Star Fox

Chaos Effect

Lylat: a cluster of habitable worlds circling a shared star. On the surface - it is an advanced, star faring civilization of disparate races united under the Cornerian Federation, the guiding light of science and culture to her protectorate colonies. In truth - it is a volatile, ad-hock government, shaken by decades of war, racial tensions, and crime. Many vessels ply its spaceways. A lone mercenary finds what work he can...

Three years after the Anglar Blitz

Fichina

Fox let out a grunt as he walked out of the bar and into the morning sunlight, holding up a hand while he waited for his eyes to adjust. It had been dark when he had gone in, but it was sun-up now, and there he stood, thirsty and regrettably sober. He'd spent nearly the entire time discussing business with his newest client, and the stingy bastard hadn't so much as offered him a drink. It pissed him off. You sit down to talk business in a bar, but don't spring for a little booze? He'd have bought his own, but this was a speakeasy in a ritzier part of town, so the drink list was a little rich for his blood. Jobs had been scarce these last few months, and even when he had work, the money he made usually went straight to maintenance. Add to all that the inescapable fact that he was up to his eyeballs in debt and, of course, still needed to feed himself every now and then, and it summed up to him having to pinch credits and scrimp.

The unflattering term, "like a Vulpan money lender," sprang to mind. His people had always had a bit of a reputation for being stingy, like frugal resource management was a bad thing...

Still, it wasn't like Fox was the stereotypical Vulpan. He spent like a sailor when he had enough steady work to justify it. The System was just too damn quiet these days. Not much work for a soldier of fortune in a peaceful star system.

With a resigned sigh, he spit out the toothpick he'd been chewing on, thrust his hands into his empty pockets, and headed toward the nearby star port where his arwing was docked.

This job was pretty cut and dry. Pick up the cargo in orbit, deliver it to the client's associate on Katina. It was nothing fancy, and the pay wasn't what he had been hoping for, but as things were he couldn't afford to be picky. With two full-sized hangars and only one arwing, the Great Fox had cargo room to spare. May as well make use of it.

The streets were busy, people coming and going all around him as he walked, and he let himself become lost in the crowd. Located about half way between Corneria and Venom, and given it had a faster orbit than either, Fichina found itself conveniently positioned for trade several months out of he solar year. As a result, it had developed into something of a trade hub in the shadow of the explosive growth Venom had experienced in the years since its terraforming. Whether you were buying, selling, or just trying to find work, you'd probably end up on Fichina sooner or later...

Fox found himself here a little too often. There was a lot of illegitimate activity on this world, and a number of unsavory individuals that came with that sort of territory who had become regrettably familiar with Fox over the last few years. He didn't have many good memories of this place, in general, but there were a few in particular which were putting him on edge.

None of this really justified the foul mood he was in, though. He scowled and blew a heavy breath through the sharp teeth this exposed. The truth was, he'd seen something tucked into the back of that bar that had worked on his nerves throughout the entire meeting. It was an arcade simulator - an older model. The owner had probably picked it up at a steal and kept it as a novelty. Above the simulator were the bright ,albiet flickering words: Star Fox Lylat Wars The Complete Collection.

Fox winced just thinking about those damn kiddie games. In the short lived landslide of fame and success his team had experienced after thwarting Andross's first attempt at conquering the star system, Fox had mistakenly sold the rights to his team's story to a virtual game development firm. The result was a series of virtual games revolving around a cartoon-carichaturized version of Fox and his team which kids could play that vaguely followed his life over the last decade and a half. Unfortunately, the fine print didn't say they couldn't keep making the damn things, and they'd followed him right up until the end of the Anglar Blitz. It was like watching his life made into a re-playable Saturday morning cartoon.

It was probably just years of paranoia, but it felt like the bastards were mocking him.

Sure, he still got royalty checks, but those damn games had done a serious number on his credibility as a mercenary. Especially the last installment. He had helped save the entire Lylat system for the God-only-knows-how-many-th time and all that game had seemed to focus on was the circus act of the final days of Fox and Krystal's now non-existent relationship. He was one of the best mercenaries in the System, damn it, not the star of some cheesy soap opera!

He groaned.

At least, he used to be one of the best mercenaries in the System. Now look at him, scrounging for cargo transport missions like an unlicensed merchant.

When he arrived at the port he slid his ID at the gate and headed for his arwing. The sooner he was starborne, the better. Not all of his visits to this place were friendly, and he knew of more than a few people who would just love to get their hands on him while he was in the area. It was a calculated risk. The chances of finding work slightly outweighed the chances of being caught. It had been a nervous few hours, but now that he was back at the local starport and ready to break atmo, he felt-

The terminal rejected his I.D. with a dull tone, and the security gate, a waist-high flap of hard, clear plastic, remained closed. Confused and a little frustrated, he slid his card two more times with the same result before an explanation announced itself.

"Fox! My friend!" a disgustingly familiar voice called, "were you really going to leave before seeing Vicini?

Fox's ears wilted and his shoulders slumped. "I was just thinking of you…" he said to the portly feline as he approached from his right, all smiles, arms spread in greeting. He wore loose, concealing robes that draped comfortably over his large frame.

"Why so glum? Does seeing Vicini truly cause you such grief?"

"I don't have your money," Fox said bluntly.

Vicini's smile didn't falter. "I thought you might say that, my friend, so I arranged for one of my friends in high places to put a lock on your fighter's hangar."

Fox gritted his teeth. Subtly, he loosened his blaster in its holster. He knew coming here would be risky.

"Now, now, let us be polite, my friend. There is no longer a hurry for you to leave, yes? I was hoping we could talk, you and I."

Fox sneered. "I hear you're still short handed after our last little talk. Sure you can spare anymore men on one of our conversations?"

Vicini's eye twitched ever so slightly. "Water under the bridge, my friend. And yes, I am regrettably without a sufficiently skilled pilot after that unfortunate little fiasco, which is exactly why I am here. You see, I have a business proposition for you!"

The only thing keeping Fox's blaster in its holster was the security detail waiting just beyond the starport check point. Shooting this bloated sack of filth would be a blessing to the whole system, but law men tended to have difficulty seeing past the letter of the law, and the prospect of causing trouble here had a price tag he couldn't really afford.

"I'd rather not get any more involved with you than I already am," Fox answered, trying to buy enough time to think of a way out of this situation, "Besides, I've already got a job, and dropping contracts is bad for business."

"Doing what?" Vicini laughed "Running cargo? You're better than that! And, more importantly, you will never make enough money to pay back what you owe me by performing such… menial tasks. If, however, you were to consider doing me this one small favor, I would be more than willing to dismiss your considerable debt, as well as pay you, say, fifty-thousand?"

Fox's ears perked up at the mention of his proposition. "Fifty thousand on top of what I owe you?"

The stingy prohibitionist from earlier was only paying ten.

Vicini's smile became less cheerful, gaining a more smug appearance. "Got your attention? Good. Come now, let us go somewhere more private. You look as though you could use a drink."

That was it, the magic words. It was the best thing Fox had heard all day. He let his hand drop from his blaster, back to his side. He didn't like the thought of working for Vicini. He was as crooked as they came, and the prospect of getting honest work from him was laughable, but, the way things were looking, Fox didn't have a choice but to hear him out. He wasn't going anywhere with his fighter locked up, and he could really use the money.

. . .

Fichina fell away beneath him as Fox's arwing finally left the hangar. He could feel the pull of gravity fade as he pulled away, even through the G-diffusers, and though he'd only been planet side for a few hours, it felt good to be adrift again. No weight, no worries, just endless, star filled space.

Fox switched on the com and hailed the Great Fox. "Rob, I'm starborne, what's your location?"

"Fox, repairing the ship's beacon would allow you to track the ship yourself…" Rob's toneless mechanical voice came back.

"Repairs cost money, Rob. Right now I'm just grateful we're still adrift," he answered.

Rob gave what Fox took for a sigh before sending the ship's coordinates. It wasn't far, and he was docked shortly after spotting the Great Fox in the distance.

"Did you find work?" Rob asked as Fox walked onto the bridge.

"It found me," he answered, slumping into a seat, "Get us gate clearance"

"Destination?"

"Titania," he answered in a low tone. Who would have thought he'd be doing something like this? A few years back, he would never have accepted this kind of job. Hell, he'd have probably spit in Vicini's bloated face just for offering it to him.

It might interest you to know, my information suggests that a member of the legendary Star Wolf squadron has been contracted to escort this convoy. It would seem that they are expecting trouble, and could think of no one else better suited to assuring a safe delivery. Vicini's words echoed in Fox's head. His hands tightened into fists. He would like to believe that he hadn't taken the job out of spite, that he'd just needed the money and that was all, but he wasn't in the habit of lying to himself. It was only after Vicini mentioned Wolf that he'd accepted the contract.

Regardless, once at Titania he was to rendezvous with Vicini's 'associates' in orbit below the planet's great ring. The details of the operation would be discussed, and they were to lay in wait.

"No worries…" he muttered.

"What was that?" Rob asked, turning away from the navigation console.

"Nothing. Are we cleared yet?"

"I've charted our route, and requested clearance. We are waiting for confirmation, but there is an expected wait of one hour due to the gate's heavy traffic and-"

"Great Fox, you are clear for departure to Titania. Please approach the gate via the following vector. Thank you," the curt voice of the star traffic control system cut in. Rob stood wordlessly for a moment before turning back to his navigations.

Fox smirked. It seemed his employer didn't want to any delays. Bribing gate authorities wouldn't have been cheep, and he couldn't help but wonder what it was that this convoy could be carrying to make it worth that kind of… extravagance. It was probably best if he didn't know.

He leaned back in his seat and propped his head to the side with a loose fist as the Great Fox neared the large orbital gate.

He really wasn't looking forward to what waited on the other side.