins of her once-proud spacecraft, teeth gritted together in defiance of the little pangs her ankle made as she drug it motionlessly behind her. The utility belt she normally wore for missions of this sort had been reduced to fragments in the crash; she had another in a security lockbox at the back of her fighter, but digging it out of the rubble would be an agonizing process as well. Forcing junk out of the way with her left hand Celestra managed to uncover it, but when she studied it more closely she couldn't help but force a little ironic laugh past her dry lips.
The lockbox required a key; she had lost it years ago.
"No food, no water, no shelter, and no protection," the assassin muttered to herself, wiping her blody cheek with the back of her good hand. "I'm roadkill. Even herbivores would convert to come take a bite out of me I'm so helpless. What in the world am I going to do if Reivin shows up?"
Rising again to her feet Celestra studied her surroundings. There was nothing of value visible from this vantage point, just the occasional rock or dead tree, so it didn't particularly matter which direction she headed from here. The only factor that decided which way she set off in was the wind; sand in her eyes would be no help at all, so she turned so that her back was to the gusts and headed due east. Already her skin, so pale and fair, was burning beneath the relentless nebulalight, so she at least had to locate a decent shelter before going too far. Glancing once more at the offending lockbox she discerned the bolts to be adamantite, Lylat's strongest constructive metal, so busting the box was highly unlikely. Right arm dangling limply at her side the assassin slowly began picking her way out of the wreckage and into the curtains of sand, limping badly but clenching her good hand into a fist and growling away the discomfort.
Here she could not stay put for long.
"She's nowhere near the craft, according to this reading. Is it possible she was thrown out into space before the impact?"
Fox swore loudly and clutched the fur on the top of his head, thoroughly frustrated. "Well, jeez, I guess that's possible, but--"
"--That's not what happened," Slippy cut in, still clearly angry with the entire scenario. "She fell but she survived and was strong enough to walk away from the crash site. Come on, you guys--Anilora knows she couldn't just die in a crash, so we've got to think the same way."
Four hours had passed since Celestra had fallen and they were now nearing desertlike Titania, Lylat's second and most mysterious planet. Little was known of this desolate place; many years ago Corneria had stored its more radical interplanetary weapons beneath the surface there, but shortly after the stockpile and all life-forms had disappeared. It was called the Keeper of Lost Souls because of that incident, an unexplainable phenomenon that was largely responsible for its rating as Class R, an inhospitable planet.
The mercenaries were disheartened, gathered together in the briefing room of their cruiser and either pacing to pass the time or gazing into empty space, clearly lost. Falco was by far the most reserved, seated upon the windowsill where the assassin herself normally sat and staring blankly out at the swiftly growing body of Titania. It was the only planet in the Lylat System that boasted a fine set of rings; they were thin structures, a mysterious hue of dying carnations. Peppy was seated with his back to the lot of them; Fox was retracing his constant steps about the room and bantering with Slippy, who was staring, transfixed, at the frozen image of Celestra's wreck of an Arwing upon the mainframe screen.
"Here's a thought," Fox growled, marching right past Peppy, who did not look up. "Has anyone here ever really set foot on Titania?"
Slippy, frowning at the screen, shook his head; the avian made no move to respond, and Fox took that to mean no. Peppy at last began to show a slight interest in the conversation. "I have."
"You have?" echoed the mercenary leader, turning quickly to face his old friend. "When?"
The hare gave an uncomfortable sigh and eyed his commander warily. "During the first Lylat war. General Pepper enlisted Star Fox to aid in a shock strike to scatter a concentration of Destroyers readying to unleash their full strength upon Macbeth. Pigma was shot out of the sky before we even made it to our destination, and James refused to leave him behind, so he and I abandoned our mission and went after him." The color drained from Fox's face; Peppy looked down at the floor. "A few days later Pigma betrayed us when we penetrated Venomian airspace; the same group of Destroyers we let escape ultimately caused the tragedy that only Celestra survived."
"There's a double dose of irony," Slippy sneered from the helm. "The friend you risked your life to save ended up your greatest nemesis; the shock strike you ignored delived Macbeth to Andross."
Peppy, never particularly hostile, rose from his seat and fixed Slippy with an evil glare; the youngest mercenary wisely fell silent.
"So you can show us around?" Fox asked, a flicker of hope returning to his eyes.
Peppy's ears drooped slightly and he turned his back on the vulpine. "No one can navigate down there," he muttered dully, sitting down again. "That's an evil planet you've got down there, Fox, one that has a mind of its own and hates visitors. If it doesn't want us to find Celestra . . . then we won't."
Falco pushed himself up off the sill and started swiftly for Peppy, pushing his beak up close to the hare's with a snarl. "What are you tryin' to say, old man?! That this psychotic planet can think for itself and we're not gonna make it to Celestra in time?!"
"Take it easy, Falco," Fox warned, placing a hand firmly on the avian's shoulder and noticing that the feathers were ruffled in anger. "Let it go."
"Seriously, man," Slippy threw in absently.
Falco obeyed and roughly shoved Peppy away from him. "Just give me the LandMaster, Fox; I'll nuke the whole damn planet if I have to, but I'm not leaving her behind again."
The LandMaster was something of a tank equipped with the same modes of laser fire and attack strength as its Arwing counterparts; the only real difference was that it was adapted for shorter, ground-based missions. It had been a gift to the mercenary squad from the army technicians that worked closely with General Pepper; up until this point Fox had simply forgotten that it was in their docking bay. He turned to ROB, who was milling beside the door. "Is that thing even fully operational? I remember Slippy saying that there were still kinks in it that needed to be smoothed over."
"Affirmative," the AI assured him, drifting to the docking bay console and summoning a holo-grid of the craft in question. "It was in need of slight helm and communications repairs, but Slippy took care of that shortly after the completion of your mission within Solar's core."
Fox lifted an eyebrow and turned to Slippy, who by now was leaning back in his swivel chair with his feet stacked boisterously on the table. "Oh?"
"So I got bored," scoffed the toad, indifference evident by his facial features. "You know me--when I get bored, I fix stuff. You could thank me, you know."
"Thank you, Slippy."
"That's better; you're welcome."
The Star Fox leader sized up the avian appraisingly, mulling the scenario over in his mind. By all accounts the LandMaster seemed a more thorough means of searching for their fallen accomplice; Falco could relay any information he came across to his comrades in the sky. However, Falco would be nearly blind in radical sandstorms at times, and his feelings for Celestra could only further complicate the mission.
"Suit up, Lombardi. But I'll give the orders to nuke the whole planet, okay?"
For the first time in her life, Celestra Marquette was losing hope.
It was hot; far beyond such a general term, for never before had she known such a sweltering, arid heat. The entire cursed planet was on fire! Whipping sand pricked at her skin, swirled so quickly on the wind that it often pierced the flesh; the nebula rays baked the surface as would an oven, and for the life of her Celestra could not locate a suitable resting place. So far her trek yielded no caves, few boulders, and long-dead trees that could no more rescue themselves from the blazing inferno than her. Thus was the situation; thus the dwindling hope she held for survival.
Outside of her anxiety that she would fry long before she could get into the shade, a dark finger of doubt was slowly beginning to creep up just below her subconscious. How many hours had passed? How many seconds had she spent gazing blearily at the clouded sky, waiting for the Great Fox to soar into view? Although Celestra considered herself extremely self-sufficient, she felt that the mercenaries owed it to her to follow, to pursue their fallen comrade with every intention of rescue.
Still the sky remained empty, for she did not consider a thick blanket of bronze sand to be anything of significance.
Celestra groped at her waist for several moments, then laughed dryly at the continued irony of the situation. Without her prized utility belt, always stocked with her gear of choice, the assassin felt fragile and vulnerable. Not to mention the fact that she was marooned alone on a cursed planet that was outside the realm of navitability. She didn't even have the comfort of the loud echoing footsteps of her combat boots to mirror her irritation, for out here there was nothing but sand the cushion the footfalls.
"I've never been more out of my element than I am right now," she admitted aloud.
Pausing at the crest of yet another sand dune Celestra considered her position. Ahead and slightly to the left--cardinal directions eluded her here--was a veritable mountain of sand that impaired her line of sight form glimpsing beyond, more frightening to her than the endless sea of nothing laid before her feet. But there was nowhere else to go that held any real conviction, so with a sigh she started off again, now in the direction of the area that yielded no immediate answers.
Distance, too, seemed to remain just beyond her grasp, for a trek that she judged to take no more than half an hour lasted twice that before she at last gazed down upon what lay below. To her surprise she found she was looking at the remnants of a Cornerian outpost, one of many such settlements that had been in use during the first Lylat war before the tragic disappearance of all the planets' inhabitants. When she reached it she not only sank into the shadows of a crumbling concrete flat, but noticed an unbroken line of dark green not far off. Although she had only spent a few minutes out of the blistering heat she swiftly set out again, curious as to what could possibly be growing in the middle of an outdoor stove. By now the pain in her mutilated limbs had dulled to a subtle throb, but she suspected that was only because she was wavering between consciousness and incoherency.
Celestra didn't realize what a grave mistake she had made until she turned to look back at the ghost outpost after an hour or so. Somewhere in the time she had left it and now the entire ruin had disappeared, swallowed up by the relentless sand or drawn back within the Keeper of Lost Souls. Cursing her foolishness she stalked onward, for the present again without shelter and pursuing something that may be of no significance whatsoever. The line of healthy green was much closer now, but it was still too distant to make out in great detail. She longed to sit down, to rest her throbbing mess of an ankle, but to give in to those naggings here was to die, so Celestra moved on, blinking sand out of her dull and tired eyes.
It seemed days had passed before the assassin at last stumbled into the midst of a small copse of trees, unheard of on such a dead and desolate planet. The trees bore no fruit but served as a deterrent against the burning light, but there was one factor missing that threw Celestra's comprehension off-balance. There was no water.
Exhaustion soon became an immediate threat, but Celestra fought against it by pacing in the shade. This action sent waves of pain from her ankle up her leg, and the discomfort served its purpose of keeping her from sleep. Gradually she allowed herself to stray from the area she knew and traveled outside the copse to the other side, curious as to what lay beyond.
A single giant, exotic plant lay crumpled there, isolated from the tiny bundle of foliage behind her. Slowly and cautiously Celestra approached it.
The LandMaster was intricately built on the inside; as Falco lowered into the cockpit and the glass hatch closed down over him he could tell that Pepper's technicians and Slippy had spared no expense in its creation. It was rather like sitting in a very long chair, for his legs stuck straight out in front of him before they disappeared beneath the helm. Twin joystick, identical to those that commanded his Arwing, were welded into the helm on either side of the G-Diffuser system. This he flicked on, calling for Fox.
"Everything looks good to me," he informed his commander, testing the mobility of the controls. "Are we set?"
Fox was fastening the restraints as the cockpit of his Arwing closed; beside him, Slippy and Peppy were doing the same. "All set. Remember, guys, that since this is a rescue mission the rules are different. We do not stop to engage in combat unless it stands in the way of us getting to Celestra; if someone falls behind, we do not go back for them; this is the risk we all take. Let's move."
SpiritNova, Nebulafire, and Acid Rain blasted out of the three open hangars of their cruiser, taking to the sky and forming a loose, spread-out V before spiraling down closer to Titania's surface. Great Fox lurched down, nearly skimming the ground, and Falco gunned the engines, shooting out of his hangar and falling the fifty feet to crash into the sand. Then he sped off ahead, generally following the three distant exhaust trails of his colleagues.
"Which way are we heading?" he asked, trundling along behind in the LandMaster.
"I've studied the wreckage of her craft and the conditions of this planet extensively since we left Whitewater," Slippy answered. "East appears to be our best course."
"Why east?" Falco pressed. "Are you guessing?"
The youngest mercenary scoffed at him. "Of course not. East just happens to be with the wind at our backs--I know if I was Celestra down there, I would not be fighting the wind with mortal wounds."
The avian nodded his assent. "Smart answer." Without further communication he boosted the engines to maximum an toggled the LandMaster east, eyes wide and praying for some sign that Celestra was clinging to life.
Assuming the situation couldn't worsen any more even if she did something to help it along, Celestra limped a few steps closer to the crumpled plant. Stretching one arm out slowly toward it she placed a trembling hand upon its stalk, stroking it gently and wondering how it could possibly grow in a place where the sun always shone and there was no water supply. The plant skin was smooth to the touch and fleshy, much like human skin, another oddity. Something brushed against her injured ankle; with a wince she glanced down at it.
The plant was winding one thin, whiplike vine about her ankle, snaking aggressively up the leg to grasp at her. Celestra cried out from the fresh wave of pain that assaulted her at its touch, then its grip tightened and the thing yanked her to collapse face-up in the sand. She stared in shock and horror as it rose, towering over her to a monstrous height of fifty feet, all wickedly sharp leaves and writhing tentacles and four enormous red eyes. It opened wide its mouth, dripping toxic-smelling saliva and exposing two-foot-long teeth as it hissed menacingly at her in untamed ferocity.
Then it surrounded her with numerous more tentacles and hoisted her, thrashing, to its open mouth.
"Hold it!"
Fox glanced back over his left shoulder to Slippy; quite suddenly the toad stopped his craft and was hovering motionless behind his companions. Falco, at last getting used to the controls and versatility of the tank, stopped easily and asked, "What's up, Slip?"
Slippy ws now squinting through the curtains of sand the the southeast, looking frantically for something, it seemed, before glancing back down at his G-Diffuser screen. A grid map popped up on the other mercenaries' screens, detailing a few greenish blips on radar. "Look at this. These are the first non-desert-based apparitions I've seen since we arrived."
"Plants?" Falco speculated aloud.
"It would appear so," Peppy agreed.
"Wait a second," Fox interrupted, frowning heavily at the map he was perusing. "Does it seem weird to anybody else that plants could possibly be growing on Titania, a desert planet?"
The youngest merceneary pondered that, then shook his head slowly. "Not if these aren't natural plants, it's not. Don't you guys remember hearing about the disappearance of that weapons stockpile all those years ago? It's not out of our realm of options that those weapons intoxicated some of the last dying vegetation here and mutated them into other life-forms. I assume that's what these 'plants' really are."
An awkward silence followed this unsettling news.
"That's not very comforting," Falco announced, and he boosted the LandMasters' thrusters to maximum, following the map with concern etched into his face.
Celestra hung, petrified, in the creatures' vines as it drew her closer to its gaping mouth. The arid wind blew sand and the disgusting things' stench up her nose, and she gagged before she could repress it; with a snarl it dove for her, and she lashed out and kicked a pair of swordlike teeth brutally from its jaws.
The vines tightened about her midsection without mercy; something in her lower back snapped, Celestra screamed, and blood trickled out the corners of her mouth. With a cry something like a bird of prey the plant slammed her face-first into the sand, snuffing out her ability to draw breath.
"Did you hear that?" Peppy asked quickly, glancing about in every direction.
Falco, still barreling on ahead, was also suddenly at the alert. "It sounded like some kind of a bird."
"Next you're going to tell me it's defying natural avian physiology somehow and is living in a desert with some inhuman means of survival," Slippy sighed in exasperation. "You guys often forget where we are. We're close."
"To what?"
Fox, far ahead of his comrades, cleared the unnatural copse of trees and scanned the ground beneath him. As quickly and quietly as possible he downshifted and settled into a hover, breath caught and eyes wide. "Nobody move!"
As one the other mercenaries stopped, squinting through the cover of trees, straining to see beyond the obscuring leaves.
"What's the deal?" Falco whispered, daring to trundle forward a bit more. Then a breeze kicked up, brushing the leaves aside carelessly, and he saw her. She was crushed face-down in the sand, tattered and broken like some frail old creature, and above her towered a ravenous plant mutation. Its vines encircled the helpless thing beneath it; its eyes glittered menacingly at the prospect of a fresh kill.
With a cry like some tormented animal, Falco opened fire.
Celestra was oblivious to all the events up to this point until the plant shrieked and the pressure it was exerting on her body lessened a great deal. Desperate now for oxygen and fighting against an overwhelming pain in her back she raised her head slowly, lungs drinking in air in relief. Through clouded and weary eyes she watched a volley of yellow beams pummel the monsters' stalk, scorching its knifelike leaves.
"Peppy, what the hell are you doing?!"
"Keep it busy!!"
"It'll throttle you!"
Shuffling through the sand Peppy knelt at the woman's side, running one hand through her hair in reassurance. She realized dimly that he must have landed, and that the others were attacking the mutation with reckless abandon. The older hare lifted her in his arms, cradling her head possessively to his chest, and she lolled her head back to gaze imperceptibly at him. His dark eyes fell upon hers, sickened worry dominating his face, and the Macbethian passed out from the pain.
"MOVE IT, PEPPY!!" Falco shrieked, dodging the frantically whipping vines. "We don't have time for this!"
As quickly as Celestra's weight would allow the hare made for Nebulafire, carefully laying the assassin out comfortably upon the excess cargo behind his pilot seat. Fastening the restrains with shaking hands Peppy took off back the way they had come, all the while screaming for Slippy to summon ROB to the helm of the cruiser. Fox and Slippy blazed past him, in pursuit of Great Fox, Falco covering the rear as the plant struggling to regain its bearings and attack.
A shudder coursed through the craft and Peppy's defensive shields weakened; behind him, the mutated organism was wrapping its powerful tentacles about the wings, refusing to be shaken. Peppy cursed rather more explicitly that any of the mercenaries had ever heard him and boosted the thrusters to maximum, but the actions were futile as all he did was further anger the plant. Still bringing up the rear Falco expertly targeted the individual vines and incinerated them with laser fire; Nebulafire broke free from its imprisonment and took to the sky, now far from the plant's reach. Far ahead the Great Fox was hovering low over the sand, preparing to receive the successful mercenaries, but far behind Falco held fast and whipped about, warming his lasers with a sadistic smirk playing across his face as the plant lumbered toward him.
"It's just you and me now," he muttered darkly as he began his assault, and even though his teammates cried for him to return at once he refused to follow until the mutation was little more than smoldering ash and the occasional burning leaf.
In the full day of recovery that followed Captain Anilora rarely left Celestra's bedside, and as he was the highest ranking officer in the whole Katinan fleet the medical officers could hardly force him to leave. Two degrees of exhaustion befell Celestra's remaining close friends; Fox, Peppy, and Slippy fell victim to the first and fell asleep shortly after docking upon Whitewater. The second wouldn't allow Bill and Falco to sleep if their lives had depended upon it, so they sat just outside the critical care unit, neither speaking, reduced to inanimate zombies for all the worrying and exhaustion.
At last two-fifteen the following afternoon rolled around and Anilora stepped out into the waiting room, easily appearing as tired as Bill and Falco but far less worried as he beckoned them inside. Celestra was laying inert in a hospital bed, covered generously with sterile white sheets and breathing steadily.
"Be silent," the Katinan captain murmured to them. "She's only just fallen asleep."
The deep scratch across her cheek had scabbed over and was shining with freshly applied antibacterial lotion. Her left ankle and foot had been securely wrapped, but her arm was suspended at an angle with her prone body, skin flapped open as a pair of cyborgs worked the shattered bits of bone back into their rightful places and welded them together with surgical laser. A thick metal ring was clamped over her lower stomach; every so often it sent electrical pulses through her body. Falco frowned at it.
"What's it doing?"
"Re-aligning several shifted vertebrae," Anilora calmly explained. "It's a newly developed medical process that utilizes the impulses into a shifting beam, designed to maneuver certain bones back into their correct positions in a much less painful manner." He noticed Bill gazing sadly at an IV tube coming out of her opposite arm and said, "Fluid restoration; she was badly dehydrated. All of her wounds will heal, I have been assured."
"How long until we attack the weapons outpost?" Bill muttered to Anilora, crossing his arms and watching as the cyborgs literally pieced the assassin's wrist back together.
"No more than four days; General Pepper has cleared Katinan airspace and makes for Bolse Defense Outpost," Anilora whispered back, checking the frequency of the electrical pulses and the x-ray monitor showing the vertebrae gradually sliding back into place in the assassin's lower back. "If he hopes to succeed in destroying the satellite it is imperitive that the primary weapons station be eradicated and the Forever Train derailed."
"'Forever Train'?" Falco echoed.
"The heart and soul of Celestra's home planet," Bill responded mechanically, wincing slightly as the first cyborg welded a shard of bone back into the joint. "She'll want to handle that herself, Gilraen."
Anilora ran a hand through his blonde-brown hair, dim light accentuating the spare flecks of silver within the strands. "I had assumed as much. Doubtless she will concentrate on infiltrating the train in hopes of steering it into the unsuspecting bae; a crash will most likely cripple the outpost beyond continued operation."
"Will she be ready in four days?" Falco pondered aloud.
The Katinan assassin looked to the captain; the pair shared a little chuckle that transcended their exhaustion. "The real question is, can we stop her if she's not?"
The avian joined in the soft laughter, feeling safe here among friends, and the three only stopped when Celestra gave a slight groand at the sound. Bill leaned over her and placed a feather-light kiss on her brow, waving to the others with a yawn as he departed for his living quarters. Anilora did the same, hand lingering upon hers for a few seconds before making for the door, and he paused and looked back at Falco. "Be there for her."
Falco glanced up in surprise. "Sorry . . . what?"
Anilora offered a small, knowing smile. "I ask only that you be there for her now, as something that I cannot be. She will need your love and support more than ever now. Can she depend upon you in these dark days? Celestra is poised at the pinnacle of her troubling past, and will need your hand above all others to help her through it."
The avian gazed down at the female assassin's relaxed face, then looked up at the captain again and nodded. "Of course. I'll be there."
Anilora's smile widened, reflecting his approval, and he slipped out into the waiting room. Falco sat in a chair in the corner of the room, watching vigilantly as the cyborgs repaired Celestra's wrist until sleep at last claimed him.
"Whitewater Intelligence, this is Fox McCloud and the mercenary unit Star Fox. We are approaching your cruiser and wish to board immediately."
Falco's head throbbed madly as he focused his eyes upon the majestic Katinan craft. His blood felt frozen in his veins, his eyes strained as he stared down at Titania, and his stomach churned with guilt. They had left Celestra behind! She may be mortally wounded from the crash, dead even, and the four of them had turned tail and fled for their appointed meeting with the Katinan fleet? What sort of a friend, a lover, was he? Subconsciously the avian opened his beak, compelling himself to say, "We've got to go back for her", but no words followed this action and a few minutes later they had docked and left their craft.
"We've got to speak with Captain Anilora," Slippy ordered one of the escorts as they were being led to their living quarters.
The boy blinked several times. "I apologize, sir, but the captain is holding council with the other heads of the fleet and cannot speak at this time."
For a moment it looked as though Slippy would accept this, then he came forward in an infuriated rush and slammed the escort against the wall, collar clutched menacingly in his balled fists. "That wasn't a request, damn it! This is important and something Anilora would want to know. So I suggest you take us to him before my friends and I lose our tempers, you get me?"
In an attempt to gain aid in his predicament the boy glanced helplessly at Falco; the avian settled one wing upon the barrel of his electron rifle but made no outward threat. Understanding his precarious situation the escort nodded assent and Slippy snarled but roughly released him. They started off swiftly down the hallway, traversing most of the ship to reach their destination, pausing only to knock at the door to the meeting room before entering the war council.
Seven men were seated at a rectangular rosewood table; the eighth, Captain Anilora, was on his feet at the head of the table, hands braced upon it as though he had been delivering important information before the interruption. Bill Grey was leaning against the wall behind his captain, flanking the man with one hand resting warily on a knife at his utility belt. Everyone's expressions changed into surprise and delight when they recognized their mercenary allies; Bill rushed forward to grasp hands with Fox.
"Great to see you lot again!" the male assassin exclaimed, and Falco couldn't help but flinch at the jovial tone. "Glad ya made it through alright."
A silence descended upon them all; Peppy glanced nervously down at Slippy, who shuffled his feet and looked away. Falco cast his stricken gaze upon the floor. Anilora straightened and asked delicately, "Where is Celestra? Why is it she is not with you?"
Everyone glanced, terrified, to Falco. Bill released Fox's hand. "Yeah; where is she?"
Falco ran a hand down his face, guilty rumbling intensifying within the pit of his belly. For some reason he couldn't explain he locked eyes with Anilora, who gazed worriedly back and clutched dependently at the back of his chair. It hit the avian as hard as a punch in the face from Leon Powalski when a subconscious voice whispered in his mind that Captain Anilora never would have left Celestra behind, regardless of the situation at hand. Feeling inferior to the Katinan captain Falco glanced away and muttered quietly, "Celestra's been shot down."
For several seconds no one spoke, then Bill growled in rage and stalked toward Falco, slamming him hard against the wall and shoving his shorter frame up close to the avians'. "She fell, and you left her?! YOU LEFT HER BEHIND?!" When Falco failed to respond Bill reared back a fist and punched him hard in the beak, causing the avians' head to smack against the wall behind him with a crack. "She's been through hell to make sure we all get through safely and you LEFT HER?!" Still Falco could not speak, features not even remotely handsome now as they were smothered beneath a mask of submission and guilt; Bill punched him in the stomach with increasing force.
"WILLIAM GREY!!!"
All eyes turned in fear to Captain Anilora, who now stood straight and seemed to tower over them all, so awful was the look upon his otherwise handsome face. As Anilora stalked up to Bill, Falco was shocked to see the steadfast male assassin trembling under the Katinan captain's wrathful glare; with barely a movement he separated the brawling pair and fixed Bill with a look that clearly displayed his disgust.
Then his eyes were upon Falco, and his expression changed to one of pleading. "You must tell me now what ill has befallen Celestra. Be courageous, now, and tell me, I beg this of you."
Slippy, still angry that his team had departed without the assassin, spoke up before Falco could and relayed the whole tle to the council, beginning with their entrance into Sector X. A devestated hush fell over the room; Bill sat heavily down on the floor, covering his face with his hands, but Anilora rose and looked at them all, seemingly confused.
"You all act as though she's dead," he pointed out simply.
Fox rubbed his eyes and said dully, "It is highly unlikely that Celestra crash-landed on Titania, and even more unlikely that she would survive the crash. There is little hope that she's still alive somewhere."
Anilora chuckled to himself and shook his head. "In all this time you've fought beside her, have you learned nothing? Celestra's will and stubbornness to survive renders her beyond such things." He motioned for Bill to rise and follow him and nodded to the mercenaries to invite them along, then turned his attention back to the war council. "Gentlemen, my deepest regrets, but my friends and I must depart. This event was unforseen to me, and I must now take the necessary steps to rectify it."
They set off down the magnificent hallway, the captain leading, the other five trailing behind him wearing incredulous expressions and wondering just what Anilora was planning to do. Nearly every man in authority they encountered attempted to engage the captain in conversation, but to every person he only answered firmly, "I have important business to attend to; please excuse me."
Cresting the bridge connecting living quarters with the docking bay and helm areas, Anilora steered them in the direction of the technological research board, and soon they were all inside and in the company of the top Katinan technician, a man by the name of Jered Nasmun.
"What can I do for you, Captain?" he inquired briskly, shaking Anilora's hand.
"I have a very important task for you, Jered," the captain began, accompanying his colleague to the research motherboard. "I need you to locate a transmitter distress signal, most likely set off automatically in a time of crisis."
Jered rubbed his hands together and began typing. "Piece of cake. Do you have a license number or other registration information?"
Anilora folded his arms and frowned slightly to himself. "The craft's name is Rage of Macbeth, but you will find this particular Arwing is registered under the name Legacy, licensed to Jarius Marquette. The registration company was a Fortunan location, but it no longer operates in accordance within the Cornerian Army guidelines. Will that do?"
The technician kept typing, eyes focused keenly upon the code scrolling across the screen until at last a picture of Celestra's demolished Arwing came up. Falco gasped--the craft was no longer spiraling through empty space, but surrounded by pale golden sand! The assassin herself was not in sight, but the avian knew that if they could not see her, it was because she was already on her feet and seeking a new means of transportation or at the very least protection and shelter.
"There, gentlemen," Anilora assured them, patting Bill upon the shoulder. "Celestra lives still, just as I predicted. Jered, I am forever in your debt." Then the captain himself bent a small, courteous bow to the head technician, causing the man to blush slightly, and they swept back out into the hall again in the direction of the docking bay. "Of course the four of you will be away to save her as soon as possible, Fox?"
"Of course," the vulpine responded. "And the advance will be delayed until our return?"
Anilora sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I will hold my forces back as long as I am able. You must be quick."
"We'll be back soon," Bill promised, face set.
His superior halted mid-step and eyes the assassin pointedly. "Your uses lie with your kindred; you cannot be spared, even for a short time. If the invasion is forced to move on before the mercenaries return, we will be crippled physically and emotionally without you."
Bill seemed torn by opposing his beloved captain and leaving his dearest friend behind, but at last he insisted, "I've gotta go."
"Understand," the Katinan captain began again calmly, and his friend sighed sadly. "Celestra would not wish for you to risk the greater good of Lylat to save her life. I know it pains you--I too am grieved, for I cannot go--but were she in the same position she would do her duty in the end. You must remain, Bill; I will need you and your people will need you."
Bill nodded, hating what he had to do but knowing he was bound to the Katinan fleet. Then he turned to Falco, who expected to get punched again, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Go and get her back, Lombardi," he ordered passionately, his eyes narrowed at the prospect of entrusting Celestra's fate to someone else. "Bring her back to us, so we can teach the scum who attacked her a lesson."
The avian nodded his agreement and sprinted away with his comrades to their respected spacecraft; Captain Anilora and Bill watched them depart with heavy hearts, then rushed back to the war council.
An arid wind whipped relentlessly against her fair face, stinging her cheeks with sand until she was driven back into consciousness. Bloodshot blue eyes stared up incoherently at the clouded bronze sky; through the curtains of endless sand the Solar nebula was a pale pink ball of fire that burned her sightless eyes until she nearly felt blind. It was hot, devilishly hot, especially laying prone upon sun-baked metal remnants that seemed to soak in the intense heat. She could feel blood drying unpleasantly on her exposed skin and vaguely wondered what was the matter, and eventually Celestra Marquette attempted to struggle to her feet.
Excruciating needles of pain sliced into her left foot and ankle, and she gave a grunt of agony and buckled to fall back onto the sand. She made to brace her hands against the ground and relieve the pressure but only winced and groaned loudly again when she realized the bones in her right wrist were shattered. Drops of blood from a deep gash across her cheek dripped onto her cutoff jean shorts; Celestra collapsed onto her back, staring incomprehensibly up at the sky.
Never in her years as an assassin had she experienced such intense physical agony; her entire body felt broken as she lay there, pointedly telling herself not to move for all the discomfort it would trigger if she did. Glancing at her mangled wrist she discerned that blood loss would soon become a problem if she did not wrap a few of her wounds with a cloth of some sort. Walking would be an awful chore, but Celestra had already decided that she could not stay put for long. She had fallen onto Titania, the Planet of Ever-Shifting Sand, the Keeper of Lost Souls.
Using her elbows Celestra crawled back into the ruins of her once-proud spacecraft, teeth gritted together in defiance of the little pangs her ankle made as she drug it motionlessly behind her. The utility belt she normally wore for missions of this sort had been reduced to fragments in the crash; she had another in a security lockbox at the back of her fighter, but digging it out of the rubble would be an agonizing process as well. Forcing junk out of the way with her left hand Celestra managed to uncover it, but when she studied it more closely she couldn't help but force a little ironic laugh past her dry lips.
The lockbox required a key; she had lost it years ago.
"No food, no water, no shelter, and no protection," the assassin muttered to herself, wiping her blody cheek with the back of her good hand. "I'm roadkill. Even herbivores would convert to come take a bite out of me I'm so helpless. What in the world am I going to do if Reivin shows up?"
Rising again to her feet Celestra studied her surroundings. There was nothing of value visible from this vantage point, just the occasional rock or dead tree, so it didn't particularly matter which direction she headed from here. The only factor that decided which way she set off in was the wind; sand in her eyes would be no help at all, so she turned so that her back was to the gusts and headed due east. Already her skin, so pale and fair, was burning beneath the relentless nebulalight, so she at least had to locate a decent shelter before going too far. Glancing once more at the offending lockbox she discerned the bolts to be adamantite, Lylat's strongest constructive metal, so busting the box was highly unlikely. Right arm dangling limply at her side the assassin slowly began picking her way out of the wreckage and into the curtains of sand, limping badly but clenching her good hand into a fist and growling away the discomfort.
Here she could not stay put for long.
"She's nowhere near the craft, according to this reading. Is it possible she was thrown out into space before the impact?"
Fox swore loudly and clutched the fur on the top of his head, thoroughly frustrated. "Well, jeez, I guess that's possible, but--"
"--That's not what happened," Slippy cut in, still clearly angry with the entire scenario. "She fell but she survived and was strong enough to walk away from the crash site. Come on, you guys--Anilora knows she couldn't just die in a crash, so we've got to think the same way."
Four hours had passed since Celestra had fallen and they were now nearing desertlike Titania, Lylat's second and most mysterious planet. Little was known of this desolate place; many years ago Corneria had stored its more radical interplanetary weapons beneath the surface there, but shortly after the stockpile and all life-forms had disappeared. It was called the Keeper of Lost Souls because of that incident, an unexplainable phenomenon that was largely responsible for its rating as Class R, an inhospitable planet.
The mercenaries were disheartened, gathered together in the briefing room of their cruiser and either pacing to pass the time or gazing into empty space, clearly lost. Falco was by far the most reserved, seated upon the windowsill where the assassin herself normally sat and staring blankly out at the swiftly growing body of Titania. It was the only planet in the Lylat System that boasted a fine set of rings; they were thin structures, a mysterious hue of dying carnations. Peppy was seated with his back to the lot of them; Fox was retracing his constant steps about the room and bantering with Slippy, who was staring, transfixed, at the frozen image of Celestra's wreck of an Arwing upon the mainframe screen.
"Here's a thought," Fox growled, marching right past Peppy, who did not look up. "Has anyone here ever really set foot on Titania?"
Slippy, frowning at the screen, shook his head; the avian made no move to respond, and Fox took that to mean no. Peppy at last began to show a slight interest in the conversation. "I have."
"You have?" echoed the mercenary leader, turning quickly to face his old friend. "When?"
The hare gave an uncomfortable sigh and eyed his commander warily. "During the first Lylat war. General Pepper enlisted Star Fox to aid in a shock strike to scatter a concentration of Destroyers readying to unleash their full strength upon Macbeth. Pigma was shot out of the sky before we even made it to our destination, and James refused to leave him behind, so he and I abandoned our mission and went after him." The color drained from Fox's face; Peppy looked down at the floor. "A few days later Pigma betrayed us when we penetrated Venomian airspace; the same group of Destroyers we let escape ultimately caused the tragedy that only Celestra survived."
"There's a double dose of irony," Slippy sneered from the helm. "The friend you risked your life to save ended up your greatest nemesis; the shock strike you ignored delived Macbeth to Andross."
Peppy, never particularly hostile, rose from his seat and fixed Slippy with an evil glare; the youngest mercenary wisely fell silent.
"So you can show us around?" Fox asked, a flicker of hope returning to his eyes.
Peppy's ears drooped slightly and he turned his back on the vulpine. "No one can navigate down there," he muttered dully, sitting down again. "That's an evil planet you've got down there, Fox, one that has a mind of its own and hates visitors. If it doesn't want us to find Celestra . . . then we won't."
Falco pushed himself up off the sill and started swiftly for Peppy, pushing his beak up close to the hare's with a snarl. "What are you tryin' to say, old man?! That this psychotic planet can think for itself and we're not gonna make it to Celestra in time?!"
"Take it easy, Falco," Fox warned, placing a hand firmly on the avian's shoulder and noticing that the feathers were ruffled in anger. "Let it go."
"Seriously, man," Slippy threw in absently.
Falco obeyed and roughly shoved Peppy away from him. "Just give me the LandMaster, Fox; I'll nuke the whole damn planet if I have to, but I'm not leaving her behind again."
The LandMaster was something of a tank equipped with the same modes of laser fire and attack strength as its Arwing counterparts; the only real difference was that it was adapted for shorter, ground-based missions. It had been a gift to the mercenary squad from the army technicians that worked closely with General Pepper; up until this point Fox had simply forgotten that it was in their docking bay. He turned to ROB, who was milling beside the door. "Is that thing even fully operational? I remember Slippy saying that there were still kinks in it that needed to be smoothed over."
"Affirmative," the AI assured him, drifting to the docking bay console and summoning a holo-grid of the craft in question. "It was in need of slight helm and communications repairs, but Slippy took care of that shortly after the completion of your mission within Solar's core."
Fox lifted an eyebrow and turned to Slippy, who by now was leaning back in his swivel chair with his feet stacked boisterously on the table. "Oh?"
"So I got bored," scoffed the toad, indifference evident by his facial features. "You know me--when I get bored, I fix stuff. You could thank me, you know."
"Thank you, Slippy."
"That's better; you're welcome."
The Star Fox leader sized up the avian appraisingly, mulling the scenario over in his mind. By all accounts the LandMaster seemed a more thorough means of searching for their fallen accomplice; Falco could relay any information he came across to his comrades in the sky. However, Falco would be nearly blind in radical sandstorms at times, and his feelings for Celestra could only further complicate the mission.
"Suit up, Lombardi. But I'll give the orders to nuke the whole planet, okay?"
For the first time in her life, Celestra Marquette was losing hope.
It was hot; far beyond such a general term, for never before had she known such a sweltering, arid heat. The entire cursed planet was on fire! Whipping sand pricked at her skin, swirled so quickly on the wind that it often pierced the flesh; the nebula rays baked the surface as would an oven, and for the life of her Celestra could not locate a suitable resting place. So far her trek yielded no caves, few boulders, and long-dead trees that could no more rescue themselves from the blazing inferno than her. Thus was the situation; thus the dwindling hope she held for survival.
Outside of her anxiety that she would fry long before she could get into the shade, a dark finger of doubt was slowly beginning to creep up just below her subconscious. How many hours had passed? How many seconds had she spent gazing blearily at the clouded sky, waiting for the Great Fox to soar into view? Although Celestra considered herself extremely self-sufficient, she felt that the mercenaries owed it to her to follow, to pursue their fallen comrade with every intention of rescue.
Still the sky remained empty, for she did not consider a thick blanket of bronze sand to be anything of significance.
Celestra groped at her waist for several moments, then laughed dryly at the continued irony of the situation. Without her prized utility belt, always stocked with her gear of choice, the assassin felt fragile and vulnerable. Not to mention the fact that she was marooned alone on a cursed planet that was outside the realm of navitability. She didn't even have the comfort of the loud echoing footsteps of her combat boots to mirror her irritation, for out here there was nothing but sand the cushion the footfalls.
"I've never been more out of my element than I am right now," she admitted aloud.
Pausing at the crest of yet another sand dune Celestra considered her position. Ahead and slightly to the left--cardinal directions eluded her here--was a veritable mountain of sand that impaired her line of sight form glimpsing beyond, more frightening to her than the endless sea of nothing laid before her feet. But there was nowhere else to go that held any real conviction, so with a sigh she started off again, now in the direction of the area that yielded no immediate answers.
Distance, too, seemed to remain just beyond her grasp, for a trek that she judged to take no more than half an hour lasted twice that before she at last gazed down upon what lay below. To her surprise she found she was looking at the remnants of a Cornerian outpost, one of many such settlements that had been in use during the first Lylat war before the tragic disappearance of all the planets' inhabitants. When she reached it she not only sank into the shadows of a crumbling concrete flat, but noticed an unbroken line of dark green not far off. Although she had only spent a few minutes out of the blistering heat she swiftly set out again, curious as to what could possibly be growing in the middle of an outdoor stove. By now the pain in her mutilated limbs had dulled to a subtle throb, but she suspected that was only because she was wavering between consciousness and incoherency.
Celestra didn't realize what a grave mistake she had made until she turned to look back at the ghost outpost after an hour or so. Somewhere in the time she had left it and now the entire ruin had disappeared, swallowed up by the relentless sand or drawn back within the Keeper of Lost Souls. Cursing her foolishness she stalked onward, for the present again without shelter and pursuing something that may be of no significance whatsoever. The line of healthy green was much closer now, but it was still too distant to make out in great detail. She longed to sit down, to rest her throbbing mess of an ankle, but to give in to those naggings here was to die, so Celestra moved on, blinking sand out of her dull and tired eyes.
It seemed days had passed before the assassin at last stumbled into the midst of a small copse of trees, unheard of on such a dead and desolate planet. The trees bore no fruit but served as a deterrent against the burning light, but there was one factor missing that threw Celestra's comprehension off-balance. There was no water.
Exhaustion soon became an immediate threat, but Celestra fought against it by pacing in the shade. This action sent waves of pain from her ankle up her leg, and the discomfort served its purpose of keeping her from sleep. Gradually she allowed herself to stray from the area she knew and traveled outside the copse to the other side, curious as to what lay beyond.
A single giant, exotic plant lay crumpled there, isolated from the tiny bundle of foliage behind her. Slowly and cautiously Celestra approached it.
The LandMaster was intricately built on the inside; as Falco lowered into the cockpit and the glass hatch closed down over him he could tell that Pepper's technicians and Slippy had spared no expense in its creation. It was rather like sitting in a very long chair, for his legs stuck straight out in front of him before they disappeared beneath the helm. Twin joystick, identical to those that commanded his Arwing, were welded into the helm on either side of the G-Diffuser system. This he flicked on, calling for Fox.
"Everything looks good to me," he informed his commander, testing the mobility of the controls. "Are we set?"
Fox was fastening the restraints as the cockpit of his Arwing closed; beside him, Slippy and Peppy were doing the same. "All set. Remember, guys, that since this is a rescue mission the rules are different. We do not stop to engage in combat unless it stands in the way of us getting to Celestra; if someone falls behind, we do not go back for them; this is the risk we all take. Let's move."
SpiritNova, Nebulafire, and Acid Rain blasted out of the three open hangars of their cruiser, taking to the sky and forming a loose, spread-out V before spiraling down closer to Titania's surface. Great Fox lurched down, nearly skimming the ground, and Falco gunned the engines, shooting out of his hangar and falling the fifty feet to crash into the sand. Then he sped off ahead, generally following the three distant exhaust trails of his colleagues.
"Which way are we heading?" he asked, trundling along behind in the LandMaster.
"I've studied the wreckage of her craft and the conditions of this planet extensively since we left Whitewater," Slippy answered. "East appears to be our best course."
"Why east?" Falco pressed. "Are you guessing?"
The youngest mercenary scoffed at him. "Of course not. East just happens to be with the wind at our backs--I know if I was Celestra down there, I would not be fighting the wind with mortal wounds."
The avian nodded his assent. "Smart answer." Without further communication he boosted the engines to maximum an toggled the LandMaster east, eyes wide and praying for some sign that Celestra was clinging to life.
Assuming the situation couldn't worsen any more even if she did something to help it along, Celestra limped a few steps closer to the crumpled plant. Stretching one arm out slowly toward it she placed a trembling hand upon its stalk, stroking it gently and wondering how it could possibly grow in a place where the sun always shone and there was no water supply. The plant skin was smooth to the touch and fleshy, much like human skin, another oddity. Something brushed against her injured ankle; with a wince she glanced down at it.
The plant was winding one thin, whiplike vine about her ankle, snaking aggressively up the leg to grasp at her. Celestra cried out from the fresh wave of pain that assaulted her at its touch, then its grip tightened and the thing yanked her to collapse face-up in the sand. She stared in shock and horror as it rose, towering over her to a monstrous height of fifty feet, all wickedly sharp leaves and writhing tentacles and four enormous red eyes. It opened wide its mouth, dripping toxic-smelling saliva and exposing two-foot-long teeth as it hissed menacingly at her in untamed ferocity.
Then it surrounded her with numerous more tentacles and hoisted her, thrashing, to its open mouth.
"Hold it!"
Fox glanced back over his left shoulder to Slippy; quite suddenly the toad stopped his craft and was hovering motionless behind his companions. Falco, at last getting used to the controls and versatility of the tank, stopped easily and asked, "What's up, Slip?"
Slippy ws now squinting through the curtains of sand the the southeast, looking frantically for something, it seemed, before glancing back down at his G-Diffuser screen. A grid map popped up on the other mercenaries' screens, detailing a few greenish blips on radar. "Look at this. These are the first non-desert-based apparitions I've seen since we arrived."
"Plants?" Falco speculated aloud.
"It would appear so," Peppy agreed.
"Wait a second," Fox interrupted, frowning heavily at the map he was perusing. "Does it seem weird to anybody else that plants could possibly be growing on Titania, a desert planet?"
The youngest merceneary pondered that, then shook his head slowly. "Not if these aren't natural plants, it's not. Don't you guys remember hearing about the disappearance of that weapons stockpile all those years ago? It's not out of our realm of options that those weapons intoxicated some of the last dying vegetation here and mutated them into other life-forms. I assume that's what these 'plants' really are."
An awkward silence followed this unsettling news.
"That's not very comforting," Falco announced, and he boosted the LandMasters' thrusters to maximum, following the map with concern etched into his face.
Celestra hung, petrified, in the creatures' vines as it drew her closer to its gaping mouth. The arid wind blew sand and the disgusting things' stench up her nose, and she gagged before she could repress it; with a snarl it dove for her, and she lashed out and kicked a pair of swordlike teeth brutally from its jaws.
The vines tightened about her midsection without mercy; something in her lower back snapped, Celestra screamed, and blood trickled out the corners of her mouth. With a cry something like a bird of prey the plant slammed her face-first into the sand, snuffing out her ability to draw breath.
"Did you hear that?" Peppy asked quickly, glancing about in every direction.
Falco, still barreling on ahead, was also suddenly at the alert. "It sounded like some kind of a bird."
"Next you're going to tell me it's defying natural avian physiology somehow and is living in a desert with some inhuman means of survival," Slippy sighed in exasperation. "You guys often forget where we are. We're close."
"To what?"
Fox, far ahead of his comrades, cleared the unnatural copse of trees and scanned the ground beneath him. As quickly and quietly as possible he downshifted and settled into a hover, breath caught and eyes wide. "Nobody move!"
As one the other mercenaries stopped, squinting through the cover of trees, straining to see beyond the obscuring leaves.
"What's the deal?" Falco whispered, daring to trundle forward a bit more. Then a breeze kicked up, brushing the leaves aside carelessly, and he saw her. She was crushed face-down in the sand, tattered and broken like some frail old creature, and above her towered a ravenous plant mutation. Its vines encircled the helpless thing beneath it; its eyes glittered menacingly at the prospect of a fresh kill.
With a cry like some tormented animal, Falco opened fire.
Celestra was oblivious to all the events up to this point until the plant shrieked and the pressure it was exerting on her body lessened a great deal. Desperate now for oxygen and fighting against an overwhelming pain in her back she raised her head slowly, lungs drinking in air in relief. Through clouded and weary eyes she watched a volley of yellow beams pummel the monsters' stalk, scorching its knifelike leaves.
"Peppy, what the hell are you doing?!"
"Keep it busy!!"
"It'll throttle you!"
Shuffling through the sand Peppy knelt at the woman's side, running one hand through her hair in reassurance. She realized dimly that he must have landed, and that the others were attacking the mutation with reckless abandon. The older hare lifted her in his arms, cradling her head possessively to his chest, and she lolled her head back to gaze imperceptibly at him. His dark eyes fell upon hers, sickened worry dominating his face, and the Macbethian passed out from the pain.
"MOVE IT, PEPPY!!" Falco shrieked, dodging the frantically whipping vines. "We don't have time for this!"
As quickly as Celestra's weight would allow the hare made for Nebulafire, carefully laying the assassin out comfortably upon the excess cargo behind his pilot seat. Fastening the restrains with shaking hands Peppy took off back the way they had come, all the while screaming for Slippy to summon ROB to the helm of the cruiser. Fox and Slippy blazed past him, in pursuit of Great Fox, Falco covering the rear as the plant struggling to regain its bearings and attack.
A shudder coursed through the craft and Peppy's defensive shields weakened; behind him, the mutated organism was wrapping its powerful tentacles about the wings, refusing to be shaken. Peppy cursed rather more explicitly that any of the mercenaries had ever heard him and boosted the thrusters to maximum, but the actions were futile as all he did was further anger the plant. Still bringing up the rear Falco expertly targeted the individual vines and incinerated them with laser fire; Nebulafire broke free from its imprisonment and took to the sky, now far from the plant's reach. Far ahead the Great Fox was hovering low over the sand, preparing to receive the successful mercenaries, but far behind Falco held fast and whipped about, warming his lasers with a sadistic smirk playing across his face as the plant lumbered toward him.
"It's just you and me now," he muttered darkly as he began his assault, and even though his teammates cried for him to return at once he refused to follow until the mutation was little more than smoldering ash and the occasional burning leaf.
In the full day of recovery that followed Captain Anilora rarely left Celestra's bedside, and as he was the highest ranking officer in the whole Katinan fleet the medical officers could hardly force him to leave. Two degrees of exhaustion befell Celestra's remaining close friends; Fox, Peppy, and Slippy fell victim to the first and fell asleep shortly after docking upon Whitewater. The second wouldn't allow Bill and Falco to sleep if their lives had depended upon it, so they sat just outside the critical care unit, neither speaking, reduced to inanimate zombies for all the worrying and exhaustion.
At last two-fifteen the following afternoon rolled around and Anilora stepped out into the waiting room, easily appearing as tired as Bill and Falco but far less worried as he beckoned them inside. Celestra was laying inert in a hospital bed, covered generously with sterile white sheets and breathing steadily.
"Be silent," the Katinan captain murmured to them. "She's only just fallen asleep."
The deep scratch across her cheek had scabbed over and was shining with freshly applied antibacterial lotion. Her left ankle and foot had been securely wrapped, but her arm was suspended at an angle with her prone body, skin flapped open as a pair of cyborgs worked the shattered bits of bone back into their rightful places and welded them together with surgical laser. A thick metal ring was clamped over her lower stomach; every so often it sent electrical pulses through her body. Falco frowned at it.
"What's it doing?"
"Re-aligning several shifted vertebrae," Anilora calmly explained. "It's a newly developed medical process that utilizes the impulses into a shifting beam, designed to maneuver certain bones back into their correct positions in a much less painful manner." He noticed Bill gazing sadly at an IV tube coming out of her opposite arm and said, "Fluid restoration; she was badly dehydrated. All of her wounds will heal, I have been assured."
"How long until we attack the weapons outpost?" Bill muttered to Anilora, crossing his arms and watching as the cyborgs literally pieced the assassin's wrist back together.
"No more than four days; General Pepper has cleared Katinan airspace and makes for Bolse Defense Outpost," Anilora whispered back, checking the frequency of the electrical pulses and the x-ray monitor showing the vertebrae gradually sliding back into place in the assassin's lower back. "If he hopes to succeed in destroying the satellite it is imperitive that the primary weapons station be eradicated and the Forever Train derailed."
"'Forever Train'?" Falco echoed.
"The heart and soul of Celestra's home planet," Bill responded mechanically, wincing slightly as the first cyborg welded a shard of bone back into the joint. "She'll want to handle that herself, Gilraen."
Anilora ran a hand through his blonde-brown hair, dim light accentuating the spare flecks of silver within the strands. "I had assumed as much. Doubtless she will concentrate on infiltrating the train in hopes of steering it into the unsuspecting bae; a crash will most likely cripple the outpost beyond continued operation."
"Will she be ready in four days?" Falco pondered aloud.
The Katinan assassin looked to the captain; the pair shared a little chuckle that transcended their exhaustion. "The real question is, can we stop her if she's not?"
The avian joined in the soft laughter, feeling safe here among friends, and the three only stopped when Celestra gave a slight groand at the sound. Bill leaned over her and placed a feather-light kiss on her brow, waving to the others with a yawn as he departed for his living quarters. Anilora did the same, hand lingering upon hers for a few seconds before making for the door, and he paused and looked back at Falco. "Be there for her."
Falco glanced up in surprise. "Sorry . . . what?"
Anilora offered a small, knowing smile. "I ask only that you be there for her now, as something that I cannot be. She will need your love and support more than ever now. Can she depend upon you in these dark days? Celestra is poised at the pinnacle of her troubling past, and will need your hand above all others to help her through it."
The avian gazed down at the female assassin's relaxed face, then looked up at the captain again and nodded. "Of course. I'll be there."
Anilora's smile widened, reflecting his approval, and he slipped out into the waiting room. Falco sat in a chair in the corner of the room, watching vigilantly as the cyborgs repaired Celestra's wrist until sleep at last claimed him.