XXVI
Slack
There was a small table in the commander's quarters that stood just under the window. Mario poured another two glasses of peach wine and pushed one of them forward. He took a sip and gazed out of the window. Fox swirled his and studied the man across the table. They were a bottle in and his eyes were glazed over. He slumped to one side and his mouth drooped at the corners. Fox saw the man as he was and pitied him. He still wanted his ship back and to retire in peace but looking at him now, he felt a certain protection over him, the kind a father might feel for his son.
"You did good out there on the mission," said Fox. "Before you know it, you'll be a world-class fleet commander." He lapped at his drink with his long pink tongue.
"I dunno," said Mario, not breaking his gaze from the window. "I feel unsteady. Like I don't know which way is forward."
"Such is the burden of leadership," Fox responded, taking a hearty gulp of wine. "I can tell you this, awareness is key. You can't be prepared if you don't know what's going on." He hiccuped. He was a practiced drinker like any good soldier but the wine was starting to go to his head.
The Great Fox came out of the first jump into the Attican Traverse. Mario felt the wine in his glass regain its mass. It was an odd sensation, like jiggling Jell-O. He took another swig. Space debris spun across the window, reminding him of the glittering dust of the blasted space pirates. An old satellite rolled in place, shards of its former glass panels ringing around it like a halo. It was once the marvel of a civilization: the achievement of flight and long-distance transmission. Now, there was no one in federal space that would even know the name of the people it belonged to. Time doesn't heal wounds, he thought. It just removes them from memory.
The Great Fox cruised to the Attican Relay and entered the orbital dock. Mario felt his stomach lift as the weight left him. He hated the sensation. Every. Single. Time. He was itching to get off the ship and back on something resembling solid ground.
"Here comes the second jump," said Slippy through the intercom. Then, they shot like a bullet through space-time.
Mario turned then from the window to his drink. He studied it with great intensity and thought for a long moment. He felt no pride or sense of fulfillment in his performance thus far. Fox had been sprayed with acid, the fur yet to grow back. Toad was a trainwreck who ruined the trust of the team. Luigi lost an arm, got a new one, and then attacked them under hypnosis. Was it all his fault? He was the commander. Of course, it was his fault. They must have blamed him. They must have seen through his charade. A dreaded thought occurred to him that they saw him as no leader, but rather the pantomime of one. And then there was Lady Bow who gave him a sense of unease that he couldn't quite place. "How do I stay aware?"
"You can start by getting out of your own head. If your head is somewhere else, you'll never be able to lead the path in front of you.
"Easy for you to say," he said with a tinge of resentment. "You haven't seen what I have."
"No," said Fox, blinking to clear his bleary eyes. "But there's nothing you can do about it right now, is there? Okay, something's waiting in the dark. But the job isn't for a ragtag team of idiots to take on the entire koopa army. It's to bring Lady Bow back to the Citadel. And that's what you're doing. Give yourself some credit." He clapped him on the shoulder with his paw and gave him a bare toothed smile.
"Thanks, Fox," he said, the whiskers of his mustache twitching with the hint of a grin. "I'm glad you're with me. I don't think I could do this on my own."
The blue light dimmed outside the window as they came out of hyperspace. Before them, the citadel rotated on its axis. The Great Fox was dwarfed by its enormity. With all the lights in its windows, it was as bright as a star.
Fox gave him a small salute and staggered to his feet. The port was busy and it would take some time before they would be cleared to dock. He indicated that he was going to take a short nap to regain his senses and he bid Mario farewell. Alone, Mario sat with his thoughts, which swirled and turned dark. He appreciated Fox's advice but couldn't help but feel like a fake, an imposter in hero's clothing. They made him First-Class on a hope but titles don't equal actions. Ceremony counts for nothing in the field. That's why medals come after deeds. But they gave him their highest rank after one mission that didn't even go to plan. He grew angry at the idea that the council had set him up to fail.
"Star Fox and friends," said Slippy. "Welcome home."
It felt like it, too. For Mario, the Citadel was as close to a home as he had. Most people came to the Citadel from the surface of some planet or other. It was a place of gathering not originating. It was a place of discourse and gambling for the highs of success and the terrible lows of defeat. It was a place of coming and going, not of staying. It was not a place to raise children. But for those who were abandoned, there was a small orphanage in the lower decks. It was in that orphanage that Mario was left as a baby. He never knew his parents, only that Luigi was his brother and it was his job to protect him. That's what I told him, that I would never let anything bad happen to him, he thought in tortured silence. What kind of brother am I that I let him get his arm bitten off? What kind of leader am I?