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Second Arc 5: Aftermath

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03 January 3049 LDC

Open Space, Sector ZZ-9PZA

23:25 Standard Time

The Great Fox roamed the remote reaches of space, far away from the traditional, well travelled tradelanes that almost everyone used. These were the domains of smugglers and pirates; lawless freeports and the occasional corporate research station. These were the reaches of space that Lylatian governments had little to no control over; these were the wild territories that were so often brought up in the latest holovids. As such Slippy was careful to keep watch over the tactical sensors as well as the modified suite he had configured to search for the missing shuttle.

The search had been fruitless so far. The problem was that they had an area equivalent to half the Rim to search as well as the surrounding area. While traces of the fuel leaks that marked the stricken shuttle had allowed them copious use of Slipspace travel, the actual search pattern could take weeks. A simple routine check on every government or corporate-owned ship and research station within the arc the craft could have emerged within had considerably narrowed down their search, but even then it was not enough. To use the tired old analogy, it was like searching for a needle within a haystack that had been halfway gone through.

"How's it like out there, Slip?" Fox asked from the captain's station, casting a tired eye to the sensor readouts. The sheer amount of data a capital ship could collect was enormous; he could interpret some of it but he was better with the slimmed-down combat variant used on his Arwing. Slippy could be ranked among the best sensor operators in the system; his modifications and tweaks had boosted their income in the form of patent royalties. The companies who were willing to trade top-tier gear for escort missions and covert operations against known pirate haunts and certain freeports which offered safe harbor to them were also willing to purchase the patent rights to Slippy's modifications on said gear.

The royalties were split evenly between McCloud Enterprises(the corporation Fox's father had set up to start the Star Fox team) and Slippy. That income alone almost made their base operating budget; though eating better than spacer rations and Insta-Pasta packets, not to mention affording better gear, was hard-earned through other contracts. "Still not a trace, Fox." The young toad's attention was still on the instrumentation as it had been for the past four days. His almost total dedication to his craft was something Fox never quite understood, but was a point of respect between the two old friends. "However, we did make remote scans of a couple of possible smuggler outposts that the Rangers have been looking for. We can collect on those if nothing else." The portly frog grinned at his friend and nodded towards the screens. "A few more finds like this and we'll have enough for a proper vacation after we find this shuttle, right?"

"Well, after this and the situation Pepper wants us to handle on Sauria, I think we could afford a couple of months away from the space lanes." Fox offered a chuckle to the nearly empty bridge, his gaze looking out over the vast field of stars in front of them. A vacation would be nice, despite his love for the freedom and unpredictability of life among the vast reaches of the system. Even the most hardened spacer grew tired of the utter and complete isolation that characterized their lifestyle. “I think I’m going to wind down on the ob deck before getting some sleep, Slip. If you find anything let me know?” With Slippy’s assurance he’d be kept informed Fox left the command seat. He had been up there for the past ten hours keeping watch. Slippy would have it for the next six, before Peppy woke up to relieve him. The cycle was long and tedious, but exploring the nearly uncharted reaches of the system required the utmost diligence.

Pirates and slavers frequently made their homes outside the standard space lanes, utilizing abandoned mining stations and derelict spacecraft as operating bases. The largest and most desirable of those bases were the thousands of space stations that had been put into place for various reasons since the discovery of Slipspace drives nearly eight hundred years ago. In the vacuum even a structure put into place hundreds of years ago would likely still be structurally intact or easily repairable, and an abandoned science station orbiting a planetoid or a failed mining facility on an errant asteroid represented a perfect hiding place for those who chose to live outside the bounds of the law.

What was colloquially known as the Lylat System was in fact a densely packed star cluster. The various major planets occupied several different solar systems, which was just one improbably crowded corner of an increasingly isolated universe. Early on there were several major shocks as Cornerian explorers would run into relatively advanced societies every fifteen or twenty years. The phenomenon wasn’t ever adequately explained, but conflicts between the races that would comprise the makeup of Lylat were thankfully few and the common bond of mutual benefit, profit, and exploration drove everything forward. Even in what was quickly realized as an anomaly in the vast reaches of the universe there was plenty of room and resources for anyone to seek out their fortune.

There had been only a handful of known, recorded expeditions outside of the Rim; the unofficial boundary of Lylatian space. Even with Slipspace technology the risks were great. While the primitive world of Sauria was on the outskirts in a small, lonely star system, laws were passed to protect the inhabitants from culture and technology they wouldn’t easily understand. Cerinia was another case, but its existence was a closely kept secret. However, the illicit trade to the planet had been the savior for the handful of survivors that made it out of the murderous hands of the Venomians. That was anger Fox buried deep down. Andross’ troops had killed his father after he escaped their trap, or at least that’s where he allowed the blame to settle. He could more than sympathize with Cerinia’s plight.

Sitting down in a chair on the darkened observation deck, he stared out across the indigo void that had claimed as many lives as it enriched. With a sigh he leaned back, keying a certain sequence into his wrist computer; a ritual he had performed countless times over the years. The transmission hadn’t been wiped from the Great Fox’s data banks after the incident and it was a secret he had kept to himself for the ten long years since he had found it.

“Andross must really want me bad if he’s sent a damned carrier after me!” James’ voice carried through the tinny speakers above the din of an Arwing’s engine and the computer system screaming out warnings of target locks on the lone craft. “If they’re here to kill me, I’m going to make them work for it!” Several minutes of the eerie sounds of space combat ensued; computerized warnings and engine noise broken off by muttered curses as a cannon blast came too close for comfort and exclamations of joy as the Arwing scattered another Venom fighter throughout the cosmos. Noise didn’t exist in the vacuum of space; something that the vids commonly got wrong for the benefit of entertainment.

“Almost there. If I can do a short Slip to the nebula I’ll be able to lose them!” The sounds of space combat dwindled after a moment, replaced by the familiar high-pitched screech of a Slipspace engine being engaged. For all intents and purposes he should have been completely free and clear. If Pigma hadn’t been in that carrier, relaying James’ transmissions and telemetry to the Venomians, he would have had a chance. Instead he was directing a strike force to James’ exit point, right in the middle of Slendertail Nebula. It was only by chance that Pigma was having his own telemetry monitored, sending the data of James’ final flight to the Great Fox.

“Dammit! They’ve got a tracker on me!” The combat resumed almost as soon as the Slipspace engines disengaged, his father too busy fending off another Venom carrier and its deadly cargo to offer much in the way of explanation. “Someone’s tapping into the systems! The only way… Pigma, that bastard! He’s working for them!” The fighting resumed once more, the tension so thick it felt as if it had reached through the years to claw at Fox’s heart.

“Going to have to do a blind jump! It’s going to be risky, but if I can edge around the bowl in Sector Z, it’ll play hell with their sensors. If I can have that much lead time, I can reach Papetoon before they get a fix on me again.” A few more minutes of the quiet yet deadly dance played out, James’ voice growling out in frustration as the Venomian fighters hounded his lone Arwing. “Pep, if you’re listening to this and I don’t make it, get Fox out of the Academy. Keep him out of this brewing meat grinder and get him in my spare Arwing. This is bigger than either of us. Now… catch me if you can, bastards!”

The recording faded into static, which cut out after a few seconds as Fox cut off the feed. The faint light from countless stars cast a soft glow into the massive window that was the centerpiece of the observation deck. It was as calm and still as the grave, which was strangely fitting. The exhausted vulpine let off a sigh into the still air as the old memories swirled around his thoughts like ghosts screaming out for vengeance. He had avenged his father eight years ago, but would it be enough? The thought that Andross could be resurrected was almost too ridiculous to believe. However, the hushed rumors he had heard every so often about Cerinia’s existence were actually true. Would all his efforts to put the Venom Empire into the ground be for naught? He wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to that question.

His reverie was broken by the almost imperceptible sound of boots on the carpet floor behind him. The strangely accented voice that followed belonged to his Cerinian passenger, Chandril. “My apologies, Captain McCloud. I didn’t realize you were in here. I am not interrupting you, am I?”

He had to be diplomatic; a skill hard-learned when he had been taken on a series of public relations tours celebrating the victory over the Venom Empire. He had become an overnight celebrity, something he hadn’t ever been quite comfortable with. The fact of the matter was that she had interrupted him, but that was something that came with living inside the tight confines of a starship. However, a question came to mind. If she was Cerinian, she would have sensed his presence, right? He decided to put it to the test. “I was almost finished, Chandril. I was deep in thought; I’m surprised you weren’t able to sense me.”

The Cerinian vixen cast a sheepish gaze to the ace pilot, shaking her head slightly in the near pitch darkness. “No, Captain McCloud. I don’t have an affinity for that Aspect of the Art. My talents… lie elsewhere.” She raised a hand, pointing to a nearby table. A technical manual that Slippy had been poring over for the past few days floated into the air of its own volition; the unexpected, surreal act causing the vulpine merc to startle.

“H…how did you do that?” The cloudy veil of exhaustion evaporated as his attention turned to the vixen, who had reached a chair a couple of meters away from his own. The book casually glided through the air, landing in her lap. She glanced at it quizzically before returning his shocked expression with a smirk.

“The Art is as complex as it is simple, Captain.” Taking a deep breath she gathered her thoughts for an explanation. “Only those of high station in our society had the ability to tap into the Art… those of noble blood stand the best chance to have affinity. The different Aspects were the ways we could tap into the Art. Some could manipulate the weather to a small extent; they were usually brought into the Temple and helped take care of those farmers who suffered droughts. My affinity is for moving objects; my family owned a large trading house and our training in the Art helped with the heavy lifting we would routinely encounter. The gift of telepathy and empathy is a trait of those who are destined to be leaders of our kind. My… my friend was one of them.” A soft sigh left her at the thought of Krystal. She hadn’t survived the uncaring, murderous rampage the Venom pigs had unleashed on her kind. Chandril herself was one of a handful of survivors; for all intents and purposes her kind was almost extinct because of their actions.

“I… I understand. I lost people I care about to these butchering bastards, too.” Fox turned to the vast, empty starfield beyond the massive window that encircled the observation deck, memories that never quite healed. Even though the passage of time had healed the wounds, the scars still remained if one cared enough to look beneath the fur. Most tended to forget how much his father sacrificed to stop Andross, hiding the ugly story behind the heroic tale of the Star Fox team punching through the Venom defenses and literally taking the fight right to Andross.

“…your father?” Chandril hesitantly queried, joining the other vulpine in looking out at the silent abyss. “Was he the one I heard on the recording?” She inwardly cringed; she hadn’t wanted to intrude on such a private moment. The fact that she was still alive was confusing, let alone walking the corridors of the Great Fox and actually talking with Fox McCloud himself. Her muscles still ached and she was easily winded from the multiple stasis cycles she had endured. The doctor that helped her through part of her recovery had given her the sobering news that one or two more cycles would have killed her.

“Yes.” Fox’s voice was flat as he answered, the tone disguising the stab of pain he felt. It was one of the few times he had mentioned anything about what had happened to his father outside of those he had called family… Peppy, Slippy, Falco… and even Fara. “It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission to determine if Andross was gathering strength on Venom. In those days it was a prison of sorts, an exile planet where the worst criminals were sent in lieu of the death penalty…”

Chandril glanced over to the vulpine pilot as he spun the tale, her attention soon taken in by what was a rare, private glimpse of his life. “…the media glosses over it, but Andross’ conviction was not because of increasingly dangerous experiments with biotechnology, but the fact he murdered my mother. He was obsessed with her, and planted a bomb in my father’s hovercar to get him out of the way. Hers was being fixed at the time, so she was going to pick me up from school. You can guess what happened next.” Fox sighed, continuing to stare into the endless starfield. Without giving time for his Cerinian guest to respond, he continued.

“Dad had been a freelancer for a while, along with Peppy and Beltino, Slippy’s uncle. They made a name for themselves and ended up with this ship. Harold Phoenix, the CEO of Space Dynamics, was trying to pitch the Arwing concept to the Fleet. S-D gave him five prototype craft and a generous bonus to put the craft through its paces in real missions, just so long as the Fleet could record live telemetry. It wasn’t long before the military started hiring him. He jumped the chance to get back at the bastard that killed Mom, and I don’t blame him.” He grit his teeth at the memory, his eyes narrowing at the thought of the megalomaniacal ape that had murdered his parents.

“He… didn’t make it?” Chandril frowned, closing her eyes at the thought. No wonder this was so personal for him. An angry spark of her own crossed her mind; these were the same people who killed her own parents… her entire family. Almost everyone she knew. She had read the list of names that had survived Cerinia’s destruction. She knew very few of them outside of Krystal’s father and brother. Haran and Maloc; they had their own family to mourn. She blinked back tears as she nodded at the young hero.

“He was betrayed. Pigma, his old friend. He sold them out. Sent a burst transmission directly to Andross’ high command claiming the reward they had posted. Half a million credits. However, my dad was faster. Managed to disable Pigma’s Arwing when he turned on them and cleared a hole for Peppy to make a Slipspace jump. But, Venom forces were on him and he had to jump blind. Peppy later picked up this transmission, but he doesn’t know I found it on the ship’s file server.”

“That’s… horrible. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories, Captain McCloud…” Chandril visibly winced. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him; not after taking her into his ship as a guest, even for such a grim occasion. His interruption carried through the air, warmer than she was expecting.

“It’s okay. I think actually talking about it for once is helping. Without the cameras and interview questions, at least.” He smiled wanly before concluding his tale. “Dad managed to give the Venomians hell. After the war I saw their after action reports… he tore through three fighter squadrons and two light cruisers before leading them into Sector Z. However, he tried to skirt the bowl… a dangerous evasion tactic that involves a slingshot maneuver around a black hole. He… didn’t make it.” He took a deep breath and regarded the Cerinian. “I try not to think about it, but sometimes I need to listen to this… get back a sense of where I came from and what my parents did for me. It’s been ten years and I still miss him like hell…”

Chandril nodded at him, closing her eyes again. “We… we have to honor the memories of our loved ones. That way their deeds and sacrifices aren’t forgotten.” She once again blinked back tears, turning to look out at the depths of space. “I didn’t have as much faith as Krystal, but she always told me that stars were the spirits of our loved ones watching over us. I know that isn’t likely true, but sometimes the thought gives me comfort. She didn’t have to live through this. Sometimes I wonder if that was a better fate.”

Fox shook his head. “I can’t see it that way, Chandril. We’re the ones that have to speak for the dead. They have no voice, and it’s up to us to make sure their stories are heard and their deaths aren’t made in vain. Sometimes you’re in a position to serve justice as well; not only with my defeating Andross, but most of the pirates out here have taken lives that never harmed them. It’s sickening, and that’s what Dad did… he tried in his own way to put a stop to it.”

Chandril opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by the harsh beep from Fox’s wristcomp. Without preamble Slippy’s voice shot out into the room. “You need to get up here, Fox. Pepper’s on the line and he wants everyone here. Peppy’s already on the bridge, and I’m trying to track down Chandril, but she left her comlink in her stateroom. Peppy checked but she’s not there…”

“She’s in the rec room with me, Slip.” Fox cut in. “We’ll be right there.”

Pepper’s hologram hung motionless in the still air of the bridge, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The four occupants of the Great Fox stood around the emitter, each of them intent and focused on what the commander had to say. The hound cleared his throat and reached for something out of the emitter’s range, a file transfer initiating between the office in his flagship and the bridge. “What I have to tell you is highly classified. While I know Miss Etan hasn’t received official clearance, I can trust you to not mention this to anyone else?” At her polite nod, he continued.

“Approximately two hours ago Intelligence picked up on an encoded distress message pod that had made it to a Hypernet relay on the rim, one of the farthest ones out in that sector. The pod originated from the same CDI shuttle that our weapon designer friends were using. Additionally, the initial point of launch was right outside of the debris field that surrounds Sauria.” Fox’s eyes narrowed at that, but the question that was brewing was voiced by Peppy.

“George, those two breezers reported to us that they were still hopping freeports trying to pick up the Cerinian shuttle’s tail!” The aging hare grumbled and glanced to the sensor system. “What in the hell were they doing on Sauria? More importantly, what did they find?”

Pepper took a deep breath. “I’m hoping Miss Etan can answer the question. The message was audio only, but sensor data from the pod picked up a Venomian frigate on an intercept course with their shuttle as well as several _Invader-_class fighters. They were going after the shuttle and the pod; it was a stroke of luck it wasn’t blown into space dust.” The holographic visage cast its gaze to the young Cerinian. “I’m going to play the audio message. Do you recognize this voice?”

The speaker array built into the unit came to life, a crisply accented feminine voice echoing over the silent bridge. "Anyone who hears this, please send help. Sauria is in danger. The planet is breaking apart and will be destroyed unless the Spellstones are returned to their rightful place. My companion and I managed to replace one of them, but were set on by Venom forces. The Sharpclaw army led by General Scales is numerous and bent on destruction and chaos. The Saurian tribes are defenseless against their onslaught. Please... help them." As the voice faded everyone’s eyes fell upon Chandril, tears streaming from hers.

“G…general, sir? I don’t know how to say this, but I do recognize it. The voice belongs to my friend, Krystal… the one whose shuttle we were trying to find. W… when did you say this message was recorded? Could she still be alive?” She held her breath. Could she have survived, somehow? Determination welled in her heart. She was going to bring Krystal back to her family, regardless.

“The timestamp on that message is six hours ago. It sounds like our CDI friends found Miss Haleth then went dark. Either they managed to find her on Sauria and were bounced by the Venomians before they could report in…”

“…or they’re trying to pull a fast one on us, General.” Fox interjected, nodding to Slippy. “Start plotting a course for Sauria, Slip. Pepper, do you know anything about these guys? I’m finding it hard to believe they came in out of nowhere, hired on to CDI and provided them with some miraculous small arms, and then apparently skipped out with our VIP in tow. Something’s not sitting right with me.”

Pepper nodded at him. “The most I’ve been able to get from CDI is that they were working for a few different merc companies since the end of the war. No real verification there, either. Before that, they are ghosts.”

Peppy shook his head, stabbing a finger at the holoprojector console. “No history before the war? They could very well be Venom agents, George! They could have forced her to record that message to throw us off their trail, giving them time to…”

“Peppy, I have reason to believe that isn’t the case. They wouldn’t have brought this to our attention at all if they had her. They would have taken her and disappeared. The Remnant forces apparently hacked into the sensor buoy network that we have monitoring that sector and set it to broadcast on a loop… we only detected it because the entire planet is crumbling apart and our scopes weren’t showing any further planetary deterioration. They were trying to be quiet about this. It makes no sense for them to go through all that trouble just to throw us a bone.” Pepper shook his head, gesturing to his console. “I included the sensor logs from the probe. I’m sure Slippy can find out quite a bit from them.”

The amphibian nodded; while he was engrossed with the data streaming into his wristcomp he was paying attention to the conversation. “The feed from the probe is pretty rudimentary, but I’m definitely detecting a lot of activity. There’s a Vengeance-class frigate, about twelve Invader-III fighters, and a couple of Harasser dropships. There’s a few other trails in the mix, but they’re faint.” He pulled his focus away from the data and directed it toward the matter at hand. “If we can get over there quickly enough we’ll be able to figure out what happened. With our sensors and Arwings we should be able to get the drop on any Remnant forces they left behind.”

“I have a Ranger cruiser en route to Sauria as we speak.” Pepper replied, a map of Lylat taking over the image with three dots superimposed on the three-dimensional readout; red, green, and blue respectively. The crimson blot denoted the wounded planet; the cerulean point represented the Ranger forces and the emerald mark denoted their own position. “They are ten hours out at maximum Slipdrive output.”

“Looks like we’re eight, maybe seven if we push it.” Slippy shot back after consulting his console; they were farther away than the Rangers but his modifications to the Great Fox’s drives made them significantly faster. “We’re working against the clock, but we’ve got a chance to get to them before they’re able to pull in significant reinforcements.”

“Alright, Slip.” Fox chimed in after looking at a watered-down readout on his own console. “Dial her in, we’re going to Sauria. Pepper, what do you want us to do there? You heard this distress call; do you want us to retrieve these Spellstones?”

“Negative, Fox. The Rangers are being called in to help fend off any Venomian presence as well as help stabilize the planet. I know I offered this task to you beforehand but the situation has changed. Find Miss Haleth as well as the CDI personnel and bring them back. They’re the priority here. Consider the fee for the Sauria mission yours if you do so. I can use that expense to justify some budget increases with High Command.” Pepper chuckled at the thought of finally wrangling more than a shoestring out of the credit-pinchers in Appropriations.

“We can do that, General. Thank you. We’ll give you a call once we pick up the trail.” After a quick series of goodbyes Fox killed the connection, looking at his friends with a sigh. “Let’s get to work, everyone. Slippy, get us into Slipspace as soon as the course is plotted. After that make sure our weapons and systems are combat ready. I’m going to take ROB and start getting our Arwings prepped.”

“What about me?” Chandril looked to Fox, her features a mask of determination. “These bastards destroyed my planet and my people. I won’t sit by while you risk your lives to stop them.”

“I got a bit of rest, Fox.” Peppy remarked, motioning to the young Cerinian. “Since she has a little piloting experience why don’t I show her the simulator? Slippy will need to be here to monitor the systems and we could use an extra set of wings if things get dicey.” While a few hours wouldn’t be enough to show her anything but the bare basics, they would need all the help they could get.

“Okay, but I want both of you in the rack by oh-four hundred at the latest. I need both of you to be sharp once we get out there. We’ll meet back here once we drop out of Slipspace.” The vulpine captain turned to his crew, a glint of determination flashing in his emerald eyes as he regarded his old friends. “Let’s do this!”

The mottled grays and browns of Slipspace faded out with a blink; the Great Fox shuddering slightly with the transition to normal space. The modified dreadnaught was brought to a stop from relativistic speeds a good 800,000km from the stricken planet’s atmosphere envelope. Such a distance was a standard approach to a disintegrating astronomical body; jumping directly into a dense debris field wasn’t a smart idea for obvious reasons. Additionally, the threat of Remnant presence was on everyone’s mind. While the Great Fox had decent weaponry and had held its own during the Venom War, it was set up as a support craft for the Arwings and not as a ship of the line.

Chandril took a deep breath and forced her focus away from her aching limbs. Instead, she reflected on her current situation: stuffed into a spare flight suit and behind the controls of one of the most powerful starfighters ever made. For a Cerinian cargo pilot that had never flown anything more taxing than a shuttle converted for cargo transport it was a very intimidating experience. Voices streamed into her helmet; Fox and Peppy finishing up the preflight checks on their craft; they helped her along with hers. The Arwing was an incredibly complex craft to master, and she had only a few hours to familiarize herself with the controls. Her glove-covered hands clenched around the controls as she tried to decipher the readouts and displays in front of her. While she spoke Lylatian Standard fairly well, mastery of its written form was somewhat rusty. Her cargo shuttle’s readouts had been programmed to output Cerinian dialects; a gift from the traders from whom her family had purchased the ship. However, with a little time she gained a little familiarity with the controls.

“Fox to Starfox Team. We’re launching in two minutes.” The mercenary leader’s voice carried in through the earphones built into her flight helmet. “How are you holding up, Chandril?”

“I’m a little nervous but I’ll be okay.” She clenched the controls a little tighter, making sure everything she could think of was set for the flight. The catapult system in the Great Fox was interfaced with her controls; it would automatically throttle up for her and guide her borrowed Arwing safely out of the hanger. However, everything after that was on her. Their flight plan was designed to take them through the least dense areas of the debris fields they could find; she would be staying in Peppy’s wake to get through.

“No need to worry, Miss Etan.” Peppy’s voice entered the conversation. “Just follow our lead and everything should be okay. It looks like Venom forces have left, but they may have left drones hiding in the debris field. Don’t worry about scanning the sensors; we’ll take care of that. Just concentrate on flying.” In the short time she had known him, Chandril had developed a good deal of respect for the older hare. His manner was not dissimilar from most village elders she knew; patient, friendly, and willing to impart his knowledge on anyone who was willing to learn.

“Sensors aren’t picking up anything except Sauria’s debris field.” Slippy’s voice entered the conversation. “It’s going to take me about an hour to sort out drive signatures, but from the initial scan we’ve got a couple that are a few weeks old. I’ll keep you guys informed when I find out more.”

_ “Sounds good, Slip.”_ Fox’s voice carried into the channel once more. “Okay, Red Leader to Red Flight. Launch procedures initiating in ten… nine… eight…”

Chandril’s grip tightened as she heard the powerful engines start to whine, the Arwing’s frame bucking against its magnetic restraints much like a stubborn pack beast against its yoke. As much as she prepared herself for the launch it felt as if Melos himself had kicked the spacefighter out of his way, pinning the vixen into the back of her seat as the craft shot out into the cosmos. Beneath the initial shock and underlying disbelief that she was actually piloting an Arwing right along Fox McCloud himself, there was something else. A feeling of exhilaration and excitement that washed away –if even for a few minutes- the pain and grief that she had been mired in for the past few months. The spark of hope she had carried the past few hours started flickering into a flame. She would find her friend, and nothing would stop her doing so.

04 January 3049 LDC

Corneria Defense Industries Orbital Platform ZX-1032

09:15 Standard Time

The heavily filtered voice carried over the secure line as if passing a sentence from the old gods themselves. “This is the third time you have failed us.” Even through the filtering there was no mistaking the disappointment and venom behind those words. “Your hand-picked mercenary team failed their contract on Cerinia, and were terminated on Sauria. And you are telling me you are not aware of the whereabouts of the two free agents you sent after them?”

“To the best of my knowledge they are en route to Sauria and have maintained radio silence as per our protocols, sir.” Wester suppressed an aggravated sigh as he settled into his chair. He did not have the time or patience to deal with these sorts of calls, but the bosses didn’t call unless it was absolutely necessary. However, what did they mean by a third time? “You mentioned a third time, sir. The free agents failed to locate the target?”

“Wester, your inability to keep current intelligence on your assets is completely intolerable.” The voice’s tone became threateningly quieter. “The free agents located the target. Not only that, they absconded with the target into parts unknown! You are telling me you did not place a tracker on the shuttle you gave them?”

Wester let out that sigh as he glanced over his terminal. The tracker’s location was in fact pinging, but its location… “They found it and hid it on the Great Fox. We’re tracking Starfox instead of the free agents. I have received no reports from them outside our standard checkins.”

“Which have been altered by a dumb AI module attached to the tracker. We’ve already reviewed the reports. Furthermore, our moles in Intelligence have picked up a very interesting transmission coming from Sauria. It’s being forwarded for your review, but for brevity’s sake you have quite a mess to clean up.”

Wester scanned the transcriptions, stalling for time while getting a handle on the situation. The CDI designers simply picked up the Cerinian and left with her, with a Venomian task force right on their tails. That was grim news indeed.”I understand, Director. What are our next steps in resolving this situation?”

“Your next steps are to take a leave of absence from your position. You will meet up with a strike team at the coordinates provided. Your failure at obtaining trustworthy, competent personnel has not only threatened leaking the existence of the Consortium, but also has put the lives of everyone in Lylat at risk.” The chill coming off the disguised voice caused Wester’s hackles to raise, a barely perceptible shudder coursing involuntarily through his frame as he digested the Director’s words.

“We have found encrypted transmissions from your free agents being directed to a known genetic engineering specialist operating out of Depth’s End, a remote Freeport located in the Rim. This specialist used to be one of Andross’ top gene splicers. While we can’t track the free agents, we can track this specialist far more easily. Find him, locate the free agents and Cerinian, and eliminate them. You are to see to this personally, Wester. Failure is not an option here, am I understood?”

“Crystal clear, Director.” Wester cringed as the call ended with a soft, final click. Failing the Consortium meant retirement. Permanent retirement. He wasn’t a wetworks operative, but there wasn’t much of an alternative. He would pull the trigger on the Cerinian himself if he had to.

04 January 3049 LDC

Cape Claw, Planet Sauria

07:18 Standard Time

The first thing Fox noticed after popping the Arwing’s canopy was the fresh air. After so many months breathing recycled air, the fresh, saline scent of the beach they had landed on was a pure gift. However, at the same time the air was laced with other, more foreboding scents that more accurately fit the scene that greeted their arrival.

Chandril was already out of the cockpit, gaping openly at the remnants of the carnage that lay before them. Fox’s eyes scanned the terrain, making ready for any threats although the lifesign sensors seemed to indicate that they were pretty much alone. While his skill as a pilot kept him in his Arwing most of the time, he wasn’t a stranger to the aftermath of a battlefield. The brown splotches caked into the sand indicated where someone had fallen, along with the burnt out wreckage of some sort of vehicle. His practiced eye determined that it took a direct hit with a medium ship-mounted blaster cannon.

The lack of bodies, Venomian or otherwise, spoke of a hasty cleanup operation. As Fox strode forward, the more details came to light. Peppy’s voice broke the crypt-like stillness. “Whatever happened here, I think the Venomians took the brunt of it. They tried to clean it up, but notice the lack of bloodstains around that vehicle?” The hare pointed to the wreckage, then to a clump of metal wreckage just beyond that appeared to be fused into the sand. “That looks like slag, but I’ll bet that was Eradicator armor that got caught in the blast that took that vehicle out.”

“You think those two CDI guys took out an Eradicator as well as a Remnant task force?” Fox blinked. Slippy’s feedback on the projectile rifles they were so fond of had mentioned that they would be about as effective as a standard blaster rifle on powered armor suits like the Eradicators and the Vac-Hards generally equipped. They would easily penetrate the suits’ shield systems but wouldn’t have enough kinetic energy to do much more than damage the paint. Even if a projectile rifle could do it, the weight and recoil from such a weapon would necessitate it being crew-served or mounted on a vehicle. Fox’s train of thought stopped as he took a second look at the strange vehicle.

The vehicle used wheels, which was a far cry from standard repulsorlifts but also looked far more advanced than anything he thought the Saurians could field. It was equipped with armor plating thick enough to withstand complete vaporization from the cannon blast that had wrecked it, but not strong enough to resist slagging. Following some design conventions it had some sort of turret mounted on top, with a strange looking weapon mounted on it. At nearly two meters long it looked like a downscaled blaster cannon, but not one Fox was familiar with.

“Fox?” Chandril spoke up. “I found this in the sand, but I’m not sure what it could be. Do you have insight on this?” He glanced over to the object Chandril had found. It was a projectile rifle casing, but instead of the dark carbon nanoweave which fed into CDI weapons it looked to be made out of some sort of dull, golden metal. It looked more ornate than anything else, like something that hadn’t been used for years.

Peppy arched a brow as he glanced at the casing. “That looks like brass to me.” Fox’s questioning look spurred further explanation. “It’s an old alloy, made from copper and zinc. It’s not used very often due to better materials technology, but it was widely used for a few hundred years after Unification.” He peered closer, taking a look at the markings on the back. “5.56mm, LC, 02. The CDI weapons were marked with something different but similar, right?”

Fox nodded, recalling some of the training he received from Yuri. “Those were marked ‘5.45x39 CDI PR’, if I recall. So, that means this could have been fired by a different projectile rifle?” At Peppy’s nod he took a look at the sand. “Okay, we should look around and see if we can find more of these. Something doesn’t seem right about all of this.”

A solid half hour of searching turned up a large amount of projectile casings, a significant amount of much larger ones stamped with the confusing legend of ’50 BMG, HWAD’. The numbers differed with a range between 02 and 99. Mixed in with them were the familiar CDI nanowave casings, which left the three scratching their heads. “There was some sort of battle here. Judging by the lack of blood spots immediately around the vehicle, it looks like the Venomians got absolutely massacred by Ivan, Yuri, and some other unknown party.”

Chandril nodded, looking at the vehicle. “I’m not used to your ways of war, but they fought the Venomians to keep Krystal safe. If they’re working to keep her safe, why aren’t they trusting us?”

Peppy sighed, nodding at the Cerinian. “We can’t be sure, but they saved her for their own needs. We need to find her before the Remnant does, and figure out what happened here.” Their communicators chimed, breaking the confusion for a moment.

“Hey, guys.” Slippy’s voice broke onto the channel. “The Rangers just entered the system; they gave me an ETA of about an hour before they make it planetside. Also, I’ve gotten some progress on the sensor traces. It’s a little hidden, but I’ve traced the shuttle that Krystal was on. After landing on Sauria it made a trip to one of the larger pieces of orbital debris, then it made another trip to the planet. The data suggests it made a landing about 1500 meters from your position.”

“Great find, Slippy.” Fox grinned. “Looks like we have a lead to check out. Any more info as far as the CDI shuttle?”

“That one’s a little more complicated, Fox.” Slippy replied. “I’m having trouble with the drive signatures; I’m getting readings that are a bit off, almost like there was another almost identically configured craft in the system recently. I’m going to have the Rangers do a sweep of that orbital chunk to verify; it almost looks like they went there first.”

“Sounds good, Slip. We’ll check out that shuttle and see if we can find anything. Fox out.” The vulpine merc closed the connection and glanced to the map attached to his wristcomp. “Looks like we’re in for a little hike.”

It didn’t take them long to reach the shuttle, which was settled in a wide canyon which led up to the cove where the battle took place. Chandril gasped as she saw it; the beautiful machine owned by her friend’s family had been heavily damaged. The hull had been dented almost all over, with telltale carbon scoring of weapons hits quite evident. She wasn’t sure how Krystal survived in this broken ship, but somehow she had. Instinctively she strode up to the access panel near the main hatch, reaching up and keying in the sequence she had remembered from the times she had piloted it. With a slight grinding noise the hatch opened, extending its cargo ramp to the ground.

“Wait a minute.” Peppy’s voice cut the silence. “See these tracks coming from the ramp?” He pointed to twin sets of a strange pattern, erased by the wind in some spots but still evident in others. “That looks like wheeled vehicle tracks, maybe from the one we saw slagged at the beach?”

“That’s a good an explanation as any.” Fox nodded. “Okay, we’re going in. Be prepared for anything.” With a deep breath he unholstered his blaster pistol, Peppy following suit. Chandril was unarmed, so she took a position behind the two mercs as they entered the shuttle’s cargo bay. It was empty, save for a few objects set on the workbench that was a pretty much standard fixture for any craft larger than a fighter. As they swept the bay Chandril walked up to it, frowning as she examined what was obviously a weapon. It was a long rifle of some sort, encased with wood instead of the synthetic materials Lylatians preferred. Several containers were lined up next to it, filled with what looked like active cartridge cases. They were slightly larger than the smaller examples they had found earlier, but still far smaller than the giant ones they collected. “Is this of any interest?” she asked, holding up the weapon.

Fox nodded, crossing over to look at the rifle. “This looks more like a hunting rifle, maybe? The only blasters I’ve seen with wooden furniture are expensive hunting models made for the very wealthy. But, this doesn’t look like anything that CDI would make.”

“Looks like it was damaged, too.” Peppy chimed in, pointing to several deep gouges in the wood and dents in the metal receiver. “Someone had a go of repairing it, but I wouldn’t want to take the chance of firing it.” He examined the rifle further, frowning as he looked a bit closer. “There’s a serial number and a manufacturer stamp, here. ‘U.S. Rifle, 7.62mm M14 NM, Springfield Armory.’ I’ve never heard of a place called Spring Field, have you?”

Fox and Chandril shook their heads. “What does U.S. stand for, anyway? It doesn’t sound familiar, even from some of those short-lived Venom manufacturers. The ‘armory’ bit also seems to designate this as a military weapon, but this looks a lot older and more ornate than what CDI would manufacture.” A thought came to mind, Fox pausing in midstep as he voiced an idea. “What if this is an antique projectile rifle from pre-blaster days?”

“After several hundred years?” Peppy responded. “Neither of us have heard of this armory or manufacturer, and I don’t think anyone would be using a museum piece as a combat weapon. That damage was pretty recent.” The older hare slung the rifle across his back and added the magazines to his pockets. “We’ll check up on this thing after we get back to the Great Fox. There’s probably more evidence inside.”

The three cautiously entered the shuttle, emerging into the plushly equipped living area. What stood out was the fact it had been recently occupied, judging by the personal effects and food strewn about. Chandril pointed out the bottle of ranot, an expensive Cerinian wine of sorts, and what looked like beer bottles of a style called Heinekin, which none of them had heard of. Several packages of military rations were neatly stacked on the table, labeled with the legend ‘MRE’.

Peppy examined one of the packets with a practiced eye. “This reads ‘U.S. Government property, commercial resale is unlawful.’ Something tells me that these rations aren’t also hundreds of years old, judging that someone has been eating them.”

Fox picked up a small leather wallet from the table and glanced through it. After a moment he pulled a plastic card out of it, his eyes narrowing. “Armed Forces of the United States. Marine Corps. Lancing, Brian Joseph. Rank Sergeant, E5.” The photo emblazoned on the card was vaguely simian, had they lost their fur and overgone some significant cosmetic alterations. While the card was written in perfect Lylat Standard, the face staring back was unmistakably alien. He turned the card around for Chandril and Peppy to see. The implications were not good. “I can’t make sense of this. An alien species from a government we’ve never heard of, with an ID card in perfect Lylat. On the shuttle Krystal was on. You’ve never seen anyone who looks like this, Chandril?”

The vixen shook her head. “No, not at all. Do you think that this alien had contact with Krystal?” She turned around, looking at the entrance to the staterooms. “She was definitely here, and recently. I can still sense her presence. There is more to what happened here, and I think these staterooms hold the answer.”

Fox blinked as he continued to go through the wallet. Another photo of the alien was inside, standing next to a female of the same species. It looked like she was his mate. The realization that he was holding an intensely personal object that wouldn’t have voluntarily left the owner’s possession easily hit him like a landspeeder. Other than what looked like some paper currency and what looked to be a vehicle license for a place called Montana, there didn’t seem to be anything else in it. He stuffed the wallet in a pouch on his belt and motioned toward the door. “This is starting to make absolutely zero sense. We might as well chase this string as long as it leads us somewhere.”

The three entered the staterooms, uncovering more evidence. A flightsuit of a female cut and some sort of military uniform were bundled together, both heavily bloodstained and tattered. A standard automated trauma kit sat next to the bed in the master suite; Peppy’s glance through the logs turned up something disturbing. “It’s been used to treat two patients. One with close to but not quite vulpine physiology, and one with significantly altered simian physiology. Assuming our Cerinian friend is mostly vulpine, she was grievously wounded by what looks like projectile rifle fire a week ago. The final log suggests she will make a full recovery. I’m assuming the somewhat simian physiology patient is that alien whose wallet we found. He was hit with PR fire as well, but what appears to have been a much larger, cruder projectile. His wound was minor, and he should be mostly recovered by now as well.”

Fox sighed, glancing around the stateroom. “I grabbed a copy of the ship’s computer logs that I’ll take up to Slippy. Perhaps that’ll help sort out this mess. The alien presence worries me. Do we have an alien military making incursions into Lylatian territory?”

“Wouldn’t there be more of them if they had sent a military, though?” Chandril asked. “There were many Venom ships when they invaded Cerinia. I would think that any military would do the same, even if they were scouting?”

“She has a point.” Peppy responded. “Fox, this is something we do need to approach Pepper with. If there have been other reports of simian-like aliens running around, they’ll be able to figure out a pattern and go from there. Until then we need to get back onto the trail of that CDI shuttle and…”

Their comm units beeped again. Slippy sounded a little urgent. “Guys, the lifesign sensors are picking up some signatures heading towards that shuttle. I’d normally think they’re Sharpclaw, but the sensors can’t really tell what they are. The signatures look almost simian to me? I can’t get a good visual but thermal scans make it look like they’re pretty heavily armed. The Rangers are sending a team your way ASAP, but they’re still ten minutes out.”

The three exchanged knowing looks. “Peppy, did you see anything that could be used to arm Chandril?” Fox glanced to the door. “I think we’re going to have company.” Peppy shook his head. “Check the closets and drawers here? They might have left something behind.”

A quick check of the nightstand turned up something unexpected: one of the CDI projectile pistols, tucked in with a couple of Krystal’s personal effects. The continued puzzlement would have to wait; Fox handed the sidearm to Chandril after making it ready. “Have you used a blaster before?” The vixen nodded in affirmation.

“This is a bit different than a blaster, but the principles are the same. Line up the sights and pull the trigger. You have twelve shots before it runs out. If we get into a fight, let Peppy and I take the lead. Don’t fire unless you absolutely have to, okay?” Fox glanced to his father’s old friend. “What do you think, Pep? Let them come to us?”

The older hare consulted his wristcomp. “Our chances are better inside this shuttle. Let them come to us. If I were them I’d put some overwatch on the cargo bay while an assault team goes in after us. We’ll set up an ambush inside this hallway, let them funnel in.”

Fox nodded as he checked his Vanguard. The pistol had a full gas cart along with the two extras in his pouches. “They’ll either wait us out and get surprised by the Rangers, or they’ll walk into our ambush.”

The three didn’t have to wait long. The sensor readout on their wristcomps kept them well informed. Whoever they were followed Peppy’s predictions to the letter. Four of them took positions outside the shuttle while three slowly crept towards the cargo bay. The air was thick and still as Fox, Peppy, and Chandril tensely waited for contact. Their plan was simple yet rushed. Furniture in two staterooms were quickly unbolted from the floor and set up in makeshift barricades, giving Fox and Peppy a decent field of fire outside of their respective rooms. Chandril crouched next to Peppy, the unfamiliar pistol heavy in her hands as they started to hear the sound of footsteps and hushed voices echo from within the shuttle.

The fact the unknown force wasn’t calling out meant volumes to the two mercs. They weren’t trying to make friendly contact. A faint but sharp scent caught Fox’s nose; it stank of unwashed bodies but was also quite unfamiliar. Whoever it was had been out in the wilderness for quite some time. The footsteps became louder as the vulpine merc readied his weapon.

The figure that crouched into the open door was bipedal, yet lacked a tail. It was dressed in some sort of flowing black garb, some sort of headscarf concealing mostly bare skin. Its features matched the alien on the ID card, except for a puffy mass of coarse fur all around its face. The alien held what looked like a PR-74, already trying to track any threats in the darkened room. The strange face locked onto Fox, a cry of alarm rising to its lips as it wrested the rifle on target.

Fox was quicker. His Vanguard spoke first, a series of blaster bolts snapping out to pierce the alien figure. Its shout changed to a pained croak as it slumped to the floor, heralding shouts of surprise and curses in a flowing, unfamiliar tongue. The remaining aliens fired back as Fox ducked under the upturned bed, the rattling thunder of projectile rifles almost deafening. The walls ripped apart as bullets tore through the air, punching into their makeshift cover with impunity. They fired too high to hit him at least; their fire answered by Peppy’s blaster as soon as Fox was targeted. The walls were once again struck with weapons fire, the material disintegrating with neat, singed holes in comparison to the ragged ones made by the projectile weapons.

“Red Leader to Cornerian Rangers, we’ve made contact with a hostile alien force!” Fox called out over his wristcomp. “We need support ASAP! Hostile force is armed with CDI projectile rifles; be advised that these weapons bypass shields and anything but heavy armor!” As the return fire slacked off he popped back up and kept firing; the PRs had to reload far more often than a blaster.

“Red Leader, this is Captain Sykes of the Cornerian Rangers. Copy that. We’re coming in hot, ETA three mikes. Weapons going hot.” The voice that replied was as cool as ice and as professional as it got. For the Rangers this was pretty much another day at the office. Another blast of projectile rifle fire ripped through the walls, this time answered by another cavalcade of blaster bolts. There was a flash of another body past the open doorway, but before either of the mercs were able to get on target two sharp pops snapped out. The alien grunted and slumped backwards, an errant blast of fire erupting from its weapon before two more shots ended the threat.

Peppy spared an instant look at Chandril, her face a mask of determination as she held the still-smoking projectile pistol in a steady grip. The rooms were hazy and the sickening combination of gunsmoke, blood, and burnt plastic filled the air. Fox’s hushed voice carried over their channel. “The last hostile is making its way back outside. Probably didn’t want to chance coming in without backup; they’re probably going to try waiting us out.”

“Whatever they are, they’re carrying these new projectile weapons.” Peppy’s statement held some disturbing implications. The instinct to investigate the shuttle’s corridor was compelling, however the iron clad discipline that was hard-earned through years of service kept it in check.

“Hold there for a moment. I want to check something.” Fox grit his teeth and slid out from under his impromptu cover, covering every centimeter of his advance with his blaster. He reached the first alien he shot, glancing down to its weapon. To his mild surprise it looked almost exactly like one of the CDI projectile rifles, only adorned with aged, scarred wood instead of the standard carbonweave that the CDI weapons used. The weapon itself was scarred and worn through what was obviously years of abuse. The others they had shot held similar stories; aliens with scruffy, coarse fur on their faces and equipped with aged projectile rifles that either saw use in a desert environment or a warzone for years if not decades.

“Captain Sykes here.” Their comm units came to life with the Ranger leader’s voice. “We’ve got eyes on the targets. Going hot, so keep your heads down.” Fox ducked into the stateroom as the faint rattle of projectile rifle fire started for a split second before being answered by the much louder report of heavy blaster cannons. What sounded like a rocket launcher went off in the fray, ending the exchange with a dull, hollow boom. Syke’s voice entered the channel once more, only a hint of stress behind it. “Looks like they had some sort of dumbfire missile with them. Barely made a scratch in the paint. We’ve got three lifesigns in the shuttle; is that your team?”

“That’s right, Captain.” Fox replied, standing up and holstering his blaster. “We’re headed right out; meet you in a moment.”

Chandril turned away from the grim work the Rangers were doing. Everything had been a blur. The soldiers removed the bodies and anything associated with Krystal’s occupation of the shuttle and arranged it outside in a display meant to go over any evidence they could find. The young Cerinian shut her eyes and remained on the living area’s couch, trying to keep the recent events from overwhelming her.

“Are you okay?” Peppy’s voice carried from behind her. The question was simple, though as she turned around his expression was full of concern and understanding. “You were looking out for us. Thank you, Chandril.”

She shook her head, forcing tears out of them. “I was scared, Mr. Hare. All I could think about were the Venom soldiers, and what they would do if they found Krystal. That… alien didn’t even know I was there. I killed it without a second thought. This isn’t who I am! This isn’t who we were taught to be!”

The older merc nodded, gently settling into the couch next to her. Nobody in their right mind wanted to kill others. He still found it distasteful, if sometimes necessary. She wasn’t in the military, and frankly he would have been worried if she showed no emotion to gunning down an alien combatant. “You’re right. There is a lot of training and mental preparation involved in fighting. Most of those who aren’t prepared like this hesitate. You didn’t. You showed great bravery and quick action.” He placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. She was only about his daughter’s age, and yet lost so much in so short a time. To add to that strife, she had to take someone’s life.

“Is this how those in Lylat lead their lives? Solving their problems with force and death?” The vixen drew a shaky breath, glancing toward the exit to the vehicle bay. Fox stood there in quiet conversation with the Ranger commander, a tall, heavily built canid of some sort. Violence was rare on Cerinia, although not unknown. However, these problems were far more wide-ranging than the typical banditry or criminal activity her homeworld knew. Wars were tales from centuries past, yet one came to their doorstep. One that they weren’t expecting or were even prepared for.

“Honestly? No.” Peppy’s reply was short but succinct. “Most in Lylat live peaceful lives. However, threats still exist. Piracy, lawlessness, and the Venom remnant are common out here. We’ve managed to keep the dangers out of the inner systems since the war, but that requires vigilance and effort. That vigilance and effort means using force to stop those who would harm others. This isn’t an easy job, but those who do it feel it is their duty to do so and take pride in taking a stand against evil and injustice.”

“I understand, Mr. Hare.” Chandril suppressed a sigh as she slumped back into the couch. “I know fighting was inevitable, but this is not what I was expecting. I’m not a warrior. I was trained to defend valuables from bandits, not kill alien creatures!” She glanced up to the older rabbit, yet was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

“Krystal?” The voice sounded very young and confused. “What are you still doing here? Where’s Brian?” Chandril shot up to see a peculiar creature trotting into the shuttle, a quadruped Saurian that was about the size of a baby pack beast. The Saurian stopped for a moment and stared at her intently. “No, you’re not Krystal. Who are you?”

The perplexed Cerinian crossed over to the small dinosaur, a wave of nervousness settling over her and a tightness starting in her chest beyond her still-aching body. “My name is Chandril. I’m a friend of Krystal’s, and I am helping look for her. Do you know where she is?”

The vixen noticed the intent stares of Peppy, Fox, and the heavily built Cornerian captain. Sykes spoke up before the Saurian could answer. “One of our teams found him in the tunnels. It was an absolute massacre there; an entire Red Storm hit squad got wiped out like they were nothing. It sounds like he was with your missing Cerinian.”

“That’s right.” The Saurian answered. “I’m Prince Tricky of the Earthwalker Tribe. I came along with Krystal and Brian to find the Spellstones and return them to their rightful place. However, two sets of bad guys came from the sky to hurt her. They had to leave to get help and to lead the bad guys away from here.”

Fox blinked, fishing that wallet he found from his belt. “Tricky, this Brian you mentioned. Is this him?” He pulled the strange ID card from the wallet and turned it to the young Earthwalker. At Tricky’s enthusiastic nod, he prodded further. “Do you know who or what he is? Maybe where he came from?”

“Absolutely! He said he is something called a human, from a planet called Earth that’s very far away. He said he was a soldier, and wasn’t sure how he got here. He was fighting with others like him when something happened and he woke up here. Krystal said he saved her life when this ship crashed.” Tricky blinked and looked over the room full of Cornerians who had given their undivided attention to him. “They rescued me from the Sharpclaw, and started to help return what Scales stole. If it wasn’t for them we’d be in really bad shape.”

Sykes turned away for a moment. “That would make sense. These other ‘humans’ might be the ones he was fighting against. They don’t look like professional soldiers. We’ve been working with your sensop to trace some of these drive trails, see if we can’t find this alien ship if it exists.”

As if on cue Fox’s wristcomp beeped, Slippy’s contact info popping up on the display. He pressed the button and the line opened with a quick beep. “What’s up, Slip?”

“A few things, Fox. I’m coordinating with the Ranger teams. Looks like they’re taking over operations on Sauria. Pepper has authorized their insertion to deal with the Sharpclaw threat. They’ve spotted a CDI Shrike on one of the orbiting chunks, but it isn’t the one Ivan and Yuri were using. They say it looks pretty banged up, but they’ll pull anything they can from it and send it to me. I’ve also chased their drive trail out of the system. As you know we can’t trace multiple jumps from this one vector, but it looks like they were jumping deeper into the Rim. The Remnant fleet went after them, but they’re probably an hour behind them.”

Fox nodded. An hour’s head start gave the designers many options for flight. The Remnant didn’t have much chance to keep up unless they got incredibly lucky. For them, the trail was much colder. They were a little over half a day behind; plenty of time to swap ships or to have reached a planet, base, or Freeport. “Does Pepper want us to try tracking them, or does he want us to go after the Remnant fleet chasing them?” The latter would be a tough fight, but they had faced far worse odds than a frigate and a few support ships.

“Pepper wants us to stick with finding that Shrike. He’s mobilized Gold Fleet to go after the Remnant, especially after they used that Purger on Cerinia. He wants any remaining Purgers located and destroyed, along with any manufacturing plans they may have.” Slippy paused for a moment, the hammering of a keyboard coming in loud and clear on the line. “He’s given me some logs. It looks like the CDI guys had a few encrypted conversations coming from a Freeport called Depth’s End. Something about a conversation with a former Venomian bioengineering and genetic modification specialist?”

“Why would they need that kind of expertise?” Fox wondered for a moment, before an idea struck him. “They could reverse engineer Cerinian abilities and augment others! Dammit!” He glanced over to the others; Tricky in quiet conversation with Chandril and Peppy. Something about this didn’t sit right with him. Cerinian genetic abilities. These ‘human’ aliens that somehow appeared in the midst of all of this. This Krystal character at the center of it all. These mysteries would be unraveled, and they were going to be the ones to do it. “Okay, Slip. Start plotting a course to that Freeport. We’re getting to the bottom of this.”

“This Freeport is pretty remote, Fox. We’re talking about six days out at full blast. They could be out of there by then. We can try Gating closer, but that’s going to take Pepper clearing the transport costs.” Slippy thought a moment. “The Arwings would be much faster, especially with the recent upgrade to the motivator coils. Gate charges would also be much less as they go by mass. We could cover that with the emergency maintenance account and get reimbursed. I’d say that would cut travel time down to two or three days.”

Fox nodded. He wasn’t a stranger to long-distance travel in the Arwing and it was designed to be at least reasonably comfortable for those situations. It was still a severe pain but it would allow them to at least have a presence there as soon as possible. “Okay. I’ll top off at the Great Fox and take off as soon as I can. I’ll save Peppy the wear and tear.” He grinned and glanced over to his mentor.

“Wait.” Chandril’s voice cut the levity short. “I’m going with you. Krystal doesn’t know who you are. If I’m with her, it will be easier to get her to come with us.” She approached Fox; sheer determination showing through her tired, aching visage. “I promised Priestess Generia that I would protect her. I’m not going to fall through on that promise.”

Fox took a deep breath and glanced to Peppy. His barely perceptible nod told him all he needed. “Okay, Chandril. Under the condition that we are strictly observers. We’re going to track Ivan and Yuri. We won’t confront them until they try to leave the Freeport. Just keep in mind that long distance travel in a starfighter is uncomfortable for many reasons. We won’t be able to stop for breaks. Do you think you can handle that?”

Chandril nodded. “I will do my absolute best, Captain McCloud. Anything to bring my friend back.”