Badlander
Chapter 10: Sic Vis Pacem…
"I told you to capture him alive. Are you too simple an organism to follow even this instruction?" The masked figure stood once more near the lifeless window, which gave way to the great beyond.
More like beyond suffering, Shadowed thought morosely.
"W-we haven't killed him, My Lord. Our forces are hunting the American on the surface of the planet as we speak."
Masked turned to behold the Shadowed figure. The cold, metallic face seemed to scream from the darkest depths of space. For a moment, Shadowed doubted if such an evil figure could even be human.
Well, Hitler was human. So was Josef Mengele, he remarked silently, remembering the intelligence reports about the mass graves of the Nazi Necropolises, and the human purification plants on the Mengele Genocamps. Not so different, he recalled, from the practices of his former master Andross.
I suppose all species produce monsters, Shadowed lamented silently. And sometimes, in order to reach certain goals, deals had to be struck, usually with the type of people no sane individual would invite into his or her own home.
"See to it that he remains alive, Chairman, and remind that upstart Kivuli Solarex to adhere to the plan. After that he may settle his own vendettas," the masked figure's cool, metallic voice rasped once more against Shadowed's eardrums.
"Prepare your fleet for deployment." The Masked figure ordered coldly.
Shadowed cringed slightly, but managed to hold himself in check.
"Yes, My Lord," he promised, fully aware of the grim ramifications of failure. "It will be done."
The cool air hissed delicately through Andrea's fingers. Under the stoic, lumbering evergreen tree she slept. Her injuries sustained from escaping the Gray Room slowly faded into the abyssal plane that souls traveled to when they wished to dream, or had been ensnared by some dark nightmare.
But this did not feel like a dream, she knew as her jade green eyes surveyed the darkness, although she could only clearly recall that one day in the entirety of her life. Surely there had been more to begin with, right? She did not know, and as her soul descended further and further from consciousness, she was more certain that the black abyss that surrounded her was a memory. Of what, she did not know.
"Mommy?" a young, innocent voice rang out in the darkness.
"Hello?" she stood. The clouds of her subconscious mind made her feel like she was flying. Maybe she was flying, she decided; flying further and further from the truth her mind searched for so desperately.
"Mommy, why did you leave me?"
A name. A name she had grown to protect. But why?
A name formed on her tongue, but it escaped her like some fleeting wind tugging at her clothes, gently guiding her in the right direction, only to die as assuredly as anything else when she was mere inches from her goal.
"Where are you?" she screamed into her dream, and suddenly the walls closed in, noticing and punishing her for her indiscretion. Uncertainty surrounded her like a thick black fog that forced its way into her lungs, choking her from within. And then she knew that dreams could kill.
"Mom, you have to wake up." The innocent voice suddenly became frightened.
"Who-" she choked. That was the question. The forbidden question. The black smog twisted within her chest, rupturing her heart. She collapsed onto the immateriality of her dream. Her nightmare. Her memory. All one and the same. Because of him.
A cold whisper sung from far away in the fog.
"Mommy, you have to wake up."
"We'll go get them, Peppy. And bring them back alive; I promise," the hopeful, much-loved voice concluded over the communications system of the Cornerian Fleet Ship Horizon.
"I know you will," Peppy answered. He moved closer to the microphone so no one else in the immediate vicinity would hear. "Be careful, son." The commlink clicked off. Peppy settled into his seat and sighed.
What a day, eh James? He thought silently, remembering his best friend and the last promise he ever made to him. I know I promised you I'd look out for Fox, but Pepper, the old fart, says he needs me here. Buddy, just say the word and I'll give up the rank, promotion, everything, just so I can fly alongside him again, and fulfill my promise to you.
Only silence greeted Peppy as he stared out once more at the tumultuous cold planet below, and the stars that lingered like angels above. He hoped that one of those angels would be watching Fox and his team today.
"He's like a son to me," Peppy mumbled aloud as tears threatened to break through his eyes.
"Did you say something, Sir?" A husky feminine voice from behind startled him.
Peppy turned and beheld a familiar grayish feline whose sapphire eyes sparkled mischievously.
"Katt Munroe, what are you doing here?" Peppy exclaimed, more than surprised that the crime-dabbling feline would risk appearing on a military starship.
"Oh, now that's no way to say hi to an old friend," Katt purred as she sauntered over to where Peppy sat.
"You haven't answered my question," Peppy said simply, and on this rare occasion he was glad to be old. Age afforded him wisdom that almost made up for his lack of energy and mobility.
"Well, I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd stop by, have a chat, maybe steal a few things. Not necessarily in that order."
"There isn't anything here worth stealing. All the ships are-" he stopped, remembering.
"P-51 Mustang. American. Four plasma casters, two missile bays. Top speed: short-jump hyperspace. I was thinking about taking one of those Anti-Pulse shuttles, but from what I hear they're pieces of flying crap."
Katt grinned as Peppy widened his eyes. "Sound about right?"
Peppy was taken aback by the feline's unparalleled ability to research a job before implementing it. Katt's flirty attitude and good looks were just a front; a convenient disguise for a brilliant criminal mind.
The hare narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't be here if you were planning on stealing something," he said.
"Nope," she agreed sweetly and continued. "Not unless I planned on taking over the conn and stealing this whole frigate and nab the whole bunch. Which I could totally do, by the way," she promised and winked at him.
Peppy believed her, and it showed on his aging face.
"Naw, relax Peps," Katt amended and held her hands out in a conciliatory gesture of peace. "If I were here to steal something, it'd have been stolen already."
"So why are you here, then?" Peppy wondered, truly lost. Then he knew. "Falco."
Now it was Katt's turn to widen her eyes. She looked like she was about ready to fire off an incendiary remark when she lowered her gaze and sighed. Katt nodded and shot him another look that said: It's in your best interest to keep that tidbit of information to yourself.
Peppy nodded. He got the message. Additional garble from the communications equipment prevented Peppy from prying further.
He turned, clicked the receiver button on the console in front of him and spoke.
"Colonel Hare, CFS Horizon," he indicated. He heard a mild clatter as Katt walked up next to him, her face anxious to hear a message that might perhaps indicate the death of a certain Star Fox pilot.
Peppy grumbled slightly as he awaited a response.
"Colonel!" the voice blared out anxiously. "Unknown ship dropping out of hyperspace off the port bow. Sir, it looks like they're powering weapons!"
Peppy stood rigidly. "All hands, battle stations!" he barked. "Shields up."
And everything was silent, save for the dull hum of the ship's energy allocators as the Horizon's crew prepared for war. He glanced nervously at the instruments in front of him, checking for even the smallest increment of change.
"Sir!" the voice continued. "They - they're not firing."
"Give me a status report," Peppy requested. He knew better than to get impatient with the individuals who held vital information.
There was a long pause. Katt hovered nearby, her face fully alert.
"Sir, the unknown ship is requesting communications."
"Patch 'em through," Peppy ordered. Immediately, the glass canopy that sat in the front of the command room lit up in the form of a rectangular patch of static. Gradually, the picture materialized into a portrait of two humans. One had strange, dark-green hair and mysteriously colored irises. The other was shorter, thinner, had light blond hair, but he gave off an aura of absolute authority that seemed to defy age.
It was the blonde man who spoke first, much, apparently, to the chagrin of the taller, older human. The green-haired human scowled slightly as the younger man spoke.
"Ah, Colonel Peppy," the human spoke in a strange, exotic accent. "I didn't think Cornerian Command would be so bold as to stick you in a frigate."
"My posting is irrelevant," Peppy clarified while Katt covered her mouth to suppress a grin. "Who are you and what do you want? And how do you justify your violation of sovereign Cornerian space in a time of war?"
"Alright, down to business. I like that," the man stated with a sneer that made Peppy want to fire off an energy cannon just to wipe the smirk off his face. "My name is Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov, and I come here seeking an American Captain by the name of Gideon Waller."
"Romanov," Katt said quietly. "You mean the Romanov? The last Tsar?"
"Ah, my beauty. Your intelligence becomes you," Romanov purred through the screen. He smiled charmingly. "I beg your acquaintance, my lady."
Katt blushed slightly and was about to speak when the strange, green-haired man elbowed the younger man whispered something into his ear.
The younger man glanced back at him and shook his head.
"Very well, Branson," he turned to face, "Colonel Hare – as I have said – I have come here in search of Gideon Waller. Is he on Fichina?"
Peppy clenched his fists. Who was this man, this "Tsar"? And how did he know about the American Captain? Perhaps more importantly, what did he want with him?
"I am not at liberty to discuss that information," Peppy stated frankly and narrowed his eyes. "I highly recommend that you leave this system immediately."
"You'd turn away help during this arduous time?" Romanov wondered and gazed at Peppy pityingly.
"Help is not as important as knowing who to trust," Peppy indicated and moved closer to the screen. He definitely knew he should not trust this human, but if he were here to cause trouble, then why would he waste time negotiating? It might not have changed how Peppy felt about the man, but at least it was something to consider.
"Can I trust you?" the hare wondered aloud.
"Anyone who claims he can be trusted is most definitely a crook," the blonde man replied and smiled sadly. Peppy had good sense that the figure before him was no stranger to lying, but something about the smile seemed genuine.
The aging hare chuckled.
"So, it seems we have a dilemma, Mr. Romanov," Peppy put forth.
The blonde man nodded with apparent sincerity.
"It does indeed, Mr. Hare."
"What do you mean 'the sword is useless'? That thing set freaking wood on fire just by touching it," Hazel heard Carson ask as Gideon fumbled through his supplies.
Outside the cave the sun was barely rising on the cold horizon, shining like a beacon in the distance, illuminating a chilling sea of white. Amongst the snow and ice, numerous lumbering evergreen trees stood defiantly like frost-covered giants.
Hazel stole a glance at Gideon, drawn to the way his firm muscles worked as he organized his equipment. Gideon noticed her gaze and looked up. She looked away. The night before, she had asked him why on Corneria he had left the orphanage which had raised him in exchange for a violent life on the streets during one of the most arduous economic downturns in Cornerian and human history.
It's a long story, he had said, his cold eyes rebuffing her gaze as he asked her to leave. She felt as if her efforts to get closer to him had suddenly come crashing down upon her.
"Well, for one I'm not exactly the best swordfighter," Gideon answered, drawing Hazel back into reality. She glanced back at him as he and Carson began to engage in their newfound banter.
"Two; the bad guys have guns, so unless I get within spitting distance of them, I'm pretty much screwed," he said simply as he sheathed his sword in favor of his automatic weapon. He retrieved a small pistol from his bag and handed it to Carson.
"This is a-"
"Colt M1911 standard semi-automatic pistol," Carson interrupted and expertly withdrew the cold, metallic magazine. ".45 ACP armor-piercing explosive rounds. Not bad."
"You know your weapons," Gideon complimented and handed him two spare magazines. Carson grinned sheepishly as he tucked the sidearm and magazines into his waist.
"Dad was a scientist, mom was a soldier," he said proudly. "Each tried to steer me in the opposite direction. Dad would be like, 'Here, son, delicious quantum mechanics. Eat!'" he mimicked a deep, masculine voice. "And Mom would be like, 'Oh, Sammy, if only you knew how much more fun blaster pistols are,'" he mimicked a sweet, innocent voice.
A sad expression passed momentarily on Gideon's face and Hazel's heart skipped a beat.
He's thinking about the parents he never had, she thought, and lamented silently that there was no way he would ever let her get close enough to help.
The expression faded within seconds, however, and was replaced with a warm, gentle smile.
"They sound like good people," he said softly. "Are they doing alright?"
Carson's youthful face suddenly grewf, dark.
"Mom died when the Aparoids attacked Corneria City a couple years back," he admitted and sighed. "After that, Dad just threw himself into his work. When I joined the military, he figured it was time to move on so he left for the new science programs the military was developing on Fichina."
"He's at the Research Base, isn't he? That's why Peppy wanted you on this mission." Hazel wondered aloud and gazed at the dying embers of the fire. A prickly sensation slid over her fur as Gideon and Carson gazed at her.
Carson nodded shortly.
"Yeah, well, if it's alright with you guys, I'd rather not talk more about this."
"I gotcha kiddo," Hazel promised, "Personal lives are personal."
"T-thanks, Lieutenant Bartlett."
"You can call me Hazel if you want," she said warmly. She was happy when the ferret let a small smile play about his face.
"Thanks, Hazel."
Hazel nodded and turned to Gideon, who smiled approvingly and tossed her a spare pistol identical to the one he gave Carson. She quizzically examined the dark, metallic harbinger of death that rested in her hands and glanced at the larger one Gideon was now cradling in his arms.
Hazel walked over to the human. Bright electricity pulsed through her veins.
"Hey, why do I get the girl gun?" she teased him, and flirty smile crossing her face.
He glanced at her and smirked, noticing her smile.
"Hm, maybe it's because you're – I don't know – a girl?" He teased and smirked at her arrogantly.
She simply glared at him and stepped forward. How dare he?
"Oh, you think you're funny," she bit back as they stepped closer to one another.
"I am funny."
"Yeah? How come I'm not laughing?" she challenged.
"You're laughing on the inside," he said and smirked warmly and took another step forward, his hands brushing against hers, sending a cascade of emotions barreling throughout Hazel's body.
She stepped forward again. Now their arms were touching and their chests were inches apart. Hazel could feel his hands moving behind her back. She had to stop this, she knew, but why couldn't she?
"Oh yeah-"
"Uh, guys," Hazel turned and saw Carson grinning at her sheepishly. "Get a room."
Hazel turned in a panic and realized that her lips were almost touching Gideon's. If he only leaned down a little more… What the hell am I thinking? She pushed herself away from him. She was supposed to be mad at him, not making smoochy kissy faces like some hapless high school girl.
Gideon's cheeks reddened as he recoiled.
He shook his head and scooped up his Thompson submachine gun. Hazel almost gasped at the sudden change in his face as his eyes grew cold.
"Um, we'd better get moving," Gideon said. He shifted uncomfortably in his new tactical gear. "It's daybreak and we're going to need all the sunlight we can get."
Hazel nodded, burying her feelings from their unexpected exchange. It was time to get serious. She leveled the human sidearm in front of her and tested the iron sighss approvingly.
"We'll I'm ready," Carson remarked. "Before I landed, I spotted a large complex due north. It might be a good place to check out."
Gideon nodded and Hazel saw him turn his head face her.
"Alright John Wayne," He gestured at the way she was holding the Colt pistol. "Let's follow the Yellow Brick Road."
Hazel looked at him quizzically as he cracked a knowing smile and stepped into the cold.
Commander Rick Branson stood patiently as the self-proclaimed leader of the extinct Russian Empire made negotiations with one Colonel Peppy Hare (which was ironic because the colonel was, for lack of a better word, a hare). Despite the unfortunate last name, Peppy was, from what he could tell, atypical of most military commanders, who routinely spouted selfish ideological idiocy and had a nasty habit of getting their subordinates killed. The colonel seemed used to commanding men and taking charge of situations, a talent that was seldom honed during formal schooling or military education. No, Branson recognized, Colonel Hare was a natural commander, pure and simple.
"You may maintain your current orbit until Cornerian Command states otherwise," Peppy stated, "but for your own safety, you are not to approach Fichina or any other Lylatian world."
For our own safety, huh? Nice to see the Cornerian military higher-ups are just as lousy bullshitters as the politicians back home. He wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut. Before he became a mercenary, his life as an Australian resistance fighter plotting against the cunning, zealous Japanese Imperials had taught him to be very sparing with his words.
"You misunderstand, Colonel Hare," Romanov corrected, "I never expressed interest in touching down on any of your war-torn worlds. Your White Army might mistake me for a Red in all the confusion," he clarified. "I only wish to know of Captain Waller's whereabouts."
The hare cocked an eyebrow. Or whatever passes for eyebrows on Corneria… "And then what? I highly doubt you'll just be off on your merry way." Behind the Hare, the strange grey feline drew her hand up to her chin in a thinking pose.
"So you do know here he is," the blond man emphasized.
Peppy frowned and glanced back at the greyish feline who had developed a mischievous giggle.
A dull beep from further back the in the command room happily distracted Branson from the so-called negotiations. He politely excused himself and walked up the deck, his dark boots clanking sharply against the cold, gridded metal of the floor.
"Give me a status report, Hino." he requested the jury-rigged Japanese operations computer.
A flurry of background patriotic music answered his query.
"Ah, Commander Branson!" Hino, the ship's artificial intelligence, answered. "I have detected unidentified- HAIL THE EMPEROR! – several ships incoming on a stealth trajectory."
Branson staggered as the ship's hull rumbled.
"What the hell was that?" Branson heard the blond man's voice ring, although Branson already knew the answer.
"Energy charge detonated on the dorsal hull," the computer blared out in a thick Japanese accent.
Branson gritted his teeth. From the reports he received periodically from people who owed him favors, the DRC didn't seem to have a large supply of ships, so why would they risk attacking two ships that weren't even participating in the conflict below? Was it even the DRC who was attacking? Another hull-rumbling detonation brought him out of his silent reverie.
"Hino, sound the alarm; get everyone ready!" he barked at the computer, ignoring the imperialist rants that subsequently echoed throughout the ship as the artificial intelligence summoned his crew to their stations. He moved to his operations chair that sat in the middle of the bridge. Dull red lighting cascaded over the various consoles and instruments. If there hadn't been a view screen at the front of the room, Branson would have easily mistaken his cluttered, red, metallic surroundings for dark depths of hell.
Romanov glided up to him and sat in an operations station to the left, apparently familiar with the workings of a starship. His dark, accepting frown made him look older than he previously appeared to be. Branson had to remind himself that the man before him had more than likely seen most of his entire family butchered in the events following the October Revolution.
Branson clenched his fists as his crew haphazardly fumbled onto the bridge, taking their respective consoles and bringing the Hinomaru's weapons to bear.
It was time for payback.
"Slippy, are you sure the Pulse failsafes will hold in place?" Fox asked his amphibious teammate. Slippy's Arwing dipped down and fell in next to his own. Below, the flat plane of snow and ice narrowed into a large valley that descended further into a canyon. In the previous years, Lylat's only ice planet had become far easier to chart and explore with the advent of weather-controlling technology. He could only imagine what would happen to the newly growing ecosystems on the planet if the planetary weather control systems were removed.
"Good question!" he replied honestly. "The Americans use it to reinforce the hulls of their starships and provide back-up power in case someone decided to violate the Treaty of Versailles and hit them with an EMP. Even the US Navy guys had a hard time getting the systems to work most of the time."
"Treaty of Versailles?" Falco wondered.
"That's what ended the First Great War, Falco," Krystal said softly. "But it only pushed Germany down the road to electing Hitler."
"Those guys elected him?!" Falco exclaimed. "Why?"
"Sometimes, when people are desperate, they'll turn anywhere for help," Krystal answered. "Even if that help ends up doing horrible things to keep its power."
"Heh, sound like someone we know?" Falco asked.
"Yeah," Fox answered. How could he ever forget about that ape Andross, who, driven mad by his desire to improve Lylat, had murdered his father and started a conquest of domination that got millions of people killed? "Yeah, I guess some things carry across species well enough."
"Fox, are you okay?" Krystal asked, concern rampant in her voice.
"I'm alright, Krystal," he said, and wished more than anything that Lylat no longer needed him, so he could just worry about seeing her smile. "It's just…"
"I know," Krystal said softly. Fox nodded gratefully, happy to have Krystal with him as he dove into the fray. Sometimes, it seemed like she understood Fox more than he understood himself. What would I do without her?
A sudden beep from his ship combat sensors brought him from his distant reverie.
"Fox, are you getting this?" Slippy asked.
"Yeah. What do you make of it, Slip?" Fox wondered.
"Hang on," Slippy's high-pitched voice chirped loudly over the communications link. "Oh, dangit! E-enemy missiles incoming! Fox; they're all around us!"
Immediately, Fox checked his Aerial Proximity Scanner. The screen was choked in a threatening sea of red.
"Evasive maneuvers!" He spoke just when a glowing orange-yellow projectile streaked past his Arwing and slammed into the ground below.
Gideon Waller walked softly on the open slate of snow that stretched infinitely across the horizon. A sudden whistle of the wind brought his attention to the snow that crunched under his boots. Shouldering his Thompson, Gideon crouched down and creased his fingers into the snow. He lifted the snow near his face, examining the loose affiliation of frozen water crystals that melted stingingly in the palm of his hand.
He paused to consider a far-off memory. A sad smile spread across his face as he stood there. It was the first time in nearly nine years since he had last touched snow. After he had managed to find a way off New York, he had briefly stopped over on the northern world of Maine to admire snow and ice for the first time. Then the War had taken him, and that had led him here. Only the cool air back in Maine had been delicate and friendly, as were its people, which was also a first for Gideon.
Fichina was dangerous, and the sooner he parted from it, the better. But for now, he had a job to do, even if that job was for a military that was not his own, a nation that he had never known, and a system that could care less about him. But it didn't matter if his work wasn't appreciated. He dropped the snow and drew his submachine gun.
He had a job to do.
He felt a presence behind him.
"Are you okay?" Hazel's voice enquired. He glanced back at her quickly. Her radiant amber eyes gleamed worriedly into his own. He could get lost in those eyes…
What am I doing with her? He wondered silently as his heart sped up. Flirting? Passing the time? Breaking the ice? He sighed quietly as he took in her distant scent and soft purr of her delicate breath.
I don't know. Was the answer, and his heart slowed. His face once again became a cold mask as he turned to face the white void ahead.
"I'm fine," he muttered coolly, oblivious to Hazel's bereft expression. He began to walk. The snow crunched soundlessly beneath his feet.
"What's with him?" he heard the young ferret ask as he neared the distant tree line. Beyond, the silhouetted form of the Fichina Military Research Facility hung like a gothic spire in the white of the day.
"I don't know; he was all smiles and rainbows this morning," he heard Hazel's voice drift from behind.
"Uh, it looked like you both were a little more than 'smiles and rainbows'," Carson's voice followed. Gideon smiled slightly at that.
A sudden echo from above brought his eyes to the distant pale sky.
What the hell? Within moments, the sky was alit with orange-red rumblings and explosions. Above, Gideon glimpsed four Cornerian Arwings ducking and dipping through the pale, gossamer clouds as orange projectiles gave them chase.
He recognized the unique blue glint that shimmered darkly on the advanced fighters.
Star Fox.
Gideon gasped as dark green fighters shot through the clouds and let loose a second volley of the ubiquitous orange projectiles.
"Oh god, it's just like the vids," Carson breathed as Gideon's Cornerian companions caught up with him.
"Yeah, he's amazing…" Hazel agreed as the lead Star Fox fighter dodged a volley of missiles and energy blasts. Fox McCloud's Arwing spun toward the nearest cluster of energy ships, and fired, vaporizing the trio of enemy ships in a molten smog of green fire.
A sudden snap of twigs past the tree line brought Gideon's gaze straight ahead. He quickly crept up behind one of the nearby evergreens and signaled his companions to do the same. He flicked off the safety on his Thompson submachine gun and leaned from cover.
A platoon of soldiers with red stars on their white camouflage combat uniforms quickly advance through the pale, dreamy forest. He placed his finger on the trigger.
He didn't see the distant, amnesiac primate who observed him through a sniper scope with luminous jade green eyes.
Terms:
White Army: During the Russian Revolution (known unilaterally and perhaps incorrectly across Earthspace as the October Revolution), the forces of the Russian Provisional Government, which supplanted the Russian throne after the Tsar's abdication, were known as the White Army. The opposing communist forces were of course known as the Red Army. After the revolution ended in the Red Army's favor, the Soviet Union adopted the White Army term for any revolutionary force that arose within a country under Soviet influence or jurisdiction.
Hinomaru: Literally "sun-disk" in Japanese, Hinomaru refers to the rising sun design of the Imperial Japanese flag.
Genocamps: During the Second Great war, Nazi scientist and medical practitioner Josef Mengele ran various penal worlds across Nazi-controlled space whose expressed purpose was the "purification" of humanity through various grotesque genetic, cybernetic, and psychological experiments. Mengele, a monster of a man, led the abduction of individuals of all human ethnicities and nationalities to fulfill Hitler's dream of a "pure", unstoppable humanity. The reasons behind this, however, are open only to speculation.
Necropolis: Greek for "city of the dead", Nazi extremists, under the command of Hitler, abducted German and conquered dissidents for the expressed purpose of their execution. Once brought to these dark, barren worlds, the abductees were forced into slave labor, producing some of the various industrial needs of the Nazi war machine. Eventually, many of these "workers" were executed as the war drew to a close and their respective worlds glassed with Antimatter warheads to cover up the evidence of the mass slaughters.