The Lylat Campaign

[The Yoshimaster]

Note: This story takes place twenty-four years after Starfox 64, and disregards Starfox Assault, as I'm not exactly clear on that game's storyline. Anyway, here's The Lylat Campaign, or what I have so far.

I

From amidst the rubble floating silently in space, came a solitary shuttle. Its markings were unmistakable, and given the contents of its earlier transmission, its purpose was clear.

Admiral Reccal Moss, a green, scaly creature watching from his quarters in the capital ship, Harbinger, could not help but smile. So far, this had been the most difficult campaign of all for the conquest for the Karzen system. More soldiers and spacecraft had been lost in the Trengast campaign than in all the others combined. A worthy effort on Trengast’s part, but far from significant. The aftermath of the final battle was proof of this.

“Admiral Moss,” the intercom squeaked.

“Yes,” Reccal said, not taking his eyes off the wreckage drifting about outside. The utter totality of Trengast’s defeat was so beautiful to him that he spoke as if in a trance.

“Trengastian President Bernard has just docked.”

“Good. Escort him to my private office.”

Reccal stood for a few moments more, watching his own forces swoop and dance about the dead, twisted lumps of metal, like piranhas swarming around pieces of sinking meat. Then, after taking up a glass of champagne and toasting the dictator’s health, departed into his office.

Within minutes, the president of the Trengast system was standing in Reccal’s office. Reccal stood and greeted him with a smile.

“Welcome,” he said. “Please, sit down. Would you like a drink? I’ve just opened a bottle of champagne. It’s in the other room. Will you have one? No? Very well, then.”

Reccal sat down across the desk from President Bernard and set his glass down. Reaching into one of the drawers, he whipped out a single sheet of paper and handed it to Salvatore.

“What’s this?” Bernard said weakly.

“The treaty, of course,” Reccal said, taking a sip from his glass.

Bernard waved the paper in his furry hands. “Sort of thin for a treaty.”

“Well, read it and see what you think.”

Bernard’s eyes ran down the page, skimming over the long, formal introductions, landing on a single line just above the place for him to sign:

I, President Bernard of the Trengast system, surrender the Trengast system, all military units, all planets and government properties contained therein, all formal titles, and all satellites, artificial or natural, including everything contained therein, to the Empire of Karzen.

Bernard looked up at Reccal and tried his best to look calm. “Bold, aren’t we?”

Reccal chuckled. “Well, we’re experienced with this kind of thing, and boldness is something that comes with experience,” he said. “So. Need a pen?”

II

Once the former president was gone, Reccal strode proudly into the communications room, and asked the technicians there to set up a transmission between the capital ship Harbinger and its home planet, Karzenia.

“It may take a while, sir,” said the chief technician. “Would you rather wait until we’re closer to Karzenia for a better transmission?”

“Absolutely not. Our lord demanded that I contact him immediately after the handover of Trengast to us was final. Therefore, we are already late.”

The technician nodded slowly, and proceeded to initiating the contact. Within the hour, a fuzzy hologram of the Karzen dictator stood in the center of the communications room.

“Well?” said the hologram. Although distorted, the voice still carried the impatient and even dangerous aura that Dictator Vladimir Nerome always spoke with.

“The handover of Trengast is complete, sire,” Reccal said, loud enough for the words to echo clearly across billions of miles of space into Nerome’s ears, but not so loud as to hint at insubordination.

The dictator smiled thinly. “Very good, Moss,” he said. “Now, bring your fleet to the nearest service station and prepare for your next campaign.”

Reccal was startled. “Another campaign, sire?” he said carefully.

“Lylat.”

Reccal cleared his throat. “My lord, I fail to see the wisdom in attacking Lylat,” he said. “I cannot help but recall their triumph over Emperor Andross’s forces, a…”

“And what about it?” Nerome interrupted. “Must I remind you that Andross’s attack on Lylat was nearly a success? He conquered all but one planet, Corneria. And the only reason why Corneria managed to destroy Andross’s forces was because of a handful of mercenaries.”

“Star Fox,” Reccal muttered.

“You have your orders, Admiral Moss,” the dictator said. “I trust your judgment and strategic cunning will win Karzen another victory.”

Reccal bowed before the hologram, and the transmission ceased.

III

The enemy had arrived. Fox McCloud glanced down at his radar screen, where five red blips, forming a “V” shape, were closing in around a single blue dot: his own Arwing. Due to unavoidable events, he, used to fighting with help on either side of him, was alone. His heart pounded rapidly and the controls were damp with sweat.

The enemy suddenly dispersed, scattering and firing their engines so that in a moment, Fox could see nothing but star-dotted space. He cut the engines and pulled hard right, just as a stream of laser blasts burst through where he had been a moment before. At least one ship was already on his tail. If he waited any longer, all five would be there, and that would spell certain doom.

He gunned the engines and pulled back on the controls, creating weak artificial gravity inside the cockpit as he swept over the ships, until he was going the other way. Once the maneuver was complete, he saw that a single ship was headed straight for his. Stunned by Fox’s sudden maneuver, the ship did nothing… while Fox’s laser blasts cut it into scrap metal.

A moment later, the others were on his tail again. Fox’s ship rocked violently, and the ship’s computer chirped the deadly news: Right wing damaged.

Fox could barely fly now, and he certainly couldn’t do a barrel roll to avoid blasts. In a last effort, he pulled back on the controls, intending to perform a weaker version of his previous maneuver, but this was anticipated early on by his enemies. As a vicious barrage of laser blasts rocked his ship, spawning countless alarms and flashing lights, Fox could do nothing but shield his face.

The cockpit went dark. Moments later, the darkness was replaced by a dim red glow. Fox sighed.

“I’m really losing it,” he said.

He pushed the cockpit door open and stepped outside into a small training room, with a service robot attending to the computer consoles lining the outer wall. When Fox stepped out of the simulator, the robot turned towards him.

“Your rating is 3 out of 10, cadet,” the robot’s tinny voice said.

Fox frowned. “Thanks,” he said. “And stop calling me cadet.”

“Only cadets of the Air Force Academy of Katina are authorized to use this simulator. Identify yourself or I will report you to the administration.”

Fox chuckled. Katina was millions of miles away. Fox, now a general in the Cornerian Army, had ordered a private simulator from Macbeth to be installed in the training room of his penthouse on Corneria. But since he didn’t specify exactly how customized he wanted it to be, he was sent a standard simulator, complete with a service robot who naturally assumed Fox was a cadet, since it hadn’t been programmed otherwise. Messing with its mind was one of Fox’s guilty pleasures.

“You go ahead and do that,” Fox replied.

The robot went silent. Finally, it said to itself, “The Air Force Academy communication system is offline.”

Fox shook his head and left the training room. He wasn’t too happy about being ranked as a 30% efficient cadet, when, only fifteen years ago, he was much greater than that. But it couldn’t be helped now. He was to speak at the Senate in less than an hour, and he still had to change.

In the walk-in closet, while searching for his officer’s uniform, his hands fell on a particular, worn-out jacket. He pulled it off the hangar and held it in his hands, while he felt his heart wrenched by nostalgia. It was the jacket he had worn for years in his youth, as leader of the Star Fox team. It had seen battle after intense battle. It had journeyed into the hearts of giant capital ships, brushed past dinosaurs on a mysterious planet, and plunged into the maddening depths of Andross’s lair. Now, it was a shell, a piece of old clothing that probably didn’t even fit him anymore. In a way, this jacket was Fox McCloud. At the very least, it was what remained of him. The youthful, cunning pilot, who took orders from nobody but those with big bank accounts, was not him anymore. He was an officer now. Fox McCloud, the Fox McCloud, was gone.

He put the jacket back on the hanger and took his uniform, a white, well-ironed, decorated officer’s uniform, and dressed.

IV

The entire Cornerian senate sat in silence, intently listening to Senator Peter Tarian, a hare from Katina speaking on the most hotly debated subject currently in the Senate. In the back of the great hall was General William Pepper of the Cornerian Army, carefully taking notes.

“For centuries, we of the Lylat system have lived in peace,” Peter cried, “A peace so uniform, it made the small army of Corneria useless. But since Andross attacked us, we have improved on this small army, making it efficient enough to protect our system from such an attack in the future.

“Now, after years of unbroken peace, the war mongering generals of the army and air force demand that we create a new branch of the military: a navy! They wish us to expand our already large army to ridiculous proportions. Why is that? We’re in no immediate danger, are we? The reason is this: they wish to turn Corneria and the rest of the Lylat system into a military state and destroy the very foundations of our beloved Republic! I implore you, fellow citizens, to vote against this proposal, so that we may return to our customary ways of peace.”

The door near Pepper opened slowly. Through it came Fox, moving stealthily towards a seat next to Pepper’s. Fox slipped into the seat, while Pepper threw not a glance in his direction.

“Flight simulator?” Pepper whispered, not taking his eyes off the speaker or his pen off the pad.

Fox blushed. He sometimes forgot he was dealing with a hound, and stealthy or not, a fox’s scent was very noticeable to a hound. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing much. He’s feeding us another version of the ‘military state’ argument. I’m still taking notes, though; just in case he makes a mistake we can take advantage of later on. How’d you rank?”

“Three out of ten,” Fox whispered. “The equivalent of a drunken novice with brain damage.”

Pepper smiled. Just then, a torrent of applause erupted from the Senate. Pepper dropped his pen and clapped along with them.

“Are you ready?” Pepper said.

Fox nodded. When the applause had died down and Senator Tarian had taken his seat, Fox rose and approached the stand. The Speaker introduced him.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Senate, General Fox McCloud.”

Fox received little applause while he stepped up to the podium. He didn’t expect any; most of the Senate was already against the introduction of a navy. Fox paused a moment at the podium, glancing around the room at all the sullen faces. At last, he began.

“To begin with, Senator Peter Tarian calls us war mongrels,” Fox said. “I suppose this is partially my fault, as I spent the better part of my youth as a mercenary. However, The idea that we enjoy wars and big armies is far from the truth. We realize that Corneria and many of its surrounding planets have enjoyed peace for hundreds of years. It pains us to look back at those days and know that they are over.

“The fact is we cannot bring back the peace we once had. The war with Andross was proof of this. We barely survived that incident, and we did so with ruined cities, devastated planets, and a decimated military. We have improved our army since then, of course, but unfortunately, that will not be enough. As time and technology advance, our communication with other systems improves. We have already learned that they have large militaries, and if we do not act now, we will be virtually defenseless to attack. Peace is gone, and if we ever hope to bring it back, we must be prepared for war.”

Fox left the podium. He was almost thrown back in surprise as the Senate broke out in applause, an even louder one than what it had given to Senator Tarian. Fox was beaming when he reached Pepper.

“Well done,” Pepper muttered. “You’ve won ‘em over. Let’s just hope we hold them in time for the voting process.”

To be continued...

[Super N]

You got this idea from me,didn't you? [img]tongue.gif[/img]
Heh,you do a better job than I do. Keep goin',soldier!

[The Yoshimaster]

Well, I don't really see a big similarity, other than the titles. Anyway, here's more of the story.

V

Admiral Moss paced the War Room of The Harbinger, while the officers under him and visitors from other ships and branches of the military sat at the table, waiting patiently.

“So,” Moss muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, “Spies report that the Cornerian Senate is pending approval of a navy. That will expand the Cornerian military to three branches: the army, excellent at ground assault but useless at space battles, as seen in the Battle of Sector Y; the air force, a force good for melee combat, but one that collapses under the might of capital ships; and, now, a navy. Not only would a navy be useful for defending oceanic planets, including Zoness, Aquas, and (in a way) Corneria, but it would include titanic capital ships and even fighters, both of which would prove useful in space combat.” Moss turned towards the officers sitting at the conference table. “Lylat will prove to be a formidable foe.”

Moss looked from one officer to another. He whipped out his arm and pointed it at a particular lizard sitting at the table.

“Arnold! What new reports concerning that mercenary team, Star Fox?”

Wooly Arnold, one of the few mammals holding notable positions in the Karzen system, was a bear and director of the Karzenian CIA. He shuffled his papers and cleared his throat. “My men had a difficult time tracking down information about Star Fox,” he said. “Almost everyone in the Lylat system knows the name, but nobody knows who the current team is.”

Moss raised an eyebrow. “There’s a new team?” he inquired.

“Since the defeat of Andross, yes,” Arnold said. “Let’s see… from what we could gather in various pubs, black market shops and the like, the team is as follows. Alec Falan, team scout and feline. Kicked out of Air Force Academy of Katina for rowdy behavior. Hired by Star Fox through advice of former team member Peppy Hare. Next: Slippy Toad, technician of an obvious species. Awarded the Andross Award three times for outstanding inventions, an award named after the brilliant scientist, Andross, before his egomania kicked in. Next: Krystal McCloud, data analyzer and fox. Married former leader Fox McCloud fifteen years ago, has since given birth to…”

“Wait, hold on a minute,” Moss cried. “Former leader? You mean Fox McCloud is no longer in the Star Fox team?”

“That is correct, sir. He resigned shortly after marrying Krystal, and right before being named general of the Cornerian Army. Whether his wife influenced his leave or Cornerian officials gave him the position on the condition that he leave behind his mercenary past is uncertain, but his wife did remain on the team.”

Moss smiled. Now that the Star Fox team was under new management, it might not be such a threat after all. “Who is the new leader?” Moss said.

“Falco Lombardi. An ace combat fighter for many years, he is an excellent pilot, but his leadership skills are terrible. We know that he left the Star Fox team several times in the past, and neither his reasons for leaving nor for coming back are known. Why Fox would nominate Falco as the new leader is anyone’s guess, but since then, Star Fox has lost its place in the spotlight and has descended to the ranks of the hundreds of mediocre mercenary units in the Lylat system.”

“No wonder nobody knows anything about Star Fox anymore,” Moss said. “Well, then. Are they still affiliated with the Cornerian Army?”

Arnold shuffled through more papers. “We don’t know for certain,” he said, “But Fox McCloud is now part of the Cornerian Army, and General Pepper is known to have a certain affinity towards the Star Fox team…”

“Ok,” Moss interrupted, turning around and pacing the room. “The Star Fox team may yet be harmful towards us, if the Cornerian government decides to bring them into the picture again. But with a little effort, we can get them out of the way before the actual invasion begins. Now,” he said, with a nod towards Arnold, “Bring him in.”

VI

Fox opened the door to his chauffeur’s hovercar and looked up at the towering Army Headquarters. The driving rain outside battered his door, and as it opened, rain dripped inside, soaking Fox’s uniform pants.

“Shall I fetch an umbrella for you, sir?” the chauffeur asked politely.

“No time,” Fox muttered. “I’m late as it is.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Fox ducked out of the hovercar, immediately discovering that his pants were the least of his worries. Fox’s uniform was instantly soaked, and as he turned to tell the chauffeur that his mind had been changed, the hovercar glided away. Fox turned and ran, slipping more than once in a deep puddle of mud. He was dashing madly towards the welcoming doors of the Army Headquarters, when a vendor at the side of the path stopped him.

“You look like you could use a break.”

Fox stopped in his tracks, and glanced at the vendor. It was a hooded creature, standing behind a steaming container protected under a broad umbrella.

“Why not rest awhile under my umbrella, and enjoy some of my homemade soup?”

Fox stood like a statue, completely disregarding the rain. There was something about the vendor that didn’t seem right. Perhaps it was the fact that the vendor already had a bowl of soup ready for him. Perhaps it was because it was set up by the side of the building, a place Fox was sure was forbidden to vendors.

“No thanks,” Fox said. “I’m running late.”

“Are you sure? It’s hot. And you’re cold. Very cold.”

“No.”

Then suddenly, the vendor threw the bowl to the ground, smashing it to pieces and allowing the soup to mix with the rainwater. The vendor said, calmly in spite of its outburst, “Your choice.”

With one last worried look at the vendor, Fox ran inside.

When he reached the top floor, where he was supposed to be, he was out of breath, drenched, and wearing a ruined uniform. The other generals in the war room, Pepper included, stared at him.

Boy, oh boy, am I not fit to be a general, Fox thought miserably.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Fox McCloud,” said Chancellor Jerek Bennigen, standing at the head of the conference table. “And I use that term lightly.”

“Apologies,” Fox said. “Well, what’s up?”

“’What’s up’,” Bennigen said angrily, “Is this.” He shoved a strip of paper in Fox’s face. “A report from the Trengast system claiming that they willfully handed their system over to Karzen.”

“And if that’s not strange enough,” Pepper added, “It just so happens to be the second peaceful handover of a system to Karzen in a year.”

Fox read the slip of paper and put it on the table. “Conquered?” he suggested.

“Perhaps,” said another, an Avian. “But we can’t take any extreme actions just yet. It could very well be a coincidence, and a false attack would generate all kinds of bad imagery about the military.”

“That’s right,” said Pepper. “And if we’re to properly defend this system, we’ll need to gradually expand the military. A bad reputation won’t help us achieve this goal. The best thing to do is to wait.”

Fox frowned. “Why do we have to wait?” he said. “Couldn’t we send some spies over there to see what’s really happening?”

The Avian shook his head. “Up until a few years ago, we hardly knew those systems existed at all. Now that we’re communicating better, it’s possible to send little messages like this one.” He waved the slip of paper in his wing. “But aside from that, very little traveling occurs. We hardly know anything about other cultures, and therefore, it would be impossible for a spy to blend in.”

Just then, Pepper’s comm. device began beeping. Excusing himself from the room, he answered it briefly. When he came back, a wide grin was on his face. He put the device away, stood at the front of the table, and cleared his throat.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “The Senate has just approved the founding of a navy.”

VII

To Fox, this meant a lot of new things.

Of course, to the average civilian on the street, it meant higher taxes. In fact, taxes would be extremely high for a while, considering massive amounts of construction and training had to be done during the first few months. But Fox didn’t mind the taxes. Money, as he learned from his years as a mercenary, was fleeting, and the more of it that went to a good cause, the better.

Since the army and the air force were the only existing branches of the military, officers and soldiers from both branches would have to break away to form the navy. One of the generals would have to exchange their position for a slightly different one; and at the previous meeting, the generals had nominated Fox as admiral of the future navy.

Clapping came from all sides of the conference table.

“Congratulations, everyone,” said Chancellor Bennigen. “We’ve made a giant leap towards a more secure Lylat.”

Pepper stood up to shake Bennigen’s hand, as did the Avian, and soon, everyone at the meeting. Except Fox.

“What’s the matter, Fox?” Pepper asked, surprised. “This is a big accomplishment! You should be ecstatic!”

“I don’t know,” said Fox, looking straight ahead. “It’s such a big leap… I’ve just barely gotten used to being a general, and now… I’m an admiral! It’s quite a shock, Pepper.”

Pepper nodded. “Well, my boy,” he said, patting Fox on the back. “You’ll have plenty of time to get used to the shock before the celebration on Saturday. Now, go home and get some sleep. The shock of your sudden promotion coupled with drenched clothes and a lack of sleep can’t be good for you, you know.”

“All right.” Fox go out of his chair and made his way to the door. “Black tie, I presume?”

“Of course,” Pepper said with a laugh. “Go on, get out of here.”

With a nod, Fox closed the door behind him.

VIII

It was a beautiful day on the planet of Katina. Rays of bright sunlight glinted off the distant metallic buildings and aircraft of the Air Force Academy, while rows of cadets in uniforms stood at attention below a band-filled stage in a nearby park. Today was graduation day for the young cadets, and the park, normally frequented only by gardeners and aging officers, was full of energetic siblings and prideful parents, whose interest in the cadets was only broken by the occasional statue and antique fighter.

“What’s that one, papa?” said a young dog to his father. But the father ignored the puppy, instead dragging it by its shirtsleeve.

“I don’t know,” said the father dog impatiently. “But come along, now. Your brother’s graduation ceremony is about to begin.”

“But papa!”

A nearby figure chuckled softly. But father and son stopped and stared at the old stranger.

“I see your boy has taken a sudden interest in aviation,” the figure said with a smile.

“Yeah,” the dog grumbled. “He’s taking after his brother. His brother’s a cadet here, and he’s going to be graduating in a few minutes, so I want to get a good seat. My name’s Mr. Dreggar.” The dog offered his free hand. The stranger shook it.

“How do you do.” Then, to the puppy, “So, little guy, you want to know about this fighter? Well, this here’s an Arwing. Now, I know you don’t think that’s so special, seeing as your brother probably flies one every day, but this is a prototype Arwing. The first version ever to be flown by non-robotic entities. It’s the same Arwing class that toppled Andross’s Empire back in the day. These days, you know you’re safe when you fly an Arwing. It’s the best fighter out there that you can mass-produce. In this one, though, anything could go wrong, and the only thing you could rely on was your own piloting capability. Hell of a fighter. Well, enjoy the ceremony, young man. You, too, Mr. Dreggar.”

The band finished playing its cheerful tunes, which was the cue for the captain to begin his speech. Dressed in his best, Brutus “Tank” Reynolds, a buff canine captain who treated his underlings harsher than POWs, climbed the steps with conceited elegance and stepped up to the podium.

“Good morning, cadets, parents, children and Air Force lovers!” Tank boomed, and with that, began a longwinded, highly entertaining speech.

Meanwhile, in a tree across the park, a young, plump tabby cat crouched precariously on a thin branch, with binoculars to its eyes and a headset on its ears. It was a year younger than the cadets graduating that day, and was supposed to be on leave for the summer. However, this cat had other plans.

“Come in, Big Dog! Come in, Big Dog!” he whispered hoarsely. “Muttonhead has begun his speech! Repeat, Muttonhead has begun his speech!”

In the sky of Katina, miles above the park, three Arwings in a “V” formation broke away from their holding pattern and began to swoop down.

“Roger that, Garfield,” said Big Dog, who was not a dog at all, but a fox. “Take it to ‘em, guys.”

His name was Thomas McCloud, and although he was clearly the most talented cadet at the academy, Tank still treated him like garbage. He intended to settle the score, and when better to do so than on graduation day?

“That balloon better be in place, Tom,” crackled the voice of the right wingman in Tom’s headset. He turned, and through the thick, gleaming glass, saw the face of Alyssa Darian, looking at him through the glass of her own Arwing cockpit. “Else this whole thing will be a bust.”

Tom forwarded the message to Bobo Simons, a.k.a. Garfield, who gave the affirmative. “It sure is, Alyssa,” Tom replied. “Everything’s golden. Just needs one clear shot for Muttonhead to find himself covered in red paint.”

“All right,” said the left wingman gleefully. “Tank, your just desserts are comin’ in full speed!” Tiger Dreggar, a dog, hit the acceleration until his was ahead of the other two Arwings. Tom decided to let it go, seeing that it was too late for them to make any more changes in formation.

The three Arwings were closing in on the park now. Tiger, who’s Arwing was far ahead of the others, laughed like a kid with a toy gun. Tom was almost sure he could hear Alyssa rolling her eyes over the radio.

“All right, Tiger,” Tom said. “Lock on your target. That’s it. Now, let ‘im have it!”

A report rang in the ears of those at the ceremony below as a pair of hyper beams streaked by mere feet above their heads, while moments later, an Arwing roared by, tearing away branches of nearby trees as it went. The visitors began panicking immediately, while the cadets watched the Arwing go, knowing very well who was at the controls.

“Damn it!” Tiger shouted. Tom winced as the tinny swear blasted his ears with static.

“Don’t sweat it, Tiger,” Alyssa said. “I’m on it.”

Tom looked below, and noticed thankfully that Tank was still at the podium. “All right, Alyssa,” he said, pulling away so she could get a clear shot. “All yours.”

Tom watched Alyssa set her sights on the heavy, paint-filled balloon, dangling on a branch high above the podium. She waited until she was close enough for a clear shot. It was a tricky shot, she knew, one that would require her to dive between two…

A laser beam struck Alyssa’s left wing, rocking her ship. “What the…?”

Tom leaned over to take a glance at the crowd below. “Ah, hell,” he cried irritably. “Some geezer is taking shots at your Arwing!”

“Well, how am I supposed to… Aaah!”

Tom saw it all. Within her massive fighter, Alyssa had leaned over to see who had been shooting at her. Before Tom could say anything, Alyssa struck the balloon, instantly splattering her cockpit with red paint.

“I hit someone! I hit someone!” she screamed.

“No, Alyssa, you didn’t…”

“Help! Tom! I can’t see! There’s blood all over my…”

“It’s not blood, it’s…”

“I can’t see, Tom! I…!”

Tom watched helplessly as everything began to unwind into total chaos. Alyssa blindly struck one of the statues in the park, clipping off her right wing. Her Arwing, already dangerously close to the ground, began to lose altitude. The crowd was wild with terror, while the old geezer continued to shoot at the Arwings.

“Tiger! She’s taken damage! Get over here, now!” Tom shouted.

“I’m too far away, Tom! It’ll take some time!”

Alyssa’s fighter was only a few feet from the ground now. Without a second thought, Tom accelerated, ignoring the branches that smacked into his windshield, until he was side-by-side with Alyssa. He turned slightly, so that his left wing was under Alyssa’s mangled right. Then, ever so gently, he turned to starboard, until Alyssa’s craft was level.

“All right, Alyssa, now, began your landing pattern,” Tom ordered.

Alyssa obeyed without a word. When she was slow enough, the hatches beneath her craft gave way to repulsorlifts. Tom swooped away and watched. The landing was rough, but Alyssa succeeded in bringing her damaged craft to a halt on a lawn outside the park. Tom watched as Tank and the cadets rushed to her aid.

“Thanks, Tom,” Alyssa said, shaken yet relieved. “I’m all right.”

“Now all we have to worry about,” said Tiger, whose craft was now flying next to Tom’s, “is hell, courtesy of Tank Reynolds.”

“I hear ya, Tiger,” Tom said with a sigh. “I hear ya.”

[The Yoshimaster]

Here's another part to the story. As Slippy would say, "Things are starting to heat up!"

VIII

Fox walked briskly through the golden hall of the Ritz Corneria, the most glamorous ballroom in Corneria City. He turned to the reflective marble wall on his left, and watched his distorted reflection: an orange Fox, with hints of gray hair in his head, dressed in a tuxedo and carrying a speech paper in his gloved hand.

If I saw myself like this twenty years ago, Fox said to himself, I would have put a blaster to my head to prevent it from occurring. Fox recalled with a laugh how he and his fellow Star Fox team members had declined dressing formally for the celebration of the defeat of Andross, wearing instead their grimy, tattered piloting clothes. Why Pepper liked them so much, Fox had no idea.

When he reached the door to the main ballroom, the butler there acknowledged him with a smile, and politely opened the door. Fox walked inside.

The room was large and already festive, as much as a formal party could be. Gossip could be heard coming from the mouths of carefree officers’ wives, and so could the hearty laughter of fat cat politicians.

“Would you care for a drink, sir?” asked a waiter, holding a plate of champagne glasses. Fox took a glass with a thank-you smile.

“Ah! Fox McCloud! So good of you to join us!”

It was Pepper, also dressed in a tuxedo, holding his second glass of champagne in his right paw. Behind him was a frog, popping an hors d’oeuvre in his mouth.

“Hello, Pepper,” Fox said.

“Oh, Fox,” Pepper said, gesturing to the frog. “I’d like you to meet Commodore Jerry Python.”

Fox shook the frog’s hand with a smile and a “How do you do.”

“He’ll be commanding a fleet beneath you in the soon-to-be navy,” Pepper said. Jerry nodded assent.

“Good!” Fox said cheerfully, taking a sip from his glass. “So, what kind of experience do you have?”

Jerry cleared his throat. “Well,” he said. “I am a native of Aquas, and there, I was admiral of the local navy for ten years. Also, I might add, my father fought Andross on both Aquas and Zoness.”

“No kidding?” Fox said, fighting the urge to point out that Jerry’s father lost both battles.

“Yes,” Jerry said. “He was a real war hero. So was my uncle, who actually managed to board one of Andross’s capital ships and…”

But something else had captured Fox’s attention, something he caught sight of briefly before it was obscured by more careless guests.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Fox said, patting the frog on the back. He walked across the ballroom, excusing himself as he bumped into and squeezed through various guests, until reaching his destination, only to discover that the object of his attention had disappeared. Before he could ponder its existence, a finger tapped his shoulder, and upon turning around, saw it before him.

“Krystal!” he cried.

Krystal McCloud, dressed in an elegant white dress, smiled happily. “Hello, Fox,” she said. Fox noticed that her accent was still not fully polished, but he didn’t care. He lunged forward and embraced Krystal tightly.

“Oh, Krystal, it’s been too long!” he muttered. “You look great!”

“You do, too,” Krystal said. “How have you been?” But before Fox could respond, Krystal started laughing.

“What is it?” Fox said, alarmed.

“Listen to us!” Krystal exclaimed. “We sound like old friends, not husband and wife.”

Fox chuckled, shaking his head with a blush. Then, as he watched, Krystal was joined by Falco Lombardi, then Slippy Toad, and finally, Alec Falan.

“Hey, McCloud,” Falco said, gulping down a glass of wine. “Nice tux.”

“Nice leather jacket,” Fox replied. “Did you actually wash it just for this ceremony?”

“Nah,” Falco said, letting the gambit slide. “I like how it is. Washing it makes it seem foreign.”

Fox shook his head. “Well, what are you guys doing here? I haven’t even heard from you in almost a year! And, after all, I know you’re still not happy with the idea of me being an officer…”

“Oh, come on, Fox,” Krystal said, with her nagging tone of voice. “Do you really think we’d give you the cold shoulder for so long? We know this is an important time for you, and would spare no expense to come and see you!”

“Yeah,” Falco said wryly. “We wouldn’t miss seeing you screw up in the middle of your speech for the world!”

“Well,” Slippy said, speaking for the first time, “I wanted to see some of the blueprints of future naval ships in the art gallery. That stuff is fascinating! Of course, seeing you become an admiral is priceless, too. I guess.”

Fox laughed, and turned to Alec Falan. “And how’ve you been, Alec?” he asked.

The cat shrugged. “Ok, I guess,” he said.

Fox shook his head and smiled. He was a shy kid, but from what Fox had seen and heard, Alec was one terrific pilot.

A high-pitched squeal came from the front of the ballroom, causing all to cover their ears. It ended a moment later, and Pepper, standing at the microphone, began to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m glad you could all come,” he began. “As you know, our biggest goal in recent history was to establish a third branch of the military: a navy. And, for those of you carefully following sessions of the Senate, you know how badly the odds were stacked against us that we would achieve this goal. But, thanks to several persuasive speeches, including Mr. Fox McCloud over there, we managed to change the minds of many pessimist senators and win the approval of two-thirds of the Senate. And now, in front of everybody tonight, I would like to introduce the admiral of the Cornerian Navy. Fox McCloud!”

Applause filled Fox’s ears as he held up his speech paper in his right hand. Falco elbowed him in the ribs.

“Break a leg, Fox,” Falco said. “Or an arm, whichever suits the moment.”

Fox walked down the ballroom to the stage, where Pepper was gesturing to him. Fox stepped up to the microphone, put the speech paper on the podium, cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak. Just then, there was a sudden commotion at the entrance of the ballroom, where a pig had come bursting through with a look of terror on his face.

“There’s been an explosion outside!” he shouted. “One of the docking platforms! Platform 18, it looks like!”

Falco grimaced, Krystal gasped, and Slippy put his hands to his face. To Fox, the collective gesture said one thing.

“That’s ours.”

IX

The Star Fox team stood at the edge of existence, dressed in formal wear and looking down into an abyss. Fox came running behind them, stopped with a heavy heave of breath, crouched down, and looked.

The bridge connecting the docking platform to the building had been severed, leaving the edge black and mangled. That alone was a sign that the explosion left nothing intact. Fox leaned forward, only to see the Great Fox, laying in a thousand blackened pieces on the ground, four stories down.

Fox stood up slowly. He took a careful glance at the Star Fox team near him. Their reactions were varied. Krystal looked horrified, although not in any way showing signs of emotional distraught. Falco was definitely pissed, clenching both fists and shaking them at his side. Alec was as horrified as Krystal was, although his was more out of fear. But Slippy, dear old Slippy, took it the hardest. He had been with the ship the longest, and as a technical guy, his attachment to the Great Fox was akin to that of an old friend. Tears streamed freely down Slippy’s face, and his big lips quivered.

“Sabotaged,” Pepper growled from behind.

“I don’t know how,” Krystal said weakly. “We didn’t tell anybody where we were going, and we left for Corneria rather suddenly…”

“Why!” Slippy bawled. “Why would they do such a thing? I mean, we were obviously not on board, so if they wanted to kill us…” He fell to his knees and put his hands over his eyes, sobbing. Krystal and Fox watched him with pity.

“They got the damn Arwings,” Falco muttered with a grimace. “And… ROB.”

“We will compensate you for your loss, I assure you,” Pepper said, putting his hand on Falco’s shoulder. “We have lots of Arwings, all state-of-the-art…”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Falco’s voice was like acid, actually causing Pepper to recoil.

“Listen,” Fox said to Krystal. “You guys can stay with me, while we investigate this. It’s a nice place. It’ll help you take your minds off this for a while.”

Krystal nodded. Fox turned to walk back to the ballroom, while the Star Fox team continued to stare at the wreckage.

Suddenly, Falco crouched down, turning his head so one eye looked down. “What in the…” He trailed off, turned around and disappeared. A few minutes later, he appeared again four floors down, coming through the door nearest the wreckage.

“Falco, what are you doing?” Krystal called.

Falco didn’t respond. He climbed over and through the wreckage, until he reached a chunk of the landing platform. He bent down beside it and picked up a small, black object. He twirled it in his fingers, examining it.

“What is it?” Krystal called.

“An eye patch,” came the reply.

X

“Star Wolf?” Pepper cried. “You think Star Wolf is behind this?”

Pepper and the Star Fox team were sitting around a glass coffee table in Fox’s penthouse, while Fox himself was busy preparing hot drinks for them all.

“Want to see the patch again?” Falco said, holding up the black piece of cloth.

“I saw it,” Pepper said irritably. “It doesn’t prove a thing. I’m sure there are thousands of scumbags out there who wear eye patches.”

“Are there any other scumbags with eye patches out to settle a vendetta with us?” Slippy retorted.

Pepper cleared his throat and leaned back. “Look,” he said. “Have you guys forgotten the work you did on them on Venom? You say you sent all Wolfen II’s to the ground. And even if one of them managed to survive the crash, there’s no way they’d survive outside the security of their aircraft. Venom is a harsh planet, you see, with an atmosphere of noxious gases and a terrain of brittle rock. Now, here we are, twenty-some years later. No one has heard of Star Wolf since Venom. You really think they just popped up out of nowhere and trashed your ship?”

“Just because no one has heard of you,” said Falco, “Doesn’t mean you don’t exist. You guys haven’t heard or seen from us for years. And yet, here we are.”

Fox came from the kitchen with a platter of hot cider. Everyone took a cup. Fox sat down in a lounge chair near the table.

“Fox,” Pepper said, after placing his cup on the table, “You’re a reasonable person. You manage to fit logic in everything you do, be it fighting in the fray of a space battle, or persuading a Senate to permit the induction of a navy. Do you think it’s possible that Star Wolf is still alive and at large?”

Fox took a sip from his cup, leaned back, and sighed. “Logic tells me no,” he said. “But if I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that logic doesn’t always apply. For years as a child, I was told that dinosaurs no longer exist. Yet, I found myself on a dinosaur planet, where most of the dinosaurs actually talked. Then, a while later, I encountered Andross in orbit over the planet. I saw Andross perish on Venom, so logic would tell me that he was long dead. But he wasn’t. So. Could Star Wolf be alive? If this is one of those cases where logic doesn’t apply, then, yes, they could be alive.”

The room was silent. Then, Falco said, “Well put, McCloud.”

Pepper snorted. “Well, I won’t accept that explanation just yet.” He stood up, stretched his arms and yawned. “We’ll begin the investigation first thing tomorrow morning. Mr. Lombardi, Mrs. McCloud, don’t you worry, I’ll have four of my best Arwings delivered to you, as well as a transport until you get yourselves another ship. In the meantime, I must be going. Farewell.”

Pepper walked off. The slam of a door was heard in the background.

“He didn’t even try your nice cider!” Slippy cried.

Fox chuckled. “Just add water, Slip,” he said. When Slippy looked confused, Fox tossed him an empty packet of powder.

“Ah,” said Slippy, standing up. “Well, I should be goin’ to bed, too. G’night, everybody!”

XI

Admiral Moss sat in his private quarters on board the Harbinger. It was now day two of his journey to Lylat, and if his scientists’ calculations were correct, they should be arriving any moment now. He put his hands to his chin, crossed his legs, and waited.

As if on cue, the intercom by his seat switched on. “Admiral Moss, we are entering the Lylat system now,” the officer said.

“Good. Bring the ship out of light speed and send the orders for the fleet to assemble.” He switched the intercom off, stood up, and left the room.

When he made it to the main bridge, every order had been executed. The main view port showed star-speckled space, instead of the indecipherable mess hyperspace had to offer. Outside, he saw the glorious Karzen fleet, waiting patiently in perfect formation. Moss recalled with pride the stats of his fleet. Twenty capital ships, the Harbinger included. One hundred and fifty frigates, ships a fifth of the size of capital ships, but with greater firepower, were there, as well as several small transports. Then there were the fighters, the ships that really made the fleet. There were twenty thousand interceptors, thirty thousand defenders, five thousand bombers, and one thousand scouts, distributed evenly within the one hundred and seventy larger ships.

If they didn’t win through cunning, they would surely win through the advantage of numbers.

“All, right, commander,” Moss said. “Remember the plan. A fourth of our forces are to be sent to Macbeth, where they will provide a feint attack. Frigates and interceptors are to provide the bulk of that attack force; we want to save the majority of our bombers for the real target. Now, another fourth of the fleet, the Harbinger included, will stay here as backup and a buffer between Karzen and Lylat.

“The remaining half of our fleet will go to the target planet: Katina. They have their orders; the bombers are to destroy buildings and ships, while living targets should be left,” and Moss nodded towards the transports, hidden among the giant frigates and capital ships in the fleet, “to Mr. Krumptin’s ‘Blitz Forces.’ Carry out the orders, commander.”

The commander did so. Within moments, the fleet’s size had shrunk considerably. Moss smiled.

“Allow me to propose a toast, gentlemen,” he said to the officers on the bridge. “I feel another victory coming along.”

The officers laughed heartily, and applauded Moss while he took out another sealed bottle of champagne.