Nakar Gabab Presents

By the Gracious Glory and Mercy of Nintendo Inc. and the Nonprofit Clause of the US Copyright Law

Part I of the Echpalmara Series

Louis's Eyes

"He opened the door, and walked away

Sometimes the simplest step is all it takes

And from the mountain, he could watch it all burn

Welcome friend, to the point of no return"

-Terran Poet and Songwriter Kenny Loggins's "Leap of Faith"

Prologue

"Great men are spurred by ambition, faith, and most importantly, desire. Cancer was cured by a cancer sufferer. In such a way will I eradicate blindness utterly - for the sake of my own eyes."

-Dr. Panama Yangold

"Did you notice a shift?"

Louis shook his head, two blind eyes conveying permanent terror. The doctor nodded with his own sad, listless eyes and felt his device cautiously, fumbling. Locating the proper knob, he turned it and began projecting more light in his patient's face. The lion doctor asked again.

"Anything now?"

"Not even a hint of light," Louis Dreyman responded, his voice wavering and broken with months of despair. A nurse rapped lightly on the open door.

"Doctor Yangold?"

The doctor twisted his head towards the sound. "Yes?"

"X-rays are in, sir. Patient has two serrated viraflex wires between the retinas and perceptive neurons."

Dr. Yangold sighed. "What sad affairs we have, and states we live in. Louis, son, you have two foreign objects in your eyes. These wires are blocking your motor neurons and such... you can't see anything because your brain isn't getting the signals your eyes are sending, and therefore it's no better than having two sponges in your head that have nowhere to drain - it all 'evaporates'. We'd carefully remove the wires, but they're serrated, so they go in easily, but to remove them would destroy your eyes."

"Those bastards," Louis whimpered, "how could they do this?"

"Which bastards?" Posed the doctor.

"The goddamn 'Colonel's Racket' bastards, that's who. Some hypothetical splinter group turns up real, and they've got the sadism of a dozen god-knows-whats. Why me? Why did all this have to happen to me?"

Dr. Yangold placed a paw on Louis's shoulder. Gingerly the otter's muscles eased.

"Nobody knows why destiny is, and some say it isn't. I'm a religious man, so you know where I stand. If you were destined to be blind, God made it so for a good reason, and you have to adapt. There's no way to avoid it."

Doctor Panama Yangold helped his patient to the waiting room where friend and coworker Slippy Toad sat. The lion leaned closer to whisper into Louis's ear.

"But that's not to say we can't try to change our lives. Come see me in a few months; I might just have an answer."

Chapter One

"When Sara said go, I went; no choice there. There's a time for everything in life, and in our case it was a better idea than the alternative - join the Cornerian Navy"

-Dave Cuadre, Scarabs

The double doors parted. A lone, tall and confident fox in a sweaty black flight suit stomped quickly down the hall, her boots clicking softly on the linoleum floor. She approached the study and knocked on the glass window pane.

"Miss Dent?"

She opened the door and entered. Sitting at the desk before her was former commander Durbin Mogel, dressed plainly for his job as a university lector. The books and other such deals had died off, and Durbin had made by far the most money off of them, but even so, the Endievan Colony had more or less made few ripples on the civilian postwar scene. Little did any Lylatian know that far worse was yet to come. Durbin smiled.

"Some things never change. Buy some clothes, Sara. And have a seat."

She sat quickly. "Yes sir."

He smirked. "I am no more your superior than the bacteria in my spit is, Sara."

"That spit, sir," Sara replied, "carries great authority." Both laughed. Durbin sipped his coffee diligently.

"Sara, it took something big to draw you out of the job market and back to me. What's eating you?"

She stated her demand, her one true wish. "I want to fly again, s... Durbin."

A single brown eyebrow was raised. "Truly? And I factor into this... how?"

She explained. "Mr. Mogel, some of us - former members of Alpha and Beta squadrons - haven't sold our fighters. We've hung on because we feel we can get up there again, as independents, as mercenaries, as bounty hunters... as come what may. But we have to fly again, and we have to fly together. We need you, Commander. You can make this happen."

Durbin sighed and diverted his eyes, massaging a pained temple. "No... I can't. I was no catalyst. I was a second rate replacement for my father. He's left us now, and I can't do what you're asking. Not anymore, never again. No, Sara. I can't leave this job..." He returned her gaze with forlorn emotion. "But Sara, you're forgetting to first ask the most capable leader available."

She was perplexed. "Who are you talking about?"

He pointed across the table. "You, Sara. You were Alpha Squadron Leader... you sent even Starfox packing! With you at the helm no navy in the galaxy or beyond could soon stand. I'm flattered that you still remember my work, but Sara, you're too modest! It's like the blueprint - me - being given the credit due to the architect - you. It should've been you in that Commander's seat, and if only you'd been Sara Mogel and I Durbin Dent, it'd have been that way. Now don't get me wrong - I'll help. You need money, and I still have some royalty money coming in; not much, but enough to purchase supplies. And I also have one very nice, very important gift to offer you. I felt, once, that it would be mine. Now I know it was meant for you. You've heard of ROB64 on Great Fox?"

She nodded. "A robot, directly linked to his ship."

Durbin smiled and slid a small black box across the table.

"I give you... Scarab, part one. This is a core brain with feelings, emotions, ideas and rationalizations. And this," he said, unfurling a blueprint that had been sitting on his desk, "is the second part of Scarab - the actual ship."

She studied it. In many ways it resembled a stapler, and was almost as unwieldy. It was bent over in the rear, with two halves; the bottom flat, the top rounded and curved. Both surrounded a center area of hull and empty space for docking. Sara was overall unimpressed. Durbin quickly noted her disappointment and decided to change that.

"Looks downright stupid, eh? But if the shoe fits, then by all means, wear it. This ship could take on the entire Navy of Corneria for over 48 hours before being destroyed. Let me show you why. See the middle part, the fuselage? It can be sheathed under the top half, which can fold down to touch the bottom half, creating an armored beetle format that gave the ship its concept name. The bottom half can also bend back, giving the ship a heavy combat form - it exposes a hypervelocity tail laser and several underside bombing ports. With aid, it could be built in less than half a year. Believe me, it'd be worth it."

Sara giggled. "Better than Great Fox?"

Durbin smiled, breathing heavily. "A thousand times greater so."

Sara turned away, a few small tears welling in her red fox eyes. She at long last stood and crossed to the other side of the desk, locking her former commander in a tight hug. He returned it, then handed her the blueprint and shook paws.

"I've got to make some phone calls." Sara admitted.

Durbin's eyes widened. Such spirit! Sara would go far in life.

"To whom, Sara?"

"One to every member of Alpha and a few of Beta, to see who I can scrounge up; one to the media; and one to Fox McCloud. I think he needs to know there's a new legend in the making!"

Durbin coughed. "I think he'd believe you were stalking him, Sara."

"I'm just kidding, sir."

Durbin shrugged. "Fine then. Have a good time." He stopped her at the door. "Sara?"

"Yes sir?"

He saluted. She returned it. "Do this for the memory of Endieva. But never call me sir again. The colony is dead now, and with your new team's formation so too is Alpha and Beta."

---

Cooing quietly in her sleep, Terrie Brenner would have missed the call that would change her life. Thankfully for her, she was sleeping on the sofa, and was close enough to be aroused by the phone. Angrily she lifted the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hello Terrie?" A familiar voice responded. "This's Sara."

She sighed and chuckled, picking at her pheasant plumage. "You talked to Mogel?"

Sara sounded pleased. "Did I ever! We're gonna pull this off, Terrie! I've called Dave about this, and he's willing, but all the other Alpha pilots have either sold their fighters or aren't interested in leaving their jobs. So far it's just you, Dave, and me. We need one or two more pilots, probably from Beta. Any ideas?"

Terrie paused. "Well, there's Warren Kemperie. He's a bit kooky, but a great pilot as far as Betas go. He was Beta Leader. Umm... otherwise, there's Gannon..."

Sara burst into laughter. "Gannon Gaben? The ferret who doesn't know a cam shaft from a g-diffuser?"

Terrie huffed. "He does know money well... a great bookkeeper. Plus, he's kinda cute and he's only 24."

Sara giggled, acquiescing. "Well, you're right there. So then, you, me, Dave, Warren, and Gannon?"

Terrie affirmed it. "Get 'em if you can. I've got to know, Sara, how will we survive out there?"

"Well," Sara said, "there's our fighters. Durbin gave me plans for a flagship... a self-intelligent ship that we alone can have access to. Durbin'll fund it and everything. So what do you say?"

Terrie chirped contentedly. "What else can I say? You can count me in, Sara. I can't believe this is happening!"

---

The five sat together in a lonely waiting room at Arspace Dynamics Incorporated. Partners for almost five months, the team had gone through the various legal and business red tape that would assert them as a mercenary group. Sara studied her partners.

There was Terrie, of course, the pheasant. They'd been good friends during the Endievan years, but didn't go back farther.

David Cuadre was another story entirely. A praying mantis, Dave had surpassed all prejudices and expectations to become perhaps the greatest maneuvering pilot in Alpha Squadron. His sickle-like arms and huge frame were of little concern - his fighter had been modified to include a slightly larger cockpit. He had been one of Sara's childhood friends, a tough scrapper, noble protector, and modest hero.

The other two pilots were equally unique, though their flying skills did not quite keep up with the standards set by Dave, Terrie, and Sara. Warren Kemperie was an older turtle, and Gannon Gaben was a rare brown-footed ferret.

Warren was an adequate pilot but a capable mechanic, although his real forte was genetics - specifically, breeding champion Tornab Crabs which his grandmother had brought along on the colony ship a century before. He was known to have a slightly short temper, and was known to make mistakes when angry, but he had been the best pilot in Beta Squadron, and was as good as that breed came.

Gannon, however, was simply a wild card. At only 24, he was too old by Cornerian standards and too young by Endievan standards. Still, having not yet reached his prime, he was moldable into an Alpha-quality pilot, given enough experience. His true skill was business, and his savvy was hard to under appreciate. A compulsive gambler, Gannon had failed to become rich off his varied enterprises, one of which included a fast patenting of inventions from his grandfather. Able to charge for such things, Gannon was capable of making a great supply of money for the new team, if his habits were curbed.

They sat, chatting and eating hors d'ovures.

"You got a call then? From Mr. Toad?" Gannon questioned.

"Mr. Toad said everything was done," Sara opined, "and all that's left is to sign the final deed and take off."

"Great." Dave said. "Well now, Sara, we aren't much of a squad, are we?"

Warren smiled, glancing about at the various types of clothing the teammates wore. "I think that's irrelevant, Dave. We may not have uniforms, repainted fighters, or even a name, but we have each other, and we have the ships. That's enough for me, anyway. Well, crabs aside."

"We had an aquarium installed in your quarters, Warren." Terrie joked. "Sara takes care of us."

The door crept open. A meek, skinny newt poked his head into the waiting room.

"Dent, group of five? Owners of the..." he checked his quota list, "Scarab? Is that it? Your ship's ready."

Sara stood up, confused. "Where's Beltino Toad? He said he'd meet us. Who're you?"

The amphibian blinked (an odd impossibility). "Mr. Toad almost never leaves the floor. He'll meet us there. My name is Mr. Augustus Valentine, Assistant Director of Technology."

Dave laughed. "Oh, Mr. Toad's top flunky."

"Well," Augustus said fearfully, "in a simple sense, yes. Anyway, please follow me. Mr. Toad has been anxious to see you."

He led the five down a long, gray hallway. On both sides were partitioned workspaces, where various design teams were purported to work around the clock to design the greatest new ships in the Lylat system. More than one focus group was seen by the pilots to be playing Scrabble. At long last, Mr. Valentine stopped them in front of a large window. Sara gasped. Gannon pressed his face to the glass. Dave grinned contentedly.

Outside the window was the multistory complex called simply 'the floor'. Miles long, the floor held at least three medium size craft and countless new fighters at any one time. Most noteworthy, of course, was their own ship.

It was as the plan had suggested - so deep blue that it was night near black as space itself. Each fold of the craft tucked itself into the thick armor plates perfectly, as though the ship had been engineered by God Himself...

Sara was suprised when Mr. Valentine slammed a hard hat onto her head. He did the same for her comrades, and then placed his own personal hat upon his thick, moist head.

"We're entering a high risk factor zone. Please exercise caution, and so on. Shall we?"

He opened the lift and ushered the crew inside. A full minute later they watched the lift doors part, eagerly each awaiting the chance to get nearer to their craft. They were facilitated by the squat, aging toad that quickly approached. He shook Sara's paw.

"Miss Dent again, I see. Excellent! And to those who don't know me," he waved at her friends, "I'm Beltino Toad, Chief Director of Technology, Head of Engineering, and a few other titles they gave me that I can't remember. Coulda been on the board of directors, but I really don't want that, now do I? Have ta get off the floor and into the tower - yechh... businessmen. Anyway, I take it you wanna see your ship?"

They nodded in unison, shaking their varied heads eagerly.

"Great! I'd love to show it to you." They walked on towards it as he spoke. "It was really a pleasure to work on this one. Something new for a change. I do get tired of standard designs, always the same way, slow and methodical. Robots are no way to build - gotta have flesh and brains. Man, this was like Great Fox all over again! Aw... I'm getting all nostalgic on you guys. C'mon along. Gussie, you still here? You can go now."

Mr. Valentine darted off to his duties. The questions began, Gannon starting.

"Is it fast?"

Beltino laughed. "Very. Gave it new triple-pulse ion engines, and a Mark VI Hyperdrive from VoltaStar. Granted, it's not as fast as it could be, due to the armor."

"Yes," Dave pondered, "what about its defenses?"

"Twice the shields of an average craft of its size," Beltino rattled off, "plus about six times the armor. Or was that sixty? I hate math. Ah heck, it'd take a supernova to kill this thing, if you follow."

Sara beamed. "All in all, a great craft?"

Beltino leaned close to the cluster of pilots and lowered his voice, making it nearly unintelligible under the din of the welding torches, spark melders, and riveters.

"Truth be told, fellas, it's the best I've ever seen or worked on, and that's a good amount! Andross would never've stood a chance if we'd mass-produced this concept."

They smiled happily as they approached the medium sized cruiser, and stepped into the spacious hangar bay, connected to the floor by an automatic ramp for the convenience of the technicians. A few worked on final details such as floor work and inspections. They marveled at the intricacies of the ship and were pleased to see their fighters, albeit still painted with the fading marks of Alpha and Beta squadrons. Mr. Toad removed his hat and scratched his head.

"Only one thing wrong with this ship... logistically, it'd take two or three robots directly linked just to fly it. I hope you're prepared."

Sara patted a huge bulge in her right pocket. "Prepared as ever, Mr. Toad."

"Please, just Beltino. I like to be on a basis of friendship with Arspace's customers. Anyhoo, here's the contract, the final bill of sale. Sign here."

Terrie cautiously examined the document and signed it. Sara did the same, followed by Warren, Dave, and finally Gannon, who reread the bill six times to ensure that no trickery was involved. Beltino stamped the contract and laughed.

"It's all yours! Use it well and such, and thank you again for choosing Arspace Dynamics."

They said their good-byes and Beltino cleared out the remaining Arspace personnel. Without a word the five traipsed into the deepest bowels of the Scarab.

It was like a temple, an ebon shrine with a small depression in a deep, round column. Wires, dark and dormant, enwebbed the tall but small core. Sara withdrew the Scarab's 'brain' and panicked. She passed it to Warren, who carefully inserted it into the slot.

The core jumped to life. Engines hummed, wires lit with the fury of circuitry gone mad. The Scarab awoke. And, suprisingly, it addressed them.

"Computing eight times fifty-seven minus six-hundred plus twenty-five squared minus the square root of one-hundred-ninety-two-thousand, seven-hundred twenty-one... done. Analyzing crew... who are you five?"

"I am Sara Dent." Sara explained.

"Sara Dent, female mammal - canine. Species - Red Fox, c. vulpes. Logged."

"Warren Kemperie."

"Logged."

"Terrie... Brenner."

"Logged."

Gannon hacked and coughed.

"Logged."

"No! I'm Gannon Gaben! Forget that cough!"

"Impossible, Gannon." The core replied, "I cannot erase the event. Nonetheless, I understand. Logged."

"Dave Cuadre."

"Logged. Are you the entire crew?"

Sara nodded. "For now, yes. And who are you?"

The 'brain' hummed. "I am, by simplest lexicographical definition, naught more than a very-very-large-scale-integration chip set of electrical circuitry and silicon. My serial number is Z-421Q. I am designated Scarab Artificially Intelligent Machina. Judging from your colloquial use of the Basic language, an acronym would be simpler. Call me Sam."

"Sam?" Terrie asked. "Odd for a computer."

"From the first letters in Scarab, Artificially, and Machina. Now then, shall I turn on my personality?"

"Affirmative." Dave stated.

"Excellent; go to the bridge. I will 'meet' you there."

---

They stared at the nearly featureless bridge. Aside from a comscreen and a few panels of monitors, the room was utterly under Sam's control. It greeted them warmly.

"Hey there! As I guess you've noticed, I do all the work here, and do it with a mere passing thought. With my excess power I perform what is best called 'computations'. Anyhow, what say we get out of here?"

Sara plopped down at a crew table. "By all means, Sam, go right ahead."

Sam responded by igniting the Scarab's main engines. Minutes later Arspace Dynamics was a speck on the surface of Corneria. The debate over basic details commenced.

"First and foremost, we need a name." Terrie said. The others agreed.

"Might I make a suggestion?" Sam asked. Sara chuckled.

"Sure!"

"As our craft is named the Scarab, I suggest the squadron also be known as the Scarabs. This is not only less confusing, but more intimidating."

Gannon was taken aback. "How's a little beetle intimidating?"

"The Scarab Beetle," Sam admonished, "is a resilient animal. Capable of weathering attacks that would eliminate any other insect, the Scarab is all but invincible when it encloses itself within a shell of chitin. This suggests that you are as tough and difficult to harm. The psychological benefit is deep-seeded, but tremendously effective."

Warren laughed. "I like it." He placed his paw on the table's center. "The Scarabs, then?"

"Ay, the Scarabs." Gannon agreed, placing his paw atop Warren's. Soundlessly, Dave followed.

"Fine with me," Sara conceded, placing her paw atop the previous three. Terrie then did the same.

"Perfect! Sam, you're wonderful." She said.

"Modestly, Miss Terrie," Sam boasted, "I believe that is but the least you will be able to say of me."

Chapter Two

"I never met Gardiner Harland, but I'm still sort of sorry he's dead. I wanted to be the one to kill the creep."

-Louis Dreyman, Starfox

They sent pulsed signals to his brain. The cold new wiring absorbed that data, and with simple packaging, sent it off to the main cerebrum for decoding. In this manner did Louis Dreyman's 'new eyes' work.

Doctor Yangold had given up on repairing biological eyes, and had instead turned to cybernetics. The field had previously produced terrible, easily detectable, and of course, failure-prone 'eyes'. His aim had been eyes that were not only indistinguishable from real eyes, but superior to them in every way. The eyes were made, two pair, and tested to be certain they were perfectly safe...

And for Louis, the first recipient, they had been. He knew little of his operation, only that before it he had damaged but fully biological eyes, and afterwards they were metal and electronics with a layer or artificial tissue. And they were indistinguishable - they made no noise and moved totally normally without clicks or hydraulic whooshes. Better still, they were far superior to the pair he had before. Louis could see with crystal clarity and had almost perfect night vision. Doctor Yangold declared Louis's operation a success and underwent the operation himself.

But his older body would not stand for the new eyes, and the doctor died in surgery. Some said it was because he was old; others blamed the inexperience of his replacement, citing that only Yangold was capable enough to operate on Yangold. Nonetheless, Louis was alone. He knew of no others who had undergone the procedure, either. He had missed his sight for almost a year, missed it dearly, but there had been much to learn from the darkness.

With melancholy he switched on the news. Stories of accidents, homicides, and horrid conflagratory explosions. Angrily he clicked off the screen and tossed the control device across the apartment room. He was happy enough at times, but there was always the random situation that made the young otter want to retreat again into a world without pictures, without auto accidents, body bags and tombstones. Darkness could not hide death - nothing can hide from itself - but it could blot the pain that issued forth, end the suffering, the greed and the despair. But then...

All these were temporary escapes, these flights into darkness. Nothing about them were of any finality - the dead stayed dead, and the hurt felt the pain once they realized their loss. But what had Louis lost? He contemplated his own fortunes. He was no more blind than anyone else, and he lived; others in his position were not as lucky. He had a home, an excellent job with wonderful heroic people, and a place in the grand scheme of things. But, as when he was blind, he was alone... ever so much so as when at home.

He rose and retreated across the living room of his Corneria City apartment. The message device told him that he had two messages. The first was a distance call from Devoniay. A relative's voice cut in.

"Hey cos. Feeling alright? Been awhile since we've talked. Damn embargo's made life hard. But then, we aren't stuck under a governor's thumb like you are. My offer still stands, by the way. Anyhow, I just called to check up on ya. Tell Fox what I said about Fara - he'll sway her one way or the other with it. See you someday - I hope. Your cousin, D.M."

Louis smiled. His favorite cousin, a 'traitor' and 'brigand'. If Devoniay fell he'd probably die for his involvement with it, but that wasn't much of a concern to Louis. He was impartial on the subject of Devoniay... the memories were enough for him. Perhaps too much.

The second message was anonymous, but there was no doubt the caller was female.

"Mr. Dreyman? Hi there. I've got to confess I feel awkward talking to you... well, leaving you a message anyhow. I'm a... well... I guess an admirer. When I found out once that you were joining Starfox I thought it was really neat! I'd seen... heard of you before. I really felt bad when you lost your eyes because I know what that's like. See, I was blind too, and I went through the same operation you did. I love it! How could I possibly live without my vision now... uh... I'd really like to meet you sometime... but I'm really nervous. I'll call again soon and tell you my name, I promise. Love, Your Secret Somebody."

Louis's heart skipped a beat. A secret admirer? The classic cliche of a love triangle? Or, in his case, a straight line? He'd wait for her reply - and he sincerely hoped she'd keep her promise.

"You know something, Louis?" He asked himself as he dressed for work. "You always end up in the dark, no matter how hard you try."

---

"You noticing anything... strange about Louis today?" Peppy asked Falco as they sat in Great Fox's crew lounge. The bird laughed.

"Not much more than usual, no."

Enter Louis Dreyman. Nearly skipping with sickeningly gregarious joy, the young mechanic darted into the living area and examined the mail.

"Bill, bill, bill," he said cheerily, "Bill!"

Falco turned in his seat. "Arspace's interest sure piles up, eh?"

"No, I mean a letter from Bill. It's addressed to Fox. Probably more relationship hints for Fara."

"It's not a relationship!" Fara shouted as she walked into the room. "Fox and I are as close as we've always been!"

"Thank God you're not any closer, or you'd be the same person." Peppy mused. Louis and Falco erupted into hysterics. Fara huffed.

"Oh c'mon. Nothing is so important it can draw Fox and me together!"

---

"More so than you think, girlie..." the voice noted as it watched the bugged sentry camera outputs onboard Great Fox. An aide approached.

"Sir?"

Colonel Gardiner Harland, cigar in leaf as usual, swung fully about and glared at his interrupter.

"Is this about the station again? I already told you twice - Corneria's got it. Bomb the goddamn thing and get it over with."

The assistant, a macaw, stammered. "Well, no sir, it's just this..." He slid some snapshots of a strange, armored cruiser to his leader. Gardiner cackled and puffed heartily.

"Damn. There's more to steal every day. What the hell's that, a flying stapler?"

"No sir," said the bird, "it's a ship design being utilized by a new mercenary group. They call themselves the Scarabs, sir."

The Colonel threw his cigar across the room and quickly lit another. "Aw shoot. Starfox, Starwolf, Justice Cadets, blah blah blah... more two-bit groups doing for cash what could be done damn cheaper by a better Navy. Ah well, less coherency means more for me. But another name to remember? It's too damn much!"

The macaw aide nodded. "It is, sir. However, we thought that, as the leader is responsible for once downing Fox McCloud's team, we..."

Gardiner shook his head leaves. "Warn me!? Goddamn it all! That pisses me off royally. Look at me! Torn in half by that Grey bastard. But I regrew from a leaf. A leaf! Does one more damn squadron bother me in the least. I run the frickin' Colonel's Racket! I have more agents than the Cornerian Secret Service! In fact, my spies make up almost HALF the Cornerian Secret Service! Two weeks from now I'll have three times the money I do now, as well as maybe even one of Andross's old bioweapons... God I love home cooking. Commence the usual projects and ignore the Scarabs. We'll see how big a piss in my roots they are soon enough."

He nodded. "I'll tell them, Colonel."

"Damn straight you will. And now. I've been doing this longer than you've been alive, and I'll keep it up long after you're dead... now get the hell out of my office! I've got lots of important papers to ignore."

Chapter Three

"Our aim is to provide the best possible piloting skills for the least money, and therefore generate better revenue for our employers. It's not about glory or fame - being a mercenary is a business occupation, no less.

By the way, that'll cost you five credits, Sara."

-Gannon Gaben, Scarabs, Scarabs Mission Statement

General Pepper studied the intelligence report casually. He turned to a nearby communications officer.

"Have you read this?"

"No sir," she replied, "seeing as it's classified and for you alone."

Pepper examined the sticker that read "For Your Eyes Only". "Why, so it is... anyhow, I need a line opened to some mercenaries, and quick. Who's available?"

"Starfox as usual," the junebug stated, "and some new group. Scarabs, I believe. Who should I hail?"

Pepper scoffed. "Why, Sta... now wait. Starfox is getting awfully expensive, isn't it?"

The junebug nodded. "Last time it was over thirty grand. Shall I try these new mercs? They're bound to be cheaper."

Pepper nodded. "Put me through."

---

Lightning lanced around the large church complex in downtown Corneria City. A tall mongoose in robes ministered to his congregation.

"They're coming from beyond Lylat! I have heard the whisper of God, near silent at night, of the great evil that will befall us for our sins! I shall tell you exactly what I heard them say! And what they looked like! Doom is coming, dear people."

A booming, bassic voice opined over the sound system.

"You'll never know how right he is!!!"

Thunder rocked the church. Instantly the lights failed. Seconds later, a single curdled scream arose from the darkness and was quickly silenced. In minutes the power was restored...

Revealing the slashed and decapitated corpse of the minister. The worshippers gasped.

High atop the roof, a figure in a dark overcoat smiled and tossed the head of the minister into the air above the church. Unbelievable reflexes unholstered his high-powered rail pistol, and the head exploded in midair like a pumpkin filled with firecrackers. The man tucked his hat over his face and stepped into a sloop conveniently landed on the roof. He took off into the fury of the evening storm, pressing a button with nary a thought.

Behind him, the church rocked on it's foundations and collapsed on two hundred as a missile from the craft's rear hit it's target.

"But the man who heard and did not take these words to heart built his house without a foundation, and when the flood came his house was swept away..."

A bubblish, milky voice spoke.

"Is it done?"

A nod. "Done. The apocalypse came early for them, Gonny! So says Dark Twilight."

"Be it ever so, Dark Twilight." came his response.

---

The screen clicked on. Pepper saw a slightly unkempt but determined red fox. Sara saw a plump, somewhat too well groomed dog. Pepper tried to smile at Sara's giddy expression, but managed only a weak smirk. The general spoke first.

"I don't believe I've heard of your outfit... you are?"

Sara smiled broader. "Sara Dent, leader of the Scarabs. Like the insect."

Pepper managed a genuine smile. "I see. We decided to call you because, Starfox aside, there was no team uncontracted at the time. Your team is as yet unproven."

Sara giggled. "Oh, just you wait!"

Pepper scowled. Cocky girls. "I have no time to be cautious in my choices. Listen up then, Miss Dent. Recently a great deal of metal was shipped by an unknown sales group and transported to a location we cannot disclose to you. We now know this same group, whoever they are, is shipping pure biomass from a small Fortunan outpost to that same location. We want it stopped, and the Navy isn't really organized to strike at the convoy at that point. What's the extent of your forces?"

"Five pilots with Endievan fighters."

Pepper's eyes brightened. "The recent colony!?"

Sara smiled. "Three of us were Endievan Alpha Squadron Pilots, the very best. Two were Betas, almost as good. We can get the job done. What's our expected resistance?"

"Unknown," Pepper responded, "might be light, might be medium to heavy. What's your offer for the job?"

"Hold on, let me call over my business expert. Gannon!"

A ferret popped onto Pepper's screen.

"We want five thousand for the job itself, and another five if we recover the biomass undamaged. Since you don't have a total figure for resistance, we want five-hundred as bounty for every kill, plus salvage rights. Deal?"

Pepper laughed. "That's quite a propositioner you've got there, Miss Dent! If he's as good at piloting as he is at negotiation I'd hire your team twenty times over! Fine then, five-k for the job, ten if the biomass is returned, and five hundred credit dollars bounty for each kill. Get a contract drawn up and I'll sign it upon completion of the mission. Good luck, Scarabs."

The screen winked off. Sara leapt joyously.

"Yahoooo! We got a contract! Gannon, that was great!" She clasped her partner firmly and swung him about. Sam provided commentary.

"I must say, Gan-man, that for a first time that was a nice idea. Cheap enough for their tastes with a tempting, open-ended contract that has a potential high yield. What'll we do with the money, Sara?"

Sara smirked. "We'll make ourselves a bit more presentable, that's what. Uniforms, better equipment, new paint on the ships, the works. Whatever's left we'll divvy out as salaries. Sam, switch me on shipped."

Sam clicked. "Go for it."

Sara addressed the group.

"Terrie, Dave, Warren? OK guys, listen up. Gannon just negotiated a contract. Sam's taking us to Fortuna, where we'll stop a biomass convoy. The pay's decent, so don't get killed over it. Check your ships and get ready to hit the skies!"

---

The Scarabs cruised over Fortuna in a star formation - Sara at the head, Dave on her right wing and Terrie to her left; Warren and Gannon took the rear. A plan had been carefully wrought out by Sam; Sara was convinced it would work. Regardless, they would try.

"Warren, Gan, fall out and commence mission." Sara commanded. Tipping their wings, Gannon and Warren broke off and flew towards a nearby ridge. Sara and Dave spotted the convoy's guard fighters first, but Terrie had faster reflexes.

"There they are!" Sara yelled. A laser blazed from Terrie's ship and cut the center out of a fighter. The wings fell away harmlessly.

"Break formation, Scarabs!" Sara ordered.

They split apart and engaged the fifteen remaining ships. They were old Venomian Invader II's, hardly worth their cost to an independent organization.

Sara ended three pilot's lives with a charged laser and Terrie had since added two more kills and was closing in on another.

"He's a tricky little devil," she remarked as the fighter bobbed and swayed to dodge her locking sensors. Suddenly, Terrie dove, and the craft rose in anticipation. To which the quick pheasant pulled out of her fake drop and came rapidly up under her target. She flew through the wreckage her lasers made, metal flitting harmlessly off her shields.

Dave, meanwhile, was being pursued by six ships. His left wing of the "C" was smoking, and the pilots pounded mercilessly, not bothering to maneuver. Quickly enough Dave's actually undamaged craft ceased to release the dummy smoke and instead discharged an explosive. Without a chance it took out the six pursuers. Terrie laughed.

"Nice bluff, Dave! Even had me worried!"

Sara polished off the thirteenth Invader and laughed, then received Dave's news.

"The last two are getting away, That's a full grand slipping through our fingers..."

He needn't have finished his sentence, for as he did Gannon and Warren darted over the ridge and blew the two away. Following immediately behind them was the Scarab, unfolded and ready for a bombing run. Warren and Gannon swept low and snatched the container with tractor beams, taking off as fast as they possibly could. The other Scarabs formed a tight pyramid around them, even as the Scarab finished off what remained of the convoy. Warren cheered.

"Mission accomplished, Scarabs! And with full payment! Hey Dave, you're the math guru. How much did we just make in all?"

"Eighteen-thou." The mantis responded in mechanized fashion. "Plenty enough for me. Shall we be off then?"

---

Boxes upon boxes of money greeted Louis Dreyman, Starfox Mechanic, as he slipped into the bay of the large ship adjacent to Great Fox at the small spaceport. The otter had an 'open ramp' policy on his own ship, and assumed most mercenary outfits were the same way. He gazed about the empty, lifeless hangar. Immediately, he noticed the five fighters in the middle of the bay. They were Endievan Fighters - or "C"s, as he called them. This he found interesting enough, and without another thought he traipsed towards them. No sooner was he within ten yards of the craft then a voice accosted him.

"Where do you think you're going, pal?"

Louis spun about, unable to pinpoint the source of the voice.

"Never mind... hey Warren!"

A greasy turtle clambered out of a nearby fighter which was larger than the others. He immediately spotted Louis.

"Hey. What do you think you're doin' here, pal?"

Louis backed up. "I really didn't mean any harm! I'm just looking around..."

"In other people's ships?" The anonymous voice of Sam commented. "Not the sort of thing normally done. Who are you?"

Louis gulped. "L... Louis Dreyman. I'm Starfox's mechanic."

The turtle laughed. "Well why didn't you ask? We'd be glad to show you guys around." He hopped out and crossed the deck to Louis. "Warren Kemperie, member of the Scarabs."

Louis looked puzzled. "Can't say I've heard of you."

Warren shrugged. "Brand new, in a general sense. Did one job so far and we did it well. We're using the cash to give our old fighters new and matching paint jobs, and to purchase distinctive uniform like outfits. Y'know. Where're your pals?"

Louis cocked his head. "Probably the bar. Yours?"

Warren chuckled. "Same place, except for Sam."

"Who's Sam?" Louis asked.

"Who indeed!" The voice resounded. "I'm Sam!"

"Is Sam somewhere else in the ship?" Louis posed to Warren. The turtle shook his head.

"Sam's like your ROB - he is the ship. Rather, a self-intelligent core plugged into the mainframe."

Louis brightened. "How cool! This is why I loved the Endievan thing, new stuff. Stuff's my hobby, y'know."

Warren rolled his eyes. "Is it?"

Meanwhile, in the bar, Sara was meeting with a clothing manufacturer.

The businessman, a chipmunk, slid a sketchbook across the table to Sara. She studied it carefully.

"So what we're looking at is the standard Navy's gray pants most people use, shirts... and this is odd... vests instead of flight jackets?"

The chipmunk smirked. "Research shows that most pilots need more pocket space. Most flight jackets have no pockets. Thus, a vest is a more practical solution."

Sara conceded. "True. Black, you said?"

"To match your ship and namesake."

"Gotcha. That all?"

The exec stood, collecting his gear. "Yup, that's all. It'll cost a thousand for materials, manufacturing, and delivery. Do we have a deal?"

Sara stood, clasping his paw. "Deal. We'll pay immediately." She handed him the required sum and he left, leaving a business card behind. Sara sidled to the bar.

Though the spaceport was all but abandoned, the bar itself was well populated. David, Terrie, and Gannon aside, the only patrons there were easily recognizable as the Starfox team. Confidently Sara sat at an empty stool next to Fox and got the bar beast's attention.

"Bartender, something for my competitors here."

Fox ran the voice through his mind. It had been awhile, but somehow...

He shifted in his seat and laughed happily.

"Sara? Sara Dent! it is you, isn't it?"

She giggled. "Well, yes."

Fara inquisitively sized up the female that Fox was being so cordial with. Though she was certainly not dating Fox, she assured herself, it was best that she protect him. Just in case; just in case...

Fox introduced them. "Fara, this's the pilot from the Endievan colony that shot me down! Sara, this is my coworker Fara Phoenix... and Fara, this is Miss Sara Dent. What've you been doing with yourself, Sara?"

She laughed and pointed to her comrades and her drink arrived. "I've got a mercenary outfit of my own now."

The bartender, a weasel, put down the glass he was cleaning and spoke.

"Y'know, speaking for mercs... this here's the very bar where Edge 53 was humiliated, every member beaten to a pulp by just one ferret."

Fox was impressed. "That was some ferret! Who was he?"

The tender man shrugged. "Dunno. He took off before they could get their guns. Hoo boy, he'd be dead if Edge 53 was still active!"

"Edge 53 was old-fashioned," Fox said. "Ground forces have died in favor of good pilots with competent ground skills."

Sara raised her glass. "I hear ya, Fox!"

As the evening wore on, Starfox and the Scarabs grew to know and like each other. They traded old piloting stories and began to develop a respect that the Starfox team had never really felt for any other outfit. Before the other groups had been inferior pilots, with skills to make up for their lack of flight control. But here, Fox reasoned, was firm and stiff skill coupled with pretty good morals. He saw in the Scarabs a great deal of potential (potential was a fancy way of saying 'you aren't worth a damn yet') that could lead to their going down in history.

And he was proud. Fox had never wanted to take all the credit for heroism in his time. Little did he know that elsewhere there were events being set in motion that would spawn a chance for still more heroic deeds.

---

The door to Colonel Harland's office burst open.

"What the hell's the meaning of... oh. Hey."

The imposing figure before him was not pleased. It plucked the cigar from Gardiner's leaf and tossed in aside.

"They aren't happy now... and Gonyaulax is the worst of them all. You failed them, failed him! And it reflects terribly on me."

Gardiner laughed. "How low the mighty Dark Twilight's fallen. Shit, Dark, you got no sense! They love you, Gonny especially. So it's a little setback."

Dark slapped Harland's stem, twisting it and temporarily stopping the flow of water. The Colonel reeled.

"Listen to me, you stupid potted moron. I have no time for failures, even from such a powerful man as you. I have agendas that, as official ambassador, I must advance before my superiors get here. And time's wasting. When Gonyaulax says your failure isn't acceptable, no damn idiot will argue."

Harland laughed. "Had to come sometime... so how you gonna off me? Deny water? Burn me?"

Dark Twilight cackled. "Of course not! That's too good for you. I'll keep you on hiatus for a time, that's all. Gonyaulax doesn't want you dead."

Harland smiled. "And who's gonna run the Colonel's Racket, genius?"

The macaw ducked his head inside the officer. Twilight, in his dark coat and hat, wheeled about, a gloved paw whipping his rail pistol from its holster. The luckless bird's head cracked in half and the spinal cord sprung out like a weathered tree branch. Dark smiled as Harland cringed.

"That felt so good... I get fidgety sometimes." Dark mused.

He holstered his gun and pulled out a teleport device. Locking onto the plant, Twilight spoke.

"We still need you Harland. Until then, enjoy your stay at our fine accommodations."

Colonel Gardiner Harland vanished. Dark Twilight overturned his box of cigars and leapt onto the overstuffed chair. He turned to the window and stared into the night sky, one star in particular catching his attention.

"In seven years," he decreed, "that star's demise will be visible from here."

He broke into a fit of mad laughter.

"If this system's star is still burning then, that is!"

Chapter Four

"The time of judgment is soon upon us. Then and only then will you be dragged before his mightiness and consigned to a fate so violent that you will wish I had never been so betrayed as to turn on you. This is your final warning!

THIS IS THE TIME FOR YOUR SURVIVAL!"

-Dark Twilight

Louis blinked. His eyes were no the same... they were fuzzing out. It took him only a moment to assess the problem. Some sort of signal was jamming his eyes.

He began to reassemble his vision. He was not in his quarters - instead, he was in some sort of room. The walls hummed and pulse like living flesh, and he was frightened indeed. He soon realized he was seeing the spectacle from a different pair of eyes. But why?

He could not see any Lylatians in the room, but he could make out four formless... things... around a similarly pulsating table. One was plated in thick metal that formed a sort of armor; upon the top of him - which Louis assumed was the head - sat a huge metal helmet with seemingly royal connotations. At his side was a tremendous vibrosword. Louis gasped at him as he came to the slow realization of what he was looking at. At his left and right were two identical beings, cloaked and armored in a similar manner, minus the helm. Behind the crowned one stood another, ever vigilant. Louis understood his eyes to be those of some other, standing opposite the regal one. The helmed one rose.

"Greetings to you... Gonyaulax?"

His right nodded, or at least did what would pass for a nod. "Yes sir. This is indeed he."

"And this is all there was? I see... honor lies inside. Trypanosome knows - his physical and mental failings are masked by his valor, honor, and faith. So let it be. Will he speak?"

"No sir." His left responded. "He is not even aware that it is he we are addressing."

The helmed one bowed his 'head'. "Let honor be your protection then, my friend. We will seek you again upon our arrival..."

Louis's view faded back to the Great Fox. His ceiling was all he could see - in the midst of the vision he had stumbled and now lay motionless on his back, paralyzed by fear and confusion. Louis quivered.

Was that 'honorable one' him? The aide had said that the recipient was not aware he was being spoken to. Louis entertained the notion that some odd technology had brought his conscious to some other place. But what did it mean? Who was arriving? And how he, of all people; how did he fit into the equation? Had he really seen what he believed he had?

His luck was uncanny, as another action snatched up his bionic eyes and carried them off to some other time and space...

"Mogel?"

The meerkat doctor, whom Louis had met during the Endievan Conflict, stood on a pinnacle of rock overlooking a planet of some sort. It was beautiful - nothing but ornate spires and water. He turned and acknowledged Louis.

"Mr. Dreyman... you of all people. Hmmh. All that exists in the Lylat System hinges upon your life. And, of course, on mine. Don't drag me into this, Louis, or they may have me trapped."

"Who? Trapped?" Louis said frantically, hoping Mogel could hear him. Mogel smiled.

"Oh, you'd never know. But you must realize they will use your eyes, Louis, to see Lylat, spy on it. And you cannot ever again make note that you know me. For you see, I will set into motion events that can save Lylat, but only if you give me time!"

"Bu... but I don't know where you are!" The otter stuttered.

Mogel shook his head. "You do, Louis. You know too well. Mortals so far from God need not meddle in His affairs; but I am. Believe me, Louis, it's the only way to prevent what God knows will be."

Louis was stunned by the seeming blasphemy Mogel was spouting. "Wh... what will be?"

Mogel adjusted his glasses, turned to face the seas and rock formations, and sighed, gazing skywards.

"God will have Lylat destroyed soon... and only you and I know how to prevent it."

---

Sara yawned and stretched. She had slowly become accustomed to her chambers aboard the Scarab, and her own fastidiousness made it tricky for her to decide what to customize about such chambers. She wanted something beautiful, but not overly pleasing, as though too much finery was a sign of some unforgivable wrong. Pleasantly, Sam was the only one who watched her goings-on aboard the ship, but she was certain he wasn't about to tell.

Sara let out a slight sigh as she paced the thickly carpeted floor. She had always liked carpet; the way it felt underfoot, the pretty color and texture, and the manner in which it muffled otherwise annoying footsteps. She plodded across her spacious (and empty) room to her window. There, before her, was a new and different Sara Dent, a Sara Dent who had shed her gray Endievan flight suit for Lylatian garb - the standard shirt and pants (her shirt being lavender, Gannon's orange, Terrie's sky blue, Dave's beige, and Warren's white) and the characteristic black vest by which she would be identified and (hopefully) respected. Sara Dent had been a machine, a machine loyal to Endieva and to the unwilling heir of a brilliant dynasty. Oh to truly know Dr. Mogel! There was the meerkat Durbin had never wanted to be like. He had been a man of power, still leading Endieva's mind set even after his own disappearance.

And she had been faithful to him. She realized what a foolish idea that had been. Great men are too preoccupied with the universe to feel true emotion - Doctor Mogel did not truly care for Endieva, but for a far greater picture that Sara did not want to, nor could ever try to, see.

Sara brushed back her headfur and discovered to her great suprise that she was sweating profusely, as though her mere thinking of Mogel unleashed upon her feeble brain all that he thought, believed, and cared for.

She did not know that at that very moment Mogel was changing his views on all that he thought, believed, and cared for.

Dave thought very differently of his former role model. As a boy he had learned of the great Amaden Mogel, and how he in one fell swoop began the Reexamination Age almost a thousand years before the Endievan Colony returned. He had also invented the ion engine and phaser - accomplishments of beauty and power that were so callously taken for granted. Whenever Cuadre heard of murder and war he thought of the ancient Amaden, laboring in crude fluorescent light at a small worktable. Each mild tweak, each revelation, led to a wonderful and poetic finish. And that very finish was ending the lives of countless beings in the time it took the mantis to imagine Mogel. And Mogel was not at fault for those deaths - if he had not invented a phaser, there would simply have been other methods of killing. By the same token, whatever his brilliant descendant was working on was most certainly the greatest work in the history of Lylat. Dave clicked his pincers and pondered the overall possibility that Patrick Mogel would bring about the next age - and Dave would say then that it had been he whose families were wise enough to follow Mogel's visions and had heralded the future with fantastic minds. Dave was willing to follow. That was what drew him to Sara - she led, and he knew she led with a unique and clever vision, one very much different from Mogel's, and at the same time so close to it in concept. Yes, he would follow loyally, as his own ambitions were never enough to convince him otherwise.

Warm water traced its path down Sara's neck, past her back and stomach and dripped from her waist and feet, falling into the shower basin below. Why she had so soiled herself in thought was a mystery, but a mystery with a useful and enjoyable solution.

Showers had been Sara's personality before leaving Endieva's service. Freed from uniform and regimen, Sara could withdraw into her own world and evade all that had made her Endievan.

It was still her world, even though her life had changed. The water coursing through her fur was just water, but in her mind it was a torrential monsoon, ravaging the unsafe basin of Dentia. The soap alcove was a somewhat safe refuge, but even so it would be invaded by the paw of the almighty Dent Colossus, ever willing to oppress her citizenry. Not that there were many; life was easy enough at times on Dentia, but the arrival of the Great Dent unsealed her hidden wrath and flushed the world clean with otherwise withheld rains. Yes, she was a goddess, but only alone, and only in the confines of her own bathroom. Sara closed her eyes and buried her face in the spray, drinking it, feeling it, adoring it. There was no contract negotiation in the shower, no hectic work, no concerns. It was paradise, undiscovered and wonderful.

---

The door to Louis's quarters nearly blew open with constant pounding. Still swooning from his own difficult recovery, Louis stood and stumbled to the door.

"Who is it?"

No one answered. Shaking his head, he opened the door.

And there she was. A tall bird in Cornerian Navy clothing, standing before him with the utmost of confidence. She closely resembled a peacock in some ways, with a long multicolored tail and a beak that rolled downwards at the end. But she was crimson red instead of blue, and carried herself with the poise and confidence even the king of birds could not muster. She grinned, speaking in the voice he recalled from the message.

"Mr. Dreyman? I'm the one who's been admiring you. I'd like to introduce myself..."

---

Terrie Brenner would've made a lousy feminist. Her sole passion, aside from flying, was cooking. She was hard to please and sought constantly to improve upon time-honored recipes. Although the Scarab could spontaneously generate any sort of food it had previously sampled, Terrie knew that replication was no way for her teammates to dine. She utilized the vast kitchen aboard the Scarab, staking it out as her own the minute she found it, and had labored over the previous two hours to produce a fitting victory meal. It was to be Tornab Crab Thermidor with Zonessian Seasoning. As a side she had prepared Quembic (after Quembia, a city on the Cornerian equator) Potato Salad topped with indigenous Cornerian Garlic. Each meal was accompanied by the crew member's favorite beverage - Endievan Tea for Sara and herself, Khadar Nectar for Dave, ice water for Warren and milk for Gannon. She washed her paws and reviewed her culinary masterwork - flawless.

"Sara? Sara? Are you alright?"

Her eyes fluttered open. The shower was still drenching her belly, and she had somehow fallen asleep in the shower. Sitting up, Sara shook her head and questioned Sam.

"Yeah Sam, I'm okay. How are you?"

"Never better!" The ship's brain replied. "Terrie has asked me to inform you that dinner is ready."

A tongue darted across Sara's snout as she stood, switching off the water. "Anything good?"

"She's asked me not to tell, but it is a feast fit for the president himself. Andross rarely sampled better, if my memory serves me correctly."

"Should've had Terrie for his chef." Sara joked, leaping out of the shower.

Sara burst into the Scarabs' dining hall, the last member of the team to be seated.

"Did I keep you waiting long?" She asked apologetically. Gannon nodded.

"Only about twenty minutes."

"And you didn't start without me?"

Warren chuckled. "You know Terrie. If it ain't dramatic, it ain't worth doing. And considering the time she put into this one, I'd say it's worth it."

"Darn tootin'!" Terrie exclaimed as she dashed out of the kitchen with heaping platters of food. She laid them on the table and soaked up the pleased expressions of her compatriots and partners. She at long last say down and passed the food about. Once all five were served, the meal began.

Gannon stopped between large bites to comment. "This's really good!"

Terrie beamed. "Why shouldn't it be?"

"Can't argue there, Terrie." Dave agreed. "You're the best cook I've ever met."

Sara nodded. "It's really nice to have actual prepared food instead of computer and machine-produced. Thanks, Terrie."

The pheasant pilot raised her glass. "No, let's thank ourselves - all of us. Sara, Dave, Warren, Gannon, me... and of course Sam."

"Here's to the Scarabs." Warren suggested with the raising of his own drink.

"To the Scarabs." They responded in unison, glasses clattering together in loose fashion. Laughing, the Scarabs finished their dinner and retired to their lounge to watch the evening news, ever eager to see what jobs would be offered to their new, individual, and determined outfit.

'Starfox beware,' Sara mused, 'the Scarabs may yet pull this off!!!'

What's next? Will Louis discover the identity of his mystery admirer? Where has Colonel Harland gone? Who spoke to Louis in the vision?

And where does Dark Twilight, strange as he is, fit into the whole equation?

...

The answer will be more closely revealed in the search for the truth presented by the Cornerian Department of Phenomenology, aided by a researcher that discovered the Endievan message. But someone wants to make sure their investigation stops right where it is...

...

Part II of the Echpalmara Series: The Coming of the Sarcodines, will reveal far more

Author's Note: The author would like to thank those who made this postwar epic possible. Gannon Gaben is based on a real person, who is ©19**-98 himself. Sara Dent, David Cuadre, Terrie Brenner, Warren Kemperie, Gannon Gaben, Colonel Gardiner Harland, Dark Twilight, Army Lord Radiolarian, High Sarcodine Emperor Trychonympha, Navy Lord Gonyaulax Polyhedra, High Honor Guard Trypanosome, Louis Dreyman, Dr. Patrick Mogel, Durbin Mogel, Sam, the Scarabs, and the Scarab ©1998 Nakar Gabab. NOT TO BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION. Thanks, ***TRANSMISSION TERMINATED***