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Mission No. 73

Astropolis
Cornerian Military Bay

"Daedalus"

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Bill strode through the wide military hangar Astropolis had designated for CDF use, accompanied by Miyu, Fay, and Baines. He walked at the forefront of their group with Fay, absently returning salutes from guards and bustling personnel while the spaniel gushed at him.

"You should've seen the look on your face when I flew into Nibiru on the Love! Your jowls hung open like a loose mailbox! Well, it was quite a shock to me, too! I mean, an officer recently promoted to captain, getting her own ship two months later?! It's unheard of!" She placed a finger to her chin and looked up thoughtfully. "Though I guess that basically happened to you last year, didn't it? Wasn't it a shock, Miyu, when we learned Bill got his own ship? Go on, tell him what we did when we realized it!"

They glanced over their shoulders at Miyu, but the lynx captain's face remained completely stoic as she marched behind them. She didn't even meet Bill's eyes when she curtly returned, "Yes, Major Grey. It was a shock."

Bill's fur raised as a tense silence settled over them. Fay leaned closer. "What's up with her recently?" She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. "Is she jealous of our spanking new ships?"

The bulldog cringed and lowered his voice. "I… don't think so."

"Then why's she such a stick-tail all of the sudden? She only ever calls you 'Major Grey' now. It sounds so silly."

Bill sighed slowly through his nostrils. "She calls me that even when we're alone. She's been like this since…"

When he trailed off, Fay caught his meaning and nodded knowingly. "Geez, she's still worked up over that? We did what we had to. You'd think being made a captain would get her mind off it. It's almost like she doesn't want to be one…"

They stepped onto a service elevator to the upper deck, its glass windows letting them see much more of the hangar as it rose. With the four crammed into the compartment, Fay quit her gossiping whispers, and a cold silence fell over them. General Pepper awaited them at the top; the debacle at Nibiru station would be fresh on his mind. Bill hated facing the general after one of his failures, and now he was likely in for another verbal thrashing from his disappointed superior. Preemptively his shoulders began to slump, and his tail curled between his legs. But at the same time, he didn't think it fair to hold himself to blame. After all, he wasn't the one who had failed at Nibiru.

From the elevator's increasing vantage point, the four could easily see the CSS Love docking for repairs. Fay's ears and tail lowered, and her shoulders fell as she pouted. "Ohhh, the paint's so charred and peeled!"

But Bill was more interested in the small personal fighter being lowered next to the cruiser. This was the closest he'd been to the experimental A-23 yet, though after the Copperhead explosion, it was in a similar state as the Love. His heart skipped a beat when the canopy popped open and the mysterious pilot climbed out, giving him his first look. From a distance, it was hard to make out their species or sex. They wore a full face helmet with a black visor, and a stark white flight suit that covered every inch of their fur. A straightjacket, Bill couldn't help but think of, imagining Cerinian 19 beneath it. The tail bag was large enough. Underneath that helmet, if he raised the visor, would he see another…?

"Fay, the A-23 pilot was aboard your ship," he began. "Did you get a glimpse of them?"

The spaniel screwed up her face, following his gaze down. "Nnnnno. Makepeace never let him take his mask off."

"Him? You're sure it was a man?"

"Oh, I guess not. She only ever called them by their ship name, 'A-23,' or… some other callsign. I think it started with an H? H, um…"

The pilot turned around, revealing "H-02" printed on the back of their flight suit. 19, 18, 28… "I think I'd like to meet this pilot and see for myself."

Fay shivered, clutching her elbows. "You would! That… thing gives me the creeps. I'm not even sure it's a person, or even alive. It's more like a zombie—or a robot. I bet that's why she keeps a mask on it."

She was right. The pilot's movements were halting and awkward as they climbed down the fuselage. Puppet-like, even. Once they touched down on the flight deck, they looked lost; the entourage of crew and scientists had to carefully direct them. Bill found it hard to believe a person like that could pilot an Arwing, or any fighter at all. They must have transformed into an entirely different person once that cockpit closed. Maybe they didn't have a life outside of it.

"Just another one of Makepeace's toy soldiers," Miyu said under her breath. "Completely disposable." It was the first genuine thing she'd spoken, and it was what no one else would say.

Bill remembered when the doctor dropped Cerinian 18 to his death, and when she didn't lift a finger to stop Fox from pressing a gun to his head. He never felt more like a chess piece than when he was around her. "You're right," he said. "I don't trust that witch farther than I could—"

The elevator doors opened at the top, bringing him face-to-face with Dr. Marjorie Makepeace. "Oh! Major!" she said, equally surprised.

Bill's anxiety shot to a new level. He'd successfully avoided the scientist for two months. Now he felt an uneasy sickness crawling back into his gut. The longer they paused, the more his resentment towards her came boiling back up. Even Fay and Miyu bristled behind him; Baines was the only one who nodded politely.

"Doctor," Bill finally managed, voice low.

Makepeace bowed her head in respect, clutching her tablet to her front as she adjusted her glasses. "Did I interrupt something?" Her eyes twinkled, and Bill reflexively glanced away, cursing that he didn't feel safe enough to meet the gaze of the shorter vixen.

There was much he wanted to say to her, and yet wanted to avoid saying. "We were…"

"Just discussing the A-23's pilot," Baines finished for him. "You must admit there's an air of mystery around them."

She forced an icy smile. "The A-23 will be the most advanced fighter in Lylat once deployed, but it turns out finding a pilot is trickier than building the damn thing, as even its designer, the young Ms. Phoenix, will admit. Only a few dozen pilots have ever flown an Arwing, while even fewer have mastered one in combat. That's where my particular skills can come in handy. Of course, the enemy wants to learn our techniques too, so I appreciate you understanding the secrecy around this project."

"Your first test seems to have failed," Bill pointed out, unable to resist slighting her—especially when he was beginning to feel replaced.

She frowned, adjusting her glasses. "We still face setbacks. The pilot designated H-02 is scheduled to return to Venom for further training—and Captain Lynx will escort them, given the Love is out of commission."

"Well, good luck with that," Bill scoffed. "What good is a pilot who directly disobeys your orders?"

The corners of her lip twisted as she looked at him. "Indeed…"

"Well, Major Grey, Captains Spaniel, Lynx, and Baines; won't you come in?"

General Pepper sat at the other side of the table in the conference room. His otter secretary sat at the far end with her laptop open; Bill never saw the general without her now. Outside the wide observation room behind Pepper, they could see the Justice moored in the adjoining shipyard, along with the crippled Love as it was towed into place. What looked like a third sister ship—one Bill had never seen before—was already docked, and it immediately piqued the group's interest.

They stood on the opposite side of the table from General Pepper, facing him and the observation window. The bulldog saluted, and his three subordinates followed suit.

"At ease," Pepper said. "I wanted to congratulate the leaders of Bulldog and Husky units on another successful mission. You did a splendid job coordinating the defense of Nibiru station, Major. Because of your bravery and cunning, you averted a vicious attack by our enemy and prevented even a single missile from falling into their hands. And Captain Fay, you didn't hesitate a second to place your new ship in the line of fire to do your duty!"

Bill and the others relaxed, relieved when Pepper heaped praise on them rather than admonishment. They stood taller and prouder the longer he went on. Only Miyu seemed less than thrilled.

"…And Captain Lynx, I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, but your own command ship is now ready." He turned and gestured towards the third Cornerian capital ship, its sparkling clean hull gleaming silver in its dock. "May I present to you the helm of the CSS Wisdom?"

Miyu's hardened face gave way to shock. "Sir, I…!"

Bill couldn't help but feel proud for her as well. But her surprise turned to confliction as he watched her reaction—something Pepper didn't pick up on.

"Well, what do you say, Captain?" the general asked, amused by her surprise. "A reward of your own for several years of excellent service!"

Finally the lynx managed to slip her mask of stoicism back into place. "Thank you, sir, but I'm a soldier of Corneria, like you. Whatever I'm commanded to do, I do it. I'm just following my orders. And in the end, it will all be worth it." Her eyes darted sideways to Bill as she finished, and he blinked, the words sounding familiar.

Pepper chuckled. "Well, aren't you modest! Yes-yes, all in the line of duty."

Bill cleared his throat, feeling like the student who reminded their teacher about the homework she forgot to give. "Um, sir, but was the operation that much of a success? The missiles were scattered, one detonated, the Love was decommissioned, and a prisoner escaped."

Pepper's expression fell, and he sighed heavily. "Yes, there were certain… outcomes which did not go our way. But the missiles will be salvaged in due time, the Love will be repaired, and the prisoner…" He shifted and coughed into his fist. "…Was of no importance. Right now, times are very difficult. Astropolis is not yet fully operational, civil unrest continues to grow, and everywhere, our momentary failures are evident. The people need a victory: something to celebrate and give them hope for the future. And just now, the heroic Major Grey and his captains delivered that to them! At the end of the day, none of the missiles fell into Venom's hands, and the CDF sent the raiders home with their tails between their legs, for all the world to see!"

Then Pepper's face darkened, and he leaned in towards them. "But a solitary victory is not enough—nor is a partial one. Lylat faces its biggest test yet. The people are… losing confidence in the current administration. Finley is in poor health and under the control of party hacks merely concerned with staying in power. While he grows physically weaker and ineffectual each day, Eladard and Macbeth grow stronger. Still the government refuses to pay our boys' war bonuses. Instead they impede the Astropolis project and the necessary expansion of the CDF at every turn. Corneria has been infiltrated by Venomian sympathizers, from the very highest echelons of governance to our own ranks. How else would they know exactly when the Copperheads were to be moved, and where the Venomian prisoner was being kept?"

Pepper lowered his voice further, and Bill wondered if he cared that his otter secretary could still hear. "My dear soldiers, the battle for the people of Corneria—and the greater Lylat—is nearing a flashpoint. Our planet is held together by a thread—and when it snaps, and the world is plunged into chaos, I expect you to hold fast with us and… do what needs to be done to preserve order. Can I count on you?"

"Yes sir!" Fay and Baines replied wholeheartedly. The two had nodded along and held onto the general's every word. Miyu's response came with a slight delay, as if robotic, while she stared straight ahead. And Bill had to swallow before responding himself.

"Yes, sir…"

Pepper grinned at his four officers, then nodded resolutely. "Dismissed—all except you, Major Grey."

Halfway turned to leave with the others, Bill exchanged glances with them before facing Pepper again. Miyu, Fay, and Baines exited, only leaving the general's secretary behind.

"Yes, General?"

Pepper leaned back in his seat, relaxing. He gestured to the chair across from him. "No need to be so formal. Please, have a seat, Bill."

The bulldog sat down, trying his best to relax. "Is there a special assignment for me?"

"Why of course. The rebellion and untimely death of Fox McCloud was another heavy blow to the system. Lylat needs a new figurehead: a unifying face to rally behind. You know I want that hero to be you, Bill. I see great potential in you, son; no one else is as worthy."

Bill tried not to let the praise bring color to his cheeks. "Thank you, sir. I'm aware of the responsibility, and I'm doing my best to serve."

"The people love heroes. When they have nothing else, they love stories and characters they can invest in. They're all the more powerful when they appear in real life, and myths have a way of becoming reality. You served Corneria well during the Cerinia mission, but in the future, we have less clandestine operations planned for you; ones the common people can actually hear about and appreciate! It's better if the public saw your face more; grew more familiar with you. To that end, we have selected a slightly different role for you to fill. We were wondering if you could serve as a bodyguard."

Bill raised his brow, confused and slightly worried—especially because of the new pilot. "A… bodyguard?"

"Oh, I assure you it's not because we were dissatisfied with your service as a battlefield commander—far from it! But the defense of the system is now in the hands of your three very capable captains, freeing you up for other positions. The protectee we have selected is a very important public figure involved with Astropolis, one who, given recent events, may be in grave danger."

The bulldog dipped his head. "I would prefer combat duty, but… of course I'm willing to serve in whichever way you think best, General. Can I ask who I'd be guarding?"

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Fara swam gracefully through her dynarium: a floating, sphere-shaped pool held together by artificial gravity. The graviton emitters hidden beneath the patio slowly rotated the water in place with artificial currents. She could float there for hours if she wanted to, her body massaged by surgically precise jets, or tickled by fizzy streams of bubbles. During day cycle, when the rays from Astropolis' giant sun filter warmed the lawn, she could cool off with a quick swim, while at night she could change the heat setting to create a floating hot tub: a miniature Aquas right in her backyard.

Inside the gravity-free dynarium, no one way was "up." Every direction led to the surface, with her buoyancy pushing her away from the water's center. When she swam from hemisphere to hemisphere, one moment she could be staring up at Astropolis' golden sky dancing with light, or the brick patio and penthouse garden above which the sphere floated. Sometimes she faced her perfectly-manicured lawn and pristine white modernist mansion, or looked out over the thousand-foot-drop to the lower levels of the space colony, and the dozens of other suspended mansions, lawns, and penthouses making up the highest levels of Astropolis.

In moments like this, she felt like she'd ascended to heaven. In the past she could only catch this feeling by flying test aircraft. She used to escape the serious matters of her mother's company by soaring high above the clouds. But now that she had accepted her place at the head of Phoenix Corp and Project Guiding Light, she no longer ran from them. She took them head on and threw herself at her work, using it to distract herself from the deaths of her mother and… Fox.

After basking in the light from Lylat's star overhead, Fara decided she'd swam enough for the day. She held her breath and dove back through the center of the dynarium, kicking her legs to propel herself downwards. She broke through the surface on the bottom, gasping and shaking the water from her hair, drops from which escaped the gravity field and rained down on the mat-covered bricks below. But when her vision cleared, she found herself staring into the upside-down face of a gray-furred bulldog: a face equally as surprised as hers.

"Oh-OH! M-Major Grey!" she exclaimed.

Bill Grey stood on the brick patio directly beneath her, water dripping from her to his gaping muzzle and uniform. For a moment he froze, staring up at the fennec suspended in her floating pool while both their cheeks filled with color. Then he blinked and averted his eyes from the undressed vixen. "Ms. Phoenix, I'm incredibly sorry—!"

"I-It's alright! Just let me get down and put on my—EEP!"

In her rush to exit the dynarium, Fara slipped out from the water faster than she had intended and plummeted towards the ground, once again under the effects of gravity. She flailed her limbs and shrieked, struggling to twist around before she landed on the mat—but right when she braced for the harsh smack of the ground, her fall was stopped by the Major's outstretched arms, catching her. Fara instinctively clung to him, slinging her arms around his shoulders while he caught her princess-style.

Once more they found themselves staring at each other awkwardly, Fara's matted fur dripping onto the soldier's green uniform and quickly soaking through. But all her fear abruptly ended when she felt those arms holding her.

"Oh…!"

When their faces could hold no more red beneath the fur, Bill recovered and set her down on the mat, while Fara struggled to stand on shaky legs, a little imbalanced from having floated for so long. Bill respectfully turned away, clearing his throat and folding his hands behind his back as if standing at ease. "Ms. Phoenix, p-please accept my apologies! I didn't know you were… that is to say, when I approached I couldn't tell that… y-your maid, Kuma, said to go on out and—"

But Fara cut him off with an outpouring of laughter, continuing to drip on the brick patio behind his back. She could see the soldier's ears twitching in humiliation as his tail curled between his legs. "Oh it's all right, Major! You'll have to forgive me, but I wasn't expecting guests. Usually I have perfect privacy up here. Don't blame Kuma either; she's a new maid recently picked out for me."

While the stalwart soldier kept his back turned, Fara hastily dried off and donned a white bathrobe. She continued to fix her hair, wringing out the water and sprucing it up. "Ahem! All ready now." He turned around, and she caught him swallowing. "I don't think we've ever been properly introduced." She extended her hand, and he shook it a little too self-consciously. "I'm Fara."

"Bill. Uh, Major Bill Grey."

Fara sat at the nearby patio table which overlooked her perfectly-manicured yard. It was cluttered with holosheets and styluses showing various designs she'd been working on before her swim. "Now, Major, what can I do for you?" she asked, stacking the bendable sheets together and arranging her creative tools.

Bill sat across from her, still looking so out of place in his damp military uniform. "Ahem, well Ms. Phoenix, you, er, got the message, didn't you? The one from General Pepper?"

Fara blinked, trying to think back. "N-No…" She shuffled through the holosheets on the table, looking for her inbox. "I'm sorry, I've just been so busy! It must've gotten buried in all the others."

"It'll have more details inside, but the gist of it is, I've been assigned to be your new bodyguard."

Fara raised her eyebrows as she found the message and opened it, skimming the contents. "New bodyguard? But Ewen has served the family for years! He's-he's special forces! You can't dismiss him just because he couldn't protect both me and—!"

Bill raised his hands. "No, no! I'm not replacing Captain Drexel at all. He will continue to provide complimentary security. But your status has increased, and given the recent uprising of Venomian insurgents, and how your family is… how you are a likely target, it was deemed you needed more protection." He shifted awkwardly, wringing his hands. "It's also for… publicity reasons. Pepper thought it would be good if we were seen together in public."

While Fara considered the general's reasoning, Bill coughed and abruptly stood, nodding respectfully. "I don't mean to intrude too much into your life. I only really have to escort you during public events, so I'll try to give you space if you don't want me around too often—"

But Fara quickly shook her head. "Oh, no! It's no intrusion at all. Please, stay… Bill."

"…Very well." The soldier sat down again, eyes glancing at the sparkling dynarium, the garden, the table—anywhere except hers as the two fell silent. Finally, he settled on the holo-pages and cleared his throat. "You're a designer, aren't you? An engineer, like your mother?"

"Yes!" Fara excitedly spread out a few of the schematics. "I was just ironing out a few kinks in my next project before I gave up and went for a swim. It's a fighter drive capable of short-range warp—an upgrade for the A-23, actually. The challenge is making the localized jumps intuitive for the pilot to use and master. It's really disorienting and requires a bit of creativity to utilize! I don't envy our test pilots on this one."

Bill stiffened when she mentioned the test pilots. "Should I be seeing this?" he asked as he studied her schematics.

Fara giggled. "You already saw a lot more today than you should've…"

Bill instinctively raised a hand to hide his blush, and Fara felt bad for teasing him. She rested her chin on her hands and cocked her head. "You're really shy for a soldier, you know that? Why, you remind me so much of… of…"

"I do? That's funny. I never thought of him as shy. He was the one who always made sure I was involved in something during the Academy—whether in parties, or… in trouble." He laughed. "I guess it's relative."

"No, he really was! Usually, I was the one dragging him to parties. Maybe because he was so shy, he was aware of others' shyness."

"Then he must've gotten that awareness from you. In that case, you remind me of him too… Fara."

For a moment, Fara lost herself. When Bill trailed off, they simply sat together on the patio, enjoying the fine, yet manufactured day. Bill glanced around her perfectly sculpted lawn and trimmed flower bushes, but Fara kept staring at him. She'd heard about his brave deeds on Katina and Venom, and next to Fox and Pepper, he was the most well-known hero of the war. But unlike Fox, she had never spoken with him or learned what truth lay under the myths. His eyes in particular were hard to read; almost empty as he stared past her and everything else in the yard.

Far from the confident poster boy of the CDF, Bill turned out to be surprisingly shy—but just as respectful and ambitious as she'd imagined. He'd risen from commander to major in such a short time, and his career was only just beginning. Even a year after the war, he was still so disciplined, determined, and driven.

In a way, everything Fox wasn't.

She sighed. Someday, if they grew close enough, she'd ask him how it happened. But in the meantime, Fara decided she wouldn't mind getting to know the major himself.

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"Sorry…"

Three days after the attack on Nibiru station, Falco found himself staring out the viewport of one of the former Venomian attack cruisers. He'd traded the orange prison jumpsuit for his Star Fox flight suit and jacket, and after some intense scrubbing he'd returned his feathers back to their usual blue luster. But he just couldn't shake the heavenly bodies, it seemed, as another asteroid loomed outside the window. He was starting to grow sick of the things, though this was Meteo…

As opposed to the mansion grounds and military facilities sprawling over Nibiru, the asteroid designated 2873-Phaeton was skewered with mineshafts till it looked like a dirty brown pincushion. Moreover, the planetoid was formed by three separate chunks, haphazardly—and perhaps violently—smashed together thousands of years ago.

He frowned, imagining the mysterious new Arwing in place of the Eladard and Syndicate fighters circling the dark asteroid. During the war, he and the rest of Star Fox had enjoyed the unparalleled supremacy of their one-of-a-kind fighters, with only Star Wolf able to challenge them. But if Corneria was mass-producing the Arwing, and had somehow cracked the code of piloting it, maybe he wouldn't have that luxury for long.

Something about that ship and its pilot didn't sit right with him. Falco and Fox had kept tabs on all the crackshot pilots in the Cornerian military up to and during the war, at one point seriously considering expanding the team afterwards, but he'd be surprised if one could already pull that kind of flying off. Running straight into that missile like a bull seeing red also struck Falco as uncharacteristic of a CDF pilot. That's only something he was crazy enough to try—or someone who wasn't all quite there in the head.

He cursed, wishing he would've paid more attention to the voice. It was just one word. A rasp. A whisper. Tortured. Bragging, or truly apologetic? How would they know Falco was worth apologizing to, unless they could tell he was inside the ship? Could his thought waves travel that far, through empty space itself?

Mindsweepers. That wasn't something he wanted to deal with during a dogfight. To have someone reading his every thought, predicting his every move… He shivered. If he'd been on Corruption, he could've returned the favor. A mistake he wouldn't repeat today, he thought as he popped a red and blue capsule.

What currently gave him unease was the trio of Eladard cruisers stationed around the asteroid; like vultures circling, he thought. They'd be an even match for them with the remains of the force that attacked Nibiru, but they hadn't come here to fight. If this meeting went well, Falco and the Corrupt would have a powerful new ally against Corneria's oppression: the strongest yet. Then they could force the errant empire to the negotiating table, and bring an end to their self-serving power-grubbing.

While Wolf's and Eladard's battleships faced off in opposite orbits, Falco took a shuttle down to the asteroid's largest mineshaft with the other guests. Katt and Shani came along as his bodyguards while Wolf and Nestra—the new head of Zoness' mafia—brought a retinue of their own hired muscle: a mix of pirates, Dragonfish gang members, and actual Venomians. Former, of course. In their tow was Albert Sifaka. Outwardly he appeared resolute, walking with a confident stride and holding himself high as if he were still a minister of armaments—but inside, Falco knew he was even more nervous than him. He could feel the worry clinging to him like a cold stench. This meeting would determine his usefulness—and his fate.

They were welcomed onto the station by helmeted Eladard soldiers, who already had the abandoned compound up and running again. The two sides exchanged uneasy glances as they marched through the stale halls, but no one dared place a hand on their weapon, nor raise their rifle barrel to point anywhere other than the floor. Stretching out the tension, their pace was forced to accommodate Wolf, who limped along on his prosthetic leg. At least he exuded more confidence than Sifaka; Falco found it oddly reassuring to absorb his emotions, even if he dared not peek deeper into his thoughts again.

The ventilation system forced a cool, stale breeze through the compound: one that smelled of must and dirt. Soon the industrial steel hallways petered into rocky tunnels bored into the very rock of the asteroid, the guests' boots clanging on metal walkways and echoing through the maze-like tunnels. Their hosts only kept the most important lights and grav panels on in the facility, leading their way deeper into the asteroid's hollowed-out core.

After a few tense minutes, they reached the end of the deepest shaft, which opened into an expansive atrium: the asteroid's empty heart. So wide was the cavern formed by Phaeton's three chunks that they couldn't see the far side. The steel scaffolding just extended into the expanse like a black hole, with nothing visible save a group of figures waiting on the observation deck in the middle. Four soldiers stood guard around a table, at which a snowy owl in a stark white business suit sat facing them. The cold, pale lights made him look like a ghost from afar, while even from a distance his wide, unsettling yellow eyes clearly followed them.

"What's this douchebag's name again?" Falco asked Wolf as they approached, trying to exude his same confidence.

"Kromavek, Eladard's wealthiest trillionaire. And don't call him that too loud, idiot."

"Name doesn't ring a bell. If he was the wealthiest in Eladard, I woulda heard of him."

"Not at all; that's the way he prefers to keep it."

"I don't mean to poo-poo your plan, but is he the best you can do? I was hoping for someone more official, like, the president of The Party, or the chairman."

Wolf laughed. "Kromavek is The Party. No one knows where he got his money, but he pulls every string, makes every decision, pads every pocket, finances every venture—all while hiding in the shadows. Never has to show his face publicly. The yin to Morgan Fredersen's yang, if you will. If there's ever a popular uprising, he can simply change the administration and cool tensions for a while, till the people get dissatisfied with them, too. Rinse and repeat. Different faces, his same shit. Though with the security crackdowns and increased surveillance recently, he may not have to fear a revolution again."

"Feels like the direction Corneria's going," Katt muttered.

"A direction we can stop," Falco insisted. "If what you say about him is true, Wolf, then he really can help us take on Astropolis. But we'll need Eladard's ships and their army."

"And when our combined fleets come knockin' on heaven's door, the dogs will curl their tails and back down. No blood spilled—just the way you wanted it, eh Falco?"

"There have been bloodless revolutions before."

"Right—but they were always backed up with might. And if Kromavek doesn't trust us enough, you can kiss your peaceful solution goodbye."

Falco exhaled, steeling himself to meet Eladard's hidden dictator. He knew what hung in the balance. He knew the outcome of this parley would decide Lylat's fate, possibly for centuries to come. And all they had representing their side was a glorified crackhead, a prostitute, and a pilot with one arm and leg.

Well, time to see how good Wolf was at negotiating.

When they stepped onto the observation deck, Kromavek made no move to meet them. He sat as immovable as a white marble statue. Falco used the chance to read his thoughts, carefully, and was met with a wall of distrust. But the owl also wanted to make it clear who held the power in the room; they were propositioning him.

Miffed at their icy reception, Wolf clunked forward to meet him and extended his real hand. "Mr. Kromavek."

The snow owl glanced at his paw, then back up at Wolf without taking it. "Lord O'Donnell," he simply greeted, and Falco knew he was amused at the self-fashioned title. "Unknown to Lylat before he betrayed and murdered James McCloud, though none saw it. Disgraced mercenary and washed-up pilot. Soldier to the highest bidder, no matter how megalomaniacal. There's no one you won't sink lower than for a quick credit."

Wolf's hand shriveled as he bit back a scowl, while Falco had to bite back a grin. But when Nestra subtly cleared her throat, the owl raised a feathered eyebrow, more receptive. "Queen Nestra, head of the Black Dragonfish. As beautiful as they said. But a white rose can still prick, and its petals can be deadlier than its thorns. I watched your rise to power with intrigue."

While he spoke with an accent, his dialect was still perfect. Nestra smiled and offered her hand, which this time Kromavek reluctantly took and pecked, though Falco knew he half expected to be poisoned.

As if the owl knew of his mind-reading, he turned his gaze to the other avian. "Mr. Lombardi. For a youth, he's gotten around. Gang member. Ace pilot. Mercenary. Head of a growing social movement. I admire a man with enough charisma to control the masses—though in my experience, they're always just a mask over someone else's ugly face: a puppet on their strings."

A challenge. "A puppet doesn't believe in what he does," he answered.

"Oh? Never?"

Kromavek turned to look at Albert Sifaka for a moment, but otherwise didn't acknowledge the Venomian's presence. "I'm sorry for asking you all the way out here," he said to Wolf, gesturing at the only seat across from him. "You understand my need for secrecy."

Wolf grunted and sighed heavily as he collapsed into the chair. "I walked a thousand fucking steps to get here," he growled.

"And I could have made you walk a thousand more." The owl crossed his arms. "You sound short of breath. Don't waste it on complaints."

Wolf gasped for air a few more times, glaring. Before he made things worse, Nestra spoke in his stead. "We come to you because you're the head of the largest Cornerian-skeptic alliance in Lylat. The balance of power is shifting; Corneria's influence reaches all throughout Lylat. It's in our best interests to join forces—and put Corneria back in its place."

"No easy task," Kromavek snapped his beak harshly. "They now have the most armaments, the most territory, and the most Venomian resources. The odds of any nation defeating them are… unfavorable."

"And I'm offering the full services of my syndicate in evening those odds," Wolf declared when he caught his breath. "I propose an alliance between Eladard, Macbeth's industrialists, and my criminal empire."

"'Empire'? You take much inspiration from your last employer, Lord O'Donnell."

Wolf's ears flattened for a moment. "I recall firing a few missiles with Eladard lettering on them. We got them relatively cheap." That got Kromavek to shift in his seat. "But we've all scrambled to grab the pieces of Venom's crumbling empire. Corneria gained their scientists; I inherited much of their army." He coughed into his metallic fist. "Of course, my enterprise has a strict policy against Venomian irredentists and fanatics. In addition to the support of a vast pirate alliance, I have large stockpiles of Venomian weapons, military vehicles, and maybe even… Copperheads?"

Kromavek's yellow eyes glittered at the word, but otherwise his stone expression didn't change. "I heard your last heist did not go well. Weapons I can manufacture with Macbeth. Armies I can raise from my people."

"I have access to Andross's extensive spy network in Corneria."

"Worthless when Corneria begins Mindscape. Your spies won't last a day against their mindreaders."

Falco stepped up beside Wolf. "That's where Corruption comes in. With the Sargasso Syndicate's help, we can spread krystal lysergic acid to every corner of Lylat."

Kromavek's eye twitched. "Yes, I know. Your social movement's turning into a domestic headache for The Party."

Falco smirked, pleased at his expense. "We'll turn Corneria's mindreading back on itself. Their secrets will be ours as well, and when public sentiment turns against them, they'll be forced to give up those aspirations—maybe even peacefully."

"An uprising? Hard to turn the populace against Corneria when everyone's suckling on the bitch's teats. Astropolis has been meeting Corneria's full energy needs for a month. Once they demonstrate they can power every planet, their hold on the system will be…" he closed his fingers into a fist. "And of course, a power like that which gives can also destroy."

"It seems unassailable, doesn't it?" Wolf leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a cocky smile. "But like the ziggurats of old, it can be brought crashing down with the removal of a single cornerstone. And we have the man who knows exactly where that stone is."

Sifaka blinked and looked up, finding every set of eyes on him. He stepped towards the table, eying Kromavek with the same distaste he'd eyed Wolf and Falco upon meeting them.

Wolf jerked his head back towards him. "Former Venomian Minister of Armaments Albert Sifaka, better known as 'Daedalus.' A pioneer in spacetime manipulation and non-Euclidean geometry. He was the architect behind every Bolse satellite; in fact, he oversaw the construction of Astropolis' foundation under Andross before it changed hands to Corneria."

Kromavek looked at the lemur skeptically. "Does such a cornerstone exist?"

"Ah, yes, that would be the core: the bionuclear reactor that powers the entire satellite."

"But Lylat powers the satellite. The new version is solar-powered."

"In its current state? Yes, the sun is the source via conventional means. But the solar panels are already at maximum capacity supplying Corneria alone. To supply every planet in Lylat? You'd need an energy source unlike any other. A bionuclear source, as we called it. A psychic source that can pull from fathomless energy hidden between the very strings of spacetime itself."

"They're preparing to use a Cerinian in the core," Falco explained. "With Sifaka helping us, we can get to the core and free her. All we need is your support."

Kromavek went silent for a moment, returning to the same white marble statue he was at the start. But Falco could hear his thoughts; feel the doubt and mistrust swirling, but also the tentative hope, the excited planning. And cresting over that, a rising sun of momentous fear that caused a shiver down the owl's spine.

Then he burst out laughing, his voice echoing off the far reaches of the cave. "Nuclear missiles! Mind-altering drugs! Cerinians with magic powers that rival the gods…" His laughing subsided, and he stared into Falco's eyes this time, rather than Wolf's. "You know, Lombardi, you're running a very dangerous game here. You're a mortal playing with fire—and the fate of the world."

For the first time, Falco's eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see the outline of a mandala carved directly into the cave wall, long before the three pieces of Phaeton had converged, or any modern mining tool had touched the rock. And in the owl's visions, he saw the smoke rising higher, higher, into red skies.

Kromavek shook his head with a smile. "Then again, fire can get the gods' attention, and I think it's time I knocked on their door again." He leaned forward, this time extending his wing. "Deal. I will use every resource at my disposal to make Eladard and Macbeth support you.

"I hope you know what you're getting into—but you very clearly don't."