I

"Sir, we've lost contact with the units at Meteo."

General Pepper turned and stared icicles into the technician's face. Pepper had been pacing the War Room all day, shouting orders and reading computer screens. His eyes were bleary, his fur was ruffled, his uniform was disheveled, and he was tired. He was not prepared to deal with technical difficulties.

"They're in an asteroid field, you idiot!" Pepper roared. "Of course we're going to lose contact with them! Quit jumping at shadows!"

The technician, a little raccoon fellow by the name of Donald Snivell, trembled. "But sir…"

"General Pepper!"

Pepper turned away from Donald to respond to another technician. "What is it?"

"Sir, Fortuna's condition is dire. Their forces are weakening, and the enemy attacks are getting stronger by the minute. They require assistance or guarantee surrender within the hour."

"General Pepper, sir!"

It was the meek technician, Donald, again. Pepper turned and cried, irritably, "Yes, what is it?"

"Sir… the units in Meteo were supposed to arrive in Fortuna an hour ago. And… when that estimate was calculated, we factored in the possibility of accidents and severe difficulty with the asteroids."

The implications were beginning to sink in. Then, the other alerted Pepper once more.

"General! Fortuna needs assistance!"

"Sir," Donald said, his voice weak and tinged with fear, "Sir… no one's coming. No one's there."

Pepper turned and stared blankly at the computer monitors around him. Then, mumbling weakly, he said, "Star Fox. Where are you?"

II

"You have to relax," the surgeon said. "We must perform the operation before infection sets in."

Bobo squirmed, fearfully watching the shiny blade in the doctor's hand and the masked assistants glower down at him. Behind them, he saw his friends, watching and offering what encouragement they could.

"Why can't I get anesthesia?" Bobo whimpered.

"I told you already," the surgeon said patiently. "There is a limited supply of anesthesia here, and we need what there is for the more critical operations. With the local anesthesia, you won't feel a thing. Trust me."

A white curtain was set up over Bobo's waist, blinding him from the operation, and the surgeon began. He instantly knew that the surgeon had lied just to get him to calm down. He felt no pain, that was certain, but he definitely felt something. He felt intense pressure at the top of his leg; then, to his great distress, he felt the pressure deeper and deeper down. At the right moment, Tom came down and squeezed Bobo's hand.

"Hey," Tom said. "Aren't you excited? You're going to have a robot leg! Imagine what you could do with it! I mean, if you ever got in a fistfight with a robot, well… the odds would be even! Heck, they may even be in your favor, since you've got the instincts and cunning of a cat!"

Bobo smiled. "Yeah," he said. "It would be kinda cool. I could kick down doors, and…"

"Finished!" the surgeon said cheerfully. He removed the curtain, and Bobo saw the stump of his left leg, covered with a white bandage. His ears drooped.

"Don't worry," the surgeon said with a smile. "We're just about to install your new leg. The engineers are having some difficulties getting the last bits and pieces together, but before you could say "Bobo the Bionic Hero," we'll…"

Suddenly, commotion began to rise again in the camp. An officer came over to the surgeon, whispered something fierce in his ear, and departed.

"Sorry, kid," the surgeon said, preparing to put Bobo on a stretcher to be taken into a transport. "The order has been given to evacuate. We'll get your new leg on sometime, but not now. In the meantime, use these crutches." The assistants got Bobo on the stretcher, and whisked him away.

Tom, meanwhile, confronted one of the officers. "What's going on?" he demanded. "The last thing these patients need is to be boarded onto some transports and taken on a space flight!"

"A direct command from Corneria," the officer said sternly. "Katina is to be evacuated, and all transports escorted to a safe location. War, I'm afraid, exists. And there's no sense in leaving the wounded behind on a conquerable planet."

With that, the officer left, and Tom was escorted into a nearby transport.

III

Admiral Moss sat quietly in his quarters, concentrating on a game of chess between him and his assistant robot. He was aware that his fleet was away, fighting battles on multiple planets, and that he was required to lead them. But, at the moment, neither war worried him; he was in a very good position, both in the Lylat campaign and in his chess game, and he knew it.

"Admiral Moss," the intercom called. "We have the status reports you requested ready on the bridge."

Moss grabbed his queen and set it down across the board. "Checkmate," he muttered, standing up.

"Good game," the robot said dully. It began clearing the board, while Moss stood up and walked away.

"What's the status of the campaign?" Moss said, once he was in the main bridge.

One of the officers on the bridge volunteered the report. "Fortuna has just been taken, sir, and the military units we tracked on their way there have been eliminated. We've also sent units to take Katina and capture whoever was left, but we found the planet deserted. Our scientists estimate that they left the planet not long ago."

"Send some units to track them down," Moss ordered. "Now, then. What of Macbeth? Has it been taken yet?"

"Not yet, sir," the officer said. "A small air force and a great naval force have put up quite a resistance. Our forces there may need backup."

"Then give it to them," Moss cried. "We have plenty of support, and we still have the advantage. In the meantime, find those Katinan refugees!"

IV

Fox found himself in the main building of the Air Force Academy on Katina. The winding hallways were sparkling new, but unknown to him. He wandered the hallways frantically, passing many friends, old and new, who didn't seem to notice him or his plight.

Down a short hallway, he saw Peppy, shooting a blaster at some battle robots. Fox approached him.

"You shouldn't be doing that," Fox warned. "You're too old."

Peppy turned, and for the first time, Fox saw that he looked only thirty years old. "No, I'm not," Peppy said, calmly. "You are."

Fox looked down and saw that his hands were shriveled, his stomach pudgy, his hair all gray and falling out in clumps, his teeth rotting, and his back hunched. He looked to Peppy for answers, but was met by a blaster in the face.

"Peppy, what in God's name are you doing?" Fox protested, although in no condition to fight back.

"It's better this way," Peppy assured him, and he fired.

Suddenly awakened, Fox rolled out of his hospital bed, hit the metal floor, and instantly felt pain in at least five places. He got to his feet, and looked around. He was in some kind of ship, and it was dark. It seemed to be night, for there was no noise, and the occupants of the other medical beds were asleep.

Fox wandered into the cockpit, cradling his bandaged hand with the other arm. The pilot scowled when he saw him.

"What are you doing?" the pilot cried. "You don't belong in here! Get back to bed!"

"I've been flying spacecraft and aircraft longer than you've been alive," Fox replied, sitting down in the copilot seat. "If anyone belongs in here, it's me."

The pilot shrugged, stilly visibly annoyed. "Suit yourself," he said. "But if something happens, and you don't make like a copilot and help me, you're in huge trouble."

Fox nodded, pretending to hear what he was told. His hearing had gotten considerably better since he had fallen asleep, although voices spoken at normal level still sounded like faint mumbles to him. He turned and stared out the main viewport, where swirls of color indicated that they were still in hyperspace. For a long while, the pilot, going by the name of Brett Rockefeller, ignored him.

"So, tell me something, admiral," Brett said, loud enough for Fox to hear. "What exactly is going on around here?"

Fox shook his head. "I haven't spoken with the guys at Corneria since the attack on Macbeth began," he said. "So I wouldn't know. But my guess is these guys are not from Lylat."

The pilot nodded. "Maybe… Andross? Or at least, Andross's army?"

"No," Fox said consciously. "These guys are far too skilled and efficient to be some leftover troops fighting to avenge their former emperor." Fox described to the pilot the ground troops he'd seen on Katina. The pilot whistled.

"If our guys had been that good back when Andross attacked, we would have fended him off, no problem," Brett said. "Um… do you think… they could… take over?"

Fox sighed. "I don't know," he said. "But at the moment, it doesn't look too good."

The lights in the cockpit began to flicker. Brett frowned, staring down at his console. Then the entire transport shook, and both Fox and the pilot were pushed back in their seats with an incredibly high g-force. Sirens wailed, the lights came back on, and the swirls of color outside the ship disappeared.

"What the hell just happened?" Brett cried, grabbing the hair on his head with his fists and looking over the consoles.

"Something drew us out of hyperspace," Fox muttered. He stood up and went over to the radar. "Oh, no."

"T-378 to T-220, come in, over!"

The communications link had come suddenly to life. Fox hunched over the link, struggling to make out what was said.

"We have detected bogeys coming in at 12-5-9, 6-1-4, 11-12-9, 4-8-2… we've been surrounded!"

But Fox had already seen them. Around the small circle of green dots on the radar screen was a huge circle of red dots. And they were closing in.

"Dispatch the Arwings," Fox ordered. The transport shook again, this time by the mighty blast of a turbolaser. "Dispatch the Arwings!" Fox screamed.

"Attention, enemy spacecraft," came a voice on the comm. link. "Your craft is surrounded. That shot was just a warning shot. Surrender or be destroyed."

"Wait," Fox said, and he ducked into the holding area, where the bedridden patients were getting agitated. He ignored their cries and peered out of a small porthole. In the star-speckled distance, he saw one of the transports being drawn in by a much larger ship's tractor beam. He ran back to the cockpit, only to see Brett give the orders for the Arwings to be dispatched.

"Cancel that order," Fox said.

The pilot glared at him. "What, you want to surrender? By dispatching the Arwings, we give ourselves a fighting chance of getting out of here."

"A fighting chance?" Fox said angrily. "There are at least a dozen capital ships out there who could blow us to pieces the moment they're given the chance!"

The comm. link crackled. "Sorry, Fox," said a familiar voice. "But we're not about to become prisoners of war just as the war is beginning."

"Krystal!" Fox cried, but the link had gone dead. Fox looked up in horror as seven Arwings appeared outside the ship.

"We're getting out of here," Brett said, turning the ship towards the nearest planet. "The nearest planet is Zoness. We could make it there in no time."

Fox said nothing. He collapsed in the co-pilot's chair and held his head in his hands. Brett made the calculations for the jump to lightspeed, and pulled the switch. Nothing happened.

"What now?" Brett said.

"The way our ship was brought out of hyperspace probably destroyed the hyperdrive motivator," Fox said miserably.

Brett was unfazed. "Then we'll just have to get there by sublight engines," he said. "It might be an hour or so."

Fox stared out into space, where he was sure that everyone he had ever cared about in his life was about to die on his account.

V

"All right, Star Fox," Falco said over the intercom. "This is our chance to show these guys what we're really made of."

"And to show what these babies can do," Slippy said. To his left, Falco saw Slippy's ship swinging back in forth.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Krystal pointed out.

"Oh yeah," Falco said, rolling his eyes. "All aircraft report."

"Krystal here."

"Slippy here's good to go!"

"This is Alec. All systems go."

"Tom McCloud reporting in."

"Alyssa Darian standing by."

"This is Tiger Dreggar. I'm ready to rock!"

"All right then, Star Fox and Fresh Fox," Falco said, the latter name being a joking reference to the three graduate cadets. "We want to create a diversion. Give the capital ships hell, but don't get yourself killed in the process. Go get 'em!"

The seven ships broke away, each diving in on a large capital ship from above. Each weaved easily out of the way of the turbolaser fire. When they came close enough, they released a barrage of hyper beams into the shield generators, swooped away, and began another run. The other capital ships responded by breaking away from the solitary transport, and closing in on the seven that needed aid.

"I'm getting a lot of enemy fire over here!" Slippy cried. Falco looked, and saw that there were four capital ships chasing him, with at least twenty active turbolaser turrets each. Slippy's ship danced and weaved between the showers of red lasers.

"I've got your back, Slippy," Tom said. He only had one capital ship to worry about, and he had already done considerable damage to it.

"I'm hit!" Tiger cried. "Wow! Those turbolasers pack a punch!"

"Don't stay in the line of fire," Falco warned. "Three or four of those blasts could sap your shields."

When Tom reached Slippy, he locked onto one particular capital ship and released a Nova Bomb. The blast destroyed the main shield generator and several turbolaser turrets.

"Whoo-ee!" Tom shouted, laughing. "That got 'em going!"

The four capital ships turned away from Slippy and began attacking Tom. Slippy, meanwhile, had come in for another run and released a Nova bomb. It wasn't as well placed as Tom's, but it shook up the capital ship well enough.

"Ok, guys," Krystal said, peering out her cockpit, "The transport is getting away. Keep it up so they don't notice it leaving."

"Uh, oh," Tom said. "More bogeys coming in. Interceptor fighters, it looks like."

"Get 'em before they can spread out!" Falco ordered.

Tom dropped a Nova bomb into the docking bay of one capital ship, destroying most of the fighters that were just coming out. Nearby, Slippy did the same. The others followed suit, but in the end, they had destroyed only seven out of fifteen packs of fighters.

"All right, guys," Falco muttered. "Diversion over. Slippy, calculate the jump to lightspeed and transmit the calculation to everyone else's ship."

"But we can take 'em!" Slippy said, eager to continue playing with his new toy.

"We can't attack those fighters and keep the capital ships at bay at the same time, Slip," Falco growled. "Move away from the ships and follow through with your orders."

"Yes, Falco," Slippy said, like a schoolboy obeying a stern teacher. Falco watched his ship drift away, and then turned his attention back to the interceptors. Immediately, he knew something was wrong.

"Cancel that order, Slip." Falco peered at the tiny ships as they flew away from their motherships, toward an unknown destination. "Shit. They noticed the transport."

"Oh, no," Krystal whispered.

"New orders," Falco said. "Track down those fighters and protect the transport. Don't let them destroy it!"

"You got it!"

"Roger that."

"I'm on my way!"

"Let's go!"

"Don't worry, Fox! We're coming to help!"

Falco watched the six Arwings turn and give chase to the interceptors, then followed suit. The capital ships behind them fanned out, creating a barrier. Falco knew that this was a one-way trip; there was no way they would be able to make the jump to lightspeed now.

"Hit 'em with their backs turned!" Krystal yelled.

The Arwings opened fire on the fleeing interceptors, and Falco noticed with a smile orange fireballs bursting in the pack. Almost immediately, a group of interceptors turned around to counter-attack.

"Shields up," Falco said. "Here they come!"

The Arwings shifted power to their shields and fired on the interceptors with less powerful twin blasters. Falco turned to bring one interceptor in his sights, squeezed off three green blasts, and zoomed right past the damaged interceptor. Pretty soon, every one of the bogeys was behind the Arwings, and only a few had been destroyed.

"Never mind them," Falco said. "Keep your shields up, watch your radar, but don't abandon the transport."

"I've got some on my tail!" Krystal cried. "Three or four, it looks like… I'm taking damage!"

"Alec, you help her out," Falco said irritably. "Everyone else, keep on the transport!"

Alec did a barrel roll, came up from behind Krystal, and destroyed her pursuers. Krystal thanked him, only to be greeted by another cry for help. Alec himself had a few bogeys on his six. Pretty soon, there were none without a follower on their tail.

"Falco," Tiger said, "I'm sorry to say it, but… if we don't take these guys, we're all dead."

"Didn't they teach you evasion tactics at school, Tiger?" Falco growled.

"Screw this, I'm goin' for it!"

"I'm with you, Tiger!"

"No!" Falco shouted, but he saw it was too late. All but Krystal and Alec had abandoned him to take on their pursuers head on.

Falco turned, expecting to see the remaining interceptors close in around the transport, but instead saw an image that was much worse. A group of interceptors and bombers had come from above, creating a pincer movement on the transport.

"The transport is under attack!" Falco cried. "Get back here, now!"

The others had finished their little dogfight, but they were too late. The interceptors now buzzed around the transport like bees, while the bombers swooped downward for attack runs.

"Destroy the bombers!" Falco ordered.

Four Arwings appeared from behind to take that order. They managed to bring down one or two bombers each, but could not prevent the first bomber from dropping its load squarely on top of the transport.

The bomb exploded, taking with it several interceptors. Falco saw the brief flicker of shields being depleted, and then saw the hull begin to burn up. Alyssa brought the last bomber into her sights and destroyed it, but the damage had already been done. The transport was a dead stick.

Their target doomed to crash on the planet Zoness below, the interceptors broke away and flew straight at the seven Arwings. Falco screamed one order after another, but his words fell flat. The Arwings were quickly thrown into the defensive, and immediately abandoned all order and reason. Extensive damage was taken before they collectively decided to retreat to the planet below. Falco remained alone in the orbit of Zoness, firing wildly, taking down interceptor after interceptor. But he, also, took heavy damage, damage to both wings and his main engines, and within moments he found himself spiraling down toward the greenish-yellow sphere that was Zoness.

Through his cracked view port, beyond the flashing red lights and escaping oxygen, Falco saw the interceptors retreating. They weren't planning on following the Arwings to the surface of the planet.

But, Falco realized, they wouldn't have to.

VI

"Mayday, mayday! Crash landing imminent! Reroute all power to the rear repulsorlifts! Keep the ship's velocity from reaching lethal speeds! Warning!"

Pressed back in his seat with the force of ten times Corneria's gravity, Fox could do nothing but listen to the pilot drone on frantically, and stare out of the main viewport at the fire that enveloped the falling transport, and the approaching ocean miles below. Behind him, Fox could hear the screams of the medical patients bouncing back and forth in the cargo hold.

"G-diffuser failed!" the pilot cried. "G-forces climbing!"

Fox felt the skin collect at the back of the chair, pulled tightly across his face. His eyes watered, and all he could do was moan between clenched teeth at the pain.

At last, the rear repulsorlifts began to have an impact, and the transport was no longer shooting downward like a rocket. It began to level out, and Fox's weight began to go down.

Fox almost started to relax, when the pilot yelled, "Velocity still well above fatal! Selecting a suitable crash zone!"

Fox swallowed. He watched as the ocean drew closer and closer. His immobile body burned with adrenaline as the ship brushed past a tall, jagged pillar of stone. The water seemed to rush up to meet him.

The ship skidded against the water, throwing Fox forward, bounced up, and came crashing down. Fox's seatbelt strained to hold him to his seat. The ship rocked with incredible force, the consoles broke and spat sparks, and the main viewport shattered, allowing gallons of oily water to rush into the cockpit. At last, with a final dive into the sand, the transport came to a stop on a shallow portion of water near a rocky island.

Fox unbuckled himself and stood up, kicking the water at his feet. He glared at the pilot, drenched in sweat and panting, as he laid his head on the blackened console.

Fox went into the back, stumbling over cables and uprooted floor panels. He glanced into the dark cargo hold, and nearly vomited.

The stench of blood was everywhere. Beds were overturned; patients lay sprawled on the floor, either motionless or just barely moving.

"Mr. McCloud?" came a weak voice from the back.

Fox rushed over to Bobo. His head was bleeding, but otherwise, he seemed fine. Fox asked anyway.

"I think I'm ok," Bobo mumbled, putting his hand on his head. He looked down at his hand, red with blood, and gave out a cry.

"You'll be fine," Fox said. "Come, let's get out of here. Can you walk?"

Bobo grabbed for his crutches and got to his feet, swaying slightly. He put his hand back on his head. Fox led him to the cockpit, and asked if he could wade to the nearby island.

Bobo climbed through the smashed-in view port and leapt into the water with a splash. It came up to his waist.

"Ok, Bobo," Fox said. "Now, see if you can make it to that island. If the water gets too deep, just come back."

"This water smells funny," Bobo called, wrinkling his nose.

"Don't worry about that," Fox said. "Just… don't drink it."

Bobo walked for a while using the crutches, but then he noticed how useless they were in the water, and instead began dog paddling, using his one leg every once in a while to kick off the bottom.

"How are they?" Brett said. Fox turned to look at him. He was leaning against the sizzling panel, and was still panting. "The patients, I mean."

"Worse," Fox growled. "Half of them are likely to die, if they aren't dead already."

Brett shook his head. "Well," he said, "at least we survived the crash. And those guys aren't likely to come back here."

"What do you know about Zoness, pray tell?" Fox asked calmly.

Brett shrugged. "There's not much life here, aside from the creatures in the sea," he said. "Just some low-income housing on the bigger land masses."

"…And factories," Fox pointed out. "Some of which produce military equipment."

Brett closed his eyes, and said nothing.

"If they come down," Fox continued. "And they find us, we're all as good as dead. They will show us hardly a fraction of the mercy they would have shown had we surrendered. All because you had to be bold and daring."

The pilot shook his head. "Shut up," he whispered.

But Fox, having been nearly deaf for almost a day, was beginning to master the art of lip-reading. "Because of your fool-hardiness," Fox said, getting very near to Brett, "these war victims, having just escaped one battle, will die in another. Unnecessarily. And if we aren't rescued, we could all die. Because of you."

"I said shut up!" Brett roared, jumping to his feet.

"Insubordination, eh?" Fox taunted. "Well, you better hope you don't make it out of here, because your military career is pretty much shot now."

The pilot got close to Fox's face and snarled. "Do you think I have to listen to you anymore?" he said. "You're old and useless. Your knowledge is ancient. If anyone learns about what happened here, they'll praise me for giving us a chance to escape, and to be free. The very foundation of our republic. You? You would surrender the moment anyone posed a threat, if it gave you the chance to avoid confrontations. And I thought I knew who the legendary Star Fox was. You aren't even worthy of being a legend."

With a final violent motion, the pilot turned away and disappeared into the cargo hold.

VII

In the sky above Zoness, shrouded in flame, a solitary object rocketed to the surface. From far-off, it would have appeared to be a meteorite. But if one somehow got close enough to see beyond the fire, one would see that it was really a wounded Arwing, spiraling down toward its doom.

Inside, countless warnings flashed the various consoles, and flashing lights lit up the cockpit, which was now being powered by a dwindling auxiliary power source. One console showed the altitude, which was dropping hundreds of meters per second. In the midst of this chaos, a gloved hand reached out and smashed a glass covering over a large button. Pistons hissed, filling the cockpit with steam, and the canopy broke away, rocketing the pilot away.

Even though his descent had been hindered by the upward force of the ejection thrusts, the pilot was still dropping like a stone. He pulled a cord attached to his suit, and a large parachute erupted from his pack. The pilot was jerked upward as the parachute caught the rising air, but it was not quite enough to guarantee a safe landing. The pilot had ejected too late. In the distance, he saw his fiery craft strike the ocean, sending great splashes of water and tiny bits of metal high into the air, and then turned to meet his own fate.

The pilot struck the water, a stinging sensation instantly cover the surface area of his body, and sank deep down before the buoyant force brought his body to a halt. His helmet fell away, revealing his face as that of Falco Lombardi.

Falco tore his pack away and looked around frantically, desperate to find the surface in that murky water. Below, emerging from the black, murky depths, a snake-like creature rose up, jaws open and pointed in his direction. Letting a cluster of bubbles escape from his mouth, Falco swam away, fighting the current that dragged him in the opposite direction. At the last moment, the creature turned away, clamped its jaws around a nearby fish, and disappeared.

Relieved, Falco turned his eyes toward the brightness above and swam that way. The brightness did not seem to get any closer, and as he began to fade, Falco wondered with terror how deep he really was. He struck out his limbs desperately, swimming with all his power. Stars began to fill his field of vision.

At last, Falco broke the surface. He spat out a mouthful of oily water, took a deep breath, and looked around fearfully. The water that looked tranquil from above rocked him violently, and most of his strength had been used in trying to get to the surface. He turned a full circle until finally seeing a large landmass to the west. He began to swim toward it.

But the merciless ocean was not about to let him escape so easily. For every two meters he swam, the current dragged him back one and a half meters. He was making very little progress, and his energy was draining quickly.

Falco looked up at the landmass, but was suddenly dunked by a wave. He bobbed back up, saw the landmass for another moment, and then was dunked again. The landmass was considerably closer now, and Falco could almost imagine that he could see an Arwing parked on top. He now swam with a sudden new strength, calling for help every moment his head was above the water.

When his feet struck land, he tried walking the rest of the way, but found that he didn't have the energy. He then proceeded to crawl.

When at last he reached dry land, he crawled several paces, and collapsed. He coughed forcefully, taking deep breaths between coughs. His face lay flat on the rocky shore, his left arm extended toward the Arwing. After a moment of lying in this position, his mind began to reorder itself, until he was aware that his left hand was touching something other than rock. Something… cotton. He closed his hand around it. It was an eyepatch.

Falco became aware of something else. The sun was shining brightly, but he was shrouded in darkness. He was lying in someone's shadow. He looked up, blinking away the droplets that fell into his eyes. He shuddered from the cold as he stared into the figure's face.

"I would never have imagined that such strength resided in your body," the figure said, speaking with a sophisticated accent. "You always had been a formidable foe, Falco."

Falco looked down, coughing up the last of the water in his lungs. Under his breath, he muttered one word.

"Leon."