The Liberation of Devoniay

By Nakar Gabab

People of note, to thank:

J. Wolfman, for the background regarding Bill & the Justice Cadets

My friend, initials G.P., for providing me with the wild ideals that drive my stories

John Locke, british philosopher, for the Natural Law and the basis of the Devonian Constitution

Activision Entertainment, for their game Dark Reign, whose extremely useful scenario editor was utilized to plan the battles mentioned herein

The Beatles, Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, George Gershwin, The Jackson 5, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, "Weird Al" Yankovic & The 4 Seasons,

for keeping me sane over this writing's long history

Chapter One

"I'll never forget that day on the plains. The death we caused - the destruction we were harbingers of. Yet, on that day I never felt so free, so changed, as though in those explosions I had lost all memory of who I was and became instead something new, something independant... a Devonian. And I felt it that day, despite it all."

-Dinah Arnelius

"Any way you look at it, it's beautiful."

Colonial Commander Arvis Deun smiled and glanced out at the small structures that dotted the island. The landing on Devoniay had been uneventful and they had the luck to wind up near a few water springs and mineral deposits.

It was hard to believe that Devoniay had been so long overlooked. The smaller of Macbeth's moons, Devoniay had always been ignored because of its extensive cloud cover. Now, perhaps, they could turn that around. The garden moon was small, habitable, and friendly.

"It's such a wonderful place." A technician commented.

"And best of all," the leopard commander noted, "we're the only ones here."

The sky went red. To their horror they saw a large artillery shot bash into a nearby dome. The small habitation area blew into pieces and ignited a grain farm next to it. Deun slammed his paw onto the comms console.

"Main Colony! We are under attack! I'll repeat that, under attack!"

He rushed to the window in time to see another blazing shell arc towards his position. He had naught but a few seconds to scream as the shell penetrated the window and destroyed the colony command center.

Four freighters tore across the landscape of the ruined complex, and stopped short of the open mineral deposits and springs. Personnel filed out and began loading the machine, as though the pump it had was not enough. Within a few minutes they had taken their fill and were on their way out. They were joined at the colony's bridge by the ranged artillery vehicle, which fell into the convoy that headed quickly into the mountains. A figure emerged from the trees and waved down the lead vehicle.

"How was the raid?"

"Sad." The driver replied. "I really don't know if we should've killed all those colonists. Are you sure it was the best idea?"

The solitary skunk nodded. "Commander Downriver's orders. Remember who these people are - Cornerians. They've invaded our home and now they expect us to ask them for our supplies?"

The driver smiled. "I guess so. Still, I hope less difficult methods will be used in the future."

She waved them on, thinking. "Perhaps... but I would think that there will be only more killing. More and more from now on..."

Chapter Two

"When you understand the purposes of warfare, you realize the full extent of your actions. Each choice must be weighed carefully - every life lost is another man or woman who won't ever run, ever laugh, ever work, ever raise a family, again."

-General Deson Motambo, The Facts of Conflict

"General Motambo, sir." The mockingbird corporal saluted.

The marten smiled and laughed. "At ease, soldier. We've got news?"

"Itching for it, sir. I trust you'll tell us all about it?"

"In the mess hall as usual, soldier. Don't wait up."

General Deson Motambo, Commander of the Cornerian Ground Forces, had risen quickly in his military career. One of the secrets to his success was popularity, but not media popularity. He wanted to know how his men reacted to the news and to developments, and he would sit with them in their own mess hall, joke, and consider their feelings above those of the public. After all, the public wasn't fighting for their planet - his men were.

They had seen a little action during the Androssian War, but only three months later they sat on edge, waiting for yet another clone of the mad ape to show up on the scene. None had, at least not to their knowledge. But General Deson was certain that their time was coming, and he too eagerly awaited the announcement of war, despite its failings.

He walked into the Ground Forces Command Center and glanced at a map of an unfamiliar landscape.

"What's this, soldier?"

Corporal Hun, the holo operator, explained.

"This is Devoniay. The craters you see here are the remains of our recent colony. Somehow they came under attack. We then lost any feedback once the comm center was destroyed. What we do know is that some form of our army's artillery hit them. It could be pirates, but look at this..."

He pressed a button and compared water levels in one of the springs.

"There's a lot less water there." Deson commented.

"Right. Someone's raided the mines and springs for the sole purpose of taking whatever's there. The colony was an unfortunate casualty."

The general sadly conceded. "Right then. What does it mean?"

"What it means, sir," Hun concluded, "is that our colony is not the first to populate Devoniay."

"I gather that. So, who are they?"

"We still don't know, sir. Pirates are a possibility, but then all the space pirates were eradicated years ago. Plus, only military men would have the capability of that artillery unit."

Deson sighed, closing his eyes. He pictured the colonists, dying and not knowing why. What was so vital that someone would kill innocent people?

"I want a quick scout of Devoniay. Nothing serious, just a surface scan. Whatever it is, we'll root it out."

Corporal Hun smiled, saluted and complied. Deson returned to his vigil at the table. Without a word he clicked on the comlink.

"This is General Motambo. I trust I have everyone's attention? Good. Now then, I want to tell you of a great tragedy. Today, only a few hours ago, our colony on the garden moon of Devoniay was ambushed and destroyed. We have at this point no idea who did this deed or why. All we know is that your aid is needed in determining the culprits in this incident."

In the hallways and mess rooms, all the army soldiers fell silent, shocked. He finished with an ominous statement.

"Soldiers... we may be going to war."

***

Commander Riggs Downriver trapsed down the hall of Devoniay's main base, Liberator. A few scattered troopers saluted, but most understood that Downriver was not interested in his plight or anyone else's. His work had once been for money - now, it was for the sole purpose of ideology. He believed, as most of those with him did, that Corneria was nothing more than an oppressive nation hiding behind a mask of democracy. And they, being sightful enough to notice, wanted out, no matter what the cost. It wouldn't be enough to be a colony - they had to create a new government on their small home moon.

Riggs bumped into a bent-over figure in the hall. The tall skunk rose from the garbage can and brandished his vibromop angrily, then dropped it into the bucket.

"Salutations, Commander Riggs Downriver. Might I ask your destination?"

Riggs laughed. "Maybe, T.A., maybe."

T.A., or Thomas Arnelius, was the janitor in the base. He was also a galaxy-class athlete, expert marksman, and omniological genius with an IQ well over 1200. Riggs once learned his was 143 - above average, which was about 130. To be more than four times that intelligent was unfathomable. Even stranger was the fact that Thomas refused to perform research, go to school beyond first grade, or study for college. He did recieve several degrees from a small college, but he teleclassed them and had never even been on campus. He had moved to Macbeth to be a janitor in an abandoned warehouse. In time, he was forgotten - the child prodigy lost to anonymity. Riggs never fully understood Tom's motives, but appreciated his input. He recalled how Tom had drafted their constitution instantly on thought, with all provisions in place.

"We, those who migrated to Devoniay during the occupation of Macbeth by Emperor Andross, do firmly declare that, conditions in our home planet of Corneria being as they are i.e. unfair treatment of citizens, disregard for life in military operations, and other such unforgivable moral crimes, we must therefore abandon the original constitution of Corneria and attempt, as best we can, to produce our own nation capable of sustaining our individual freedoms to their maximum extent while at the same time providing for the basic needs of all those involved."

It was eloquent and beautiful. It had moved everyone and made Thomas an instant celebrity. But Tom wasn't who Riggs wanted to see.

"I believe our conversation ceases to have any importance. Fare well, Commander Downriver, and remember to come to me first before making any unwise descisions."

He laughed, slapped T.A. on the back and walked through the doors to the docking bay. There another skunk, slightly shorter, was bent over the hulking remains of an underground tunneler. This was Jacob Arnelius, the younger brother of Tom. His IQ was only a little over 180, but that alone was spectacular. He was the chief mechanic and one of the greatest researchers Devoniay had. At the approach of his commanding officer, he bent up, still holding some miscellaneous tool and a tiny cube covered in lights.

"Hello Riggs."

Riggs saluted. "Hello Jake... what're you taking down now?"

If there was one quirk to Jacob, it was his uncanny ability to fail at repairing things. He could disassemble and organize anything, but he couldn't be asked to replace all the parts correctly. His hobby was examining the individual pieces of a machine, trying to understand how they could work together in new ways.

"It's the underground transport, Riggs."

Riggs looked at the small device. "Why'd you do that?"

"I doubt we'll need it. I was thinking about this..." he pointed to the cube, then set his tool down and picked up an identical device, albiet with active lights.

"What're those?"

"This one without lights is the displacement core for the transport - it phases dirt and rock out of the transport's way so that it can tunnel without problems. I tinkered with it, and produced this one here, with the lights, which I call the Seismographic Detonator."

Riggs knew what to say. "I'm supposed to ask 'What's a Seismographic Detonator?'."

"Very good, sir! In fact, yes, you should. I'll enlighten you by placing this in terms that aren't only comprehensible to Thomas and me. If this core controls displacement of rock and dirt, what happens when you rig it up and detonate it underground? I correctly hypothesized that it would generate a massive seismographic wave that would create a massive earthquake with a 5 mile radius."

Riggs smiled. "It can't top The Dish, but it's impressive."

The Dish was a massive antenna that protruded from the center of the base. It used the theories of cloaking to render not just a single ship or vehicle, but an entire base, totally undetectable to radar, scanning or sighting. It was the pinnacle of defensive technology - who can hit what they can't see? They had originally erected it to protect themselves from Andross, and from his pollution device known to the intelligence networks as Convoy 2. The first Convoy, 1, had managed to debilitate the entire planet of Zoness - and Riggs didn't want that to happen with beautiful Devoniay. The Dish could shield an entire planet from the effects of Convoy, but in the end it turned out not to be needed. In a climactic battle General Deson Motambo had proven his army's strength by eliminating Andross's Zonessian assembly plants and capturing Convoy 2 with minimal losses. The device was loaded for transport back to Corneria, in hopes that a remedy could be found, but en route it was mysteriously made to disappear, and was never seen since. The Dish had been left up - there was no sense in removing it - and now served as the first, and perhaps last, line of defense for the rebellious colony.

Jacob smiled. "That's one of our best works, isn't it? I don't suppose you've heard, but we fully intend to build a more improved version, one we could pack up and deploy on any surface, on any planet. But we lack most of the necessary minerals. If we could just get under the forests..."

Riggs shook his head. "No. I said what I said for good reason. We'll take resources from barren flatlands and even the occasional prairie, but never from the forests. I don't want to spoil this world the way Corneria was spoiled."

"Corneria is still beautiful, Riggs."

The otter smiled and bragged. "Yes, but our planet's twenty times as good looking."

"We're calling it a planet now?" Asked a voice at the large bay doors. Riggs turned and chuckled.

"Dinah! Nice of you to get back around. How was the raid?"

The female skunk wiped her forehead and sighed. "We had to destroy the colony. They weren't too happy about that, the troops."

"Had to be done. We won't give in, we're gonna stand up to any invasion of our space."

Dinah nodded and hugged Jacob. She was the sister of Tom and Jake, and had served in the Macbeth Armed Resistance with Riggs long before recruiting her brothers. She served as chief scout in the mountainous hill country surrounding the Devonian base. Quietly she slipped a holotape to her commander. Riggs fed it into a computer on the bay wall.

They watched as a pair of green class fighters screamed over the landscape. Riggs looked grave.

"Well sir, that's what we're getting everywhere now. Just a few scouts... should we lay low?"

Riggs grinned, burning with the fire of potential. "No... let's give them something to be afraid of..."

Jacob smiled. Dinah chuckled.

"Alright then. Your idea?"

Riggs thought for a moment. "We've got to show we don't want them here. Send out a rail tank..."

Rail tanks were Corneria's standard of high-quality tanks. The Devonians had a limited supply of the forces, however, and relied more on scouting bikes and missle carrier tanks. But an early display of intimidating force might cause a fallback. Anything was possible...

Captain Daniel Marksan clicked on his communcator. "You alright, kid?"

Sergeant Yurta smiled and nodded. "Everything's just fine. See anything yet, cap'n?"

The two fighters streaked over the landscape. Suddenly the radar clicked on.

"Cap! We got something!"

"Like hell we got something Sergeant! It's a rail tank and it's right behind us!"

Yurta panicked and craned his head to look. The last thing he saw were the three rail cannon barrels staring his fighter down and opening fire.

Captain Marksan's jaw dropped. "Sergeant?!? What the hell just happened?"

He examined his radar screen.

The tank was gone. Cursing, he took off through the clouds and reopened his line, this time to Corneria.

"Sir, this is Captain D. Marksan. My wingman was just shot down by a rail tank over Devoniay... somebody's there, and I'll be damned if they're not hostile."

Chapter 3

"Bill suprised me that day, the way he walked, the way he talked, the funny way he looked me over with admiration and respect. From the moment he saw my picture in the back of Pepper he knew I was the one, and who am I to argue with such heroics?"

-Amber Hungenoi, William "Bill" Grey: A Hero of Two Faces

General Pepper stood proudly over the hologram screen of the Lylat System. Whenever there was trouble, a red dot would illuminate and a siren would go off. During the Androssian War he had almost gone deaf listening to the constant klaxons. Now, however, there was not a single dot anywhere on the map. General Deson Motambo, head of the Army Ground Forces, approached and tapped a few keys. A dot lit up over Macbeth.

Pepper was awakened from his daydreaming of the time he would be President of Corneria by the noise. "What's that, General!?"

"It's a hostile situation. When that lights up we've got problems, as if you didn't already notice!"

General Pepper was already tired of the smart-aleck marten after only five months working with him. Angrily he huffed.

"I understand that, Motambo, but why is there a hostile situation on... Devoniay!? That's a stormy wasteland!"

Deson laughed. "Ancient history serves you well. But then, it's always easier when you've been around long enough to exprience it. Devoniay was never fully explored. Enough light seems to get in to fertilize Devoniay. It's got a friendly atmosphere, trees, rivers and an ocean, as well as grasses and grains. Someone's living there, but we can't seem to find them. Your Navy's flubbed up and already lost a colony and one scout pilot, which means that one more mistake will allow me to convince President Harrels that this is an Army job. Don't mess it up, Pepper. I've got a flawless record and you're slipping."

Pepper burned with rage. "I'll break you someday, Deson."

"That's General Motambo to you, Pepper. I haven't recognized you yet."

"Sure, sure. Well then, I suppose we need to hire the true professionals to look into this matter."

Deson laughed. "Starfox is vacationing on a cleaned-up beach in Zoness and there's no way to reach them now. I think you should put in a call to someone who can do this without fail."

Pepper began to pick up the reciever on a commlink. Motambo smirked.

"I was talking about me."

"Shut up, Motambo. Hello, Katina Defense Base? Put me through to Commander Grey. Yes, now..."

Deson spoke up. "Umm, General. At the main base on Katina it's only three in the morning..."

Pepper ignored the marten and waited as the phone rang.

***

A sleep weary pair of eyes slid open as the commline rang. Commander William Grey, Head of the Katina Military and second-in-command of the Cornerian Navy, sat up in bed and clicked on the lamp, then scratched his chest as he checked the ID. He cursed and lifted the privacy reciever.

"Commander Grey here..." he said woozily.

"Bill? What the hell's wrong with you. Have you been drinking?"

"No sir. I've been sleeping."

"Why the hell were you sleeping?"

"Because it's 3:00 AM and I usually don't stay up late."

The older dog huffed and acted apologetic. It was obviously transparent to Deson. To Bill, however, it was as true as gravity.

"Sorry then. I need to communicate with you sometime soon. When's the next window?"

Bill grumbled and checked the bedside clock. "0500 for me, 2000 for you. Can I get some sleep? I've got to tell my friend about leaving early."

Pepper chuckled. "Friend, eh? What sort of friend?"

"A real nice one." Bill said. "Later."

The commline switched off. Beside Bill, a golden retriever stirred and spoke slurrishly.

"Bill? Who was that?"

Bill slid back down under the covers. "Pepper again. I've got to leave in a few minutes so that I can talk to that guy. You alright, Amber?"

Amber Hungenoi nodded as she focused on her boyfriend. "Fine, fine. You know, this is one of the few times I've seen you without those horrible sunglasses. You have wonderful eyes. Hazel is one of my favorite colors."

"Really? Since when?"

She snuggled closer. "Since we met."

"Ah..." He complained nevertheless. "But the shades are my identity!"

"I just wish you'd get rid of them. I refuse to marry you if you keep wearing those aberrations."

Bill nodded and scratched her head. "Sure sure. I'll dump the shades when we're engaged... if we ever get engaged."

She laughed sleepily. "You know damn well we're going to be getting married."

"I haven't proposed." Bill said, rising from bed.

"You will."

He dressed quickly in his standard uniform and flight jacket. Quietly he took the sunglasses from their case on his dresser top, began to put them on, and smiled. He slipped them back into the case and turned around.

"This better?"

"Yes. It's so much better I can't even explain it. Have fun Bill."

"Sure, whatever. Knowing Pepper, I doubt that. Be back later... there's some food and stuff in the fridge. If I don't come back in a while you can use the apartment for a little bit."

"Are we going to keep this place?"

He scanned the unkempt rooms of his abode. Shirts and other articles of clothing were draped over couches and television sets. He laughed and walked into the hall, calling back into the bedroom.

"Nah, we'll get a house once I get a raise. They always give raises to married officers."

"Oh," Amber mocked, calling back, "and this from a dog who just said he might NOT be getting hitched!"

"I lied." Bill said quickly. He closed the door and walked to his car. A note was tucked under one of the vibrating dust cleaners. Bill read it curiously.

William Grey, It began.

William Grey,

You are, as of this moment, warned. Excercize full caution in your next endeavour. When crashing, remember to keep your shields full forward and brace with your forehead and paws on the dashboard. I don't want to explain this fully, but just think of me as your guardian angel.

Yours Truly,

P.M. PhD

Bill sild the note into his pocket and scratched his head.

"I don't think I know any doctors with initials P. M.... odd. Maybe it's just a prank of Amber's. When crashing? What kind of sick humor is that?"

He clicked the ignition on. The car revved slowly and finally achieved full performance. Bill pulled out of his apartment complex and turned left on the small road that ran to the Main Katina Base.

He always appreciated the time alone on the road, however brief. There were things running through his mind that he had to address. How long had it been since that week? Days? No... but it felt that way. Months to a year was more appropriate, but he still recalled every minute of the torture. He looked back on that week, to the fourth day. Leon had come in, but hadn't closed the door behind himself as usual. Removing his 'tools' from the kit, Leon seemed much more proud and appeared to be demonstrating his craft. Bill remembered every shock, every nick and every gash. But as he reflected on that hellish several hours that his mind and body had been broken down by, he began to focus on other things. The pain was still real, but not serious. A shock was just a stutter. A slicing cut with a knife a mere itch. He remembered something about that room... it had been the smoke. He was accustomed at that time to the smell of his own burning flesh and fur. That was when his mind's eye saw the figure. Large, imposing and dark. At first he wondered if it had been Andross, but then he determined something...

Andross didn't smoke cigars.

But this figure in the doorway, this being that Leon was so happy to display the effects of torture on, was someone Bill was certain he knew...

He remembered screaming and falling unconscious. But now he could hear voices... ever so faintly.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Pure art, Powalski. Pure goddamn art." The figure puffed a few times and paused, walking into the room.

"Is he always this ugly, or is it just becuase I hit the chamber at the wrong time?"

Leon had proudly raised his face. "Not in the least. See this snout? It was originally covered in light tan fur. Now, of course, it's bony and the cartilage is bent slightly to the left... and the left ear! I misjudged some of the current yesterday. Wore the lobe down about an inch. The tail's normally not this frazzled. Well, what do you think?"

"He's the most ugly thing ever to come out of a mother, if even that. I think I know some flatworms that wouldn't infect his carcass. Nevertheless, I find your work substantially satisfying."

"So then," Leon said, "Do you have it?"

Bill heard the click of some sort of suitcase or briefcase. The figure spoke, puffing on the cigar.

"It's all here, every penny of it. How's the act going?"

"Better than I planned. I do enjoy being this two-faced."

"I know you think you're smart, Powalski, but I'm smarter. Don't let it run through your mind that you're loyal to Andross OR me. As far as I'm concerned you're a godforsaken mercenary that's only leaking to me because I care enough to pay you and give you tips."

"Any tips for this poor soul?"

He felt the cigar dig deep into the back of his neck, burning strangely worse than any shock ever did. Bill felt the full force of that pain and he swerved a bit on the road.

"Yeah, Powalski. Get a real ashtray."

Bill reflected on that day. Was this a result of that horrible brain-scrambling device Leon had used? It seemed too unreal... yet at the same time it felt so unbelieveably genuine. Where had Leon gone? No one found his body and he was never confirmed dead. Wolf and Pigma had died - their corpses were still distinguishable. Andrew had been incinerated in a final act of contrition. But... though the authenticity of those four's demise had been made known, he had always doubted that Leon was dead. And he secretly prayed, especially each night after a nightmare, that he would find Leon and get even. But if Leon was just a pawn...

He remembered the hospital on Katina. The plastic surgeon was late and he was strapped to the table. The door slid open and a nurse welcomed the doctor.

"Good morning Doctor... Wait. You aren't Doctor Lanier."

"Doctor Lanier was ill today. My name is Doctor Mogel. I'm a registered plastic surgeon and I was told to perform this operation."

The nurse nodded and the replacement surgeon prepared for his work. Seconds dragged on into what seemed like an eternity. At long last the scalpel was being tested for sharpness.

"Picture." Doctor Mogel said. The nurse slid a picture on a clip over Bill's head. Bill had looked then at the smiling, carefree dog in the picture. The face was flawless, each curve was well structured and everything was in place. Other charts depicted what Bill Grey had been before being deformed and debilitated. But the face that Bill saw was not his face. It couldn't be... cosmetically, nothing was different, but that Bill Grey he saw was a Bill Grey without fears, without regrets and without obligations. He had wanted to scream out "That isn't me! I can never be that again!!!", but the drugs had rendered him unable to speak or even feel his muscles. The doctor set to work.

And it was a brilliant work. Each shape and form of the original Bill Grey had been restructured to what it was before, and after seven grueling hours it was almost impossible to tell that he had been so brutally tortured. Perhaps tortured was too light... murdered, perhaps. Yes, for in that cell Bill Grey had been murdered, murdred by Wolf O'Donnell, murdered by Leon Powalski... and apparently, murdered by the brooding, casual smoker who had been in contact with Leon all the time. But he was never fully repaired, for his eyes still betrayed any innocence, the eyes of the dog lost forever to the ravages of Leon and his allies. That was one of the reasons he so loved his sunglasses - they hid his lack of faith. Trust had been stolen from him then, and trust could never be regained, as all his therapists had stressed. He would always be the ravaged, tortured individual... wouldn't he?

No, he reasoned... there would be one way out. One way to forever banish his nightmares and assuage the pain. He would never do this act, not on his life, but it was the most certain way out. That way was to forgive Leon for what he did, and to find a meaning to his own suffering. Then and only then Bill Grey would be himself again... he shed a tear, then several. The only way out was to do something he couldn't ever do. But if he did find Leon, would he be able to take that route out? Would he be able to turn the hated lizard over to the justice system without rage or vengeance? Could he so easily say "It's over between us, Leon. What you did, I can't ever forget, but I forgive you for it"? How could he say, "I know you tortured me, beat me, brutally tore my life apart, but hell, I like you, Leon. I can see why you did it. I deserved it, in fact. I should really've thanked you everyday you did it"!? Bill wondered then if his life would remain torn at the seams for all time.

He thought of all the things he might do to Leon, if he took that route instead. Fire, perhaps? Of course there would be cutting, deformation, electroshock and psychological assaults, but what more could he do besides kill Leon? One way or the other Leon would die - either at his hands or those of the justice system. But if he did toss Leon, still alive, into the kiln of death as he had so long meditated, he would have vengeance. But vengeance, it slowly dawned on him, was not necessarily what he desired... it was the nagging wish to be himself again. Amber had not fallen for what Bill was, but instead for the deeply buried seed of what he still could be. Leon had not totally destroyed him... that little glimmer of his identity still stood firm in his twisted brain. Someday he would find a cure, he had told himself that fateful day as he lay motionless. Either by erasing the memories chemically, by vengeance, or by some miraculous surgical method. He had quickly canceled the first idea - he refused to acknowledge that he was destroyed and give up by wiping his past clear. And no miraculous ideas had been presented, even after almost a year. That left vengeance, the final true victory. His mind had made that descision, but now it was at war. Now the rebel, the seedling of conscience in his heart that was William Grey, waged war against the puppet state of his brain. Someday, perhaps, he would breach those city walls and take himself back. But he didn't know if the chances were good - it was as though Corneria's Main Base was being attacked by a spear throwing, primitive warrior. But even the universe's full gamut of technology would not be able to match the cunning tactics of a crafty warrior. And his heart was the craftiest warrior of all. With care and grace it had thrown its spear and punctured General Vengeance in between the eyes. Its weapon was a single, simple message:

Take your revenge and you're no better than he is.

Bill pulled into his parking space and hopped out. It was all too much to think about, but someday he would be able to succeed. And when he did, all that he had experienced would be another chapter in his life, albiet an unpleasant one. He longed to lose the stress, to laugh and joke as he did.

"And I will." He assured himself. "No matter what happens... I will reunite my body, mind, heart... and soul."

He stopped at the elevator doors and considered something.

"My soul... when my soul clashes with the soul of Leon Powalski... the only important thing will be who did what, not why they did it."

***

"Goddamn, Powalski, why are you wasting my time again?"

Leon ducked his head into the doorframe and flashed another datatape.

"I was saving this... I knew you'd miss it."

"The hell... Powalski! I don't appreciate a month of setbacks because you were too goddamn witty to hand over those plans. What is that, the Fission\Fusion Deconstructor Engine?"

Leon shook his head. "Not really. I'll give you that one later... this is the Gorman Encoder."

A puff of smoke hit the lizard in the face. "You don't say." His superior commented. A button was pressed and two armed guards entered.

"I'm tired of your games, Powalski. Now this is a very simple matter... were you leaking to the Devonians?"

Leon was shocked. "Never!"

The smoker laughed. "Good, because I beat you to it and leaked a lot of the plans out to them anyhow. Listen to me... Devoniay's prime for me to take root in. It's malleable, with an unstable system of government. I fully intend to overthrow the ruling body after their secession and replace them with my own puppet leaders. We've been experimenting with Andross's robotics facilities, and I must say you didn't pull anything on us this time. We can put that encoder to good use, sending uncrackable messages to the robots that'll replace the leaders. You've done a lot for me, Powalski, and I think I should comment on your cleverness."

"And why's that, sir?"

Another few smoke plumes filled the small office as the mastermind laughed. "Because the minute you fork over the last plans, or I find 'em, you're gonna die. Over and out, Powalski. See you in the holding cells."

The guards dragged Leon off to his fate. Swiveling towards his window, the enigmous being smiled and extinguished his cigar, lighting another.

"I goddamn hate having to put up with that idiot. Ah hell, it'll be worth it... all in good time. Damn, Gardiner, you're so unbelieveable. "The Colonel" strikes again..."

Chapter Four

"Don't pour forces into a fight so that you will "win through attrition". To win with heavy losses is an oxymoron - either you win or lose, based only on the number of troops lost. Remember the old adage: No poor dumb bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the OTHER poor dumb bastard die for HIS country."

-General Deson Motambo, The Facts of Conflict

Bill trapsed into the command center and examined the monitor. On it were the orbital routes of three planets - Corneria, Katina, and Macbeth. General Pepper's holographic image appeared on a nearby stand and he saluted crisply.

"At ease, Bill. Alright, we've got some problems on Devoniay, a moon of Macbeth. Now it turns out that the moon is not only inhabitable, but also home to some sort of colony. We don't know who they are, how many live there or what they're packing, but I assume it can't be much. I want you to..."

"Check into it and subdue any rebels?" Bill finished. Pepper nodded.

"Precisely. Take half of Husky Squadron out that way."

"Half, sir? Why not just take all of them?"

Pepper scoffed. "All of them? What a waste of time. It'll hardly be necessary. Just find the rebels whom you heard destroyed that colony, destroy their military force, and negotiate a surrender. It'll be over and done with in a few days. Get to work, Bill. I'm not only sending your squadron out because Katina's closer than corneria to Devoniay, but also because I feel that your squadron is one of the best there is. This is Pepper, over and out."

He blipped off. Bill began the daunting task of deciding which pilots in Husky Squadron were to be brought along. There was always the trouble in that - if he did not include a pilot, that pilot might feel left out, or useless, and that one pilot would end up disgruntled and might die in the coming skirmishes of careless errors brought about by frustration. Bill silently snuck to the corner of the barely occupied command center and withdrew from a shelf a thick book.

It was forbidden by Pepper, but Bill could never find a good reason for it. Still, General Deson Motambo's Facts of Conflict was without a doubt the most insightful, caring military strategy manual he or anyone else had ever read. Written during Motambo's career as a Commander, it dealt with the various tactical descisions that a leader must make, depending only on whether or not lives will be lost. That was perhaps the reason why Pepper hated it so - it spoke the very opposite of his own ideals. The Androssian War had led to the deaths of millions on all sides, a horrible war of attrition that was a tragedy for all. Of the hundred or so graduates of his class, few had lived through that horrid war. Some had died in battle, others were executed as prisoners of war. Bill had his fair share of suffering as well, but he still lived. And it saddened him as it no doubt saddened his superior that so many of an entire generation had been lost to the ravages of war.

He thought back, long long ago, to a time at the Naval Academy. It was in his Senior year, and the night was cold and dark. Bill had returned late to the upper dorm room he shared with Fox McCloud, Falco Lombardi, and Eric Morkin. Fox and Falco, long time lovers of sleep, had crashed on their beds without a sound. Eric was still up, his raccoon nose buried in a book on Legal Loopholes and Manipulation of Logic. Eric quietly acknowledged his roommate's entry.

"Hey Bill."

"Hi Eric. Why're you up so late?"

"Why are you?" He asked, chuckling. "No, I just couldn't sleep... I've been thinking about how all the tombstones will look."

Bill was suprised. "What tombstones?"

Eric tapped the floor with his foot. "The tombstones of over half the guys down there. Plebes, sophs, juniors, heck, even the three of you. Did you know that if you choose burial you get a very nice, very small little marker with your name, rank, birth and death dates? Just a plain old marker, a simple little anonymous marker within rows and rows of markers just like it."

He remembered becoming very angry. "Why the hell are you putting it that way, Eric? Just because you're opposed to what's happening with that Andross guy doesn't mean you can go around spouting crap about how we're all gonna die except you because you didn't fill out a Navy contract of service."

Eric closed the book and sighed, closing his masked eyes. "What you just can't understand, Bill, is why I don't want to fight. It's not religious or ethical, or because I'm a coward, but because it simply defies common sense. I can prove to you that I'll make more of my life than any of your military 'men' ever will."

Bill had angrily gone to sleep that night, Morkin's words still fresh in his ears. As he reflected on that night, however, he realized just what that brave law student had meant. Eric Morkin, the guy who refused to change. Eric Morkin, the most shameful alumni the Academy wished it never had. Eric Morkin, the guy who did the unthinkable on graduation day... Eric Morkin, the well-to-do lawyer who practiced Constitutional Law and was making heavy money. He was upper class now, was married, and even had a young daughter. All because he chose never to get involved. Bill thought he was indifferent. He realized, at long last, that Eric simply had more maturity and sense than anyone else in his class. It saddened Bill that Morkin was so right... he could never forget going to the grave of Joey Grable, a good friend and fellow surfer, after he was killed over Fortuna. He had stood there in the military cemetery, hovering over a small, plain marker that read. "Grable, 1st Lieutenant Joseph." All among that stone were dozens more just like it. When Bill walked through the gates he had turned to look back on the gravestone, but was unable to discern it from all of its brothers. Eric had always been right, and now he was showing it...

Bill opened the cover to a short section and began reading.

"Chapter 32: Choosing Elite Groups From Among Many."

"The trick to choosing troops from your larger base of soldiers," Motambo's words rang out, "Is not to make it tricky, but still a trick. In short, one should pick the best of the best and be as dishonest as possible with everyone else. By choosing very small groups and ordering secrecy, there is no cause for suspicion. And if the other soldiers aren't suspicious, they will have no trouble overlooking the temporary abscence of a select group of comrades. Yes, it does require lying, but in this case it is for the best, and a lie for the best is acceptable if not overused."

Bill smiled and returned to his crew list. He would not take half the squadron - well over a hundred pilots - along with him. He would take only 9 of his elite, who along with himself would make a moderate squadron of ten, certainly more than those hiding on Devoniay could muster. He wasn't sure why he was going, but he knew he would do anything he was ordered without a second thought. The torture had made him obedient, and he had from that point on refused to question even Pepper's occasionally biazzare ideas.

Making the final selection, Bill sent the messages to his chosen pilots and walked to the map again to plot his approach.

***

Hours later, the select ten cruised into Devoniay's atmosphere. Thick clouds of dark gray and white parted in sheets to slowly but surely reveal the paradise below.

"My God," one commented, "it's heaven."

Bill smiled. "Hard to imagine what's holing up here, isn't it? Alright, let's lock and load, Husky."

They assumed scout formation and cautiously swept low over the waters of the ocean, rapidly approaching the shore.

"You see anything, guys, you report it. Roger?"

"Roger." The pilots answered in unison.

Meanwhile, in the control center of Devoniay's base, Riggs stood watching the live feedback Dinah was sending from her hiding place somewhere near the shores of the Hariuven.

"We have eight, nine... ten. Ten fighters. This is an armed scouting mission. Orders?"

Riggs nodded. "Slow down and don't do anything rash. See where the leader is and, oh yeah, Keeves, jam 'em."

Keeves, a hyena, nodded and smiled. His console was one that normally would not be found in a control center. It had equipment for jamming radar and communiques, and a few alternate consoles...

Keeves was a talented musician, and a militant liberationist. His job in the Devonian Liberation Army was to jam the comlines and insure that they stayed down. With a nod, he clicked on the jamming machine.

"I still don't see anyt-" one pilot said before being cut off in midsentence. Bill tapped his heaset.

"Can anyone hear me?"

He recieved no response at first. Then, in a few seconds, his line was flooded with a deluge of sound.

It was odd, it was cohesive. It was... music.

Keeves tapped his keyboard a few times and examined the chords. He then reopened the comlines as his song began.

"Oh what a night,

late December back in '63,

What a very special time for me

as I remember what a night"

"What the hell is that!?" A cougar in the rear attempted to say. The music drowned out all but a few syllables. It continued.

"Oh what a night,

You know I didn't even know her name

But I was never gonna be the same

What a lady, what a night"

"Oh I... I got a funny feeling when she walked in the room

And my, as I recall it ended much too soon..."

"Oh what a night,

Hypnotizing, mesmerising me,

she was everything I dreamed she'd be

Sweet surrender, what a night"

"I felt a rush like a rolling ball of thunder

Spinning my head around and taking my body under

Oh what a night!"

Bill stared at his monitor in disbelief. Suddenly the ground of the fields below tore open and several missle batteries reared their ugly heads. Bill panicked and tried to issue and order.

"Oh I, got a funny feeling when she walked in the room

and my, as I recall it ended much too soon"

"This is Commander Grey. Break off! What the he-"

"Oh what a night,

Why'd it take so long to see the light?

Seemed so wrong but now it seems so right

What a lady, what a night."

A missle streaked towards the ten ships, targetting itself on Bill. The other Husky units banked to dodge the explosion and headed for the atmosphere in shock, abandoning Bill. The missle exploded just short of his ship, but the resounding shockwave tore his wings off and sent him barreling towards the open ground. Bill screamed.

"I felt a rush like a rolling ball of thunder

Spinning my head around and taking my body under

Oh what a night!"

Bill searched frantically for any sort of idea. Finally he withdrew the small note in his pocket.

William Grey,

You are, as of this moment, warned. Excercize full caution in your next endeavour. When crashing, remember to keep your shields full forward and brace with your forehead and paws on the dashboard. I don't want to explain this fully, but just think of me as your guardian angel.

Yours Truly,

P.M. PhD

"Hell," Bill admitted, "any idea'll work now."

Through the extreme foresight of some prankster, Bill managed to gather the sense to brace for impact. He redirected what remained of his shields to the lower front quadrant of the fighter and placed his head and body in a curled, bracing position. The last thing he remembered was the deep crushing noise and the cockpit canopy shattering everywhere. He was jerked as the ship slid to a slow and terminal stop. A sudden jerk slammed his head into the control panel very harshly, cracking his flight helmet and knocking him out.

Husky's Elite flew solemnly back to Katina, wondering what extreme misfortune had befallen them. Why had their leader been killed and not they? None had any inkling that Bill might still be alive, albiet on the surface of the planet. In fact, no one thought that Bill was still alive. At the time, it was just as well, for back on Corneria the news was just arriving at the office of one President Harrels. The giraffe somberly examined the report and was amazed. Commander Grey lost? Knowing who was to blame in the incident, he immediately put in a call to his secretary.

"Miss Pross? Please send for Generals Pepper and Motambo. Now."

"Yes sir."

***

Pepper was not certain why he was being called into President Harrel's office. He had not yet recieved the message from Devoniay and was still in the dark about Grey. The door to his superior's office slid open. Pepper stood in disbelief.

Standing inside at full attention was none other than General Deson Motambo. Growling, Pepper stood at the door.

"Come in, Harold." Invited Harrels. Pepper nervously entered and stood before the desk beside Deson.

"Perhaps you've heard about the incident on Devoniay, General?"

Pepper assumed the question was to him. "No sir, I have not."

"Then you have no knowledge of the death of Commander William Grey?"

Pepper's jaw dropped. "Wha!?"

Harrels nodded. "Commander Grey was shot down while on a scouting mission, a mission that you ordered. Now you should know better, Pepper. You've been falling behind on your duties and making mistakes lately. For this reason I have determined you incompetent to handle the situation on Devoniay. From this moment on," he explained, "General Motambo will be in charge of suppressing the rebellion."

Pepper angrily grabbed General Motambo by the collar. "You! This is your doing, isn't it!? You asked him to do this, didn't you!?"

Deson shuddered and shook his head. "Never! The president's descision was entirely his own."

"Indeed it was." Harrels finished. "For that, Harold, I'd like you to take a forced vacation and remain unconnected with this situation. Deson will keep things under control."

He turned to the marten. "You have full authority to make landing with any and all of the Cornerian Army on Devoniay. Do you understand?"

Deson saluted. "I do, sir."

The giraffe politician smiled. "Then I wish you luck, General. By the way, has anyone heard from Starfox recently?"

"They're on vacation, sir," Deson explained, "on Zoness."

The president rubbed his chin, a difficult task considering his long neck. "Well then, send an envoy their way and make sure they know about this. We have to have all the aid possible."

Pepper spoke up. "Sir... Starfox is a mercenary team, true, but remember that former lieutenant Dreyman is our tie to their team. And they are a naval force. Technically sir, the Navy is my job."

"Not while on vacation, General. I believe General Motambo can handle limited naval control during the duration of this problem. Adieu, Generals, and godspeed to both of you."

They walked out of the office side by side. Pepper shot an angry glance at Deson, expecting him to be smiling. He was, in fact, doing the opposite.

"I'm really sorry, General Pepper."

"Sorry? For what? You just almost killed my career."

"I may've yet saved it, General. I'm no happier about this than you are. That's almost abuse of power, removing you from command without taking your rank or anything. He needs to use you as some sort of figurehead. I'm really sorry."

Pepper nodded, and began to reconsider this young officer that had so quickly assumed the guise of a true leader of men. Was he really all that bad? It was obvious that while he had faith in his own abilities, he was also willing to defer that others had more experience. Pepper sighed and closed his eyes.

"I apologize for my behavior, General. It was my fault that I lost Commander Grey. I've been envisioning myself in that chair back there far too much. I wish you the best of luck, Motambo. Kick their ass for me."

Deson turned and extended a paw. "Please, just call me Deson, sir."

He smiled and returned the grasp. "Harold. Well then, Deson, put down those godforsaken rebels so I can get back to work! Oh, and a quick warning..."

"Yes?"

"Always accept Fox McCloud's original offer. It isn't worth the trouble to negotiate, as he's too adamant to change his price."

Deson smiled. "I'll be careful, Harold."

***

Louis Dreyman smiled peacefully as he worked within the frame of the Landmaster tank, admiring his free range work. He had only been the mechanic of Starfox for about four months, but he had managed to accomplish more in a third of a year than he had in so many years at the Cornerian Main Hangar. Not to mention the fact that he had been freed from his military contract and was only loosely representative of the Cornerian Navy on the Great Fox. The hours were as long or short as he wished them to be. He could work anywhere he wanted, as well. At the moment he was patching the tank up on a serene beach not far from where the Great Fox was parked. Sighing with delight, he clambered to the open hatch and popped out.

The sea breeze rustled his short headfur and the humidity was hardly a concern. An otter's fur is thick and oily, and Louis had no trouble with the salty moist air that whipped down the beach. He breathed in slowly and smiled.

Life was better than he expected it to be. There was always time for work and still more time for his own goals. There was no reason why his bliss would ever end...

Only a few seconds after ducking back under, he felt the jerk of motion as the tractor beam lifted the Landmaster with Louis inside and dragged it through the air towards the hangar of Great Fox. Cursing, Louis was tossed about the mechanics of the vehicle and finally set down quite harshly. He clambered out, rubbing his head.

Fara giggled as she noticed him. The others, who were chatting nearby, smiled as their newest member complained about the performance of ROB.

"Doesn't he have any clue that it hurts to be inside that thing while it's moving? What the hell's going on, anyhow?"

Clutching his toolbox, Louis vaulted out of the Landmaster and approached the five others. Falco shrugged.

"Fox says somebody broke up the vacation."

Fox nodded. The leader of Starfox explained.

"There's been some sort of insurrection on Devoniay, one of Macbeth's moons. Bill went to check it out, and I've heard... that he was shot down."

The others sighed and blinked several times. "You're kidding, right?" Slippy said.

"Fox doesn't kid about Bill anymore." Peppy warned. Fox nodded sadly.

"But, unlike those military stuffshirts, I don't think he's dead. I'll bet anything that he's alive down there, maybe a prisoner. Whatever the reason, I've spoken to General Motambo and he's offered to pay us thirty-thousand for assisting in the putdown of the rebellion."

Falco grinned. "Alright. Big money and vengeance..."

Fara smiled. "I don't see why we can't just ignore the whole offer and stay out on vacation. Fox, c'mon! We've been away from the hustle and bustle for less than a week and now we're plunging right back in? I need a break!"

Fox smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "I promise all of you that we'll take an even longer one than we've planned afterwards. A month, a full month, out here. We'll leave the beach houses out and be back in a few weeks, maybe less. Alright?"

Louis finished some calculations in his head. "Fox, may I propose a way to spend that money?"

Fox nodded. "Sure."

"I think five thousand should go into repairs, maybe seven thousand if we take any real hits on this job. Ten should be plunked into our salaries."

Fox computed the total. "That's only half the money."

Louis blushed. "I need that fifteen thousand."

Falco blurted out. "What!?"

Fox scowled. "Why do you need all that money, Louis?"

Louis unrolled a design blueprint from his pocket. "This is a ship design for a new fighter. It's unlike anything yet seen. But if I want to launch the idea I have to have some back capital to pitch the design to all the usuals - Arspace - you know. It's not my salary. It's for a business venture."

"I dunno, Fox." Falco warned. McCloud laughed and slapped Louis on the back.

"Sure thing, Louis. I'd be glad to back your idea. I've seen all the stuff you did with the arwings. I think the system could use someone like you in the starship industry. Peppy coughed.

"This hasn't ever happened before, Fox. That's half the money for a job!"

Fara angrily defended Fox's descision. "Oh come on guys! It's just money! Do you remember how much we got from the Andross contract? Six million EACH! Six million! We've got more money than we'll ever need. And Louis got all of one million because he wasn't really part of the whole thing. That was generous, but hardly that generous. Remember what Louis said when we offered him an extra million? He told us to plunk it into the debt on the Great Fox. That took courage. I think a mere fifteen thousand for his business ventures is worth giving."

They agreed. "Sure, sure." Slippy said.

Nods all around sealed the proposal. "Alright, let's pack up and head for Macbeth. Next stop, Devoniay!"

Chapter Five

"Ah yes, I remember that fellow. Thought he was the greatest villain ever. What was his name? I don't really recall nor care... you see, while he took pleasure in engineering death, I get my kicks from controlling life. If only he were as right, he'd still be around today. Of course, being me doesn't hurt any"

-"The Colonel"

Leon found himself being dragged once again before "The Colonel" the legendary smuggler of arms and other such weaponry grinned gleefully as he watched his prey struggle to free itself. So like that which he consumed...

"Alright, Powalski. I've got good news - the last good news you'll hear your entire life. That dog guy, whatsis name?"

"Grey, Bill Grey." Leon contributed. "The Colonel" lashed out, not with a paw, nor with an arm...

But with a root.

Leon raised his head to see the fabled figure before him. "Colonel" G. Harland was not the sort of being that one wished to cross, for in even his happiest hou