6 - Life, Love and Death
Katina
Lylat System
Space Dynamics Agaricus
Sunset
As the six independent electric motors whirred to a halt, Jana peered into the side mirror and witnessed the swirling sand storm she'd kicked up behind her gracefully settle back to Katina's surface.
Jana leapt out of the driver's seat on the container truck she'd rented, the impact of her flight boots echoing throughout the valley as they connected with the tarmac. She adjusted her lopsided wayfarer-framed sunglasses on her head to filter out the magnificent firestorm they called a sunset on Katina. Evenings this close to Solar amplified the reddish hue that was ever-present on Katina and the beauty was purely miraculous.
She had rented wheeled this time. A slower ride, to be sure, but the precious cargo she carried required a bit more vertical stability than artificial gravity offered in Katinian geomagnetic conditions.
Empress Starfox, had completed a final 'foodstuff and essentials' run to the local market. ROB crunched the numbers, did the shopping and was more than capable of picking it up himself;much like the grizzled machine intelligence had been doing all day. But Jana reasoned there were certain things best done yourself.
Namely, there were crates of last-minute 'ration-enhancements' in the back. A veritable haul ready for reception at the loading pen for Star Fox's current home, the Condottiere. It was possible that maybe half of the truck's stowage was booze; but Jana'd never tell, and the crew was appreciative enough never to ask.
With the snap of her fingers, the loading bots came to life and marched down the loading ramp. Ten bipedal drones slaved under ROB's control would have the truck empty and cargo sorted in under twenty minutes. The truck then would drive itself back to the depot; its purpose fulfilled.
Jana didn't even look back as she walked along the pathway under the Condottiere's grayscale hull, ROB knew the drill well enough. She didn't inspect the hull for long; all the pre-flight work was done.
Right time. Right place. The Toad family delegation was already done, sprawled out on the back corner of the loading ramp. By the look of things, two of the three assembled were tired and ready for an early turn-in.
Jana, the day's labor complete, unbuttoned her flight jacket and strolled up to the gathering of aquans; the backbone of the team.
"What, Slippy too busy to see us off?" She teased.
Brothers Tadd and Drippy Toad were enjoying the crisp evening air, having just returned from proofing the space worthiness of the Arwings. Tadd Toad, the third child of six, had a panel open on the decking of the cargo ramp.
A consummate insomniac, Tadd had been at work since late last night bringing the Condottiere back to life with a small detachment of his father's most trusted staff. Never content with downtime, he appeared to be running a final diagnostic test on subsystems while his kin enjoyed the fabulous Katinian sunset around him.
All of the Toad kids were bright, but Tadd was the most luminescent of them all. He was essentially Slippy's mental clone, but looked more like his mother with a pleasant cobalt hue. Jana had met him more than a few times before he was on the team, and realized that he'd be a perfect fit for the team. Luckily for everyone else, so did he; and was on the roster that very same day. While the pilots often poked fun at his eccentricities, no one questioned his ability to keep the Condo's systems up and running. Jana knew the reality; Tadd did not need the team, the team needed Tadd. His share in contracts and living quarters reflected it.
She liked all the toads, but Tadd had a special place in her heart. His expertise had saved her life on numerous occasions, and despite not being a pilot himself; was absolutely clinical under pressure.
Tadd grunted, and didn't lift his head.
Running out of steam, I bet. Jana thought. He regularly ran himself ragged without supervision.
"Weird tone to take about your largest benefactor," Dripp replied, fully capable of meeting Jana's wit. He stepped towards his boss, his wide-brimmed hat held in his hand. He was smiling, but there was some edge to the words. He was a bit more protective than the other tadpoles and was much more to fight back.
Drippy Toad was Slippy's eldest at twenty-seven years old. A rare orange aquan, he'd gone through the academy, had graduated near the top of his class, and distinguished himself in numerous small skirmishes with pirates in Sargasso. 'Dripp' wasn't blessed with the full Toad intellect, but was probably still two standard deviations smarter than the average Lylation. What he did offer was the fastest lock-to-fire time in the fleet; a long-range dogfighting skillset.
Though a year younger than he, Jana had followed his career closely after he was considered for the ISS as an Interceptor. He withdrew from the application process, resigning his commission with the fleet. What came next was practically a reflex for Jana. Like Tadd, she made one call to Drippy about joining the new Star Fox team and things just fell into place after that; another Toad listed in its revolving ranks.
Dripp, emboldened by his little brother's gruffness, echoed the same as he squared off.
"I'm sure he has a lot to say to his number one problem tenant and legal risk."
Jana tilted her head, accepting the challenge. "Maybe not for long, though, right? MHI is offering good point-defense in its catalog, too. I get a rep in my mail every couple days."
She grinned wryly, letting a pause build for dramatic effect. "They're up the road, aren't they?"
He rolled his eyes, knowing the irrefutable leverage her name and reputation carried.
"Fuck you, Jana."
"Though," She marched on unrelentingly, "If Slippy wants to continue to donate after this is all through. I'll entertain any offers he has for me."
"How's this: stop burning a hole in his pocket, show you can pay up, and you'll get your P-D."
Won't be a problem for long. Jana thought, before encroaching further on the Toad's personal space. She leaned in.
"Who am I talking too here, the board of directors? Your financial advisor? Or your inheritance?"
Jana's prickliness wasn't entirely unfounded; the frog had his interests. The orange aquan averted his head downward, concealing a curt laugh. An acknowledgement of her points.
"Pick two, boss," he replied chummily.
He looked back warmly on his old friend, one of the few Jana had left. They shook hands.
"It's been a minute hasn't it, Dripp. Living the dream?"
"Hell no," he chuckled. "Dads had me running as his personal test pilot. Sounds like you've got a dream for us, though. Did I hear two-hundred million correctly?"
"Ballpark," she said sheepishly, pursing her snout and crossing her arms. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Grapevine. You're not the only one with sources, you know," Dripp teased, nonchalantly ignoring the question with a smirk of his own. "Something special for us then?"
Special. Leinch's needs to plug those leaks. Still, he doesn't know everything. I still have the upper hand of secrecy. Time to brief them later.
"Try Four-hundred mil."
It was a bomb drop. He squinted, not entirely sure if Jana was being farcical or not. It sounded absurd on its face. Tadd stopped working altogether, and shot upright with a beaming smile. He adjusted the collar on his off-white lab coat and closed his PDA's virtual interface with a brisk blue-blur of waves. It seemed not even Slippy's brightest was immune to mercenary temptation.
"That's right.Four-hundred. That, and a mentally-unstable duchess in need of a rescue. There's probably a perk or two for that, right?"
"Apologies," Tadd said, making up for his previous coarseness, "Father's going to visit you in the field. He already penciled it into his calendar."
"Sure," Jana said, tilting her neck downward to meet Tadd's eyes.. "He better hurry up, six months could become six weeks the way we're traveling."
"About that," Tadd enquired, back to his professional concern. "You brought the extras?"
"The experts," Jana clarified. "Problem?"
"Vuka coming?"
"He will be, yes. Akach too."
He was bemoaning the reserve flight Jana kept on retainer. For the inevitable ground work, Jana had pulled some strings; her old ISS colleagues; Vukašin and Akach. The group, like Jana, had gone independent over the years. More pay, with less oversight.
Vukašin and Akach were a famously compassionless duo; exactly the reason McCloud kept them around. They were ISS agents she'd worked with in a previous life; remorseless, efficient and not-at-all liked by anyone; even herself.
"Then yes, a problem," Tadd rebuked.
"Will you be helping me with ground work, then?"
"Inevitably," Tadd cut, tremendous ego on full display. "I always seem to make an appearance despite assurances otherwise."
Dripp shadowed his younger brother and rested his hand on his shoulder to reassure him. He could always be counted on to keep his brother placated; the Tadd whisperer.
"Relax. I'll make sure they keep to their corners."
The three wouldn't linger here for much longer; the miracle in the sky was losing its luster and they'd already prepared everything for the Condotierre's recommissioning. Assuming Jimmy wasn't incredibly late, they'd be off at about 0800 Cornerian. The Toads weren't optimistic on that proposition; and Jana was downright nihilistic on it.
The diva is probably still stylizing his kit. Jana theorized to herself, preemptively dreading her debutante twin's vanity for the next six months.
Stop. She caught herself doing it again: coddling him. A bad habit she had to shake loose.
Enough worry. He'll be fine. It's in his blood. Our mission is solid, the crew is ready and the payout sublime.
There was more to be positive about. Star Fox's new mission finally gave Jana the reason she needed to change the team's structure.
Previously, Star Fox was only capable of supporting one wing at a time. They could always have split the wing two-by-two, of course, but around-the-clock operations were difficult with just two pilots on deck. Lonely too, unless you counted ROB's metal ass as a person; and I don't. This time, Star Fox would be flying as two wings over Udeav. Seven pilots divided across eleven fighters. Each pilot, except two, assigned an extra airframe as precaution alternatives.
There was hardly a time in history with as many Arwings ready and fueled. In rack rotation, Jana had assembled a patchwork collection: two brand-new mark-threes, five mark-two C's, three mark-two B's, and Falco's relatively ancient Sky Claw. The mark-three's were reserved exclusively for Jana, who had seldom flown them herself. They were so new that most of the seals were still intact, a new Arwing for a new era.
Their carrier, and home for the next six months, wasn't quite as fresh.
The SF Condottiere had lived in situ as an unused surplus hull for nearly a decade. She was based on the extremely limited run of Space Dynamics Pleiades-class escort carriers but had been refitted so immensely that it was a completely different caliber of vessel now. As to the hull's previous disuse, the Pleiades class fell into the unlucky sweet-spot of having been too small to be an effective military fast-attack carrier; but also too large for Lylat's regional defense forces. They were a commercial flop, only three being made. Its sister ships were adopted by the ISS; but the third hull remained unutilized and unregistered. It sat in Wai for a new owner.
That's where the Toad family stepped in. Slippy had been eyeing the line as a suitable replacement for the Great Fox. Some of the keel's design choices were suspiciously close to what Jana imagined what the ideal mothership's layout would have looked like for the learned Toad. When Jana departed the ISS and restarted the family business a few years back, Slippy decided it was to her complicated family estate.
The years of hardship had left Jana worn, but learning she had a new home was a revelation that had reignited the natural violence in Jana's soul.
Jana never denied it: the Condottiere was a pity gift from a sympathetic Slippy, who'd self-allegedly spent years trickling funds for a new mothership after her father had perished. Some minor details in his recollection didn't check out, however, and she often suspected that he started saving a bit earlier than Fox's premature reduction to subatomic particulates. The theory made sense, as the frog anguished loudly about the Great Fox II slowly rusting itself to death around his precious Arwings. It was only natural that Slippy treated the Dot like it was revenge for Fox's previous selection of a non-Space Dynamics keel; a sin Slippy had tolerated, but never fully forgave.
Either way, with the Great Fox II's non-consensual evaporation eighteen years back; the final Pleiades started the journey toward its destiny as the team's new home.
When Jana finally took up the helm, she found the hull was more than large enough for the storied mercenary group's purposes.
Everything in its right place; and exactly where my father would have wanted it. She mused.
Outwardly, the vessel was about three-hundred-fifty meters long with a seventy-five meter beam at her widest. She followed a generally triangular layout, thickest in the rear. She had a thinner portion in the midship area of the mainline hull that widened out into an arrowhead-like bow. She was relatively slender for her weight class, but long, limiting her available ports of call. Corneria would have been the preferred docking location, but after Lylat's mercenary fever broke following the Anglar debacle, the rent for planetary shipspace became impossible for even the titanic Star Fox to manage; and Jana had nowhere near as much money as her father had.
Prominently, there were five platform-like slipspace communication arrays, three astern with two prominent ones above the midship section. If viewed top down, these arrays would have made the ship look much larger than it actually was. The complicated shape made the Pleiades class highly detectable through quantum-entaglescans, so it was fortunate that she had a payload of Arwings.
There wasn't anything else particularly flashy about her. The vessel sported a non-reflective gray hull, pockmarked only by shield projectors and launch tubes for drones and missile countermeasures, both of which were too expensive for the team to procure at their current funding. Forget about accent colors, there wasn't even a team logo on the ship yet.
All this aside, she was a very different ship on the inside; Slippy's dream list had come to life. The Dot had a second entrance for fighter craft astern, halving the fighter storage size but tripling their react-to-launch time. It was true, they had lost an entire habitation deck to make up for this; but it meant the Arwings no longer needed to dock, descend and hook-on like the Great Fox had required nor turn and face like the Fox II. The Dot's core was also at least a third larger than originally specced, and not even Tadd knew where it had come from. The growling beast made the ship much more maneuverable than anything else in its weight class.
Though the ship was usually stored dockside, Jana had spent good money making her a home away from home. There were lounges, dormitories and facilities for upwards of sixty personnel at max capacity. Unfortunately for Jana, business was never good enough for that many contractors; so she settled for keeping the ship as the galaxy's most expensive caravan.
Jana realized she was reminiscing about old news again. Time for bed.
Jana's recollection was interrupted by the roar of an Arwing's engine redlining for an atmospheric launch from the dorsal launch bay.
The tremendous racket from the flight deck two levels above them coursed throughout the ship and vibrated down into the weight-bearing cement blocks around. The valley reverberated with the deep echoes of plasma and barely-contained thrust.
Without additional warning, the Arwing blasted off from the vertical launch bay, riding the forty meters of railgun-assisted catapult into the skies. It and its pilot were nothing more than a tiny speck in under a couple of seconds.
Jana and Dripp looked at their PDAs and received the update on a her launching fightercraft:
/Arwing MK.2B - James P. McCloud SF-8 - 6.8 KM - 262-70\\
It told them all they needed to know: Jimmy, callsign 'eight', was taking his Arwing out for a spin. Bearing: two-hundred sixty-two degrees lateral to the Condo's bow, and seventy degrees vertical.
"How'd he sneak by?" Tadd asked.
"Any idea where he's going?" Dripp added, scratching his head.
"Haven't a clue," Jana lied.
She bid the duo goodnight with a wave and groggily made way off the Dot's bay door, her boots clanking down the ramp as she walked off into the Katinian frontier. Her levibike wasn't far off.
She stared skyward as she watched the contrails evaporate behind her brother's ship. Jana knew the bearing he'd taken well, although she hadn't done the same in years.
Jana McCloud remembered what it was like to miss home, even if the feeling was now a distant memory.
Papetoon
Lylat System
I-3 Land Corridor, McCloud Farmstead
Sunset
James grinned as he set his trim to maintain a four-hundred KPH descent over the Vindlemond range. He didn't need to, but he chose to yank the sticks back to airbrake into a flat spin. The cockpit rattled as the Arwing's AOA-limiter disabled, sending his stomach through his sternum. A stylish way to bleed off speed; no thruster required. He pulled left on rudder control to flip his Arwing around, spun the opposite direction. Gil programmatically toggled the regrav cells as James descended into the valley below.
After a few seconds of freefall, he felt the nose drop as the landing gear impacted the dirt, filling the air with Papetoon's red dust. The canopy hissed and opened, welcoming him to a deceptively balmy ten degrees. Dry air, not a cloud in the sky.
The usual conditions. James' thought.
Red-brown dirt. A peak of white on each mountain cradling the valley. Stars visible even during the day. It's all here.
He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and took the moment in.
Nothing yet. He thought, disappointed again.
It wasn't easy for him to admit, but James felt no attachment to this dust bowl of a planet. Nothing real, at least.
He had tried to force it for over a decade, before accepting that he was as alien to it as it was to him. It was something that made him feel tremendous guilt over the years.
Papetoon was the birthplace of his forefathers. The home of his culture. He should have belonged here. He should feel welcome here.
But he was just a stranger here.
James had never resented Papetoon for his self-imposed statelessness; he merely wished to feel connected to it.
It wasn't for lack of trying. James visited often enough. It was strikingly beautiful, especially the dueling sunset and sunrise; a characteristic of its odd orbit around Lylat as interfered by Solar, Katina and Corneria. It wasn't a moon, but Corneria's gravity affected it enough to make the two planets topically visible to each other for about a few cornerian months.
As it was in the window of these few months, James decided to modify his un-mothballed Arwing's test flight route. It was a brisk forty-five minute flight in slipspace from Katina if you were riding something like an Arwing. A journey made even more bearable with the playlist Gil had suggested on the way over.
James walked up a natural divet in the soot-covered clay; likely a footpath started by tourists. Not much flora grew here; just knee-high bushes and the occasional cedar tree. He could hear a passing truck hurtling down the I-3 in the distance, up the hill past his destination. James thought it'd be busier here; but this state park wasn't really the most popular in the area for anyone other than the usual history buffs.
A warm breeze blew some more red-brown dust into his face as he walked. He didn't mind; it was charming, something men better than him had put up with on a daily basis for generations. The fruited shrubs swayed with the wind as the relative dryness in the air took his mind to a familiar place he himself had never been.
It wasn't just the McClouds; this was also the planet of his people.
The vulpes were never really accepted in Canid society. They always had the same legal rights, but there was a spectre of suspicion around them for decades. They weren't quite canids, as they shared some physical characteristics with felids; but they were far too similar to canids to be accepted by the less common species of Lylations.
As a result, Papetoon became a Vulpes haven. A place of self-segregation for the Vulpes. At least for a couple of centuries. Times changed, most animosity was outgrown; though some remained. Mostly, it was all a big joke now. Vulpes were accepted; even venerated by some of the Cornerian classes. No doubt James' forefathers had something to do with that; the history of their oppression remembered only by the vulpes themselves in music, poetry and stories.
Despite desperately trying, James felt no attachment to the people of Papetoon either. The truth was that this little planet was occupied by hardy folk. The kind with calloused hands and aching backs they pretended to ignore when they came home. People who wouldn't give James McCloud the time of day; and justifiably so. What had he ever done for them?\
James approached a low stonewall with a green-painted iron gate. He didn't have the key, so he hopped the fence.
His only real attachment to this planet was here. A green-shingled hut halfway between Holdt Creek and Vixville on the I-3 Corridor. Hardball road, Nestled between the single-story McCloud farmstead with detached garage to his rear and the grassy knoll to his front. It was a small hill, guarded by the stone wall he'd jumped and shaded by two large cedars in each corner. Two stones were erected in the center of the walled garden.
The vista from here was incredible. Fifty-kilometers of visibility into the next valley, the valleys beyond that and the snow-capped mountain ranges near Vindlemond's ridges. He would see Corneria's blue hue from here tomorrow morning if he waited that long. Falco used to joke that a Papetoonian could cup their hands around their mouths and beg a Cornerian for a credit at least once every rotation; a vulpes joke that made his father furious.
This place, these cairns, should have been a bittersweet place for him; but it never held any bitter resentment in his heart.
He sat before his father and grandfather's graves. Both plots empty. Both tombstone's date of death left blank. No one home.
But despite the lack of remains, the cemetery felt alive. The space was overwhelmed with trinkets, burnt-out candles and military medals left behind. All of which were unauthorized, but none of the park rangers ever dared to remove them. Hundreds, maybe thousands of withered cards of tribute lay around each stone. The groundskeepers kept most of them in place.
Better men. James' thought to himself.
James never felt guilt for hopping this fence. This was his space more than anyones; if not for reflection of who he wanted to be rather than who he was.
James picked up a relatively unspoiled card near his father's stone. He didn't remember seeing this one last time he was here. He opened the card and read someone else's confessions. The sprinkle they called rain had shriveled some of the text, but there was poetry left on parchment. The meter was messy but the message was clear.
'You told me you hated goodbyes.
And though we've moved on,
I'm finally taking your advice.
Retracing our steps, our ties.
I don't know what I'll find out there.
But I know I won't be alone.
I'll see you soon.
Love always.'
James always found it so moving. In a way, it made it feel like his father was still alive. Each visit a new set of gifts from people he'd impacted. Personalized, and often heartwrenching. There were always a lot of messages from Cornerian's who were in Old City when Venom attacked. The closest Corneria had come to falling, and the first time Star Fox had minimized suffering at a monumental scale.
James returned the letter to stone, respectfully laying it exactly where he found it. His pride swelled, knowing the ledger of his life was still being written; and that the bedrock he sat on was solid.
He sat cross-legged in the dirt, wondering if this would be his fate at the end of his journey or if he would be the first to actually fill a grave here.
It sounded awful in his head, but it didn't scare him. It was largely his family legacy to die without a trace. They'd both lived longer than James ever expected for himself and affected a hell of a lot more change. He tried not to dwell on it too often; things had worked out where James now felt he had a lot of living left to do. Especially in response to how bumpy the journey had been so far.
He'd delayed long enough.
He stood, completing his pre-departure ritual; placing his hand on each of the grave stones for a few seconds. He took a final look back at his grandfather's house for the next few months. The green cedar-shingled hovel that it was. It looked much better now than it had historically. The McCloud family farmstead collected dust for years before being donated as part of a Cornerian national park celebrating his father's life. It'd been expertly preserved and filled with artifacts from his childhood.
He made his way back to his landing area. James' reacquired Mark-Two B Arwing glinted in the field nestled in the shadow of the hill, where its ancestors had also crackled cool in the evening winds.
These fields were ironic to James, they'd never been sowed with vegetables, legumes or wheat. They'd always been as they were right now, occupied by frightening weapons-of-war. Leaking hydraulic fluid into the porous crackling dirt they called soil here. It always brought a guilty smile to his face.
Every visit he'd made had made him feel gradually more of a stranger on the land of his own namesake. Truthfully, Fox hadn't lived here long. As he'd spent most of his years growing up in Corneria City; same as his son. But James Sr. had spent most of his life here, son of the vagrant class. James 'junior,' didn't even come here until he was five.
The wind blew again; and the novelty of the clay infused debris finally started to grate on him. He could only pretend for so long. He blinked aggressively to remove the grains from his eyelids. James would commune with his roots another time.
On his return, James heard some young Katinese couple chattering over by his ship; they'd been taking photos with it for a few minutes. Tourists. James was glad to have made their trip a little more interesting, as it was a hell of a drive from the spaceport. James waited for them to take a photo with each other. One smiled as the other, a young woman gave the peace sign. They hunched over to look at the quality of the photos they took.
The couple finally noticed James after a few moments doing a clockwise walk-around inspection at the base of his snubfighter. They graciously watched without asking him for a photo, though he knew they'd taken some of him as he completed his inspection.
It was time to rejoin Jana in orbit above Katina. They would go through the gate in the morning and he didn't want to be the one to hold them up.
He partially climbed up the folding ladder on his Arwing, happy to have spent a few breaths here again. James sighed and took a final look.
Today would be the same as last time.
He vowed to someday earn the privilege to consider it a place he belonged.
Katina
Lylat System
North Agaricus
Evening
Star Fox was going on-contract in the morning. Six-months, complete with refit funding.
It wasn't the mission that bothered Falco. He wasn't one to experience pre-flight jitters, nor qualms about his work. But their target disturbed the settled bedrock of his mind. He was supposed to be at peace, he was supposed to accept things long out of his control. To change what he could now, but leave the past be.
None of that was working.
So here the aging bird was, lingering long past his usual bedtime, tinkering in the oil-stenched hangar compound he called a home. Falco already knew he wouldn't sleep a wink; not even in his hometown on his home planet could he find comfort tonight. He doubted the twins would either. Neither James nor Jana of them had said more than a few words on the short slipstream over. Falco didn't feel comfortable asking them.
Powerless. Helpless.
The past had never been easy for Falco to accept, but through the years he'd learned to find joy again; peace even. It had taken time to trudge through the intrusive thoughts, the 'maybes'. But, he had found a way to be himself again. He'd found a path forward. One complete with purpose, meaning, and even healthy relationships. His third act.
He hadn't done it alone, either. He had spent most of the evening with Katt; his went out to dinner, the usual spot; a diner under the shade of a massive fungal agaricus. They used to rob the joint as a duo when they were young guns. They doubted anyone would recognize them for their youthful indiscretions anymore; probably for the best.
Katt had asked questions. Falco did his best to answer, but stopped asking questions as soon as he mentioned Fox. There would be time to unravel his motivations.
Pretty thing knows when to lay off. He grinned under the loose-fitting welding mask. He told her not to wait up for her, and she obliged. They'd been together long enough for her to know he wasn't avoiding her; he simply didn't know how to process what he'd learned yet.
She was there. Zay-Ooh-Nah. Falco thought, unable to remove the memory of her face from his mind. She was on the Kismet with Fox. Her name on the cargo records and passenger manifests. Her DNA on debris. She was there. And she lived! Maybe she knows what happened.
Katt had every reason to object to six months; but, she knew it was something he had to do. This wasn't a dangling question he would let the McCloud twin's deal with alone. She offered to join, of course; but given the sorry state of the Katt's Paw she would tolerate his absence in exchange for a small cut of the reward. The vessel's disrepair was his fault anyway, she often guilted.
She's good like that. He thought, completing his final fusion joint for the night. He lifted his face shield, inspected his work, and switched off his fusion torch. With a kick, he rolled out under the regrav hull he was working on; a non-threateningly named 'doodlebug' hung it on the wheeled rack he'd left it on weeks earlier. As old wounds had become fresh again, he reverted to the best therapy he knew; modding regrav beaters until they were unrecognizable. Hot Rodding.
He was making more mistakes than usual tonight, but he knew that would likely be the case.
The eight-bay hangar he called home was full of happy mistakes. Ten hotrods. Straight line speed-demons. Seven of which actually worked at the moment. He smirked, wondering what pile his latest creation would be sorted into in six months. Besides the cars, and the many racks of poorly sorted parts and tools, the bays held his most prized possession: his Skyclaw.
It looked brand new from its silvery paneled hull down to the matching blue 'feather' winglets. There was a secret to the ship's pure condition; Slippy had bought out the line's data package and tooling for Falco's fiftieth birthday. If he had the parts, lubes and fuel, he could service the damn thing himself.
And believe me. The avian thought. I plan on keeping her in the business a while longer.
Closing time. Falco thought as he walked toward the mini-kitchenette he'd installed close to the stairway to the house upstairs. He hung up his mask and gloves on the hutch's hat rack. He opened the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water from the racks.
As he slammed it shut, a photo shook loose from one of the magnets, falling to the floor onto its blank side. Falco kneeled, picking up one of the many physical print reminders he kept around to remember the good times. He flipped it and remembered.
The moment felt like yesterday, but the emotions felt like ancient history to him.
Himself, Fox, Slippy, Krystal. Almost the whole gang in one place at once. No, not just any place; the invite-only victory celebration around the fountain at the old Federation headquarters.
The photo was taken a week after the Aparoid situation was resolved. The mood was still somber, and folks sought any distraction from the devastation that music, dancing and alcohol offered. Most cities were in ruins and the hospitals overflowed with corrupted animals, looking absolutely terminal. All this before it was known that recovery from cellular corruption was near total for most.
Fox stood in the center, per usual. Framing himself heroically came natural to him, but the goofy smile on his face proved he never meant to do it on purpose. It was just who he was.
Falco smirked, remembering how difficult it had been to get Fox to agree to go out that night; he wanted to spend every moment at Peppy's bedside. When it was his turn to watch, he conspired with Slippy to tell McCloud that the comatose rabbit woke briefly; thanked Fox for his companionship and ordered him to take a break.
No one except Krystal ever found out; Falco could only assume. And she never ratted us out. Probably had her own set of motivations for that.
Fox looked exhausted. Gods knew he deserved to, he'd fought harder and longer than anyone else. On the ground, in the air, in space. He did it all. Just like Jana was doing now. Falco knew he'd have been proud of her but it pained Falco to think that, at that snapshot in time, her father was only a year older than she was. His right ear was drooping; something it did when he was tired, Falco observed, just like his son's would eventually. Falco remembered tucking in Jimmy when he was scared; same ear, same problem. He'd never understood how the dogs, foxes and cats put up with them; feathers seemed so much more low-maintenance.
Slippy was being slippy. Just as much a goober in yesteryear as he was today. His eyes half-open but his cheeriness evident in his jubilant hand waving. He was in the foreground, his diminutive stature not lending itself to being in the back row. The Aquan still couldn't take a normal picture.
Falco always thought their relationship could be misconstrued as hostile. It was true that Slippy was the exact opposite person that Falco was. Nevertheless, they found common ground in what really mattered. They had unlimited energy to devote to their crafts and a sense of pride in what they did. They broke bread at the same table for over thirty-years. And, through the decades, Slippy had never left Fox's side. Longer than anyone else. To the very end. More than Falco thought he could say for himself.
Falco's eye's searched behind his best friend, finding a past version of himself. He stood by Fox's left shoulder, the bird's hand wrapped around the Vulpes' right. They were inseparable again; an unstoppable team.
Falco thought he looked great. He still did, of course; but the relaxed stance and untempered confidence he had in his youth was unmatched. It was also one of the few pictures he wasn't cocooned in a flight jacket or battle armor from that time. Instead? Red pants and a brown leather jacket. This Falco's bravado was earned; he felt, and he had no regrets for the style choices. Nor the ability
I was still doing the arms-crossed tough-guy pose, Falco thought, cringing in amusement.
It was pathological, the old bird recognized. And, It wasn't all performance art, he could back up the boisterous claims most of the time. But, he'd never let anyone see him weak. How could he? Not from the background he was from, nor the terminal loneliness he had carried. Katina used to be rougher, and vulnerability was for the weak.
The tough-guy pictured always imagined he'd die young, when he was imagining the future at all. He had lived in the moment accordingly, never having made any plans for himself or others. It was through sheer luck that he'd made it through the past at all.
Falco looked at his printed features again. Handsome for sure, but insufferable. After a few more years the old Falco would learn to be the best version of himself.
Nothing went perfectly, but it had all worked out.
At least, better than could be said for Krystal.
The azure vulpes look-alike, stood to Fox's right. Black summer dress, down to her knees. Her trademark aloof smugness on full display. She was smiling, Falco knew from experience, but it was so subtle that others would struggle to notice. She lingered, not quite posing for much as she was being subjected to the photo; as if she was above it all. As a sole-surviving alien, Falco supposed she had to be smug as a defense mechanism.
She lost everything. It pained Falco to remember that her perpetually well-camouflaged grin would permanently change to a resting scowl. It wasn't the memory he wanted to keep of her, but it had been what stuck with him. Krystal was a victim. Falco realized too late that she was also a friend, which made her decline all the more tragic; her previously charming wit ceding to self-righteous harshness.
Despite this, Falco never really liked or pitied her much, early on.
She was arrogant.
The kind of arrogance that earnestly believed herself humble. It chipped away at his patience. She liked to pretend she was everyone's personal therapist. Her and Fox were perfect for each other, inasmuch as they both believed that if she helped others with their problems they could run or avoid their own. There were always parts of herself she desperately held back from others; despite eagerly ripping your deepest, most private, memories out of you from near the other side of the ship.
And insisting you talked through it at length. Falco recalled, remembering more than a few yelling matches in the lounge. You never had a say in it, either; she'd pull them out of you. She'd archive your problems like a librarian, bringing them out later for her own use.
Falco had quietly disliked her longer than he'd care to admit, but the relationship thawed a bit shortly before Falco left the team in the few months before the Anglars blitzed. Like Slippy, she and Falco shared some common links. She was a good pilot, and not just because she was telepathic. She could handle herself in a fight. Krystal had also known violence from a young age. And, worst of all, she knew better than Falco what it was like to be definitively alone.
It wasn't right what history did to her. Krystal wasn't the glory-hunting turncoat the Cornerian media made her out to be during the Anglar era.
Krystal was merely forced to make an impossible choice by some of Fox's poorest decisions. She called it 'coddling,' Fox called it 'protection.' Falco knew it all had come from Fox's past and his desire to preserve his future, but it was a poor decision nonetheless. One Falco hadn't been present to stop. And even after she agreed to finish the Anglars with the team, it was never the same for them: an emotional Cold War. The schism was terminal, it seemed.
And then, she made some poor decisions of her own. The blue-furred bitch skipped town, Cloudrunner at full-vernier thrust; never looked back.
Except maybe she did.
Falco wanted to hate her, but the years had made him empathetic. He'd never told Fox to his face, but Falco felt he might've responded the same way. To be sidelined the way she was after fighting through not one, but two of the most lethal wars in Lylat's history; it would trigger anyone's ego. If anything, Falco thought her reaction to flee was mild.
Regardless, it seemed they'd finally done it. Peace. The Federation collapsed in on itself; kicking the awkward junta of Cornerian federalism to the curb with a more balanced Republic. No more big contracts, no more systems to save. The team's glory days were numbered; there weren't many enemies left for them to fight.
He pondered what became of her more often as the years passed. Star Wolf, the bastards, had claimed her. It was scandalous; loud, and the war-starved media ate it all up. Scuttlebutt on the mercenary circuit was she left that crew near immediately. Good judgment on her part.
Later, there were some sightings out in Kew. But then? She simply vanished.
One of Falco's most powerful lingering regrets was not telling Krystal that she had more friends than she thought. That she didn't need to run anywhere. Maybe she would have stayed. Hell, even if she chose to leave, maybe she wouldn't have run off to Gods-knew-nowhere.
He placed the photo back on the ferrous surface, placing the magnet back on top of the worn paper. Shaking his head; he vowed to correct his myopic view down memory lane with some more positive recollections tomorrow.
Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything at all. Life, love and death marched on. Old news.
He was sitting now, on one of the counter height barstools he'd stolen off the Great Fox. Staring at the floor. The sound of an idling levibike was the only accompaniment to the buzzing of lights.
Eighteen years. It had been eighteen years since he'd last been in the Udeav system. Since he'd watched Fox go.
It was supposed to be their last real hurrah with the Fox II. Mercenary work just wasn't paying anymore, and Fox promised they would go back to the drawing board when it was all over.
A Smaller footprint. Falco remembered, shaking his head. That was the buzzword he used. We were going back to being a small-time operation out of a garage in some spaceport somewhere. Probably that dusty shithole on Papetoon. Godsforsaken place.
Life, love and death.
The words bounced around his skull.
It's only natural.
"Falco?" A familiar voice surprised him from the stairway.
Rebirth too. Falco thought, turning his head. His paternal instincts took over.
He had to bury ancient history again. The present and future was before him, standing in his kitchen.
"You okay?" Jana retouched, mild concern in her tone.
He looked up and saw only a child. His little girl. Entrusted to him by bond; but also one of his own free will. Though, he knew she was twenty-six now, almost twenty-seven.
Honestly, Falco tended not to look at Jana or James with any regrets; but the occasion was different. It was also eighteen years to the day Fox had been lost. Almost two decades. Precious time robbed from them.
Falco wished Fox had kept that promise; Smaller footprint. The consequences stood before him; a girl he refused to let go fatherless. A promise he'd made himself; it wasn't written down anywhere other than his heart. He regretted nothing about his own actions. Falco just wished Fox was here to see his kids in their prime.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Falco lied, convincingly.
"It'll be my first time back. Just remembering things."
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Jana teased leaning against the sandstone wall.
A paradox. There was so much Fox in her. The mannerisms, the smile. But she was also very different. Her own person. She reached beyond the reflection of a dead man.
Every parent's dream; her own person.
"Jana," Falco began. "I know you don't believe in anything extranormal."
"Paranormal," she corrected, tilting her head in confusion.
"Right," he continued, "Visions. Feelings and premonitions."
Be vulnerable. Be an example. Lead. Tell her the truth.
"Something about this contract scares me," Falco confessed, meeting her eyes.
Jana seemed perplexed by the statement. It wasn't a very Falco thing to say, but it was the truth. She sat on the stool across from him as he continued.
"I believe in coincidences, too. But, I could feel it back then. I can feel it now. Something is wrong about this."
"It's too neat. It all adds up a little too right. The money. The girl. Your dad."
"I know you trust this guy, but what if we're being fed a line here?"
Jana smiled a bit. His paranoia was a positive trait to her; likely passed down.
"Leinch's could have burned me a dozen times over a few short years. Hell, he had every reason to when I left. He's looked after me since then. He's looking after you, too."
"You saw her, Jana! She would have been just a kid then," Falco lamented. "What if she's innocent?"
"He only said she was present," Jana argued. "Not that she was guilty of anything."
"I know what Daryn said. But nobody listened to what he didn't say."
Jana was silent for about ten seconds. Falco noticed her face contort for a moment; she was trying to self-moderate. She'd always been in control.
She has to know Leinch's calculated it. She has to know…
She finally spoke, it wasn't what he expected.
"I don't care either way. I'm not Jimmy. I made my peace about it a long time ago. The Kismet is gone. My father is star dust now. I know it will always haunt you."
Falco wasn't so convinced. She was a natural leader; a once-in-a-lifetime talent. But, Jana was an emotional recluse; a well-protected enigma. Even as a child, she kept every feeling to herself.
"And I understand," Jana comforted. "I know what it's like to lose people. I'll be there. Always."
"But…"
"I don't run. I'm not running from this." Jana declared. "I'm Jana McCloud."
"The fight's not over until I am."
Falco had heard those words many times before. Practically a family saying at this point.
Jana smiled confidently, stood, and extended her arm to the bird. Their hands clasped as she pulled him up, and slapped him on the shoulder.
"We're doing this, dad. Together."