§1 Wrath
Peach's figure may have been slight, but she was far from insubstantial, or wraith-like, or spectral, or any one of the vaguely ghostly adjectives which would have made her easier to carry. The Captain did not mind, though. This may have been partially due to the fact that the muscle-bound figure was not just for show, or that he had Peach's slender thighs pressed around his neck, but it was mostly because his mind was somewhere else entirely.
Finally, going back to Port Town after all these years. Ever since learning of the attack on his island fortress in his absence, the Captain had avoided his home city like the plague. That was not an option any more. Maybe he should have got someone else to go there in his stead – someone less recognisable, someone less likely to drive into town in a machine known by every inhabitant. But that was not an option either. There was business back in the Town he had to take care of himself, business he could not put off forever.
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he completely failed to notice the burning sunshine or the magnificent desert scenery. Huge pyramids towered up from the desert sand, oases shimmered enticingly in the sunlight and trains of camels paraded serenely by. Although hot and perilous, Dry Dry Desert had a certain charm for those able to appreciate it.
"Captain?"
The Captain seemed to have just become aware of the pretty woman atop his shoulders.
"What did you say?"
"I asked whether we should stop at that oasis. You must be getting tired of carrying me."
"Not really. I'd forgotten you were even there."
They walked for a while in silence, the Captain's piston-like thighs propelling them onwards.
His pondering was interrupted by a faint howling sound. An ill wind began to blow around them, whipping at his feet with sand. It soon amplified in intensity, the battering sediment moving up his body and attacking his legs, stomach and arms, Peach's legs, and finally reaching his curly hair.
"What's going on?" he said, putting his hands in front of his face.
"Tweester tornadoes!"
Turning to look behind him, the Captain could see the two whirlwinds, complete with malevolent grins, homing in on their position. The sand buffeted the hapless duo as their windy assailants bore down upon them, slowly but surely.
"What have we done to them?" protested the Captain, backing away.
"Oh, nothing. They just like tossing people in the air for fun. They can be helpful sometimes, though."
Peach clambered awkwardly down from the Captain's shoulders and faced the Tweesters head on.
"Well, I guess this is it for now," she said with a smile. "See you when we've got the keys."
"We can't give up!" said the Captain, taking the princess' hand. "Even with you on my back, we can still outrun them!"
"I'm not giving up," said Peach, pulling her hand away. "I'm taking a shortcut."
And then suddenly her arms were around his neck, her slender body pushed against his toned torso, her soft lips pressing against his, sand-chapped and out of practice. Despite the whirling wind and intense confusion, the Captain thought he detected a slight smell of flowers. And then she was separated from him again, running towards the oncoming Tweesters.
"See you later!"
Before he could say anything she was snatched up by a stray gust, and then the Tweesters were playing with her, passing her back and forth, spinning her round and round, building up her momentum all the time, and then looking at their quarry with unrestrained vicious joy they threw her up into the air, still spinning, hard enough to send her quickly out of sight.
"YOU BASTARDS!" shouted the Captain. "Do you know how long it has been since any woman has done that to me?"
The Tweesters turned their grins on him.
"So… I'll just be going now, hey?"
o o o
He sat on the dunes, a good distance from all whirling winds, and tried to collect his thought processes. His mind was oblivious to vulture calls and sandstorms, or the slow movements of multi-segmented cacti with faces in his general direction.
A hot babe – and not just any hot babe, but the Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom – had just kissed him on the lips. Not just a passing peck, but an intense, passionate farewell kiss. Despite what he would pretend, this was not something that occurred often to the Captain. For all his flirtatious behaviour and innuendos, he lived a secluded life and most of the women he met were fellow F-Zero drivers he would rather vanquish than romance.
The implications were profound enough to make the Captain briefly forget all about his mission in Port Town. Had he not been thinking about settling down? Might not this woman, who (and in retrospect the signs were obvious) fancied him like mad, be a possible future wife? Might this not put him in charge of the Mushroom Kingdom when all was done here? Was he thinking too far into the future? And would Mario, upon being rescued from the LOVE's clutches, use his trademark mallet to dye the Captain's auburn hair a darker shade of red?
Such thoughts occupied the Captain's brain, jostling and fighting like two drunken hunters over the last baby seal, until a familiar noise returned the smile to his iron face. It was the sound of an engine coming towards him. Rolling down the sleeve of his tunic, he pressed a few buttons on the device on his wrist and the Blue Falcon changed course slightly, driving towards him over the dunes and smashing through several of the cacti.
He had been afraid to use the remote control device to retrieve his vehicles, in case they alerted the LOVE to his presence or got damaged on the journey; but having left the Blue Falcon safely by the Marios' house, he had felt bold enough to subject it to a voyage without him. Now it drew to a leisurely stop, and the Captain rose to greet it.
"Heya, gorgeous," he said indulgently. "Where've you been? Daddy's missed you."
"…know where we are!"
"Oh relax. I'll take care of this."
Impossible! There were voices emanating from the cockpit! One was thin, reedy and Italian, the other a bold American alto. Who dared to ride in the machine of the great Captain Falcon? More to the point, who had spotted it despite its cloaking device? The driver stomped over to the vehicle and prepared to open the roof, ready to yell at top volume at whoever dared to be inside. He was slightly thrown when the roof was tossed open for him.
"Hi! I'm Daisy!"
The person who said this was a tanned girl with a round face and brown hair, similar but not identical in style to Peach's. She had an open and engaging smile, and stared at the Captain almost defiantly. Behind her cowered a figure wearing Peach's dress and a wig evidently modelled on the princess' hair. It also sported a droopy moustache.
"Luigi?" said the Captain, now far too bewildered to be angry. "What are you doing dressed like that?"
The younger Mario brother gaped without answer for a few seconds. "Er… well…"
"Does he have to have a reason?" said Daisy, grabbing the Captain's face and turning it towards her own. "My, but you're a cutey."
The Captain's astonished appearance was replaced with his more usual smarmy grin. "Princess Daisy, I assume? The lovely ruler of Sarasaland?"
"Before it went bankrupt and got 'voluntarily' merged with the Mushroom Kingdom, yeah," said Daisy with a slightly less cheerful expression. "And you must be Captain Falcon, survivor of the Purges and all-round beefcake. This your car?"
"Yes, it is," said the Captain, with a bit of his previous annoyance. "What're you doing in it?"
"Oh, we're real sorry," said Daisy, pushing Luigi (who was frantically trying to remove the dress) out onto the sand. "Luigi here was just showing me what a neat-o job you've done with it. Talk about a sexy vehicle! I wouldn't mind taking her out for a spin, if you know what I mean."
The battle was won. The Captain's chest had inflated to match his ego, and he quickly tapped in a few commands on his wrist communicator.
"Quite all right," he said, beaming. "Just glad to know someone enjoys my hard work! Now, I've got to get going, but I'm going to send you my Falcon Flyer to take you back home. Nice to meet you, Princess."
He took her hand and kissed it. She giggled. With a final disdainful look at the scrunched-up form of Luigi, the Captain boarded the Falcon, waved and sped off, leaving clouds of sand in his wake.
"You were flirting with him!" said Luigi when he was sufficiently far away, a look of annoyance replacing that of terror and embarrassment.
"Sweetie, do use your common sense," said Daisy in a tired voice. "If I hadn't flirted with him you'd have a flaming fist up your ass by now. Had to make it obvious too; that sort of man doesn't get flirting unless you shove it in his face."
As Luigi tried to rise off the sand, she pushed him roughly back down and sat on top of him, smiling slyly. "My heart only belongs to one pathetic droopy-looking plumber. Can you guess who?"
Luigi smiled weakly. "Good to know you think so highly of me."
"You bet I do. Now, how about you put that power-hungry bitch's costume back on and we have some fun before the transport arrives?"
o o o
Time passes.
Not much time, though. The Blue Falcon was almost fully topped up, so had the Captain not been required to pause for food, bed and lavatory breaks the journey would have been all but direct from eastern Mushroom Kingdom to Port Town – in such a beast as the Falcon, not a long journey at all. However, the Captain knew the importance of keeping blood sugar topped up, sleeping well and urinating before a race, and so made a couple of stops. He slept in his car like a drunken koala.
I say "all but direct" because on the way the Captain, after lots of consideration and with a heavy heart, drove the Falcon to a small garage along the way (the kind that was unlikely to know about Captain Falcon and/or call the LOVE if his car turned up) and had it painted silver. Driving into Port Town in broad daylight was dangerous enough – driving into the centre of the Nintendo F-Zero racing scene in the best-known car on the circuit, with its cloaking device close to expiry, was tantamount to suicide. And so did the poor garage workers feel awfully hard done by, as the well-built man in nondescript clothes with curly red hair and an awfully familiar vehicle peered over their shoulders incessantly, checking they were not doing anything disastrous to his car. He ended up doing half the job himself, but they did not object. They charged the same either way.
At an hour and a half, that was the longest part of the journey, with the exception of nine hours' sleep. Having set off at close to two, the Captain reached the Port Town district at about eleven the next day. Gone were the quaint mushroom-shaped dwellings and grassy plains, replaced by skyscrapers, hovercars and a lot of noise and light. Monorails passed by overhead, traffic stretched upwards for a mile or so and fumes were pumped into the air, before being sucked in by the air purification system that was the only reason for the lack of a massive smog cloud over the city-state.
It brought memories swimming back. The Captain remembered so many people – his old F-Zero rivals, the bumbling Samurai Goroh and the downright evil Black Shadow; Jody Summer, another F-Zero racer and his old flame; Samus Aran, the galaxy-protecting bounty hunter who had stayed here for a while before being captured in the Purges; the kid Saki… But most of all, it brought back memories of the Cylinder Wave Incident. It was these last memories that kept the Captain's hands firmly clenched on the wheel, his eyes cold and hard as iron.
And time passes.
o o o
The small pub used to be called "the Starfish", and had born a banner of a yellow five-pointed star with a happy face. Since the last time the Captain had been here, it had changed. It was now "the Metroid", named after a vicious parasitic alien that looked like a jellyfish and feasted on the life force of its victims. The Captain smiled. How appropriate.
As the automatic door hissed open, it became clear that the change of management had lost the establishment few customers, even at one in the afternoon. The atmosphere, however, was radically altered. The decoration was the same – simple one-legged tables, neon lights, shiny metal surfaces stained with stale booze. What was lacking was the uplifting disharmony of drinking songs, the cheery music of conversation. Instead, men and women huddled around tables, staring into pint glasses with glazed eyes, trying to forget the past rather than enjoy the moment. The only man who was singing fell off his chair as the Captain walked in and spent the next few minutes acquainting himself with the floor.
The Captain attracted some looks, especially from the women, but in his dirty clothes and without his trademark helmet he went unrecognised. He walked up to the bar and leant on it, noticing as he did so the speakers and screens that now decorated the walls and ceiling. LOVE propaganda, he thought. They say you're never more than ten metres from a rat in Port Town. Now, they might just be right.
He was approached by a jittery adolescent, who shuffled along the counter looking at his shaking hands. His hair was an untidy mess that might once have been blonde, his blue eyes sparkled with fear rather than liveliness and his milky skin, stretched over his bones, was blotched with grey dirt. He looked at the Captain's face, his mouth forming a word that was hurriedly choked back as he gasped and stumbled into the bottles behind, sending a vessel of some noxious red liquor tumbling to the floor. The loud crash turned a few heads, and the boy hurriedly grasped a cloth before diving out of sight behind the bar.
"And hello to you too," said the Captain.
The boy reappeared, his hands looking as if they had just stabbed someone. His eyes were large and desperate, and below them his mouth formed shapes his throat would not let him pronounce.
"This isn't the Saki Amamiya I remember," said the Captain softly. "What happened to the athletic kid who could shoot an alien menace in the eye from twenty paces?"
It seemed as if the spark of an old fire reignited in the boy's eyes as he replied. "D-died. D-died with all those on the c-c-cylinder. And with you, D-douglas Jay Falcon. It died with y-y-you."
"Can't have done, though, can it?" said the Captain, fiddling with a glass. "'Cause I'm not dead."
The two stared at each other for a while, the Captain appraising, Saki with a sort of desperation in his face. The drunken man was yelling how he had raced against Captain Falcon and almost won back in the day, while others muttered amongst themselves or nervously eyed the screens.
"Why did you come back, D-douglas?" stammered Saki, relieving the Captain of his glass and almost dropping it. "This c-c-city isn't s-s-safe for you. This isn't a s-social visit."
"The hell it isn't!" said the Captain, pointing at a bottle of spirits. "I got people I want to see, kid! Check how my old buddy Saki's holding up, for one. And for two…"
Saki poured the bottle into the glass, spilling clear fluid all over the counter. Then he passed it across, gazing into the Captain's eyes with a look of comprehension.
"You can't just w-w-waltz through the city until you f-find the guy you want," he said. "The Town isn't that k-k-kind any more."
"Weren't that kind in the first place. Remember when you were giving me a shooting demonstration in the alley, and those muggers came up to us, and you demonstrated on them? Man! What's that kid doing shaking like a leaf behind a bar?"
He was rewarded with a weak smile, and bending low over the counter he pressed the advantage.
"You know who I am, Saki. You know what happened to me that day. You know who I want to see, and I reckon you can get me to him. Underneath that blonde mop, there's a mind as sharp as your energy sword. Can't you shake it into action? For the sake of an old friend?"
His eyes on the screens, Saki poured another measure of clear spirit into a second glass, this time with a slightly steadier hand. Then he emptied the glass down his throat, spilling a bit of liquid onto his face, and gasped briefly. After a moment's thought, he turned to the Captain with a smile.
"How much h-h-humiliation are you willing to go through, to meet with this b-beast?"
o o o
The Captain felt ridiculous.
Granted, he was utterly invisible like this, even more so than when he entered the tavern. Was it not said that to remain invisible, one should stand in plain sight? (If it was, he had no idea who by.) But for a man used to being the height of fashion, dressing up like this felt absolutely ridiculous. Especially the sandals. He hated the sandals. If this idea failed, they would find Saki scattered in several little pieces all over the town.
As the Captain continued his walk down the mucky pavement, the hovercars beside and above him honking their horns as if making loud noise was going out of fashion, he tried to practise the accent and some of the strange phonetics Saki had taught him. As a man used to talking for all his life in what would on Terra be an all-out apple-pie true American drawl, getting his tongue around the new sounds was a bit problematic. Getting his massive flagon between pedestrians was even more so.
Eventually he arrived at the mayoral office, fortunately not too far from the Metroid, red faced and out of breath. The office had also suffered extensive remodelling since his last visit – now its entrance was fronted with a massive torii, and the entire building resembled a squat pagoda. The contrast between the faux-Japanese building and the massive skyscrapers towering over it on all sides could not have been greater. Huffing slightly, the Captain hauled the massive flagon up the long flight of steps that led to the large red gate in front of the office. Near the top he stumbled and almost fell, balancing precariously on the tips of the sandals, but just managed to keep upright.
The gate was decorated with pictures of tengu of several varieties, flying past a drawn landscape of skyscrapers presumably meant to be Port Town and scattering coins down upon the populace. On either side stood two blue and white robots with red headdresses, bearing a different gun in each hand. When they were met with the bewildering sight of Captain Falcon with a cloth wrapped around his head, dressed in a half-open bath towel, belt, shorts and geta sandals, and carrying a massive bottle, they stood in front of the door and raised their weapons.
"State your business," said the one on the right.
The Captain pulled himself together, inwardly cursed Saki and grinned broadly, showing all his teeth. He gave the robots the thumbs-up.
"Ohayo!" he shouted, scaring some pedestrians back on the road. "I here to see Mayor Goroh-kun desu!"
"The Mayor does not see anyone without an invitation," said the robot on the left. "Please state your business."
The Captain thrust forward the heavy flagon with an overly dramatic gesture. The effort nearly sprained his wrist.
"Sake!" he yelled, maintaining the grin. "Speciaru gifto from the Meturoido desu! For Mayor Goroh-kun!"
The left robot spoke into a communicator on his wrist. "Mayor Goroh, we have an offensive stereotype here who has a flagon of sake for you. No, he says it's a gift. Twice the size of my head. Are you sure, sir? As you wish, sir." It turned to Falcon. "The mayor says it had better be good sake."
The gates slid open, revealing beyond them a peaceful courtyard featuring running water, fish statues and an excess of bonsai trees.
"Straight ahead," said the right robot. "Big room with a red dragon on the door. You can't miss it."
"Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto-san sama!" shouted the Captain, crying a bit inside. "Rong rive the ROVE!"
The sound of synthesised birdsong was not enough to block out the road rage that continued to emanate from the street, so the garden did not quite have the "home from Japan" effect it was going for. Nevertheless, it was all very scenic and peaceful, with the exception of the identikit robots in French maid outfits that wandered through the courtyard and made the Captain feel a bit unwell. On the opposite side, a painted dragon leered horribly at the disguised F-Zero pilot, who approached it and knocked three times on its eyeball.
"Who is it?" asked a slightly more refined Japanese accent than the Captain's fake one.
"Sake for Mayor Goroh-kun!"
"Come in!"
The Captain stumbled into the room, which was a minimalist affair. With the exception of the desk at one end and a reed mat, there was no furniture. The owner had clearly tried to make up for this by overloading the walls. Photographs, paintings, emblems, katanas – not a square metre went uncovered. Looking at all this from behind the desk was a portly man, dressed in a sharp suit that did not really cover his bulging body. He was obviously of genuine Japanese descent, and peeked at the Captain over a tiny pair of glasses.
"Come closer," he said with a genial smile. "I am impressed to the lengths to which the Metroid has gone to Japanify their delivery man. Bravo! A bit of advice – the accent is a little overdone, and the sandals are unnecessary."
"It's no more overdone than yours, Samurai Goroh," said the Captain in his normal voice, ripping the cloth from his head. "You haven't lived on Terra for twenty-four years now."
The mayor's expression of surprise was soon replaced by one of joy. "Well well well! Douglas Jay Falcon! This is something of an embarrassment. The whole city was told that you were dead!"
"Your problem, not mine. You going to call your guards?"
Goroh shook his large head. "To do so would be foolish. Your Falcon Punch and Falcon Kick techniques are the stuff of which legends are made. I wish my brains and the wall to remain separate. Please." He indicated a chair. "Bring over your sake, and let us talk like gentlemen."
"I wouldn't if I were you," said the Captain, taking the chair. "It tastes like shit."
"Thank you for the warning." Goroh rummaged through the drawers in his desk. "Fortunately, I have some that does not… er… taste like shit. Will you partake?"
The Captain nodded silently, and Goroh decanted some of the small brown bottle into a glass. For a brief while there was no sound but those of pouring fluid and samisens strumming in the background.
"You've really put some regional colour into this place," said the Captain absent-mindedly.
"Well, I miss my home sometimes," said Goroh, filling his own glass. "You must know how it feels."
The Captain leaned over the table. "I want to have a little talk with Wolf O'Donnell. He has something I want."
"Wolf has many things many people want. Power, wealth, fame – and secrecy. You, Douglas, with your offshore fortress – you know the importance of secrecy, of being hidden. Wolf is hidden, Douglas, and he does not tell many people where."
"Rumour says he told you."
Samisens and Goroh downing his glass. The Captain took a small sip. It tasted foul. Perhaps the liquid in his flask was good quality after all.
"Rumour is an unreliable mistress, Douglas," said Goroh softly. "You should not trust it, especially in these times. For instance, one particularly popular rumour is that the LOVE will soon fall to a group of people called the LOL, with whom you are affiliated. Nonsense, I'm sure you'll agree."
More samisens. Goroh refilled his own glass and topped up the Captain's.
"However," he continued, "I might be willing to verify the truth of this particular rumour. But Wolf would be most upset if I let you just waltz into his hiding spot." The samurai sipped pensively. "I presume you have reclaimed your motor from our greedy clutches?"
The Captain said nothing. He merely stared, arms crossed, legs spread wide and crotch thrust forward.
"I'm sure you have by now. And so it is that I offer you a proposition. You and I, we will have a little race tomorrow. I hire out a racetrack and we go one-on-one. Three laps, standard rules. Relive the good old days, hurtling around the course, smashing our foes into the walls. If I win, I take you to Wolf. If you win, I take you to Wolf as my prisoner. How does that sound?" Goroh leaned in.
The Captain was incredulous. "Seriously? If I beat you in an F-Zero race you'll take me to Wolf?"
"Those are my terms, Douglas."
"Sure!" said the Captain, almost laughing. "Kicking your ass never gets old!"
Goroh beamed. "Excellent! Shall we say the Aero Dive racetrack, ten a.m.?"
"Well, we can't use Cylinder Wave, can we?"
"Douglas, no-one regrets what happened there more than I," said Goroh, looking into his sake glass. "But sadly, the Black Shadow had been causing trouble for the LOVE. Saying he refused to join forces and was going to take over the world himself. We had no choice but to drop the course from the air."
"And the stadium and upwards of a million spectators with it," said the Captain, gripping the glass very tightly. "Tell me, Samurai – how does that fit in with the Goroh family motto, 'Steal, but never kill'?"
"I have never killed anyone myself, Douglas!" laughed Goroh. "Not personally. Not except during the F-Zero races, where I will reckon that you have killed more than me! Isn't that so?"
The Captain put his glass down, untouched since the last top-up, and slowly stood up. His eyes never left Goroh's smiling visage for a second.
"I look forward to competing with you once again tomorrow, my old friend and rival," said Goroh, also rising and extending a hand. "Arigatou gozaimazu!"
The Captain turned and walked slowly towards the door, leaving the samurai's sweaty palm untouched.
"Whatever that means."
o o o
"He's ch-challenging you to a r-r-race? But he's beaten you like t-t-ten times t-total!"
"He's up to something," said the Captain, drinking something that was not quite a Red Gyarados but came close enough. "Goroh's not stupid. Not any more. He's all grown up."
Saki sipped at his glass. "Sh-shame you had to lose the c-c-costume. That headwrap looked g-g-good on you."
The Captain ground his teeth. The image of the sandals was engraved into his brain.
"So are you going to t-take him up on the offer?" Saki inquired.
"Of course! It'll take more than the threat of Goroh's IQ making it into double digits to put me off smashing him in a race!"
They drank in silence for a while. The Captain noticed Saki's shaking hand as the boy emptied the glass into his mouth. He wondered when Saki had started drinking seriously. Half a year, nine months? The boy topped up, while the man listened to the car horns and general traffic outside.
"Th-th-thought about where you're going to s-stay?" said Saki. "I can't reasonably let you s-s-sleep here. M-m-more than my job's worth."
"I just need a slot in the garage," said the Captain, with the first genuine smile of the evening. "I'll be sleeping in the comfiest bed there is."
o o o
Later that night, Captain Falcon sat in the dark concrete garage, looking out of the Blue/Silver Falcon. The heating hummed away in the background, keeping the Captain warm (although changing out of the shorts and bath towel helped), and the seat was a comfortable enough bed, but the Captain's mind refused to let him rest. He drummed his fingers against the glass and made shapes with his mouth. Every so often, he hit the side of the machine with his fist and groaned slightly.
All thoughts of Peach were forgotten; he could not even think about his car. His mind kept reverting to Cylinder Wave and what had happened there almost a year ago. Although the Captain had been well away from Port Town at that time, he had seen the broadcasts. The LOVE had been proud of the stadium's collapse, and used it as another propaganda element to terrify Nintendo's people into subjugation. It had shown and re-shown the event on state television, rejoicing in the screams, the fear, the explosions, the deaths, Wolf cackling from his viewpoint. It made the Captain want to heave.
Footsteps sounded from behind the car. One person, light build, running. Not a threat. The Captain looked in the rear view mirror and saw the slim form of Saki approaching, holding a long glowing object in his trembling hand. He lifted the lid and looked round.
"Douglas," said Saki, panting slightly, "there are s-s-suspicious figures outs-s-side. They've s-s-s…" He paused as the stutter choked him and tried again. "They've s-s-s-s-surrounded the hotel. M-m-might be nothing, but…"
"It's not going to be nothing," said the Captain, getting out. "Not tonight."
"There are about t-t-t-twenty of them! At least!"
The Captain cracked his knuckles. "Well, we should go see what they want."
Saki pushed a red switch on the wall, and with a mechanical grinding sound the garage door slowly slid upwards. It was barely open a crack when the first green lasers hissed under the door. The Captain pressed himself up against the wall and smiled across at Saki.
"You still good at shooting robots, kid?"
Saki smiled back. "I guess we'll f-f-find out."
The lasers stopped coming in, and one of the mayor's servants (without a French maid uniform, thankfully) slowly hovered in. It looked cautiously from side to side. "Hello," it called into the darkness. "Is anybody there?" The question was answered by the Captain's flaming boot hitting it in the back and propelling it into the garage wall.
"I'm here, bitch!"
It was indeed a sight to behold as the Captain ran through the network of lasers and homing rockets without taking so much as a scratch, leapt into the air and punched a robot to the floor in flames, then grabbed its charred carcass and threw it at another one before it so much as had a chance to mourn its friend. With barely a pause for breath, he sprang up again and kneed a third robot in its metal stomach, sending it flying into two of its brethren. Saki stayed in the garage doorway, strafing and firing at the androids with his luminescent object. His shots may have meandered on occasion, but the majority found their targets and blasted them fizzing from the air. When a few strayed too close, the glowing blade cleaved them cleanly in twain.
"Hey, Saki," said the Captain, using one robot as a footstool to reach and punch another, "got a joke for you. What do you get when you cross two robots?"
"Don't know!" shouted Saki over the gunfire.
"Neither do I! Let's find out!"
With the sound of a bird of prey, another metal unfortunate collided at high speed with yet another (while on fire).
"Huh. Apparently they explode. Not a great punch line."
The mop-up continued apace. What Saki had said constituted "at least twenty" robots was closer to fifty, but as far as he and the Captain were concerned that just meant more metal to clean up off the hotel grounds in the morning. As the guests and several bystanders stared on in astonishment, the last few robots were gunned or burnt down, or attempted to flee.
"Hey, Saki," said the Captain, as he punched in the head of the last remaining robot, "got another joke for you. These guys!"
o o o
The rain, it rained all the day. Big fat wet droplets flung themselves with gay abandon at the hovercars, the roads, the pedestrians, the buildings – anything they could, really, in a bout of futile kamikaze warfare. The sun, suffocated by a blanket of thick grey cloud, tried its best to peep down upon the Aero Dive F-Zero track, but the clouds were having none of it. Thus the waiting Samurai Goroh and his two robots were pelted by the podgy balls of water as ten o'clock struck on the large digital clock sticking up over what had once been the Port Town Stock Exchange, before the LOVE had nationalised every company worth buying shares in. The water ran down its digits like so many tears, as if the clock was weeping for its past.
A sleek silver vehicle hove into view and drew to a sharp stop in front of the mayor of Port Town, who was one of the few people who could recognise the car after its paint job, as well as the man who opened the lid.
"Ah, Douglas," said Goroh with great satisfaction. "Good to see you. I wondered whether you'd make it."
"Not gonna lie, Goroh – dick move, sending those robots to skew the race. Dick move."
Goroh laughed. "They had nothing to do with the race, Douglas! The robots were because of your impolite behaviour yesterday. I extend the hand of friendship, and you – how do you say it? Ah yes – leave me hanging."
"Better than dropping you from thirty thousand feet," said the Captain. "How was I meant to remain anonymous after that? Good thing the LOVE agents who arrived on the scene didn't recognise me, or I wouldn't have been able to race you today."
"Douglas, I…"
"I had to make a kid lie to the police, Goroh. I don't like making kids lie. So, we going to race or what?"
Without waiting for an answer, the Captain closed the Falcon's lid and drove off towards the starting grid. Goroh shook his head sadly and proceeded to the changing rooms.