"Asteroids! Asteroids! Only 80 chanpon a piece! Hurry, they're almost gone!" The singsong voice of the snack vendor heralded her arrival as she made her way down the aisle. With the tremendous speed of the Intercontinental Hyper Express, global rail travel had long abandoned the archaic concept of a dining car. This had not however, diminished the public's appetite, and the opportunity for profit had not been lost on various small merchants, peddling treats of all kinds along the lines. For a reasonable price, one could get anything from a small piece of rock candy to a steaming bowl of udon. The possibilities were endless—provided that you had a credit or two.
"I'll have one," said a business executive as he looked up from his news pad.
A police officer beckoned with one hand. "I'd like one too."
"Three for us please," called a mother in the back, snagging one of her more adventurous cubs before he wandered away.
The snack vendor beamed, scanning thumbprints with a flat wafer in her left hand while producing toasted rice cakes from the large box around her neck with her right. Though well advanced in years, the badger had lost none of her edge, selling her wares as fast as she could hand them out to the passengers. "How about you young man," she asked, a pup at the front of the car catching her eye.
"Huh?" The little beagle shook awake, realizing he had been caught staring. "Oh, no thanks. I'm not really that hungry."
"Are you sure," asked the vendor. "Less than 1 sanpon a piece. They're really tasty!"
For a moment the child seemed to waver as he looked longingly at the shiny wrappers, but once again he shook his head. "I'm sure."
"Okay, but I'll be in the next car if you change your mind." Making a last handful of sales, the badger moved on to a new compartment and more customers. The small dog could only watch as the door slid shut behind her. Sighing, he turned his gaze to the window and contented himself as best he could with the blur of the landscape as it streaked past. The Crane Harbor Tunnel would be coming up soon, and after that, there would be nothing to see but metallic walls and the bluish-white glare of the lamps that lined them while they crossed the vast expanse of the Western Ocean. They would offer little of interest.
"Heads up!" Suddenly a stray Asteroid sailed into the canine's lap from across the aisle. Blinking, he stared at the silver foil before glancing in the direction from whence it came. A soldier bearing a CSDF shoulder patch on his uniform was looking over at him, holding another of the sweet snacks in one hand. "You gonna eat that, or are you just gonna admire the packaging?"
"Whoa, thanks a lot!" the pup exclaimed as he found his voice again. "But how did you know?"
"Are you kidding? Your face was an open book." The pilot grinned. "The name's Fox. What's yours kiddo?"
"Trevor sir," the beagle replied. "I'm afraid I can't really pay you back." His eyes shifted back to the package in his lap as if he was still unsure it was really his.
"Whoa, whoa, time out," Fox shook his head. "I'm not your CO. You don't have to call me 'sir,' and don't sweat the Asteroid huh? You look like you could use it." He pulled off the foil and took a bite of his own. The sweet rice balls had been a favorite treat ever since he was a kit, and he occasionally bought a few when he had the chance—though that was not very often. "So Trev, where are you headed," he asked after a moment, wondering what business the youngster had traveling to another continent all by himself, especially given his age.
"Copper Valley Space Camp," replied Trevor, enthusiastically munching his snack at last.
"Ah, you'll have a blast!" Fox grinned. "I was an instructor out there for a couple of summers. It's a great experience."
"Yeah," Trevor nodded. "I've wanted to go so bad, but..." he trailed off as his smile faded.
Fox arched a brow. "But what," he prompted after a moment.
The pup raised his head again. "Now that I'm actually here, I'm...kinda scared." He fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting his gaze downward as he scuffed his sneakers against the seat in front of him.
"I see." The pilot cupped his ears forward slightly. "What's on your mind?"
"I don't know." Trevor sighed in exasperation. "Everything was just fine until we left the station. Then I just did some thinking about it, and I felt funny. I mean—I know there's nothing to be afraid of, but..." the canine trailed off. He glanced down at his belly, pressing one paw against it with a nervous expression. "Maybe I ate something weird. It feels all tingly and stuff."
"Butterflies," chuckled Fox.
"Huh?" Trevor tilted his head. "Whaddya mean? I didn't eat those."
"Of course not." Fox nodded, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. "Let me guess...your palms are sweaty, your mouth is dry, and your heart is racing."
"Whoa, how did you know?"
"You've never heard of having butterflies in your stomach," asked Fox. What a strange kid this guy was turning out to be. "It happens to all of us from time to time—usually when we're going out on a limb or doing something we've never done. Don't worry...it'll pass. Once you check in and get settled, you'll forget all about it."
"You sure," Trevor asked, starting to appear a little more at ease.
"Trust me," the vulpine reassured him. "I promise you'll be wanting to stay another week when it's all said and done. Have you ever been away from home by yourself before?"
The beagle shook his head.
"There you go," Fox nodded, finding the root of the problem at last. "But it's nothing to worry about, and you won't be alone. There are hundreds of other campers just like you who are headed to Copper Valley, and odds are some of them live even further away than you do." Actually, there was no doubt about it. He had given this little spill more than once while serving as a group leader there. Homesickness had been a common occurrence at the beginning of each session, especially among elementary school students. "Besides," he added, "Your GL will be there for you 24/7, and your parents are just a comm. terminal away. My advice to you is take it easy and have some fun...okay?"
"Well, okay." The pup seemed to relax, looking a little sheepish. "Guess I'd make a lousy pilot huh? You can't go into space if you're scared."
Fox raised a brow. "I wouldn't be so sure about that," he commented. "If you want something bad enough and put your mind to it, you can do anything." A thoughtful expression played upon his features as he leaned over. "I'll let you in on a little secret Trev. When I did my first emergency reentry back at the academy, it scared-the-snot out of me!"
"Whoa, really?" Trevor blinked, sitting up a little straighter in surprise.
"You'd better believe it!" Fox nodded. "It's a ballistic trajectory, just like the old capsules from centuries ago," he said, bringing his right hand downward past his left like a craft spiraling out of control at a sharp angle. "If you give it too much reverse thrust, you'll come in too steep and burn up. If you don't give it enough, you'll bounce right off the atmosphere, out of the test range, and end up a greasy smear on one of the orbital stations."
Trevor cringed. "Did you make it out okay?"
"Sure," replied Fox. "I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you if I hadn't. It scared the snot out of me, but you know what? I got over it. Life would be pretty boring if it was perfectly safe right?" The pilot grinned again. "Like I said, you can do anything if you set your mind to it, and space camp won't have you flying solo like that anytime soon. You can do it! The only things you should be worrying about are keeping up with all the new friends you're gonna make and finding a frame for your certificate at the end of the session. You copy?"
Trevor beamed, saluting with his right hand. "I copy!"
"Good," Fox smiled as the entrance aperture of Crane Harbor Tunnel engulfed the train, replacing daylight with cold, artificial illumination. Well, it appeared that he still had some counseling skills after all, despite trading his camp uniform for a flight jacket a long time ago. His words of encouragement had allayed the boy's fears and concerns. Now he hoped he could convince just one more individual that there was nothing to worry about—himself.
"Identification?"
Fox exhaled softly in irritation as he presented his ID wafer for what seemed like the hundredth time, placing it into the unsmiling MP's extended hand. "Twenty sanpon says I'm who I claim to be," he remarked idly to the occupants of the checkpoint. The two burly canines were secured behind a level eight force field and armed to the teeth with two rapid-fire, remote controlled laser turrets, and blaster rifles that made the Type 42 standard issue pilot's sidearm seem like a slingshot in comparison.
"Are you trying to be funny," the guard replied coldly, snapping the storage device into a narrow reader on the console in front of him.
"No sir," said Fox, clearing his throat. Talk about not having a sense of humor. Then again, the entire base was nothing short of a fortress, which genuinely surprised him considering the relatively small number of interceptor squadrons that called it home. He couldn't even count the security barriers he had cleared just to reach the main gate. If anyone from the outside desired unauthorized access, it would probably require nothing less than a full brigade of assault troopers to breach the outer defenses.
"Place your right thumb on the pad, and look straight ahead," the MP instructed after a moment. Fox obeyed, touching the scanner firmly while remaining perfectly still. Thank God they were almost done with him. The two large canvas bags strapped over his shoulders were starting to get heavy. After a brief pause, an electronic tone greeted his ears, followed by a synthesized female voice.
"Verification complete. Recognize Ensign Fox McCloud, Cornerian Space Defense Force."
"Okay, you're clear." The MP nodded gruffly, returning the chip and opening the force field. A loud, metallic clunking noise issued from the heavily armored blast doors beyond, and Fox wasted no time in heading through them as fast as he could given the burden he carried.
"If I have to go through this every time I leave the base, I might as well forget about weekend liberties," he muttered under his breath as he took a moment to get his bearings.
Unlike the overcrowded, cramped conditions that defined life in Corneria City, Big Sky Astrodrome was located in the middle of a sparsely populated, forested area of Lutania with lots of open airspace and plenty of room to sprawl. A long wall topped with electric razor wire enclosed row upon row of aging, concrete, single-story buildings that hardly seemed worthy of the state-of-the-art security systems outside. The ugly gray structures stretched for several hundred meters in every direction around the command center, and it was here that Fox directed his steps, pulling the blue envelope from his shirt pocket to check his assignment once more. "Not too many details here," he thought to himself as he walked. Chances were he was one of many replacement pilots for the 31st Air Group, which was returning to the home world after a tour of duty in the belt according to the other soldiers on the transport. He'd know soon enough whether or not it was just a rumor.
A short walk down a poorly lit corridor and down one flight of stairs brought Fox at long last to his final obstacle, a large, wooden door on which hung a single, tarnished plaque, barely readable in its condition. Nevertheless, this was definitely the base commander's office according to the directions he had received. The faint murmur of voices from within made him a little edgy. Was it okay to interrupt? Well, it would be better than just staring at the posters on the nearby bulletin board out in the hallway. He steadied his nerves, took a deep breath, and rapped his knuckles firmly against the hard surface.
"Enter!" One of the voices rose, clearly discernable from the opposite side of the wall. Heeding its summons, Fox turned the knob and strode through the doorway toward its owner. The first thing that struck him about the room was its size, far larger than he would have believed given the closely packed, cell-like compartments he had passed along the way. The walls were lined with a series of obsolete, metal file cabinets, doubtfully still in use thanks to a compact terminal occupying one corner with a bright, clear display panel, more typical of contemporary data storage. A large desk of polished wood stood before the window between the flags of Corneria and the space defense forces, commanding respect from all who approached it, though the pilot's gaze was quickly drawn away as he beheld the occupants of the room, one of whom he recognized immediately.
"Ensign Fox McCloud reporting as ordered sir," the vulpine stated crisply, clicking his heels together and doing his best to ignore the weight of his belongings, which felt like lead pulling against his shoulders as he stood at rigid attention. The owner of the desk, an imposing husky with sharply chiseled, well-defined features offered no verbal acknowledgement. Instead, he rose, advancing to stand only inches from the pilot's left ear. It was all Fox could do to keep staring straight ahead, his face expressionless as he felt the captain's eyes boring into him like laser scalpels. With agonizing slowness, the officer plodded around him in a tight circle, studying every detail until finally, he shook his head.
"He's just a boy," the canine scoffed. "Really General Pepper, you can't be serious!"
Fox stiffened, if that was even possible in his present position. He set his jaw, resolutely keeping his gaze on the trees through the window until addressed directly. Why did he get the feeling he wasn't going to like this assignment?
"Do I look like I'm joking," the general asked.
"But sir," protested the base commander, "he's fresh out of the academy and hasn't even a single mission under his belt. Perhaps someone with more experience?"
"Captain Kaminski," Pepper replied unsmilingly from his seat. "Ensign McCloud has my full confidence in his skills as a combat pilot. You wanted my recommendation did you not?"
"Yes sir, I did," Kaminski sighed. "But with all due respect, we need someone who can show us what this craft can really do—fly it to the very edge of the envelope. Frankly sir, in my opinion it would take someone at least ten years his senior."
Pepper rose to his feet slowly. "Captain," he said. "You and I both know that your first choice for this mission is...no longer an option. When you could find no suitable replacement under your command, you came to me. Fox will get the job done. You can either take him, or we can put one of the civilian pilots back in the cockpit and shelve this project right now. I doubt any of them have the skill or the stamina to fly the course you have chosen. Trust me," he said, placing one hand on the vulpine's shoulder. "Fox will get the job done."
Fox swallowed, the general's white glove feeling as heavy as a battle cruiser. What sort of enormous responsibility was he being called to accept? Who was the first choice for the mission, and why wasn't he available? He felt both privileged and flattered that General Pepper believed so strongly in his ability, but at the same time, he felt unsure of himself under Captain Kaminski's piercing gaze. He could barely feel his shoulders anymore.
"Very well," Kaminski grudgingly relented. "Since you've put it that way. Ensign McCloud," he barked, speaking to the pilot directly for the first time.
"Yes sir." Fox winced internally, wondering how much longer he could stand it before his muscles gave way.
"You will report to Lieutenant Jenkins immediately. Once you've settled into your quarters, I expect you to report to the holosimulator no later than 1600 hours." Shuffling back behind his desk, Kaminski frowned unpleasantly. "And by the way, let me make one think crystal clear kid...I have a very low tolerance for failure. Don't disappoint me."
"Rrrrrah," Fox grunted as he finally allowed his heavy bags to drop onto his mattress. Grimacing, he rolled his shoulders slightly, massaging one with a free hand as he glanced around the poorly lit quarters he would share with three other pilots, none of whom seemed to be around for the moment. Like all the other buildings, the barracks were definitely showing their age, dilapidated and smelling a bit musty from a barely functioning ventilation system. A set of closets was built into the walls, allowing room for a small table and chairs to occupy what little floor space existed, and the entirety of the ceiling was obscured by a vast network of pipes, branching this way and that as they disappeared into every bulkhead for parts unknown, fortunately just high enough for those in the top bunks to avoid accidentally hitting them in the morning. All things considered, it was definitely a step down from the academy. It reminded Fox of an aircraft carrier he had visited at the Museum of Naval History, a centuries old warship with even more Spartan accommodations than these. Back then, junior officers like him made do with little more than padded shelves. Oh well...it wasn't really the quarters that worried him. He had been in that office for close to half an hour, standing as stiff as a board while the husky grilled him on trivial knowledge such as zero-G bailout and basic combat maneuvers, bearing that deadweight the entire time. Such thinly veiled hostility--that was what worried him.
"Settling in?"
Fox swiveled an ear, turning to see General Pepper standing in the doorway. "Yes sir. Thank you sir," he said quietly.
"Good," the hound nodded, striding forward into the cramped room. "Ah, this looks familiar," he chuckled after surveyed his surroundings for a few moments. "Not much different from my first assignment Brings back memories." He gave Fox a wry smile, "Of course...that was way before you were born."
"Yes sir," Fox nodded. "You don't become a general in a week."
"No my boy, you don't," Pepper agreed. "Nor do you become a captain in a week. It takes years of experience, dedicated service, and the ability to make the difficult decisions that are the daily burden of command. When you reach Kaminski's age, I'm sure you'll know that firsthand."
Fox raised a brow. "General, about what happened back there—"
"Captain Kaminski is a fine officer," Pepper continued, cutting him off as he began to remove his white gloves. "Triple ace, tens of thousands of flight hours, and he was an instructor at the academy for several years before he came here to take charge of the Tenth Air Wing. Take it from me, he knows his pilots when he sees them, and he has the highest expectations of every last member of his squadrons. He knows your academy flight records were exemplary, but in his eyes, a pilot who has not tasted real battle is a rookie, worthy of little respect, and nothing, not even a recommendation from the Chairman of the Joint System Chiefs will convince him otherwise."
Fox took a breath, opening his mouth to protest for all he was worth, but the general's stony visage somehow made him think better of it. Exhaling softly, he nodded, lowering his gaze. "Yes sir. I don't question his judgment sir."
"See that you don't," Pepper nodded firmly. "But," his gaze softened after a moment, "In this particular instance, I believe he and I have a little difference of opinion." An odd smile played upon his lips as he shuffled toward the door, nodding down the corridor. "Come with me Junior. There's something I want to show you."
Fox blinked, tilting his head ever so slightly before following the general down the long hallway, out of the building, and across a long stretch of apparently unused, but well-kept runway toward a gargantuan set of hangars, seeming to be separated from the rest of the astrodrome. Now he was really confused, and enduring not a small amount of frustration as he trudged along, matching the pace of the hound's ambling gait. Why the hell wouldn't anyone give him a straight answer? Was that asking too much? Why was he here at all...on a base full of contradictions populated by people speaking in riddles and commanders with chips on their shoulders?
"Tell me Fox," Pepper asked, breaking into the vulpine's thoughts. "What have you heard about Arspace Dynamics lately?"
"Some rumors here and there," Fox replied, recalling the stack of aviation magazines packed among his belongings. "Word has it they're giving the Arwing prototypes their final pre-production shakedowns."
"Indeed," Pepper nodded. "If all goes well, they should make a fine addition to the defense air arm...provided that their engineers aren't exaggerating."
Fox's ears sprang forward. "With all due respect sir, I've read about the government contract requirements, and that's a huge understatement," he said excitedly. "That craft is a fighter pilot's dream. It's got at least twice the maximum speed, three times the range, and half the turning radius of the best frontline interceptors."
"Oh ho! I see you have been keeping up with it after all." Pepper smiled in amusement, leading the way through a small side door with a salute to the MPs standing guard, one on either side of the entrance. "Not that it surprises me," he remarked as their footsteps echoed on the hard metal floor. "You definitely take after James—head always in the clouds," the hound prodded gently.
"I guess so," Fox chuckled. "I'd give anything to take one up for a short hop," he thought aloud. What self-respecting fighter pilot wouldn't? Of course he knew that was an impossible dream. The prototypes were on the other side of the world at the Arspace Dynamics Donryu-Kitajima Proving Grounds. At least, that was where the last sightings had been reported.
"I'm sure you would," agreed General Pepper. After turning a corner, the hound paused in front of a heavy, reinforced door, labeled with bold, red letters. "RESTRICTED ACCESS," it said. "NO ENTRY PERMITTED." The general paid it little mind, gripping the durasteel handle firmly with one bare hand. No sooner had his fingers closed around the bar than a series of wide, blue beams passed over him from head to toe, leaping from tiny emitters embedded in the frame. A moment later, the sound of a heavy latch clanking open echoed from the interior room. "Well, here we are," said Pepper, the odd smile one again returning to his muzzle as he lead the way into the cavernous hangar. "You say it's a fighter pilot's dream do you? Well, what do you make of this?"
Fox stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily speechless as he found himself standing scarcely a dozen paces from the fuselage of a sleek, powerful interceptor. Its large wings were folded neatly against its body, and its twin tailfins, painted a prototype's ocean blue, bore the serial number ADFX-3. There was no mistaking it. It was an Arwing! "But—what is it doing here," he asked, unable to tear his gaze away.
"As you expected Junior, they're in final pre-production testing," General Pepper replied, replacing his white gloves. "Big Sky is remote, an ideal testing ground away from the public eye. Here we can put it through its paces without any disturbances—until we're ready to show it to the world."
Fox nodded. This was definitely the last place he would have expected to find such an advanced fighter. For that matter, the rest of the decaying base was little better than a communist relic from the industrial ages. Drawn like an iron filing to an enormous bar magnet, the young pilot slowly approached the imposing bird of prey, taking his time while he studied it from every angle. The cannon hard points were apparently sealed, pending weapons installation, but this did little to detract from the aura that radiated from the body of the Arwing. He placed his hand upon the nose, running his fingers across its cold, smooth, ablative armor. He bowed his head, ducking beneath the wide, swept wings. He examined the thrust vectored exhaust nozzle directly between the tails, its yawning mouth dark and silent, belying the awesome power of its plasma engine, but he didn't stop there. The inspection continued until the vulpine had covered practically every square inch of its body. It was truly breathtaking—a harmonious blending of strength and grace. One almost feared the sleeping raptor might suddenly spring to life and take flight, soaring into the heavens like the legendary phoenix, never to return to its concrete cage.
"Get your gear."
"Sir?" Fox blinked. For a moment he thought the general had actually told him to suit up.
"You hard of hearing," Pepper goaded from across the room. "Let's move it Fox!"
So it wasn't his imagination! A broad grin spread across his muzzle as the pieces of the puzzle finally came together. Was this the job of which the general had spoken? Was this the project that Kaminski guarded so jealously? Was he really going to pilot this machine? It definitely looked that way. "Yes sir!!" he exclaimed, feeling giddy with excitement as he rushed to obey. One thing was for certain. If he was dreaming, he never wanted to wake up.
In the space of only fifteen minutes, Fox found himself strapped firmly into the prototype's cockpit, hardly able to contain his excitement while he fastened his helmet straps tightly under his chin. He had logged thousands of flight hours over the academy and thousands more in the simulators, but this...this was different. This feeling—getting the chance to pilot this extraordinary craft—was like his first time all over again.
"You know," General Pepper remarked thoughtfully. "If this craft is too much for you to handle, we could always put you back in an ST-4."
"Not on your life sir!" The vulpine shot back.
"Just making sure you were awake," the hound chuckled, backing away as the whine of the Arwing's power plant shattered the tranquility of the hangar.
Sensing the presence of a pilot, the canopy descended smoothly into place while Fox maneuvered gently toward the daylight that streamed through the main doors from the early afternoon sun, hovering just above the tarmac as he examined the holographic displays and the controls. They were surprisingly intuitive, and most bore just enough resemblance to the SF-12 Corneria Fighter for him to take command with ease.
"Sun Visor, this is Echo One requesting clearance for takeoff."
"Echo One, this is Sun Visor," the primary tower responded after a few moments. "Permission granted. You are clear to proceed."
"All right," Fox grinned, eyeing the great, blue expanse of the open sky. "Let's rock and roll!" Opening up the throttle, he gasped as the sudden, unexpectedly forceful acceleration slammed him against the back of his seat, the several hundred thousand pounds of thrust behind him propelled the Arwing into a nearly vertical climb. The engine's deep, powerful roar reverberated like the sound of rolling thunder. Fox didn't just hear it—he felt the resonance deep within his chest, penetrating all the way to his very bones, and in the space of only a few seconds, he found himself at a commanding altitude high above the base as he leveled off near 15,000 feet.
"Incredible," he exclaimed, finding words at last. "I've never seen anything that could climb this fast!" Had he been shot out of a cannon? Adjusting his grip on the stick, he dipped his left wing, putting the craft into a shallow bank to survey the terrain far below. Besides the astrodrome and the single highway running parallel to the mountain range toward the distant horizon, there was almost no sign of civilization, save a single hamlet on the banks of Lake Caldwell and a few widely scattered houses on the edges of the government forest. The small combat air patrol was well off his six, headed in the opposite direction in standard formation over the airfields. Before him stretched thousands of acres of untouched wilderness and the wide-open airspace above it. He had plenty of room to work, but just to be safe he decided to put some extra distance between himself and base, opening the throttle more slowly and smoothly. The Arwing obeyed, this time gradually building up to Mach 6, its plasma exhaust growing brighter and brighter.
"Sun Visor to Echo One," came a voice over the comm. "Fox, this is General Pepper. Don't mess up that fighter on your first hop. I don't want any scratches on that paint."
"Don't worry sir," replied Fox. "I've got it all under control."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Pepper said, an edge of firmness creeping into his tone. "Remember, you don't own that plane—the Cornerian people do. Be reasonable Fox."
"I copy sir," Fox assured him. "Not a scratch." He glanced down at his instruments before making a quick visual confirmation of his surroundings. There were no other aircraft in sight. He was indeed alone. "Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "Let's see what this prototype can really do!" With a flick of his wrists, he sent the craft spinning through a rolling scissors maneuver, wincing as the resulting g-forces pressed him down into his seat. Tightening his turn radius with each pass, the vulpine carried himself forward into a split S, inverting and climbing downward to regain his momentum.
"Not bad! Not bad at all!!"
Punching the throttle wide open, he streaked toward the nearby, snowcapped peak of Mount Armstrong, only to barrel roll at the last second and pull away at a sharp angle, doing three complete 360 degree rotations without stalling the craft and still missing the rock face with a hundred meters to spare. It was more than just 'not bad.' It was astounding. The Arwing's agility surpassed even his wildest dreams. Its large wings constantly pivoted back and forth with the sudden changes in velocity, their minute adjustments always maintaining an optimum sweep angle, and even the slightest pressure on the controls delivered immediate response. Adding to that the state-of-the-art composite materials, and it felt lighter than a feather. He could get used to this! Chaining together maneuver after maneuver like a gymnast on a high bar, the fighter danced like a top in Fox's hands, heaven and earth exchanging places again and again, faster and faster.
"Yeeeeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!" He whooped, plummeting toward the earth at top speed before heaving the stick back and pulling up, nearly brushing the tops of the trees as he arched out of the dive. That was pushing it. His g-suit hissed like an angry cobra as it struggled to keep pace with the acrobatics, greater and greater demands being placed upon it with every passing second. "Gaaaaaagggh!" The vulpine gritted his teeth, the strain on his body threatening to rob him of his consciousness, but he didn't care. He was enjoying himself far too much. In fact, he actually relished this sensation, the one he felt in the pit of his stomach when the world around him shifted to varying shades of gray. This exhilaration only came from testing his limits, challenging the sky as he soared through the clouds on eagle's wings. He was alive! This was how it felt to truly live! It would make a transport pilot hurl, but to Fox McCloud, things couldn't get any better.
"Echo One, this is Sun Visor!"
They could however, get worse. The voice over the comm was made of ice, and Fox, abruptly jerked out of his revelry by its stinging rebuke, recognized it instantly as Kaminski's. "This is Echo One," he answered, returning to level flight and bracing himself. Where was General Pepper?
"McCloud, you have just five minutes to put that bird on the ground and get your ass down in my office," Kaminski said ominously. "In case you haven't noticed, that's a multi-billion sanpon craft in your hands, not a toy for you to pull stunts with. Get back here on the double, or I'll make sure you never fly again. Do we understand each other?"
Fox swallowed, ears flattening beneath his helmet. "Yes sir," he replied, banking hard right and heading straight back toward the astrodrome. "We understand each other." He suddenly felt deflated again. Given his last meeting with the husky scarcely a couple of hours ago, he hated to imagine getting chewed out for heaven knew how long.
"I certainly hope so for your sake kid." The commander's voice could have frozen molten lava. "Five minutes! Sun Visor out."
Fox groaned. Somehow he doubted his survival would depend on his ability to pilot the Arwing. Rather, it would depend on whether or not he could measure up to his CO's standards. Was that even possible? No, he wasn't going to ask such a stupid question. Of course it was possible! He'd been through worse situations before, and he'd find a way through this one too...even if it killed him. However, he earnestly hoped it wouldn't have to come to that.