I
In the underground docking bay, mechanics worked madly to finish up repairs on various ships, while the pilots found themselves barely able to stand up, exhausted from defending the city for so long and wishing they could rest longer. Alas, they could not. Almost as soon as their feet touched the concrete floor of the docking bay, orders came again for them to man their ships and assemble in orbit above Corneria. The only reason they were not already in the air again was because of the busy mechanics.
Alyssa and Tiger leaned wearily against a stack of crates, while Bobo, his left leg-stump now securely fastened to a bionic leg, talked with them about the apparent death of Tom. They were in the middle of recalling his very brave, heroic, adventurous, and, most of all, loyal life, when Tiger glanced to the back of the docking bay and saw the spitting image of the one whose life they were now mourning.
"Tom!" Alyssa cried, standing up with new strength. "But we saw you… you were… your radio…"
Tom held his arms out wide and grinned. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises!" He went up to the group of friends for a hug from Alyssa, a high five from Bobo, and a noogie from Tiger.
"Hey, Bobo!" Tom said, standing back. "You've finally got your leg on!"
"Yeah, isn't it great?"
Bobo kicked outward with his robotic leg, half-covered with his pants. The leg kicked with more force than he anticipated, and he fell backwards, knocking down a robot in the process, which whined and blipped in alarm. Everyone laughed as Tom helped Bobo to his feet. "I'm, um, still getting used to it," Bobo said, blushing.
"Well, are you going to be going up there with these guys?" Tom inquired, jerking a thumb behind his head.
"Yeah!" Bobo said excitedly. "You think I'd stay down here? I've spent enough time in the infirmary as it is. It's high time for me to hop into an Arwing and kick some Karzen a… uh, tail!"
"Just hope you don't accidentally kick a hole in your Arwing with that leg," Tiger remarked.
Bobo jerked his left leg up, as if about to give Tiger a kick in the groin. Tiger recoiled in mock terror. Alyssa and Tom watched them, laughing. When it had died down, Alyssa turned and looked at Tom.
"So, Tom, you haven't told us about yourself just yet. Are you coming up there with us?" she asked. She looked at Tom with the suspicion and urgency of an interrogator, one who would just as easily break your fingers as let you go.
"Nope," Tom replied. "I'm going to stay home in my rocking chair, listening to classical music and knitting a quilt while keeping a special place for you in my mind. Hell yeah, I'm going! But, seriously, guys, listen." Here, Tom's voice grew quiet and solemn. "We've come this far. We've survived these guys on three separate occasions, and far more than that if you count cases where we were on our feet, the odds stacked against us. If this battle will mean the end of Lylat, then I will at least make sure that I die fighting it. But if it means we drive off this enemy and live to fight another day, then I want to be able to say to future generations that I fought in that battle."
Tiger nodded gravely. "I'm with you, Tom," he said, and he placed his hand on top of Tom's outstretched one. "Even if it's to death."
"To death," Alyssa said. She placed her hand on top of Tiger's.
"To death." Bobo's hand fell on the pile. The four now formed a cross in between themselves.
"Right," Tom said. He looked each of his friends in the face, recalling the moments, both in joyous times and in doubt, he had spent with each. He nodded. "Now. Let's make this happen."
The cross, after a moment more of lingering in the air, broke apart. Each went their separate ways, to the Arwings they were assigned to fight in. The overhead intercom beeped, and a voice spoke to those in the docking bay, loudly:
"Attention! Pilots, get to your vehicles as soon as they are properly outfitted. Prepare for launch. Launch will begin at 17:30 S.C.T. Repeat, launch will begin at 17:30 S.C.T." The intercom switched off.
Each cadet was strapped into the seat of the Arwing, engines revved, hyper beams charged, Nova Bombs loaded. At precisely the time announced, each Arwing slowly lifted off, forming a line towards the launch tunnel. When Tom's Arwing reached the gaping mouth of the launch tunnel for the second and last time, he raised his left hand and stuck out his thumb, as if a sign to all the dirty mechanics and mindless robots remaining behind in the docking bay that, be it a death march or not, he would go along with the same defiance and courage he had gone with on every flight in his life, and hit the accelerator.
II
"All units assemble." Pepper paced from one section of the War Room to another, glancing at various holographs and radars, speaking orders into a handheld comm. device. "Air Force units assume Spread formation and aggressive tactics. Naval units bring up the rear. Army units flank from the sides."
The Air Force section of the War Room flashed an ok. "Spread formation assumed, aggressive tactics enabled. Standing by."
"Naval units defending Air Force units from behind. Standing by."
"Army units flanking from the sides. Aggressive tactics enabled. Standing by."
"All units establishing line of defense between Corneria and intruding enemy forces. Standing by and awaiting assignment."
General Pepper looked at the hologram in the center of the room, showing the area above Corneria in question. Compared to the size of the incoming armada, their line of defense looked depressingly small. Pepper took in a deep breath.
"This is it!" he said. He looked up at the radar in the Air Force section of the War Room, and knew that, somewhere in that mess of dots, friends very dear to him were waiting, possibly more anxious and animated with anticipation than he was. "Fox, Tom, Alyssa, Tiger, Bobo: Godspeed."
The enemy armada stopped its approach and began getting into formation.
III
Admiral Reccal Moss had his gaze fixed on the view through the main viewshield. The milky blue planet he saw there was calming, but until he finished his campaign, it was enemy territory. The Harbinger roared on. He watched as Corneria's only moon, an inhabitable sphere of rock, floated silently by. As the moon revealed more of the planet to him, Moss squinted at the blue sphere, and almost laughed. Almost invisible when placed against the bright aura of the planet was a line of ships, waiting for them.
"How convenient!" Moss cried out. "Instead of forcing us to make the trip all the way down to the planet's surface, they've met us halfway!"
"The orders are still in effect, sir?" asked an officer from the bridge.
"Yes," Moss said. "We'll have to destroy this line of defense first. If they have any sense in them, they'll surrender before we completely eradicate them. If not, we'll have to travel to the surface and force a treaty out of their leaders, since Captain Krumptin and his Blitz Forces have apparently failed to do so."
"As you wish, sir."
The line of ships was getting close. Moss was beginning to see that the number of ships was actually larger than he had thought at first, but the Karzenian fleet still more than tripled Corneria's defense fleet. The Harbinger flagship moved onward. Other capital ships began to swarm around it, until the Harbinger was hidden among countless other, identical capital ships. Smaller frigates and individual interceptor fighters moved forward, as the first, yet, as always, unmerciful, attack wave.
"Attack group Alpha in position," a captain's voice came over the intercom. "Preparing to attack."
"Very good," Moss said calmly. "Proceed as…"
"Look out!"
"What?"
"Mayday! Mayday! We are under…"
"Didn't copy, group Alpha, please…"
"Something's hitting us! A group of fighters! Nine O'clock!"
Moss watched with bulging eyes as his beautifully laid out plan began to unwind in front of him. As the group of frigates and fighters were moving in for the kill, a group of unknown and non-identical ships, much larger than their own, rushed at them from behind the passing moon. Moss ran to an intercom device to shout orders at group Alpha, but the attack had come so suddenly and so harshly that Alpha was in complete chaos. Moss slammed his fist into the console and turned away, a look of disgust on his face. Group Alpha, composed of a third of the fleet's finest ships, was now useless.
"Never mind them," Moss said to his second-in-command. "Send the entire fleet in to attack! Crush them before they have a chance!"
No sooner had the words left Moss's mouth than the unknown ships abandoned group Alpha and turned on the fleet. The Harbinger was suddenly being bombarded by pilots many times more skilled than its own, flying modified ships many times more maneuverable, many times more shielded, and with firepower many times more powerful than the standard interceptors and bombers Karzen had sent. Moss stared out the viewscreen at group Alpha, hoping they would come to their aid, but they could not. When the group of mysterious fighters had abandoned group Alpha, the line of ships defending Corneria closed in around group Alpha to finish the job.
IV
Tom watched the arrival of their rescuers from his Arwing in the line of ships above Corneria, his jaw dropped. Where in the universe…
"Yeehaw!" The voice that came over the comm. link was familiar. It was the voice of Bill Grey. "They didn't see that one coming! Hit 'em hard, boys!"
The ships, big and small, new and old, but mostly made of parts from all of the above, danced and swooped around the Karzenian fleet, striking the capital ships and the defensive fighters nearby. Tom grinned when the realization hit him.
"Hey, Corneria!" Another familiar voice. This one was Falco's. "You miss us? Just be glad we came through on our mission! You owe us some mon-ay!"
"Come on, guys! Join the fun!" Slippy.
"Yeah. The more ships these rats shoot down, the more money you'll have to pay them!" Krystal.
By now, every pilot in Corneria's line of defense watching the sudden display understood what was happening. They were now watching the largest union of mercenaries and bounty hunters in Lylat history. This was a group of ships, far more powerful and effective than anything any official military branch could cough up, that future generations would refer to as the Star Fox Armada.
"You heard them, folks," Tom said cheerfully. "Break up, and let 'em have it!"
One by one, the Arwings accelerated into the fray, followed by the sluggish and powerful naval batteries, followed by the inefficient and ever-present army ships. All of Lylat's remaining military took part in the battle.
And Corneria, the peaceful blue sphere below that was destined to always remain so, remained as it was, and watched.
V
"Enemy units everywhere, sir! They're too fast for us!"
Moss paced the main bridge, aggravated by his foe's inability to back down. He swayed every so often with a blow on the ship, but his pent-up anger and determination forced his body to correct its pacing path immediately. To those watching him, it almost looked as if he was running on a magnetic track on the floor.
"Aim for their capital ships, then!" Moss yelled. "We know they're not as good as ours! Hit them from the top and work their way down!"
"Sir…" An explosion rocked the Harbinger heavily. A Nova Bomb had exploded just outside the main bridge. The officer grunted, then continued. "Sir, the Harbinger's shields are dropping, quickly. If they keep it up like this, we very well could face…" The officer was afraid to say it.
"Give orders to defense and interceptor fighters from the other capital ships to come in and protect the Harbinger," Moss said.
"Well… sir, they have none. All the fighters not defending the Harbinger are out keeping enemy ships at bay."
Moss frowned. "No defense ships?" he snapped. "Then how are they staying alive?"
"That's just the thing, sir," the officer said quietly. "None of the other capital ships are receiving substantial damage."
Moss thought about it for a moment. Then it dawned on him. "They know we're the flagship," he said softly. Then he roared, "How did they find out? How the hell did they find out?"
No one could answer.
"You have no idea what this means! All my planning… all those victories… they may very well be in jeopardy!" He closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more determined. "I can make up for it. I always could. I can save this battle. I just need to think."
Outside, exploding turbolasers and scorching laser blasts told him that he had no time to think.
"Dispatch that Star Wolf team," Moss ordered. "Send them to finish their job. If anything will turn the tide to our favor once again, destroying Corneria's best pilots is it."
VI
Falco watched as the group of mercenaries and bounty hunters rushed in for the kill, turning the organized, synchronized, almost formal armada into a disaster of a team. Interceptors reacted so strongly that they attacked from everywhere in no harmonious manner, and even occasionally shooting each other; bombers, knowing very well that they wouldn't stand a chance against this new group of fighters, fled from the scene; frigates broke away from each other in hopes of drawing enemy fire off their backs.
It was into this disasterous armada that Falco sent his ship. Although he participated in the excited whoops and hollers as much as anyone, he was secretly worried about his new ship's combat capabilities. It had handled well where it counted when he was off looking for recruits, but he hadn't so much as fired a shot on that mission. He was uncertain of his odds, and therefore, stayed back as much as he could.
Falco tapped his headset. "Groups one and three, go for the frigates," he ordered. "Corneria Central Command has just transmitted an image of the flagship's insignia. Transmitting insignia now. Concentrate firepower on that flagship. Groups two, four and five take care of those fighters."
"Lombardi, we're getting some strong shields here," came a mercenary's voice minutes later. "It would be better if those Cornerian frigates try to take 'em on. We'll just waste power trying to bring those shields down."
"Copy that, Redd," Falco replied. "Someone's already working on its shields. Keep them busy until we get the ok."
A group of interceptors suddenly crossed Falco's path. He fired a series of bolts, obliterating all but one of them. The one survivor turned around and started firing angrily on Falco's ship. He muttered a curse.
"Bogey on my tail," he muttered. He realized quickly remembered that his companions were murderous, cutthroat bounty hunters, who would kill their lifelong friends for some cash. They probably wouldn't risk the loss of hundreds of bucks going after a single ship on his tail. Fortunately, he got a few affirmatives from Arwings in the official air force.
After several blows to his ship, Falco decided that he couldn't wait any longer. He pulled back on the stick, surprised at the high responsiveness, and aimed straight for the capital ship Harbinger, making several barrel rolls along the wall. When his acrobatics were complete, he wondered where exactly the Cornerian government had found these ships.
The Harbinger in its intimidating entirety came into view. Falco could see dozens of red bolts streaking from various turbolasers on the ship. One mercenary dove in, dropped a bomb, and swept away. When the bomb exploded, there were three or four fewer turbolasers to worry about. Falco flew straight for the Harbinger. As he had hoped, several turbolasers stopped shooting at impossible-to-hit ships that ducked and weaved between shots, and instead aimed for Falco's ship, flying straight toward them, an easy target. When the first of the shots came, Falco did barrel rolls to the sides, letting the bolts of red energy fly past him, hopefully hitting the bogey behind him. The interceptor was far too tight on his tail, though, and Falco found that the Harbinger's turbolasers were hitting him more than they were hitting the interceptor. He realized that the plan had backfired horribly, that it was too late to get out of the enormous capital ship's path, that…
The interceptor on his tail suddenly disappeared from radar, and a pink ship flew in front of him, rapidly doing barrel rolls to fend off the capital ship's deadly laser blasts.
"Well, well, well!" Katt said smugly. "Looks like you owe me another one, Falco! Don't get too reckless. I wont' be able to save you every time!" Katt's ship swept away.
"Thanks, Katt," Falco grumbled. His pursuer gone, he easily flew out of the Harbinger's line of fire and set his sights on Katt's ship, hoping to humble her with a shot or two across her nose.
But before he got the chance, someone beat him to it.
"Hey! Ow!" Katt cried. "Falco, why would you do such a…" Her ship rocked again with more hits. Katt soon realized that it was not Falco who was shooting her.
"We meet again, Falco Lombardi." It was the voice of Katt's attacker, Leon. "What a pity it is that our second meeting in over twenty years is such an unpleasant one. I'd hate to have to kill your girlfriend before we got properly reacquainted."
"Then let me spare you the unpleasantness!" Falco yelled angrily, and he charged up a beam, locked on Leon's Wolfen, and released a seeker missile. Leon broke off Katt's tail in an attempt to lose the missile. It detonated ten feet behind his ship.
"Touché," Leon said, allowing a hint of annoyance slip into his voice. "But you realize this is only the beginning of the battle. I both outnumber and outmatch you. Pray your ship doesn't perform as bad as it looks."
Leon appeared again, this time with two of his fellow Star Wolf members trailing behind him.
"Roast this bird's hide, gentlemen!" Leon ordered.
"With pleasure!" Johnny Caiman said.
"Allow me to start him off!" Dorian Sly cackled.
Falco did his best to keep the Wolfens in his sights, but for naught. Before long, all three were on him, and battering him mercilessly. Falco found that he could not shake them, and resorted instead to losing them in the confusion. His ship was far more maneuverable than he had thought at first, allowing him to wheel and dodge and flip in every direction. But the fact remained that he wasn't in deep space. He was in the middle of a large-scale space battle, and in the midst of reeling spacecraft of every size and endless crossfire, he had to be careful about where he turned to, and every care he took cost him a few shots from his pursuers.
"This is the best money I'll ever make!" Dorian Sly commented, giggling hysterically. "Now, allow me to finish him off!"
"Not so fast!" Slippy cried. "Falco's not alone! He's still got a team: the Star Fox team!"
Falco saw Slippy, coming in full throttle for what almost looked to be a head-on crash. But at the last moment, Slippy pulled up, leaving a Nova Bomb in his wake. The bomb flew past Falco's ship and headed straight for the pack of Wolfens. The Wolfens quickly dispersed, but not before receiving damage. Slippy turned, locked on Dorian Sly's ship, and began firing.
"Hey!" Dorian Sly whined. "What's all this? Leon, help me out here!"
But the other Star Fox members had come in, and Dorian Sly quickly saw that Leon was indisposed. Leon suddenly found himself the target of Krystal McCloud, and Johnny Caiman was being hunted by the last member of the Star Fox team, Alec Falan.
"Back off, Krystal," Falco said sharply. "I want to take care of Leon myself."
Krystal hesitated for a moment. Then, "If you say so, Falco," and she pulled away.
"What's this?" Leon said mockingly. "Falco wishing to show honor in battle by taking me on himself? Not a chance, birdbrain! Your ship is at death's door! You'll never get me!"
"We'll see, Leon!" Falco retorted, and he hit the accelerator, closing in on Leon's dancing Wolfen for a head-to-head confrontation.
VII
In the background of the fierce melee, beyond the whirling bombs, exploding ships and raining lasers, a lone scout ship drifted harmlessly toward the rear-end of the Harbinger, where it almost appeared to be a lost convoy approaching a capital ship for help.
But instead of ducking under the Harbinger's mass to get inside the docking bay underneath, this scout ship lowered itself onto the back wall of the ship, where it clamped on with magnetic grips. Once the scout ship had touched down completely, an air lock opened in the side, and a creature, dressed in an airtight space suit, drifted out and grabbed onto the ship's wall, again with a magnetic grip.
The astronaut found the exhaust tunnel it was looking for. After prying away the grate, it climbed through the tunnel, grabbing the seams along the wall to push itself up. It soon reached the airtight exhaust shaft, where a dual set of flaps were constantly at work. One set would allow exhaust into the chamber, close, and then the second would open, allowing the exhaust to be sucked out into space. It was an effective system, but mostly because the flaps snapped shut so quickly and so tightly. It was not designed to be astronaut-friendly; the creature knew that, if it were to get caught when a flap was closing, it would cut in half.
The astronaut waited for a moment to familiarize itself with the pattern of the flaps, and then moved forward. It passed both flaps with little incident, and once inside, it was relieved to feel the presence of gravity and atmosphere again. It moved forward until it was able to break out of the exhaust pipe. When it fell on the floor, it stood up, removed its helmet, and stepped out of its space suit.
Fox McCloud was in. He looked around. The room the exhaust pipe had led him into was clearly the main generator room. Pipes lined the walls and ceiling, crude consoles reading off energy data were spaced evenly along the wall, and huge, blocky machines sat in rows, chugging and whirling to produce the power that kept the Harbinger alive.
He knew the foolishness in sabotaging that place. Not only were his explosives not enough to destroy all of the generator machines, but also, the place was heavily manned. He wouldn't get far without being noticed by some worker. And, even if he managed to destroy the generator, it wouldn't be long, a couple seconds at most, before the auxiliary generator engines kicked in.
Instead, Fox crept slowly along the wall, hiding behind pipes when he could, making his way toward the secondary generator engines. This generator would be smaller, and hopefully requiring of less maintenance. It was the subject of his mission. It was the generator that produced the Harbinger's shields.
Cautiously holding up his blaster, Fox peeked around a corner, into a corridor. He saw the shadow of an approaching creature and quickly withdrew. Moments later, the creature, a huge canine in a blue worker's suit, lumbered out of the corridor, into the engine room, and towards the back. Fox walked quietly into the corridor, found a sign stenciled into the metal wall indicating the direction of the secondary generator. He turned in that direction and walked a short way before the corridor broke away into another generator room. Fox stepped into the room, immersed in light steam and an electric feeling on his skin that lifted the hairs slightly. The generator's noises drowned out his approaching footsteps, but it didn't matter. The generator room was empty. Fox walked forward, toward the center of the rows of engine blocks.
On the catwalks above, someone was laughing.
Fox whirled around, blaster raised in his left hand, glanced from one side of the ceiling to the other. The metal mesh catwalks above appeared to be empty.
"Fox McCloud… never diverting from his old habits, even as an old officer." The voice seemed to be everywhere. Fox did quick, 180-degree turns, as if expecting someone to appear behind him at any moment. The voice above traveled freely from one place to another, seeming to always take the one path Fox could not see at any one moment.
"Your fetish for traveling to the core of things to succeed in battle will be your undoing. Because of this, you will be dead before you leave this room."
Fox sought the source of the voice in vain, while something deep inside him told him that he knew that voice, that he had heard its mocking and lethal tone before. He didn't allow himself to allow that something inside of him to press further into his memories, for if he let his guard down for one moment, he knew he would surely die. He turned again, looking in one corner of the room, where a certain catwalk met a balcony from the second floor of the adjacent control room. For a brief moment, Fox thought that he could see the silhouette of a cat in that corner, but when he blinked, it was gone. He stood motionless for a second, wondering who it was, and his eyes involuntary changed focus from the corner to something much closer. His eyes focused on an engine block, pistons thrusting downward, coolant blades whirling, exhaust ports exhaling white steam. He looked at the steam, and suddenly, a memory flashed itself in his mind.
A steaming bowl of soup. A hooded, mysterious vendor in pouring rain. The bowl thrown violently to the ground, where it shattered vividly. That mocking and lethal tone of voice…
Fox ducked. A long, sharp knife, glinting in the light provided by the panels above, whirled above his head. He felt the tip of the blade part the fur on the top of his head as it passed. He tried to swear, but what came out was a choked gasp. He sprang up and dashed out from behind the engine block.
Fox made it from the generator to the door to the control room, but found it locked. He wisely spun around, blaster level, and saw his assassin, at the end of the aisle between the rows of engine blocks and mostly definitely a cat, leap down from the catwalk above and fire a shot through a silencer. Fox ducked his head. The shot hit the door behind him, smashing the windowpane there. Fox fired a return shot, but before the blast reached her, his assassin made a magnificent leap, and was navigating the catwalks again.
Fox decided to run along the wall, where the only way his assassin could see him would be by exposing herself to him. At first, after noticing his tactic, his assassin didn't expose herself. After a while, she apparently decided that her shot against Fox's had good odds. She popped up on the other side of the room, appearing on the far catwalk through a lightning-quick flip, uncurled her body, and fired. Her accuracy was frightening. Even after zeroing in on Fox's position for less than a second, she was able to get a shot that would have gone through Fox's head, had he not ducked and rolled to the side. When Fox clumsily uncurled and stood up, he fired at the assassin, but she had already back-flipped away. It wouldn't have mattered either way, since Fox's shot didn't even hit her side of the room.
Fox tried for another strategy. He broke into a run, zigzagging to avoid several shots that struck at his trailing shadow, and disappeared into the rows of engine blocks. He scrambled like a mad insect, weaving between the blocks, following no pattern, rolling and jumping and strafing all the while. Fox imagined that he looked very foolish, but the assassin didn't even try to shoot at him during this time, and that made the effort worthwhile.
At one point, just as he was passing through the aisle that ended in the door to the control room, Fox aimed at the door handle, fired thrice, and rolled along the floor into the next aisle. He continued his mad acrobatics for two more rounds around the generator room, and then stole a glance at the door. One or more of his shots had been useful, for the lock was now disengaged, the burnt handle hanging limply by a single screw. Fox leapt out of the rows of engine blocks and started strafing along the wall again, as if to give his first tactic another try. The assassin played into this and exposed herself, preparing to fire. Fox's blaster was ready before hers was, and he sprayed the entire length of the catwalk with laser beams. When the cat-assassin back-flipped away to some unknown region of the second-floor, Fox rushed to the door and broke through.
He looked around the control room, didn't find what he wanted, raced to the lift in the back, activated it, and went to the second-floor control room. Fox saw the switch on the panel across the room from the lift, leapt for it, noticed out of the corner of his eye the second-floor door, leading to the balcony and from there to the catwalks, opened and blocked by his assassin, whose blaster was trained on him. At the last moment, he turned to look at his assassin, not with fear but with defiance, landed bodily on the side of the control panel, breaking three ribs, closed a fist around the switch, and threw it.
The two of them were suddenly immersed in total darkness. The assassin hesitated for a moment, surprised by the sudden change in visibility, but Fox knew that it wouldn't take long for her keen eyes to adjust. Just the same, he fired a spray of lasers in her general direction. She nimbly back-flipped outside onto the catwalk beyond, but her unadjusted eyes deceived her, causing her to land not on the catwalk itself, but on the railing to the side. She wavered for a moment, let out a shriek, and fell. There was the soft thud of her body landing on metal, the thunderous groan of the pistons protesting the presence of a foreign object in the machinery, and then nothing. Nothing but the ever-present chugging of the generator.
Fox got to his feet, clutching the side that had broken his fall. He reached over to pull the light switch, but thought it better that the aftermath of their battle should remain in darkness. He descended the lift and limped out into the generator room, unzipping his pack and pulling out the series of bombs. He tentatively crouched down in the center of the rows of engine blocks and began the slow process of setting the explosives.
VIII
Admiral Moss stood at the main bridge, arms folded behind his back, eyes jumping from one cluster of frenzied ships in the distance to another. In the background, the Cornerian naval ships floated motionless, their turbolasers firing at the Karzenian bombers that tried to break through the line of Arwings.
The battle was beginning to go his way. The apparent boost in morale the air force's Arwings had felt at the appearance of their unexpected aids had faded. Many Arwings had been destroyed, and a few of the newcomers, who were the best fighters Moss had ever seen short of the Star Wolf team he had hired, had actually been shot down.
No matter how many tricks Lylat had up its sleeves, no matter how many interceptors they shot down, Moss still had the advantage of numbers. If his pilots got weary, short of supplies, or their ships damaged, Moss could order them to return to their designated docking bays and then dispatch fresh interceptors, psyched and ready for battle. The Cornerian pilots, on the other hand, had no one to take their places if they got tired or damaged. Moss only had to wait.
A request came to Moss for him to allow another squadron of interceptors to be dispatched. Moss inquired as to how many were still in the docking bay, and was shocked to see the numbers. The situation began to alter before his eyes. He couldn't afford to wait. The battle had to be ended. It had to be ended now.
"Order the capital ships to move forward," Moss said to the officers on the bridge. "Get those fighters to break and engage the naval frigates."
"But, sir!" one of the officers protested. "Those fighters don't look ready to break. They're continuing to fire on us, even though our shields are still strong."
"There you have it!" Moss said irritably. "Our shields are still strong! It won't matter if they don't break, just move the fleet forward!"
The Harbinger began accelerating slowly. In response, the newcomer fighters turned away from the battle and started harassing the Harbinger in greater numbers. One even released a missile that struck the ship just below the main viewport. Admiral Moss winced as the shields absorbed the missile's explosion.
"The shields aren't holding!" an officer cried in fear. "Those fighters are dealing our ship serious damage!"
"They will hold long enough," Moss reassured him. He looked out the viewport. Indeed, the number of Karzenian interceptors outside was far greater than the number of Arwings. This final charge, if not by scattering the enemy, would win the battle by attacking the heart of the opposition, the navy.
"Sir," another said, "Wouldn't it be wise for the Harbinger to remain behind while the other capital ships confront that navy?"
"And let them pick us apart?" Moss exclaimed. "Absolutely not! We need the cover of the other capital ships, or else our shields…"
The intercom came to life, surprising all on deck. The visual hologram lit up. The face of a fox appeared.
"To the military and political leaders of Karzen," the fox said, grinning coldly. Moss recognized the introductory phrase. His stomach knotted up, but he continued to listen. "My name is Admiral Fox McCloud, informing you on behalf of Corneria that we are all sorry that we couldn't come to peace under more reasonable terms. As a result, expect a surprise within the next few minutes." Admiral McCloud held up a timer in his left hand, jiggled it, and ended the transmission.
Moss frowned. What in Nerome's name…
"Sir!" The officer's fearful cry, which was almost a scream, made Moss's stomach knot up even more. "We've just lost the secondary generator engines! The shields are gone!"
Admiral Moss didn't swallow. He didn't speak. He turned, arms still folded primly behind his back, and looked out the main viewport, where an enemy bomber had swooped in and sped away, leaving a bomb in its wake. He watched as the bomb drifted, almost harmlessly, straight towards the viewport of the main bridge; in his mind's eye, he saw his chess piece, a black queen, being struck aside viciously and triumphantly by a previously unseen white knight.
His mind's eye saw no more.
IX
"The Harbinger is down! The Harbinger is down! Prepare naval batteries to advance on remaining capital ships!"
All present and alive at the battle saw the Harbinger's main bridge erupt in flames, the explosion spreading throughout the majority of the ship's front side. They then watched in awe as the engines failed, causing all magnetic seals to break, allowing the ship to be gradually pulled apart by the merciless vacuum outside. Far to its left, unseen by most, a solitary scout ship skirted the perimeter of the battle area and came to dock in one of Corneria's naval frigates.
"Whoooooooo-heeeee-hoo!" Bill Grey screamed on the intercom. "Big mama's resting in pieces! Take out her children, boys!"
Falco watched the death of the Harbinger with a smile. His quarry, Leon's Wolfen, stopped dodging and flew in a straight path.
"Your money is gone," Falco informed him. "If this truly isn't about revenge, as you claim, leave the battle now."
Leon's response was a surprising one. He laughed. "I'm a mercenary, old foe," he said. "My itinerary is always flexible, and my word can never be…"
He never finished the sentence. Falco, who had had a charged hyper beam fixed on Leon's unmoving tail, released several powerful shots that reduced Leon's Wolfen to ribbons. Falco nodded his head as his ship passed the destruction.
"In pace requiescat," he muttered impassively. "Old foe."
Krystal, Slippy, Alec and Katt would have had no problem finishing off Dorian Sly and Johnny Caiman, Leon's only surviving wingmen. But when Leon's ship disappeared from their sensors, they panicked, scattered, and were not seen again.
Tom and his fellow 'Fresh Fox' members cheered wildly at the sight of the Harbinger's destruction. Bobo suggested that they set off a hundred fireworks back home to celebrate; Tiger countered by suggesting they set off a hundred fireworks here in space, using the Karzenian interceptors as firecrackers, which they did.
In the War Room on Corneria, officers cheered and applauded as the enemy flagship went down and as the navy subsequently advanced on the chaotic enemy lines. General Pepper fell back in his chair, letting out a heavy sigh and rubbing his hands over his fur, and then over his eyes, which had not seen decent sleep for days. He held his head in his hands, his eyes drifting aimlessly until they spotted a curious object on the floor across the War Room. After a bit of confusion, he recognized it as the insignia Fox had torn off his uniform earlier. Pepper chuckled lightheartedly, and then tore off his own insignia. He was getting old, and he decided that it was high time for retirement.
When Fox exited the scout ship aboard the C.R.N. Shiloh, the Cornerian navy flagship, he was whisked away to the infirmary, where his fractured ribs were treated. From the portable hologram set up at the foot of his bed, Fox watched the advance of the navy on the Karzenian capital ships, watched as the army's ships flanked the capital ships on either side, making it a quick and decisive battle. The Karzenian capital ships, leaderless, floated about in chaos and confusion, unable to gather their wits and surrender. When, at last, the number of Karzenian capital ships dwindled down to only two, the two of them stopped fighting back and offered to surrender.
Fox let his head sink in the pillow and let out a sigh of relief. On the ceiling of the infirmary, he imagined, were four antique Arwings, each taking a turn to sweep in close enough to allow him to see their faces. He saw Falco, the indifferent and brash pilot he always was. He saw Slippy, the youngest of the group, smiling enthusiastically and displaying a peace sign with his webbed fingers. He saw Peppy, his winking eyes full of wisdom and judgment, not lecturing the younger pilots but allowing them to gain similar wisdom themselves. He finally saw himself, not General Fox McCloud or Admiral Fox McCloud, but just plain Fox McCloud. His eyes were full of desire for adventure and excitement at what the future held.
The image had appeared before him for the last time. When at last it faded away, it was replaced by an image that he could not make out. He knew what it was nevertheless. It was the future, a time utterly unlike the past he had left behind, a time neither entirely comforting nor entirely foreboding. He shed a tear for the past that was gone forever, and embraced the future with a smile as he drifted to sleep.