If you wanna see the legal stuff again, be my guest and go back to chapter one. I only have to comment on the 'god of 2.0', whose origins lie with a replica figurehead at the US Naval Academy in Annapolis. I'm sure the Navy won't mind me using it…

1145 Hours, 12/9/2434

CSC Class 2434 Alpha

Cornerian Space Command Flight Academy, Corneria

A fresh white blanket of snow covered the grounds of the Cornerian Space Command Flight Academy. Groundskeepers had worked most of the previous night and into the early morning clearing the sidewalks. Many people, from Midshipmen to Admirals would be using the paths today. But now, their work seemed to be in vain, as a light snow fall came down from the grey sky above.

As the snow fell a parade block of fifty uniformed students marched down the cement path to Fletcher Hall, one of the academy's largest halls. They were a mix of Cornerian races; dogs, felines, avians, among many others. To the casual eye, the block appeared a bit sloppy; to a civil eye. In the glare of military authority though, the column was beyond sloppy, it was downright disgraceful. The group's Chief Petty Officer, who acted as a section leader and headmaster, was not present, so the cadets marched out of step and walked loosely with their shoulders sagged. Some even had missing articles from their uniforms. That would cost them.

Overall, the column hardly resembled a product of military training, but how much could one really expect from sixteen year olds; first year students were always a bit rebellious, but only when their Chiefs weren't in sight.

Among this almost ruffian-appearing group was Fox McCloud. All around him were his fellow first year midshipmen of Class 2434 Alpha, dressed in their winter dress uniforms; dark blue pants and a heavy wool trench coat of the same color and a Junior Officer's cap known universally as an SC, or Second Class, Cover. Black hard cover folders, each one personalized with gold inlaid font, were tucked under their arms. These contained their flight certification forms from the previous three weeks.

Fox noted the sloppy shape the formation was in and thought nothing of it. As long as the Chief didn't show up, they would be fine.

He had enough to worry about without the Chief forming the students into a tight block and drilling them to perfection. If they had done that, the class wouldn't have gotten moving for hours. Chief Petty Officer Ambrose had always been a hard ass.

The cadet's block was five rows across and ten columns long. They were arranged according to their standing in the class; the most accomplished students towards the front and left. Fox was in the second row and was fifth from the left. He didn't like this; if this formation was based on piloting skills, he would be at the front of the row.

Instead, the Midshipman who held the coveted top cadet position was a young vixen named Fara Phoenix. The daughter of Arspace Dynamics Chief Designer Michael Phoenix, Fara had known Fox since they had been both ten. When Fox's father James had worked as a CDF representative in an Arspace project, the two had been introduced.

She, like everyone else, in uniform but to Fox, she stood out. Her uniform was always freshly pressed; her chestnut hair was trimmed exactly at regulation length. Even in the bulky winter uniform, her slim, sculpted figure stood out.

The vixen walked in a way she only did when she was in uniform; her shoulders drawn back and her head held high. Her green eyes starred straight ahead. When Fox looked at her, he couldn't help but snicker. He repressed it as best he could, but a subtle, solitary snort still escaped.

She glanced to her right at Fox.

"What's with you?" she said in a hoarse whisper. Although she was not facing him, Fox could see the expression of annoyance on her face.

"Look at you", Fox whispered back, "you're all uptight and serious. It just seems so unlike you."

This comment from Fox brought a meek smile to Fara's stoic face. He knew her too well. Even if she rarely conformed to military formality, there were times when it was necessary to act like an up-and-coming junior officer.

Now, as she led her classmates to their year end exams, was one of those times and she marched proudly at the formation's head.

"We're in parade block," replied Fara, still whispering as if the Chief was standing right beside her, "everyone should be marching correctly."

"Aw come on. It's just a test." In reality, this was the First Year Midshipman Examination; often seen as the most critical exam of the four year course at the Academy.

Fox knew Fara didn't act serious unless something really important was going on. He respected the level of sternness and maturity that the vixen's behavior encouraged. He waited for Fara's response and when it didn't come, he briefly considered continuing the conversation. His respect for the situation discouraged this notion and Fox kept silent.

In any case, he didn't have time to take about anything with Fara, for a more immediate problem appeared from the extreme right of his vision.

Chief Ambrose.

The Chief, from afar, didn't appear to be that much to worry about. He was a gray furred hare and, as a hare, was noticeably shorter then most other species. But Chief Ambrose never let this get in the way. He was known to pull cadets by the collar of their uniform and make the unfortunate soul see eye-to-eye when he got frustrated or angry. He would berate any Midshipman with a powerful voice that commanded respect. No one ever forget getting a piece of Chief Petty Officer Douglas Ambrose.

Fara saw the Chief coming too and she sounded a soft, high pitched whistle, telling her fellow cadets to form up. If Chief Ambrose saw the column like this, she and the rest of the cadets would have more to worry about then their exams. Fara's non-verbal order came as unnecessary, as all of the students saw the Chief approaching and they snapped into a nearly perfect block. The steady pulse of feet hitting the ground in unison rose from the sound of jumbled and random steps. Chief Ambrose came closer. Fox dared not look the hare in the eye; in fact he dared not look at the Chief at all.

But as he came closer, Fox stole a quick glance at the Chief and was surprised to see that he didn't appear at all ruffled. His face was like stone; hard and emotionless. He passed in front of the column. Everyone instinctively snapped a crisp salute which the Chief returned as he walked on.

"Good work Cadet Phoenix," said the Chief, "keep these students nice and tight." Fox could scarcely believe what had just happened. The Chief had surely seen the formation's sloppy state as he came, but he had let them go; he had given them a break. Chief Ambrose never gave anyone any breaks. Except, Fox mused, when they were all marching to take the test that would follow them the rest of their careers.

As the small column continued towards the hall, Fox continued to seek some conversation to calm his nerves. He was anxious, as was everyone around him, about the exam. As a first year Midshipman, this exam would make or break his career in the CDF. His mind raced from one thought to another; lesson upon lesson. The holographic lectures, training, CDF Rules and Regs, everything he would need to get a passing 2.0 grade. That's all he wanted at the moment.

The last three weeks had been easy enough; simulated combat scenarios and check flights in shuttles and Fledgling trainers. It had been a cake-walk for Fox as he easily put the craft through their paces. As a pilot, he was on top of not only Class 2434 Alpha, but the Academy's entire 2434 class of over seven hundred Midshipmen. Even Fara couldn't match him in simulated combat and the two often went head-to-head in the simulators. His father was justly proud of him.

Dad… Fox had seen his father only two weeks ago. Ever since his father had become a mercenary, it seemed like James was always away; fighting someone else's battles for cash. But Fox knew there was more to his father then that, much more.

The cadets were now approaching the study halls and Fox's anxiety was mounting. Last week's flight tests had proved what he already knew, that the cockpit was where he belonged. He wished that he didn't need to take the exams. If he failed here, there would be no second chances and even his outstanding piloting skills would not matter. A cold feeling permeated his stomach as his mind raced; What if he failed? What would his father-.

Fox forcibly buried this thought into the deepest recesses of his mind. He would not fail; he couldn't, not now.

He turned his head slightly to see a tall grey husky named Bill Grey. Like Fara, Bill was a childhood friend, whom Fox had met in a private military school when he was eleven, after Fox's mother had died and his father was forced into mercenary work. Fox knew Bill as a playful, kick back sort of guy who often found ways to get out of work then actually doing it. But Bill too had a stern, determined look on his faces, his steel eyes staring forward attentively. Fox had expected Bill of all people to loosen up once the Chief was gone. Even though the Chief was long gone though, everyone remained stiff in formation, marching with silent dedication.

When did this become a damn parade? thought Fox. He imagined that he too should perhaps respect the gravity of the situation; the first year final exam was held as a right-of-passage. Or perhaps everyone just feared the Chief would come back and that he wouldn't give them another break.

And so Fox glanced over his uniform. Noting that everything was in order, he subtly straightened himself up and stared almost blankly ahead of him.

A few minutes passed and Fox noticed that everyone was reaching into their pockets. It seemed strange to Fox that all of the cadets would break their stiff military posture now…

Of course! The god of 2.0!

The Midshipmen were approaching a small arbor, located in the direct center of the academy grounds. Great oak trees, symbolic of the wooden ships of centuries ago, sat in a rough circle with cement paths outlining the perimeter. Sitting in the center of this circle was a solitary brass statue of a canine. The statue's hands lay at his sides, his right hand holding a bow and his head looked to the right and up at the sky in a heroic pose. Although the statue's features were partially obscured by the snow, he was still recognizable as none other then the legendary Cornerus.

The statue was in fact a replica figurehead from an ancient oceangoing vessel which had shared the name Cornerus. Ever since the CDF had opened the flight academy, at a time before Cornerians went into space to fight, the figurehead had stood as a reminder of Corneria's military heritage.

But the anarchistic figurehead had, over the years, been given another role by the cadets. On Cornerus's back was something called a quiver, which supposedly held ancient projectiles, to be launched by the long weapon the statue held in its right hand. According to legend, Midshipmen would throw coins, themselves anarchistic, at the figurehead, hoping to land them in the quiver. If they did, the legend promised, the cadet would receive the passing 2.0 grade. Cornerus's figurehead had thus been permanently tagged with the moniker of "The god of 2.0".

Fox reached into his pocket. Had he remembered his coin? His father had given him a few ancient single cent pieces whose marked dates went back many decades, at a time before Lylatians even went into space. While Fox wasn't one to believe in superstition and legends, it was one of the academy's traditions. Besides, he did want that 2.0.

The cadets formed into a single file line behind Fara and prepared to toss their coins. As they passed, forty nine coins flew through the air. Each coin seemed to follow its own path; some bounced off Cornerus's face, others completely missed the statue, while some sank into the quiver.

Fox hesitated a moment, so he could watch his coin's flight. He threw the currency after quickly lining up with the quiver. The little silver disc flew up from Fox's hand. It seemed to float briefly as it reached the top of its arching flight path before it tumbled down, where it landed in the quiver with a distinctive cling.

What a lucky shot, he thought to himself. If he had that kind of luck, he continued to muse, maybe he would pass this exam. Maybe…

Fox felt his spirit lift slightly. Perhaps he would get that passing grade. He smiled lightly as he took his spot back in the formation and rejoined his fellow cadets.