Slippy was still warm in his cockpit as the condensation from entering Fortuna's frigidly cold atmosphere frosted over his windows. With his view of the outside so obstructed, he felt somehow more isolated than in the starless blankness of space, and a momentary sense of claustrophobia crashed like a wave over him.
How am I going to land this thing? he wondered.
The air howled as the wings sliced through it at breakneck speed, and headwinds from the ice rock's perpetual snowstorm rocked the little ship from side to side. Blinded to the outside and panicking on the inside, hands clenched tight on the flight stick, he wracked his mind for the correct landing procedure. He jabbed the button for the window defroster in the vain hope it might melt the ship's thickening shell and remedy his obfuscation.
By his design, the current generation of Arwing was more than capable of entry into airspaces exceedingly hot or cold, as he often boasted. But it was always the Great Fox that performed the duty of at least bringing the crew within close distance of the landing zone, thereby lessening the exposure to the deep freeze of space. Entry into extreme temperatures, therefore, did not usually have the dramatic effect on visibility that Slippy was currently witnessing. Having spent all this time in solitary confinement and with little aid from the computer's navigational system (these were fighters, after all, not truly intended to land outside the hangar of Great Fox), Slippy's worsening mental state was losing command over the situation.
Okay, okay. It can't be that bad, he thought of setting down. The computer will tell me when I'm closing in for the landing... he cranked the volume on the intercom speaker.
The hiss of empty airwaves that it blared was barely audible over the cacophony of whistling gales.
Dammit, I can't hear a thing! He violently flicked the switch that changed the system over to onscreen notifications, rather than the usual voice that would float over the intercom, and waited with baited breath for the signal to drop the landing gear.
Seconds turned into minutes as he descended rockily downward, and no signal came. Instead, the screen beamed a flashing warning that fuel was running low. Slippy was becoming furious.
"You stupid, piece of crap computer!" After the many hours spent cruising in complete silence, the angry sound of his own voice surprised him, making him stop short in his verbal assault. Sapped of hope, he twice pounded the small, green-tinted screen weakly with one fist, hung his head, and awaited the end.
Suddenly, he noticed it - an almost imperceptible, new warmth falling upon his face. He lifted his head to see that one side of the frostbitten cockpit had become brighter, distant light from Solar cutting through the storm, making him realize that the window defroster had cleared a small side window. He could see!
He twisted in his seat to get a glimpse of the view below, struggling to spot something, ANYTHING that would provide a safe landing. The terrain of Fortuna was uniformly flat, but mostly ice-encrusted, which would cause some severe damage to his ship.
A snowbank, he thought, would be ideal. There's not much else out here --
Something caught his eye as he finished the thought. Could it really be what it looked like? A squat, dark structure, nearly invisible behind the dusting of snow that clung to it, appeared like a mirage in the desert of white. It was large, perhaps even large enough to be a former hangar.
Indeed, as he drew closer, he could see that the top was an elevated landing pad.
Slippy relaxed in his seat. What luck! What a relief! He would land atop this building, and perhaps find an old supply depot to refuel and restock his ship, since in his haste to leave, he had neglected to do so after the bout on Katina.
He set down easily and turned the ignition off. Things were looking pretty good for Slippy...