不十分結語

For Want of an Epilogue

"Try not to keep him waiting, kid." the pilot called back as James McCloud stepped out of the shuttle onto the Hangar floor, nearly stumbling.

Earlier this morning –about a few hours too early for a decent wakeup time– Owen Phoenix invited James McCloud to Château de l'Étoiles. Phoenix was kind of frantic over the comm, said there'd be a shuttle at the spaceport waiting to take him to the station. Sure enough, there was a shuttle, and before he knew it, he was standing aboard Owen Phoenix's private fortress of a space station, still trying to wake up.

Heck he may as well have been dreaming, seeing a hangar chock full of high-performance spacecraft. Most of them were Space Dynamics models, like classic frames like the original Comet fighter, but a few were of different brands. James could've sworn he saw a suspiciously similar Havoc assault fighter at one end...

"Right this way, Mr. McCloud." the fox heard a tinny, artificial voice utter.

The voice belonged to a bipedal android, one of the popular R.O.B. models, but with a shimmering chrome-plated finish. When it saw it had James' attention, the robot turned away and started walking toward the hangar exit, past a few more rows of resting spacecraft.

James followed, casually asking, "Do these all belong to Owen Phoenix?"

The shining robot didn't answer, but kept walking right along. Soon they were out of the hangar, and inside an awfully lavish corridor for a space station: fine carpet, high ceilings, intricate lighting fixtures. There were also pieces of artwork, mostly depicting impressive images of aerospace aviation, as well as a few mounted or displayed pieces of equipment. One that caught James' eye was a vintage G-diffuser module: the Guru, one of the first ever mass-produced some fifty years ago...

Before he could take a good look at anything else though, James found himself in an elevator with the robotic guide, already on the move...

It was odd for James McCloud. Part of him was like a kid in a candy store, nearly bouncing at delight at where he found himself: going to meet one of the famous greats of the modern aerospace aviation industry. Then the groggy smartass adolescent part of him reminded James that he'd actually already met Owen Phoenix in-person back on Farbound station, and he shouldn't be so giddy about it. Somewhere in his head the mature grown-up brought caution into the midst: what did Owen Phoenix want with him? What kind of work would he have for a brash, bone-headed pilot who, quite frankly, is prone to bite off more than he can chew?

Hopefully those answers would come soon, as the elevator came to a stop, and opened up to a luxurious reception area, or lobby, or something. The only other door in this room besides that which opened into the elevator was a double door: probably where Owen Phoenix was waiting. There was no window, but the walls were adorned with a few items of aerospace aviation artwork and mounted equipment like before. James paid little attention however, because more important than what was in the room was who

"Jimmy!" Peppy called out, practically jumping up from a couch when the fox stepped in, "What the heck took you so long? You stop for breakfast on the way over?"

"If you'd have asked, I would've brought you some of the steak and eggs." James replied with a similar jocular banter, adding a little laugh at the end as he shook his old friend's hand, "It's good to see you again, Peppy."

Predictably, James also spotted Scott and Pigma in the room too, but more subdued. Scott looked worn out and tired, while young Pigma seemed nervous and fidgety, unsure about the situation.

"Scott!" James called out, stepping toward him with open arms and a strong sense of confidence, "I thought I saw your Havoc fighter out in the hangar."

The terrier simply looked back, and responded with a silent nod. Understandably, James figured he was still in a deep rut after the loss of Cerberus, of his crewmates, of his friends. Still, what more could he do besides extend a hand of friendship of his own? There wouldn't be time to pursue this more though: the R.O.B. model that led James here had already gone to the double doors, and turned around.

"Mr. Phoenix will see you now." the chrome-plated robot unceremoniously blared to the group, then punched in a command in the door's wall panel.

The double door slid open, and the R.O.B. model led the four guests into what could only be the most blatantly extravagant office possible. The space was huge, at least fifteen meters across, with a high ceiling. The far wall wasn't even a wall at all, but a gigantic window that looked out into space, overlooking the curve of Corneria below.

The room itself was sparsely furnished, but comfortably serviced: a lounge setup by the far wall-window, shelves stuffed with hard documents, and again more pieces of equipment put on display. The center of the room however was a dedicated office, with the expected chair-and-desk setup. An orange furred fox, wearing slacks and a sweater vest, was standing behind the desk: Owen Phoenix. He didn't even notice his guests enter, since he was staring intently at a holographic display of sly-looking feline in a pinstripe suit.

"The management of Caius Company simply doesn't feel compelled anymore to invest the funds previously negotiated for the Comet 4 fighters." the feline declared over the comm.

"Really?" Owen Phoenix replied, highly skeptical, "I don't recall there being any trouble with the Comet. The craft performs exactly as advertised; we even had your pilots assess the Comet 4 for themselves, 'a bargain at ten times the price' they claimed."

"It's not the Comet itself, per-se." the cat on the other end of the channel clarified, "We've recently been informed that Space Dynamics is hiring James McCloud, one of our former employees."

James nearly stopped dead in his tracks overhearing this. He was partly outraged, partly confused, partly angry, and partly worried. Space Dynamics wasn't hiring him, unless that's what this meeting was for, which it probably was.

"I am considering hiring him, for periodic contract work. I'm not bringing him into the company for an easy salary." Owen insisted, clearly unamused by what was going on with this associate, "For that matter, what exactly do my hiring decisions have to do with the Comet 4 contract?"

"You do understand that McCloud was recently discharged from Caius Company for blatant neglect of duty; neglect that resulted in the death of his squad and the loss of the Amity." the feline businessman duly noted, "Management feels the decision for you to employ him calls into doubt the integrity of Space Dynamics, enough so that they feel we need to reconsider the terms of the Comet 4 contract–"

"Mr. Phoenix." the R.O.B. model uttered in its tinny mechanical voice, causing both Owen and the representative on the comm to stop in surprise.

"You'll have to excuse me for a moment." the fox said as he pressed a button on his desk, and the holographic image winked out. Owen released an exasperated sigh, shook his head and asked, "R.O.B. 42, what is it?"

"Your appointment, Mr. Phoenix." the android answered, gesturing to James, Peppy, Pigma and Scott all gathered there.

"Oh! My god, you're right!" Owen exclaimed upon seeing them, and immediately put on a welcoming, energized state of being as he approached the group, "I'm sorry you had to walk in on that. It just cropped up a few minutes ago, and I got focused in on it."

"Is uh, this a bad time or something?" Pigma asked, while he looked around to the others.

"I tell ya what: we all can wait outside until you're wrapped up here." Peppy suggested.

"No no that's alright." the fox said, "I'll have this finished up faster than–"

"Why the hell is that stuck-up bastard talking about me like that?" James demanded, pointing at the sleeping holographic display on the desk. "Neglect of duty? Seriously?"

"You're absolutely right, I agree. I just need to take care of this real quick, and I'll be with you in a minute." Owen said as he gestured toward the four chairs in front of his desk. Then he turned to the conspicuous robot standing in the middle of all this, "R.O.B. can get you grab some drinks or something?"

With that, the silvery robot turned and walked off, while Owen Phoenix rubbed his forehead with a thoughtful grimace.

"Is this Phoenix guy for real?" James asked Peppy as they sat down, almost under his breath.

"Not gonna lie, he's kinda wonky." the hare answered with a shrug, "but I figure he must be doing something right."

The holographic display came online again, showing the somewhat peeved image of the Caius Company representative, "I don't appreciate being put on hold this way, Mr. Phoenix."

"I apologize for the interruption. My assistant brought something to my attention." the fox replied in a cordial tone, however forced it was, "I believe we were discussing the Comet 4 contract: I'm listening."

"Bear in mind, Mr. Phoenix, the management of Caius Company is still interested in acquiring the Comet 4s with the standard support package, just not quite as interested as they were before, and they are considering other options." the feline informed, with a practiced professional tone, "If I may make a suggestion to better secure the Comet 4 contract: I highly recommend a ten percent expense deduction for the entire contract. That should be more than enough to seal the contract."

"If my memory serves me correctly, you were more than happy with the Comet 4 contract before I started looking into James McCloud. You chose the Space Dynamics Comet 4 because of superior, proven quality, not because it's the cheapest flying scrap you can get your hands on. You can't just expect me to give Caius Company a discount because management is supposedly feeling a little queasy about my hiring decisions."

"It's not my call to make I'm afraid." the representative shook his head with a shrug, "I'm simply laying out the field."

"Alright. Fine. Say I refuse the deduction: what does management do then?" Owen asked, trying his best not to show his irritation.

"Personally, I don't feel it is a wise choice on their part, but management is considering making McCloud's disastrous service record with Caius Company public. There's a journalist they're planing to use to write and publish the story, taking a blow at the public image of Space Dynamics."

A flash of rage went through James then, hearing his former employer's plan. He tensed up, got ready to stand up and burst out right there, but Peppy had reached over and laid a hand on the fox's shoulder. The hare held him back, giving James that look: the look that said 'stay back'

"You're damn right it's not a wise choice!" Owen spouted back, mirroring James' thoughts exactly.

The orange fox stood back a moment, hands on his hips, shaking his head with a sigh, "Look, listen, let me help you do 'management' a huge favor, alright? Inform your bosses of this: James McCloud is a hero. During the attack on the Amity, he courageously helped to evacuate the passengers and crew and brouht them to safety at Farbound station. After that, he assisted the Cerberus crew in eliminating the public threat once posed by both Harrow and Garmir. James McCloud is an example for private military contractors everywhere to follow. Frankly I'm surprised Caius Company decided to discharge him at all."

"Mr. Phoenix, I must protest." the representative retorted as a scowl formed on his face, "It's not as simple as you make it sound–"

"You're right: it's even simpler than I make it sound." Owen snapped back, "Now look, I appreciate the sentiment of what you're trying to do; you're bargaining, you're working the angles, you're doing your job; I respect that. But please, for the love of Lyla, try to find a more reliable bargaining chip than half-hearted, poorly conceived blackmail. It simply does not work out well when you try to publicly smear a hero." With probably more force than was necessary, the orange fox punched a command into the panel on his desk, and the holographic display winked out in front of him.

"Is everything alright?" Peppy asked, a little concerned, "Seemed a little heated there."

"It's nothing really, just a little friendly haggling." Owen Phoenix replied, slipping effortlessly back into the same jovial, welcoming demeanor he had before, "Gotta cut the boys at Caius Company a little slack though: they are dealing with a major blow to their trade, having lost the Amity on their watch. Now they're scrambling to pinch their credits and tighten their belts wherever they can."

"Let them scramble and suffer. They deserve no less." James huffed, arms crossed.

"True, threatening character assassination is a low blow." Owen agreed as he sat down behind his desk and activated the holographic display again: working on some document or other, "But honestly, even though I believe you would come out better if they tried, it just isn't good for anyone to deal with that kind of public smearing mess. Besides, Caius Company has been a good customer, and I am running a business. I'll let them stew for a bit, then call them back with a five percent deduction as a reasonable compromise: they'll bite, and it's not an unacceptable price for me. And who knows, with the Comet 4 in their arsenal, maybe they'll get better results with their business, and won't have to resort to underhanded smear tactics to shave a few credits. If not, well... then it's not a problem new hardware could fix, and you can't say I didn't do what I could to help..."

The orange fox closed the desktop display, and turned his attention to his four guests, most of whom had been blankly staring back during Owen's tirade. James simply glared out into some distant point, to whoever in Caius Company had the nerve to use his service record as blackmail...

"But anyway, we're not here to get you bored with my business decisions, at least, not those business decisions. Long story short: I've got a job that I need a few good pilots to do, and I hope I can count on you to be those pilots. Scott, since you're the surviving member of the original Cerberus crew, that makes you the de-facto leader, privy to the crew's assets–"

"I'm not doing this gig anymore." The terrier grunted, "I'm done."

As miffed as James was about Caius Company, it was small potatoes to Scott. He was still bitter, still defeated, still worn out from everything he lost, or so James McCloud could determine.

"I know this is a hard time for you Scott," Owen said in a concerned tone; but James couldn't quite tell if it was real or genuine, "but there's still a lot of work to be done and–"

"Then find someone else to do your dirty work!" Scott snapped as he rose to his feet, "I've made my decision and I'm sticking by it: I'm retired now."

Without another moment or another sound, the weary terrier turned and started toward the double door,

"Scott?" Pigma blurted as he rose to his feet, and went after him, "Scott wait a second!"

A flash of some uncertain panic ran through James at that moment. There was Scott: leaving, he was committed to go and nobody was going to stop him, he was too stubborn to listen to anyone. The youth of a swine Pigma was following, trying to reassure the terrier, clinging to the last familiar colleague he had from Cerberus. Owen Phoenix looked on: he seemed disappointed, but unsurprised, already making new plans behind those thinking eyes of his. Peppy kept looking back and forth between Scott and Pigma, and James. He was asking McCloud something, but James wasn't paying attention...

There was something he had to do.

"What's the job?" James McCloud asked, and he stepped forward to Owen Phoenix's desk.

He heard the footsteps of Scott and Pigma behind his back end, giving way to a silence. The silence occupied instead by images; an intrigued, curious expression on Owen Phoenix's face. Behind him, a brilliant light crept over the curve of Corneria below: a sunrise.

"You said you're looking for a few good pilots." James recited, feeling a confident certainty fueling his words. It felt good, it felt right, "Well sir, I think you've got them."

Owen Phoenix didn't say anything, but simply scrutinized the younger fox in front of him, and stepped out from behind the desk. He was about to say something, but–

"Are ye out of your bloody mind?!" Scott's voice barked from behind, immediately followed by quick footsteps closer. He was coming back.

James smiled as he heard that grumpy voice, and the determined footsteps that came after, closing right up to his side. A moment later he saw the dark terrier at the edge of his vision, no doubt glaring at him.

"Ye don't have any experience in this field, lad! Ye don't know any contacts, not familiar with the market, don't know the lay of the land!" Scott scolded, like an angry father who knew better and dammit, he was going to let his son know it, "Ye may as well throw yourself to a pack of sharks!"

"So you do care." James turned to Scott with that smile still beaming on his face. He actually had to hold back a laugh, seeing that infuriated scowl on the terrier's face, "I'm touched Scott, I really am."

"Aye, sure, laugh it up. Tisn't any joking matter I can promise ye." Scott grumbled as he rolled his eyes, "Ye take that job now –won't matter what it is– and you'll be dead in six months: mark my words."

"Scott–"

"Stuff it up yer arse, Owen!" the terrier spat, interrupting the orange fox, "I ought to have walked away that day so many years ago. I shouldn't have done so many of the things that I did, but not knowing any better at the time I went and did them anyway. I've seen enough decent blokes die doing this, or be pulled into a right nasty mess, or both, and I don't want that to happen to you if I can help it, so for the love of Lyla don't take the job. Go back and reenlist in the Cornerian Armed Forces if you have to, do anything else, but don't do this."

"Why not?" James asked.

"I told ye why not: you're just not ready for it." Scott muttered, trying not to make eye-contact. Under his outrage, under his anger and bitterness, there might have been something else: fear. Fear of losing James? Fear the young fox might become like him?

"You know what Scott? You're right." James agreed, "I don't have the experience, and I probably will make a lot of mistakes. Still, this job is going to get done one way or another, if not by us then by someone else: someone even less ready, someone even better off doing anything else. Personally, I'm committed to taking this job, and nothing you say is going to change that, not that I don't appreciate the thought though. If you are still committed to not wanting to see me dead or tangled up in some mess or both, and you can't just talk me out of it, there is another option, and I think you know what that is."

James McCloud stepped back, and folded his arms as the terrier was put on the spot. Everyone was watching him now, waiting to know what his response would be to the determined upstart of a fox. Scott was squirming under the pressure and scrutiny, fidgeting. He tried a few times to say something, but kept stopping, kept trying again, until he finally stammered a few words.

"You... lad... are one impossible, stubborn piece of work." and Scott turned away, shaking his head.

"So, does that mean you're back?" James asked.

"Ah bollocks." the terrier uttered with a sigh, and turned back around, "Richard would never let me hear the end of it if I left ye out to dry: I'm back."

"And the record for shortest retirement ever goes to: Scott Aberdeen!" the fox announced with a smug round of applause, and turned to Peppy next to him, "What's his time?"

"Couldn't have been more than a few minutes." the hare quipped as he held back a chuckle.

"Two minutes and thirty-nine seconds, actually." Pigma corrected.

"Go choke on your own bile, the lot of ye." the terrier grumbled halfheartedly.

In all that commotion, no one had really noticed that the chrome-plated R.O.B. 42 model had returned, pushing a small cart laden with the assorted drinks Owen Phoenix had sent him out to get.

"Well then," the orange fox began, "now that you've gotten that all sorted out, are you clowns ready to hear about the job yet?"

\

/

Agent Richard Cooney was being led to the holding cells of Interpatrol's office on the Yomai-yor freeport station, wearing a clean black suit. Rick didn't much like putting on the crisp suit and earpiece getup that screamed 'I am a government agent'. He preferred something less conspicuous, something that made it easier to blend into the background. Still, it occasionally paid to assume an air of authority and broadcast one's status as an agent. Usually this was to get through another authority, like an Intapatrol officer holding a prisoner the agent needed to see.

Rick's host was Interpatrol Captain Westgort, a hulking mastif canid that stood head and shoulders above Rick, and who proudly told the story behind their latest detainee as they walked through the Interpatrol compound.

"We caught him stowed away on a transport: an assorted foodstuffs shipment from the distribution port out of the Sargasso. He sneaked right in with the dockworkers and boxed himself up with enough grub and water to last the trip; pretty clever." Captain Westgort said with a hint of admiration, "The ID he had on him wasn't his of course. He swiped it from one of the workers and altered a bit. We already ran his prints and eyes, but didn't come up with anything from the databases. You say you've got a match on him though?" the mastif asked, turning to his sharp-dressed guest.

"That's right." Rick replied in a tone of authority, "Lylat Central Intelligence has a certain interest in your mysterious John Doe."

"What interest, exactly?" Westgort asked, "He's a ghost."

"Details are classified, but like you say: he's a ghost" Rick replied with a little smirk, "We in the intelligence circles happen to like ghosts."

"Gotcha, playing it secret and spooky, spy-like." the mastif said with nervous a chuckle, just as he stopped outside a security door, "Anyway, I've him set up in this interrogation room just like you wanted: no cameras, no mics, no nothing."

"Thank you, Captain." the raccoon said with a small nod.

"You sure you don't want us to keep tabs, you know, for safety's sake?" Captain Westgort asked.

"The guards you posted outside will be enough," Rick assured him, in a tone that suggested his mind was made up, "I'll be out soon."

"Okay then, it's your show." the mastiff said with a shrug as he opened the security door with his keycard.

Without another word to the Interpatrol officer, Rick stepped inside the room, and the sliding door sealed him inside. It was a very drab room; four gray walls, a table in the center, and a chair on either side; about what Rick would've expected for an interrogation room.

In one of these chairs was a familiar figure: Wiley, or Mak as others have called him, or 'Makita' according to the dossier Serge had given Rick. The pale wolf was wearing a dull red jumpsuit and boots that must've been the dockworker's uniform, as well as a pair of handcuffs binding his wrists together. Most troubling of all though was the dull glassy-eyed stare on his face, gazing past the wall, and not even glancing up at the raccoon who came to see him.

"Cameras are off, microphones are off." Rick informed, walking slowly around the table, "We're alone here, it's just you and me."

Slowly, Wiley looked up at Rick, and a skeptical look formed over the vacant expression on his face. It looked like he was about to ask a question, or make a snide comment–

In the span of an instant, the wolf sprang from his chair, grabbed Rick by the lapels of his suit jacket and slammed his back down against tabletop with a heavy thump! The movement happened so fast, so suddenly, that Rick really wasn't able to react. To his surprise and relief though, Rick didn't feel any major damage from Wiley's attack, not even a bruise, if it even was an attack at all...

For the moment, the wolf just stood over the agent in his clutches, looking down, and simply waited. Rick was just about to ask what the hell Wiley was doing, though he already the agent had a few ideas what. Just as the shock of the moment dissipated though, a quiet sigh of relief escaped the wolf, and the tensions in his body relaxed.

"So, we really are alone then." Wiley said in a dry voice as he released the raccoon, and took a step back, "Sorry about that, I just wanted to be sure you were telling the truth."

"That was good thinking, actually." Rick quickly complimented as he got back to his feet and brushed himself off, "If the guards were monitoring us, they'd be in here by now, taking it out on you."

Wiley let out a grunt in response, then sat back down in the chair he was in earlier, and bluntly asked, "What are you doing here?"

The Rick stepped around the table, and took a seat opposite the white wolf. He waited a moment, examining that vacant stare in Wiley's eyes before replying, "There's no sense in concealing the truth from you: I spoke with Carmen O'Donnell."

At this, the wolf awkwardly raised one of his cuffed hands to his forehead and slouched low, muttering, "Ah hell..."

"Wait," the raccoon said as he held up one hand, and removed a digital recorder from inside his jacket pocket with the other, and set it down on the table between them, "Just listen..."

Rick pressed the play button on the recorder, and there was a brief moment of tense silence across the table. Wiley stared at the little handheld device, part curious, part terrified, part confused, but sitting still as a wooden post, even as the audio finally began to sound...

"I understand he came to visit you a few weeks ago." Rick's voice asked politely from the recorder's speaker, "Do you mind if I ask what happened during that visit?"

"He... Honestly I'm not sure exactly what Mak wanted, or if even he knew." Carmen's voice replied, "He was vague with his answers, but then again, he always was. When he found out that I had a son –his son– he wanted move in with me, to help raise him... I turned him away."

"Is it alright if I ask why?"

The recording was silent for a moment, and worried grimace formed on the wolf's face.

"He's in trouble, isn't he?" Carmen said in an exacerbated, knowing tone, "Trouble is all he knows, all he's good for."

At this, Wiley shrugged in his chair, and uttered a grunt that could be a kind of chuckle as he slowly shook his head.

"He's being held in an Interpatrol holding facility," Rick's voice in the recording answered, "he was caught stowing away on a freighter."

"What's your interest in him, Agent Cooney, if you don't mind me asking?" Carmen asked, now with a more prying tone.

"Lylat Central Intelligence feels he has valuable insight on certain topics, and may make a valuable asset for such topics."

"But why him?" Carmen asked, clearly dissatisfied with Rick's vague answer, "What makes his insight, above so many others like him, so valuable to your agency?"

"It's best if I don't go into details, for your safety."

"Pfft, Mak always said that exact same thing to me when I asked about what he does: 'for my safety'." Carmen scoffed in mockery of Rick's polite, official tone he'd been using during the interview, "I know better: I know that he does shady underground mercenary work. And also, to answer your question from earlier, that's why I turned him away. I don't want someone who knows trouble the way he does to raise my son, and invite more trouble into my life. So tell me, Agent Cooney, of all the dirty rotten lowlife scumbags in Lylat, what makes Mak so special to you?"

A period of silence went on after Carmen's harsh reply. Hearing it, the pale wolf on the other side of the table kept very still; the kind of stillness one might have if they were shell-shocked, or if they were trying to contain a very powerful swell of emotion.

"I told you I can't go into details, but consider this:" Rick's voice in the recording finally said in a grim tone, "After being away from you and silent for so long, Mak came back to you, desperate to reunite. In the time he was absent from you, I can tell you that Mak found himself in trouble so deep, so terrifying, that instead of possibility facing it again, he wanted to leave it all behind to be with you and your son. That specific trouble Mak experienced is the insight that interests LCI, and it's why we are willing to overlook his pockmarked past to recruit him."

Wiley cocked his head at that last sentence, and shot a quizzical, almost disbelieving look across the table to Rick. He seemed almost ready to ask a question, but was cut short by the recording.

"You want to make him an agent, like you?" Carmen's voice asked, her vocal tone matching the wolf's expression almost exactly.

"Yes." Rick's voice replied.

After another short span of awkward silence, Carmen spoke again, softly, asking, "Can you help him?"

At that moment Rick reached out, stopped the recording, and said in a quiet voice, "That's the real question, isn't it?"

"What do you think you're trying to pull? Recruit me?" Wiley demanded in a kind of confused outrage, "What the hell do you want with me?!"

"The Agency has a real interest in Cerinians now." the raccoon informed calmly, in stark contrast to the wolf, "The attacks on the Amity, Sojourn, and the Cerberus crew have opened the eyes of LCI's leadership to the threat such beings can pose. They want a response; they want people who know about them, who are familiar with their abilities. So they've put me in charge of creating a specialized task force to address the Cerinian situation, and I feel you have a lot to contribute to the effort."

"And what if I don't want to?" the wolf asked in a harsh voice, "It's like you said to Carmen, like I said to Carmen: I don't want that hectic shadowy life anymore. What makes you think I'd do all that again just because you asked me to?"

"Because ultimately you will want to do it again, even if you don't think so now." Rick answered.

"You'll understand if I find that a little hard to believe." Wiley quipped back as he rolled his eyes.

"Okay then, let's say for a moment Carmen said 'yes', that she let you back into your life and you got to raise your son, just like you wanted." Rick began, "Would you stop being the trouble magnet that Carmen believes you are? I imagine you would try, and you'd try very hard. The thing about having lived such a shady life like yours though, about having the skills and instincts you've accumulated, is that those will never go away, and the world won't stop being dangerous just because you try to avoid danger. You would live your normal life, raise your family, go about whatever line of employment you found, and yet you would constantly be aware of all the shady underhanded activities that go on in the world. You would see all those threats to your family, to your community, and in the responsible paternal drive to protect your family, you would either be driven to confront these threats, putting your family in danger, or suffer a quiet shame as you stand by and do nothing to stop it. Honestly, how long do you think you could last in such a domesticated life before trouble, one way or another, finds you again?"

"But I'm not out there, and Carmen already said 'no'. So tell me, why would I want to work for your Agency, and do exactly what I said I don't want to do anymore?" the wolf demanded.

"For starters, it's better than rotting in a prison cell. By that I mean, becoming an agent is just option number one, and option two... Well, even if you don't want to be trained as an agent, that will not make LCI leave you alone. If the Agency can't put your insights into Cerinians to work in the field –as is my personal recommendation– they will keep you locked up in a holding cell much like the one you have here, and use you as a consulting resource on Cerinian matters when the time comes."

"Maybe I don't mind that." Wiley said with a snide shrug, almost like he as doing it out of spite.

"Have you ever been in extended isolated incarceration before? Do you know just how much that really sucks, especially for someone like you?"

"There are a lot of guys like me in lockup–"

"You have a family now, with Carmen, and your baby son Wolf" Rick interrupted, "In extended isolation, your every waking thought will be slowly be consumed by them. You will wonder how they are doing, if they're alright, and you will want desperately to do something to help them. Locked away in your holding cell though, you will be utterly powerless to do anything at all for them, and it will drive you insane."

"Aren't I the 'trouble magnet'?" Wiley asked, "Wouldn't being locked away keep them safe from me and the trouble I'm liable to bring them?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean there aren't other sources of trouble that might threaten Carmen and your son." Rick added, "You've been to Sargasso station, you know for a fact that it is a downright dangerous place for a young single mother to raise a child."

And there it was.

Wiley couldn't make snide remarks about Carmen, he couldn't twist it to spite Rick, and he couldn't just ignore it. The paternal protective instincts in the wolf, the part of him that still hung onto his Carmen, that wanted to take responsibility for his child, had taken hold, "... I can't help them." he finally uttered, his voice weak, and his eyes downcast.

"But you want to help them, I can see it in you as plain as day." Rick said, driving his point home, "If you accept recruitment, if you become an agent of Lylat Central Intelligence, we can have Carmen protected, kept safe, watched over. We can help them."

Slowly, the wolf looked up at the Rick, and asked, "How?"

"It'd be a surveillance and protection detail, assigned to Carmen and your son: standard practice for all LCI assets and agents that have family." Rick explained, "They'd keep their distance, and Carmen would never know of their presence unless it was deemed necessary. If there's any danger, the team there would either amend the situation themselves, or an agent would be dispatched to assist."

Wiley paused again here, and looked around, hesitating, fidgeting. As far as Rick could tell, his paternal responsibility instincts seemed to be satisfied by the terms, but there was something else holding him back, something he seemed to be on the verge of disclosing, if Rick's assessment of his body-language was correct.

"That's all real nice and all, but... I'm not sure I'm cut out to do... this." Wiley finally admitted, stumbling to assemble the words, "I mean... I'm not sure I could go back to to living that kind of life, doing the kind of spy work you want from me, even if I do want to do it."

"Why not?"

"Look at me! I got caught trying to do a simple stowaway!" the wolf snapped bitterly, holding up his cuffed hands, "I should've been able to get that off without a hitch, and here here I am, in this stupid jail, chatting it up with you in their interrogation room! I screwed up when I worked with you before, I screwed up when I was captured by the Cerberus crew, I screwed up under Harrow, I screwed up learning from Serge, and I screwed up my entire life even before that! And then I screwed everything up with Carmen..." Wiley said as his voice stumbled down, and collapsed to a kind of dejected muttering, "Take it from me you don't want to trust a guy like me with these Cerinian matters. They are complicated, dangerous, and far over my head..."

"You see? That, right there, is exactly why I trust you with these Cerinian matters." Rick said, oddly cheerful in the face of the other's despair.

"Because I'm a screwup?" Wiley asked, looking back with that bewildered look again.

"Yes," the raccoon said with a firm nod, "because even as screwed up as you think you are, you still know more about Cerinians and their capabilities than the entire Lylat Central Intelligence combined."

"How could you possibly trust meafter what I've done to you,and the people you know?" Wiley shot back, "I've killed them! I nearly killed you! I wiped up the Amity's security escort barely lifting a finger! I'm a goddamn monster!"

"That's right, your tradecraft is superb, some of the best I've ever seen over my career." Rick complimented, "Hell, you weren't even in your right mind when you did all those things: that's you as the so-called 'screwup'. Can you imagine how utterly dangerous you could be if you had your head screwed on straight? That's the kind of danger I want on my side, doing what's right, what you know needs doing in this crazy world."

For a while, Wiley sat speechless opposite Rick, mouth hung open. It seemed the doubts he had were lifted, or at least set aside for the time being, or may he'd simply run out of excuses. After a moment, the wolf finally showed movement again, and asked quietly, "What happens if I say yes?"

A small smile formed on Rick's face, before he replied, "If you agree to become an agent here and now, I'll make arrangements with the Interpatrol Captain on this station to have you 'transferred into LCI custody'." he explained, raising his hands in air quotes at the last part, "You get to rest up comfortably for the day, and we get started tomorrow."

"Started on what, exactly?"

"Boring procedural stuff mainly; getting you into the LCI network, aptitude assessments, paperwork and general housekeeping," the raccoon listed off with a nonchalant wave of his hand, "Of course, that's all just a means to an end. Eventually, the plan is to set up shop on Cerinia itself."

The pale wolf's eyebrows jumped up a bit, possibly in surprise, or astonishment, then he asked, "And you really think I'm the guy for the job, to go to Cerinia with you?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be here." the raccoon replied, remembering his own recruitment, how unsure he was.

After a moment, Rick saw a small spark of determination form in Wiley, barely a glimmer, but it was there nonetheless, "If it means stopping more maniacs like Harrow, I'll do it."

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/

Lombardi's, a small restaurant deep in downtown Corneria City, was right in the middle of a busy lunch-rush. It wasn't a fancy place, far from it, Lombardi's was more informal, more closely tied to the community. Most of the tables were packed with hungry customers, some with food and some without, and the kitchen in the back was firing at full-steam to keep up with the demand. The air inside the dining area was thick with the appetizing aroma of meats, cheeses, sauces and herbs, all with the din of dozens and dozens of conversations. One such conversation was between James McCloud, Vixy Reinard, and another...

"You two take a seat and be comfy." a gruff blue plumed avian said as he led the two foxes to an empty table, "I'll be back in just a sec to get your order." And with that, he strode off into the rest of the busy restaurant, leaving the two vulpine patrons to themselves.

"I am so glad you didn't invite me to a movie for our first 'real' date." Vixy said in a cheerful voice as she sat down, her face naturally forming a smile as she spoke, "I'm absolutely terrible when I'm watching them."

"Terrible? How's that?" James asked as he took a seat opposite the vixen.

"From my schooling, my training:" Vixy said, "I'd point out every little camera and lighting trick the cinematographer did, every plot and pacing device of the story, every editing gimmick, every little mistake they made along the way–"

"Ha! Now that I gotta see sometime!" James burst out, as a goofy grin formed on his muzzle.

"You are a terrible person!" the vixen squealed in playful mock outrage.

"I know, I know, and you're the only one who can save me from my terribleness!" the fox confessed, matching Vixy's playfulness with his overly dramatic tone and pose.

"Looks like I've got my work cut out for me then," Vixy said with a sly look across to James, "especially when it's the so-called 'hero for hire' who's in trouble."

"It's a tough mission, but I'm sure you're more than capable." the fox agreed with a little smirk.

The vixen allowed herself a short giggle, and finally took a look over the menu in front of her, asking, "So how is that mercenary thing going for you anyway?"

"It's going okay, I guess." James answered with a shrug, looking down at menu for himself, and added, "We've got a gig with Owen Phoenix coming up."

"What, really? The Owen Phoenix?" Vixy asked, setting the menu down and gazing across the table with genuine shock, "Space Dynamics and everything?"

"Oh yeah. Me and the guys are coordinating a neat little sting operation with Interpatrol and Space Dynamics." James replied, keeping his playful cool, but only for a little bit, "We're meeting with the Interparol officer in charge tomorrow to discuss the details of the mission." his tone became more uncertain, wavering.

"Are you nervous?" Vixy asked, showing real concern in her gentle green eyes.

"Yeah, kind of..." the fox admitted, and sheepishly asked, "Is it that obvious?"

Vixy reached across the table, and gently took hold of the other's hand, "It's okay."

"Thanks," James said, grasping the vixen's hand in return, "Honestly, I'd be worried if I wasn't at least a little bit nervous, being my first freelance job and all."

"I does sound like a tough mission," Vixy said in an earnest tone, and gave him a smile as she added, "but I'm sure you're more than capable."

At that, James felt himself burst into a short laugh, and match the Vixen's smile exactly.

End Part Two

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/

Author Notes:

We've made it to the end of the second part! Finally! The next arc of the story will take place immediately following this particular chapter, and does indeed involve this mysterious job for Space Dynamics James and the guys have just been hired on for.

Thank you readers for sticking with this story through the long and short of it, and for the good and bad of it. Even so, we're barely getting started here, and there's still quite a ways to go. I hope to see all of you again as we push on, and many fine greetings to those who've joined us along the way.

Firstly, I'd like to apologize completely for how long this particular chapter has taken to write, edit, rewrite, edit again and finally publish. Things came up, I got mad writer's block, and other such unacceptable excuses. Secondly, many have sent me PMs to me that I've failed to respond to recently. I apologize for that as well, I normally am much better about responding quickly to my messages. Thirdly, on a related note, there are several stories I follow in this archive that I normally review quite promptly when updated, and I haven't, for which I apologize yet again.

Still, as far as I'm concerned, I've always found apologies inadequate, and much prefer action to mere words. So, over the next few days or so, I will do everything in my power right the wrongs I've listed above: reply to my messages, read/review the stories I normally follow diligently, and get chapters out quicker.

In that spirit, I have an announcement I'd like to make regarding Star Fox: Legacy: I will be having "character auditions" of a sort for the next volume.

I know, it's weird coming from me for something like that. I'd probably normally say it's something silly and tacky, but what the heck, I'll run it up the flagpole and see if it gets a salute or two.

Thing is, the basic idea for the next arc of Legacy was pulled together fairly quickly, and I don't have all the details for it figured out yet. James' fledgling team has yet to prove themselves, has yet to earn the respect and fame that Star Fox is supposed to be known for. So naturally, there will be those who will look down on them with contempt, especially other mercenaries. That's where you guys come in. What I would love from you readers, is a mercenary team, one to serve as direct competition and harsh rivals to James and the boys here.

If you're interested, or have questions about this, feel free to shoot a PM my way.

Otherwise, I wish you all the best of luck, and hope to hear from you all very soon,
chaos_Leader.