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Mission No. 72

Nibiru
Former Venomian Missile Platform

"Viper Pit"

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Two Months Later

Captain Miyu Lynx led a flight of Cornerian fighters in delta formation, surrounded on most sides by the infinite night of space. They orbited a sickle-shaped asteroid a couple kilometers in width, one that looked like a crescent moon when the light from Lylat gleamed off it right. The asteroid had changed hands twice in the past couple years. First owned by some rich asshole, it still bore his plexiglass-enclosed mansion. The sprawling estate covered much of the crescent's inside arc, though the mansion's wings had been converted into troop barracks, the lawns and gardens into parade grounds, and the pools and fountains drained for supply storage.

During the war, Venomian raiders evicted the owner and repurposed it into a deadly missile platform. The asteroid's highly elliptical orbit took it past both Venom and Corneria, a golden opportunity that Andross couldn't pass up. He had it seized and stationed with scores of interplanetary missiles, ready to unleash their destruction on Corneria. "Nibiru," they'd nicknamed it—after the legend of an ancient planet whose steady approach to the system would cause its doom.

Fortunately the war ended before the asteroid drifted close enough to its target, allowing the CDF to reclaim it—as well as the second-largest stockpile of Copperheads in Lylat. They converted the station into a prison for captured Venomians, while the missiles remained under careful guard ever since. At least, until today. Hundreds of Copperheads used to bristle along the outer rim, but now they sat loaded onto the back of a segmented, snake-like transport vessel wrapped around the outside arc, waiting for its signal.

"All clear in your sector, Captain Lynx?"

Miyu could just barely make out the silver glinting off Major Bill Grey and his flight's fighters, orbiting the station directly opposite them. She paused to check her sensors readout. "Yes sir," she answered—but the usual warmth in her voice was long gone.

"Captain Baines?"

"All clear from the Justice, Major."

"Copperhead transport, you are go. Repeat, you are go. Proceed with cargo to designated shipping lane. Baines, Lynx, form up alongside to escort."

Miyu complied, leading her flight alongside the massive, serpentine transport as it snaked around the outside edge of the crescent asteroid. As she flew alongside it, her eyes scanned the segments of cargo cars, each lashed with a bundle of Copperheads and straining to pull them along. She felt an uneasy feeling in her gut, revolted by the metallic columns and their prominent, dormant heads, pock-marked and scratched from years of eroding cosmic dust. Each missile was numbered with large, blocky paint, but the Venomian lettering found elsewhere along the exterior was what really turned her stomach.

"We've been handling a lot of these things lately," she said on the open channel. "Capturing them… moving them… consolidating…"

"Better than letting them fall into the wrong hands," Bill answered. "There's still Venomians out there who'd love to get their mitts on them. Venomians and… other people. Have to move them someplace safe."

"Where are we even taking them to? There's no friendly planets or colonies along this lane. Another missile platform, then? One that's actually maneuverable?"

"That info's need-to-know. We'll receive more orders in transit."

Miyu huffed. "Well, if you ask me, the only safe place for them's in the center of the sun…"

Trapped inside the gilded cage of Nibiru's prison, a smartly-dressed lemur sat at a table near the edge of the glass-enclosed courtyard, looking out at the asteroid's cove. His light cream fur and dress shirt only faintly reflected in the glass as he watched the transport setting out, his lips twisting in modest disapproval. While the golden pair of eyes set in his black face followed the escort out, his fingers absently fiddled with the pieces of a fountain pen.

His round ear twitched when he heard footsteps, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a black-feathered avian approaching. In contrast to his own upstanding clothes, the bird wore a bright orange prison jumpsuit. It immediately struck him as odd, since the other… common prisoners rarely went anywhere near him.

"Never seen so many damn missiles in one place in my whole life," the avian said. He sat at the other end of the table—uninvited, the lemur thought with irritation—and joined him in looking out. "…You?"

He kept watching in annoyed silence for a few seconds before he sighed and decided to bite. "On occasion."

The avian chuckled, folding his arms. "'Course, I shoulda known. A person like you would see 'em all the time, Mr. Sifaka."

Finally the lemur spared the newcomer his first glance, his observant gold eyes immediately suspicious as he couldn't quite place his species—or affiliation. Sifaka's nose wrinkled, and he looked away. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Albert Sifaka, former Venomian Minister of Industry and Armaments. Designer and chief architect of Andross's military compound, in addition to the Bolse series of satellites. Sentenced to twenty years in prison for using slave labor, narrowly avoiding execution. Though imprisoned, continues to cooperate with the Cornerian government on industrial projects. For instance, a certain city in the stars. Isn't that right… Daedalus?"

Sifaka's eyebrows shot up, and he discreetly glanced around to make sure his Cornerian guards were on hand. "I'm afraid I've never met you before, Mr.… Crow. You're not one of my disgraced compatriots living out the rest of his life in this prison, nor do you seem like the usual Venomian grunt so often filtered through here. Who are you?"

"Those buddies you mentioned; you're not really like them, are you? You're different. Just a poor, exiled architect who took the fall for an accident years ago: the first Bolse satellite, Bolse-Z. You were just an artist at heart, nothin' more—but you were stuck designing for that madman of an ape. You didn't give a shit about him: only your art. And when push came to shove, you refused to carry out Andross's final decree, stopping the destruction of Venomian civilization after his death. Heh, you're kind've a hero, aren't you?"

"Perhaps," Sifaka smirked, feeling his posture rise under the flattery—the narrative he'd coined for himself.

"Now it's different people, but the same shit. You haven't been idle in prison. Always you're a slave to someone else, building for them. You want to control your own creations. You want to be no one's slave. But you want more than freedom. You want to fix what you did. To make things right. To absolve yourself."

The lemur narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at, raven?"

"You've spent most of your life building sandcastles for other masters. If you've ever thought about kicking one down, well…" He grinned, stretching out an open palm. "I can help you make things right."

Sifaka's curiosity had just about overcome his apprehension when the prison's sirens went off.

"Major Grey, this is Nibiru Command. Sensor relays have picked up the incoming warp signatures of several frigate-sized vessels!"

Sure enough, two Venomian battleships still flying the late Emperor's insignia and a larger cargo ship shimmered into existence. Almost instantly, two dozen fighters launched from the hangars and made a beeline for the missile transport.

"I see 'em!" Bill said, already leading his flight to engage. "Justice, launch remaining fighters and intercept. Missile transport, double back and circle 'round Nibiru for cover. Captain Lynx, continue your escort and hold off any we let slip through."

"Roger, sir!"

The Cornerians sprang into action, with Miyu and her flight unit shielding the retreating transport while Bill and the Justice continued forward to meet the aggressors.

"Venomian scum," Bill growled. "Lost over a year ago, yet they're still holding out, lurking in every corner of Lylat. Of course they'd make a desperate grab for their old toys."

"Their timing couldn't have been more impeccable," Baines observed, the Justice trailing behind him. Bill scrunched his brow as he sped towards the enemy ships fanning out, that very fact gnawing uncomfortably at the back of his mind. For the moment though, he shoved it aside and focused on sending the Androssian remnants back to the void. None of them would have the mercy of exile this time.

He saw her silhouette against the first explosion. For you, Casse.

"They took the bait awfully fast. Like their ancestors fetching a stick."

Katt grinned, flexing her fingers around the throttle. "Grey only got where he is today 'cause he was good at following protocol, Leon—not 'cause he could think outside the box."

"Well Ms. Monroe, shall you, or shall I?"

Katt gunned the engine, pulling forward. "I have some getting even to do."

"Ah, our mutual friend, I take it?"

"'Friend?'" Katt shook her head and grinned sadly, feeling a bit of warmth at the memory. "No. An old crush."

"Very well. Then I'll play cat and mouse with the lynx."

Katt's Invader III class Venomian fighter sped towards the Cornerians. Unlike the prototype model she had stolen and given a makeover with her "personal touch," the final version was an improvement in most regards, addressing many of the same issues she herself had identified and patched. For that reason, it was easy to forgo her pink-painted fighter and adjust to the Invader III's marginally different handling. Still, her nose wrinkled at having to fly while sporting Andross's hideous insignia, even if their present circumstances necessitated it. Better than letting the Cornerians know who they really were…

Then again, many of her wingmates were actually Venomian.

"All forces engage!" Leon ordered. "Gold squadron, follow me to the missiles for extraction. We'll skip through their vanguard formation while Ms. Monroe and Silver squadron keep them busy. But be careful; this is Bulldog unit we're dealing with—veterans of the war and one of Corneria's finest. Don't underestimate these curs."

"Bring back a Copperhead for me, Leon," Katt said. "If you can't, write my name on it before you send it their way!"

"If we succeed, this will be the biggest raid in Lylatian history—the biggest Star Wolf ever pulled off!"

"Yeah, well, I ain't a part of Star Wolf. Free Birds all the way…"

The first line of Cornerians fanned out like a net to intercept them, with both groups preemptively firing homing missiles. Several of the projectiles quickly collided in the space between the two groups, while most went on to find targets to chase. Katt couldn't watch to see if her first volley had found its way home; she was too busy reacting to the lock-on warning blaring in her own ship. Her HUD identified a bright missile arcing towards her, so she threw the Invader III into a spiral, aiming for the projectile and unleashing an arc of red laser fire. Her heart beat faster and faster as they sped closer, but finally her shots found their target and her eyes were treated to the brilliant orange burst—which otherwise would've been her ship if her aim hadn't been true.

She spun off from her last course, avoiding the glowing hot shrapnel left behind—but she couldn't rest yet, for now they'd flown straight into the swarm of Cornerians. The two formations split apart, with groups of wingmen no larger than two or three circling each other in a deadly dance. Katt fired off a few shots, laying down cover fire for her squadmates to force the Cornerians to break off and keep their distance.

Carefully she scanned the Cornerian ships till she spotted a worthy opponent: as opposed to the standard Cornerian dual-wing and bottom dorsal fin design, one of the ships had four wings in an X-shape—almost like the Wolfin—revealing it to be the unit's commander.

Found him!

Halting her laser fire, Katt sped around the Cornerian cloud in a wide berth, trying to go unnoticed along their peripherals. Currently he seemed distracted trying to keep Leon's group from slipping through. Once she'd sufficiently flanked her target, she abruptly turned inwards and flew in to blindside him. Only when he deviated from his course and betrayed his first sign of noticing did she unleash a stream of lasers at him.

Eat this Bill, you bastard!

"They're breaking through!" Bill shouted, chasing a few that were trying to slip past. "They're headed straight for the missiles! Stop them before they reach Lynx and—"

Bill was cut off when his proximity alarm sounded, and he immediately reacted by giving up his target. As he pulled off, his ship shuddered, pelted by several laser bolts along his fuselage. He glanced to the side to see one of the Invaders was targeting him. Shit! Where did that one come from?!

He cursed himself for letting it blindside him, his shields already marginally depleted. Luckily he was able to let his own prey go before he took too many hits—but now he'd found a new target: one that immediately earned his ire. His Bulldog squadron wingmate answered back with a protective volley of his own, forcing their opponent to peel off and relinquish his attack on Bill—but it was clear he hadn't given up.

This fella's too big for his own pants, Bill grinned as he gave chase, going after the fighter that had dared try him; he was never one to let a challenge go unanswered. The comm's network erupted in chaos as his pilots coordinated their defense, but Bill was confident his soldiers could hold their own while he made quick work of this pesky one.

While the enemy pilot retreated after his attack, Bill gave chase, weaving in and out of other engagements as he relentlessly hunted his prey. They dove under streams of green and red crossfire, danced around fighters soaring after other fighters, and narrowly avoided bursts of flame and shrapnel. Once Bill was close enough, he jammed the trigger down and unleashed his own volley, delivering a steady stream of laser fire in the ship's wake.

You should've finished the job when you had the chance, small fry.

The Invader answered by making erratic—but effective—maneuvers, forcing Bill to constantly correct his aim and struggle to lead his shots. It was hard to predict his target's path; rather than letting Bill shepherd him where he wanted with his barrage, the pilot never panicked or played by his game. Instead, he found his own way of slipping through, refusing to give Bill what he wanted.

You're trickier than I thought, he realized with a sneer. Now stop wasting my time!

While less maneuverable, Bill's fighter was faster, and his guiding shots were beginning to have the intended effect of keeping the pilot along the same line. He sped forward, closing the gap further every instant. He grinned; he'd drawn close enough for his shots to start landing home. But his mouth dropped open when he noticed something left behind in the wake of the ship, glinting, and an explosive ordinance alarm went off.

And he was barreling right towards it.

Bill let go of the firing trigger and peeled off too late; his last few shots struck the ejected missile, pummeling it till it exploded directly in his path. He flinched as he flew through the explosion, unable to completely veer off. It was only now that he realized with frustration why his prey had been flying in a straight line—it was to trick him into lining himself up to receive that parting gift.

His shields absorbed most of the superheated shrapnel, pelting his windshield like molten rain. He emerged from the explosion baring his fangs and swiveling his head—but by that time, his former prey was doubling-back towards him for an assault of his own. Bill quickly fell into a circling dance with the enemy pilot, both trying to fly behind the other for another rear attack—but for all Bill's attempts to do just that, his opponent managed to stay just ahead of him, tightly pulling inwards before zipping behind him at the last second and forcing another loop.

Where the hell was this guy when Venom fell? Bill thought, frustrated with his enemy's surprising amount of skill—an amount he shouldn't have had for just another Invader III pilot.

Giving up getting behind his enemy, Bill put some more distance between them before pulling inwards for a frontal pass. His rival answered with a similar maneuver, rising to the challenge, and the pair raced towards each other.

Well, no matter your skill, I know you're still a coward, just like all the others!

"Attention all security personnel! Prisoners are to be immediately escorted to their holding cells. There is an active conflict in the vicinity and Nibiru Station is entering lockdown. Any soldiers who can be spared are to report to their defense posts. Repeat, all security personnel are to immediately escort…"

Behind Sifaka and the black bird, the Cornerian guards began shouting orders to the prisoners on parade and shepherding them out of the courtyard. The lemur cringed when an altercation resulted in one of the prisoners receiving a stun-bolt to the back. He lay convulsing on the lawn and had to be carried out.

"So, what'll it be?"

Sifaka glanced back at the man's outstretched wing again, lying over the center of the table and beckoning for him. But he made no move to take it. Instead, he continued to fiddle with his deconstructed pen and glance at the battle unfolding outside, mulling over his choice.

An officer finally approached the two, jabbing his stun rifle into the back of the bird's patio chair with a clunk. "Alright you, get up and follow me. Mr. Sifaka, you should return to your room at once—"

What happened next occurred in the span of two seconds. Sifaka snapped the last piece of his pen in place and slapped it into the bird's open palm. In turn, the man scooted his chair out, stood, and flung the pen directly into the canine's eye.

"AAAAAUGH, fuck! What the—?!" When he reflexively jammed his eye shut and clapped a paw over it, the avian dashed forward. He jammed a knee into his gut, doubled the guard over, and brought his fist down on the back of his head. The guard keeled over onto the lawn while his stun rifle clattered to the brick patio, allowing the other prisoner to pick it up.

"Pity," Sifaka tsked. "I used to play chess with him every day." He stooped at the soldier's side and retrieved his pen, brushing it off with a huff. "Terrible player. But you, crow; I thought you were different than the usual cretins who filter through here. I assume you have some plan, Mr.…?"

"Lombardi. Falco Lombardi. And yes."

"Ahhh! The infamous Falco Lombardi of Star Fox. I didn't place you with those feathers. Never thought I'd be relying on you for my freedom…" He nodded back outside at the ships. "Or that you'd be allied with us Venomians."

Falco clicked his beak. "Yeah, well, they ain't all Venomian. Now if you'd follow me, I can bust you out of here."

Sifaka trailed him through the courtyard, ducking low and scampering beneath the dried hedges and stone fountain for cover. Falco led him to one of the exit doors from the garden—the furthest from the prison wings. To Sifaka's astonishment, the oak door was still unlocked, and Falco swung it right open.

"You came prepared. Help from the inside?"

The pheasant didn't answer. Instead he led him through the halls of the converted mansion, following a trail of unlocked doors to the hangar. When they arrived, the last of the Cornerian pilots was just sailing their fighter through the atmospheric shield to join the melee, leaving the bay with only a few ships left.

Falco cautiously crept forward, holding his rifle at the ready and swiveling his head. "Blast it, where is the little green booger?"

"Need a ride?"

The pair of escapees jumped and turned to see a squat amphibian in a Cornerian mechanic jumpsuit leaning against the landing gear of a fighter. He was casually spinning a pilot's keychain with an electronic credential stick on his finger. He caught the keys and clicked a button on the device, aiming it over his shoulder at the ship behind him with a cocky grin.

The canopy popped open… on a fighter several bays down.

The frog squinted closer at the key device, then blushed and smiled apologetically. "Oh, heh-heh… the numbers didn't… match…"

Sifaka groaned and wiped a hand over his face. "I am so fucked."

"Relax, he's the one who kept the doors unlocked. Slippy's absent-minded, but he knows his stuff."

The frog joined them, and together they raced to the opened fighter craft before any more soldiers rushed in. But when they reached the ship, they found it only had two seats for the pilot and navigator, and a cramped cargo bay underneath. Falco paused, twisting his beak thoughtfully as he glanced between Sifaka and Slippy, one of which would have to ride in the bay.

He snapped his fingers and pointed. "Alright Sifaka, you're with me."

Slippy threw his arms up and croaked. "But he's a literal war criminal!"

"Ugh, fine. Sorry man, you'll have to ride below."

Sifaka huffed as he crawled into the cargo bay. "So undignified. I'd have better accommodations if I stayed with the Cor—"

THUNK. Falco wiped his hands clean. "Alright Slip, let's blow this place!"

Miyu tailed a Venomian fighter along the sprawling length of the transport train. Rows of missiles whizzed by her viewscreen in a blur, passing faster than the eye could see. Her prey was playing with fire by leading her so close; his evasive maneuvers nearly sent him careening into the deadly cargo—which, beyond spelling instant destruction for his ship upon impact, even ran the risk of detonating a missile if the explosion was great enough, though supposedly none of them were currently armed.

She hoped.

Miyu hardly dared to fire upon her target for that reason; any stray shot might hit the explosive detonator on one of the missiles, potentially with catastrophic consequences. She only fired when she was certain her shots would angle away from the transport. Even then, what if she downed her target and he crashed into it? That might be even worse…

The Invader III swooped around the side of the serpentine transport, disappearing from view over the bristling horizon of missiles. When Miyu sped up to catch him, she found him pulling away from the transport to get a clear shot at it. He opened fire, dangerously placing a hail of laser fire between the transport cars where the coupling united them.

"These crazy bastards! Don't they know those are missiles they're shooting at?!" her wingmate cried.

Miyu opened fire, forcing the Venomian to cut his attack short and break off again—though not before chipping away at the joint and leaving it glowing orange. "They're trying to split the cars up for the frigate to haul away!" She glanced back to check on the enemy cargo ship's progress, but Bill's pilots were holding it at bay for the moment.

"Well that's much too delicate a shot for a Venomian to pull off!"

"It-It's not like they're armed, right?"

"They still got plenty of explosives in those detonators. And besides, is that a risk you wanna take? You really think Andross cared about safety?"

Miyu silently agreed, continuing to pepper the Invader till it sped for safety—only to be replaced by another ship behind her, firing at a different coupling. Shit… She performed a tight U-turn and fired on the new attacker. Even though her shots had no chance of hitting, it spooked him into retreating—but it was turning into an unwinnable game of "keep the flies off the fruitcake."

Miyu was just closing in on another target when a pair of homing missiles arced by; one exploding her prey while the other flew off into space… before turning back again to automatically search for a new target. "NO MISSILES!" she screeched. She took the initiative to chase after it, spraying it with lasers and not waiting to see if it found a new mark or not. A few of her shots hit, but ultimately the original owner realized his mistake and remotely detonated it.

"Captain Lynx, our transport's taking hits!" the freighter pilot yelled. "If those lunatics aren't careful, we'll all be blown into the New Age!"

"Maybe if your cars weren't so fuckin' spread out my squad could cover you better!" she snapped, filling a laggardly fighter full of bolts till he exploded.

"G-Got it!" The transport vessel began moving again, each of the segments lurching as their coupling went taught. Miyu sucked in a breath when the Copperheads rattled together in their berths. As if on cue, a fiery bloom opened next to her, the sudden orange flash of which made her jump.

"Captain, I've been—!"

His cry was cut short as his ship disintegrated, and Miyu watched in horror.

Am I… am I to blame for all this?

A hail of red lasers emerged from the dispersing cloud, cutting a hole through it and peppering her wing. Snapped from her guilt, she cursed, but already her mind was racing into action. She took cover behind the transport, circling as tightly around it as she dared—and quickly came up from behind the attacking Venomian.

Is this the only alternative?

She opened fire, determining not to let any more of her comrades perish. He was a slippery pilot though, and forced Miyu to chase him along the moving transport's exterior. She was much more reckless with her shots now, throwing caution to the wind and not minding if a few shots glanced off the Copperheads. Nothing had gone wrong so far, and their care was handicapping themselves. Or was she blinded by rage and looking for an excuse now? This pilot was ballsy and had called her bluff, but she had no intention of holding back.

I had no choice.

Miyu pursued the Invader along the length of the transport, which was now coiling up like a serpent beneath them, constantly rotating as it formed into an easier to defend spring-shape. Together they crisscrossed the coils of missiles, with Miyu attempting a few shots here and there while carefully staying on his ass. From the way the other Venomians seemed to antagonize her and come between them, he must've been important—perhaps the flight leader, which made her follow him all the more relentlessly. She wove in between the Invaders taking potshots at the couplings and her own wingmates chasing them off, zeroing in on her target's flaring red thrusters. Finally as they reached the tail end of the transport and ran out of coils, Miyu lost sight of him around the edge. She gunned her engines, intent on closing the distance with no distractions.

Now I've got you!

But when she rounded the last coil in her tight orbit, her ship came face-to-face with the forward head of the transport train, able to see the whites of the pilot's eyes going wide when they noticed each other.

"INCOMING!" he shouted, and Miyu abruptly veered off, nearly clipping the front engine of the cargo vessel. She pulled away, panting and recovering while her near brush with death played over and over in her head. That cheeky bastard had almost led her right into that… But now as she looked around again, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Major Grey, they're getting through! One of the cruisers has slipped past the Justice!" Baines warned.

Bill growled, finally giving up his chase of the infuriating Venomian pilot. He'd let someone make a fool of him before this way, but he wouldn't fall for the same trick.

He pulled back for a bird's-eye-view of the battle unfolding in the asteroid's cove. Slowly but steadily, the raiders were beginning to turn the tide and slip through the Cornerians' growing cracks. The Justice was engaged with one of the Venomian cruisers, but the other had slipped past and was heading towards the coiling transport, which only now began to unwind to slither away. The only thing protecting it besides the Cornerian gnats harassing the Venomian cruiser was its vulnerable cargo, ensuring it wouldn't be fired upon unless its hulking pursuer got a safe angle on the lead engine car.

"…We'll fall back to the missile transport for now. Since that's where they're headed, it'll be easier if we coalesce and defend the smallest area necessary. Provide cover fire while we head back and regroup! And call for backup immediately! Fuck secrecy now."

"Already done sir!"

"Sir, why not use a few of the missiles?" one of his wingmates suggested. "They're no use to us if the enemy takes them. All we have to do is strike one of the cruisers, and the Venomians will turn tail and run!"

"Are you insane?! These missiles have salvage fusing! If we fire a Copperhead in the middle of the bay, the detonation could trigger the others! Besides, we're not authorized to use them."

"But sir—"

"Gravity change detected! There's another warp outside the cove!"

Bill's heart sank, glancing towards the asteroid crescent's mouth to see a circular shimmering in the stars. Oh God, what are they trying now…

But it wasn't a ship exiting warp at all, but a full-fledged portal. Once the gate fully materialized and opened, the widening circle revealed a blinding white light so bright that no Cornerian or Venomian could look at it: a doorway to the sun. A long, graceful shadow slipped from the gate, little more than a black silhouette against the white light. Bill's viewscreen darkened to adapt, and he squinted at the new vessel that had emerged. When it fully sailed into view, the gate closed, leaving a slender, shining silver vessel behind. It was practically the twin image of the Justice.

"What the—?" Bill blinked in shock when a white-furred spaniel appeared on his screen, revealing her seated in the captain's chair of an immaculate bridge.

Fay saluted. "Captain Fay Spaniel of the CSS Love, reporting straight from Astropolis! At your service, Major!"

"F-Fay?! I mean, Captain Spaniel?"

Fay couldn't suppress her proud smile, nor could the captain's seat fully block her tail from wagging. "Like my new ship, Bill?"

"The CSS… Love? When did you get your own ship? Was the portal the plan the whole time? How did you know to—?"

"We can fill you in on the details after the battle, Major Grey." A lab coat-clad vixen with carmine red fur stepped into frame, standing proudly at Fay's side with her tablet clutched to her waist. "Our first priority is the safety of those missiles. And it looks like you could use some backup."

"Dr. Makepeace…" Suddenly a faint sourness tinged Bill's elation. He was ecstatic that Fay had received her own ship—but on the other hand, any help from Makepeace tended to come with a price. "I appreciate it. How many pilots can I count on?"

Makepeace smirked. "One."

He blinked. "What?"

The Love's thrusters lit up, and the graceful ship pulled towards the asteroid's cove. When it was within a dozen kilometers of the base, the hangar doors opened, and out sped a single, solitary fighter. Bill was about to ask if it was some kind of joke when he noticed what kind of ship it was.

"Uh, did they just send out an Arwing?!" Slippy croaked, nearly deafening Falco as he sat in the navigator's seat behind him.

"Well-well, won't Wolf get a kick out of this," Leon hummed.

"No fucking way!" Katt exclaimed. "There were only ever six in existence!"

Falco had a sick, twisted feeling in his stomach. Their ship hovered idly in the middle of the cove while he stared in disbelief at the lone cruiser and fighter approaching. "That ain't no Arwing," he finally realized after the initial shock. "'Least, not one of ours. Check the stabilizers; they're green, Cornerian-colored. Shape's noticeably different, too. That's some newer model."

"If it flies as good as the original, there's no way we can challenge it in Invader III's!"

"I don't care how good it flies," Falco said flatly. "What matters is the pilot. Only six people proved they could handle an Arwing in combat before. No matter how many years this pretender has under his belt, he's still green as baby shit."

"This changes nothing," Leon agreed. "We stick to Wolf's plan, and if that pilot gets anywhere close to one of us, we scatter his atoms into oblivion. The same way we treat any enemy fighter."

"Falco…?" Slippy asked, the pitch of his voice climbing. He dug his fingers into the bird's headrest, squeezing the faux leather cushion. "I don't like this. That looks like the real deal. Maybe even better!"

Falco shook his head, gunning the thrusters and setting off on their predetermined escape vector. "Trust me, I'll fly circles around that wannabe—even in this rusty bucket o' bolts!"

Miyu gritted her teeth, preparing for the inevitable pelt of enemy laser fire against the rear of her ship. She had only herself to blame for her fate and that of her squad—but it never came. Instead, there was a brilliant orange burst of light behind her, and a distinctly non-Venomian ship flew past like she was flying a snail. She blinked in bewilderment, shaken by how fast she'd been saved. The newcomer's fighter was unlike any Cornerian design, either. In fact, it closely resembled Star Fox's one-of-a-kind Arwing, only sleeker. The normally white-painted fuselage and wings instead gleamed spotless silver, while the fins were painted Cornerian military teal. Finally, she placed the design: the rumored A-23 Arwing that General Dynamics was developing for mass production.

Once she recovered, she formed up behind it, providing cover as thanks—but she could barely keep up with the pilot. She tracked the ship as it arced around the battlefield, effortlessly dispatching two more ships consecutively. "Hey, to the pilot of the Arwing, thanks for saving my tail back there!" she radioed. "Captain Lynx, by the way. Miyu. Um, what's your callsign?"

She waited for a response, but received none. The pilot made use of the cover she provided, but otherwise didn't acknowledge her. Their comms stayed eerily silent, as if it were piloted by a ghost. She didn't know what to make of the cold shoulder, whether the pilot thought himself too high-and-mighty to respond, was just shy, or simply didn't have a functioning radio, but it didn't sit well with her.

Soon the Arwing outpaced her, and Miyu watched as it practically flew circles around the Venomians, making quick work of them one after the other. Even with the reinforcement of just one Arwing, the tide was turned. The Venomians grew skittish from their likely PTSD of the recognizable fighter, and they fled further and further from the missile transport. The buzzing gnats which had so gleefully badgered the Cornerian forces now scattered, with the Arwing singling one out at a time before surgically downing its prey. The pilot sure knew his stuff.

If there even was a pilot in there…

"A-23, you've got one on your—"

Bill trailed off as the new prototype effortlessly performed a summersault, tighter than any current generation fighter could execute or physically withstand. Before he had the warning fully out of his mouth, the other pilot switched positions with his would-be attacker. Now on his tail, he made quick work of him with a volley of emerald lasers.

Bill blinked, awed by the display. He hadn't seen very many pilots who could pull something like that off. "Nice work, A-23!" he praised, but the Arwing was already off on the tail of a new mark without so much as a nod in return. Bill frowned. "Captain Spaniel, is the A-23 pilot tuned into our comms?"

"The test pilot can hear you," Makepeace's voice returned instead, "but you'll have to forgive them, they're a bit short on words. Not just anyone can pilot an Arwing. It requires an unparalleled level of focus—something I'm here to help with."

Bill's nose wrinkled, not liking the sound of that either. He couldn't believe he'd been trusting enough to let her put him under when fighting Ariki. He'd never let her do something like that again.

By now it was a complete rout; the Venomians abandoned any attempt to steal the missiles. It was all the enemy cruisers could do to provide cover fire to keep the Justice and Love at bay while their transport frigate retreated to open space. Thus, Bill, Miyu, the A-23, and the rest of the CDF pilots formed up with the two Cornerian vessels to pursue, while the missile transport snaked its way to safety towards the other side of the cove.

"Alert, alert!" Nibiru command radioed. "An unauthorized fighter has left the hangar bay. Several prisoners are expected to be escaping aboard!"

Bill rolled his eyes. "We have our hands full over here. Protecting the missile transport and capturing our first remnant soldiers is more important than some old POWs escaping. Unless…"

Unless they never cared about the missiles in the first place.

"Nibiru command, who is the highest profile detainee of the prison?"

There was an awkward silence on the other end of the line. "That… that information is classified. But I can disclose that there are several high-value Venomian criminals serving sentences aboard the station. None are pilots."

Bill hesitated for a moment, the gears beginning to turn in his head. Then, he broke off his pursuit and turned back towards the cove. "Bulldog unit, disengage! Repeat, disengage!"

"What?!"

"But sir, we have them on the run!"

"These fucking murderers are getting away!"

"It's a diversion! The missiles aren't their main goal. This isn't a heist, it's a jailbreak! Spread out and intercept that rogue fighter from all angles! Forget the remnant, focus on—"

"Belay that order!" Dr. Makepeace barked.

Bill narrowed his eyes, immediately bristling as the woman's face appeared on his screen. "On what authority are you countermanding my orders?!"

"The general's. I have been given the authority to test the A-23 in actual combat, as well as its… pilot. We can't risk the chance they'll escape with any missiles based on a mere whim you have. You worry about the escaping remnant; the A-23 and the Love will intercept the prisoners."

Bill watched as the Arwing broke off from his side, speeding towards the lone fighter like a dog told to sic. Or was he the trained dog, commanded to stay?

"Falco, I got bad news for you," Katt warned. "So the prison may or may not have figured out our little ruse. The new cruiser and Arwing are en route to intercept you."

Falco's heart sank when he saw the Love pull into the mouth of the asteroid's cove, eclipsing their escape route and threatening to cut them off. However, it was the gleaming pinprick that was little more than a star shooting towards them that posed the immediate problem.

"Shit, we'll have to change course. Slippy, I need you to plot a new escape vector outta here. Sifaka, just hang tight back there!"

"This is cruel and inhumane punishment!" his tinny voice protested from the cramped compartment.

"Yeah, well it's gonna get bumpy; he's on us now!"

As a flurry of green laser bolts rained towards them, Falco veered off, barely avoiding the hailstorm. He pulled the Cornerian fighter into a tight U-turn and raced back into the cove, the nearest source of cover. His eyes darted for a potential way out while simultaneously keeping track of the ship on his ass. Then he jumped when the laser bolts inevitably began to glance off the fuselage, slowly but steadily depleting his shields, percent by percent.

"He's hittin' us! He's hittin' us!" Slippy croaked, twisting to look over his shoulder as the world pitched and heaved outside.

"I know, I know! I can't do shit without cover to work with! With this lousy ship and your two fat asses weighing us down, we're sitting ducks out here!"

"Shields at 13 percent!" Slippy warned. "One direct hit will…"

Falco gnashed his beak, still putting up a chase, but expecting a mercy hail from the enemy pilot at any moment, demanding he surrender—or one final bolt to finish him off.

"Pull off, Monroe, our work here is finished! It's up to the bird now," Leon ordered, his unmarked Venomian fighter retreating with the rest. "Of course, if you wish to stay, that's no concern of mine."

"Aww, so sweet of you to care! But I want to leave one last parting gift for our friends."

On her way out, Katt skirted around Falco, the A-23, and the Love, making one last beeline for the missile transport slithering to safety—or so it thought. She gunned the engines till she risked melting her thrusters, managing to break through the Cornerians' net and getting a significant headstart on any pursuers who turned to chase her. But by then it was too late; she had already taken up position perpendicular to the winding transport craft. She flipped down her helmet's eye lens, which rendered an overlay across the viewscreen. Completely uncontested, she prepped her remaining missiles and targeted the weakened joints in the hauler.

"If we can't have 'em, no one can."

Just as stray shots from her pursuers began to whizz past her canopy, Katt launched the homing missiles, each armament coming free from her fighter before igniting and streaking towards their targets in a trail of light and smoke. One by one, they impacted the couplings and exploded in brilliant flashes of orange and red. Disconnected from one another, the cars came free and drifted off the hauler, reminding her of a centipede whose individual segments just up and floated away. The cables holding the missiles snapped and came undone, releasing their cargo into the great expanse. As every party in the cove watched, the largest missile stockpile in Lylat scattered, creating an ocean of silver fangs.

She'd filled the interior of the cove with an impromptu minefield.

"Hey Falco, I made you some cover!"

"Attagirl! That's just what I needed!" Falco leaned forward in the seat like a jockey, licking his beak. "Now let's see how ballsy that pilot really is."

"'Ballsy?' Falco, you're not thinking of—"

"I am! Slippy, plot our warp vector—starting from on the other side of that minefield!" Falco veered towards the missiles, the Arwing and the much larger Love still bearing down on him. "Alright hotshot, show me what you got…"

"Captain Spaniel, we're… getting dangerously close to those missiles," Dr. Makepeace warned on the bridge of the Love.

"I can see that, Doctor." Fay gripped the armrests of her captain's chair, glaring down the swarm of missiles: a cloud of silver, glinting needles falling in slow motion before her. "There are Venomian war criminals on that ship! We… we can't just let them get away!"

"Do you really think you can maneuver the Love through that? If one goes off, an EMP and plasma burst will impact everything within a dozen kilometers! If those Copperhead models are equipped with salvage fusing, they could even set off a chain reaction! You'd actually risk the new ship the general just gave you?"

"That's assuming they're armed, Doctor."

"How sure are you they're not?"

Fay squirmed in the captain's chair, heart pounding and gritting her teeth as they drifted towards the cloud. Her inner debate was interrupted when proximity warnings went off, and the HUD on the viewscreen highlighted several missiles floating their way.

"Incoming, Captain!"

"Three, four—five incoming missiles!"

"Orders, Captain?"

"Evade now!" she cried. "Hard to port! Pitch 30 degrees down!"

Makepeace instinctively grabbed onto the back of Fay's chair while the spaniel—and everyone else on the bridge—braced themselves. The occupants held their breaths as the Love dove to the side, the asteroid and field of missiles wheeling out of view. But one last missile aimlessly drifting away from the transporter lay in their path: one they were too late to evade.

"Brace yourselves!" Fay yelled.

The missile loomed closer till it appeared to collide with the viewscreen, resulting in a metallic THUNK that the occupants felt through the bulkheads. Knuckles turned white, breathing stopped, and tails uncurled, but the missile harmlessly bounced off, spinning like a giant pencil in the opposite direction.

Fay and the entire bridge crew held their breaths for a few more seconds, then let out a collective sigh of relief.

"I repeat, Captain!" Makepeace gasped, swaying in front of her. "Pull. Off! My pilot will handle things from here."

The spaniel shifted in her seat and folded her hands in her lap, recomposing herself. "Give us a wide berth around the missiles. We got lucky that time, so we can't take any more chances. We'll cut off the prisoners' exit on the far side."

The crew gladly obeyed, swinging the Love in a lazy, safe arc around the scattering missile field while the engine flares of the two smaller ships zig-zagged through it.

Falco pushed the Cornerian fighter to its limits as he piloted them through the shifting maze of Copperheads. The mass-produced ship was a direct downgrade from the Arwing, and he had to compensate for its lack of maneuverability—an issue the A-23's pilot didn't have to deal with. His and Slippy's guts churned with each tight turn of the ship, sometimes completely leaving them behind. The A-23 took potshots whenever it got the chance, closing the distance enough or finding an opening between the floating thorns. They pinged all around Falco, glancing off the silver missile fuselages and sending the armaments spinning dangerously in his path. But as long as they stayed in the thick of the weeds, they were safe.

That is, until they ran out of missiles. Now he had a straight shot.

"Alright Slip, you got our warp vector ready?"

"Yeah!"

"Then whaddya waiting for?! Punch it!"

The ship suddenly jolted—but instead of picking up speed, it began to noticeably slow, followed by alarms blaring in the cockpit. Falco glanced down at the rear-view screen and swallowed when he saw the gigantic Cornerian cruiser looming behind them: a shark approaching its struggling prey. And in between them, the relatively tiny but bright flare of the new Arwing, steadily growing closer even under the influence of the same tugging force.

"Falco, it's that new cruiser again!" Slippy screeched. "She's got a tractor lock on us and is reeling us in!"

"Oh you gotta be kidding me!"

Falco's eyes darted around, desperately looking for something, anything he could use to escape. Jumping to warp was out of the question, as was simply outrunning the vessel; not when they were directly in its tractor beam. He wasn't suicidal enough to turn around and face it head-on, either. Worst of all, he had no more cover to hide behind; they were naked and in the open, and the CDF had Wolf's forces on the run. No one else would be coming to their aid.

With a gulp that felt like swallowing a stone, Falco realized he'd completely run out of options—till his eyes landed on the silver glow of one last missile in their path.

"…Katt, you still there?"

"Yeah, and I'm not about to let that shiny new Arwing or cruiser take you in!"

"NO! Stay away! …But don't leave just yet." He glanced back at Slippy, then pointed forward at the last missile. "You see that one, Slip?"

"Y-Yeah? Whaddya want me to—"

"Arm it."

"WHAT?!"

"Hack into it and arm it! I got an idea."

Slippy's eyes stared like baseballs at the growing needle of the missile. Then he swallowed and focused on his terminal, clacking away. "Fuck this, fuck this," he whispered. "Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck…"

"Ohh, why did I have to come along with you barbarians," Sifaka mournfully wailed.

"They're getting closer, Falco!"

"Damn… it'll be fine! Just focus on arming the missile!"

"I am! But it's asking for a passcode!"

At this point they shot past the missile itself, narrowly avoiding it as the Love's tractor beam inadvertently reeled it in as well. Every second that passed, the A-23 gained on them, the hulking form of the Love lumbered closer, and the tractor beam slowed their speed to little more than a crawl.

"Sorry," a weak voice said over the open channel, and a shiver ran up Falco's spine. He realized what it meant when a lock-on blared, warning that the Arwing could shoot him down with a charged bolt of energy at any second.

"Why won't it unlock?! None of the backup codes are working!"

Falco's heart sank into his stomach. This is it…

"Rrrrrrr-GAAAHHH! The access code is 00000000!" Sifaka exploded through his earpiece. "It's just eight zeros! For all of them!"

Slippy jammed the key eight times behind Falco. "He's right! M-Missile armed!" he whined in fear.

"HANG ON!" Falco ordered. Releasing the forward-facing thrusters, he used the backwards pull from the Love to spin their fighter in its place. He relied solely on momentum to continue flying forward as he wheeled around to face the missile, Arwing, and the huge bow of the Love bearing down on them. Grinding his beak, he scored a lock-on and fired.

"Missile armed!" a sensors officer yelled aboard the Love. "Repeat, the missile has armed!"

"WHAT?!" Fay gasped.

Makepeace grabbed her mic. "A-23, disengage! DISENGAGE!"

But as Fay, Makepeace, and the crew watched, the Arwing didn't pull off. The approaching missile lazily rolled around to reveal the number "85" painted on its fuselage. And instead, the Arwing sped up.

"A-23, what are you doing?!" Makepeace screeched.

With the tractor beam deactivated—the Love wanting nothing to do with the armed missile—the Arwing freely raced towards it and the prisoners, barreling forward at top speed. But the escaping ship had spun around to face them, releasing a storm of lasers in his path. The A-23 didn't falter. It went practically berserk as its pilot pushed the new Arwing to its limits—but the lasers weren't aimed at him.

The bolts struck the missile, and every viewscreen and windshield in the cove went pure white, blinding any unfortunate enough to look with overpowering light. Fay clutched the seat and averted her eyes, Makepeace threw up her arms, and everyone in the bridge braced themselves.

The initial flash faded, revealing an expanding ball of light that glowed larger and brighter even than Lylat's sun. The sphere gradually expanded, consuming much of the asteroid's empty cove. As the viewscreen dimmed to compensate, they could see the cloud of plasma stretching itself thinner and darkening as a result till individual spots could be seen slipping in and out of its broiling surface—an unstoppable tsunami headed straight towards them.

It felt like bolts of lightning struck Falco's fighter, again and again, zipping around the controls, shorting the circuits, and exploding the screens in bursts of sparks, glass, and pixels. Slippy screamed and covered his head while his terminal blew, and Falco gnashed his beak, waiting for the effects of the EMP to wear off.

Once it was over, Falco found the cockpit floating with debris and smelling strongly of acrid, burned wires. Their shield was completely shorted, along with everything else, while the paint was literally peeling off the melted fuselage. Ultimately, the ship's anti-radiation hull had protected them.

Outside, the residual clouds of plasma were dispersing. Their ship still faced into the cove, towards the prison and the chaotic field of missiles, but luckily the pulse wasn't large enough to reach and trigger any of the others, avoiding a chain reaction.

Falco's stomach filled with ice when he spotted the Cornerian cruiser bearing down on them—but he had no cause to fear. All the lights were out, and the effects of the tractor beam were gone. Instead, the vessel lazily drifted forward on its momentum, arcs of electricity racing along its hull where its shield used to ripple. It was floating dead, just like them. Likewise, the Arwing was no longer able to pursue, but was charred and dark as it floated away. Whoever, or whatever the pilot was, Falco almost pitied them.

"—alco, Slippy, are you okay?!" Katt yelled, the Cornerian fighter's emergency functions coming online.

Falco groaned, rubbing his fingers where the controls had burned them. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"I'm still in one piece, though you didn't inquire," Sifaka said dryly from the cargo hold.

"Whew, thank God!" The ship jolted as Katt's landed atop them, locking it to hers. "Now let's get you the hell out of here before Bulldog or Husky unit reaches us!"

A/N: Thanks to Erold and Zoinkler for beta-reading!