Author's Note: Hey everybody! I'm finally back with a new chapter :). Sorry it took a while; I just started a new semester, and I have many writing classes. I'm loving them all, but it does make it harder to find time for this story. Don't worry, however; I'm not going to abandon it, it'll just be longer between updates for a while.
Again, MANY thanks to everyone who has read the story so far, and a double dose of thanks to those who have reviewed (notfromearth7 and JyrFalcon345, I'm looking at you two). I'd always love more reviews, but then again I have over two hundred hits on this story so far, so I suppose that in itself is an ecouragement.
Anywho, this chapter has a little action in it, and I was planning for a couple full on firefights, but upon reaching the point where I stopped, i felt I had a full fledged chapter in its own right. That, and if I kept going, this chapter would have been RIDICULOUSLY long. So, without further delay, enjoy this chapter, and expect more of what you'll see towards at its end in the next (unless I decide to be truly evil and return to the sideplot involving Fara and Dept. I in the next chapter instead, to really build up suspense. I'm tempted, but we'll see).\
Disclaimer: I only own the plot, Kip, Marl, CID, Skadi, Vincent, Lucas, and Chuck. Canon characters, locales, and plots are owned by Nintendo, so unless someone has a way of persuading the company to agree to turn this into an official novel, don't talk to me about publishing it.
P.S.: No one's guessed where I got Vincent's last name from yet, so the reward of a boat load of respect is still available (check the last chapter for his last name).
Modification note (1/30/2008): I recently altered some of the content of past chapters, both for character and chronological purposes. The only changes made that affect the story to any tangible extent are that I've made it later in the evening when Kip arrives at Sargasso than it originially was, and instead of suggesting they outright turn Kip away, Skadi now advises Wolf that it might be better to let him dock (though only because turning him away would result in his death), and the age difference between Fara and Kip is now corrected (I forgot she is considered to be 25 during the last Lylat War, according to canon).
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Chapter 3: Opening Moves
Alone in Star Wolf's private exercise room, Wolf's fist connected with a faded brown punching bag once again, the already considerable force generated by the mercenary's honed muscles amplified by his frustration. The sand filled sack drifted back several centimeters before swinging back towards him, and Wolf wasted no time in launching another anger fueled blow at it. He was confused, and he saw confusion as a malicious malady that had to be stomped out without mercy or delay. This particular mental knot was becoming a royal pain to untie, and the wolf's patience was wearing thin. Of course, every disease is, in theory, curable, and Wolf had discovered many years ago that a good workout was this particular illness' penicillin, so as soon as he'd been able to free himself of his responsibilities for a moment, he'd made his way to his "medicine cabinet", which like most areas on Sargasso was generally well maintained, if showing some of the inevitable wear and tear born of periods of neglect and well over a decade of use, both during and before Star Wolf's takeover of the structure. In fact, the royal blue gym mat in the center of the room was the only element of the space that seemed like it had been in the room for less than half a decade. He let his mind get lost in the rhythmic thumping of rubber sparring gloves against canvas, and waited patiently for the source of his confusion to bubble to the surface. His recent encounter with Kip's partner drifted to the foreground of his consciousness, and Wolf let loose a low, furious growl. He hit the bag one last time, leaving the bag to swing in slow, shrinking circles as he crossed the room to a tarnished rack of dumbbells. He removed his gloves, selected a set that looked to be about the right weight and hadn't begun to rust, and sat down on a nearby bench, his mind clouded by a fresh bought of the hated disease. The damn she-wolf had asked him one too many questions, and now an army of topics he didn't want to address were running amok in his head. Wolf began pumping one of the cold iron weights up and down in a simple curling motion as the memory of their conversation unfolded before him.
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Wolf hadn't banked on having to guide Kip's partner to her room, but he couldn't deny the logic behind Skadi's desire to take a look around the smugglers' freighter while Phoenix was on hand to explain the, according to her, "many modifications that had been made to what should have been a simple vessel". So, seeing as Leon had quietly excused himself before anyone could stop him, and he had doubts Marl would end up anywhere near Skadi's quarters if Panther was trusted with the task, Wolf found himself leading the young she-wolf through the halls of Sargasso, initially intent on just getting her to Skadi's room with little, if any, interaction between them. As they followed the faded red guideline down the cold, worn gray halls to the station's main lifts, however, he could feel the female's eyes regarding his back with unveiled curiosity. Wolf finally relented and glanced over his shoulder at his guest.
Though she was leaning ever so slightly under the weight of the faded olive tote bag that she'd slung onto her right shoulder, having refused to let Wolf carry it for her, he estimated that she was barely a little more than a hand shorter than him when fully upright, as was the norm height difference between wolf males and females, and thus it was not hard for Wolf to get a good look at Marl's face. He hadn't encountered a great deal of his own kind in his lifetime, as most of what was left of the various wolf subspecies had congregated on Katina and Corneria, planets he hadn't shown his face on for some time, but Marl's fur pattern was certainly not one he'd even heard existed. The soft, copper fur on her muzzle, face, and ear tips contrasted sharply, though not in an unappealing way, with the coarse, grey and black streaked fur that ran from between her ears and down the back of her neck. The she-wolf's incredibly bright green eyes met his gaze with an unflinching, innocent confidence that reminded Wolf a bit of his younger, untested self. Upon noting this, Wolf immediately erased his initial assumption that, of the two smugglers, Marl was by far the less dangerous.
"Can I help you?" Marl asked with a slight smile.
Disarmed by the she-wolf's friendly tone, Wolf found himself smiling back despite his lingering aversion to conversation. "I could ask you the same question," he retorted. "Your eyes have been drilling quite a hole in the back of my head the whole time we've been walking, if I'm not mistaken."
Marl's smile widened. "Just trying to figure out your game, Wolf," she told him. "You haven't been exactly what I expected so far." She glanced forward. "Watch your head."
Wolf's head span forward just in time to notice the low hanging pipe he was about to crash headlong into. Slowing down so as to buy enough time to duck under the offending hunk of metal, Wolf found himself walking shoulder to shoulder with a highly amused she-wolf. The mercenary cleared his throat in an attempt to shake off the minor embarrassment, causing Marl to giggle, before responding. "And just what exactly were you expecting?"
Marl slid a hand behind her right ear and scratched at it, flashing Wolf a nervous glance. "Honestly, I was half expecting you to shoot Kip and I down the second we showed up," she admitted. "You're generally not portrayed as the type to welcome outsiders with open arms, among other things."
Wolf snorted and shook his head sadly. He was fully aware of what the system, especially the Cornerians, had been saying about him since the Lylat Wars, and though he'd never rightly cared what the suits said about him, and could even admit with only a little remorse that some of the rumors were justified, the fact that regular folks like Marl actually saw him that way stung. He fixed his eyes forward once more and asked, perturbed, "You believe what they hand feed to you out there, then?"
Marl gave a dismissive huff, her voice becoming indignant, "Hardly. The only animals whose stories I was taught to even consider trusting without proof were the patrons of my father's shop, and of course Kip's never been in the habit of lying to me." She sighed and Wolf's eyes were persuaded to meet hers by a nagging sensation that she was looking at him with an expression bordering on, and a large part of him hoped he was wrong, compassion. "Unfortunately for you, though, those same folks always talked of Star Wolf and its 'nefarious' captain as if they were malicious spirits eating merchants alive on the space ways." She chuckled, her voice barking out two quick tones. "I'm being a little facetious, of course, but even with the normal exaggeration one can expect from merchants taken out, you've got to admit that the image is far from pleasant." The smuggler smiled at Wolf once more, though her eyes continued to express that empathetic emotion for which he could find no reason and, quite frankly, was bothering him a little. Animals, with the possible exception of a couple occasions where he thought he detected a similar, if more veiled, emotion from Skadi, just didn't send him that kind of vibe.
Wolf chuckled, unable to deny that Marl made sense and, perhaps subconsciously, to relieve the tension that had entered the conversation. He rarely encountered someone whose logic he could easily follow, and he had to admit it was more than a little refreshing. Arriving at the lift station, the lupine mercenary hit the call button and reclined against a wall, keeping both his eyes trained on his fellow canine. "Maybe I haven't done enough to make the system fall in love with me and mine," he conceded, crossing his arms over his chest, "but then again I never wanted a fan club. I'll leave that bit of glory for the fools what want it, thank you kindly." He smirked at the she-wolf, who had taken up a similar stance along the wall on the opposite side of the lift door, her hands secreted away in the pockets of her khakis, looking for the world like she couldn't be any more comfortable. "Besides, you said so yourself: I'm not what people say."
Marl flashed the same quick, innocent smile she'd given him in the hangar, only without the hidden motive this time, or so he hoped, and Wolf decided glanced up to check on the lift's progress. The thing was still several levels above them, apparently having stopped a couple times to let animals on and off on its way to meet them. His initial instinct was to just let silence reign until the machine arrived, but one last thing was bugging him. "Just out of curiosity," he asked Marl, sarcasm dripping from his mouth like a leaky faucet "how exactly am I not living up to these 'stellar expectations' of yours?"
Marl glanced up at the ceiling, an amused and thoughtful gleam in her eyes. "Mostly, I'd say it's the way you've shown us respect, even though we're strangers, and the way you and Star Wolf came off almost like a family, or at least close knit friends, in the hangar" she finally told him, and Wolf felt a pang of disappointment. He had a reputation to protect on Sargasso, and he was loath to consider what some of the more rebellious elements on the station would do if they started detecting the "softer" qualities Marl seemed to see in him. The thought must have shone on his face, because Marl suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh, don't get so bent out of shape," the she-wolf mock pleaded with him, pouting slightly, "you're still a big, bad mercenary. I'm just saying that, underneath that, there might," she emphasized the last word, "be a downright decent guy. Fear of 'Mr. Badass' isn't enough to pull animals like the ones you've got around here together in any effective way," she explained, assuming a very stern tone, "so you'd best consider that a compliment."
"Noted" Wolf replied with a chuckle.
Marl sent a momentary grin back at him, and the pair spent a few moments in silence before she decided to ask Wolf a question, for a change. "This might be a little bold," she was clearly being careful with her words, "but what exactly do you get out of this, anyway?" Wolf stared dumbly at the smuggler, not sure what she meant, and Marl closed her eyes a moment before elaborating. "I mean, you seem so committed to this, even though it certainly is one of the harder paths available to an animal. You must have a reason for going along with it."
Wolf frowned, sensing where the conversation was going, "I suppose I would."
"So what is it?"
There it was, his least favorite topic, and as pertinent to the conversation as it might have been, Wolf refused to delve into it with someone who had only just ceased to be a stranger. "Good question," he grumbled, breaking eye contact. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."
Marl frowned apologetically, and a rather awkward silence fell as the lift arrived to take them to the upper levels, where Star Wolf and the station's crew kept their quarters. A dull, metallic groaning could be hear as the lift began to rise, and after a few moments, the rear wall of the lift gave way to a window overlooking a giant chamber that had once been the site of the station's massive processing and assembly center. Now, the web of conveyor belts and cargo lifts had been converted for use by the station's crew as a sort of hub for all their activities. Wolf gazed upon his "tiny fiefdom", as Panther liked to call it, and Marl soon joined him, her eyes widening a little at the sight of the many animals moving along the chamber's catwalks.
"I never realized this many animals lived here," she marveled. "I always kinda figured Star Wolf preferred privacy."
Wolf smiled, keeping his eyes fixed on the view. The sight of all the nearly seven hundred animals that had come to call Sargasso home going about their business and, at least at this distance, looking generally content was one of the things that never failed to brighten his mood, regardless of his current circumstances. "Most of them, like Star Wolf, have a number of enemies to avoid, or just aren't welcome among 'civilized' folk" he informed the she-wolf, happy to let the conversation drift back to less touchy topics. "They come to Sargasso looking to wait for a manhunt to die down, escape creditors, and so on. You name it," he continued, his voice sounding like its owner wasn't entirely in the room at the moment, "and at least one of these fellas came to Sargasso to escape it. They're required to follow the same rules I set for you and Kip during their stay, and some of them just choose not to leave once they've got what they came for."
Marl rested her arms upon the small railing separating the elevator's rear from the window, placing her left cheek in her raised hand as she continued to take in the view. "Why's that?"
Wolf mulled over the question for a moment. He'd never bothered to ask any of the crew that question, so he could only make an educated guess. "I suspect it's because I give them a good deal of freedom" he reasoned. "As long as they keep things civil, and do their jobs, they're free to pursue a fresh start."
Marl shot a sidelong glance at the wolf, a sly grin on her face. "Leave the rest of the system outside the hangar, right?"
The infamous mercenary captain laughed out loud at the recycling of his own words. "Something like that" he agreed with her, resting his own hands on the railing now, "though the money is pretty good on occasion, too". Second chances were a rare commodity indeed, he thought, and as his favorite view was obstructed by a durasteel plated wall once more, a frown crept onto his face. He often wondered if he couldn't use one himself. He briefly thought it would be better to stop the conversation before his mind was drawn any further into areas he didn't like to explore, but he knew that once provoked, his mind would go as far as it pleased anyway, so he decided he might as well continue on. "It's certainly not a perfect set up, but it's a home" he concluded. His brows furrowed and his frown deepened, "For some, it's the only real home they have ever had."
Marl's expression fell, and Wolf detected that slightly irritating emotion radiating from her again, though it didn't make him internally squirm quite as much this time. Thankfully, the she-wolf didn't say anything, and soon the lift jolted roughly upon reaching the living quarters. The two wolves stepped out, drawing a few curious glances from the animals wandering about in the dim light of the corridor. Marl would occasionally smile and greet a passerby as they moved towards what would be her room, eliciting confused stares and the occasional mumbled reply in return.
"Not the most sociable bunch," the she-wolf mused aloud, and Wolf grinned knowingly.
"I wasn't lying when I mentioned that Skadi's been the only female on station for a few months now," Wolf said. "A lot of these guys, particularly the ones who've been here a while, don't really know how to act when a new girl shows up, and quite frankly most of them don't expect you to stick around, anyway."
"Really?" Marl didn't sound like she was buying the story.
"Basically" Wolf confirmed, staring off into the distance. "We get a few ladies once in a while, coming here for pretty much the same reason's the fellas do. They don't tend to stick around for long, though." He chuckled shook his head, "they usually hook up with one of the guys while they're here and leave with them in tow, to boot."
Marl raised an eyebrow. "What's the deal with Skadi then? She going steady with someone on your team?"
Wolf laughed, having a hard time imagining Skadi on Leon or Panther's arm. "She's a special case," he explained to the she-wolf. "She actually tracked us down, believe it or not, just so she could work with Star Wolf. She's an excellent mechanic," he didn't want to leave any doubts in Marl's mind as to the arctic fox's place on the station, "but as far as I know, she doesn't have her eye on anyone in particular."
Marl shrugged. "Could've fooled me," she said, and Wolf's ears twitched at the suggestiveness of her tone. "I guess competition won't be an issue, at least" she reasoned, flashing Wolf a grin that said "just kidding".
Wolf chuckled, though he was still a little unsettled by that last comment. "Just remember," his voice took on a stern tone, "you take one of my boys, and I will charge you for the lost labor. This ain't some nonprofit matchmaking service I'm running, here."
Marl laughed, loud and long, her voice reverberating of the walls of the long corridor they'd turned into like a note bouncing back and forth inside a bell. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that," she assured him, glancing at a disheveled looking terrier that had taken a seat on a crate along the wall while he cleaned an outdated looking blaster before being overcome with another fit of laughter. "I don't think these boys are exactly my type."
"You'll have to tell me what your type is sometime, then," Wolf said. He snapped his jaw shut immediately after the words left his mouth, silently berating himself for letting Marl lower his mental defenses to the point something would just out of his mouth like that. Hell, he would have made Panther proud, that was such a bonehead move. He glanced sidelong at the she-wolf, cursing silently when he saw her slightly bemused smirk and raised eyebrow.
"Good question," Marl sent Wolf's own words right back at him once more, "I'll let you know when I figure it out." She held Wolf's gaze a moment longer, the smirk still plastered on her face, but thankfully she didn't pursue that particular topic, and what was for Wolf a comfortable silence settled over the pair until they arrived outside Skadi's quarters. Wolf entered a skeleton key code, known only by him, other members of Star Wolf, and the station's Quartermaster, into the pad beside the heavy door, and it opened with a slight grinding sound.
"End of the line," he announced, standing aside to let Marl into the room. Though not any fancier than the other rooms on the station, Skadi certainly kept her personal space organized. The dark blue sheets on the bed the white vixen used had been made up with meticulous care, and though she certainly hadn't returned to the room herself, she'd apparently made a request to the Quartermaster, as a set of drab, grey bed sheets and towels were resting on the upper bunk, waiting for Marl to make use of them. The she-wolf went straight to the empty closet opposite Skadi's, stopping momentarily to glance at a picture on Skadi's dresser, then slipped her tote bag off her shoulder and onto the floor, before finally turning back to regard Wolf again. "The washroom is through that door right there" Wolf pointed towards the rear of the room, "the hot water doesn't always work, so you'll have to take a gamble when you shower."
Marl nodded and knelt down, unzipping her bag in preparation to unpack. "Sounds fine," she said as she pulled a pair of pants out of the bag and sought out a hangar for them in the closet, "I think I can figure out the rest on my own."
Wolf grunted in acknowledgement and turned to leave, but was stopped mid stride by the she-wolf's voice.
"Thanks, by the way" Marl told him. She placed a hand on the mercenary's shoulder, and his body tensed a little at the contact. "I know you're taking a huge risk sheltering Kip and I. Your reasons might not be noble, but all the same, I appreciate it."
The hand was withdrawn, and Wolf felt his shoulder muscles, if not his mind, relax. "Sure thing" he muttered, not feeling confident enough in his voice at the moment to say much else. "Feel free to call if you need something. There's a comm. unit behind this panel," he tapped a section of wall beside the door, "Communications can page me or anyone else you request." He stepped out into the hallway and let the door slide shut before anything more could be said.
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Wolf pumped the bar and disc shaped plates suspended over his chest up once again, having moved onto the bench press during his period of reflection. The tape in his mind's VCR wound to a stop, and he snarled as he let arms drift back towards his chest again. Why the hell had Marl been so interested in talking to him? Had she been trying to lull him into a false sense of security? More importantly, why had he actually cared to respond? He replayed his responses once more, noting with more than a little disappointment how concerned about her opinion of him he'd made himself seem. Obviously, he didn't really care, right? He returned the bar to the dark metal wall brackets that housed it when it was not in use, and sat up with an annoyed grunt when he realized that he couldn't answer his own question. He glanced over at the punching bag once more, and he tugged his sparring gloves back on, feeling the need to project his frustration a bit. He went to work once more on the worn canvas, and cursed as his mind returned to the topic that had first thrown him onto this frustrating, introspective line of thought: "what do I want?"
Truthfully, Wolf O'Donnell had no idea what he wanted; hadn't for a while. He'd followed his youthful dreams of fame and fortune right into the service of Andross, and he'd gotten exactly what he wanted from the arrangement. His team, of which he'd only known Leon for any length of time, tallied up victory after victory early in the war, and with each one had come a veritable king's ransom and a boost to the wolf's burgeoning popularity as a fighter and leader among the regular soldiers and the citizens of Andross's Venom. However, when the smoke had cleared, he had dealt with his bruised pride at being defeated by McCloud's "merry band of heroes", and most importantly, the losses sustained by the system as a whole had been tallied, Wolf had come face to face with the fact that he had, quite willingly, aided one of the single greatest threats the Lylat System had ever dealt with, even when the simian's madness had become plan for all to see. Worse, he knew he could only blame himself for it. It had been a hard pill to swallow, and he'd had a crumbling team to take care of at the time, so he cast aside his old dreams and allowed introspection as to a new direction to be put off for the sake of convenience. The task of keeping his team, and later the Sargasso crew, fed and the air in their ships' recycling units as fresh as possible while they drifted from job to job turned out to be more than enough to occupy his mind, and so it became easier with each passing day to just ignore the nagging desire for deep thought. At least, that's what he had always believed. For the better part of a decade he lived that way, finding contracts where he could, most of them illegitimate, but things had been comfortable, if nothing else. Then the Aparoid Invasion had resulted in him allying with his old rivals for reasons he didn't understand, though he'd told the team it had been out of grudging respect for McCloud. He wasn't about to admit he had grown jealous of the "great hero" of the system; the vulpine could keep that title, and everything that came with it. Other than backing Andross, he had few regrets, and had found that he enjoyed not having to pander to a mass of screaming fans. Still, as "free" as he was, he couldn't deny that, starting just after that particular decision, he periodically would do things he just couldn't find a satisfactory explanation for.
He suspected the tiny, direction demanding voice he'd ignored all those years had taken the opportunity afforded to it during the invasion to begin struggling back to the surface, and was beginning to affect his judgment more and more. On this occasion, as was usual, his initial instinct was to redouble his efforts and suppress the demands once more. Images of his teammates and members of the station's crew ran through his head, and he reminded himself that too many people depended on him to let personal agendas distract him. He began to hit the bag faster and harder as the images came faster, attempting to carve his commitment into the canvas. However, when his mind conjured a picture of Skadi, his train of thought was immediately derailed. Wolf frowned thoughtfully: starting shortly after she arrived, the snow toned vixen had a tendency to break into his thoughts and bring things to a screeching halt. This was yet another increasingly regular occurrence, and even worse, he wasn't sure he minded the intrusion.
"Having a staring contest with the bag, are we?" a deep, smooth voice crooned from behind him.
Wolf realized that he'd ceased his assault on the punching bag, and chuckled as he finally managed to shut off his meddlesome mind. He was never more grateful for Panther's strange sense of timing. He turned to face the big cat, only to have his restored good spirits nearly shattered when he noticed a certain she-wolf following his teammate into the room. "I was just working out," he told the sable feline, avoiding eye contact with Marl. "I guess my mind must have wandered off."
Panther grinned and let out a laugh that caused his golden eyes to light up. "You're not going senile on Panther, are you?" he asked with mock sincerity, and a short giggle was heard from Marl. "He shudders to think what would happen to the station if you checked into the loony bin."
Wolf just shook his head. Panther, as the youngest male on the Star Wolf team, often cracked jokes about his captain's age, even though the lupine mercenary was just approaching his mid thirties. Usually, Panther himself was the only one to laugh at the quips, but Wolf noted with some amusement that he'd finally found an audience in the young smuggler. "You'd think, after all the times I've handed your ass to you on a platter," he marveled, "in this very room, that you'd know better." He slapped his right fist into his left hand a couple times for emphasis, "or are we looking for another lesson?"
Panther held up his hands, palms out, and backed up a step. "Thank you, but no thank you, mi amigo," he said. "Panther was merely guiding our lovely young friend here to the exercise room."
Wolf turned to regard the she-wolf, struggling to maintain a cordial smile for the animal he currently blamed for his mental discord. He noted that she had changed into a simple exercise outfit: a green, relatively high necked, for its make, tank top, fingerless black leather gloves, and black gym shorts that came down to just above her kneecaps. Like her normal outfit, it was rather modest, but even so it showed off a fair sight more of the pretty young she-wolf's "feminine assets", simply by virtue of a net loss in fabric between the two styles, and Wolf didn't have to guess what had made Panther so eager to lend a hand. "I hope he didn't demand much for his services," he said, crossing his arms. "Panther tends to request rather," he cleared his throat, "steep payment for helping ladies."
Marl smiled wide for the mercenary and placed a hand near her heart, "Well that's the first time I've been called a lady in quite a while," she wondered, appearing flattered, "and no, he didn't demand a thing." She turned her beaming face toward the feline, who was only all too willing to return the expression, "He was quite the gentleman, actually".
Wolf was cracking up inside. Little did the smuggler know that "Panther Caruso, Gentleman" was even more troublesome than regular old Panther, mostly because it meant the impulsive feline was genuinely interested in his target female, or at least that had been the case in the past. Wolf preferred to let Marl figure that out on her own, however, so he managed to hold back a knowing smirk as the conversation continued. "Well, that's good," he said, completely sincere, "though I figured you'd be too tired to work out after running from the Feds all day."
Marl shrugged as she took in the room with a roving gaze. "I thought I would be, too," she admitted, placing a hand on her hip, "but it turns out my body's still got a fair bit of energy running' through it, thanks to the adrenaline rush from the getaway. I figured some exercise and a warm shower ought to leave me plenty drained and ready to hit the sack." Her eyes shifted to Wolf's rather tight, black workout shirt momentarily, and her smile took on a mischievous bent. "Actually," she mused, sauntering over until she was barely twenty centimeters from the mercenary, "I haven't had a good sparring partner in a while." Without warning, her hand shot out and landed a playful punch on Wolf's bicep, "How's about we find out if these muscles you seem so proud of are functional or just for show, eh?"
Wolf raised an eyebrow, and even Panther let out a semi-surprised grunt. For someone who dressed like they practically wanted to be invisible, Marl certainly pulled no punches when speaking. Hell, it felt like she was going out of her way to get under his skin. "If you insist," he said and bore a tooth-filled grin at the smuggler, determined not to let his shock show through his speech, "and don't mind getting a little roughed up."
Marl let out a short laugh, and twirled around to walk back towards the door, her tail swishing back and forth as she moved. "Hope I don't disappoint you," she chuckled as she turned to face him once more, her left arm locked in place by her right at the elbow in a stretch. She glanced over her shoulder at Panther as she shifted her arms so the right was now locked down, "Care to play referee, big guy?"
Panther placed a hand over his heart and made a slight bow, "It will be Panther's pleasure, madam, and may he add that he'll be rooting for you in the bout."
Marl took a seat on the floor, and began performing a set of leg stretches. "Well, isn't that sweet," she cooed, flashing Wolf a "give me a break" look that almost made him laugh out loud.
Panther leaned against the door jamb and chuckled. "Consider it a favor. You'll need every advantage you can get to best the capitán."
Wolf grinned victoriously at the she-wolf, and stepped up onto a blue gym mat in the center of the room. "I'll try and go easy on you, no worries."
Marl propelled herself back onto her feet with a quick push of her hands off the cold metal floor, and joined the mercenary on the mat. She assumed a relaxed pose that Wolf identified as one of the "ready stances" of Venomian kick-boxers, and narrowed her eyes. "You do that," she warned, "and I guarantee that you'll have a black eye and some sprained joints when this is over." Without warning, she lunged at Wolf, and he found himself forced to deflect a lightning fast kick aimed at his head.
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"Yeah, fine, we'll get it done," Vincent assured the faceless speaker at the other end of the private line Lucas had opened for this conversation in a level, determined voice.
"See that you do," the quite obviously modulated voice warned. "Do not forget: if we so much as suspect you've betrayed our agreement, you will not be safe anywhere in this system for the rest of your life."
Vincent bared his teeth in a mute snarl, already determining how (and if) he could throw a wrench in things without letting on that he had turned against the Cornerians. He glanced down the line of blinking and buzzing consoles around him at Chuck and Lucas, both of whom wore highly concerned expressions, and the vulpine veteran's expression fell even further. Sure, his friends would be invaluable accomplices in derailing the plan that had apparently been set in motion by the other sleepers that he had just learned were on Sargasso, but that was only if he could persuade them to stick with him. It wouldn't be hard to keep Chuck on his side; the bulldog was a trusting sort to begin with, and tended to follow Vincent with even less prodding than he needed from anyone else. Of course, Lucas's infuriating logic stood more than a small chance of changing the canine's mind, should the ape choose to defect on this occasion, and that possibility was fast becoming likelihood. He was lucky the ape had even agreed to let them use the communications center for this call. His finger absentmindedly brushed against the handle of one of a pair of blasters strapped onto his belt. Maybe it would be easier if he…
"Are we clear?" the voice sounded impatient.
Vincent's eyes broke away from his comrades, and he furrowed his silvery eyebrows. "Crystal" he said, and cut the connection to the animal, or at least he thought it was an animal, at the other end of the line. He glanced once more at his longtime companions, and attempted to smile at them, though he knew the result looked more pathetic than upbeat. He couldn't believe he had actually begun to consider eliminating the ape. He couldn't go back on his vow to keep them all safe, no matter how little loyalty they might feel towards him, lest he come to deserve the title of "less than useless" he'd had thrown at him more than once in his lifetime. "We may be in for a rough ride," he sighed, feeling even older than he actually was.
Lucas crossed his arms and leaned back in a worn chair that appeared to have been salvaged from the dumpster of some government office complex, the words "I told you so" written on his face alongside more than a little anger. "I'd say six other sleepers constitute something much worse than a 'rough ride'," he scoffed. "I told you this was a bad idea."
Chuck's body language was less obvious, as the bulldog simply slouched against a console, his face a mask of nonchalance backlit by the emerald light of the console's monitor. "Time to level with us, bro; how do you propose we handle this?" he asked. The bulldog drummed the thick fingers of his left hand on the console, the only sign that he was in the least bit agitated, and waited for the gray vulpine to respond.
Vincent sighed and sat down in the only unoccupied chair within reach. "I had hoped to avoid this," he kept his eyes fixed on the floor as he spoke, "but now that these other sleepers are involved, I don't see any other option." He raised his gaze to meet the inquiring stares of his comrades, "We're going to reveal ourselves to Star Wolf. We'll have a better chance of stopping the others, and whatever else the Feds send after those smugglers, with their help."
Lucas threw his arms up in the air in a show of exasperation, "what part of the Cornerian's threat didn't get through that brick attached to your neck, Vinnie!" the ape was furious. "Or are you simply looking to get us all killed?"
"Do you honestly believe the Cornerians will honor their agreement if we play ball?" Vincent demanded, matching the ape's volume as his last string of patience began to snap.
Lucas wasn't about to give up without a fight. "You're damn right I believe it!" he growled, his right hand smacking against his leg in a tight fist. "Vinnie, the Lylat Wars are over!" the ape's tone took on a pleading quality. "The Cornerians aren't trying to blow us away, there's no crazed doctor laying waste to the system, and I don't care how many axes you have to grind with politicians, Corneria is probably the only player on the board that we can back with the lowest likelihood of getting killed right now."
"Bullshit," Chuck snorted at the last point of Lucas's argument, and Vincent's hopes for salvaging something from this situation were bolstered by the bulldog's show of support. "Wolf will sick the whole station on us if we follow orders, we've already gone over that. As for the wars being a thing of the past," the bulldog challenged his simian friend, "take a look at any news vid and tell me with a straight face that things aren't at least as unstable as they were right before Andross started the last of the wars."
Vincent nodded subconsciously. "The classic response of governments to threats is to start silencing the disloyal," he threw out one of his signature bits of anti-government wisdom, "and what with the Directorate flexing its muscles on their doorstep, and smugglers running off with their prized possessions, you can bet your ass the Feds ain't exactly feeling comfortable right now." He focused his full attention on Lucas, hoping to change the ape's mind by sheer force of will and "stage presence". "We bow to their orders," he told the simian technician, pouring incredible force behind his words, "and we're banking on Corneria's good graces, and I guarantee they'll have some steep conditions behind them. Free mercy just isn't something they think they can afford right now." He chuckled cynically and allowed his eyes to drop back to the slightly tarnished metal grating that served as the communication pit's floor, "We'd be lucky enough just to pull the job off without getting gutted by Wolf's boys or the boss, much less get any measure of peace for upholding our end of the deal." A final thought came to him, and his hand drifted up to rest on the top of his head. "They probably won't even turn these damned chips off afterwards," he decided, a hint of anger creeping into his voice.
Lucas continued to scowl at him. "What makes you think Wolf will even believe you?" he demanded. "Are you just going to walk up to him and say 'hi, I've been ordered to kill your guests and destroy their ship to protect sensitive government files, but I'd rather help you'?!"
Vincent spun his chair towards the console, and with a few quick key strokes, brought up several blueprints for different sections of the station on the monitor. "Confessions will come after we help them break up whatever our 'friends' are up to." He grinned victoriously at the viewscreen, "That's why I convinced that operative to let me tap into his department's tracking system." He hooked his PDA up to the console, and in seconds six blinking, firefly like lights appeared on the screen, broken into three pairs. One pair was stationary, apparently waiting for something in hangar ten, another was headed in the general direction of Star Wolf's private quarter of residential level three, and the last pair appeared to be headed straight for hangar four. "If my instincts are right, the two moving pairs are both looking for the smugglers, and the stationary one is likely holding down an escape vehicle," he glanced at Lucas, enjoying the look on the ape's face as he threw his own "I told you so" glare at him, "so they can escape the station before security blows their heads off." He motioned for Lucas to surrender his PDA, and after the ape had reluctantly done so, he hooked it into the console with a length of fiber optic cable. For a brief moment, a progress bar flashed on the viewscreen as the tracking and map data was downloaded to the hand held device. "I'm going to use this baby to track down the two buggers scouring the residential levels" he explained as he unhooked the tiny computer from the console. "You, Chuck" the muscular canine stood up straight as he was addressed, "are going to head to hangar four and, hopefully, link up with the second mobile group before they hit the smuggler's ship. Lastly," he focused a very solemn eye on Lucas, "I'd like you to go and meet the animals holding the fort in hangar ten, and at the very least disable whatever they'll be using to lift off without permission. If they decide to run, we'll leave them nowhere to go."
Lucas frowned. "So hold on," the ape was obviously confused, "What exactly are we up to?"
Vincent smiled mischievously, "Well, for starters, we're going to make nice with the sleepers when we find them. They'll lead us to the smugglers and, seeing as they've tied themselves to each other, probably Star Wolf. Once we've accomplished that, and this is the best part," he explained, his eyes twinkling a little, "We simply switch sides without warning when the shooting starts. Once we're the only sleepers still breathing, we can essentially lead the Cornerians astray with whatever false information we see fit to relay to them, while simultaneously keeping the 'targets' one step ahead of their efforts."
Lucas glanced down at the floor a moment, brows furrowed. "I still don't like it," he finally decided. "Even if we did pull off this little operation of yours, we'll just have to deal with the Cornerian's next attempt to catch those two." The simian locked eyes with Vincent, his expression suddenly icy. "How do you know this plan of yours is going to be at all effective at saving our skins?"
"I don't know!" Vincent snapped, and with the admission came a strange feeling he could only remember encountering once before in his life: acceptance. The confounding hybrid of sadness and contentment at embarking upon a course that, while imperfect, he knew he could follow and still sleep at night reflected in his eyes as he met the ape's gaze once more. "I readily admit that this might end up landing us all in a shallow grave, Lucas," he said, the energy drained from his voice, "and quite frankly I don't care at this point." A sudden wave of fatigue rocked the aging vulpine's frame, and he was forced to shut his eyes and take a deep breath before continuing. "All I know for certain is that I can't throw another skeleton into my closet," he said. Hell, he thought, he was still cleaning out the first couple batches of bones to get lost in there, and he was quickly getting too old to go in after them. "Stay here and keep your hands clean if you want, and I'll swear to my last breath you had no part in this" he assured the simian, "but I won't be responsible for you otherwise." He spared a final, disappointed glance at his longtime associate as he rose from his chair. "We need to move fast if we're going to catch up to the other sleepers, Chuck," he reminded the bulldog as he brushed past Lucas and ascended the stairs out of the communications pit, "especially since we'll have to catch them on the first attempt at this point".
Chuck glared down at Lucas with more than a hint of a warning in his eyes. "Watch your ass, chimp" he growled, and quickly followed Vincent out of the room.
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Immediately after Vincent and Chuck left, Lucas found himself confronted with a conundrum: what now? Vincent's warning had the ring of a serious threat, but he knew that the vulpine wouldn't raise a finger against him. The old veteran was too caught up in his admirable, but ultimately foolish beliefs about loyalty and family to harm a single silver hair on Lucas's head. Chuck, however, had never really trusted him, and if he was going to go against their plans, he would definitely have to deal with the temperamental canine, if nothing else. Lucas hated to admit it, but he also agreed with much of Vincent's logic: the Cornerians were not likely to simply let them walk away when this was over, no strings attached, regardless of what they did. On the other hand, he knew with what he saw as nearly one hundred percent certainty that Vincent and Chuck were setting out on a suicide mission, and Lucas didn't relish the idea of losing his life in a battle that he'd rather ignore. Ever cautious, the former lab assistant to the infamous Dr. Andross spent several moments in silence, his hands forming an upright triangle in his lap, the familiar hum of machinery helping him focus on attempting to sort out his options. He couldn't even wash his hands of the matter, as inaction would count as a breach of contract to the Cornerians, and even if Vincent and Wolf succeeded, he'd be viewed as a liability by the mercenary captain, at best. In the end, he simply saw no way to outrun (and outgun) the Cornerian Federation's elite special agents, nor did he see any sort of gain from such an action. At least if he did as he was told, he had a chance at freedom, however slim. Of course, that meant he would need to derail Vincent's plan, and the easiest way to do that would be to let the Cornerian's know of the vulpine's betrayal. With a grim nod, Lucas spun back to the humming communications console, and opened a line to the latest entry in the system's call memory.
"What is it now?" the same voice from earlier demanded. "You have your orders, now get to it."
A slight twinge of guilt gripped the simian's heart as he began to speak. "I just felt I should warn you that I think some of your sleepers have been compromised," he told the voice's unseen owner, mulling over each word before he let it out of his mouth. "I checked the in the station's communications records," a carefully crafted lie flowed easily past his lips, "And there was a quick spike in calls between the IP address of Wolf O'Donnell's personal communicator and those of the various Star Wolf members, not ten minutes ago." He paused a moment, trying to gauge the Dept. I representative's reaction by the tone and pace of his breathing. "I am led to believe Star Wolf may know the sleepers are in motion, if not who they are."
A long moment of silence fell over the conversation like a thick, stuffy, black bed sheet, and when the unseen Federation servant spoke again, Lucas sensed the same care being taken with their words that he was taking with his. "Tell me who's responsible for this," the voice demanded, almost emotionless thanks to the technology disguising its true tone.
Lucas frowned, and the twinge of guilt gripped his chest once more, stronger this time. He couldn't just turn two animals that had saved his life three times over to the Feds, could he? Lucas shook his head, fighting off the feeling as best as he could with a reminder that this was necessary to protect himself, a goal that had always taken priority in the past. They'd made their choice, and it was likely that they'd be dead within the hour, anyway, so there was no way this could come back to haunt the technician in the end. "It's hard to say, but judging by the level of respect they've both expressed for O'Donnell," he told the representative, "I'd be willing to bet my two associates, the fox who just spoke to you and his canine friend, are likely candidates for that bit of guilt." He paused one more time for emphasis, running a hand through the silver mop of hair on top of his head to calm his nerves. "Regardless, I would treat any statements by any of the other sleepers with suspicion from here on out." He diverted his eyes from his screen to the map of Sargasso that had moved over to an adjacent monitor when he placed his call. "I'm going to stay here and attempt to support the others by monitoring the situation," he announced, and cut the connection before the Cornerian representative could reply.
The monitor before him went blank, and the simian leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed in an attempt to ease the bought of nerve induced nausea in his stomach. "Only thing to do now is to wait and see how the firefight turns out," he told himself in low voice, and after a moment he felt his nerves loosen up. Hell, he thought with a smirk, he could taste freedom already.
"You really should have listened to your friend, simian," a low voice rasped from just behind him.
Lucas attempted to sit up and turn to face the speaker, shocked that anyone could have gotten so close without him knowing, but was quickly stopped by a teal, scaled hand around his neck and a knife point pressed into his chin. The ape shuddered; there was only one animal on Sargasso with those hands and weapons.
"Is that where the rest of you are hiding?" Leon Powalski asked his hostage, sounding somewhat fascinated by the digital map of the station and the six blinking lights moving lazily across it.
Lucas glanced at the map and nodded, or at least tried to. Maybe if he cooperated with the chameleon, he'd spare him. His hopes were dashed, however, as he sensed Leon's grip tighten, and the reptile spoke directly into his right ear.
"No point in relying on a traitor's help, then," he hissed, and with a lightning quick motion plunged the gleaming knife into Lucas's chin. The ape jerked reflexively and attempted to squirm out of his chair, but the assassin's grip proved too strong, and with another quick jerk threw him onto the floor, leaving a sizeable gash in Lucas's throat by holding the knife steady as his body twisted and fell onto the metal grating of the pit floor with a muffled clang.
As soon as he hit the cold metal, Lucas rolled onto his back and brought a hand to his throat, futilely attempting to stop the burning pain the crimson stream escaping his body was causing. His vision began to blur a little, but despite that, he could still make out the thin shape of Leon, glaring down at him from above.
"Loyalty to a good animal will all but invariably yield better results than betraying them," the reptile sounded like he was reading a dictionary as he took a knee beside the dying animal's body. "It is… a pity that you didn't learn that," he said, his voice becoming quieter with each word. A rough hand drifted forward and gently brushed against Lucas's face, forcing his eyes closed. "I'm sorry things had to go this way," the assassin muttered, almost inaudible now, "but at least let me put a stop to your suffering."
Lucas sensed the cool plastic of a silencer being pressed against his forehead. Leon let out a small sigh, and Lucas thought he heard the chameleon plea for forgiveness, though whether it was forgiveness from him or from some god figure, he wasn't certain. A moment later, a final burst of searing pain gripped him, and the ape felt his mind pull away from his body, never to return.
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Leon remained crouched beside the fallen simian for nearly a full minute after he'd pulled the trigger, a slight slump in his shoulders. Finally, he stood up, holstering his pistol as he did. He recovered his knife and began cleaning the thick, red juices off of it with a grey cloth tied to his belt, but his eyes remained on the corpse before him. A now familiar, twisting feeling ran through his stomach, and the chameleon shut his eyes to fight the painful sensation.
There would be time for mourning later, he thought, remembering the six flares of life on the monitor. No need to get choked up over doing a job that is not even finished yet.