The Lylat Campaign Chapter 8: Standoff, a star fox fanfic

For the first time in days, it was dead quiet in the War Room on Corneria. General Pepper stood at the end of the room, his arms folded behind his back, his face rigid and grim. After a brief greeting, he had ordered Star Fox and the Air Force cadets to sit at a large round table, where several officers from differing branches of the military were waiting.

"Here's the situation," General Pepper began. "Invading forces, which, according to Falco Lombardi of the Star Fox team, are from the Karzen system, have conquered most of the Lylat system. They began by attacking Macbeth, but we know now that this was a feint attack; hours later, they came down hard on Katina, destroying both the base and the Air Force Academy. After a brief respite, they returned, capturing both Katina and Fortuna. From that point forward, they attacked each planet swiftly and viciously, and although a few of these planets put up good defenses, we thought it necessary to draw all forces to Corneria. Now, Corneria remains alone unoccupied."

Pepper paused. The faces at the table were downcast, and, for the most part, afraid.

"An hour before Bill Grey and his Dogfighters Rogue Squadron returned," Pepper continued, "we received this message from the flagship of the Karzenian Navy." Pepper pressed a button on the console behind him. A holographic image of the face of a rabbit in a captain's uniform appeared. He was holding a sheet of paper with trembling hands.

"To the military and political leaders on Corneria," the rabbit said shakily. "I am Captain Duncan. My ship and several others were intercepted on our way out of Katina. My gracious capture, Admiral Reccal Moss, wishes for me to forward this message to you. He knows you are ready to fight to the death, but he is willing to offer you an alternative. If you surrender now, he will let Corneria remain a separate planet when the Lylat system is added to the Karzenian Empire. Their laws and regulations will be lenient. It would be as if you were not under their rule at all.

"If you decline, and you force Admiral Moss to spend time and effort whittling down your resistant force until you come to your senses and surrender on your own accord, the treaty will not be so kind. Corneria, as well as the rest of the Lylat system, will become a communist, military state, and they shall show neither the defenseless Prisoners of War with me, or your remaining military any mercy. If you accept, send an unguarded transport with at least one major military leader to this flagship. That is all." The hologram disappeared. The round table was silent. A muffled explosion was heard above, and the room shook slightly.

"As you can tell," Pepper said, shooting a glance upward, "we declined their offer."

"Why?" Fox cried, before realizing that he shouldn't have said anything.

"Because," Pepper said sternly, "I believe in the principles of our republic, and I would rather die before I live under a dictatorship! I, for one, do not believe that 'It would be as if we were not under their rule at all.' Even if it began that way, we would most likely gradually turn into a military state. Besides…" Here, Pepper leaned on the table. "We still have time. Our defenses will hold long enough for us to call for aid."

"What about those bombers?" Slippy said, pointing a finger toward the ceiling.

"Don't worry about them," Pepper said, shaking his head. "They are only the beginning. After our defensive forces get themselves organized and provide a counter-attack, the bombers will retreat. They will most likely return later with reinforcements. How much later will depend on how far away this fleet really is."

"Who will come to our aid?" Krystal asked.

Pepper pointed a finger at the four Star Fox members sitting at the table. "That's where you come in," he said. "There are no official military forces left in Lylat, so we'll have to turn to Lylat's underground. We'll need you to split up and find as many mercenaries, bounty hunters, and smugglers who are willing to fight for our money in two days."

Falco raised his hand. "Problem," he said.

Pepper looked quizzically at Falco. "Go ahead."

Falco lowered his hand. "Remember that eye patch, and how I figured it was a sign that Star Wolf was still around? Well, turns out I was right. Sort of. Someone did survive that dogfight on Venom: Leon Powalski. He has a new team with him, and he's getting paid by the Karzenian Navy to destroy Star Fox. Splitting up would make that job far too easy for them."

Pepper's eyes widened. After a moment of thinking, he replied, "On the contrary. Splitting up would erase all wonders people might have about you being a team. Also, since your team lost every single Arwing I got for you, you'll be getting some new, different ships. You'll be getting the most mismatched, ugly ships we have. You ought to be able to blend in."

Falco nodded. Krystal and Slippy were looking at him, horrified. Alec Falan didn't seem to understand the meaning of Star Wolf, so he also nodded.

"Good," Pepper said. "Bill Grey will be going with you, since he's also familiar with the underground. Your ships are waiting in a garage some miles from here. You can take a subterranean shuttle to the garage. Wait until this bombardment subsides if you must, but leave as soon as you can. Time is short!"

The Star Fox team stood up. Tom stood up also, saying, "I'll go with you. You could use some help."

"No, Thomas," Pepper said sharply. "We need you. We're going to need as many pilots as we can get to defend Corneria, and that includes you. Besides, you don't know a lick about the Lylat underground."

"He's right, Tom," Krystal said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Stay here. We'll be fine. Don't worry." Krystal and the Star Fox team walked out of the War Room, and the door shut behind them.

Another explosion rocked the War Room, and this time, grains of fine dust fell from the ceiling. Swearing under his breath, Pepper ordered, "Get these cadets to some Arwings and let 'em go!" and walked to the Air Force console, flicking switches. The War Room was once again alive with activity.

When the War Room's metal doors locked shut with a resonating click, Tom could only hear the sound of the approaching footsteps of a squad of grim guards from behind. The first of these nudged Tom with his rifle and ordered him to walk down a nearby hallway. The other guards did the same with Alyssa and the others.

"You'd think we were their prisoners, not pilots on their side," Tom muttered to Tiger as they walked down the seemingly endless hallway.

"C'mon, Tom," Tiger whispered back. "You've been in the military long enough to know that there's hardly a difference."

A muffled explosion was heard overhead. The floor vibrated, and the overhanging lights flickered. Tom wondered how bad the damage was already.

They reached what appeared to be an underground transport. Tom, Alyssa and Tiger were ushered into the transport. When they buckled their seatbelts and the tram started, they were going over a hundred miles per hour. The lights illuminating the dark tunnel quickly blurred into a single, bright line.

After two minutes, a time period not long enough to get used to the speed and yet so short as to increase nausea, the tram came to a grinding halt. The doors opened, and after navigating several small corridors, they found themselves in a subterranean docking bay. Arwings in every condition, from brand-new to heavily-damaged to hollowed-out for overhaul, littered the large room, along with stacked boxes, service robots and bustling pilots.

Tom and the others were taken to an Avian in an officer's uniform who appeared to be the one in charge. The Avian looked first at the guards, then one by one at each of the cadets. He nodded, and the guards made themselves scarce.

"I see you're the newest recruits for the Cornerian Republican Squadron," the Avian said. "I'm afraid there's no time for any proper introductions. The situation above is critical, and at this point we're basically shoving out pilots as soon as they get in. I'll give you each a designation number, and after you find the Arwing with that number, fly through the runway tunnel and go from there. Just remember: our defenses must hold. Got it? All right. Good luck!"

Tom nodded and took his number, and from that point the cadets were separated. After much shoving and tripping over wires and scattered tools, he came across an Arwing with a number matching his own. He frowned; it was a slightly older model than the one he was used to. He realized with great alarm that, because Corneria was isolated, they had to resort to older, backup equipment. He climbed the ladder into the cockpit with a shudder, strapped himself in, and lifted off, gently feeding power to the repulsorlifts. Once turned so he was facing the runway tunnel, he shifted power to the sublight engines. His Arwing roared down the tunnel, surrounded by lights blending into a single, shape-shifting white tunnel, until he saw a pinpoint of light in the distance. The pinpoint grew larger surprisingly fast, and before he knew it, the tunnel of lights was gone and his Arwing was swiftly climbing in free Corneria air.

Tom saw from his radar that Alyssa and Tiger's Arwings were right behind him. He switched on the comm. link and said, "All aircraft report!"

"Please, Tom," Alyssa said, speaking with that tone of voice that showed that she was rolling her eyes. "You don't have to do that."

"Sure I do. I'm the oldest in this circus troupe, and as you can tell, there's not much leadership going on around here."

"Well, whatever. We're all here, and we're all fine. Unless those mechanics forgot to put the laser-cannons back on when they were done working on these things."

"Hey guys, where are we?" Tiger piped up. "I don't see Corneria City anywhere!" Outside, there were rolling hills and winding streams; no buildings in sight.

"That underground docking bay was built quite a ways from the city for security reasons," Tom explained. "Hang on, we're coming up on the city."

As if on cue, three bombers dropped out of the sky and roared ahead of the Arwings, in the same direction. Tom locked on the center one and released a charged blast, destroying all three. When the hill in front of them passed, Tom could see that the bombers had been only twenty or thirty yards from the first building of the city, their target.

"Oh my God," Alyssa whispered.

Corneria City was in ruins. Buildings everywhere were covered with gouges from concussion bombs, and more than a few had collapsed, marked by streams of heavy smoke. Bombers swarmed over the city, dropping bombs relentlessly, which hit their targets with a brief and lethal flash. Other Arwings were already engaged in battle, struggling to end the destruction that had already begun.

"Ah, reinforcements!" the comm. link crackled. "Hey, newbies, pick your targets and go!"

"We're not newbies!" Tiger cried. "We've been in more battles than m…"

"We're 'Fresh Fox,'" Tom said. In the Arwing to his right, Alyssa laughed.

A bomber flew across Tom's field of vision, and like the predator that he was, he turned sharply and gave chase to the bogey. It dropped a bomb, which exploded with a flash. Tom looked down below, and whistled when he saw the destruction the bomb did to Fox's penthouse below.

"My dad would kill you," Tom muttered with a grin, setting his sights center on the bomber, "in the worst possible way. Fortunately for you, I'm making it quick and painless." Tom fired; at the last minute, the bomber rolled, and the hyper beams only grazed it. The bomber tumbled to the ground, trailing intermittent puffs of black smoke.

Tom pulled back on the control stick, bringing the sky back into view, and saw a pack of bombers heading straight for him. He squeezed off a series of bolts, leaving nothing but fading smoke in their wake. Once again, he found himself joyfully decimating the enemy, composed entirely of ships that were far less maneuverable than his own, and far less capable in a dogfight.

And, once again, the enemy began to retreat. A few hastily finished their circle for a final run, then collected into one spiraling path that led up into the sky.

"Hunt 'em down!" someone said on the intercom. "They'll be back with reinforcements!"

"It's no use, there are too many of them," Tom said. "We'll need to get repairs and supplies anyway, and chasing them down will do no good."

The comm. link crackled again. "He's right, squadron." Tom could tell by the voice that it was the Avian back at base. "Sensors indicate that there's a blockade in orbit around Corneria. It's not a big one, but it's enough to push back a small group of Arwings chasing after some fighters. Return to base, squadron. We'll get you resupplied in no time. We have a feeling they'll be back pretty soon."

The Arwings switched out of all-range mode and formed "V" formations. Tom, Alyssa and Tiger formed their own at the back of the squadron.

"How was that for a warm-up?" Tiger said gloomily.

"For a warm-up, pretty tough," Alyssa replied.

"Don't worry, all we have to do is keep them at bay." Tom looked at the ruined city below. "Unfortunately, the city may not be able to handle that alone."

"Attention, squadron!" the Avian said again, allowing alarm to slip into his voice. "Incoming enemy fighters! The reinforcements are here! Return to Corneria City and stop the enemy!"

"Great," Tiger said, turning his fighter around in a wide arc. "We don't even get to stretch our legs for a minute."

"Don't worry," Tom said, turning around in a much fancier fashion, by doing a 360-degree loop. "They're just bombers, so we ought to be able to… oh, crap."

As they neared the city, they could already see fresh fighters descending onto the city. But there was more than bombers in the sky above Corneria City. There were also interceptors, and lots of them.

"Looks like you'll have to be off your feet for a while longer, Tiger," Tom breathed, and he accelerated into the city, hyper beams charged.

III

When Falco's ship touched down on the landing platform, it did so with some difficulty. At first, he landed too quickly, and the ship bounced up. He tried again, and this time the right wing struck the ground, and the entire ship was thrown to the left as it landed completely. He was still not completely used to the ship's controls and modified parts.

Falco switched off the console and unbuckled himself from the seat, eyeing the building at the end of the narrow walkway from the landing platform. It was the largest building on the small satellite above Fortuna, which, because it was a civilian satellite, the Karzen forces had spared for the most part. It was a cantina, one of the many unofficial hives of the Lylat underground, and a place generally seething with bounty hunters, assassins, and mercenaries. Just the kind of downright scum Falco needed to find.

He jumped out of the cockpit to the ground, an action that took longer than it usually would. Partially because of the satellite's small size, but mostly for entertainment reasons, the artificial gravity was weak. Falco guessed that he could jump four times as high as he normally would. He walked down the pathway to the entrance to the cantina, which was guarded by two Karzen soldiers. He could hear muffled music and loud talk from behind the door.

"What business do you have here?" one of the soldiers said, pointing his rifle at Falco.

"I just want to have a drink," Falco said, holding his arms up.

"You understand that coming here to hire mercenaries, bounty hunters or the like is prohibited by the Empire of Karzen and is punishable by imprisonment up to fifty years, or even death?"

Look at these guys, Falco thought to himself. Haven't even been in Lylat for a week, and they're already acting like they own the place. "Of course I do," he said.

The soldier nodded and withdrew his weapon. "Very well, then. You may proceed."

Falco pushed the doors open, and immediately, the music's volume increased tenfold. He was immersed in thick cigarette smoke illuminated by swirling dance lights. In one corner, a band played sleazy music, while drunken creatures of various species danced wildly, taking advantage of the low gravity as they did flips and jumps and midair kisses. In the center of the cantina, a bartender sold drinks, from cheap beer to exotic blends from across the galaxy, to customers for outrageous prices. All around the cantina were tables, and, judging from the people sitting at those tables and the cautious conversations going on, Falco knew that, even with the strict military guards, nothing had changed in the Lylat underground. Nothing at all.

He strolled over to the bar and ordered a beer, casually looking around the cantina for faces that appeared useful. His eyes fell on a particular creature sitting in the back that appeared completely out of place, but was a surprisingly cunning warrior nevertheless. When the bartender slid him his beer, Falco slapped a coin on the countertop and walked to the creature's table. She recognized him immediately.

"Well, well, well," she said, smiling like a Cheshire cat. "Falco Lombardi. So! You've finally come crawling back."

Falco set his beer down and sat across from her. "I'm glad to see you too, Katt," he said, rubbing his eyes.

Katt Monroe had changed quite a bit since the last time he saw her. She wore dark leather clothing, which contrasted greatly with her bright pink fur. On her belt were knives, grenades and a blaster, as if she was ready for battle at any time. She had piercings on her face, and the fur on the top of her head was spiked. She leaned back and placed her feet on the table. Falco noticed a knife tucked into the back of her right boot.

"You come to recruit me for your team, or did you just want to see me?" Katt said. Her eyes twinkled.

Falco took a long draught from his beer, set it down, and burped. "Not exactly," he said. "As you could probably tell from those drones outside, the Lylat system is in great danger. These invaders have spread their influence to every planet but Corneria, and if Corneria doesn't get aid, it's all over. They need us to recruit some mercenaries as a sort of second string."

"So, you want me to help you help Corneria," Katt said, leaning in close.

Falco looked down at the table. "Please."

Katt laughed. "Falco, Falco, Falco. Always needing me to do you favors! My, you haven't changed a bit."

"This isn't just for me," Falco growled, narrowing his eyes. "You don't want to live under a dictatorship, do you?"

Katt shrugged. "I haven't noticed any differences so far. As long as I can still kill people for money, I'm essentially above the law, no matter who that law is coming from."

"If it helps, you will get paid for this."

"Oh, Falco, you know this isn't about the money." Katt's eyes fluttered at him. "And anyway, you still owe me a favor. Remember Zoness? Macbeth? Sector Z? You wouldn't have made it in any of those battles if it weren't for me, Katt!"

"Oh, quit flattering yourself," Falco spat. "You didn't provide any essential help. We would've done just fine without you. If anything, you just got in the way."

"Say what you will," Katt said, "but you still owe me."

Falco sighed, banged his head against the table. "All right, all right," he mumbled. "What do I have to do to get you to sign up?"

"Well…" Katt grinned again. "You can start by getting me a drink."

"Fine," Falco said, standing up. He reached into his pocket and turned toward the bar, but Katt placed a hand on his arm.

"Uh, uh, uh," she said with a smile. "No beer. I can urinate stuff that tastes better than this place's beer. Get me a Fortuna Tropical Daiquiris."

Falco opened his mouth to protest, but wisely closed it again. He went over to the bar and forwarded her request. The bartender looked at him funny, then proceeded to making the concoction.

While he waited for the drink to be made, Falco looked around the cantina, hoping to find another mercenary to hire while he was there. He stopped searching when he saw a muscular pig sitting across the cantina, glaring at him. After a moment, Falco realized that the pig wasn't looking at him, but at Katt, and was secretly priming a blaster under the table.

The pig stood up and strode swiftly across to Katt's table, brushing past Falco. Falco looked at Katt, hoping to see her ready for the attack, but she was staring at the dancers and laughing.

"Take my bounty, will ya?" the pig muttered with a snarl, raising the blaster to Katt's head. "Then here are your just desserts, Miss Monroe!"

The bartender slid Falco the drink and demanded his money. Instead, Falco grabbed the glass and hurled it at the pig's back. Stunned by the glass smashing on his jacket and the juices splattering his body, the pig stumbled forward, his blaster hand wavering. Falco raised his own weapon, fired, and watched as the alcoholic drink on the pig's jacket burst into flames. The pig fell to the ground, a flaming mass of deadened flesh.

Katt looked first at the pig, then at Falco, then back at the pig. Falco holstered his weapon and leaned on Katt's table. Now it was his turn to smile like a Cheshire cat.

"So," he said. "How's that for returning a favor?"

"Mayday! Mayday! I'm going down! I'm going…" The intercom went silent.

Tom flinched. It wasn't the first time someone had issued a distress call over the intercom while tumbling to the ground in flames. Still, he kept his guard up and continued shooting, even though he was tired and worried about their chances.

"Pack of interceptors at nine o'clock," Alyssa cried. "Coming in fast!"

"They must've wiped out Oikanopolis," someone said unhappily. Oikanopolis was a small city to the west of Corneria City.

"They're everywhere!"

"I've got someone on my tail!" someone else cried.

"I've got your back!" Tiger said. Tom saw Tiger's Arwing abandon its prey and give chase to the three interceptors chasing someone else's Arwing.

Tom's Arwing rocked violently. He shook his head, looked at his radar, but was rocked by another hit. He switched on his comm. link and said, "Bogey on my six!" He waited, but no one came to help. There were too many enemies, and too few Arwings.

Tom tried barrel rolling and doing flips, but the interceptor was still hot on his tail. He realized that these weren't robotic aircraft, but craft manned by highly skilled pilots. Another hit scorched his right wing. Without any other options, Tom dove straight into the city below. He did a barrel roll and came up level again once he was below twenty stories of skyscrapers, and leveled out. Walkways, falling rubble, metal struts sticking out, and civilian hover cars speeding through the city in panic littered the flyways, and Tom had to duck and weave between these things that came at him from every which way. The enemy remained on his tail. He did a quick, sharp turn into a narrow street. In the process, he slammed into the building on the opposite side, and lost his right wing because of it. But, he noticed thankfully, the enemy fighter wasn't so lucky, and smashed into the building with all of its velocity and exploded brilliantly.

"Tom! Are you all right?" Alyssa's voice crackled on Tom's comm. link.

"Yeah," he said. "My starboard wing is damaged, but I'm… aargh!"

A bomber had dropped a bomb onto a building near him, and Tom's Arwing was pummeled with glass, steel, concrete, and, worst of all, shockwaves from the explosion. His ship tumbled and reeled, his head slamming into the canopy in every side. When Tom tried to level out his craft, he realized that he couldn't, that his Arwing was no longer air worthy.

"Tom? Are you…"

"Mayday! Mayday! I'm going down! Repeat, I'm going down!"

"Tom! What happened? Tom!"

But Tom couldn't listen to Alyssa's voice anymore. He had to think fast. Buildings surrounded him on all sides, and fire was everywhere; there was no safe place to land. He scanned the console before him, his mind racing to come up with an idea, and stopped when his eyes fell on the large red button on his console. Suddenly, memories from his days at the Air Force Academy of Katina rushed back to him, and he could hear the voices of his instructors, telling him the proper conditions for the eject function to not kill you in the process. The proper altitude, the proper damage levels, the precise moment, the correct angle of the canopy… Tom was sure that the current scenario violated all of those conditions.

"Now's not the time for rational thinking," he muttered. "Now's the time to go with what you've got and hope for the best."

He slammed his fist into the red button, and instantly felt like a living missile. Before he realized what had happened, he saw his Arwing hundreds of feet below, a mangled mess of fire and metal. He was high above the buildings, and worried for a moment that someone might accidentally hit him in the dogfighting above, but his body started to fall. He was picking up speed, but before any serious concerns about falling into the ground, his parachute opened up. His velocity had been cut, but not by a lot.

He fell below the top of the buildings, where hazards of many kinds awaited him. He saw with terror that he was headed straight for a bridge, and at that speed, his legs would be turned into jelly, if they weren't torn off altogether. When the bridge came close, he lifted his legs until his knees were touching his ears. The bridge passed without incident, but Tom was nearing another danger; an intersection. As soon as he passed into the intersection, his parachute was caught in the wind, and he was sent in the direction of a burning building, a threat that could not be averted. He grabbed the blaster from his side and blasted the window he was headed for, smashing the glass in. He tucked his body into a ball and passed into the window, but saw with a burst of adrenaline that the room he had entered was being consumed by an inferno. Before he could fly into the fire, his parachute caught on the window. Tom fell to the floor, tore off the parachute, and stood up.

He could see the door on the other end of the room, but knew that he could not reach it unscathed. His eyes moved on, fell on a door to his left. His body went into action, kicking down the door and rushing in.

This new room wasn't nearly as consumed by flames as the last one was, but the ceiling was gone, and through a mess of struts and cables and cracked concrete leading up through at least three floors, he could see the sky, where for a moment he thought he could see a new kind of ship engaged in the battle, a much larger ship, but the building rocked with another explosion, and Tom had to move on.

Tom burst through the only door in the room into the hallway and was startled as he was suddenly immersed in opaque smoke. He turned to reenter the previous room, but the ceiling had completely caved in there, and what space wasn't occupied by charred debris was rapidly filling with smoke. He continued down the hallway, feeling the walls and doors along the way, but they all felt warm to the touch. His eyes he kept looking straight ahead, although they were swollen and filling with tears. Bu the gesture proved useful when a red glow emerged from the uniform gray. The way was impassable. Tom turned around and went down the hallway in the opposite direction.

Tom tried to not breath more than was necessary to preserve consciousness, but with every breath of smoke he drew in, his condition grew worse. He coughed like mad, and he was getting dizzy. Stricken with a sudden case of terror, he ran, holding one hand over his mouth and the other out in front. His mind was swimming, his lungs were burning, and his legs were starting to fail. Tom knew he was moments away from tripping and falling; and he knew that once he fell, he wouldn't be able to get up.

Then, a miracle happened. A door marked with the word "Exit" appeared out of the nothingness. Tom's outstretched hand threw the door open, and he leapt into the free air.

He fell hard, but the gasp of air he took in after falling felt better than anything else he had ever imagines. Looking up, he saw that he was on a walkway, connecting the burning building to a mostly intact one across the street. Tom stood up, still dizzy and still coughing, and walked a couple of paces before looking back. The open door behind him, along with half a dozen open windows on that side of the building, issued forth an endless stream of dark smoke. Tom could hardly believe he had been there. He soon realized that, should the building collapse, it would take the walkway down with it. He turned and continued running.

Halfway across the walkway, he noticed a familiar ship roar past overhead. Before he could trace its familiarity back to a particular scene in his memory, the ship landed on the only intact docking platform on a tall, half-demolished, and very familiar building: the Cornerian Army Headquarters. When the armed soldiers began to rush out of the ship's open hatch, the memories struck him full in the face in their entire horrific splendor.

They were the soldiers who had pursued him and his father through the woods near the Air Force Academy. They were the relentless soldiers Alyssa had shot at in the fiery skies of Katina.

They were Captain Krumptin's Blitz Forces.

Captain Conan Krumptin primed his blaster rifle and looked up at the sky. Tiny ships, their metallic surfaces briefly glinting bright sunlight into his eyes, darted about madly, shooting unseen energy bolts at each other. Ships exploded in midair, while others fell to the distant ground below in a fiery display of smoke and shredded metal. In the midst of this battle, stubborn bombers continued dropping bombs on the devastated city.

Conan Krumptin watched all this, but he watched it with unseeing eyes. What he saw was what any other observer would see as a tragically intense battle that, if anything, heralded the coming of an even greater battle, with even greater casualties. What Conan Krumptin saw was a variable outside of the equation. His eyes, from the moment they left the detachment vehicle to the moment they fell upon the deceased target, could only see and interpret objects that meant something to his mission. He was world-famous, nay, galaxy-famous, for not only his skill and cunning, but for his unsurpassed effectiveness. When Dictator Vladimir Nerome sent him on a mission, Conan Krumptin would see to it that the mission would be fulfilled to the letter. His eyes, his unseeing and all seeing eyes, were key to this effectiveness. When his eyes began seeing things in terms of variables and equations, it meant that he was in execution mode. Until his team fulfilled its mission, there was no going out.

He turned to his galaxy-famous Blitz Forces. All had armed their weapons and were ready to fight. They watched him with grim eagerness. Conan Krumptin watched them, and saw assets to completing the mission.

"You have your orders," Captain Krumptin said monotonously.

The Blitz Forces stood to attention in response.

"Now, for execution." Captain Krumptin turned, saw a door, and focused on it as the next segment of his mission.

He ran, rifle in hand, towards the door. His men followed. He didn't bother trying the handle; that would take time, an essential variable to the equation, and he couldn't spare it. He kicked the door with all his weight, and the door came crashing down. He stepped in, glancing around, looking at every object through the sights of his rifle. He saw a staircase, and that instantly became a crucial segment of his mission. The target would be at the bottom of the stairs. He began his descent.

A blaster shot sounded from behind. The staircase instantly became unimportant as Captain Krumptin saw a figure, blaster in hand, standing at the top of the staircase. It had killed one of his men with a laser blast to the head. The figure instantly became an obstacle to Captain Krumptin's goal, and, yelling an order, he raised his rifle and fired. The figure dodged the blast, ducking out of sight.

"Shall we pursue him?" one of the men said.

"No," came Captain Krumptin's response, mostly to himself than to anyone else. "Our mission must be fulfilled as soon as possible. Continue down, but watch your back. If anyone appears behind you, anyone at all, kill them."

The men rushed down the stairs, the ones in the back looking over their shoulders occasionally. After many minutes, they reached the bottom of the staircase, which was marked with a warning sign and ended by a metal detector. Captain Krumptin's eyes took all these in as irrelevant variables. Very different was the case with the guard standing in front of the metal detector. Captain Krumptin put a hole between the guard's eyes and moved on.

They navigated the hallways in the basement, ignoring the signs prohibiting access to civilians and unauthorized personnel. The ceiling was heavily cracked, and the basement was mostly vacant, but aside from that, one couldn't tell what was going on at the surface. Captain Krumptin didn't care either way. The ceiling, unless it collapsed, was an irrelevant variable. The occasional guard, standing loyally at his post, was a minor variable and was easily eliminated from the equation. Captain Krumptin moved on, and his eyes kept scanning.

His eyes finally caught the heavily sealed, heavily guarded metal door that indicated the all-important Corneria War Room. Captain Krumptin and his Blitz Forces swiftly eliminated the guards, came to a stop by the door, and proceeded to executing the second-to-last segment of their mission.

Captain Krumptin stood back as his men busied themselves setting up the series of bombs around the edges of the metal door. He gave one look over his shoulder to see if the figure had followed them down. It was one, uninterested look, filled with irrelevant variables. He looked back and continued watching his men, his assets, at work.

It was one look that proved fatal.

Tom pressed his body against the wall, breathing heavily and holding his blaster close to his face. He knew from experience to be wary of the soldiers running down the stairs of the Cornerian Army Headquarters, but their ability still shocked him. When he appeared in the stairwell, none of the soldiers were looking behind them, so Tom had time to aim. He fired once, not daring to look if he had hit his target, and leapt out of the line of fire. Not a moment later, a red bolt of energy swept past him and left a black scorch mark on the wall behind him. If he had still been standing there, the shot would have caught him in the forehead.

After he had seen the ship touch down, Tom navigated walkways, crumbling buildings, and mangled docking platforms to get to the Cornerian Army Headquarters. He proceeded with caution, in case any one of the soldiers had stayed behind. Thankfully, none had. Even more thankfully, none had pursued him up the staircase after he had fired that one shot.

When the echoing sounds of their footsteps at last faded away, Tom crept slowly out from behind his hiding place. When he saw the next set of stairs, he felt a tinge of personal pride. One soldier lay dead halfway down. Tom crouched down, examining the body, and saw that he had hid the soldier in the shoulder, just below the collarbone, and that the soldier's fall had caused a hemorrhage in the head that led to his death. Tom's pride faded away.

He patted the body down, in search of anything that may prove useful. He found five. He found two smoke grenades, one fragmentary grenade, and a tripwire attached to the soldier's belt. At the soldier's side was holstered a blaster pistol. Tom took it in his left hand, weighed it against his own, and decided that he could wield both at the same time. As for the bombs, he knew he could find some use for them. A blaster report echoed up the stairwell. Tom froze for a moment, listened for approaching footsteps, then exhaled. He stood up and jogged lightly down the stairs.

When he reached the basement, he knew that the soldiers were down there. Already, he saw one dead guard by the metal detector. There was a scorch mark between his eyes. Tom shuddered and walked on, moving with more caution than ever. He slowly navigated the corridors, turning sharply and pointing both blasters at every corner. He turned one final corner, moments after Captain Krumptin had looked behind him, and saw the soldiers, working on something at the door to the War Room.

Tom retreated behind the corner and pressed his body against the wall. He breathed deeply, slowly, and quietly. He closed his eyes. I can do this, he told himself.

With his blaster in one hand and a smoke grenade in another, he leapt out from behind the corner, threw the grenade, and fired at the one soldier standing. He hit the soldier in the small of his back, and the soldier reeled. Tom fired again, sending the soldier to his knees, and ducked behind the corner, just as a hail of laser blasts cut through the air and the smoke grenade set off. He heard the soldiers cough and cry out in surprise. He took the second grenade and threw it against the far wall; it bounced, skidded across the floor, and set itself off halfway down the hall from the first one.

By now, the area near Tom was getting hazy, and the soldiers were surely in complete darkness. Tom recalled with sudden vengeful feelings how, only minutes before, he had been in a similar smoke-induced darkness himself. He picked up both blasters with a snarl, stepped out from behind the corner, and fired rapidly. He strafed from one side of the corridor to the other, avoiding any blind shots the soldiers might take and creating the illusion of multiple attackers.

The ploy worked. Tom heard the soldiers cry out confused and angered outbursts.

"Where are they? I can't see them!"

"Captain Krumptin's fading! There's not much time!"

"I'll tell you not much time! That bomb's going to go off at any moment!"

"What? Screw those guys! Let's rush them!"

Tom stopped shooting and returned to his hiding place behind the corner. He grabbed the frag grenade, pulled the pin, and threw it into the smoky chaos. The explosion was followed by more outbursts of surprise and anger, but not many cries of pain, as Tom expected. He ran a few paces, set the tripwire, fastened it to a wall, and dashed away.

The soldiers emerged from the smoke, coughing and squeezing the smoke out of their eyes. When they opened their eyes, they saw Tom running like mad down the hallway. They raised their rifles to aim for his head, but suddenly dropped them and stopped running. There was a monotonous beep coming from the wall by their feet. They looked with the eyes of men who have failed their missions, and saw what Captain Krumptin would have seen as a critical variable in an equation.

And to Captain Krumptin's Blitz Forces, it was an equation that would never be solved.

VII

Somewhere in orbit above Corneria, beyond the ruined Cornerian Orbit Defense system, several frigates floated harmlessly, awaiting the reports of the forces below to send in reinforcements. They were to do this continually until Admiral Moss and the rest of the fleet arrived to finish off the weakened planet.

But something happened quite suddenly that they did not expect. Several Cornerian naval frigates had arrived from a successful orbital battle on the other side of the planet. The Karzenian frigates were unequipped to fight, but finding it the only way to preserve their orders, they did so anyway. The battle was a short one, and in the end, the naval frigates left a cloud of wreckage to float harmlessly in orbit above Corneria.

Moments later, the Cornerian naval frigates appeared in the sky above Corneria City, where things were not looking good for the Cornerian Arwings. The mere presence of the frigates made the Karzenian ships feel intimidated and the Arwings feel a boost of ability. Many bombers were destroyed by the frigates' powerful turrets, and the interceptors, suffering a sudden and sharp drop in morale, were picked off by the supercharged Arwings.

When the threat was eliminated, the Arwings collected into formation to return to the underground base, and the frigates moved on to help out the next major city.

Both parties felt a burst of cheerfulness, although both were deeply and somberly aware that it was only temporary. Another battle, one more catastrophic and decisive than the ones taking place all over Corneria, was coming, and they could do nothing but wait.

VIII

"Enemy forces in orbit above Corneria have been eliminated, and the fighters above Corneria City have retreated. Remaining defensive forces are being recalled for supplies and repairs."

The report hit Pepper's ears as music. He clapped his hands and laughed. But Fox, he noted, was not so positively affected by the news. Fox was hunched over the round table, grimacing. The console at the foot of the table was looping the video segment of the pilot prisoner in the enemy's ship, Captain Trenton, reading Karzen's terms in a shaky voice and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"That's not it," Fox mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "That's not the end. It's only a respite. That's the way they play. Hit suddenly, go away, return, and hit hard."

Pepper placed a hand on Fox's back. "Fox, old buddy, you've got to take it easy," he said. "We've won a small victory, yes, but it's a victory nonetheless. When we recover from this, we'll prepare ourselves for another strike. We just have to take this one bit at a…"

An explosion rocked the War Room. Pepper turned just in time to see the metal door, the supposedly bulletproof and shockproof door, explode outward in ribbons, sending an orderly flying. People all over the War Room ducked and cried out as bits of hot metal whizzed through the air, smashing consoles and making dents in the metal walls. Fox leapt over an overturned table, raised his blaster, and, seeing that the area outside the door was enveloped in thick smoke and that he couldn't see his assailants, gripped the blaster tightly.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" The voice was coming from somewhere in the smoke. Fox relaxed his blaster hand. "It's me, Thomas McCloud! I'm alone! Don't shoot!"

Tom emerged from the curtain of smoke. His fur was singed, and his eyes were bloodshot, but otherwise, he appeared all right. In either hand he held a smoldering pistol.

The people in the War Room gradually emerged from their hiding places. Pepper stood up, grinning. "Tom! Tom McCloud! It's wonderful to see you!"

Tom raced to General Pepper happily, but stopped when he saw his father. Fox had dropped his blaster; his hands were shaking, his eyes twitching. His lips began to curl back, and for a moment it looked like he was going to snarl, but he instead burst out in tears, tears not shed for sorrow or fright, but shed as the only output his frazzled brain could think of for the confused emotions inside of him. Fox grabbed the fur on top of his head with a vice-like grip and began babbling incoherently. He walked circles with a forced limp, shaking his head, babbling, cackling, crying.

Pepper approached him cautiously. He spoke, slowly and calmly: "Fox…"

"I can't… I can't take it… I just…"

"Fox, look at me. You need to calm down."

"I can't take it anymore… the sights, the sounds… it's all too lovely…"

"Fox… listen to me. Listen to my voice."

"Slippy, shut down that robot, he's driving me crazy… oh, so very crazy…"

"Fox. Listen to my voice."

"All aircraft report. No, not you, Bill, you're not here… you're off with Uncle Andross, on one of his adventures…"

"Fox…"

"Why, Peppy, you're dead at your desk! Ain't that quaint!"

"Fox!"

Pepper grabbed Fox by the lapel with his left hand, drew him close, brought his right back behind his head, and threw it forward for a blow to the nose. Fox stumbled backward into the console, hit his head on a monitor, collapsed on a wheeled chair, sent that rolling, and fell to the floor with a grunt. Pepper stood over him, silently. The entire War Room was silent. Crackling static from monitors getting lost signals could be heard in the background.

After a minute lying on the ground, Fox stood up, holding up one hand, the hand with no thumb, to stop the blood dripping from his nose. His eyes were still moist with tears, but there was reason in them once again.

"Are you all right, Fox?" Pepper said, calmly yet sternly.

Fox didn't answer. With his free hand, he tore off the admiral insignia on his chest and turned away, leaning on the table.

"I can't do this," he muttered between sobs. "I can't handle this task anymore. I don't deserve a sympathy rank. Give the job to someone who's still got his mind. Mine's going the way of Peppy's: to the Old Officer's Heaven in the sky, where sanity is only optional."

"Fox." Pepper placed a hand on Fox's back. He felt Fox's body convulse in violent sobs. "You can do this. I know you can, because I know you. I've known you since you were the brash, young, skillful pilot who came into Corneria, guns blazing, an excellent replacement for his father. Even through tough times, through thick and thin, you maintained that excellence. You maintained confidence and skillfulness, yes, but you grew determination. With every battle, you learned leadership skills your Star Fox team needed, and which Corneria never had."

"Sir," a technician timidly interrupted. "Sir, there's something on the radar…"

"You know why Star Fox isn't what they used to be?" Pepper continued. "You know why they lost the spotlight? Because they lost you. You were their leader, you were their inspiration, you were the sparkle of hope that held them together when times were tough. You were Star Fox."

"Sir, ships are coming out of hyperspace outside of Corneria's orbit. Capital ships, frigates… it looks like an entire navy armada, sir."

"Now, Corneria has the opportunity, the privilege, to have you as their leader. The leader, the inspiration, the sparkle of hope that were the life forces of Star Fox, Corneria now may benefit from that in this time of need. They need your leadership, Fox. They need you to lead them in this battle."

Fox squeezed tears out of his eyes. They fell onto the table with unheard splashes. He raised his eyes to the console before him, where the video of Captain Trenton aboard Admiral Moss's flagship was playing yet again. Fox squinted at the image, and then wiped his eyes dry.

"Summon the navy from all over the planet," he said. His voice was clear and confident. "Assemble a line of defense and send it to meet them. And get what's left of the air force out there, too."

"Yes, sir!"

The War Room was suddenly alive again, with cheerful officers running to execute various tasks. A few even clapped their hands as they went at it. By the door, Thomas McCloud was grinning.

"I knew you would come around," Pepper said with a smile. "I just knew…"

Fox held up a finger. "Look at that video," he said. "Notice something?"

Pepper looked. It was the trembling pilot, shifting his weight from foot to foot as always. He shook his head.

"See that in the corner?" Fox said, pointing. "On the wall behind him?"

Pepper shrugged. "It's the ship's insignia," he said.

"Right. If we knew which ship was the flagship, we could target it, and possibly send the armada into disarray upon its destruction, giving us a great advantage."

"Yes, but we can't make out all of it. Without the entire insignia, we can't…"

"Keep watching."

Pepper watched. Captain Trenton continued shifting his weight. Soon, he was almost out of the picture. The cameraman moved the camera to get the pilot back into the center, bringing the insignia in its entirety into view.

"Hot damn!" Pepper shouted, clapping his hands. "That's one hell of a smart pilot!"

"Passive resistance," Fox said proudly. "A trademark of the brilliant."

Pepper laughed and clapped a hand on Fox's shoulder. "Fox, my boy, it's good to have you back." He turned to send the description of the insignia to the navy, but Fox stopped him.

"You haven't seen all of Fox McCloud," he said, grinning. "Not yet. Listen to this." Fox whispered his plan into Pepper's ear.

"Well," Pepper said, blinking into space. "That's an odd, and possibly insane plan. But if it works, it'll be worth the shot. Now come on, let's get this show on the road!"