The Last Resort
Chapter 1:
Iron Breaks the Wooden Stick
Fort Vicente, Venom
February 1, 2668
It was a warm day, back in February of 2668. Calan could remember it as if it was just yesterday. He could smell the thick humidity in the air. It was not something that he enjoyed very much, as it felt more like a smothering cloud than an incoming rainstorm. They'd be confined to their tents for a while longer. Calan hated that.
Once a day he checked the torches to make sure they were lit. They were, as always, but it was a pain to keep them lit. Rain came in often, and there was plenty of it. Fierce wind often accompanied late-night storms that seemed to sweep away the citizens of Fort Vicente. Hard-working men and women fought to keep their land safe from creatures that would kill with one swift swipe of a venomous claw. There was a reason the planet had assumed the name "Venom". And it never ceased to fit.
Calan Porter was a young man of 23 years of age from Katina. His mother's side of the family had come from Adratia, which was a far away planet of felines, where their culture had Egyptian aspects and features. Of course, not all of it was. But much of it was. Calan's father was a leopard man working at a base at Katina as a mechanic. Calan's father was never one to waste items. He saved anything that still worked, and as far as Calan knew, the man had loads of stories to tell and things to show.
Calan's childhood had been bright. At least, he thought so. For a while. His mother had died back when he was a teenager—some sort of disease had taken her, and it was an epidemic there at the Katinan base. His father and the boy had survived, but only a few years later Porter had come down with the illness himself. After he died, Calan had to leave. While he traveled to a better place there on Katina, he found that he had to start all over again. It was like the first day of school—he had stressed that his name was not "Cahl-AN" or "CAHL-an", it was "CAY-lan". Then he had to point out that he was of half Adratian blood, for people always asked why his eyes had sort of an exotic look to them. He had gotten those from his mother—other things he got from his father.
Unfortunately, his travels through Katina were troubled. He ended up at the capital city, Javian City, only to find himself framed for the murder of six people who had been caught in an accident. Calan didn't do it—he'd never do such a thing, and never thought of doing it, either. But the authorities could see no other suspect. After all, he was suspicious looking, and he carried a small pistol-like laser gun beneath the layers of baggy, worn-out clothing (taken from his father). So the judge sat and gave him a life sentence to Venom for the crimes. Calan had truly hit the bottom of the pit.
The transporter ship had come and left. He was dropped off at a remote area of Venom. His death warrant had been signed already, for no one suspected anyone to live for long there. There were no space ports for space travel—no machinery for travel at all on the planet. The prisoners of Venom were on their own.
Just 23 years old and fresh, Calan wandered for a few days until he found a campfire of men. They saw him and welcomed him in as one of their own. Fire, they explained, was the key to life. Water would be plentiful. But fire was the source. He joined them as a regular citizen of Venom, and after a week or so, they left to go to their usual residence, Fort Vicente. It was a village of other prisoners. The oldest member, Old Garnett, was about 60 and kept his wits about him like they were all he had left. He told the convicts stories of a great city on Venom—one that had been able to withstand any sense of detection by Venom's solar satellites. And it was that day, that February day, only a few weeks after Calan had arrived, that they were leaving Fort Vicente.
Calan climbed into his tent. He shared it with another Katinan fellow the same age as he was, but who had arrived shortly before. He was a "billy goat", as Lylatians generally called people of his racial type. Two smooth horns grew out of his head, slicked backwards like a gelled up hairstyle. His fur was also pointed that direction. His name was Korrigan Ramsey. Korrigan Smeethel Ramsey. His ancestor, so it was said, was Korrigan Smeethel. His parents admired Smeethel for being the first person born on Katina, so they named their son for him.
Korrigan was sitting at the far end of the tent, looking bored. "How long until Old Garnett says we leave?"
"Today, if the weather cooperates," muttered Calan.
"Good," said Ramsey. "I've been bored out of my mind, sitting up here alone. I don't suppose you have something....?"
"No. I just went out to check the torches. Don't think they'll last when the rain hits. Someone will have to waste another match before we can figure out how to keep them lit. I wonder how many there are left...."
Korrigan stretched his arms. "I wish we had some fungus cigarettes here. I've got no energy. And I feel like crap."
"Part of cold turkey, Venom style," said Calan.
The rain started to fall. Korrigan was sorely cursing for his lighter and a pack of the fungus cigarettes. He often did that in his sleep—muttering about them, dreaming about them, etc. He never stopped. Calan figured he had done it at the prison they held him at. It would be likely. Korrigan had been charged with crimes of hacking—he broke into important archives and servers that only top agents in the government were allowed into. And he'd learned just enough from them. No one but Korrigan himself knows how much of the archives he saw before they chucked him to Venom. It was just the fact that he was genius enough to actually break in. No one had ever done that before. No one was likely to do it again.
Korrigan sniffed the air.
"Uhg. I smell something dead."
Calan slowly leaned his head to the opening flap. "Don't see anything."
"Well duh. The smell is faint."
"I'm not going to look for it."
"I'm not either."
The two men looked at each other briefly.
"Look, someone's got to check it out," Korrigan said. "Neither of us will be able to sleep with that smell."
"We might have to. Besides, I'm not going out in the rain."
"It could turn dark before the rain stops. Go out now."
"Ramsey, I'm not doing it."
Korrigan gave a sour look. He ran a hand over his horns and leaned back to stare at the ceiling of the tent. He was thinking. Calan pulled the flap open a little, just to watch the rain. He heard Ramsey shiver a little. He couldn't possibly be cold. It was too warm and muggy for that. Calan looked back at Korrigan, who was huddled up in a furry ball. His clothes were reasonably dirty. He hadn't taken a bath in at least a week. The nearby water spring supplied the drinking water and the bathing water. So they did their best not to abuse it. The wasteland planet of Venom had few areas capable of holding life—which is why they hadn't made contact with any green men yet. Other deadly creatures replaced them.
"You think Garnett will lead us to some volcanic area, or a jungle?" Calan asked, trying to stir up some conversation.
"Volcanic area, if he can. I swear that man wants to lead us straight to hell."
"But we've already done that for him."
"You're right, absolutely right—he's just the tour guide." Korrigan gave a short laugh. "We really did ourselves in, just a few weeks ago. I thought the judge would throw me in jail and swallow the key or something, but I guess not. I guess jail was too good for me."
"I guess so." Calan looked around the tent. So empty.
"It's not like I'll be talking to my parents again, anyway," continued Korrigan. "You should have seen them at my hearing. It looked like Dad was going to shoot himself. Mom about stopped breathing when the judge said I would be exiled to Venom. I must be too dangerous to go to jail."
Calan had to laugh at it. "Yeah, and I'm not? I got charged with the murder of six people. They say I killed them all at the same time."
Korrigan actually laughed at that, which broke out in a coughing fit. His eyes were watery and red by the time he stopped. Calan looked helplessly at the only friend he had.
"You're sick," Calan said blankly.
Korrigan quickly shook his head. "I'm not—it's just a thing, that's all."
"A thing," Calan repeated.
"Yeah," Korrigan said, far too fast to be true. "I've always had it."
Calan stared at him for a moment. "I don't think that's normal. Is that a known disease? Did you catch it outside here?"
"I just said I've always had it."
"But you're lying, you have to be."
"Why do I have to? It's personal. Nothing to worry about." But his voice said otherwise.
Calan thought it best not to pester him any longer about the subject, so he pretended to be fascinated with the flap. He flicked it back and forth, like a lighter. He didn't want Korrigan dying on him. It worried him, since Ramsey wasn't telling him anything about the condition. He'd asked once before, and he got the same answer. The same hollow answer. A lie. It was obvious. The tone of Ramsey's voice said so.
Calan didn't know why he was getting so worked up. Everyone around him was a criminal. They were sent to Venom for a reason. Calan himself was innocent. But everyone else was not. He had to keep reminding himself of that. They were dangerous people. Most of them were killers, usually around some fringe station in the Lylat system, where they were caught fighting and killing other people who got in their way. Murder was a once in a lifetime crime. You were sent to Venom for committing it once, unless you were a soldier. Serving Lylat, of course. Or if you'd just eliminated a threat to the government. Then you'd get excused.
Calan was restless for a while. The rain poured on. In their area, there was a jungle. Most of Venom was covered by a vast wasteland of volcanic valleys and black mountains. The very soil was nasty. Huge canyons and rock formations were scattered throughout the planet. Life existed only in the small patches of jungle by the equator. Exhausting heat cursed it—still, it was much more bearable than any other part of the planet. The red sky was getting to him, almost as much as the humidity and the smell of something foul. He could smell it the moment he was dumped off.
"Korrigan," Calan said, shaking his friend, for he was drifting to sleep. "Ramsey, don't fall asleep on me. I need someone to watch for me while I re-light the torches. C'mon, man."
Korrigan stirred and yawned. "All right all right...." He sounded annoyed.
Calan opened the flap again to peer out. The rain was getting lighter. A good sign.
"Old Garnett will probably give one of his speeches tonight," said Calan, shutting the flap again. "No doubt it will be one of those boring ones."
"I've been here for nearly two months," Korrigan said grumpily, "and I know exactly how Garnett is going to do it. Lucky bastard, you are. They didn't keep you in jail for long. I spent nearly three months before I came here just so they could figure out what to do with me. And that damn prison was no picnic, I'll say that much." He gave a grunt. "And now my head hurts again."
"You're too reliable on those cigarettes."
"I am not either."
"Yes you are—you're always complaining."
"Quiet, Porter. Won't belong before you sit there, waking up in the middle of the night, begging for something to ease it all. This humidity doesn't help. At least Katina had some nice cool breezes...."
"Corneria is better off, though. It's almost never hot there, nor is it ever too cold."
"Yeah, those damn Cornerians get all the best, don't they? Never experienced the Katinan winter...."
"Fortuna is worse off."
"Fortuna has underground cities, Calan. So what? It's always warmer down there." He dipped his hand in the nearby bucket and wiped it over his face. "It's too hot in here."
"I tried going to Garnett about it," said Calan, feeling useless. "He said that the new fort should have a doctor."
"Doctor," snorted Korrigan. "He talks about 'doctors'. Listen, my mother was a doctor. I know about the stuff. There aren't doctors on Venom, and if there are, they're just the murderin' kind. Ones that'll poison you or murder you in your sleep. They'll kill you for your clothes and supplies before they give you even a good diagonstic. Why would they waste their time saving someone else when they need to save themselves? No, man."
Calan heard someone moving outside. "I think I'll get those torches re-lit."
He grabbed a match and the lighting torch, and headed out. It was not totally done precipitating—there were sprinkles here and there. Calan went to the closest torch and struck the match across the wood. As he began to light the other torches surrounding the camp, he watched the main fire, centered in the very middle. Old Garnett was sitting on a log, watching the flames burn the wood to ashes. Next to him was a young man, Abraham Grissom.
He was just 27 and already notorious for a nasty brawl in a Fortunan bar, the murder of an austere Scipian senator, the robbery of a Haissan lord's precious possessions (namely his sword and various jewels), blowing up a special fuel train in northern Aldaran, theft of a necklace known to belong to an old Adratian pharaoh, and other crimes. Grissom didn't just get thrown here, he literally dropped from the sky. He was escaping some rogue fighter pilots—the Star Fox team—and they shot him down as he entered the atmosphere. And that was how Abraham Grissom ended up at Venom.
As soon as he finished, Calan dipped the torch into the bucket and sat down by Grissom. He looked at his other good friend—Abraham was a classy type of guy. He had a movie star smile, electric blue eyes that seemed luminescent when he was happy (or furious), silkish black fur, and everything a handsome Cornerian panther could have.
"Abraham," said Calan.
"Calan," nodded Grissom.
Calan couldn't imagine how a guy like Abraham Grissom would be such a badass. It still puzzled him.
"Nice day."
"Yeah. Nice." Grissom looked around the camp. "Say, Garnett, when are we leaving? I'm getting bored of this place."
"Soon," said Garnett. "Whenever the next prisoner comes." He had a look in his eye that suggested he was expecting one. Abraham noticed this.
"What's that mean? Do you know one?"
"I might," said Garnett darkly.
"Then spit it out, old man, I'm not a psychic."
"Heard it on the news," grunted Garnett.
Abraham and Calan exchanged looks.
"What do you mean, 'news'?" demanded Abraham. "You get Channel 5 around here?"
"Keep your mouth shut, boy," snapped Garnett. And that was the end of the conversation.
Grissom fidgeted with a stick. Then they heard a roar in the distance. It was close. Closer than it should be. It was the sound of a draytan. The draytan was like a lion, only without the mane and sharp claws. It did have paws, and a tail, but its fur was the color of neon green. It had darker green stripes all over its body, and was perfect camouflage in the jungle surrounding. The draytan was a vicious thing—it gave calls of roars, which usually sounded like something dying, only angry and dying at the same time, and much louder. It had venomous fangs that could kill a person just with one bite. The only thing it was afraid of was fire. And that was the reason fire was life on Venom. Fire was the only thing that could protect them against the draytan, since they had no real weapons.
Korrigan's head peeped out of the tent flap. His eyes looked dilated but also alert. "Did you hear that?" he asked, with a slight crack in his voice.
Calan nodded, and looked around cautiously. He quietly snuck over to the farthest torch and stood by it. Abraham looked warily around but did not move. Old Garnett looked content with staring at the fire. Then they heard the roar again.
Calan had in mind to run into the tent and hide, but that would do no good. There was a draytan loose around this area, and they couldn't afford to have it kill off the prisoners, Garnett said. He always said that he couldn't afford it. It puzzled Calan.
He beckoned Abraham to come with him, since Korrigan didn't seem like he wanted to come out all that badly. Besides, the experience Grissom had had could be useful. Abraham grabbed a torch of his own and set out, with a dagger in one hand. The dagger was one of the few things that survived the crash.
Yet another roar made shivers creep up Calan's spine. He glanced at Abraham, who was slowly making his way into the jungle. His eyes were wild and alert.
Calan broke off a limb from a dead tree and held the long stick in his hands. It was a thick one, and heavy at that. He shot Abraham a look. "Abe, you go left, I'll go right."
Abraham nodded and went to the left side. He disappeared into the jungle. Calan went off to the right, praying that God would let him die another way, something more peaceful....Then he heard a roar once again. And a yell. Abraham's voice.
Calan tore through the grass and trees, trying to find the voice. Then something pounced in front of him. Calan almost fell backwards. Instinctively he held the stick up like a barrier. It was the draytan, right in front of him. The neon green lion with darker green stripes like a tiger, the thin, venomous fangs sticking out, and the large paws. Calan didn't breathe. He'd forgotten how. Abraham was behind the draytan all of a sudden, yelling. Calan yelled too, and the draytan became distracted with Calan. Abraham lept onto the draytan's back from behind and sunk his dagger into the back of its neck. It gave a roar that was louder and more terrible than anything the men had heard before. But it wasn't finished. Calan hit it on the head with his rod, and it staggered backward. Abraham stabbed it again, this time in the side. The draytan bucked Abraham off, and he landed hard. The draytan jumped on Abraham, but not before he'd lifted his dagger one last time and stabbed it in the stomach. That was all it needed. The draytan was finally silent and limp. Abraham shoved its heavy body off of him and wiped the blood off in its fur. Some blood had gotten on his pants and his torn shirt.
"You hurt?" asked Calan.
"No, but I've got a mighty headache thanks to that furball," muttered Abraham.
"Let's go a bit further to find the stream, so you can get cleaned up," suggested Calan. The two of them set out farther into the jungle.
The stream was the source of life, other than fire. Calan bent down by the edge and dipped his hands into it, bringing back a handful of cold, clear water. It was probably the only cold thing on Venom. Abraham sat by the edge and took off his pants, showing off navy blue boxers. He dipped them in the stream, and began to rub where the blood had stained. Streaks of red flowed through the water. Calan gave him some peace and walked along the stream until Abraham was no longer in his sight. Then Calan heard a familiar noise. A starship noise. The sound of its engine. There was only one. The prison ship, perhaps? No, it was smaller than that. A starfighter.
Calan ran to find the starfighter. Maybe it was his rescuer, and that they weren't so doomed after all. He was running with the rod, when he heard a shout. Calan held the rod tightly in both hands. Suddenly something sliced the rod in half. The impact bent both pieces out of Calan's hands. He staggered backward, and noticed a man standing in front of him, with what looked like an iron bar in his hands. He was a wolf Cornerian, by the looks of it, and he had an eyepatch on his left eye. He was dressed like a rogue pilot, with black pants and a black shirt on, and a friendly looking Zion-3 laser pistol in his gun holder on his also black belt. He looked like some badass rogue pilot, that was for sure.
All Calan could do was stare. The wolf looked at the pieces of wood on the ground and laughed. "No match for my iron rod, eh? I found it back there. How would iron end up on Venom, I wonder?" he said with a laugh, as if he knew something Calan didn't. His voice was smooth and actually pleasant to listen to, masculine but not rough.
"Who are you and what do you want?" demanded Calan.
"Wolf O'Donnell, leader of the Star Wolf team. And who are you?"
"Calan Porter...fugitive." Calan couldn't think of another word for it. Prisoner, maybe. "So what's the 'Star Wolf team'?"
"Team of some renegade pilots. Actually, there's only two of us right now," said Wolf. "My good comrade Leon is scouting out the area. He'll be back, don't you worry."
"Why would I worry?" Calan asked coolly.
"Because, bud, we're the only pilots to set foot out here in a decade—at least, illegally. Don't they dump you suckers off while you're still in the air, and let you keep the parachute?"
"They land and shove us out," said Calan in the same tone. "Look, if there's something you want, hurry up and take it."
"No, I don't want anything. Yet." He looked around. "Nice place."
"Yeah."
"How long you been here?"
"A few weeks. I lost track of the days. My friend Korrigan writes on a tree nearby, putting in tally marks for every day. He's been here two months, and in jail three months before that."
"Surprised you two made it that long. Nasty creatures in these jungles, and then the wasteland on most of Venom is lifeless. Well, glad to see you're still alright."
Calan lightened up a little, hoping that Wolf would perhaps get some supplies.
"Yeah, I guess. Do you have any supplies, by any chance?"
Wolf let out another laugh. "Supplies? Yeah, back on our little underground house at Titania. There's one Cornerian base on Titania, but that's all. Nasty desert planet. Leon's got a nice country house near Cuzco, Fortuna. We do a lot of ship repairs and such there, since we haven't got a mothership to deploy out of." He gave a fatherly grin at the starship behind him. "That baby's my pride and joy. I designed it with two of my best friends, Josiah Soren and Monica Zarek. We drew the blueprints, got the parts, and built. I know the inside and outside of this ship like my house. We called it the Wolfen. She's barely a year old, but a bit dirty. It's tough to clean it from space debris. See how it's got black streaks on it? Hits from some Haissan starfighters. They didn't like us flying too near their border. But the Wolfen's like family to me."
"It's very nice," said Calan politely. And he meant it.
"It is," agreed Wolf. "But we'd had another group to rival us. The Star Fox team...James McCloud, that son of a gun. He's a damn good pilot, but he's also a rival."
Calan's fur was standing up on his back and on his neck. "I've heard of them. Claim to be protectors of Corneria."
"They are. Leon and I are just a bunch of nobodies. I was born and raised on Katina, but I went to the Corneria Academy to earn my wings. Now it doesn't matter. Listen, I'll tell you stuff when we reach your camp. Leon will find his way there."
"Alright," agreed Calan. He was interested in this guy. Wolf O'Donnell. Even the very name seemed familiar. Why?
Abraham brushed his way over to the two men, and his eyes widened when he saw Wolf standing by Calan and the starfighter sitting there. His jaw was dropping.
"Who—?"
"He'll explain later, Abe. Let's get back to camp."
The three men walked to the camp, through the great jungle. Calan couldn't stop thinking about it. Maybe these men could offer some way out. But they had one-man starfighters and no transport in sight. Could they really get a transporter ship through without being stopped by starships by Area 6 or Bolse? Calan didn't think so.
They came to the camp, looking sweaty and disgruntled. Only Wolf looked healthy. The men and few women at the camp looked gaunt. Calan knew that he and Abe were no picnic to look at. Dirty. Starved a little. Scared of losing fire, water, food, and shelter. Scared of draytans. Calan had mud on his worn-out shoes, and Grissom had blood still stained on his pants. Even so, Abe was still able to keep his good looks.
People stared at Wolf like they hadn't seen anything like him.
"'Nother addition to our cause?" asked a man.
"Who's that fellow?" asked another.
"Hey guy!" shouted a woman. "Who are you?"
Wolf ignored all of them. Korrigan was outside sitting with Old Garnett when Calan and Abraham lead Wolf to them. People started to gather around the fire in a circle. Calan told Wolf to sit on a stump near Garnett. Then he and Grissom sat down. Korrigan looked at Calan and asked, "Who's this guy?"
"A new friend," answered Calan. "I hope."
"Somewhat," said Wolf. He looked at Garnett. "You're the leader of this fine establishment, right?"
Garnett waved off the sarcasm and said, "I am. Name's Ray. Raymond Garnett. But you can call me Ray." The old bear Cornerian held out his hand. Wolf shook it and smiled. "Wolf O'Donnell. You can call me Wolf or Captain O'Donnell, doesn't matter to me. My partner is Leon Powalski. He should arrive here shortly; I had him scout out the area in his starfighter. We're a renegade team."
"I can tell by your clothes," said Garnett. "A pilot. A Katinan pilot, judging by your slight accent. You must have spent time in Corneria, since it's worn off a little."
"You're right. I was born and raised in Katina. Leon was born and raised in Corneria. He's a bit older...33 years old."
"Is that so," said Garnett thoughtfully.
"That Cornerian scientist will be dumped off here soon enough," Wolf said randomly.
Garnett became alert again. "As I expected."
"How could you expect it? You have no communication here."
"Oh, we do," said Garnett. "Or rather, we will."
Wolf stared at Garnett for a moment. "I understand...so, the rumors are true...."
"They are," answered Garnett. "If you stay with us, you'll see for yourself."
"That's why I'm here!" Wolf said with a grin. "You'll find that rumors like this one are well known in bars on distant planets. And trust me, I've been there."
"I'm sure you have." Garnett stood up. "You and I will talk some more, and your partner should arrive soon. When he does, you may join us in the evening meal, and tomorrow we set out for the city."
"I'll take my starfighter there. Point me in the direction and I'll go."
Garnett studied Wolf. "Very well. Let's take a walk, first, and wait for your fellow pilot."
They walked off to the far side of camp. Calan was disappointed not to hear more of Wolf's story, but he could not do anything about it. Maybe they'd meet again, wherever they were going in the morning, and he'd meet that friend of Wolf's.