Chapter 1: Vacation Vacated
It was a balmy summer day in the Great Fox's relaxation core, thanks to a certain emerald amphibian's ingenuous mind for core technology. From his high-tech lawnchair, Falco gave out a huff of satisfaction.
"Now THIS is luxury!" The KU Jayhawk hued bird kawed into his drink. "Boy. I tell ya this artificial sun is a freakin' MIRACLE!"
Across the pool from him, Peppy Hare glared sadly at the avian bird knowing from decades of experience that miracles are not real. For Peppy's credits, he'd prefer a nice rocket launcher in his hand to any totem or trinket that religion could offer him, even the more recent, better space religions. God was no more "real" than the Boogieape or the Fang Fairy. Peppy often scoffed at God, and this day would be no exception. He was simply too old and wise to entertain these silly ideas anymore, and Falco's ignorance was enough to boil his blood and inflame his eyes. After all these thoughts, the wizened vermin shot back.
"Leave it to a lice-infested avian to diminish the accomplishments of his fellow creatures!" He spat through bucked teeth, "Slip built this 'miracle' from facts and reason and if anybody is God its him!" When he said the word "miracle," he made air quotes with his ears. At this, chuckling was heard from deep beneath Krystal's lofty sunhat. At the end of the hare's sentence, the denim vixen spoke up in her British dialect.
"Or 'her'." The fox tutted at Peppy remindfully. Through her accent, the word "her" came out "hah." Peppy made the necessary mental adjustment, and took her point. Peppy let loose a solemnly contritious nod at the fact that God could just as easily be male or female because nobody really knew for sure. Only one person had ever claimed to have met God/Godess, but they were blind. And a fool! Peppy thought derisively.
Two spherical eyes characteristic of the order Anura watched this conversational exchange with worried eyes. The eyes in question belonged to a certain toad. His name? Slippy Toad, and he was the amphibious designer of the relaxation core, the lawnchairs, and even the pool, not to mention the Aquatic Nutrition Podule (ANP) that Falco was using to nourish his hollow avian bones! The Bufonidae-familied frog never even had a chance to croak, though, as a confident voice broke the tense awkwardness from yet another lawnchair. The lawnchair was keeping a vulpine fox with Biden sunglasses from resting on the soaked ground of the pool area, and it was doing it through sheer technical efficiency.
"Falco, I think I speak for the whole team when I say this, you need to get your beak on straight!" Fox dissed cooly. Falco's beak formed itself into a harsh frown. "Frankly, the team is sick of your squawking. I've been across the whole Lylat system and the closest thing out there to a God/Godess is a fire monster terrorizing the Sun, which Slippy captured to make the very artificial sun you call a 'miracle'!" Despite his vicious words, Fox was quite calm. It was Falco who was visibly tilted by all this. The feathered pilot gnashed at his tongue with his beak in rage, but said nothing.
"I guess your right" he said, humility flushing his normally cobalt feathers a deep crimson of shame. "Say what you will about the little bufo, he's a genus." Chuckling was passed amongst the other members of the team. Then came the sound of ROB 64's scheduled afternoon announcements.
"THIS IS ROB 64. UNKNOWN SPACECRAFTS APPROACHING FROM UNKNOWN SECTOR! SCRAMBLE NOW!"
No more chuckling was heard after that.
Team Starfox leapt to their feet with the aid of the precise weight distribution settings of their lawnchairs, except for Slippy who was not sitting in one although he easily could. The green climbed out of the pool, checking the readout on the smart ladder as he clumb. Three ships were indeed approaching, each's origins more unknown than the last.
"That's gotta be Star Wolf!" the vulpous Fox said. With a quick THWIP, he removed the Biden sunglasses with a WOOSH, revealing a pair of focused eyes centered vertically on his triangle-eared head. He smirked and he said his catchphrase, "let's rock and roll!"
Getting to the bridge of the Great Fox was a simple matter of following the clear signage to the exit of the relaxation core and up the holo-stairs. Simply incredible! Peppy marvelled, agog. Back in his day, holograms were but a fever dream, and now his paws were touching them as if they were real! Good ol' Slip! He mused, his rabbit tear ducts fighting back a joyful tear. The fight was futile, however, as the door he was approaching was a technical marvel as well, opening without so much as a push or a pull, instead utilizing a lever and foot pedal system that kept hands totally free while in use. Peppy scoffed at God as he crossed the threshold with ease, hands comfortably in the pockets of his blast-resistant jacket.
Fox, Krystal, Falco, Slippy, and Peppy arrived just in time to see the three mystery starcrafts pull up to the windshield of the Great Fox and ROB 64 say, "INCOMING MESSAGE FROM UNKNOWN SOURCE." He said this with an air of roboticism that belied his concern.
"This is Fox McCloud of Star Fox." Said Fox during his sit into the armed chair at the center of the room. It was just as well-designed as the lawnchairs down in the relaxation core, maybe more. Slippy smiled a wide grin at how effortlessly the chair supported Fox's supple lumbar and kept it off the floor. Fox continued as he poked his tail through a perfectly-proportioned gap at the rear of the seat. "Wolf, I don't know where you got those new ships, but if you think-" A hologram as real as any television screen appeared. A long caramel face with a white diamond on its nose was staring into their midst. Nickering was heard.
"I am Spirit Donovan" spoke the equine pilot, exposing his teeth.
Falco choked out. "Those babies could take a chomp out of Titania without so much as a CHIPPED MOLAR!" Falco was referring to Titania. But the theropod was not the only one gasping. The frog-like toad's wide smile had become a wide but aghast look, his cranially-located eyeballs diluted in horror. Falco regarded the kero sidelong with a side-mounted eye. "Slip... Do you know these equine freaks?" whispered the feathered bird across the bridge, beak curled in disgust.
Before the toad-esque frog could so much as ribbit a reply, Spirit began the second half of his sentence. "And these are my compatriots, Chica Linda and Boomerang Steedman." The characters in question appeared on screen, their own cockpit feeds flanking Spirit's.
"How do you do?" the one called "Chica Linda" asked, disingeniusly, chomping on oats from a kevlar pilot's feedbag. She and the one called "Boomerang" perfectly matched their leader's species, as well as, in Falco's estimation, his threat level.
"What the heck?!" cried out Peppy, nearly, but not quite, falling from his expertly hand-manufactured chair. "Th-this fella' doesn't care how we do one way or the other! Watch out, Fox! This ain't real kindness!"
"Listen to Peppy," advised Krystal's ethnic voice, "He knows what true kindness is!" The azure fox-woman caught hold of Peppy's eye and smiled respectfully. Peppy tried to smile back in thanks, but it caught in his throat.
Now the one called "Boomerang" spoke. "Where are your manners, Chica?" He nickered dumbly. "They're probably thinking, 'were these guys raised in a barn?'" He brayed an ignorant guffaw through his broadband headset. It screeched with feedback as it blasted from the Great Fox's maximum fidelity speakers and ricocheted around the titanium room via audiowave, resting finally in the highly sensitive eardrums of a certain anthropomorphic team of blasters for hire.
Team Star Fox cringed harshly, but Peppy, long ears curled nearly down to his skull managed to run a quick comp query before passing out. As he lost conciousness, his war-honed irises caught enough of the identi-report to get the big joke, to realize this gang-yes a gang was what they were-quite infamously had been raised in a barn, on the lawless wasteland planet of Miradero. The blurry-eyed hare could see enough of their rap sheet to feel a chill of pure cold encase his weary backbone. And just before it all went totally dark and the wise old rabbit's form hit the floor with a crunch, Peppy Hare of the Cornerian Elites, seasoned pilot, survivor, warrior, body and heart heavy with equal parts hard-earned callouses and absorbed shrapnel, prayed for deliverance.
God, I know I've been blasphemous in the past, but please... he begged, mind fading, anybody but Star Horse!
