Chapter 4: The Goodnight of the Lepus

A harrumph of thunder echoed in the Great Fox's Relaxation Core. The once balmy artificial weather was now that of biting wind laced with stinging spats of frigid rain. Squinting against the onslaught, draped in somber black trench coats, Fox McCloud, Crystal Bonimead, and Slippy Toad pushed the corpse of Peppy Hare across the water, the body kept dry by the surrounding boat.

This was the traditional Star Fox burial practice. A small wooden boat, just large enough for the body, sent across the waters of the Relaxation Core's pool was how the team had been mourning the dead since James McCloud exploded nearly two decades earlier. The rain was also set by precedent, as James' body had required extinguishing. Maintaining this tradition was of the upmost importance to Fox, which was why he had insisted Slippy's upgraded Relaxation Core retain the pool and precipitation system.

Which of the droplets running across the fur of his downcast face were artificial rain, and which were all-too-real tears, only Fox knew. Today, he was the only member of the team who remembered that first funeral, and he was sending across the pool the only other living attendee of it, albeit no longer living. Slippy, Crystal, even Falco had only ever seen derivative funerals of that original event, mere echoes of a memory that would definitively die with Fox.

He suddenly felt grayer. A flash of simu-lightning illuminated his fur, orange as ever, for a brief moment revealing the feeling to be merely internal. Behind the atonal hum of his inner turmoil, Fox was aware of an exchange between Slippy and Crystal to his left.

"Slippy, 'ow do you think you're to respect the dead properly with your visi-goggles on, I mean honestly!" Crystal was hiss whispering. "It's bloody uncouth, it is!"

"I don't have a choice," Slippy complained under his breath. "I've got to keep an eye on the Great Fox's systems, and make sure that Star Horse doesn't come back! Our AI selves seem to have talked them into leaving, but I don't trust those hoofed doofs…" Crystal's head shook in Fox's periphery.

"We watched their ships take off, plain as day, didn't we?" she asked.

"Well, sure, but–" the frog started.

"And all sensors confirm they left the sector, right?"

"For now, but–"

"And ROB 64 will alert us if their heat signatures are detected, won't he?"

"Of course he will; he's a pro, but–"

"So I think you can relax a pip; have yourself a wee bit of a grieve," Crystal insisted. "At least bring one eye back to the moment, luv."

"Maybe, but how do I keep just one eye on the ship?"

A small shattering of glass answered Slippy's question as Crystal simply broke the lens of his right goggle with a precise strike from the ceremonial staff that her culture held during ceremonies. Through the empty goggle rim, a bulbous eyeball blinked at her in surprise.

"Oh!" The frog chuckled meekly. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that?" At that, Crystal tutted lovingly.

"Because you're a silly li'l 'oad 'oo wrapped up in worry 'o have a think unclouded by fear," she cooed. Slippy could always tell when Crystal was speaking most authentically; her T's would hide themselves deep within her Cerinian English accent, confident that they would be inferred by those who cared enough to suss them out. Slippy cared deeply, and he took a moment to suss her T's in his head, nodding in self-deprecating concession once the task was completed.

With a tender thunk, Peppy's funeral vessel signalled aurally that it's journey to the deep end of the pool was complete. Hissing in sharply cold air through his even sharper teeth, Fox began to shuffle around the edge of the pool to the diving board on the other side, mindful not to run.

To think, thought the distraught canid, not long ago I was doing cannonballs from here… He stepped up onto the board and walked its length, halting at the end. Now I feel like I've taken a cannonball to the chest…

He cleared his choked-up throat, and looked forward in preparation to speak. From here, he could see the array of holo-visi-screens floating behind Slippy and Krystal, each sporting a somber face belonging to somebody whose life had been affected by the dearly departed leporid at one point or another. Among them, Fox's keen eyes recognized Peppy's daughter Lucy, Bill Grey, Beltino Toad, Tricky the triceratops, Luke Blackhawk, Fay, Miyu, Katt Monroe… nearly every one of the team's acquaintances, as well as a few virtual attendees who had for whatever reason opted not to turn on their visi-cams.

I wish they could all be here to say goodbye in person, old hare, Fox thought in Peppy's spirit's presumed direction: up. But at least with Slippy's tech, they can all mourn you remotely.

All eyes, virtual and literal, were now on the fox with the orange hue, waiting for him to speak, so he did just that.

"Friends, family, colleagues," he began solemnly, "we are gathered here today for a mission that, I think I can say for certain, none of us would ever willingly accept. We find ourselves called upon by circumstance to say 'so long' to a certain wise rabbit." The born leader straightened up, like a sergeant inviting his underlings to join him in aspirationally immaculate posture. It had the intended effect, causing Slippy and Krystal to tighten their buttocks and raise their chins. Except for Bill, whose extensive military experience had rendered him permanently attentive, all the heads on the visi-holo-screens moved vertically in their displays, their supporting shoulders presumably having been straighted. The attendees who did not have their visi-cams activated sent emojis, solemn-faced and with a saluting hand raised to the forehead.

The ad-hock funeral sargeant continued. "Do you all accept this mission?"

"SIR YES SIR!" everybody replied in perfect unison. There was not even a microsecond of lag in their vid-transmissions. Fox saw Slippy smile slightly, no doubt proud that his transmi-tech could provide such a seamless experience for Peppy's spirit. Strange, mused Fox, Slippy, and certainly Peppy, didn't believe in an afterlife, but perhaps in times such as this, one suspends one's disbelief in the interest of inner peace. After all, he himself succambe to the same pseudoscientific instinct mere moments earlier.

"Trust your instincts!" Echoed Peppy within Fox's memory. Perhaps in a very real way, the influential lagomorph's spirit did indeed live on…

Fox turned his attention back to his sworn "mission," and recounted to the congregants who Peppy was.

"Peppy Hare was a mammal belonging to the genus Lepus. He was an herbivore, and lived solitarily or in pairs." Murmurs of agreement from the crowd. "He nested in slight depressions called forms, and his young was able to fend for themself shortly after birth." He directed a knowing smile to the screen displaying Peppy's daughter, Lucy, who smiled in tender recognition. She was indeed fiercely independent, and had been since early childhood.

"Peppy was a swift animal and could run up to 80 km/h (50 mph) over short distances.[3] Over longer distances, he could run up to 55 km/h (35 mph).[4][5]" The crowd expelled light chuckles, no doubt impressed by the facts about their friend. Those who served alongside him in the military proudly nodded, recalling times when they had witnessed him exhibit such speeds running both short and long distances over the years.

Fox then continued. "Peppy was generally larger than rabbits, with longer ears, and had black markings on his fur. He, like all leporids, had a jointed, or kinetic, skull, unique among mammals." A pause. "He had 48 chromosomes,[10] while rabbits have 44.[11]" That drew a tear from more than one eye. In the minds of many who knew him intimately, his 48 chromosomes had been what made Peppy, well, Peppy. "Peppy had not been domesticated, while some rabbits are raised for food and kept as pets. Across the pool, Slippy scoffed at the thought; the stubborn old chap had been far too proud for pethood.

Fox's eulogy was pitch perfect: succinct, inspiring, and encyclopedic, with detailed information from trustworthy sources. It was obvious that Fox had deeply understood the Lepus. But Fox wasn't done. He had saved the truest sentiment for last.

"And he was a good friend," he uttered, a subtle emotional squeak within his words.

Slippy cheered and began slapping his webbed hands together with vigor, a plap, plap, plap-ing sound that was soon drowned out by the rest of the crowd's roar of applause. Fox gave a salute, turned, and began walking back along the diving board. Above him, a large holo-screen above him zapped to life, and one by one, funeral guests shared their memories of Peppy. First up was the pink fluffy face of Katt Monroe.

"I used to be an angry little kitty," she began, blinking tears from her cat-like eyes. "I was a young college punk with a chip on my shoulder and an attitude like sour cream." Chuckling could be heard. "And he was a Cornerian Volunteer Peace Officer… but even with a bitter scowl on my face, that sweet old hare saw that I was beautiful when we clashed at the campus protest over the Sector Y annexation. He looked right at me through his riot shield, and I'll never forget what he said to me." The feline screwed up her muzzle for a Peppy impression. "'Ya know, little kitty, you'd look real pretty if ya only smiled more.'" Katt smiled. Peppy had been right; it was pretty. "Well, that just turned my life right around. Thank you, Peppy Hare, for having the courage to pay a confused girl a compliment in this PC culture of ours."

Next to speak was Tricky. When the saurapod appeared on-screen, Crystal noted how grown-up he was now. His voice was gruff with experience, and his tough exterior was red with age, a striking chromatic shift from the more yellow and purple appearance the vixen had gotten used to back on Dinosaur Planet. His face, once blank, now sported a formidable-but-admittedly-attractive pair of horns that complimented his nasal spike exquisitely.

"Yup, things have changed a whole lot for me," the sauropod confirmed, with a harsh laugh as a chaser. "I've become a boss of my own slice of Timber's Island! Every day, I race little upstarts up Spiral Mountain to see if they've got what it takes… and every time I feel a blast in my rear from one of those spunky twerp's missiles, well, I act upset… but I'm really enjoying it… because I'm building up a new generation of skilled pilots and sharp shooters… just like Peppy."

After a few more guest speakers, the point had been made. Krystal moved to the diving board to close out the ceremony.

"And now, as is customary, the time has come to carry on… Although the rain reminds me of home, let's part the clouds and let the sun shine once more upon us."

This was the most important part. By clearing away the artificial gloom, the symbolism would be as clear as the skies. Warmth and light would persist even in the absence of the friend who had often been a source of it in a non-literal sense. Krystal turned and trained her eyes upward to receive it, but before Slippy could toggle the system from "Mourning" to "Morning," the holo-visi-screen flashed on once again, and the face now seen on it drew gasps from the assembly.

"Jeez la weeze! Were you gonna say goodbye without me?" It was Falco!

"Falco!" expelled Fox. "It's you!" The bird in question seemed to be seated in his chair on the Great Fox's bridge, and in pristine condition. "You're ok!"

"Miss me?" Falco replied with a beaked smirk. "Just got back. ROB filled me in… I decided to make a quick call."

"You're late," half-tutted Krystal. "I've just wrapped up testimonials."

"Just one more! Let me have a piece of that action." Falco protested. Krystal rolled her oft-alluring eyes in acquiescence. "I guess I should be thankful." The avian seemed to mean it sincerely. His brow feathers furrowed. "This is horrible. I can't believe they did this. Peppy… sure can be a pain in the neck." He lifted a wing up to his heart. "This thing will never hold together. Keep this up, and I'll be a softie just like Fox. Cryin'… and whatnot…"

"Falco, we all know how much you respected Peppy, underneath all the disrespectfulness," spake Fox. "You don't need to belabor it to prove yourself."

"What do you say we greet the sun," inserted Krystal, "as a team?" Towards this, the falcon-man directed a sharp scowl.

"What? Hey… who do you think you are? No one gives ME orders!"

Slippy was already holding the control device in his hand, thumb on the button. He didn't want to cut off Falco, who was clearly out of sorts with grief, but the blubbering bird was babbling, and sometimes it's best to put struggling fowl out of its misery. Peppy taught him that. The button was depressed by a tacky thumb: Slippy's own.

"Slippy, what are you doing?!" Falco furiously fumed through gritted beak. His image moved in sync with the holo-visi-screen, floating off to the side, clearing the view of the sky. "No! I ain't done!"

The virtual clouds parted, and the sun arced upwards from the bottom of the dome. Its brilliance dazzled the eye completely before everybody adjusted to its luminance… and gasped for the second time that hour.

"What th-?!" gaped Fox. He was not the only one confused, even if he was the only one to express his confusion through words. The sun, normally radially symmetrical in its radiance, seemed to have a clockwise wedge (about a fifth) of comparatively firier makeup, like a furiously flaming piece of an already bright pie, its heat burning the on-lookers' skin like piping hot pie on a too-eager tongue.

Slippy gasped a third and hardest time. To Slippy's mathematically-minded eye, it appeared like a pie chart describing just how doomed they all were… and the slice of doom was growing. Fox adeptly assessed the toad's look of terror.

"Slip! How bad is it?!" Fox didn't ask what was happening. He knew a threat-eval was most pressing. Understanding could wait. Slippy snapped out of his horror; Fox had a way of doing that to him.

"This is a level W emergency," the palpitating frog sputtered. "No… level X!" He corrected himself. A deafening sea of gasps from the crowd that had already gasped so much. Krystal, however, was done gasping. Her matriarchetypal instincts were taking hold.

"Fox! Slippy! We've got to sod off! Now!" cried the motherly mammalian. "Before it reaches level Zed!" She was soft but stern, without being shrill, much like the best mothers.

A mini solar flare erupted from the artificial sun's top right three-tenths, searing and unseasonable, overloading the circuits of all holo-visi-screens at once. In Slippy's left eye, the readout of his visi-goggle turned to static. His right eye winced. His mouth cried out.

"Crystal's right! We're monkey food if we don't leave!" It was a phrase Slippy used with some regularity, the meaning of which Fox took to be 'If we don't leave, we will be dead meat, such that a monkey could theoretically eat it–as a burger… or worse!' The canid captain made a decision.

"Not quite. Crystal's mostly right," he relayed, "but it's only the two of you who are going to 'sod off.' I've got to go get Falco!" Three pupils dilated at him in alarm, but the selfless leader soldiered on. "I'm not leaving a teammate behind, understand? From now on, the only beloved friend's funeral I'm going to be attending… is mine." Fox received no pushback, and pressed on. "Get to the escape pods. With the Great Fox's systems on the fritz, they're a better bet than trying to launch Arwings." His two green eyes locked with three blue ones. "Copy?"

Slippy didn't like it. Crystal didn't like it even more. However, neither didn't like it more than they didn't distrust their leader, so they couldn't not comply.

"Copy," they dutifully barked.

"Good. Seems the flares have knocked out the comms, so we won't know what happened to each other…" His long snout huffed out air of finality, then the mouth beneath finished the thought. "...Until we meet again."