"All right kids, time for you to head on home," Mike called as he dried and put away the final empty glass. "It's past your bedtime."
"Aw, c'mon Dad…just five more minutes. I'm not sleepy a'tall," Fox drawled, rising to his feet with an uncharacteristic snicker. "I'm notta kid anymore ya know!" Funny…the usually dim interior of the cantina seemed much too bright all of a sudden, and the floor felt a lot less solid under his feet as he ambled toward the register, his newfound amphibian companion in tow. He fumbled for his credit chip, only to discover his shirt pocket was empty. What the hell? Oh yeah…he'd left it on the table. Grinning sheepishly, he retraced his steps with the slightest bit of unsteadiness in his gait. Yep…there was no doubt about it. He'd had too much to drink, and while his senses were considerably dulled as a result, it was more so his impaired judgment that presented a problem…both to himself and the rest of the world.
Mike frowned, watching the young pilot return to the bar. Taking the chip from his customer's extended hand, he scanned it quickly before leveling a hard glance at the unnaturally cheerful vulpine. "You sure you'll be all right getting back," he asked. "Your friend looks okay, but you sir, are drunk, and it's partly my fault. I should have pulled the plug on you a long time ago."
Fox laughed, staring back at Mike through clouded eyes. "Will I be all right? Will I be all right? I fly star fighters for a livin'! Ya think I can't handle a twenty minute walk old man?" Honestly, he'd never heard something so ridiculous in his entire life. Sure he'd overdone it, but that didn't mean he couldn't walk straight…enough.
"I'm sure you can," Mike said unsmilingly, "when you're sober. I'd call a taxi, but there aren't any in these parts."
"I toldja I'm fine," Fox protested. "Don't worry 'bout it…I gotta straight shot back t'base and a friend with me t'boot," he said, draping an arm around Slippy, who nearly lost his balance under the unexpected weight. "What could happ'n?"
"A lot could happen," the Labrador replied. "I'd walk you two back myself, but I have to take care of something tonight. You be careful out there."
"We will," Slippy replied, glancing uneasily at Fox, who by this time had pushed open the screen door and had rambled into the street in another fit of drunken laughter. "Don't worry sir…I'll make sure we get home."
"See that you do," Mike nodded. "This shouldn't have happened…not on my watch at least." Reaching beneath the bar, he quickly located a hypodermic dispenser unit and an antidote package. "You give him a shot of this if he gets unmanageable," he said. "But be there to give him a hand. It'll hit like a ton of bricks when he comes back down."
"Hey slowpoke, what's takin' ya so long," Fox called, beckoning with one arm. "Let's go!" Why was everything so funny all of a sudden? He began to chuckle again, feeling silly, but at the same time he couldn't have cared less. Flushed and feeling warm all over, he undid the top few buttons of his collar as his mind swam in a turbulent sea of giddiness. He glanced at his watch blearily, noting that it was 2317 hours. That gave him...oh damn, what was sixty minus seventeen again? Sixty minus seventeen…sixty minus seventeen…why wouldn't his brain work! Ah, it wasn't important anyway. They'd have plenty of time to walk back up the hill to the base before everything was locked down for the night. As to how he was going to clear the checkpoints in his state of intoxication…well, he hadn't thought that far ahead yet.
"Sorry about that Fox," Slippy piped, hurrying down the stairs. "I'm ready whenever you are."
"I was born ready," declared Fox, laughing as he started off on the gently sloping, deserted street. Home was just over the hill, the lights of the airfield giving the eastern sky a faint glow, almost like the first hints of dawn. His boots thudded dully on the pavement, but despite his outward appearance, and the fact that he should have been completely exhausted after a full day of maneuvering trials with no real food, he somehow didn't mind the hike all that much. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was the alcohol. He couldn't be sure. "Hey Slippy," he said, glancing to the frog. "What were ya talkin' 'bout with Mike back there?"
"Oh nothing," Slippy replied. "He just gave me something for you if the alcohol was too much to handle. You want some?"
"Hell naw!" Fox growled, shoving the hypo away. "What is this, a doctor's office? How many times do I have t'say it…I'm fine!"
"Honestly Fox, I hate to admit it…but you're not fine," said Slippy. "That was some pretty powerful stuff you were drinking, and I don't claim to know you well, but your personality has really changed in just a couple of hours."
"Yeah," Fox asked, stopping and swaying ever so slightly. "How's that?"
"You're laughing one minute, angry the next, confused, and then back to laughing again." Slippy sighed. "I can't predict what you'll do next. Maybe it's because—"
"Mebbe it's because ya just don't know me very well," interrupted Fox. "Look, if you don't wanna walk with me, that's fine! I can get home myself okay? If I need yer help, I'll ask for it." With that, he turned about and resumed climbing the hill at a brisk pace.
"N-no, wait a s-sec," Slippy protested. "I..." He glanced nervously behind him before scurrying after Fox as fast as he could.
---
"Fox, are you sure this the way back," Slippy asked. "The base is that way."
"'Course I'm sure," Fox replied. "This is a shortcut."
"I don't know," Slippy croaked, eyeing the graffiti covered brick walls of the dark alleyway. "This place gives me the creeps. Do you know where we are?"
"Sure," Fox smirked. "We're...right here." Was this a dead end? He could have sworn he had taken that left turn awhile back…but if that was the case, why was he standing face-to-face with the back of an unfamiliar, abandoned building, its third story windows long since shattered by vandals. It was definitely not the place for any sane, law-abiding individual to be wandering about in the middle of the night.
"Ohhhhh," Slippy groaned. "I told you this wasn't a good idea! We should go back."
"Nah, wait just a second," Fox said, rubbing his eyes and stifling a hiccup. "I can figure this out. Lemme think for a minute." He tried to get his bearings, searching his foggy brain for answers, but he could find none. His neurons simply refused to work properly. How could anyone get lost in this one-horse town? "Gaaaaaah," he yelled, placing his hands over his head and yanking great handfuls of fur in exasperation. "I am so drunk!" Could he really be the same guy who set a new orienteering record as a first year cadet back at the academy?
"So you finally admit it huh," Slippy sighed. "Come on…let's get back to the main road. All right?"
"Huh," Fox blinked, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear it. "What were we talkin' 'bout?"
"I said, let's go home!" Slippy repeated, tugging at the vulpine's sleeve.
"You ain't going nowhere," came a surly, all too familiar voice from behind. Stepping out of the shadows, his silhouette dimly visible against the night sky, was Nick…and he wasn't alone. Flanked by Spike, Tony, and two new thugs, he and his men were blocking off the alley entrance, the only possible means of escape. "Well, well, well," he grinned, swaggering toward the two hapless individuals, cornered with their backs to the wall. "What have we here? A fox…and his bodyguard."
"N-n-now j-just a m-m-minute," Slippy stammered, hastily scooting behind Fox. "We d-d-didn't do any-anything w-wrong. P-p-please—"
"Shaddup Froggy," Nick snapped. "You ain't the one I want." Cracking his knuckles, he glared at the drunken fighter pilot. "But you asshole…you and I have some unfinished business."
"Oh yeah," Fox snorted, stumbling forward to stand toe-to-toe with the gangster. "Ya wanna piece of me!" Boy was this guy asking for it! Asshole? Calling him an asshole! He had some nerve with big talk like that…and bringing a ragtag bunch of morons for backup? He should deck the guy on principle! "Ya wanna fight or somethin'!"
"F-f-fox," Slippy gulped, visibly shaking. "There are f-f-five of them this t-time. W-we c-c-can't win."
"And what if I do," Nick sneered. "You wouldn't last a minute against me pretty boy…so how's about we make a deal. You and the frog hand over your credit chips, and we'll forget this whole thing ever happened…"
"Seems a'ight," Fox replied, voice heavy with sarcasm. "But I got a better one…you and ya boys get the hell outta my way, and I won't break yer jaw!"
Nick ground his teeth. "This ain't gonna be like last time you little shit! Hand over those chips, or you can spend the next six months breathing through a tube!"
Slippy cringed, tugging on the vulpine's sleeve. "F-Fox! We s-s-should l-listen t-t-to him. Y-y-you c-c-can't beat th-them all!"
"Sure I can," said Fox, snatching away his arm. "Trust me…"
"Oooh, trust me," Nick repeated in a mocking, high-pitched falsetto. "C'mon pretty boy…take your best shot! I'll have you running home to your daddy! Why dontcha get Daddy to teach ya howta fight huh? You're all talk! You ain't got the balls t—"
It happened so suddenly that even Fox found himself taken aback. By the time he realized what was happening, his fist had already completed its arc, and Nick was sprawled on his back, reeling from the force of the blow. There was a moment of shocked silence as the gang leader struggled to his feet, eyes blazing with murderous intent. "By the time I'm finished with you," the Doberman snarled, "you be begging me to put an end to your suffering. Get him boys!"
"Bring it!" Fox taunted, beckoning provocatively with his right hand. "Who's next?" With a howl of rage that sent Slippy diving behind a dumpster for cover, the four thugs charged forward, eager to avenge their injured boss. Fox waited. As Spike closed to tackle him to the ground, he stepped aside, delivering a sharp kick to the back of the enemy's knee, causing him to land hard on the concrete. Wasting no time, he caught the punch of another thug, though as he pivoted and threw the attacker over one shoulder, he became aware that his form was much, much sloppier that usual. He felt strangely…off balance. It was then that Tony's fist caught him squarely in the jaw, blanking out his vision in a burst of white light and a crashing wave of pain as he staggered backward. Gritting his teeth, he managed to shake it off, his left arm darting upward to block a follow-up jab…just barely in time! Aiming for the fourth attacker, his left boot shot out, missing completely. What was wrong with him? Apparently the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream was affecting his fighting ability as well, severely retarding his usually smooth hand-to-hand skills and his ability to read his opponents' movements. Worst of all, he knew Slippy was right. Deep inside, a small voice of reason was struggling to be heard, screaming at him to listen…to realize he was outnumbered five-to-one, that he had jumped into this brawl without a second thought, that he could only keep this up for so long, and that eventually they would wear him down. Then he would be theirs! He should retreat now! But then again, that small voice of reason was drowning in a torrent of liquor, swept beneath the waves again and again as louder, more insistent voices goaded him to fight…to teach these no-good low-lives a lesson in manners.
"Haaaaaaagh!"
Fox whirled around, grunting as another punch hit home, nearly knocking the wind out of him. Swallowing hard, he managed to duck another blow, sinking his own knuckles into the canine's stomach, adding a roundhouse elbow and a sharp jab into his enemy's jaw. Gasping for breath, he cursed himself internally for taking the hit. If he were in top form, he wouldn't have been suckered by such a clumsy strike in the first place! After all, he was a soldier, and these were common street punks. A powerful snap kick felled a resurgent Nick, a leopard's heel to the face halted another run by Spike, and after narrowly dodging a beer bottle thrown by Tony, he found he had outmaneuvered the thugs by sheer luck, ending up with a clear shot at the exit.
"Fox!" Slippy shouted, emerging from his hiding place. "We're in the clear! Let's run for it!"
"Run? Hell naw!" Fox scoffed, wiping away some blood with his forearm as the bandits regrouped around their leader. "These bastards pick'd a fight with us! You think I'm gonna let 'em off that easy?"
"Fox," Slippy pleaded. "Get a grip already! We're dead meat if we stay any longer! Let's go while we still can!"
"Dunno what yer talkin' 'bout," the pilot slurred, panting as he beckoned the infuriated gangsters once again. "This party's just gettin' started!"
"You're hurt!"
"I'm just fine," Fox declared. "Ya wanna run…go right ahead! I'm not stoppin' ya!"
"I'M GONNA KILL HIM!" Nick bellowed, charging forward.
Fox met him head-on, blocking one punch, then another, and another! The thug was admittedly a tough opponent, but his attacks relied solely on brute force, lacking any semblance of thought and minimal skill. Catching an opening in the Doberman's guard, he nailed his opponent with a powerful uppercut and finished with a sweep to the left knee. "Ya really do stink—augh," he grimaced as Tony cut-off in mid-sentence. "Hurgh!" He coughed as Spike nailed him in the gut.
"I'm sorry Fox," Slippy sighed, pulling the hypo from his pocket. "But this is for your own good. If this is the only way you'll listen to reason…" he trailed off. After watching Fox narrowly bring his attackers' new offensive to a halt with a flurry of well-placed punches, kicks, and throws, the mechanic started forward, aiming for the back of the vulpine's neck.
"Is that all," Fox gasped, feeling worn out, but not giving a damn. "And ya call yourselves a gang?" He laughed, tasting a trickle of warm, salty blood as it dripped from his muzzle onto his tongue. He never saw Slippy coming. Abruptly something cold and metallic pressed against his throat, followed by a sharp hiss. "What the—" He swayed, nearly losing his balance as the medicine took effect, his vision blacking out for several seconds. "What's…happening?" It was as if his entire body had turned to lead. He felt heavy, oh so heavy, and his head ached, the pain throbbing with every heartbeat like a sledgehammer.
It was like a hangover, with all the agony compressed into an intense few moments. Unfortunately, it was all the thugs needed. Sensing Fox's moment of vulnerability, they were upon him in the blink of an eye. By the time his head had cleared, he found himself held fast by Spike and the two junior members of the gang, immobile and against the side of the alley. "Well, how do you like it now," the voice of reason scolded him, freed at last from the shackles of intoxication. "You're in over your head now. Stupid! So stupid!" He struggled to free himself, but his struggles were in vain, as Nick, nursing a cracked jawbone, clenched his fists in rage.
"I'm going to enjoy watching you plead for mercy," the gangster snickered. "But I doubt I'll be listening."
Fox saw the Doberman's fist coming, but this time, he could do nothing about it. Setting his jaw, he emptied his lungs and braced for the punch. It didn't help much. With all the fury behind it, the guy could have almost punched through durasteel. "Guuuh!" He winced, absorbing the full force of the blow to his gut.
"This is for my busted arm asswipe!" Tony spat as he followed his boss, dealing Fox another crushing blow. Struggling to get his breath, he strained against his captors.
"Save some for us boss," Spike grinned, his iron grip tight around the pilot's boots.
"You'll get yer turn," Nick smiled sadistically. "There's plenty of fun for everybody!"
"Errrgh! Gaaah! Uuuoggh!" Fox squeezed his eyes shut as the thugs continued to use him as their punching bag, slugging him to their hearts' content. If only he could last long enough…maybe until they switched off…perhaps he could struggle free? But he doubted he would have any strength left by then.
"HAH-HAH-HAH," Nick roared with laughter. "Where's your big talk now, eh foxie? What was that again? 'This party's just gettin' started?' Hah! It certainly is for me!"
"Guhaaaagh!" Fox coughed, the canines' fists striking home again and again. Where in the world was Slippy? Slippy? Naturally the vulpine hadn't expected much help from him from the beginning, but if he was free, perhaps he could get to the police before….before…
"So, how does it feel pretty boy," Nick leered, leaning in as he gripped Fox's muzzle roughly. "Nobody crosses me and gets away with it. You made a big mistake when you stuck up for that spineless—GUH!" The canine suddenly collapsed as something exploded over his head in a shower of brown glass. Almost simultaneously, Tony was joining him, out cold. Behind them stood Slippy, holding the necks of two broken beer bottles, looking almost as dumbfounded as the three gangsters who still held onto Fox.
"Wow, it actually worked," the amphibian exclaimed.
"You little bastard!"
Fox felt Spike's hold loosen as he started for Slippy. Summoning what was left of his strength, he managed to slam a boot into the ribs of the thug who was pinning his right arm. As he felt it come free, he hurled a punch into the thug on his left. Staggering forward, he made for Spike, who was almost within attacking range of the practically defenseless mechanic, but he was hurting very badly at this point, and Spike, hearing the cries of his companions, whirled around to face the fighter pilot.
Fox groaned internally, forced to defend himself again. Spike's back was to Slippy. With the exception of the beer bottles, the gangster had obviously written him off as nothing more than a liability in a fistfight. If only the mechanic would do something now, while two of the thugs lay unconscious, and the other two were still recovering from his unexpected counterattack, they might be able to make a break for the main road.
"Oh no ya don't!" Spike growled. He struck quickly. Fox managed to block his first punch with the back of his forearm, but the second caught him on the side of the head, and he was nearly down for the count, falling to his knees. It wasn't the alcohol anymore. By now the medication had reacted with every stray molecule his liver had failed to metabolize, but he had taken quite a beating in the meantime and was all but spent.
"Get up!" Spike demanded. "We ain't done yet!" He gripped Fox by the lapels, hauling him back to his feet as he brought his fist back to strike another blow. However, just as he was about to nail the vulpine between the eyes, his grip loosened with a howl of pain. Amazingly, Slippy had worked up enough courage to strike…right in the canine's already injured knee! "Son of a bitch!" The gangster cursed, rolling onto his back with his feet in the air, cradling his busted leg. That was three down…two to go.
Fox wobbled and dropped to the ground once more, closing his eyes. He had lost the alcohol's retarding effects on his brain, and while he felt pain searing through every muscle in his body, he bore it gladly. A more potent weapon was once again at his disposal…guile, and he needed more than a little to deal with the remaining two thugs, who were in far better shape despite their own bumps and bruises.
"Don't just stand there," Spike bawled to the remaining two bandits. "Get 'em for me!"
Fox heard the dogs advancing toward him. Eyes still closed, he fought to keep his ears absolutely still, despite their instinctive desire to prick and swivel to better hear the enemy's approach. "Don't mind me," he thought, "I'm out cold." He was scraping the bottom of the barrel, asking his battered body for one final spurt of energy. He could only hope that it would be enough.
"On your feet," yelled one of the bandits, yanking the pilot off the pavement. "C'mon!"
"That's right," Fox said to himself. "I'm completely defenseless. Come a little closer…good boy."
"Hey Spike," the thug frowned, staring at the vulpine carefully. "This guy…looks like it's lights out for him."
"Do I hafta spell out everything for you dimwits," Spike howled. "You…finish off that frog, and you, make sure that one wakes up with a headache…IF he wakes up!"
"Y-y-you s-sure we c-c-c-can't t-talk ab-b-bout t-this," Slippy stuttered, backpedaling toward the mouth of the alley.
"C'mere ya pansy," the other gangster chortled, clutching his side. "Without him to protect ya, you're nothin'!"
"I'm gonna have to time this just right if I don't want to sneeze my brain out of my nose," Fox thought, reaching out as much as he could with his other senses while keeping his eyes closed and his face expressionless. He felt the guy holding him getting ready to bash in his muzzle from the shifting of his weight, and the slight increase in pressure of the gripping fist against his chest. It was now or never. "HUAAAH!" A kiyai tore from his lungs as his eyes flew open and he aimed his boot for the back of the enemy's right knee, onto which most of his weight had been shifted. It struck true! Before the surprised canine knew what was happening, he was prone with Fox's other boot quickly robbing him of consciousness.
"What the—" the other gangster started.
"Think fast!" Fox called as he reached into his pocked and sent his credit chip arcing toward the enemy. Being greedy, his opponent instantly forgot all else, his gaze transfixed on the silver wafer as it tumbled end over end back toward the earth—his mistake. Pivoting sharply, the pilot shifted his weight back onto his left leg and swung the other in a high roundhouse, sending his opponent roughly into the unyielding sidewall of the alley. He wouldn't be waking up for awhile.
"Uuuogh!" Fox cried out, sinking to his knees with his hands to his stomach. He felt awful…like every bone and sinew had been pulled through a meat grinder. Blood continued to flow freely from various cuts all over his body, tangling his fur in dirty, matted clumps. What an ending this was to the worst day of his life…thus far at least.
"Fox!" Slippy dashed over as fast as his short legs would carry him. Fortunately, he managed to catch the vulpine before he landed face first on the concrete, his large eyes wide with concern. "Are you all right?"
"Do I look like I'm all right," Fox chuckled dryly, his voice rough, but his speech clear once more. "I'll live," he nodded after a moment. "But I think I'd better get patched up first thing in the morning when the medics are on duty."
"That's a good idea," agreed Slippy. "Let's get back to base while we can manage."
"Yeah." Fox grimaced, fighting a fresh wave of pain as he somehow dragged himself back onto his feet. "Hey Slip," he said, sucking in a sharp breath as he tried out his legs. "I'm sorry to do this, but I'm gonna need your help to get back."
"Sure thing," the mechanic nodded. "After all, you saved my skin!" Reaching down, he snagged Fox's credit chip from its resting place on the pavement and moved to assist the pilot.
"Maybe," said Fox. "But I also got us into a tight spot with this 'shortcut.'" Placing his left arm over Slippy for support, he gasped as the frog almost dropped him. Oh well. It seemed he'd have to shoulder most of his own weight after all. Ignoring Spike's parting curses and cries of agony, the two managed to slowly but surely make their way back to the street, one step at a time, and down the sidewalk toward the first of many checkpoints on the base perimeter.
"Slippy?"
"Yeah?"
"I really should have listened to you." The vulpine sighed. "I've never been afraid of a fight…never will be. But I usually pick 'em a lot better than that, and I'm sorry you had to get dragged into it."
"Fox…"
"I had a rotten day from the moment I got out of bed," the fighter pilot continued. "Heh…I guess it took getting plastered and having the shit beaten out of me to figure out just how bad I really felt." He shook his head, wincing as they picked up the pace a bit in a crosswalk, the flashing signal warning them that they had only a few seconds left to reach the other side. "But that doesn't excuse what I did at the canteen tonight or picking a fight with those thugs."
"Well," Slippy said, pausing as they regained the sidewalk. "They had it in for us anyway. If it wasn't then, it might have happened sooner or later. Maybe now they'll think we're more trouble than we're worth and just leave us alone." The mechanic reached into his pocket, fingering the empty hypodermic dispenser. "If anyone needs to apologize, it's me. If I hadn't given you this when I did, they wouldn't have pounded you like that."
"If you hadn't given it to me, I would have kept fighting until I was spent, and the result would have been mostly the same," countered Fox. "I may have saved your neck, but you saved mine too." He managed a weak smile, "That's what friends do…even those who've just met."
"Thanks Fox," Slippy beamed as they resumed walking once more. "I really needed that. To tell you the truth, until tonight…I didn't have any friends."
"Get outta here," Fox blinked. "Everyone's got a friend somewhere."
"I'm serious," said Slippy. "I have no hobbies besides my work, I can't get a date to save my life, and I'm more than a little clumsy."
"You also know more about servicing an Arwing than I ever will…even if I'm the one flying it," replied Fox. "Nobody's perfect. Just give it some time…you'll make more friends before too long. I'm sure of it."
"I hope so," said Slippy. "I sure don't want to go back to the North Star all by myself anymore."
"We'll go together next time," Fox promised. "I wouldn't mind the company. Oh yeah, and despite what happened tonight, I want you to know I don't make it a habit of drowning my troubles in drink. All that gets you is a five-alarm hangover and an empty pocket when you wake up in the morning. Doesn't solve a damn thing." He was pretty sure he'd barely have enough left on his credit chip to eat properly until Friday, and of course, his problems remained. He just had to figure out how he was going to deal with them. It wasn't going to be easy, but then again, that wasn't why he was wearing this uniform.
"No, it doesn't," Slippy agreed. "But if you ask me, a good night's sleep would help a lot."
"Yeah," Fox nodded. "You can say that again." He was more than eager to put this all behind him, and start over again with the rising sun. Things would look better tomorrow. He sighed and set his mind at ease, drawing some comfort from the fact that he was not the only one. Everyone had days like this…even Captain Kaminski.
---
"What happened to you?" Nurse Sanada frowned, eyes fixed on her scanner as she waved its sensor baton back and forth over the injured pilot on the diagnostic bed.
"I'd rather not talk about it," replied Fox.
"Let me guess…a stray gorbal jumped out of the bushes and clawed your face, you lost your footing, rolled down a hill, landed hard on your stomach, cracked your jaw on the asphalt, and got run over by a delivery boy on a hover bike" the vixen prodded.
"That's exactly what happened," Fox grinned broadly. "Damn, you're good."
"I know," she smiled coyly. "On the other hand, maybe you were out drinking and had a little too much fun, eh flyboy?"
"Okay, you got me," Fox admitted. The likeliest explanation was also the most obvious.
"Mmm-hmm…thought so," Sanada chuckled. "You should know better than to try pulling one over on me. You're not the first case I've seen, and I have a feeling you won't be the last."
"Ah, then you must know just how to fix me up," Fox winked.
"Mmmaybe." The nurse studied her scanner. "You flyboys are all the same…always getting into trouble and leaving us to patch you up when it's over," she teased. "The good news is I can repair most of the damage, and I can give you 20 ccs of Ascetalproplylene for the pain, but I'll need you to keep your feet on the ground for at least twenty-four hours just to be on the safe side. You can get a release from the flight surgeon."
"Gotcha," said Fox.
"This may hurt a little," the medic cautioned, reaching for a deep tissue regenerator. "But it won't last long. Hold still…"
Fox nodded, bracing himself. A set of crosshairs appeared on his white-furred abdomen, accompanied by a severe cramping and burning sensation as the cells beneath the penetrating beam rapidly divided, knitting torn muscles and damaged tissues back together. He winced softly, bearing it in silence.
"So, you're not going to tell me how you got all these bruises," Sanada asked. "Not even a hint?"
"It's a long story," said Fox.
"It's not like you're going anywhere for a few minutes," observed the vixen.
Fox nodded. "I suppose not…but if we're going to hear a story, I'd much rather hear yours."
"Oh really?" Sanada chuckled. "Well then ensign, shall I start at the beginning…as far back as I can remember?"
"Maybe not that far back," said Fox. "How about…what made you decide to join the defense forces and practice medicine?"
"Well, that's a new one," the nurse remarked. "I guess part of it was looking after my little brothers while I was growing up. Mom and Dad were at work during the day, and they were always coming back home with a skinned knee or a bee sting or something for me to work on."
"I see," Fox nodded. It sounded a lot like him as a kit, always playing outdoors, always insatiably curious, and quite frequently paying for it later with a host of minor childhood injuries. "They must've kept you busy."
The vixen rolled her eyes. "You have no idea." However, a playful twinkle betrayed the fact that those memories weren't altogether unpleasant. "Then when I got into high school," she continued, "I was offered a scholarship by the defense ministry to pay for medical school…in exchange for a short tour of duty once I graduated, and here I am."
"Ah, so you're still serving it huh?" Fox asked.
"Nope," Sanada shook her head. "Expired not that long ago, but I intend to stay on for awhile, at least until I make full lieutenant. True, it'll be tougher than a civilian job, but I like a good challenge." She seemed quite pleased with herself. "Besides, it'll look great on my record if I ever do want to work in some municipal hospital later on."
"Your career must be very important to you," said Fox. Suddenly, his jade-green eyes took on a mischievous glint. "But somehow, I doubt your record is why you're still here."
"Oh?" That got her attention all right. "And why would that be ensign?"
"Well," Fox paused, as if to collect his thoughts. "Isn't it because you still enjoy patching up cuts and scrapes for boys who've had a little too much fun?" He grinned, quirking his brows playfully. "Aaaagh—"
"Whoops," Sanada smirked. "My finger must've slipped a tad…sorry about that."
"No problem," Fox replied, clearing his throat. Ri-i-ght, how could anyone slip with a targeting control that steady?
"Now, let me take a look at that jaw," said the vixen, reaching for a much smaller, higher precision instrument. "I'll need you to keep it as still as you can, okay?"
"You bet," replied Fox, sitting up straight and tall while she peered at the crack in the bone through a small eyepiece, working the narrow beam back and forth over the affected area. Unable to make conversation, the pilot allowed his eyes to wander over the confines of the relatively small room. However, he found little here to distract him…just a handful of cutaway diagrams of the body's inner workings, a recruitment poster or two for the medical corps, and an assortment of instruments stowed neatly in containers or on shelves until they were needed again. More often than not, he found his gaze settling on the pretty nurse in front of him, though he tried not to stare too much. Didn't want to make her uncomfortable while she was repairing that fissure.
"All right, you can relax now." Sanada nodded, folding the probe and putting it away. "Once the flight surgeon gives you a release form, you're free to go."
"So am I right?"
"Huh?" She tilted her head, ears flicking ever so slightly.
"You never answered my question," Fox said slyly. "Isn't that the real reason you're still here?"
Sanada opened her mouth to answer, but at the last moment she stopped herself, a strange smile tugging at her muzzle. "Like I said, you flyboys are all alike." With that, the vixen turned and headed off in search of her next patient.
Fox grinned, shaking his head as he slipped his shirt back over his shoulders, followed by his uniform top and his cap. Oh well…that question would have to remain unanswered for the moment. In the meantime, he had to pay a visit to the hangar.
---
"You're late!" Kaminski frowned, glancing at his watch as Fox strode through the heavy door onto the expansive metal floor of the cavernous room.
"Yes sir," replied Fox. "I'm sorry sir." It mattered not that he was less than a minute overdue, but he didn't feel like protesting now. The sooner they got down to business, the sooner it would be over, and he sure as hell didn't want to endure the husky's icy presence one minute longer than absolutely necessary.
"I'm sure you are," Kaminski sniffed. "Here," he said, holding a large pad out to the young airman. "These are the details of the final test flight tomorrow."
Fox took the panel from his CO's extended hand, tapping its surface as his eyes quickly skimmed over the briefing material. It was another set of maneuvering trials, minus weapons testing this time. Maybe the engineers had enough data to chew on, despite his "unsatisfactory" handling yesterday. It suddenly occurred to him that this would all look very shoddy on his record when he was up for reassignment, especially if Kaminski had anything to do with recommendations.
"G-diffuser system?" An unfamiliar word caught his eye. Standing out boldly from the rest of the page, it demanded his attention.
"Yes," the canine nodded. "It's being installed right now."
Fox peered over Kaminski's shoulder toward the middle of the room, noticing for the first time the odd piece of equipment secured in an antigrav harness beneath the Arwing prototype's belly. Surrounded by a dozen mechanics, it was gradually being lifted into its final resting position, partially obscured by two sets of open ventral hull plates.
"As the name implies, it works to counteract the effects of g-forces on a pilot's body during flight," the base commander explained. "That translates into tighter turns and quicker maneuvers that are otherwise unendurable, and unless I've been mislead, which I'm sure I haven't, that little contraption should generate almost three times the protection of the best g-suits we have available. Should be a comfortable ride, eh McCloud?"
Fox pricked his ears slightly. Did he detect a slightly condescending tone in the captain's voice?
"But that's no reason for you to get out of shape!" Kaminski barked. "With that extra cushioning in place, we're gonna be putting you through some very demanding maneuvers to see just how much stress you and that bird can handle! Be sure you memorize the flight plan," he said, his voice suddenly dropping off again. "Yesterday was tiring wasn't it? I'm not spending another twelve hours on that platform watching you screw around. You'll either do it right the first time, or you won't do it at all. There will be no second chances. Are we clear?"
"Yes sir," Fox enunciated crisply, his teeth showing visibly despite himself as he formed the words, practically biting them into existence. "We are perfectly clear."
"Excellent." The base commander returned his attention to the prototype, his stony visage difficult to read. "I'll expect you on the flight line no later than 0800 tomorrow morning. Dismissed."
Fox turned and gladly departed from his CO's presence, clutching the data pad in his left hand. However, despite his best efforts, Kaminski remained on his mind for the rest of the day, his words weighing so heavily that he felt the husky was still with him…even at the remotest corners of the base, where he sought some measure of solitude in which to go over the details of the run.
"You'll either do it right the first time, or you won't do it at all. There will be no second chances."
Again and again the captain's words echoed in his thoughts. No second chances. There would be no second chances. Worse was the fact that his CO's definition of "doing it right" was quite different from his own and frankly…rather extreme. It was not that he ever set low standards for himself or reveled in sloppiness, but…what was it going to take…short of an absolutely flawless performance?
"Damn," he cursed. Well, if it were a flawless performance or else…a flawless performance it would be.
---
Arise brave defenders, and heed the trumpet's call!
Arise brave defenders, and heed the trumpet's call!
To arms! To arms! For blessed Freedom, mother to us all!
Make haste brave defenders, and heed the trumpet's call!Fox groaned, eyes cracking open to the sound of the familiar morning call. Was it 0500 hours already? He hated everything about this march: its simplistic words, its repetitive melody, and most of all, the way it struck like a thunderclap from the loudspeakers with each and every sunrise, seizing his unwilling mind from its resting place and violently yanking, ripping, tearing it from the blissful depths of sleep. Well, there was no use in hiding from it. Morning had come, and like it or not, today was the day.
Drawing back the covers, he vaulted over the side of his bunk onto the cold, tile floor below, and almost immediately, his body began to run on autopilot. It knew the drill quite well. After the obligatory stretching of his stiff muscles, it was a cold shower, a quick grooming, brushing his teeth, donning his uniform, and heading to the mess hall for breakfast, just as he did every day. He rarely paid the routine any mind. After all, there was very little thought involved, but today it wasn't because he was still half asleep or stuck in a rut. On the contrary, he was wide-awake, thought intensely focused on the flight plan as he mentally rehearsed it again and again.
To the untrained eye, it would not have looked all that sophisticated: take off from Big Sky, climb into low orbit, perform a steep re-entry, and follow a series of sharp turns that would eventually lead back to base. The only real acrobatics came toward the end, about the time that he would be visible to Kaminski and his staff from the observation deck. He would have to be sure to not miss a single holographic targeting ring…no matter what.
After hurriedly swallowing his morning rations and allowing them to settle while he answered a pile of mail he had been neglecting over the last several days, he found himself standing in the deserted locker room, its rows of benches sitting unoccupied. The morning CAP had already taken off, and the group of trainees that had recently arrived from Cape Henderson wouldn't be on the flight line until sometime during early afternoon. For the moment, he had the place to himself…not that it really mattered one way or the other.
The sound of the metal locker clunking open echoed off the concrete walls as Fox reached inside, exchanging his duty uniform for four items: his jumpsuit, his parachute harness, his helmet, and his oxygen bottle. He ignored the unwieldy g-suit, leaving it on its hanger for perhaps the first time since he passed basic training at the academy. "Hope that g-diffuser works as advertised," he muttered as he did the zipper, feeling strangely light with only the gray-green flight suit pressing against his body, "Or I'm gonna miss you." To be sure, it was more comfortable at least, and there were no bulky air sacs to interfere with the motion of the control stick. He looked at his watch, noting that it was coming up on 0740. That gave him only about twenty minutes to go. He'd have to step on it if he was going to be ready on time.
---
"Sun Visor, this is Echo One," said Fox, struggling to keep his voice professionally neutral in spite of his growing impatience. "Requesting status update, over."
"Echo One, this is Sun Visor," the tower responded. "No changes. Stand by."
"You gotta be kidding!" Fox growled, making sure that his headset was safely muted before checking his watch once more. It was now 0827, and neither Kaminski, nor his lieutenants had appeared on the platform at the far end of the field. What was going on? Having long since disengaged the craft's ventral thrusters to avoid depleting their fuel supply, he sat impetuously at the end of the runway, waiting for clearance to take off as shimmering heat waves billowed from the idling engine's exhaust nozzle. "No later than 0800 huh," he grumbled. Well, no one was going to blame him for tardiness this time. He had been on time. It was his CO that was keeping them all waiting.
The morning sun grew brighter and brighter with each passing moment as it climbed above the horizon, soon eclipsing the Arwing's flashing landing lights. On the ground, everything around him reflected back Solar's brilliance. The trees, the broad concrete walls of buildings, everything was tinged with bright hues of scarlet. Fox sighed softly as a lone dragonfly paused above his canopy, hovering for a moment before alighting to peer curiously at him with its large, compound eyes. "At this rate, I'll have birds nesting here before too long," the vulpine muttered. Another several minutes ticked by…slowly, and still, there was no sign of Captain Kaminski.
At long last, when Fox was almost resigned to the possibility of the flight being cancelled, the door of the control tower swung open, and out stepped the base commander and the two flight officers, recognizable from their uniforms even at this distance. His watch read 0850 hours.
"Good morning ensign." The husky's voice sounded cheerful as it reached his headset. "So sorry for the little delay."
"Too cheerful," thought Fox as he re-enabled his mike. "No problem sir," his voice said of its own accord. As to what he truly thought, well…fortunately he wasn't stupid enough to disclose that to the rest of the world.
"Well then, let's get this show on the road," the husky quipped, lowering his eyepiece into place.
"Aye sir," said Fox, engaging his retro rockets once more. "Sun Visor, this is Echo One requesting clearance for takeoff, over."
"Echo One, this is Sun Visor," replied the control tower. "Permission granted. Altitude restrictions will be cancelled once you are clear of the runway."
"Roger." Fox gradually throttled up as the landing pads retracted into the Arwing's belly. The craft rapidly picked up speed as he followed the dashed white line below, careful to stay under fifty feet until he reached its end. Then, easing back on the stick, he climbed gently to a thousand feet, circling the area once while he got his bearings.
"Echo One, we have established a link with your onboard sensor array," came the voice of one of the lieutenants over the comm. "Receiving the telemetry now. We're ready whenever you are."
"Acknowledged," Fox nodded. "I'm bringing the g-diffuser system online." Tapping a series of commands into the console in front of him, he glanced over his shoulder, raising a brow as the control surfaces made several rapid, minute adjustments. For an instant, there was a slight drop in power as the inertial generator siphoned energy from the engine core. However, the hesitation lasted only a moment before levels stabilized, and the computer signaled that all was well.
"This is Echo One," he called to the observers on the ground. "All systems go. I am beginning my run now." Pulling back on the stick, his left arm opened the throttle as far as it would go. With a thunderous roar, the Arwing sharply accelerated, its nose pointing skyward as it trailed a long, blue flame of plasma exhaust. Yet, Fox discovered to his amazement that he hardly felt it at all. Ordinarily, such a swift climb to orbit would have been a significant physiological burden to bear, but aside from a bit of vibration, it was almost as if he was still in level flight. "Looks like it's working," he observed.
The air outside the cockpit grew thinner and thinner with each passing moment. Barely two minutes into his ascent, the protective veil of the atmosphere drew back like a curtain to reveal the dark vastness of space, filled with an innumerable multitude of stars. Cold and bright, they peered back at him from the heavens with unblinking stares, so close, and yet so far away. So much remained shrouded in mystery around those tiny points of light. For all their long history, the people of Lylat had rarely ventured far from the confines of their own star system, content to peer at their neighbors in the cosmos through space telescopes. Fox smiled wistfully. It would be quite an adventure to explore one of those distant stars one day, but that day would not be today. He was here for a single purpose, and a sharp tone from his instrument panel broke into his thoughts, warning him to be mindful of that purpose. He could not lose focus under any circumstances.
"Sun Visor, this is Echo One. I have reached an altitude of 2500 kilometers," he reported, glimpsing the first holographic nav ring up ahead through the heads up display integrated into the panels of the Arwing's canopy. "Beginning de-orbit sequence in five, four, three, two, one, mark!" He eased off the throttle, the nose beginning to pitch downward toward the great blue orb of Corneria as his maneuvering thrusters engaged, altering his course.
"Echo One, this is Sun Visor," came the voice of the tower. "Be advised that there will be a temporarily loss of communication with the ground during re-entry. Make sure you check in as soon as the interference clears."
"Copy Sun Visor," replied Fox, clearing the silver nav ring and moving on to the next. "Stand by." Faint tongues of flame were already beginning to form around the nose section as the craft brushed the upper atmosphere once again. They grew hotter, brighter, soon engulfing the Arwing on all sides and obscuring the comm. line within an incomprehensible haze of static. He frowned, having trouble making out the rings through the superheated gas until he was nearly on top of them, though fortunately, there was very little deviation from one ring to the next as of yet. He just had to maintain a steady descent until he made his turn for home. Like the surprisingly easy climb to orbit, it was proving to be quite a smooth ride indeed.
"Forty, forty-one, forty-two," the vulpine counted under his breath as he cleared each silver ellipse. It would not be much longer. Almost as suddenly as it had begun, the firestorm came to an end. The fighter had slowed considerably, but had it not been for the nav rings and his instruments, he could have sworn he was going faster…now that his eyes had the high clouds and the terrain far below as visual references. He could see the gleam of the Western Ocean in the distance as the sunlight reflected off the waves, a testament to the ground he had covered in those few short minutes of orbital flight.
"Sun Visor, this is Echo One," he hailed the base. "Comms check…comms check…over."
"Receiving you loud and clear Echo One," the tower replied. "You're coming up on the first turn."
"I see it," Fox nodded. The two nav rings ahead of him were set almost at right angles, testing the limits of the Arwing's capability, and disturbingly similar to Run Ninety-Six from just the other day. Yep…this was Kaminski's work all right.
"Here's where the fun begins," he muttered as he rolled onto his port wing and banked sharply to the left, drawing sharp contrails with its trailing edge and bracing himself involuntarily…but this time he need not have bothered. His vision did not fade to shades of gray. Instead, clear-headed and awake, he guided the Arwing neatly through the pair of rings, feeling only a modest push against the back of his seat. Rolling onto the starboard wing to take a second pair proved just as easy…a third just as painless. It was astounding…the power of this g-diffuser! How did it work? The g-suit he could understand—always squeezing him like a tube of toothpaste to keep blood flowing to his brain. How could a couple of generators and a control unit nullify inertia so effectively? One thing was certain…he would have plenty of questions for Slippy when he got out of debriefing.
A mountain range faded into view on the southern horizon, the bare rock of the rugged peaks replacing the large fields of grain and the gently rolling hills that had previously marked his course. That meant he had crossed back into Lutanian territory. The base would only be a few minutes to the west, and any second now, his CO's all seeing eyes would be upon him, mercilessly picking apart his maneuvers, finding fault with the slightest imperfection, heaping criticism atop criticism. Even the silver rings seemed to mock him. As if they heard his thoughts, they began to deviate, spacing themselves much farther apart and creating a haphazard path that rose and fell, twisted and looped, writhing like the legendary cloud dragon in the midst of its death throes…and Fox danced with it, matching its every move. His wrists flicked this way and that on the stick, and the raptor obeyed, swooped from one ring to the next, faster and faster as it wove through the course…tumbling end over end and yet always under control.
"Caution! Pull up!"
Fox ignored the synthesized voice, skimming the treetops as he took a particularly low ring at top speed. Pulling sharply into a hairpin turn, his eyes began to darken, forcing him to tense his neck muscles to buy a few more seconds of consciousness. Even the powerful g-diffuser failed to protect him completely as he righted the craft, breathing hard. He never could have imagined pulling stunts like this, wearing an ordinary suit and piloting a Corneria Fighter. There was no doubt about it. A single Arwing combined with a g-diffuser system would cut through a front line squadron like a hot knife through butter in the right hands.
"Echo One, this is Lieutenant Jenkins," came a voice from the ground. "You're at 5.7 kilometers and closing fast. The final series is coming up on your right, bearing three-five-zero degrees."
"I copy," replied Fox. He pressed firmly on the rudder pedals, changing course ever so slightly to intercept the remaining rings. The base control tower and the observation platform were clearly visible now. "You'd better be watching me captain," he thought. "'Cause I'm gonna knock your socks off!"
PAHK!A sharp crack and a bright blue flash startled him, followed by a strange whirring and the smell of burnt electrical components. A flashing red lamp on the panel in front of him made his stomach drop into his shoes…the g-diffuser system had burned out, and the final section of the course was still before him. No! Why now! He cursed softly as he eyed the distant ring through the HUD. It had been a perfect run…a PERFECT RUN! Why did it have to pick this moment to fail!
"Echo One," the other lieutenant addressed him. "What's going on up there?"
"Something's wrong with the diffuser system," reported Fox, tapping desperately at the console. "I can't get it back up."
"Confirmed," Jenkins nodded. "We're still receiving telemetry, but there was a power surge at time index 1742. Looks like the generator overloaded."
"All right kid, you're done," Kaminski cut in, though strangely, his gruff voice didn't seem angry or disappointed.
"Come again sir?" Fox tapped his helmet. "I don't copy."
"You're done," Kaminski repeated in a louder voice. "The run is over…now let's—"
"Huh?" Fox asked, continuing to play stupid. "Sorry sir, I'm having trouble making you out. That surge must've damaged my headset." Done? Hell no! Not like this! Not like this he wasn't!
"We…have…enough…data," Jenkins said slowly and clearly. "The…run…is…over."
"Not over? Of course it's not over," said Fox. "Sorry sir, looks like my audio's fried. I'll see you when I finish my run. Echo One out."
"YOU CAN STOP BEING A SMARTASS MCCLOUD! WE BOTH KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME," Kaminski shouted. "Now, you turn that bird around and—" But he couldn't finish before a soft click cut him off mid-sentence.
"You can't disobey an order you can't hear," Fox chuckled to himself as he tossed the headset's broken transmitter over his shoulder. The base commander could yell until he was hoarse, but it would do him no good. "All right…bring it," he challenged the nav ring. G-diffuser or no g-diffuser, he was finishing the course.
As he cleared the first ring and banked hard left, the full, undiluted fury of inertia hit him like a ten ton safe. "Huuurgh!" He grunted, putting every ounce of training to use as he battled both the course and the threatening darkness that closed in on all sides. Down went another ring…then another. Abruptly, the silver path through the air rolled over, leading him out of his steep climb into a nosedive. His vision faded back in, only to be tinged with red this time. It was negative-g, and the far more dangerous prospect of red out as the blood rushed toward his head instead of away from it, straining the capillaries in his eyes. This was really pushing it…if he wasn't careful, he could go blind, or worse! Another three rings bit the dust, disappearing in his wake before another steep climb sent his heart from his mouth back into the pit of his stomach.
"Just a little further," he gasped dizzily. "C'mon Fox…you can do this—hrruuugh!" The raptor rocked back and forth, nabbing another pair of rings before inverting to arc through a third. The list of remaining nav points grew shorter and shorter. Ten rings became five…then three…then two.
"All right you son of a bitch," Fox grunted. "You wanted it done right? How's this!" He jerked back on the stick, turning as tight as he could possibly manage as the final two rings off to one side, barely twenty meters away. But it was not to be. His unprotected body was at its limit, and in a test between pilot and machine, it could not keep up.
"Don't black out," he gasped. "Don't black out….don't black out….don't……black……"
"OH NO! OH NO! PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NO!"Fox groaned, the world spinning around him dizzily as James cradled his small body in his arms. Breaking into the open air, his father eased him gently onto his back on the grass. "Just hang on…you hear me Junior?" The elder McCloud keyed frantically at his watch, nearly ripping it off as he activated the emergency distress beacon to signal the paramedics. "I've already lost your mother. I can't lose you too!"
The kit coughed, smoke from the burning building still filling his lungs. He hurt all over. Tiny shards of glass bit into his arms and legs like knives. Dazed, it was all he could do to just look up at his father. James was hardly in better shape, blood staining his flight jacket from an open gash on the side of his face.
"Dad…I'm so sleepy," Fox murmured, eyes starting to close.
"No, don't go to sleep!" James's voice was raw with emotion. "Fox? Fox! Look at me! You have to hold on for a few more minutes okay?"
"I'm trying," Fox gasped. "So hard. Just wanna…rest."
"Stay with me," James commanded. "I want you to name all the countries on the northern continent starting with ours!"
Fox moaned, eyes lidded as he struggled to obey. "Beinichia…Sumin…Breslowe…Angkellandia"
"No, keep your eyes open," ordered James. "Angkellandia. What's next to Angkellandia?"
"East Sanghop…Norland…uhhh……"
"Yes, Norland," James nodded. "C'mon…what's next? Fox? Fox!"
"Caution! Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!"
A voice called to him in the distance…out of the blackness, but what was it saying? He struggled to understand the words.
"Caution! Pull up! Pull up! Pull up!"
"Oh shit!" Opening his eyes to behold the ground racing toward him, he jerked back on the stick. The Arwing's nose pulled clear, but the starboard wingtip was not quick enough to avoid clipping the trunk of a lonely pine. The recoil tore the craft around and sent Fox's head slamming into the side of the canopy, leaving a bloody crater. Stunned, he somehow managed to engage the landing thrusters before the fighter crashed to earth…and then he knew no more.
---
The last rays of the setting sun seeped through Fox's eyelids from over the hill. Wincing, he opened them slowly, blinking as things gradually came into focus. A room…he was indoors, and the window was open, the white curtain fluttering gently in the evening breeze. He was on his back…something soft under him…a bed perhaps? Yes, it was most definitely a bed, and there was a white sheet and standard issue cotton blanket lying across his chest. Ah, now he knew where this was. He was back at the base hospital…but why? Why was he here? He'd already gotten patched up this morning before…before the crash. He tried to sit up..oof, bad choice! A wave of nausea compelled him to rethink that idea. It was better if he just stayed put for now.
"I'd take it easy if I were you kid."
Fox jerked his head in the direction of the voice, his eyes falling on the base commander standing in the open doorway—the officer he least wanted to see just now, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. "Sir," he nodded curtly, pushing himself up on the pillow as far as he could manage.
Kaminski strode forward, snagging the room's only chair with one hand and settling into it, folding his arms. "How're you feeling?"
"I've had better days," Fox replied after a moment. "But I'll live."
"Glad to hear it," the husky nodded, his face as inscrutable as ever. "Because you're lucky to be here."
"What happened," asked Fox. "The last thing I remember was the ground coming toward me. I busted my head pretty hard on something…and then I woke up here."
"I'm not surprised," said Kaminski. "The flight surgeon says you had a concussion…among other things. No permanent damage, but he wants you to stay flat on your back for awhile."
Fox nodded. He absolutely hated being confined to bed, but even he knew it was the right call under the circumstances. His body needed some time to recuperate. "What about the Arwing," he inquired anxiously.
"Under repair," the husky replied. "Tough bird. All things considered, it's in very good shape. Should be flyable again in no time…but not by you kid."
Fox's heart sank. Well, that was it. He had given it everything he had, but it just wasn't enough. He had failed, and to top it off, he had come so close to pulling it off…so close that he had tripped over the finish line!
"By the way," Kaminski frowned. "I found something you lost." Reaching into his shirt pocket, the base commander held up a small, black object. The transmitter…they had found the transmitter when they rescued him from the crash site. There was no hiding it now.
Fox sighed softly, forcing himself to make eye contact with his CO. "I have no excuse sir," he admitted.
"You're damn right," Kaminski rebuked him. "Technically, you didn't disobey my direct order McCloud. Technically you didn't hear me order you to land immediately, but you sure as hell knew I did." The canine hurled the useless piece of equipment into the air, sending it clattering into the metal wastebasket across the room. "So you thought you were going teach the old bastard a lesson huh? Finish the course anyway? You could have been dead and taken that Arwing to hell with you!"
"Yes sir," Fox muttered softly. "I'm sorry sir."
Kaminski leaned in close. "You realize I could have you court marshaled and dismissed for that stunt you pulled today?"
Fox nodded solemnly, a heavy weight bearing down upon him. His career was finished. Everything he had worked for was in vain. It didn't matter what the future held. Any other life that might follow would be hollow and empty. However, there was nothing he could do now. He knew his CO had long desired an excuse to get rid of him, and he had given Kaminski that excuse. The base commander held him in the palm of his hand, and all the vulpine could do was bear the consequences of his actions with as much dignity as he could muster.
Kaminski frowned, scratching his chin as he stared deep into the young pilot's eyes for a long moment. "But I won't take your wings," he said at last. His voice grew softer, losing its biting edge, "Because I know why you did it." He sat back, and for the first time since they had known each other, the husky addressed him by his given name. "Fox, I have done you grave injustice, and I ask your forgiveness."
Fox blinked, hardly believing what he was hearing. "Sir?"
Kaminski shook his head, silencing the junior officer with one hand before continuing. "When I was first asked to oversee the final shakedown of the Arwing prototype, I had a daunting task ahead of me. These things take a lot of work and many months of preparation, and I was ready for that…but the biggest challenge of all, was picking the right pilot to do the job." He rose from his seat and began to pace slowly. "Of course, there was no shortage of prospects and glowing letters of recommendation from every corner of Lylat. I must have read a thousand profiles before I made my decision, but when I met a certain ace from Bulldog Unit here on Corneria in person, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt I had found the man for the job."
Fox listened, ears cupped forward as he took in the captain's words. The mysterious pilot who was 'no longer an option.' He had long wondered about this airman, the one whose shoes he had been called to fill. It seemed he would finally be getting some answers to the million questions that had been buzzing in his head since the day he arrived.
"Then, just a couple of weeks before he was scheduled to transfer, he was injured in a boating accident and died on the way to the hospital." Kaminski shook his head sadly. "Damn good fighter pilot…he shouldn't have gone like that." Ambling back to his chair, he took a seat once more. "So there I was, with only a couple of weeks left and in desperate need of a replacement when General Pepper called to ask how things were going. I informed him of the situation and asked for his recommendation. That's when he sent me your profile."
"That's when he cancelled my deployment orders," thought Fox, "And ordered me to report here."
"One Ensign Fox McCloud," Kaminski chuckled. "Son of Commander James McCloud, twenty-two years old, fresh out of the academy, and hadn't served a single tour of duty. I looked at that pad and I said to myself, 'what the hell kind of bullshit is this?' This was some kind of joke right? But no, this guy was serious! So I read your record—cover to cover—and then I thought, 'I smell a dead fish.'"
"Come again sir?" Fox tilted his head, not catching the captain's meaning.
Kaminski chuckled. "Somehow, I felt something was out of place, so I dug deeper. I learned your father was a close personal friend of the general…that they had known each other for years…and then I thought, 'this kid must have had that posting handed to him on a silver platter. Hell, with friends in such high places, he might've waltzed through the academy too without breaking a sweat.' It was the only explanation."
Fox bristled slightly, resenting these demeaning words. Nevertheless, he held his tongue and waited.
"So I decided to be harsh with you," said the captain. "Give you a taste of what it was like to shoulder your own burdens…fight your own fights without someone pulling strings. To be honest, I thought you'd wash out in a couple of weeks, but you surprised me. You held on tenaciously, and no matter what I threw at you, you refused to quit. You were the real deal." Kaminski closed his eyes, a strange smile playing upon his muzzle. "The day you asked my permission to speak freely and declared you never took your position here for granted…that was the day I swore I'd request you to serve under my command again when this project was finished." He sighed, "But I started this thing being harsh…so I had to play the part until it was done…and I pushed you too far." The husky raised his head to look at Fox once more. "I was wrong McCloud. It wasn't politics at all. You're a damn fine aviator, and I apologize for failing to see that earlier." He shook his head softly. "I know how you must feel about me, and I understand. If you choose to hate my guts, I won't hold it against you."
Fox didn't answer immediately, still trying to get a handle on what he'd just heard. To put it mildly, this all came as quite a shock, and he wasn't quite sure how to respond. He did harbor bitter feelings toward the husky, but at the same time, knowing the truth, and hearing his superior officer apologize like this…well…he honestly didn't know how to answer.
Kaminski chuckled dryly, seeming to understand what was on the young airman's mind. "Well," he said, "one way or another, this assignment is history…for both of us." He pulled a large blue envelope from his pocket. "Orders from the top. I'm being transferred to the 82nd Air Group on Titania. I'll be replacing their squadron commander." He scratched aimlessly at the official seal before rising to his feet once more. "I meant what I said back there kid. I'll leave the choice to you, but I'd be honored if you would agree to serve under me on my new assignment."
Fox thought for a moment, weighing the prospect of a random unit against Kaminski's offer. Honestly, whenever he looked at the husky, resentment still welled up within his heart, but after all, wasn't forgiveness sometimes a long journey…one that began with a single step? Here was an opportunity to take that step, but it would not be an easy task. "I don't know sir," he said at last. "Can I get back to you on that?"
Kaminski nodded. "Take your time kid. Meanwhile, I'll let you get some rest…you've earned it." The husky turned his steps toward the door. As he reached the threshold, he paused as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, chuckling softly.
"Is something wrong sir," Fox asked, raising a brow.
Kaminski shook his head. "Not at all…just something I remembered." The base commander glanced over his shoulder his eyes twinkling in amusement. "Good job out there today McCloud," he said. "I couldn't have asked for a cleaner run…even from a machine."