運命の兵士
Soldier of Fortune

"Why do you believe you'll be a success in Caius Company tactical solutions?" the interviewer asked. He was a reddish, silky furred feline with scrutinizing eyes, dressed in a dark pinstripe suit. He sat at one side of a table in an ordinary room of an ordinary office building, with only a simple computer tablet on the tabletop that he occasionally made a note in.

James McCloud sat opposite the feline interviewer joins, dressed in the forest green service dress uniform typical of the Cornerian Armed Forces, with flight corp insignia for the rank of Senior Wingman.

It seems like such a simple question at first glance, but job interview process is anything but simple. The employer already knew James was perfectly qualified for the job, as they'd looked over the resume, consulted the references and performed a background check. At this point in the process, the company has a short list of qualified candidates, and is weeding out those who clash with the company culture, picking ot those select few who would fit in cleanly without friction.

To this end, James McCloud carefully sculpted his responses in order to make a better impression on the interviewer here, bluffing his way through the process.

"Because I'll get the job done, no matter what it is." James answered with conviction.

"The same can be said by members of our competitor firms, common guns for hire, and military soldiers..."
The brick red felid scanned McCloud with his piercing eyes, making not of every gesture, twitch and minuscule twitch of body language. It's not just about what the candidate says, but how he says it, and what he does whilst saying it that paint a picture of the fox's underlying psychology. Thus he probed deeper, asking key questions the answers and reactions to which would allow the feline to read the candidate's mind.
"Why have you chosen to pursue a career with Caius Company over other options, such as remaining among the Cornerian Armed Forces?"

This was another dig for a specific response, and James knew exactly what to provide.

"My service in the Cornerian Army and Academy training taught me how to harness my talents and use my skills, but I believe Caius Company is best situated to put them to good use, and stands to gain the most from it. With such promising potential, I'd be a shame to have such assets go to waste grinding away in the ranks of the military, or scrabbling among small-time mercenaries."

It was a highly tailored response, crafted specifically to kiss the company's ass while simultaneously putting James and his skills in the spotlight. Luckily he was backed up with enough solid credentials under his belt to get away with that kind of flaunting without seeming like a total fraud.

"Indeed..."
The interviewer was onto him, but the vulpine pilot was right, and he knew it. That sort of shrewd self-confidence could be useful, so long as it didn't degenerate into arrogance. He made a quick note in his tablet and moved on to another question; something that'd allow the candidate more time to speak for himself.
"In your own words, briefly tell me about your single most stressful experience during the Flight Academy program, and how you dealt with it."

/

/

The steady, comforting rumble of the engines ceased, and most of the lights in the cockpit went dim.

"Shhhit..."

James McCloud was at the controls of a fightercraft trainer. His flight instructor, a small sleek avian with deep indigo plumage, occupied the tandem seat just behind. They were high in the upper atmosphere of Katina, where the blue of sky and the black of space were nearly seamless. The trainer craft was still gaining a little altitude, but only from sheer momentum.

The avian flight instructor stated the obvious.
"McCloud, we've lost power–"

"I know!"
The fox quickly ran through an internal checklist, eyes darting across displays and hands racing across instruments.
"The reactor's gone cold... We're down to just the reserve power cells..."

"Can you get the G-diffuser online?"

The craft's ascent crested, and seemed to hang in the air for an instant.

"It wouldn't do any good. There's not enough juice to stop or slow us down, we'd use up the cells almost instantly. Same goes for thrusters."

The trainer-craft began to slide downward through the air.

"Then there's nothing for it. I'm gonna bail us out–"

"If we bail now, it'll kill us! The thin atmosphere outside is gonna knock us unconscious, and we won't be able to pull our parachute ripcords–"

"And if we bail out too late, the impact of ejection at extreme speed will kill us anyway!"
The avian instructor leaned over Jame's pilot seat.
"We are going to take our chances with thin air... and that's an order, McCloud."

The craft picked-up some speed.

"No."
James took a firm hold of the trainer craft's control stick, pushing it forward so the nose pointed down.
"I have an idea–"

"We are dropping like a goddamn brick! We do not have time for mid-fucking-flight repairs!"

The craft began to shake in the turbulence as they gained greater velocity, and the air gradually became more dense.

"You're right, we don't..."
With one hand on the control column and the other inputting commands into the on-board flight computer, the vulpine pilot elaborated further.
"I'm redistributing whatever power is left to the air breaks and maneuvering flaps. It'll be rough, but I should be able to glide this bird into an emergency landing–"

"You are out-of-line, Cadet! This is insubordination!"

For only a moment, James stopped his tinkering, and confronted his superior.
"Frankly Sir, between what few options we have left, which do you think has the least slim of chances?..."

They picked up even more speed, and the buckling became progressively more violent during their stony silence, rattling the trainer craft as it blundered through the air.

The avian looked outside, considered the options, and finally sided with the cadet.
"I'll tell ground-control what's happening, but this had better work..."
He checked his instruments.
"Scratch that, comm's out too."

"I took all those peripherals offline to conserve energy– we'll need every scrap of power we can squeeze from the cells to bring us down in one piece. You can always chat it up with command when we're not in deadly peril..." almost as an afterthought. "Sir."

The trainer-craft continued on a downward dive toward the distant surface, buffeting more and more violently as the air became denser and more tightly packed. Gently, James began to pull the control stick back. The plummeting craft shook even more, protesting the attempted change in direction with every creaking, twisting, clattering squeal of distressed machinery imaginable.

"Eeeasy, McCloud... these simple trainers weren't made for extremes like this, and you really don't want the airflow control surfaces ripping themselves clean-off."

"I know what I'm doing."

The parched, dusty planet surface kept rising, and James kept pulling the trainer-craft's nose up toward the horizon. The instructor watched out of the canopy in horror as the dusty ground rushed past underneath, and getting closer...

"McCloud... air brakes."

Faster...

"They'll get shredded at this speed, and we'll plow straight into the ground."

Closer...

"If you brake now, we can still bail-out!"

Faster...

"No! We're going too fast! I've gotta pull her up!"

The flat landscape just below was nothing but a tan blur at their bulletlike velocity, and the trainer felt like it was trying to shake itself to pieces...

"It's not enough, McCloud. It's not enough!... We are dead!... And it's all thanks to YOU–"

The ground was rising up from below to pulverize them...

"Bullshit, Sir!"

James yanked the control stick back as far as it would go. The nose jerked above the horizon, but they still careened toward the ground at a low angle. The phenomenal g-forces crushed the pilot and flight instructor into their seats, and the trainer-craft nearly came apart at the seams. The vulpine pilot checked how much power was left, and decided to risk it.

He fired a single burst of the craft's maneuvering thrusters. This would be cutting it way too close.

The trainer jerked forward a bit from the thrusters, finally gaining some altitude. The slight ascent slowed them down, and the shaking eased-up as the velocity was reduced below suicidal levels.
There was no way to know just how close they came, maybe it was better not to know...

James still panted heavily, his heart still racing with leftover adrenaline.
"I'm... I'm putting the air-brakes on now..."

The trainer-craft flinched at the shock of the air brakes, but wasn't threatening to go to pieces like before. The fox balanced the brakes along with stabilizers and maneuvering flaps in a battle against the craft's forward momentum. He was going to make this emergency landing as smooth as possible.

"Do you still wanna bail out, Sir?"

The avian flight instructor was similar state of shocked relief, and could care less.
"Just set her down nice and easy and be done with it."

The trainer steadily slowed down and descended over Katina's surface under Jame's control.
"Brace for impact?"

The swallow lazily assumed the proper 'crash' position.
"Sure, whatever."

/

/

That'd be a good one for sure. It showcased all the traits they'd be looking for: decisiveness, quick thinking, ingenuity, and he didn't even have to fake that story...

The feline interviewer listened to McCloud's story from, catching on to all his little tics, habits and mannerisms. From his assessment, this candidate had been coached for the interview, or had ample practice with the job interview process. It was getting time to throw this cocky candidate a curveball to pop his bubble, and he knew just the thing that'd do it...
"It seems you underwent and extraordinary amount of combat training for a pilot, including high marks for marksmanship, close quarters combat, plus a variety of special tactics training. Would you mind explaining why you took on so much?"

"As a combat pilot, I believe it's a good policy to be familiar with all aspects of conflict, to better know my place among it as a dedicated fighter pilot." James answered without a hitch,"That, and it also comes in handy more than you know."

It was a good answer, a practiced answer, but that was never the point of the question in the first place.

"Well..." the brick red feline exhaled a tired sigh and shook his head, "if that's the best answer you can give me..."

The interviewer waited for Jame's reaction. Most would've taken offense to such a response, or shrunken back sheepishly as if they'd done something wrong. McCloud on the other hand simply sat there patiently, waiting to tackle the next question that came his way. It was a good response, one that meant he's not one to get hung-up on trivial issues, and that he'll perform well under awkward situations.

"Okay, I think that's enough of this verbal poker game..."
The feline interviewer stood up from the table and scooped up his computer tablet, and in doing so produced a peculiar, perplexed look on Jame's face; like he hadn't been interview coached for something like this.

"Relax kid, you got the job." the brick red feline said with and amused chuckle, "Welcome aboard the Caius Company crew!" and extended a welcoming hand to James McCloud.

/

/

"Goddammit, Jimmy! Wake up!"

"Mrrph–"

A sharp sensation stung Jame's face, and jostled him from sleep into a vague sate of awareness; someone slapped him hard across the face. Opening his eyes, the fox found his clenched fist to have drifted in the general direction of the loud obnoxious voice. Someone had grabbed hold of the outstretched fist however, and used it to hoist McCloud into an upright position. He was in his bed, in the city apartment he shared with his friend–

"You turned your alarm off in your sleep again, didn't you?..."

The dazed fox shook his head awake, and found Peppy Hare at his bedside, glaring back with that selfsame judgmental-seeming expression he'd come to identify with his friend. He always meant well, but he could also get in your face in the most obscene ways possible.

"Come on Jimmy." the dusty gray hare scolded, "This is the day you ship out with the Amity, and you're supposed to have left for the spaceport almost an hour ago!"

At the mention of the Amity, the half asleep fox snapped into action. The sudden surge of energy came almost as if a switch had been flipped in Jame's body.

Without a word James sprung from the bed and tore open the dresser, throwing on a simple outfit faster than conceivably possible. All the while Peppy continued ranting on the fox's deaf ears as he bolted out his bedroom door into the rest of the apartment, and ultimately to the exit.

Amity. That was the name of a ship; a larger, semi-independent general purpose vessel that ran both cargo and passengers, and has been known to be hired for special contracts. The captain of the Amity had hired Caius Company for additional fighter escort and security detail for a run into less-than-safe territory. Specifically, the Amity was going to make the long run, and sometimes hazardous run to Cerinia. The exact details were still a little foggy, but the ship was to leave today, and fairly soon...

Faster than anyone had any right to expect, James McCloud had scrambled out of his apartment building and onto the busy city street outside. The noise, the rush of moving people, and general life of the city greeted him, but the fox took no time to dwell upon it all. He went straight to the edge of the street and scanned the many vehicles that went past, until he spotted a taxi and flagged down as it came past.

The hovering taxicab pulled alongside James, and he quickly stepped inside and seated himself in the back seat.

"Where to?" asked a suspiciously familiar voice. The cab driver turned to look at her passenger, revealing the smug face of Rachelle Cooney.

"Gha!" the fox flinched hard, nearly jumping out of his seat from surprise, "How did you–"

"Pardon me..."
The rear door near James had flung open again, and Rick Cooney clambered into the cab with James, settling into an empty seat before closing the door behind him.
"Do you mind if we share?" the raccoon asked, then quickly turned to the driver without waiting for a response. "I think we were headed for the spaceport if I remember right."

"Sure thing." Rachelle replied with an easy nod, and pulled the taxicab into the flow of traffic.

It took a few moments for James recover from sudden and bizarre turn of events, and finally get a question in.
"Is this some sort of joke?" he demanded, rightfully irritated.

"Nope." Rachelle answered quickly, "But you should've seen the look your face anyway; priceless."

"We just dropped by to wish you luck on your first big assignment with the Company," the next part of Rick's sentence took on a significantly grimmer tone. "and to warn you..."

The twins never bothered with pranks and theatrics for their own sake, even if they reveled in it. Knowing at least the general gist of their grim cloak-and-dagger careers, they likely had to take the precious few laughs wherever they could find them.

After a few moments of these thoughts, James collected himself, and resumed his usual sober, practically deadpan demeanor.
"Fine, so warn me then."

Rick gave a quick acknowledging nod, "The Amity is going to come under attack while out on this run."

"That's why the captain hired Caius Company." James responded with his solid confidence, "We can fight."

The raccoon shook his head dryly; It was exactly the answer he expected.
"It's not just pirate rabble coming after the ship out there. We've been informed that the Amity has been targeted by Harrow..."

Harrow.

The word was an alias used by a loose collection of bandits and outlaws bound together; a cult united and strengthened by their collective anonymity. Their motives, much like their exact identities, have always been muddled in mystery. Some claim Harrow to be little more than a simple anarchist terrorist group, others consider it a puppet organization with other untold motives, or just an umbrella term for a pool of black market personnel and resources at the disposal of the highest bidder. The only widely known certainty about Harrow is that the attacks and activities attributed to the group have always been fast, efficient, and absolutely ruthless.

"We weren't supposed to tell you anything about this in the first place," Rick continued, "but we've never really been one to stick to–"

James cut him off, "What does Harrow want with the Amity?"

"No idea," Cooney supplied with a shrug, "but I intend to find out."
Simply by his nature, there was no way to know if he was being completely honest or not. If he knew more, he wasn't going to tell; if he didn't, he wasn't going to let on.

"Do the authorities know about this? Or the Amity's captain?" the fox asked, "Does anyone else know?"

"They can't know, Jim." Rick explained, not entirely comfortable with the answers he gave, "This attack is the first opportunity that's come in a very long time to get at Harrow, and we can't blow it by tipping tipping them off to the whole situation. The network of informants they have is nothing short of mind-boggling, penetrating deep into Lylat Interpatrol, and we suspect they have spies planted aboard the Amity to help coordinate the coming attack. I'm already running a risk simply by telling you–"

"Then why tell me at all?"

"Because I am not some heartless, amoral, intelligence spook." Rick insisted, almost seeming offended, "Because I'd rather you know what's coming now than to have you demand 'Why the hell didn't you tell me?' when it's all over. I'm doing you a huge favor by telling you this, Jim."

James McCloud was silent again, gazing out the taxicab's window as the city flowed past outside, gradually thinning as they traveled into the city suburbs. It wasn't clear whether he was giving Rick the cold shoulder, preoccupied with his thoughts, or simply indifferent to the raccoon's impassioned speech.

"You're going to get hit hard out there, harder than you'll be expected to survive from," Rachelle added, filling in the awkward silence from the driver's seat, "but you'll have backup."

"Who from?" James asked in a monotonous, possibly thoughtful tone.

"Let's just say, some old friends." Rick answered, glancing at James. "You didn't think we were just going to let Harrow's attack happen without a response planned, did you?"

The fox remained quiet, and to most he would've appeared not to react, as if he didn't give a single care about what was happening. In the keen, practiced eyes of Rick Cooney however, he saw James take a long, controlled breath as well as his limbs releasing pent-up tension he relaxed; like a soldier, Rick realized. McCloud was trained as a soldier, had a natural knack for it, and he'd do his duty right through the very worst of it. In his own solemn way, this silent treatment was how his appreciation came out, even if he didn't know it himself...

"Here we are..." Rachelle announced, "Corneria City Spaceport."

A few moments later, the taxicab came to a stop outside a large terminal building, even busier than the thickest streets of the city's downtown. James quickly opened the door nearest to him, letting a great wash of sound flood inside. Somewhere a dry mechanical voice announced something amidst the clamor of vehicles and countless people going about their business.

"Stay sharp out there, Jim." Rick said, holding Jame's attention for only a moment.

The fox just gave Rick a curt nod, and stepped out of the taxi before disappearing into the writhing mass of bustling pedestrians at a brisk walking pace.

/

/

Author Notes:

And we're finally up to the "present date" for this story arc, and there's more than a little foreshadowing going on of course.

In my interpretation of James McCloud, for now at least, I'm sticking more or less with the "quiet man who doesn't say much" mystique that is so often attributed to this character. I can't guarantee it'll stay that way though –well made characters evolve over time– this is simply my starting point.

As always, your feedback is most welcome here.