I

It was a beautiful day on the planet of Katina. Rays of bright sunlight glinted off the distant metallic buildings and aircraft of the Air Force Academy, while rows of cadets in uniforms stood at attention below a band-filled stage in a nearby park. Today was graduation day for the young cadets, and the park, normally frequented only by gardeners and aging officers, was full of energetic siblings and prideful parents, whose interest in the cadets was only broken by the occasional statue and antique fighter.

"What's that one, papa?" said a young dog to his father. But the father ignored the puppy, instead dragging it by its shirtsleeve.

"I don't know," said the father dog impatiently. "But come along, now. Your brother's graduation ceremony is about to begin."

"But papa!"

A nearby figure chuckled softly. But father and son stopped and stared at the old stranger.

"I see your boy has taken a sudden interest in aviation," the figure said with a smile.

"Yeah," the dog grumbled. "He's taking after his brother. His brother's a cadet here, and he's going to be graduating in a few minutes, so I want to get a good seat. My name's Mr. Dreggar." The dog offered his free hand. The stranger shook it.

"How do you do." Then, to the puppy, "So, little guy, you want to know about this fighter? Well, this here's an Arwing. Now, I know you don't think that's so special, seeing as your brother probably flies one every day, but this is a prototype Arwing. The first version ever to be flown by non-robotic entities. It's the same Arwing class that toppled Andross's Empire back in the day. These days, you know you're safe when you fly an Arwing. It's the best fighter out there that you can mass-produce. In this one, though, anything could go wrong, and the only thing you could rely on was your own piloting capability. Hell of a fighter. Well, enjoy the ceremony, young man. You, too, Mr. Dreggar."

The band finished playing its cheerful tunes, which was the cue for the captain to begin his speech. Dressed in his best, Brutus "Tank" Reynolds, a burly canine captain who treated his underlings harsher than POWs, climbed the steps with conceited elegance and stepped up to the podium.

"Good morning, cadets, parents, children and Air Force lovers!" Tank boomed, and with that, began a longwinded, highly entertaining speech.

Meanwhile, in a tree across the park, a young, plump tabby cat crouched precariously on a thin branch, with binoculars to its eyes and a headset on its ears. It was a year younger than the cadets graduating that day, and was supposed to be on leave for the summer. However, this cat had other plans.

"Come in, Big Dog! Come in, Big Dog!" he whispered hoarsely. "Muttonhead has begun his speech! Repeat, Muttonhead has begun his speech!"

In the sky of Katina, miles above the park, three Arwings in a "V" formation broke away from their holding pattern and began to swoop down.

"Roger that, Garfield," said Big Dog, who was not a dog at all, but a fox. "Take it to 'em, guys."

His name was Thomas McCloud, and although he was clearly the most talented cadet at the academy, Tank still treated him like garbage. He intended to settle the score, and when better to do so than on graduation day?

"That balloon better be in place, Tom," crackled the voice of the right wingman in Tom's headset. He turned, and through the thick, gleaming glass, saw the face of Alyssa Darien, looking at him through the glass of her own Arwing cockpit. "Else this whole thing will be a bust, no pun intended."

Tom forwarded the message to Bobo Simons, a.k.a. Garfield, who gave the affirmative. "It sure is, Alyssa," Tom replied. "Everything's golden. Just needs one clear shot for 'Muttonhead' to find himself covered in red paint."

"All right," said the left wingman gleefully. "Tank, your just desserts are comin' in full speed!" Tiger Dreggar, a dog, hit the accelerator until his was ahead of the other two Arwings. Tom decided to let it go, seeing that it was too late for them to make any more changes in formation.

The three Arwings were closing in on the park now. Tiger, whose Arwing was far ahead of the others, laughed like a kid with a toy gun. Tom was almost sure he could hear Alyssa rolling her eyes over the radio.

"All right, Tiger," Tom said. "Lock on your target. That's it. Now, let 'im have it!"

A report rang in the ears of those at the ceremony below as a pair of hyper beams streaked by mere feet above their heads, while moments later, an Arwing roared by, tearing away branches of nearby trees as it went. The visitors began panicking immediately, while the cadets watched the Arwing go, knowing very well who was at the controls.

"Damn it!" Tiger shouted. Tom winced as the tinny swear blasted his ears with static.

"Don't sweat it, Tiger," Alyssa said. "I'm on it."

Tom looked below, and noticed thankfully that Tank was still at the podium. "All right, Alyssa," he said, pulling away so she could get a clear shot. "All yours."

Tom watched Alyssa set her sights on the heavy, paint-filled balloon, dangling on a branch high above the podium. She waited until she was close enough for a clear shot. It was a tricky shot, she knew, one that would require her to dive between two…

A laser beam struck Alyssa's left wing, rocking her ship. "What the…?"

Tom leaned over to take a glance at the crowd below. "Ah, hell," he cried irritably. "Some geezer is shooting at your Arwing!"

"Well, how am I supposed to… Aaah!"

Tom saw it all. Within her massive fighter, Alyssa had leaned over to see who had been shooting at her. Before Tom could say anything, Alyssa struck the balloon, instantly splattering her cockpit with red paint.

"I hit someone! I hit someone!" she screamed.

"No, Alyssa, you didn't…"

"Help! Tom! I can't see! There's blood all over my…"

"It's not blood, it's…"

"I can't see, Tom! I…!"

Tom watched helplessly as everything began to unwind into total chaos. Alyssa blindly struck one of the statues in the park, clipping off her right wing. Her Arwing, already dangerously close to the ground, began to lose altitude. The crowd was wild with terror, while the old geezer continued to take shots at the Arwings.

"Tiger! She's taken damage! Get over here, now!" Tom shouted.

"I'm too far away, Tom! It'll take some time!"

Alyssa's fighter was only a few feet from the ground now. Without a second thought, Tom accelerated, ignoring the branches that smacked into his windshield, until he was side-by-side with Alyssa. He turned slightly, so that his left wing was under Alyssa's mangled right. Then, ever so gently, he turned to starboard, his left wing nudging Alyssa's craft upward, until it was level.

"All right, Alyssa, now, begin your landing pattern," Tom ordered.

Alyssa obeyed without a word. When she was slow enough, the hatches beneath her craft gave way to repulsorlifts. Tom swooped away and watched. The landing was rough, but Alyssa succeeded in bringing her damaged craft to a halt on a lawn outside the park. Tom watched as Tank and the cadets rushed to her aid.

"Thanks, Tom," Alyssa said, shaken yet relieved. "I'm all right."

"Now all we have to worry about," said Tiger, who was now flying side-by-side with Tom, "is hell, courtesy of Tank Reynolds."

"I hear ya, Tiger," Tom said with a sigh. "I hear ya."

II

Fox walked briskly through the golden hall of the Ritz Corneria, the most glamorous ballroom in Corneria City. He turned to the reflective marble wall on his left, and watched his distorted reflection: an orange Fox, with hints of gray hair in his head, dressed in a tuxedo and carrying a speech paper in his gloved hand.

If I saw myself like this twenty years ago, Fox said to himself, I would have put a blaster to my head to prevent it from occurring. Fox recalled with a laugh how he and his fellow Star Fox team members had declined dressing formally for the celebration of the defeat of Andross, wearing instead their grimy, tattered piloting clothes. Why Pepper liked them so much, Fox had no idea.

When he reached the door to the main ballroom, the butler there acknowledged him with a smile, and politely opened the door. Fox walked inside.

The room was large and already festive, as much as a formal party could be. Gossip could be heard coming from the mouths of carefree officers' wives, and so could the hearty laughter of fat cat politicians.

"Would you care for a drink, sir?" asked a waiter, holding a plate of champagne glasses. Fox took a glass with a thank-you smile.

"Ah! Fox McCloud! So good of you to join us!"

It was Pepper, also dressed in a tuxedo, holding his second glass of champagne in his right paw. Behind him was a frog, popping an hors d'oeuvre in his mouth.

"Hello, Pepper," Fox said.

"Oh, Fox," Pepper said, gesturing to the frog. "I'd like you to meet Commodore Jerry Python."

Fox shook the frog's hand with a smile and a "How do you do."

"He'll be commanding a fleet beneath you in the soon-to-be navy," Pepper said. Jerry nodded.

"Good!" Fox said cheerfully, taking a sip from his glass. "So, what kind of experience do you have?"

Jerry cleared his throat. "Well," he said. "I am a native of Aquas, and there, I was admiral of the local navy for ten years. Also, I might add, my father fought Andross on both Aquas and Zoness."

"No kidding?" Fox said, fighting the urge to point out that Jerry's father lost both battles.

"Yes," Jerry said. "He was a real war hero. So was my uncle, who actually managed to board one of Andross's capital ships and…"

But something else had captured Fox's attention, something he caught sight of briefly before it was obscured by more careless guests.

"Excuse me for one moment," Fox said, patting the frog on the back. He walked across the ballroom, excusing himself as he bumped into and squeezed through various guests, until reaching his destination, only to discover that the object of his attention had disappeared. Before he could ponder its existence, a finger tapped his shoulder, and upon turning around, saw it standing before him.

"Krystal!" he cried.

Krystal McCloud, dressed in an elegant white dress, smiled happily. "Hello, Fox," she said. Fox noticed that her accent was still not fully polished, but he didn't care. He lunged forward and embraced Krystal tightly.

"Oh, Krystal, it's been too long!" he muttered. "You look great!"

"You do, too," Krystal said. "How have you been?" But before Fox could respond, Krystal started laughing.

"What is it?" Fox said, alarmed.

"Listen to us!" Krystal exclaimed. "We sound like old friends, not husband and wife."

Fox chuckled, shaking his head with a blush. Then, as he watched, Krystal was joined by Falco Lombardi, then Slippy Toad, and finally, Alec Falan.

"Hey, McCloud," Falco said, gulping down a glass of wine. "Nice tux."

"Nice leather jacket," Fox replied. "Did you actually wash it just for this ceremony?"

"Nah," Falco said, letting the gambit slide. "I like how it is. Washing it makes it seem foreign."

Fox shook his head. "Well, what are you guys doing here? I haven't even heard from you in almost a year! And, after all, I know you're still not happy with the idea of me being an officer…"

"Oh, come on, Fox," Krystal said, with her nagging tone of voice. "Do you really think we'd give you the cold shoulder for so long? We know this is an important time for you, and would spare no expense to come and see you!"

"Yeah," Falco said wryly. "We wouldn't miss seeing you screw up in the middle of your speech for the world!"

"Well," Slippy said, speaking for the first time, "I wanted to see some of the blueprints of future naval ships in the art gallery. That stuff is fascinating! Of course, seeing you become an admiral is priceless, too. I guess."

Fox laughed, and turned to Alec Falan. "And how've you been, Alec?" he asked.

The cat shrugged. "Ok, I guess," he said.

Fox shook his head and smiled. He was a shy kid, but from what Fox had seen and heard, Alec was one terrific pilot.

A high-pitched squeal came from the front of the ballroom, causing all to cover their ears. It ended a moment later, and Pepper, standing at the microphone, began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm glad you could all come," he began. "As you know, our biggest goal in recent history was to establish a third branch of the military: a navy. And, for those of you carefully following sessions of the Senate, you know how badly the odds were stacked against us that we would achieve this goal. But, thanks to several persuasive speeches, including one by Mr. Fox McCloud over there, we managed to change the minds of many pessimist senators and win the approval of two-thirds of the Senate. And now, in front of everybody tonight, I would like to introduce the admiral of the Cornerian Navy. Fox McCloud!"

Applause filled Fox's ears as he held up his speech paper in his right hand. Falco elbowed him in the ribs.

"Break a leg, Fox," Falco said. "Or an arm, whichever suits the moment."

Fox walked down the ballroom to the stage, where Pepper was gesturing to him. Fox stepped up to the microphone, put the speech paper on the podium, cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak. Just then, there was a sudden commotion at the entrance of the ballroom, where a pig had come bursting through with a look of terror on his face.

"There's been an explosion outside!" he shouted. "One of the docking platforms! Platform 18, it looks like!"

Falco grimaced, Krystal gasped, and Slippy put his hands on his face. To Fox, the collective gesture said one thing.

"That's ours."

III

The Star Fox team stood at the edge of existence, dressed in formal wear and looking down into an abyss. Fox came running behind them, stopped with a heavy heave of breath, crouched down, and looked.

The bridge connecting the docking platform to the building had been severed, leaving the edge black and mangled. That alone was a sign that the explosion left nothing intact. Fox leaned forward and saw the Great Fox, laying in a thousand blackened pieces on the ground, four stories down.

Fox stood up slowly. He took a careful glance at the Star Fox team near him. Their reactions were varied. Krystal looked horrified, although not in any way showing signs of emotional distraught. Falco was definitely pissed, clenching both fists and shaking them at his side. Alec was as horrified as Krystal was, although his was more out of fear. But Slippy, dear old Slippy, took it the hardest. He had been with the ship the longest, and as a technical guy, his attachment to the Great Fox was akin to that of an old friend. Tears streamed freely down Slippy's face, and his big lips quivered.

"Sabotaged," Pepper growled from behind.

"I don't know how," Krystal said weakly. "We didn't tell anybody where we were going, and we left for Corneria rather suddenly…"

"Why!" Slippy bawled. "Why would they do such a thing? I mean, we were obviously not on board, so if they wanted to kill us…" He fell to his knees and put his hands over his eyes, sobbing. Krystal and Fox watched him with pity.

"They got the Arwings," Falco muttered with a scowl. "And… ROB."

"We will compensate you for your loss, I assure you," Pepper said, putting his hand on Falco's shoulder. "We have lots of Arwings, all state-of-the-art…"

"Yeah. Thanks." Falco's voice was like acid, actually causing Pepper to recoil.

"Listen," Fox said to Krystal. "You guys can stay with me, while we investigate this. It's a nice place. It'll help you take your minds off this for a while."

Krystal nodded. Fox turned to walk back to the ballroom, while the Star Fox team continued to stare at the wreckage.

Suddenly, Falco crouched down, turning his head so only one eye looked down. "What in the…" He turned around and disappeared. A few minutes later, he appeared again four floors down, coming through the door nearest the wreckage.

"Falco, what are you doing?" Krystal called.

Falco didn't respond. He climbed over and through the wreckage, until he reached a chunk of the landing platform. He bent down beside it and picked up a small, black object. He twirled it in his fingers, examining it.

"What is it?" Krystal called.

"An eye patch," came the reply.

IV

"Star Wolf?" Pepper cried. "You think Star Wolf is behind this?"

Pepper and the Star Fox team were sitting around a glass coffee table in Fox's penthouse, while Fox himself was busy preparing hot drinks for them all.

"Want to see the patch again?" Falco held up the black piece of cloth.

"I saw it," Pepper said irritably. "It doesn't prove a thing. I'm sure there are thousands of scumbags out there who wear eye patches."

"Are there any other scumbags with eye patches out to settle a vendetta with us?" Slippy retorted.

Pepper sighed and leaned back. "Look," he said. "Have you guys forgotten the work you did on them on Venom? You say you sent all Wolfen II's to the ground. And even if one of them managed to survive the crash, there's no way they'd survive outside the security of their aircraft. Venom is a harsh planet, with an atmosphere of noxious gases and a terrain of hard rock. Now, here we are, twenty-some years later. No one has heard of Star Wolf since Venom. You really think they just popped up out of nowhere and trashed your ship?"

"Just because no one has heard of you," said Falco, "Doesn't mean you don't exist. You guys haven't heard or seen from us for years. And yet, here we are."

Fox came from the kitchen with a platter of hot cider. Everyone took a cup. Fox sat down in a lounge chair near the table.

"Fox," Pepper said, after placing his cup on the table, "You're a reasonable person. You manage to fit logic into everything you do, be it fighting in the fray of a space battle, or persuading a Senate to permit the induction of a navy. Do you think it's possible that Star Wolf is still alive and at large?"

Fox took a sip from his cup, leaned back, and sighed. "Logic tells me no," he said. "But if I've learned anything in my life, it's that logic doesn't always apply. For years as a child, I was told that dinosaurs no longer exist. Yet, I found myself on a dinosaur planet, where most of the dinosaurs actually talked. Then, a while later, I encountered Andross in orbit over the planet. I saw Andross perish on Venom, so logic would tell me that he was long dead. But he wasn't. So. Could Star Wolf be alive? If this is one of those cases where logic doesn't apply, then, yes, they could be alive."

The room was silent. Then, Falco said, "Well put, McCloud."

Pepper snorted. "Well, I won't accept that explanation just yet." He stood up, stretched his arms and yawned. "We'll begin the investigation first thing tomorrow morning. Mr. Lombardi, Mrs. McCloud, don't you worry, I'll have four of my best Arwings delivered to you, as well as a transport until you get yourselves another ship. In the meantime, I must be going. Farewell."

Pepper walked off. The slam of a door was heard in the background.

"He didn't even try your nice cider!" Slippy cried.

Fox chuckled. "Just add water, Slip," he said. When Slippy looked confused, Fox tossed him an empty packet of powder.

"Ah," said Slippy, standing up. "Well, I should be goin' to bed, too. G'night, everybody!"

V

Admiral Moss sat in his private quarters on board the Harbinger. It was now day two of his journey to Lylat, and if his scientists' calculations were correct, they should be arriving any moment now. He put his hands to his chin, crossed his legs, and waited.

As if on cue, the intercom by his seat switched on. "Admiral Moss, we are entering the Lylat system now," the officer said.

"Good. Bring the ship out of light speed and send the orders for the fleet to assemble." He switched the intercom off, stood up, and left the room.

When he made it to the main bridge, every order had been executed. The main view port showed star-speckled space, instead of the nebulous mess hyperspace had to offer. Outside, he saw the glorious Karzen fleet, waiting patiently in perfect formation. Moss recalled with pride the stats of his fleet. Twenty capital ships, the Harbinger included. One hundred and fifty frigates, ships a fifth of the size of capital ships but with greater firepower, were there, as well as several small transports. Then there were the fighters, the ships that really made the fleet. There were twenty thousand interceptors, thirty thousand defenders, five thousand bombers, and one thousand scouts, distributed evenly within the one hundred and seventy larger ships.

If they didn't win through cunning, they would surely win through the advantage of numbers.

"All, right, commander," Moss said. "Remember the plan. A fourth of our forces are to be sent to Macbeth, where they will provide a feint attack. Frigates and interceptors are to provide the bulk of that attack force; we want to save the majority of our bombers for the real target. Now, another fourth of the fleet, the Harbinger included, will stay here as backup and a buffer between Karzen and Lylat.

"The remaining half of our fleet will go to the target planet. They have their orders; the bombers are to destroy buildings and ships, while living targets should be left," and Moss nodded towards the transports, hidden among the giant frigates and capital ships in the fleet, "to Mr. Krumptin's 'Blitz Forces.' Carry out the orders, commander."

The commander did so. Within moments, the fleet's size had shrunk considerably. Moss smiled.

"Allow me to propose a toast, gentlemen," he said to the officers on the bridge. "I feel another victory coming along."

The officers laughed heartily, and applauded Moss while he took out another sealed bottle of champagne.