MORE THAN THERE SEEMS

A Sonic SatAM story by:

Tristan Palmgren

MistressAli

Ealain Vangogh

J.R. Grant

Dominic Smith

Roland "Jim Doe" Lowery

 

 

 

Post 41:

Ealain Vangogh

 

Sprocket was vaguely aware that he had been joined by his indomitable Mobian comrades--one of them, Derek, the koala, had even uttered with some incredulity, an oath about the blazing and them diminishing glow of light in the distance, "the hell was that?"--to which he heard himself cryptically respond some quip about a dearth of sleep.

 

But it was as if his lips, his very words, were detached from his brain and consciousness. Far, far too engrossed in the sight before him to intelligently respond to his companions beyond this fatalistic joke, Sprocket smiled softly in the darkness. It was a hazy smile, mesmerized, drunken by the startling radiance in the depth of the woods.

 

He had upon impulse been seized by predatory, bestial survival instinct, but now, now, really staring at the pulsating glow in the distance, swallowed by its pure organic power, its benevolent enduring light, his very wits coxcombed as to an eloquent or witty verbal rebuttal....

 

....God. . . somehow, he realized his infinite smallness in the vast scheme of all things, a mere metallic speck in the mosaic of nature and the universe, and yet this only redirected his exploding mind and soul to the greatness of that Entity to which he owed every fiber of his being, that great unobtainable Something from which he and all other life had sprung and which Julian wanted so desperately to control, which he could never control, because neither his puny mind nor his puny efforts nor those of anything else could hope to reach this Being, this Something. This Source of Creation, this Life apart form Darkness, this Source of Everything--of All.

 

Having been in the presence of charitable Overlanders for the greater portion of his life, he had always believed in a monotheistic human God, the Judeo-Christian God, and to him this was the Source from which the light in the distance beckoned his conscience, his newfound fierce will to fight for these fragile little creatures with such disproportionately large courage. But he couldn't speak to the others in terms so distinctive, for they had some other entity, some vaguer deity or spiritual presence, to which they attributed this awe. A different name for God....But it was the same awe, the same reverence for life.

 

So it was, perversely, as if he were suddenly overcome by both a stinging rush of futility and yet an uplifting wind of moral drive to fight that which sought to control and to destroy nature itself--Julian. No, Robotnik. Robotnik. That was the despot's name now. Sprocket must discard the names of the past--the past itself. Or at least store it somewhere in his memory, for the feelings that coated the phantoms of things gone by clouded the goals of today.

 

This light had in it something divine and it made perfect sense that they approach it. Only good could come of it. Only good people could harbor it.

 

His heart, or whatever had replaced it, stirred warmly in his chest. Home. The light was like coming home.

 

"I'll go first," he said, finally, clear and resolute. He bit his lower lip and slowly, gently pawed towards the light. He frowned deeply, activating his night vision, a burst of bright yellow that could almost best the light before him, were it not so pale, so harsh and artificial.

 

But it didn't used to be artificial. These two Mobians, they probably thought him impatient with their need for slumber and nourishment and warmth. If only he could feel that need again! If only he could escape this gnawing anxiety in sleep, or in a delicious aromatic meal.

 

He pushed away the dismayed, angry thought, and the flickering vision of the equally pale, harsh, hollow person with whom it was connected, quickly form his mind and scanned the trees as if with a flashlight. No traps, or spies, it seemed, lurking in the nooks and crannies awaiting to spring on them. The light had given him comfort, but still, there was no use in being foolhardy.

 

Derek's footsteps, soon carrying his form beside the canine, were calculated and discrete. Sprocket appreciated the caution; he winced at the somewhat more bumbling gait of the dragon child, especially when she apologized, embarrassed and loud, in the darkness, but forgave her na�ve enthusiasm immediately for want of the same innocence he once had.

 

They were descending a sort of hill...and coming upon a kind of tower. No...he darted ahead of his comrades and inspected the tethered, wooden design--on the hill, they were standing at the top of it, and it had been sort of built into the landscape. It was a makeshift elevator; the sophistication of the design, considering its makers couldn't have been skilled laborers but rather a handful of bewildered refugees, swelled in his chest a forgotten pride for the Mobian people to whom he once had owed allegiance. His throat became heavy with a knot or lump of some kind. "It's beautiful," he breathed.

 

Derek understood. "Yes." He nodded. "Yes, it is." He peered down its shaft. "And it seems it's in use."

 

Sprocket and Dulcy shot ramrod straight in alarm. "What?" they hissed in unison.

 

They joined the koala in his downward gaze. Halfway up the elevator, tugging with all her might on the pulley rope, was a humbly-clad ground squirrel, tints of silver invading the youthful brown of her hair, accompanied by a small, lean child, another squirrel, whose hair plainly shone a vibrant auburn even in the dull light. Something in her bearing was proud, but not haughty--somehow defiant, brave, but not without a degree of compassion beyond her young years. Just below and beyond them in a small clear body of water was the radiant light that they had been pursuing for nearly half an hour. From it came many loud whispers, clearly those of other young Mobians, who plainly thought that they were being quite secretive about following the two in the elevator. One of them was even visible, a particularly blue-tinted little male hedgehog. For the moment, they didn't see their three observers, who had gone collectively slack-jawed.

 

"We found them," Dulcy guffawed. "We found other Mobians!"

 

Her overzeal rang again loudly in her voice, and she clapped her claws over her lips in realization, but the echo of her youthful words was already ricocheting off the hills and trees.

 

The hedgehog who had been in hiding jumped out and vaulted straight up into the air, clutching the side of the elevator with his hands and shrieking , "Rosie, look out! Robots!" He balanced himself on the edge, glaring at Sprocket, teeth bared. There was murder, not fear, in his sharp little dark eyes, making the beast, the carnivore, the warrior, in him far greater than the child on the outside. This was what people like Robotnik had done to the psyche of children. Sprocket was too saddened by this to find the child either comical and cute or frightening.

 

The other children hidden in the darkness turned and fled back to the Light.

 

The elder squirrel looked up and locked eyes immediately with Sprocket--the metallic intruder. The enemy.

 

An eternity seemed to pass before she put her trembling form in front of the child in the elevator, pulled the other child the hedgehog, to her, and accosted him in a strong voice belying her round-eyed terror, "Leave us be, slave of Robotnik, and let those two poor Mobian souls you've snared go as well."

 

Sprocket sighed in despair. Was this to be a futile night after all?

 

-------------------------------------------

 

Post 42:

Tristan Palmgren

 

Rosie knew that it was probably a mistake to trust the other kids to their own devices, and just assume that they'd had back to their cabins, but the emotions surging through her bloodstream were too intense to pay heed to such thoughts now.

 

Princess Sally was the real focus of her attention right now. She was often the ringleader of these 'Freedom Fighter' escapades, after all. She knew each of the other children as only their real parents had before, and she knew with a warm certainty that none of them could yet take the initiative on their own. They would be fine by themselves, for at least a few minutes, while she took Sally out for this quiet walk. Even when it came to a constantly problematic case like Sonic, there was still a big difference between his impulsiveness and an actual ability to lead and act decisively. So Rosie's anger, subdued though it was, and her protective instinct were focused entirely on the worryingly impetuous ground squirrel.

 

Rosie took Sally by the arm - the child's hand was still small enough to be grasped wholly within Rosie's adult-sized palm - and led her firmly away from the power ring pool. Sally was at the age when there, though she wasn't even a teenager yet, she despised being treated like a child. Rosie knew that, and it was part of the reason why she was treating her as such now. She'd been a nanny all her life, long before even Sally was born, and knew that there were some times that she had to gently but forcefully remind her charges that they were, in the end, just children. This was certainly one of those times.

 

Sally resisted at first, trying to tug back at Rosie's arm. When she saw that wasn't going to deter her, though, she stopped, and eventually started to walk alongside her. Rosie knew better than to let go just yet, though. Sally's mouth opened and closed silently, as if she wanted to protest or say something, but couldn't quite force the words out.

 

As soon as they had moved a far distance from the ring pool, Rosie spoke.

 

"First of all," she sighed, "you might as well tell me what you were trying to do."

 

The princess child blinked at that. She was clearly surprised. She looked as though the first thing she had expected to hear from Rosie was a lecture, or at best, a reprimand. Not simply a tired voice asking for information. Still, she recovered from the surprise quickly, and her voice was strong and firm as she answered.

 

"We were only about to rescue one of the greatest living scientists of our time," Sally said, proud and bitter all at once. "Sir Charles Hedgehog. Sonic's uncle might be the only one who can help us win back our country."

 

Rosie kept walking through the dark forest, stepping over the roots and rocks she knew by heart were in her path, and generally took her time moving. She knew that she had plenty of time to answer, and wanted to keep the mood as subdued and peaceful as possible. However new and unusual this situation might be, the knowledge of how to handle these conversations was almost second-hand to her. Sally, her hand still locked inside Rosie's, stayed in step beside her. "So that's your ultimate plan, is it?" Rosie asked at last. "Saving Mobotropolis?"

 

Some of Sally's fire had been extinguished by Rosie's unexpectedly quiet voice, but certainly not all of it. "That's what Daddy would want me to do," she said stoutly.

 

"Do you think your father would want you to get yourself killed?" she asked quietly.

 

"We're not gonna get killed," Sally shot back immediately. She took a deep breath, and tried to regain control over her voice. More composed, she continued, "We're not going to die. If we plan well enough in advance, and strike hard enough, Robotnik will never see us coming. And it's only going to get easier once we rescue Sir Charles. I know we can do it, Rosie; we're ready to be Freedom Fighters. Why won't you let us go?"

 

Rosie knew better than to point out Sally's age again. It seemed absurd to Rosie, an adult, that this headstrong eleven-year-old was telling her that she could do things that the entirety of the Royal Army had found impossible. Still, she knew that Sally would never accept that argument - it just didn't conform to what she saw as her world. To a child in a situation like Sally's, anything seemed possible, even a group of children bringing down a well-armed military force that had already conquered Mobius's most advanced civilization.

 

Instead, Rosie decided to work within the bounds of Sally's world, and still convince her that she couldn't go through with this.

 

"Sir Charles tried to fight back himself, too, you know," Rosie said carefully. "One of the survivors that came through here a few weeks after the coup told me about it. He used a few electromagnetic darts to scramble the nearest SWATbots, and threw himself straight at Robotnik."

 

This had caught Sally's attention. She hadn't heard this before; Rosie had never told any of them about it. She looked up at Rosie. "Really? What happened then?"

 

"I bet he was just as convinced as you were that he would succeed," Rosie said. She didn't know that, of course -- the story she'd heard had actually made it sound like Charles had known how futile the attack would be. Still, in the case, she knew that it was acceptable to embellish a few details. "But Robotnik caught him just a few seconds later, and he was one the first Mobians to be roboticized."

 

Sally kept walking silently beside Rosie. She had gotten the point that Rosie was trying to make. She just wasn't accepting it.

 

"I think what's really going on here is that you just don't want to acknowledge what could happen if you fail," Rosie continued. "You know just as well as I do that something could go drastically wrong. This isn't something that you can take lightly, Sally. This is your life. You won't be able to help anyone if you take these foolish risks, and end up getting yourself roboticized."

 

A change had settled over Sally. Though she was still convinced that she was right, she was taking Rosie a bit more seriously than she had before. Rosie knew that this was a step in the right direction. The argument was now proceeding on her terms. Experience had made her a more able child psychologist than those who'd spent decades studying in universities. "I know what the dangers are," Sally said quietly. "And I'm willing to risk being roboticized."

 

"And are you willing to risk your friends' lives, as well? If something goes wrong, do you want them to die, too?"

 

Sally looked up. She'd been caught off-guard. "Huh?"

 

It was time for the hammer of reality to fall. Rosie pressed on, voice growing darker. She knew that, to an outsider she might appear heedless of Sally's feelings, but she also knew that the only way to get Sally to recognize that danger she was inviting was the hit her with the truth. Hard. "Do you think you could live with yourself if Sonic died on one of these missions? Or Antoine? Bunnie? Rotor?" Her voice grew more intense. "Or all of them? Because I won't let you lie to yourself, Sally. No matter how noble or worthwhile your cause, that's all you'll probably end up doing. Killing them... and yourself."

 

Sally shrank back, almost involuntarily. Rosie kept her hold on Sally's hand firm, though, and kept her walking right alongside her.

 

She suddenly felt terribly bad for forcing Sally to confront this, and, for a moment, the only thing she was aware of was a desire to bend down, and wrap her arms around the frightened squirrel child in a tight embrace. She kept telling herself, though, that it was better that Sally find out what the real consequences of these 'freedom missions' now, rather than after her friends had actually perished.

 

"Rosie," Sally started, and this time her voice actually squeaked. She sounded more like an eleven-year-old now than the regal Princess Freedom Fighter she'd tried to be moments earlier. "Could that really happen?"

 

Rosie stopped walking, and at last let go of the princess's arm. The child didn't seem to notice that an escape route was open. Her eyes were wide, and still locked on her nanny's face. She'd probably thought about the risks in these 'freedom missions' before, but this was almost certainly the first time she'd been told to her face that they could kill everyone she cared about. Rosie knelt down until her eyes were level with Sally's. She wondered how to handle this question, and, for a few seconds, wasn't able to think of anything. Then the beige rectangle affixed to her boot heel caught her eye.

 

"Do you trust Nicole?" she asked.

 

Despite Sally's jab at Nicole earlier tonight, Rosie knew that Sally had always had a special affinity for the computer. She was constantly fascinated by Nicole's artificial personality. Her eyes always twinkled when she talked to her. She was becoming increasingly absorbed with the information the King had entered into Nicole's memory banks before the coup; maybe she saw Nicole as being her last link with her father.

 

"I trust her, absolutely," Sally nodded. Rosie reached down, and unclipped Nicole from her boot. She held the computer up between both herself and Sally as she unfolded it.

 

"Nicole," Rosie ordered, "input hypothetical situation for probability analysis. Princess Sally leads the rest of the children in this village to the heart of Robotropolis. They're on a covert mission to rescue Sir Charles from his roboticization."

 

"TACTICAL MODEL LOADED. INPUT PARAMETERS."

 

Rosie's eyes locked onto Sally's. "Taking all their known skills and abilities into account, what is the probability that they'll succeed?"

 

"FOUR POINT ONE PERCENT."

 

Sally didn't visibly react to Nicole's pronouncement. Instead, she looked petulantly back up at Rosie. Whether she just didn't believe the numbers, or just simply didn't care, Rosie couldn't tell. She wasn't done yet, though.

 

"If they attempt this mission, what is the probability that *all* of the children will be captured and roboticized?" Rosie asked calmly.

 

"SEVENTY-SEVEN POINT NINE PERCENT."

 

Sally inhaled sharply, as if she had started to gasp, but tried to hide it. She took an involuntary step backwards. Rosie didn't blame the child for her reaction. She had just been told, by an impartial observer, that the mission she had probably pinned her hopes on for the past several weeks would likely result in the destruction of everyone she cared about.

 

"What is the most likely situation your tactical models forecast?" Rosie pressed on.

 

"THE CHILDREN WILL SUCCESSFULLY PENETRATE ENEMY TERRITORY FOR AT LEAST A QUARTER KILOMETER DISTANCE PAST THE CITY LIMITS. ENEMY CAMERA ORBS WILL DETECT THE INTRUDERS, AND THE INTERCEPTION SWATBOTS WILL CAPTURE BETWEEN ONE AND THREE OF THE CHILDREN. THE SUBSEQUENT DROP IN MORALE WILL REDUCE THE REMAINDER TO NEAR-INEFFECTIVENESS. THEY WILL SCATTER, BUT THEY WILL BE CAPTURED ONE-BY-ONE AS THEY ATTEMPT TO FLEE THE CITY."

 

Sally cried out, and suddenly Rosie felt her arms wrap around her in a tight embrace. The poor child was terrified. Rosie had to admit that even her fur had raised on its hackles; the picture Nicole had painted hadn't been pretty. The image of her children, panicked and reduced to tears and fleeing merciless SWATbots, was something that she wanted to forget quickly.

 

"Now you see why I can't let you do this, Sally," Rosie said gently. "You're not Freedom Fighters. You're just children."

 

"I don't believe Nicole," Sally said sharply, even as she held tightly onto Rosie. "I-I'm not going to sit here and let a computer's forecasts control my future."

 

"Sally, listening to Nicole isn't quite like rolling dice. She may be a computer, but she knows what she's talking about. Your father even programmed her personality himself. She knows that you're not ready for this."

 

"We won't die," Sally said, voice wavering. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself rather than anyone else. "I won't allow it."

 

The point was being driven home. Sally sounded as though she didn't really believe herself anymore. Whether or not she would ultimately change her mind about the 'freedom mission', Rosie didn't know, but certainly the fears that had been awakened by Nicole's verdict were real ones. Powerful, too. They looked like they were tearing the poor kid apart.

 

Rosie brushed some of Sally's auburn headfur away from her face. "Don't get me wrong, kiddo," she said quietly. "I applaud what you're trying to do. Robotnik is the most evil force on the face of the planet, and I would give anything - *anything* - to see him gone. But what you're doing just isn't realistic. I'm afraid the only thing it's going to accomplish is getting you and your friends roboticized, or killed. Do you understand why I can't let you do this?"

 

Sally's face crinkled, as if she were about to break out in tears, but she held her composure, and remained silently. Slowly, she nodded.

 

"I'm glad," Rosie said honestly.

 

There was a sudden flash of brilliant golden light behind them. The solemn mood was broken. Sally and Rosie's gazes reflexively snapped back to face the light, but they both relaxed when they saw where it was coming from.

 

"Oh dear," Rosie said. "The power ring came earlier than we expected tonight. I had thought there wasn't one due for another hour, at least." She stood up, the flashing gold light playing tricks with her shadow as she moved. "I hope one of the others will be able to grab that before it sinks back to the bottom of the pond."

 

Moments later, the glow died as the power ring finished forming. Rosie had a passing wish that they could stop the rings from coming at nighttime. They were almost a bigger visibility risk than bonfires. Thankfully, though, the rings formed quickly. Only a few moments after she first noticed the glow, it had already started to fade. Night resumed.

 

She took Sally's hand again. "Why don't we walk a little further? Come on, I'll take you up to some of the farther paths. I can tell you a little more about Sir Charles, if you want."

 

Sally nodded, and sniffed. Her voice was milder than it had been before. "Yeah... yeah, sure. I'd like that, Rosie."

 

Rosie smiled, and led onwards through the dark forest. They walked quietly together for several minutes. She liked to think that she had made a breakthrough with Sally tonight. She had broken through some of the foolish determination, the stubbornness, and the headstrong attitude, and gotten her to at least consider reality. Sally was a good child, but she had to learn to balance what was *right* with what was *realistic*. She needed to use a dose of rationality when pursuing her dreams. With any luck at all, this would be the last she would talk about these 'freedom missions' for quite some time.

 

A small cliff face loomed out of the night. There was forest below, and forest above. It had usually been a pain to navigate around before, but not any longer. One of the more recent additions to Knothole village had a small, manually-operated elevator carriage on its side. Building it had actually been an enjoyable summer project last year. Rosie had enjoyed seeing just how adroit the children, especially Rotor, had become with tools and hand projects.

 

Rosie stepped into the carriage, followed closely by Sally. Rosie grabbed the rope by the side of the machine, and started to pull upwards. They were a quarter of the way up to the top before she spoke again.

 

"I remember the first time I met Sir Charles," Rosie began. "It was at one of your father's palatial dinners. He was the guest of honor, because just a few days earlier, he'd discovered--"

 

Sonic burst out of the darkness with frightening speed, and slammed roughly into the side of the elevator carriage.

 

He had leapt an incredible distance up through the air, at least several dozen meters. He clung to the side of the elevator carriage with startling tenacity, and snarled at something up above them.

 

Rosie, startled, reflexively leapt back against the opposite side of the carriage. What scared her the most, though, wasn't Sonic's sudden appearance as much as the expression of sheer terror he wore. Without stopping to explain his lurking in the bushes, Sonic pointed up towards the top of the cliff, and cried, "Rosie, look out! Robots!"

 

A sudden noise at the top of the elevator platform drew her attention. She let go of the rope, and the elevator stopped moving upwards. They hung suspended halfway between the ground and the top level.

 

The piercing gold eyes of a robot canine stared back down at her. There were two other Mobians around him, both of them looking frightened. Rosie didn't need to ask to know what the source of their fear was. She had seen that look countless times before. The two Mobians were obviously prisoners, and the robot canine their captor. Her matronly protective instinct spurred her into action. Adrenaline surged through her bloodstream, giving her muscles an incredible burst of strength and speed. Courage, too.

 

A robot had found Knothole. She was *determined* not to let it leave to report the village's position to the enemy.

 

She spread her arms out to shield the two children in the elevator behind her. Summoning every ounce of bravery she could muster, she shouted a challenge up at the intruder.

 

"Leave us be, slave of Robotnik, and let those two poor Mobian souls you've snared go as well!"

 

For a moment, neither of the three people above her gave any reaction.

 

She thought she heard the canine grumble something under his breath. She wasn't entirely sure... but she thought she heard the robot's voice issue something along the lines of a complaint:

 

"...Not again!"

 

***

 

Bunnie's two feet pounded the dirt in front of her as she leapt over vine and root. The other children had often teased her about her two oversized feet, but now she was glad for the superior balance they provided. The soft, furred pads of her rabbit-proportioned heels provided greater traction than the best of Knothole's footwear could offer. With this balance, she was one of the fastest runners of all the children, second only to Sonic.

 

She knew all the paths by heart. She took the one that would take her back to Knothole the fastest. If all went right, she could be back within thirty seconds.

 

Although fear was certainly one of her larger motivations right now, purpose also inspired her speed. The second she had seen those glowing yellow eyes in the darkness, a plan had formed in her mind. She knew what she had to do.

 

Bunnie was the first to arrive back at Knothole. The others were still quite some distance behind her. Her breathing was heavy, and sounded terribly lonely in the silence. Fear coursed through her body, charging her every motion. She ran from hut to hut, seeking out only one.

 

She nearly kicked in Rosie's door when she arrived. The cabin door slammed against the wooden walls as Bunnie strode through. She moved quickly through her surrogate parent's room, ignoring bed and furniture. Only one thing held her attention: the closet of the very end of the room. She tore open the closet, and reached around in the back of it. At first she found nothing, and started to panic, but soon enough her hands clasped around the smooth, cool shaft of the object she sought.

 

Bunnie knew that she and the other children weren't supposed to know about the laser rifle Rosie kept in her closet.

 

They had found out anyway, one lazy afternoon when Rosie had been out gathering food. Sally had made them put it back, of course. Yet Bunnie still hadn't forgotten it. She had actually felt strangely comforted to know that, if worst came to worst, they still had one last line of defense. The weapon had that same effect right now. Though it was awkwardly large for her young frame, it still felt good to hold. She grabbed the power cells from underneath the bed, and loaded them into the rifle's firing chamber. She held the gun upright, and charged the primer.

 

"Rosie, Ah know ya didn't want us to know about this, but... stars alive, Ah hope you'll forgive me."

 

She ran out of the cabin.

 

Bunnie met the other children just as they arrived at the fringes of the village themselves. She ran past them without a word, ignoring the wide-eyed glances they gave her when they say the rifle slung over her shoulder. She just ran on and on, not liking to think about how much time she had wasted grabbing the gun. That horrible robot could have killed Rosie by now. It could have dragged her, Sonic, and Sally all the way to Robotropolis by now...

 

When she reached the cliff face again, the elevator had already ascended to the top platform. Bunnie fell to the ground, using the bushes to hide herself. She lined up the rifle on the top of the platform. She peered through the scope mounted at the top of the rifle, and used it to get a clearer view of what was happening up there.

 

Rosie was cautiously stepping out of the elevator carriage towards the golden-eyed robot. Though Sonic and Sally were still cowering in the carriage behind her, they didn't look as frightened as they might. Rosie was even warily extending an arm towards the canine.

 

Bunnie shivered. It was even worse than she had thought, then. The robot was using some kind of mind control on Rosie and her friends. A terrible prelude to the roboticization that would surely follow.

 

Young though she was, she would fight to her dying breath to protect her friends from Robotnik's wrath. She snarled. She *wouldn't* let him get away with this.

 

She lined up the rifle's sights on the canine. She waited until she was sure she had a clear, open shot. The crosshairs hovered dead-center on the canine's forehead. She took a deep breath...

 

...and squeezed the trigger.

 

--------------------------------------------------

 

Post 43:

A.    MistressAli

 

By the time Snively arrived back at Dragonsnest sunset was cloaking the sky with deep colors. It was beautiful, but his eyes only saw the choking dust rising up and through it shone the dying sun. Turning the dust blood red.

 

He hated the color red.

 

After a sudden bout of shivering which left him with arms around his chest, trying to fight it away - the paranoia, or shock, or whatever was fucking with his mind this time - he and the few remaining robots walked tentatively to the entrance of the Dragon tower. He'd been wondering why the troops he'd left at the tower hadn't responded.

 

It was apparent when the SWAT's shone their lights about the cavernous room. A large stairway led upwards. Likely that was how the white Mobian had gotten up. Littering the ground around the staircase and the doorway where the broken bodies of his robots. He growled, the fine hairs on the back of his neck rising, and quickly retreated.

 

"Who did that, I wonder...' he mused outside, thinking of the white Mobian. He hadn't really focused on him, but from what he remembered the koala didn't seem capable of destroying his troops singlehandly. Perhaps the young dragon had done it?

 

Eh. Wasn't important. His main concern now was the freighter.

 

*

 

They found it drifting further into the Great Unknown. On the horizon Snively could spot cliffs, black against the purple and blue sky. Pretty soon they would fade together in darkness...

 

It was lucky they'd found it.

 

For him. And others.

 

If the freighter had drifted a bit farther it might've broken peace and tranquility. A village of wolven folk made a home out in the wasteland. They had security, however false, that they were safe in the barren reaches of this land.

 

Finally.

 

He breathed a sigh of relief while leaning back in his passenger seat, a SWATbot replacing Sprocket at the hovercraft's controls. Eyes closed, his brow furrowed. Sprocket. He was the one who'd reported the freighter's malfunction. Puh. Sniv gritted his teeth, eyes snapping open. Glaring out the window to ensure the freighter was still behind them - it was, following placidly. Sprocket hadn't just reported the malfunction. He'd caused it.

 

'Stop thinking about him...'

 

He gazed out the side window, recalling that face leaning in, the words it'd spat out, hurtful words of torment and betrayal. He shut his eyes.

 

Behind his eyelids twin lights of gold glowed.

 

'Damn you...'

 

He wasn't sure who he was addressing.

 

"SWATbot, how close are we to the Great Mountains?" An aimless question to distract himself.

 

"ETA: 40 minutes."

 

"Alright..."

 

 

20 minutes later the jagged peaks of the mountains tore the horizon. They were only slighter darker than the night sky. Above them the stars spiraled, below the earth was alive with small wild creatures who'd escaped Robotnik's grasp thus far - the tyrant was interested in the more sentient species at the moment.

 

The mountains would look gorgeous come morning. The violet peaks shrouded in mist and the sun haloing behind.

 

A dreamy boy's voice echoed from the darkness of mountain meeting sky.

 

'Aren't the mountains beautiful...?'

 

'They're just rocks and trees.'

 

'C'mon, don't you have any joy in nature? I like books too, but-

 

"Hey, give that back!'

 

'-sometimes you have to stop reading and look around!'

 

'Whatever. Give it back.'

 

'You're not listening.'

 

'I'm listening. I just don't care...'

 

A disillusioned voice closed the conversation. Didn't he always have the last word? No, the face of the other boy, the golden eyes downcast, was the final statement. That Snively had done it again. Hurt somebody.

 

He was good at that. Ah, everyone was good at -something-. So he'd learn to indulge in it, in a twisted sort of way. What Sprocket didn't know was that it hurt him too. But the dog would never know, because that was a truth Snively wouldn't admit. Saying it would cut too deep, bleed too long.

 

The drilling site was pitch black, nestled down in the trees. He had to fight back shivers, staring into the blackness.

 

"Get some light out here," he ordered quickly, clutching his arms to his chest. The SWATbots hastily obeyed.

 

He nodded in satisfaction, no longer afraid now that the dark trees were lit, their hidden menaces revealed to be nothing. There was not a creature in sight.

 

The light was really only for his comfort. The robots had night vision. They could work comfortably in the dark. He went back inside. The SWATbots tended to the freighter, getting the oil drills set up and functioning. Soon the rich liquid would be filling the freighter's empty tanks.

Julian would be pleased.

 

Snively had settled himself into the bunk at the back of the hovercraft, eyes drooping. He yawned, starting to slide under the cool sheets, when the silence was shattered.

 

"SNIVELY!"

 

Eeep!! He bolted upwards, nearly slamming his head against the wall. With a slapping of his bare feet he hurried to the front of the hovercraft, his eyes locked on the leering face on the monitor.

 

"L-l-lord R-r-Robotnik, what a p-p-pleasant surprise!"

 

His uncle sneered, mustache twitching. "Cut the pleasantries, Snively, I'm not interested."

 

"S-s-sorry, sir." Snively clutched his hands to his chest, an unconscious pleading gesture.

 

"So..." Robotnik's voice suddenly held an amiable tone. "How much oil have you collected, Snively? I imagine we have at least one full tank by now."

 

That was a lot of oil. They weren't even near full, Snively guessed. Probably not even a quarter of a quarter full! He gulped. "Um, yes sir, pretty close, I believe..."

 

"You believe, Snively? You don't *know*?"

 

"Well, it's uh, hard to uh, say, sir."

 

Robotnik steepled his fingers under his chin. Snively's eyebrow twitched, wanting to frown. He really hated when Uncle did that. "One thing I prize, Snively, is perfection. Accuracy. Preciseness."

 

A nasty thought shot to the monitor. 'Then you must hate yourself...' the eyebrow slid down, a dangerous expression to wear before Uncle.

 

His Uncle's eyes glowed. Blood red. "Imperfect things have no place in my empire, Snively..."

 

"......" There wasn't really a response to that, well a good ole 'fuck you, Julian!' would've been nice, but Snively wasn't that stupid. So he kept silent.

 

"And what of the problems you mentioned earlier, Snively? Are they taken care of?"

 

"Yes sir..."

 

His uncle's gaze met directly with his. Snively tried to avert his eyes, but it was too late. He was locked to Julian's fiery glare..

 

"Well..." He tried to keep his voice strong. "To tell you the truth, sir, there was a mal- a mal-" His voice deteriorated as Robotnik's eyes further burned him, trying to scorch his entire soul it seemed - "malfunction with the freighter. Sir."

 

"Really, Snively."

 

It was that falsely calm tone. Oh shit, yeah, that meant Robotnik was about to start screaming.

 

He didn't even bother to look calm, to sound collected. Whimpering he pressed his hands closer to his chest. "But it's fixed now, sir! It's fixed!"

 

"IT HAD BETTER BE!"

 

The small man trembled. That hadn't been so bad. He raised a shaking hand to wipe away the sudden sweat on his forehead. It felt chillingly cold.

 

"Do I need to come there personally Snively? Or are you going to get your act together? Hmmmm?"

 

"No, no sir, you don't need to come. It's fine now, sir, I swear!"

 

The tyrant looked malicious, as if thinking he might pull a visit despite his nephew's assurances. He would too, thought Snively bitterly. He only hoped things were going smoothly whenever Uncle decided to drop his fat ass into the mountains.

 

"All right, Snively, I'll leave you to your work. Robotnik out."

 

The monitor flashed white and then died to black. A ragged exhale followed. Thank goodness that was over...

 

With legs still wobbly and weak, Snively crept back to the bunk and fell into blissfully empty sleep.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------

 

Post 44:
Ealain Vangogh

 

 

 

He moved quickly enough to avoid a penetration of the head, aided in part by the shoddy aim of the sniper on the ground below. No wonder the matriarch was so bold--she had reinforcements. These refugees were indomitable! And yet . . . then why did she cast so bewildered a look over her shoulder, and why did the two young ones seem so baffled, when the shot rang out . . .

 

And hit him? Oh, yes, it still hit him, despite his acute reflexes. It grazed the side of his temple, and that was enough to sizzle the organic fur of his scalp with a stomach-turning smell of burnt feathers, and open a clean crisp incision in his forehead, proceeded by a hole through his right ear. He gasped--it was like feeling one's veins turn into live wires and sear straight through the flesh in an explosion of heat and light.

 

No, worse. He couldn't think, he couldn't think, he couldn't think, he was losing himself again. . . oh God don't let me ever go to sleep again or I might not wake up for another six years. . . . and what will I have done to my people by then. . .? He nearly retched, grabbing his scalp, foolishly feeling for blood, wondering what to feel for instead as a cause of grave alarm.

 

Derek whipped out his own weapon and aimed at the forest floor, thankfully feeling compelled to owe a certain degree of gratitude for Sprocket's past actions through a loose kind of loyalty to the canine . . .

 

The nanny gawked at the weapon in the hands of a furry, appearing to suddenly grasp the fact that Sprocket's "slaves" were nothing but companions of the robot--with their own measures of personal protection. She clasped her hand over her mouth, and the squirrel child looked attentively, fiercely concentrating, into her eyes. Unpermitted, the perceptive girl whirled around and cried the name "Bunnie," followed by a plea to cease fire. And the koala's weapon flopped to his side as quickly as it was drawn, when the culprit was illuminated by the glow of that same divine light of minutes past, in the shape of a ring. It rested pulsating gold in the hand of a small walrus; he rested his hand on the rabbit's shoulder as she stood there rigidly gaping at the three of them. The spry hedgehog child accosted the walrus--Rotor was his name-- and grabbed the light source. The sapphire youth then wavered it over his head at the three intruders as if it had some sort of mystical power at his advantage . . . but still Derek stood staring at the initial eleven-year old long-eared attacker, the struggle in his features obviously indicating his sense of futility.

 

Dulcy, too, was oscillating in front of and behind Sprocket, as if uncertain what to do, trying to sputter explanations but succeeding only in gibberish. Sprocket forgave them both their moral dilemma of fealty, for he struggled with the same question in his own heart.

 

Still Derek stood sedentary, unwilling to fire at a child, even an upset and armed one. He looked with apology and concern at his robotic companion, a wheeze where words were unable to form escaping his lips.

 

On impulse, somehow not registering the attacker's age or the horror in her wide young jade eyes, Sprocket almost wasn't so gracious; he aimed his finger, at the end of which was a built-in laser pistol, at her chest. "Can't let you take me . . . us. . . back there. . ." he heard himself slur. But what he meant by it, he hadn't the foggiest clue. It wasn't even directed at the Mobian, but someone else . . . someone they both hated . . .

 

The koala was shouting something about a wound to a neural circuit and a behavioral malfunction, and clutching at the dog's arm pleading him to come back to his senses . . .

 

But coherence wasn't to be tempted.

 

A flash, a reeling nauseous blur, and he was thrown back in memory--he was on the brink of puberty, lodged for two years in a spacious room of a cave with one of his last Mobian foster families after he left the Overland and before the coup, in the Great Unknown--wolves, they had been. The closest kin, by culture and species, to his nearly forgotten family, true lovers of the aesthetic as discovered in the bosom of nature--they gave him the psyche of perpetually curling up to doze in a warm afternoon sun beneath one of those scarce yet enormous, thick evergreen trees, those deep dusty green guardians of souls, of enduring life, surrounded by the sweet aroma of pine and sheltered in a sense of pure belonging . . . And then there were the campfires, he had especially loved those weekly socials with the whole conglomerate of the Wolf Pack because when he was a child he used to have weekly campfires just outside the Overland capital, Megacentral, with . . . with . . . another . . . kind of family member. A brother . . . of sorts. Who hated him now . . . His brain choked on the memory and swallowed it quickly back into the dark bliss of obscurity. But another memory dominated it. . . warmer still . . .

 

He was with the daughter of the Chief, not the eldest daughter Lupe, who was already betrothed, but her younger sibling--yes, lying together under a pine tree barely thirty feet from the campfire at the lower cave mouth. The Chief had grown fond of Sprocket and trusted the gentle, introspective orphan canine with his unclaimed daughter. . . Ah yes, Nakuma he would always remember, wild, spontaneous, impetuous Nakuma, perhaps so much less elegant and proper and graceful and strong than her elder sister, yet so much warmer, with her long raven braid of hair and her rich amber eyes like two harvest moons reflected in the luminous clarity of a pool . . . she was giggling and trying to teach him some native wolf tongue, trying to explain some complicated linguistics and he was apologetically stumbling over even the simplest of pronunciations, laughing ashamedly at himself. But oh, what fun, to make mistakes and yet still be accepted and loved . . .

 

Somehow their words were drawn to his past, to the topic of Overlanders and their customs, and the wolf princess's sheltered views of the supposed barbarism and cruelty of the hairless, naked species were patiently scrutinized by the canine, who divulged his friendship with a human boy and his continued acceptance of humanity despite the cruelty done by a human to his own family. The princess studied his eyes deeply, pained but uncertain what to say.

 

"But what will you think of humanity if an Overlander kills me?" A strange, bizarrely foreboding question from a young, careless girl. It produced a hiatus in the conversation.

 

And the mood went warm again, smoothly as silk, as if the query had never been uttered aloud. Those sultry eyes were fixed on him. She pulled closer and slid her lips across his, slowly and tenderly, in the thick lovely darkness. And then she rose, with an uproarious howling self-delighted laugh, and skipped back whooping with glee to the campfire, where Lupe and the others received her with laughter.

 

Nakuma made him a man that day. She stirred in him the depths of what love could be. She gave him his first kiss. And she was a Mobian.

 

And the day that Robotnik--an Overlander--sent his SWATs to the caves to capture as many stray Pack members as possible, the day Sprocket had gone out to visit Snively in Mobotropolis and found it in the process of a bloody coup . . . .that day, Robotnik, an Overlander did kill Nakuma. By his order, a SWAt shot her down point-blank trying to break ranks of the prisoners being shipped to the portable roboticizer. Trying to stay free. She had died free, yes, she had. Died by the hands . . . of an Overlander. His best friend was . . . an Overlander. Not a Mobian. A Mobian had not shot Nakuma. An Overlander . . .

 

And now his laser pistol was aimed point blank at a Mobian? Had he too become the enemy?

 

For the love of God, let her kill you, let her fry your brains out and devour your guts, but don't kill her. Don't kill one of your own, a member of the race that gave you your understanding of love. The love, the purpose, that you hope to show your human brother who saved you despite himself . . .

 

Sprocket mustered his senses enough, sifting through the excruciating pain to clutch to a piece of rationalism, to lower his arm and apologize, in a trembling voice bordering on a sob of exhaustion and physical anguish.

 

The face of the elder ground squirrel was changing now. And there was something indescribable on the face of the regal, red-haired girl child behind her--could it be empathy? She was looking at him and then at her little rabbit friend, who had dropped the still-smoking weapon and was sobbing now on the ground, sobbing at her own action borne of the desire to protect those she adored, that which had seemed so noble only seconds ago but now with the injury of another person . . .was terrifying.

 

A kid? I've been shot by a kid? Look at her tears. A kid. She must be a sweet little soul, he vaguely conjectured. And then all thought ceased.

 

It's not warm here. Not warm anywhere now. Or is that place hidden somewhere for us all. . . ?

 

"Where is it warm? Take me to where it's warm," he moaned.

He teetered towards the ledge . . . it hurt too much now, and he was robbed of any more fond memories to cushion the shock of it . . . Derek grabbed at his shoulder, bellowing a warning again into his befuddled ears, crinkled flat and perturbed against his skull; the marsupial even tried to clasp his roboticized tail, but lost grip of the smooth frictionless material . . . Even the dragon, for all her charity, could never swoop under him fast enough to save him.

 

But the elevator was right below him, and when he went lurching over the edge, it took a millisecond for the squirrel matriarch to snake out a hand and seize a mass of his tousled hair.

 

Saving him. Not knowing what side he was on, but unwilling to withhold mercy from any creature. He felt hazy gratitude stir inside him.

 

He winced then, for the tangling of his hair only worsened the pain in his forehead. It gave Derek and Dulcy just enough time, though, to grab him by the arms, hoist him up between them, and lift him into the elevator. 'We are freedom Fighters," the koala declared, and then, after a pause, in a tone not entirely convinced but nevertheless earnest, "All three of us. Do you understand?"

 

"Yes," Sprocket heard the nanny breathe, as he sank to his knees and then flopped helplessly on his back in the elevator floor, the throbbing in his head like a mace. And the squirrel was looking at the canine then, he saw as he glanced wearily about him, in the same way the child had been looking at him only seconds ago. With the same gradual sort of empathy. "Yes, I do. " Sprocket wasn't sure what hidden understanding was exchanged in the eyes of the two grown Mobians, but it evoked immediate trust from the matriarch. She opened up a small handheld computer hidden in her cloak, which clicked pluckily to life at the touch of the keyboard and gave a salutation in a deep female voice, and bent down over him just as he felt his mind and senses begin to descend into blackness. She requested that the other two visitors enter the elevator--dubiously she even invited the large dragon child--and instructed Derek to grab the locked rope and start the descent. "Hold still, now," he heard her crooning, holding the bleeping computer over his wound, as he surrendered to whatever a robot might deem sleep.

 

-----------------------------------------------

 

Post 45:

Ealain Vangogh

 

There would be pain.

 

He could feel it already. The churning in his belly, something like the five minutes preceding a child's piano recital, the blinding lights of the stage, the stiff tuxedo with the strangling collar, the roaring clamor of the audience. The scrutiny. The impulse to urinate all over oneself. The exposure--the exposure of all things vulnerable. That was what was coming now.

 

Sprocket supposed that it hadn't been one of Snively's brightest notions to dig his family's Christmas lights from the attic of his father's mansion stronghold--to then, of all things, invite Sprocket over to decorate the titanic pine tree under which they'd first met. And, at all times, within the hour that Colin Sr. returned daily from his post at the government ministry building, where his prestige as Chief Justice and war veteran were marked-- unlike his parenting skills.

 

But Snively had been uncharacteristically joyful that afternoon, his cheeks unusually flushed and his voice bearing an optimistic lilt, so Sprocket hadn't the heart to caution the human against their holiday festivities. He'd fought, gently and loyally, for years to get through his friend's impenetrable defensive shell of ice and grit, to grasp at Snively's trust, and he wouldn't let anything destroy what seemed, finally, an emotional triumph.

 

So they chortled over dirty preteen boy jokes, sang hopelessly tone-deaf carols, and strung the tree top to bottom with gaudy old electrical lights. Earning himself a skeptical look, Snively claimed they had been an Overlander tradition since archaic times, in what was known as the "Western" part of the old human world. "Or if you want to be Jewish, they're for the Festival of Lights. Or, let's see, if you're a Hindu," he added to the canine, who was already sold, "you could call them Diwali lamps!" Sprocket had been laughing too hard to argue, and, fearing for his comrade's safety--for Snively was standing on his shoulder s trying to get the last strand over the top of the tree, and the icy, white earth made it hard to support him without slipping. "You have incredible recall," he chuckled, "to know all the nuances of all those celebrations from so long ago."

 

"Oh, shut up," Snively grunted, as ever awkward with compliments. "Doesn't matter to me which one you pick, as long as we get a chance at one."

 

"One what?"

 

"One celebration, genius!" Snively's tone reeked of good-natured sarcasm. Sprocket knew that meant his friend was delighted, but, for fear of seeming childish, trying to hide it. "Aaah," he grinned, "I see."

 

It was pure joy for two otherwise forsaken children.

 

He had no idea how long Snively's father had been watching them. But he saw the man's face, and understood it immediately, when he turned and glanced at the path from the house. Colin stood there, straddle-legged and hunch-shouldered, his jaw agape, in the snow. The beauty of the scenery, of the moment, was immediately polluted.

 

For the act to merit such a murderous, revolted look from his friend's father, now, as they stood in the snow, their forbidden friendship finally learned, he couldn't fathom.

 

Somehow he felt no hate for the man who'd gunned down his parents, neither fear--not, at least, for himself. For himself, he felt . . .nothing. Numbness for his parents' killer.

 

But he felt fear for Snively. For the boy's father, that towering flame-haired "Minister of Justice," was recovering from his disgusted shock--removing his belt from his overland military uniform and beginning to storm in the direction of Snively's hindside. As he walked, his shiny black boots crushed the unstrung Christmas lights under him, shattering them. Something equally as excruciating, as broken, emerged on the face of Sprocket's human friend. His arms flopped to his sides and his head drooped.

 

And the canine knew that all he'd drawn from Snively in the past several years had been crushed as well. It was then, not before, that he finally began to feel rage towards Colin Sr. That he began to understand what real rage even was. God, no. I've lost him. Please, God, no.

 

"Come here, boy," the man finally addressed his son. He was still brandishing the belt. "It seems you've forgotten yourself." Indeed.

 

Snively set his jaw, clenched his fists. His eyes glittered. Not with rage or even fear, but with the luster of a cadaver--hopeless but hideously bright. Coated with a kind of "what-the-hell" defiance. Then as he spoke, they regained a terrifying vitality, sparking with thousands of volts of electricity. They were truly disturbing. "No," he hissed. "No, father, I will not. And I have not."

 

"Sir," Sprocket tried to intercede. "Your Honor, please let me explain." To plead to deaf ears.

 

He took two strides forward, but Snively fixed that arctic stare on him and growled one word in a tone bordering on rabid: "Stay!" Then, gentler, "Stay, Sprocket. Stay back."

 

And Sprocket withdrew. Yes, I've lost him.

 

"I don't know what this. . .this thing is," Colin spat, his voice rich and thunderous, and awful. Apparently referring to Sprocket, for his finger was pointed at the canine, "And I don't know why you are associating with it, boy, but your impudence is clear! Your . . . your blatant disregard for patriotism, for. . . for the tenets of our society! It's almost too much to bear! I can only hope that a respite from the company of that foul, radical uncle of yours, that fool that I'm quite glad I banished, will drive these notions out of your brain--associating with this brute, this . . .this animal! Well, you can thank It for earning you a good solid reprimand!"

 

And he had dragged Snively to the other side of that very tree that had hailed the beginning of a friendship between warring worlds, and ordered his son to bend over. Sprocket could hear the leather on flesh as clear and sharp as a crow's call, and the accompanying stifled whimpers. He would not leave, though. No. Numbly as before, he stooped and gathered the shards of colored glass, poured them into the sack in which the strands had been stored, and waited. Ten minutes later 30 lashes had been delivered and the two humans had returned. They spoke, the elder preaching with arms on the younger's thin shoulders, while the younger's face was downcast and pained, as if Sprocket were no longer present.

 

He knew it. Her knew there would be pain. But perhaps not the lasting kind . . .

 

"You may apologize, disown this 'friend' of yours, and be pardoned, or expect to be disowned by me just as I have disowned your beloved Julian," Colin snarled, hateful mockery seeping into his remark of Snively's banished uncle. Then his voice spiked to a roar. "Are you sorry NOW?"

 

Snively did not waste time. "No," he retorted calmly, through his teeth, though his voice quivered and his eyes were wet. "I am not sorry. You're the one who should be sorry."

 

"What the blazes are you talking about? Stop crying!"

 

"I am not crying." Uttered in the same flat voice.

 

The father scoffed cruelly, pulling away. "It's no wonder that nickname of yours has stuck. You certainly do your share of snivelling."

 

A new register of hatred in the voice. "You gave it to me, dad. You did it. " He looked at Sprocket, who felt his own eyes begin to flood. "Not me."

 

"Alright, boy, that's enough out of you! You willingly relinquish your citizenship here? I can give you a second chance. You're a minor, after all. You can either apologize or go join your uncle in the toilet bowl of the Mobian mainland--with Max Acorn and the other beasts."

 

Snively nodded at the belt his father was still holding. "Harder," he breathed. And he sneered. It was a smirk that made his father's skin crawl.

 

"All right," Colin croaked.

 

Was it remorse Sprocket saw on his face?

 

"Fine, boy. If that is what you really want. We cannot harbor usurpers and traitors in the Kintobor household. Or in the Overland empire." He swallowed. Hard.

 

Were those tears in his eyes?

 

"Go home. I'll see to it that your discharge papers are signed. After that, Snively, you must understand, you will have been exiled. There will be no returning, no starting over. There will be no second chance."

 

Snively nodded. "Story of my life," he breathed. He did not look at Sprocket as he passed him, and hobbled gingerly, for his hide surely ached, down the path.

 

Colin turned wearily to Sprocket. All of his fury, it seemed, had withered. He opened his mouth to speak. "You don't understand, sir," the canine tried again. His eyes spilled over. "He saved me. Your son saved me!"

 

"I understand," the human said. "But it is not the way of things. Just go home, dog. Just take your fleas and leave."

 

So Sprocket returned to his foster home, a family of goats, whose plucky son was named Griff. But this was not his home. He didn't have a home anymore.

 

Snively did not go home that night, either. He did not go to his room. He never came back--he just kept walking until he'd crossed the border. The next time Sprocket saw Snively Kintobor, he had already sold his soul to his Uncle Julian. To Robotnik.

 

That was fifteen? No, more like sixteen years ago. But he had nothing better to do at the moment than reminisce. And he didn't seem to have much control over which memories tainted his stream of consciousness.

 

Either way, there was no reason not to cling to the joy of the half hour preceding the catastrophe. It was how one hoped to survive.

 

But was he surviving? Was he still alive, even? He couldn't remember much in the recent past, before the latest pain--the injury to his head. He was pretty sure he was still in Knothole, where the terrified little rabbit had shot him. Pretty sure. Or maybe Robotnik had found and pillaged the little settlement, crushed the rebel children where they stood--he chuckled morbidly, perhaps like Christmas lights-- and taken the canine back to the city. Maybe he was back in the factory reposing between Workerbots 8999 and 9001 again, blissfully dormant, armed with the excuses of ignorance and immobility. Either way , he was flat on his back, and there were others in the place, prodding at his head wound. No, they were too gentle to be the hands of other robots, too patient and delicate. They were the hands of creatures alive. Thank God.

 

-------------------------------------------------------------

Post 46:
Tristan Palmgren

 

As far as Rosie was concerned, there weren't any medical facilities in Knothole even fit to deal with flesh-and-blood Mobians. There'd been the occasional medical emergency every now and again, like Rotor's allergies or the time Antoine had broken his ankle, but otherwise the worst she'd ever had to deal with was cuts and scrapes. She'd tried time and time again to set up an infirmary equipped to deal this town full of children, and failed every time. There simply weren't enough supplies around for an undertaking of that scale. It was difficult enough to keep them fed every day, and, as a single person, she simply didn't have the time to set up much more than a medicine cabinet.

 

As she limped in with the arm of the robotic canine slung over her shoulder, she wished she'd been a little more persistent. It would have been bad enough if this 'Sprocket' - as his companions called him - had possessed a real body when he'd been shot, but to have to deal with this mass of metal... she just didn't know how he could be healed.

 

Could it even be called healing? Would 'reactivation' be a better term? Repairing? Reassembling?

 

The burden of the canine's weight was made somewhat lighter by the koala bear, Derek, who had the canine's other arm slung over his own shoulder. Rosie couldn't escape the feeling that he wasn't quite pulling his weight, but she didn't mention it for now. Together, they slung him down on the closest bed. She made sure to be as gentle as the robot's bulky mass allowed, but that didn't stop him from coming down rather roughly. She grimaced, hoping the impact wouldn't aggravate the wound.

 

Simply for a lack of places to go, they'd arrived back at Rosie's hut. It was the most logical place, she supposed. This was where Rotor had stayed after his one worryingly bad allergic reaction, and where Antoine had also stayed the first few days after he'd broken his ankle.

 

Rosie set the laser rifle back in the closet, and shut its door. Back outside, she had snatched the weapon from Bunnie's unresisting hands. The rabbit child had been very confused about what was happening, but already tears wearing been pouring down her cheeks. Though she hadn't known what to make of the situation, she'd been able to guess enough to know that she'd had done something very, very wrong. Rosie hadn't said a word. There'd be time to worry about that later, after all that could be done for this canine had been done... and after she knew more about what to make these circumstances herself.

 

"W-What can we do for him?" Derek choked out breathlessly. He looked as though he were having difficulty holding back tears himself.

 

Rosie sized up the koala. The pearl-white fur on his forehead was covered by a thick sheen of sweat. He was panting, and his face was screwed up with emotion. He certainly looked exhausted to the point of collapse. She decided that maybe she had misjudged him moments ago. She was still sure that he hadn't been pulling his fair share of the robot's weight... but he had at least tried his best to. The miserable thing just wasn't very good at it.

 

She placed her hand on the canine's metal head, as she would have if she were taking the temperature of one of the children. She didn't know what she was expecting to find. The metal was as smooth and as cold as ice to her touch.

 

"I don't know. I don't know if we can do anything at all," she answered. She shook her head in despair. "I wish Doctor Quack was here."

 

"Doctor-who?"

 

"A young doctor I'd met before the coup. I keep hearing rumors that he's still alive somewhere out there, but... I've never been able to find out where." She frowned as she bent down to examine her patient. "I guess we're going to have to do this ourselves, then."

 

The laser had struck just to the left of the canine's temple, penetrating at least several centimeters into whatever passed for the metallic version of a skull. Had the shot struck just a little ways away, into the center of his forehead, there was no doubt that he'd be dead right now. As it was, it was possible that they might be able to salvage something. Rosie peered at the wound. Inside, she could see a smooth tunnel of burnt circuitry and hardware. Every once in awhile, a tiny spark would leap out one of the frayed wires that crossed the damaged zone. She had no idea how to fix any of this.

 

Rosie swallowed nervously. She was no mechanic. Still, whenever she was in doubt, there was always one thing she knew she could turn to for help. Right now, that one thing might be the only thing keeping this benevolent robot from slipping into death. She reached down to her boot, and pulled out the handheld computer waiting there.

 

"Nicole," she said, aiming the computer's sensors at Sprocket's wound. "Diagnose, and give me a repair procedure that has the best chance of succeeding."

 

***

 

The night was long and harrowing. Rosie had never performed delicate surgery of this nature before.

 

It turned out that Nicole hadn't been much help after all, because not even the computer's expansive database had routine for the repair of a roboticized Mobian's neural circuitry. Even the procedures Nicole had come up with were mostly useless, because they required refined engineering and manufacturing equipment the likes of which were foreign to Knothole. At last, Rosie had finally resigned herself to the fact that whichever of Sprocket's neural circuits had been damaged were beyond repair. She dearly hoped that the circuits hadn't nonessential functions - or at the very least had redundancies somewhere else in the robot's system.

 

So instead of repairing the neural circuitry, they had concentrated on the Sprocket's bodily power distribution network. The sparks she had seen earlier were from a severed connection in the system that distributed power evenly throughout his body. Left unattended, the sparks were hot enough to cause further damage to the already burnt neural circuitry. Repairing that was therefore the highest priority. And it had taken all night.

 

Over half-a-dozen hours were spent trying to repair that single damaged wire. Rosie spent all night maneuvering in and out of the damaged area with a pair of tweezers: tweaking a component here, severing a wire there, all while being extremely careful not to touch anything she hadn't intended to.

 

Even Nicole's assistance couldn't disguise the fact that she wasn't a mechanic. Several times during the night, she'd had to call in Rotor for assistance. Thankfully, Rotor had been a big help. His advice on how to handle tricky problems or on how to proceed hadn't let her down.

 

Derek was helping, too, although Rosie was made very sure to keep him on the sidelines. The koala's heart was in the right place, but no matter how much he tried, he was just too damn incompetent to be trusted with much more than handing her the right tools. He seemed to be aware of this, and spent much of the night either in almost comatosely wallowing in shame, or nervously pacing the floorboards.

 

As the time approached six in the morning and the first glimmers of dawn began to peek above the forest canopy, Rosie at last decided that she was done. Everything that could be done for Sprocket had been. Whatever happened to him next was in the hands of fate. She staggered outside in the dimly-lit morning.

 

Most of the children had gone to bed themselves. The dragon child, though, was still wandering through camp. She looked every bit as disconsolate as Derek. Rosie found the largest blanket she could find - even then it still seemed too small - to throw over the dragon's shoulders. She lead her off towards the small guest hut. Only after making sure that the dragon was asleep and comfortable did Rosie herself finally collapse into the bed. Her head spun with the exhaustion of it all. She was asleep almost before her head touched the pillow.

 

***

 

The only reason Derek knew that he had fallen asleep on Rosie's sofa was because that was where he had waken up.

 

His eyes burned with drowsiness when he opened them, and his eyelids themselves felt magnetically attracted to the shut and closed position. He blinked several times, and tried with no success to rub the sensation away with his fingertips. His mind was still dizzy with the memory of the chaos and panic of last night. He wanted to immediately fall back asleep; he forbade himself from doing so only because he know that something had waken him.

 

It couldn't have been that long since he'd fallen asleep. A soft blue light was seeping in through the closed shades on Rosie's window, the kind of dim light he'd expect to see at around seven in the morning. The kind that meant that the sun hadn't quite finished rising, but it was high enough to color the sky blue. It felt like it had only been an hour or so since he'd fallen asleep. It felt like that because it was most likely true.

 

Derek stretched his feet out and pulled himself to a sitting position as he groggily tried to determine what had waken him.

 

"You don't understand... sir...He saved me... Your son..."

 

He blinked. The voice was soft enough to strain his hearing. It was less than a whisper. It was coming from somewhere in the room, though. It was coming from... Sprocket!

 

Within another few eyeblinks, the exhaustion was either gone or ignored. He couldn't tell which and couldn't care. He was immediately heartened and relieved to hear some kind of noise coming from the mouth of his newfound friend. Whatever the canine was saying didn't make much sense, but that hardly seemed to matter. "Sprocket!" he exclaimed.

 

"Just go home, dog... Just take... fleas and leave."

 

"Sprocket!" Derek tried again. In the darkness, he could just barely make out the two golden pinpricks of light that meant Sprocket's eyes were open. "Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

 

There was a long pause at the other end of the room.

 

Then, softly, hoarsely, "Derek? ...That you?"

 

"Yes!" Derek nearly leapt out of the sofa in joy. "Yes, it's me! I can't believe you're awake. Are you all right? How do you feel?"

 

"...run away... can't stop... "

 

For a moment, he thought that Sprocket had descended back into whatever dream he'd been having before he'd waken up. Then he saw that the canine's golden eyes were still open, and staring straight upwards.

 

Sprocket's voice grated with some unknown mechanical sound before resuming again. If anything, it was softer and more hoarse than it had been before. "You have to get.... them out... of here before... can't control..."

 

A worried frown began to form on Derek's expression. The warning tone in Sprocket's voice had been real. He was desperately worried about something, and couldn't summon either the strength or the will to voice it properly. The canine's voice grated harshly again in what was surely the mechanized version of a groan. He spoke again, but Derek couldn't make out the words. His leg twitched once or twice. He seemed to think that he was in some kind of grave danger. Derek began to wonder if the robot was delusional, or perhaps hallucinating. Maybe the laser had struck some of the circuits responsible for sensory interpretation-

 

Strength returned to Sprocket's voice without warning. "...get out of Knothole now!"

 

Derek frowned again, and discarded his earlier theory. Sprocket knew where he was, all right. He wasn't hallucinating, at last not badly.

 

"Why?" he asked.

 

"...no chance..." Sprocket's sad voice faded once more. Just as quickly, though, it came back. The canine sounded as if he was about to break down in tears. Coming from a robot, that sound was intensely disturbing. Derek had never heard him sound like that before. The fur on his hackles stood straight up. This was starting to alarm him. Sprocket continued, "Whatever that shot did... I think it hit something that's critical for me to be me... I can't control... I can feel myself slipping..."

 

"Back where?" Derek asked anxiously. "Sprocket, what-"

 

"...no hope..."

 

"I don't understand-"

 

"...I think I'm about to lapse back... please... Derek, just run, run now! ...I can't stop it from happening for much longer... can't stop the lapse..."

 

"Sprocket?" Derek stood up, ready to rush to the canine's side. "Sprocket!"

 

There was no more sound from Sprocket's side of the cabin. No more speaking, no more metallic noises; just silence.

 

Derek took the first step forward, and then stopped in mid-step. He stopped so suddenly that he almost lost his balance and fell to the ground. He skidded to halt, and then took a step backwards.

 

He had just heard something that had sent the coldest of all chills down his spine.

 

It had sounded, just for the vaguest of moments, like something over there had just whispered, "Priority One resistance member. Detain by order of Robotnik."

 

------------------------------------

Post 47:

A. MistressAli

 

Dulcy hadn't known what to do. This was worse than that feeling of being in the air for the first few seconds, thinking she was going to fall and die on the ground far below. It was that sheer gripping feel of helplessness.

 

The dog-bot had fallen down like a dead thing, and there was chaos as the eldest Mobian woman debated what to do. When they finally headed for a small hut, Dulcy had followed uncertainly. The rabbit child was crying.

 

Derek and the elder woman, both staggering under the limp form of Sprocket, entered the hut. The rabbit's weapon was quickly snatched away. Dulcy wanted badly to go inside and see how her new-found friend was doing, but the hut was small, and she felt awkward hovering about the doorframe that seemed too narrow to allow her bulk.

 

She fell back, standing uncertainly by the window, straining to hear anything. Derek's voice came out, trembling and near-tears, asking if he could do something, anything to help. Her own eyes stung and she had to move out of earshot.

 

Most of the children who had been at the scene of the shooting had disappeared. One lingered. A young boy, a vibrant blue, wearing equally bright red shoes. She stared at him....hoping he would say something comforting, but most likely he needed comforting himself. He approached her cautiously, but not timidly, and finally said:

 

"You're a dragon."

 

She couldn't help but giggle. "Yeah."

 

"You don't...eat people like us, do you?"

 

She frowned. "No way! Why would I do that?"

 

He curiously put a hand out, laying it onto her side. She giggled again. "That tickles!"

 

"You're warm," he said, sounding surprised.

 

"Of course I am." She looked toward the medical hut again, her eyes clouded with worry. "Is...is that woman a good doctor?"

 

The hedgehog boy bit his lip. "She's not a doctor at all. She's just our guardian."

 

Dulcy's eyes widened. "Can she fix robots at all? He's a robot, but...but not really. He's our friend!"

 

"She can do some robot stuff," the hedgehog offered hesitantly. "But I don't know if she's very good."

 

"She has to be," Dulcy had to blink rapidly to keep back the burning wetness. "She has to save him!"

 

"She will," said the boy quickly. But he didn't sound convinced...or convincing...

 

The conversation died after that and he wandered away into one of the huts. Dulcy paced anxiously, and then took to exploring the village, trying to keep her mind occupied. But the village boasted nothing particularly mind-boggling and she kept thinking back to the gun shot, and the horrible way Sprocket had reeled upon impact.

Tears finally broke from her large lime-colored eyes, coursing down her scaled cheeks and she sat huddled under a small tree, until finally, gentle hands clasped her shoulders.

 

She looked up. The elder woman was there, pulling her to her feet. A blanket was placed over her, strangely comforting, and she was brought to a hut that she was actually able to get into.

 

The woman smiled wearily, but warmly, as she spread the blanket as fully over Dulcy as she could.

 

"Is he ok...?"

 

"I don't know, child. Time will tell. I think..." The woman hesitated only slightly, and Dulcy's heart gave a painful jerk, "I think he'll be alright." She patted the dragon's hand. "Now, sleep, darling. It won't help your friend for you to stay awake, and you need the rest."

 

"Yes, m'am," mumbled the dragon child, eyelids already drooping. "Thank you for-" And she was gone, drifting into uneasy sleep.

 

**

 

Sleep was blessed relief for some. A place to drift away from woe. A place to escape thoughts of the day, the darkness that seemed to ever encroach and devour the joy.

 

Snively didn't have that. His dream world was every bit as dark as the waking, and maybe worse so, for now he was not kept busy in Uncle's mindless tasks, and his mind was unrestrained, free to dredge the bottom and bring up rotting memories, stinking and horrid.

 

** 12 years old and he was walking in the rain and it was stinging his lips, bleeding they were, his eyes were blinded with tears of humiliation. The rain covered that, yes, but it did not hide the bruises on his arms and the blood on his shirt.

 

He entered his father's property; it was partially wooded and he walked through this area, hoping to blend in with the trees, like a chameleon. Didn't want to be seen. But there he came, bounding like the puppy he was; look, even his tail was wagging!

 

Sprocket came to a halt a few feet in front of him, his eyebrows tilting up. "Oh no," he said.

 

"It's nothing," the Overlander boy snarled. "Stop looking at me like that!"

 

"Can't you tell the teachers or something?" Sprocket was looking him over; his bruised body, his busted and swelling lip, the blood finally starting to clot, the torn clothes.

 

"The teachers don't care about me," Snively tentatively touched his lip, grimacing. It hurt but it was nothing new. The group of 5 boys, the 'Freaksmashers' as they ridiculously called themselves, had indeed caught their favorite freak and smashed him quite good. Snively was only vaguely happy that he had managed to give one a black eye. Ah well, maybe that made it worth it. At least they hadn't kicked him low in the gut, making him pee his pants like the last time. It could have been worse. They could've ripped up his notebooks again.

 

He sighed. All his probing had made his lip bleed anew.

 

"I wish I could help..." The canine took out a handkerchief and with an almost motherly gesture, tried to dab the other boy's injured mouth. But Snively caught his wrist and dug his nails in, and the dog yelped in surprise.

 

"I said to knock it off! What can you do to help? You can get the hell out of my face." He was suddenly furious, more furious at his friend than those who had hurt him. He couldn't grasp it; couldn't explain it. It was like...futile love, or trying to stop a inferno with a squirt gun...it was wasted effort.

"You think you can help!? No one can help me, especially not some..." - Father's derogatory Mobian terms were coming to his lips without him even realizing- "flea-bitten mutt. Just go home!"

 

Sprocket looked like he'd been punched. He took a few staggering steps back. And then he turned and obeyed, running off into the trees.

 

Snively stood for a second, eyes still narrowed hatefully, and then a gasp escaped him; no, how could he have...

 

"Wait, Sprocket!" He yelled and took off running, and caught up, and the dog turned, and perhaps the rain was hiding his tears too.

 

"I didn't mean that. Please, I didn't mean that."

 

"I know..." A weak smile was given.

 

"I'll make this up to you, I promise." Snively thought hard, and suddenly, knowledge of an upcoming date...an old Earth tradition, came to his mind. "Look, next Tuesday...I have an idea. It'll be a surprise, ok, but you'll love it."

 

"Ok." This time the smile was stronger, but the pain still lingered in those golden eyes.

"Your...your father's going to be home soon. You better get cleaned up..."

 

Snively nodded. "See you later."

 

"Yeah."

 

After gingerly cleaning his face and changing into dry (and blood-free) clothing, the young Overlander crept up to the attic. They still had them, he assumed. According to Colin, Mother had loved that holiday. He had to have kept them.

 

He found them, finally, dusty and coiled, in the bottom of a plastic storage bin.

 

A beautiful array of colored lights on a long green wire. Mother's beloved Christmas lights...

 

*

He jerked awake, drenched in cold sweat.

 

"It was all useless...Sprocket..." He mumbled and then rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of that strange burning feeling. It must be this forest air making them itch and water like that.

 

He went outside to check the progress of the drilling. They had one of the oil tanks nearly half full. That was good, he thought with little enthusiasm. It wouldn't be good enough for Julian, of course. He entered the ship again, casting a wary eye on the blank monitor, waiting for Uncle's demonic face to appear there. But the monitor stayed black and quiet and he sank down into the chair, his fist rubbing his eyes again.

 

No, no matter how hard he tried to please, no matter how hard he worked, no matter...how much kindness the other boy had given...

 

He glared dully at the screen, the forest air irritating his eyes so much that they were spilling water all down his cheeks...

 

None of it had been enough.

 

-------------------------------------------------

Post 48:

Ealain VanGogh

 

The most frightening thing about it was that it was neither a thought nor a feeling, neither an obligation nor a desire. It was ingrained.

 

It was innate. It had been an invasion once, like a virus or bacterium contaminating his innards and festering outward like a metallic rash. But now? It had been years, and the slave virus, the virus that was roboticization, had embedded itself in the every nucleus of his cells, his free will and morality, seizing his DNA....

 

And it had bred.

 

It happened just as relief slackened his body. Like a belch. A hiccup. A dry heave of the mind. He let the feverish memories of his brief revels with Snively, of Colin and hatred and exile and broken Christmas tree lights, fade gently from a roaring current to something like waves lapping the shore of his consciousness. Reality materialized; Sprocket Apollo opened his eyes to the soft glow of a lush, canopy-sheltered morning. He was in a hut, smelling of cedar and moist earth....

 

And then it happened.

 

The sound came not from that utopia he beheld, but rather from within him: Crack. Sizzzzzle. Snap!

 

Agony. Some alien force clenched his body, something dominating and cruel and inorganic, wracking him with one great heaving convulsion. His torso went taut in an involuntary effort to control the tremor. Everything went red. The red of freshly spilled blood, of the pumping heart divulged and dissected by cold shiny tools during surgery. Intense, deep, vibrating, nauseating red. Flashes of foreign orders, terms, and priority files, issued by the great tyrant from whom the canine hoped to flee spilled from his neural circuit database: The room reeled before him as again he reckoned that the thing that had captured his body had its source within.

 

The orders became audible; they buzzed in his ears, thousands of them, all in flat droning voices--soft but relentless. Only one voice was drowned: his OWN. The gun wound of the previous night throbbed beneath his shock of unkempt hair, still unattended.

 

Crackle. Hisssssss. Ah, yes--the noise was coming from his head too. And it was getting louder.

 

It was like the gnawing agony of roboticization, the transformation of bodily organs, spleen, liver, stomach, kidneys, intestines, twisted and screwed and tore and warped and finally emerged to engulf skin and fur.

 

Only worse--it came without the anticipation, the gradual progression. This came all at once, a snake strike, a bolt of lightning, all-encompassing, with no warning.

 

Then blackness.

 

It came and was over in three seconds.

 

Sprocket gagged; so intense was the pain that he forgot how to scream. His teeth gnashed and squealed in their metal sockets. When it passed he gasped aloud, both stunned and joyful at its brevity.

 

But....God. What had it been? What had possessed him just now? It had not been bred by his own spirit, and yet it was so intrinsic. Like a reflex, a compulsion, an instinct.

 

No. None of those. They were deceptively innate, but not really cohesive with that which was HIM. They were replacement parts--for him. He had lost himself for three seconds--utterly. He had lost himself. The blackness--just like when he had first....awakened.

 

Am I falling back asleep?

 

Crackle.

 

Redness. Pain. Voices, growing deafening. This time it lasted for fifteen gruesome seconds. Suddenly he knew--his neural circuits had gone unrepaired--and something that had been wounded was drawing him away from the blessed autonomy he'd regained.

 

Blackness. No, God, think of anything. Anything that belongs to you--to you alone. Remember something else. Griff's sixth birthday, the color of the balloons. The night Lupe and Nakuma performed their rain dance before the campfire. God...God. Think. Telephone pranks with Snively. Think. Scent of the pine trees, sound of Pollo the Rhino's laughter at my face as he showed me the size of the bugs on the southeastern continent. They were ten inches long, those roaches. Ha, yes. I stayed with that family for a year, I think they were my first foster parents.... Memories are forever. Memories are me--they are mine. They belong to me, not to Robotnik.

 

Sizzle.

 

Not to Robotnik.

 

Crackle. Redness. And this time, when the voices came, he felt his lips move. They wanted to move alongside the words. And they had been--the whole time. He just hadn't been....aware of it.

 

No. Get out. Get away. Save them. Save them, at least.

 

"Sprocket!" A youthful voice, broken by anxiety, cleared the fog. And for a moment the canine dared to hope. He spoke carefully, trying to hide the weight of his heart. "Derek? That you?"

 

"Yes!" The joy in his new friend's voice, as he thrust a barrage of questions the robot's way, shattered Sprocket, made him feel like he'd failed the one Mobian who dared to trust him, even while inside his metallic shell. He heard much tumult--the sound of thumping, as if the koala had actually leapt to his feet with the jubilance of Sprocket's return to consciousness. If only he knew how short a return....

 

Warn him. "Get out of Knothole!" The strength in his voice alarmed him. But it bore terror, too. The room grew immediately silent.

 

The koala was protesting; words blurred like rivulets of wet ink in Sprocket's head. He felt his lips quiver, expelling a feebler warning. Then, somehow, he could not reconcile himself with his own actions. He knew he was trying to ware Derek off, and yet he could not galvanize himself to move, push the boy, chase him out, anything more demonstrative or provocative of action on the marsupial's part. He was frozen stiff.

 

"Can't stop what?" Derek was saying, coming towards him.

 

The crackling rose violently in the canine's ears. It was coming back. He heaved a sick sigh. "It's so cold..."

 

This time there was no pain or redness, there were no voices, alien statistics, or data files. There was only blackness. He was aware that it engulfed his senses, this cold, seamless, utter blackness, and yet he was powerless to alter it. Still, as before, it was not more protracted than fifteen or twenty seconds.

 

Once again he returned to consciousness. But he was no longer reclined. He was standing, rigidly, with a purpose, one arm extended aggressively across the room....in Derek's direction. The koala's lips were puckered strangely, much like those of a child afraid to vomit in front of an elder, and his forehead was glistening with moisture. His eyes, wide with primal fear, were the far more disturbing element of the scene Sprocket beheld....unless one counted the burn marks of a laser on the hut wall just above the koala's head.

 

I did that. Sprocket tried to swallow. He looked at his index finger, into which was built a tiny laser pistol. It was still smoking. Yes, I did that. "I told you," he croaked. "I told you to get out. The head wound--I'm losing myself to him again. I mustn't...the risks are too great, do you see?" Then he lowered his arm; it was clear his old dangerous identity, that of one on whom a rabbit child believed a gun should be fired, had been reaffirmed, for Derek was unwilling to relax, even following this gesture of detente.

 

Terror struggled with sorrow on the boy's snow white face. Eloquence failed him. "Oh...oh." He nodded slowly. "Yes."

 

It sufficed for Sprocket that the koala understood he would never have abandoned his people, the furries, or the Freedom Fighters, given the choice. There was no time for thanks or farewells. He fled the hut, afraid to wait for the next aftermath of the following mental blackout. Afraid the burn mark would be in his friend's skull the next time around. He remembered an old friend who had unconsciously shot burn marks through his skull, with cruel words and acts, when he had been nothing but kind--who had known no other way to express himself. It had hurt so horribly. He would not be such a painful friend to these brave souls. So he fled.

 

He did not realize that he was being followed.

 

He passed the dragon child Dulcy; she was inside a near hut deep in slumber. Good. At least one agonizing goodbye could be avoided. Sleep well while you can, young one--while you don't have to fear never awakening.

 

He was running blindly, directionless, meandering through foliage, tripping over rocks, roots, and logs, sliding on wet leaves; the black episodes were less frequent but more violent. Each time he found himself, after reawakening, going in the opposite direction, towards Knothole....with his arm outstretched and his finger smoking. He knew what his hard drive's priority orders were. What Robotnik's were. And so each time, he tried to run a little faster, a little farther, so it would take him long to get back if he blacked out completely.

 

He was slouched against an ancient oak tree, clutching his crackling temple, and trying to discern his proximity to the Great Mountains, when the voice stopped him. it did not come from within him.

 

"I know why you left. I saw you running away to save us. You're brave, aren't you?"

 

He whirled around; standing on a bulging root almost at his eye level was the squirrel child with the auburn hair and sapphire eyes--the one who had looked as though she felt empathy towards him. Now her face was more contemplative, more grounded in reason and scrutiny; she clutched the bleeping little computer Nicole in her arms. The device's whirring grew louder, as if it were an elder prompting the child to continue. "Thank you," she added.

 

Sprocket couldn't help but smile. He knew who she was now, now in the sunlight, head tilted proudly upward, at once, despite her delicate frame, commanding respect. She had her father's regal bearing. "I've been accused of worse. Princess Sally, I presume?"

 

"Yes."

 

"But out in the Great Forest, titles are meaningless?" He winked.

 

The child giggled. "I like that." She fidgeted, shuffled her feet, searched for conversation. "I'll use it sometime."

 

Sprocket sighed. Clearly the child wanted him to return with her; she thought she could accomplish anything, even without the necessary resources--including repairing his neural circuits. She thought she was invincible. She was the real brave one. "Princess, you should leave. I can't always....control myself. Not now."

 

The monarch ignored him. "Bunnie says she's sorry. She didn't know you weren't a real robot."

 

Bunnie--she must be the rabbit child. "That's okay....just tell her to stay away from Robotropolis. It's crawling with 'real' robots. And I'll be among them soon if I don't get going." He felt his head tingling and sizzling; it was coming back soon.

 

"Going where?"

 

This question truly terrified him, for his honest answer was, "I don't know." His fear for her became frustration--if they were so concerned about his well being, then why hadn't Knothole's inhabitants repaired him? Why had they cast him out in the first place?

 

He chastised himself. How would a nanny and a handful of children have possibly repaired complex circuitry? No one could do that....

 

No one in Knothole, that was. No furry.

 

It looked as though the time for a reunion--a real one--had finally arrived.

 

He had, however, one more obligation to fulfill before this was accomplished. "Your Majesty, I want to give you a gift. I want to...to thank you for your kindness. May I see Nicole?"

 

The child withdrew behind the oak trunk, shielding the computer in her arms. "What kind of gift?" Shrewdness and sorrow mingled and filled her gaze. "A man once told Daddy he could give him all kinds of gifts as 'thanks for his kindness.' That man ended up making creatures like you."

 

"Sally." He sat on his haunches at her level, resting a hand over his chest. "I did not choose this fate."

 

Her face crumpled. "Neither did I." She bit her lip in a vicious attempt at restraint--and delivered the computer into his arms. "I believe you."

 

He smiled softly. "You do? Why?"

 

"You put your hand over your heart. If you were really a robot, you wouldn't do that--you wouldn't know you had a heart to point to."

 

Sprocket cocked his head at the eleven-year-old sage. Without taking his eyes off her, he took a wire from his utility belt, connected one end to a transmission circuit in his arm and the other to Nicole. "Have you ever heard of the Overlander legend of Anastasia Romanov?" He queried while typing into a small keypad in his wrist.

 

The child's intellect stirred; her face brightened. "Yes! She was a princess too!" Sprocket nodded, completing the final words of his message. "Sally Acorn," he lay his free hand on her head, partially in jest and partially with more certitude than he'd ever felt in his life. "You too will rise again." He wasn't trying to buoy her spirits; he truly believed it. He had to; he had been an orphan at five too, and he wanted to hope that he, like her, would one day thrive. That they all would.

 

Their eyes locked for a time, and when he could see she understood, and believed it too, he fixed his gilt stare back on Nicole's screen, which displayed his message: "Derek, my dear but brief comrade, I feel I must relate the intentions of my heart to you. I am like two people. I was born a Mobian, and I grew in the fellowship of...of someone you and yours despise. I am sure you have already guessed to whom I refer. I desperately hoped never to choose between those two worlds... I love them both. Because he once saved the life they gave me, I owe as much of my existence to Snively Kintobor as I do my birthparents and king. But if this slavery erases my thoughts, my feelings--myself...then I will not have any choice at all. It is for this reason that I will sojourn to that other world of myself: Only Snively has the aptitude to repair the damages to my neural circuits and thus preserve my freedom. In the name of that Freedom, for which you so bravely fight, I bid you Godspeed. Please give Dulcy and your elderly woman friend my regards, and the child Bunnie my forgiveness. What Robotnik did to us is none of our faults. -Sprocket."

 

His fingers paused on the keyboard, drummed it in contemplation. What if....? Yes. Do it.

 

"P.S.: Should we ever meet again, you must take caution. Trust must be frugally spent after I have exposed myself to Robotnik's realm. Here will be my sign of trust to you, my sign that you can still trust me: I will say 'Anam Cara.' It's Overlander Gaelic for 'soul friend'. As a final gift, I want you to have all the datafiles and programs Robotnik installed in my hard drive--factory output numbers, even some secret access codes into buildings and some archival knowledge of the species he's dominated. They may be of service should you ever require defensive action against his empire. Please see it as a gesture of my loyalty to Mobius. Loyalty is all I have." There--done. Sprocket concentrated; something whirred in his forehead--thank God some functions of his neural circuits still worked. The files were downloaded in seconds into Nicole's hard drive.

 

He returned the computer to the child. "Now go. Go and thrive, Princess. Rise again for us." And as her tiny body disappeared in the underbrush he vowed to follow his own advice, even though the Great Mountains lingered like reapers on the horizon seeking to ware him away. If a child won't be that man's victim neither will I.

 

Here's hoping, Snively.

 

-----------------------------------------

Post 49:
Tristan Palmgren

 

Derek eyed the projector listlessly, his eyes caught on the last sentence of the message.

 

It was plain text, in a simple font. The canine obviously hadn't had the time to do much other than compose the text itself. Yet it felt as though these simple words had an extra dimension to them; some hidden depth that reached out and beyond the typeface of the words themselves and threatened to ensnare his soul. He felt as though there were some powerful magnetic attraction drawing his eyes to them, and that not even all the lasers of Robotropolis could sever the invisible tether that kept them there.

 

It could have been some unknown quality of the hologram itself that kept his gaze rooted there. Derek was used to seeing words on sheets of paper, and not suspended in the air above him. It could have been some hidden hypnotic wavering of the projection. More than likely, though, it was the power of the words themselves.

 

"Loyalty is all I have."

 

But Sprocket didn't even have that, did he? Or even if he did, his loyalties were hopelessly conflicted and divided.

 

Part of him belonged to the people of Mobius and the culture that had raised him; his own injured innocence had certainly given him an affinity for those with similar wounds. Another part belonged to the heart of a workerbot, and the deafening march of the SWATbots and the thrum of factories. Though that loyalty was forced and not genuine, it was still overriding nonetheless. The last part of him belonged to the boy who would be Prince of Robotropolis, Robotnik's nephew and lackey.

 

Sprocket's last message had made everything about that clear. Derek now understood the moment of silence between Sprocket and Snively in midair over Dragonsnest. He had been too tired and frightened to make sense of it before, but Sprocket's last cryptic message had at least fit that piece of the puzzle into place.

 

Which of Sprocket Apollo's divided loyalties was the largest? Derek couldn't say. He wasn't sure even Sprocket himself knew. He wasn't sure any of them were larger than the others. The only thing Derek was certain of right now was that none of those loyalties could be broken or avoided. They were all crackling against each other somewhere out there, and no single loyalty could win without destroying the person inside that metallic cranium.

 

"Sprocket, my friend, you may have your loyalty, but maybe you'd be better off without it," Derek murmured.

 

He leaned forward in the wooden chair and rested his chin in his palm. The projection still held him entranced.

 

It had taken them some time to notice the message. Several hours had passed since Sprocket had first disappeared into the morning dusk before it'd appeared. Neither he nor Rosie was sure of how it had gotten inside Nicole. Rosie had just pulled out Nicole to use the computer's scanners to aid in the search, and then the message had appeared, floating in midair as though it'd always been there. When Derek had asked if it was possible that Sprocket could've gotten his hands on Nicole at any other time, she'd shaken her head. As far as she was aware, Nicole had never left her at any time during the night.

 

Derek felt his head slip further down towards the table. It'd felt burdened with an overpowering sense of guilt ever since the incident with Sprocket this morning. There was just too much shame locked up inside his skull to keep it lifted for long.

 

I should've chased after him, he kept telling himself. I should've tried to keep him from running off. But what did I do? I stayed rooted to the spot, right here in the cabin, and cowered. At a time when it was singularly important to do anything at all, I couldn't. His head sunk further down towards the table, unable to stay supported in the air.

 

I'm just not cut out for this.

 

He made himself try to look at the larger picture. He had come a long way leaving Ari's camp in the mountains; he'd traveled by a combination of foot and air all the way to the Great Forest. Technically speaking, he'd accomplished a lot. He'd saved a orphan dragon child from the Dragonsnest tower and brought her to someplace where she'd be safe. Although he may not have performed as well as he'd hoped, he'd still lived through bandits, legions of SWATbots, and an airborne chase with Snively himself. He'd survived through all that, which was more than a lot of others could say. He may have even completed his ultimate objective of finding a resupply base for Ari's group, though he hadn't been in this tiny village for long enough to know for certain. Not bad for just a teenager.

 

So why did he feel like a complete failure whenever he thought about what'd happened to Sprocket?

 

He didn't know why... but nonetheless the feeling wouldn't fade. Looking at the incident from an entirely selfish perspective, in the grand scheme of Derek's life, Sprocket's loss probably wasn't that important. He had just met him the night before, and they'd been loose traveling partners for only a few hours before he'd been shot. He was just one person out of the dozens he'd already met on this misbegotten adventure, and even those dozens didn't amount to anything next to the amount of people who were depending on him to find a resupply base *somewhere*.

 

Derek took the hand that was trying and failing to support his head, and used it instead to rub his bloodshot eyes. He knew that he'd never be able to forget Sprocket, not even if he never saw the canine again. But... there were still other people depending on him to do his job. "I need to complete my mission," he mumbled half-heartedly.

 

Rosie glanced up at him. Because of the almost inaudible softness of his voice, she was slow to react, but her growing wariness was quickly apparent. It was the first time Derek had mentioned anything of his ultimate objective.

 

"Mission?" she asked quizzically, with just a note of caution in her voice. It was just enough to tell Derek not to expect too much from her.

 

"Er, yes. I'm afraid it wasn't just random luck that we stumbled across your village. the reason I actually came out to the Great Forest was to beseech aid, Mrs.... Ms...." Derek suddenly realized that he didn't know her last name, "Ms. Rosie. I'm a scout for a much larger organization. I came to the forest looking for friendly faces, and maybe some people that had spare food and other supplies."

 

Rosie eyeballed Derek for a moment, as if sizing him up and trying to decide what kind of 'organization' could possibly employ a kid who looked like as shabby as that. She shook her head, and paused to weigh her options, at last deciding on the blunt approach. "And just what kind of... organization makes a habit of sending out a teenager, a dragon child, and a roboticized canine as part of a team?"

 

Derek shook his head quickly. "No, they're not-- they're not a part of--," he knew he had already lost it, and decided to start over. "You misunderstand. I was sent out alone; I started out as far back as the Great Mountains. Those two are just people I met along the way." He realized how peculiar this must have sounded. He felt blood rushing to his cheeks. His choice of traveling companions had been odd so far, to say the least, and Rosie certainly had every right to be suspicious about this.

 

He was beginning to feel too much like a traveling salesmen, knocking on the doors of random innocents and pleading for some kind of charity. It wasn't a position he was accustomed to.

 

Rosie's lip curved downward in a half-frown. She closed Nicole and slipped the computer back into her boot; the hologram of Sprocket's last message vanished in midair. "Is this another group of refugees?" Rosie asked. "We have enough crops out there to support many more people than we have right now, but I'm not sure as to how we could actually squeeze more living quarters into the village..."

 

Here went the bombshell. Rosie's reaction to this next bit of information would either make or break his chances of finding a resupply point for Ari. Derek took a deep breath before he finally found the courage to say it aloud. "No, ma'am, we were refugees, but we're not any more. We call ourselves 'Freedom Fighters' now. We plan to assault Robotropolis itself, but we need a place to stop and resupply before we actually launch our attack."

 

Rosie straightened. She certainly had a visible reaction to something. The fur on her arm had raised on its hackles when he'd spoken the phrase 'Freedom Fighters'. The phrase must've meant something to her, and her body seemed to indicate that it wasn't something positive. Rosie's expression remained impressively neutral, though, so Derek couldn't tell exactly what she was thinking.

 

"Is that so?" Rosie said impassively. She seemed to say it not because it meant anything, but as filler to give her time to think. She considered this for a moment, and Derek was once again aware that he was being sized up by her inscrutable gaze. At last, she said, "I'm afraid Knothole village just can't be that place, Derek."

 

Derek's meager hopes crashed straight through the floorboards and dashed themselves to pieces.

 

Though he wasn't aware of this, his expression had probably visibly fallen, because the next thing Rosie said was, "I need you to understand that I have my own charges to look after. I can't get my children involved in anything that dangerous. You're going to have to pack and find someplace else, because this just isn't right for either of us."

 

"We'd only need to stay for a day or two," Derek tried again, though whatever was left of his confidence had all but fled. "Please, all we need is a chance to take on more food and supplies, and then we'll be gone. You never need hear from us again."

 

"No, not here," Rosie said firmly.

 

"But--"

 

"If one of you gets captured and interrogated, than Robotnik will know everything about this little village. Even worse, he'll know that the heir to the Acorn throne is alive, and he'll stop at nothing to take her." Rosie's voice trembled with sudden vehemence at this last sentence. She saw this all too suddenly, and took a moment to regain control over herself. "I took an oath to protect these children back when this whole tragedy started, but now they mean so much more to mean than even that vow. There's something much more sacred than an oath behind my decision. I may as well be the only parent that these children have left. And I can't let you take that much of a risk with them."

 

Derek only had one card left to play. He leaned forward across the table, and met Rosie's gaze through eyes that brimmed with emotion.

 

"Don't you care?" he asked. "Doesn't Mobius mean anything to you?"

 

Rosie's suddenly-livid eyes burned with a markedly un-maternal anger. "How dare you--"

 

Derek kept speaking right through her interruption, cutting her off. "Don't you care about the world beyond this little village? About the grand scheme of the world? I realize just how important the people here are to you, but there are worse things happening in the world than what's happened to these children. They're still alive; they're still flesh-and-blood. There are thousands - millions - of children out there who don't have the same privilege. They're growing up with metal bodies. They've been slaves for the better part of a decade."

 

He stood up. He was genuinely infuriated now. His anger wasn't directed at Rosie. He wasn't sure what it was aimed at. He just knew that his blood was suddenly burning for him to do *something*. The words just poured out of his mouth.

 

"If nobody does something to stop Robotnik, there are millions of families out there who are going to grow old and die without ever seeing each other again. There are millions of people who will never see their real bodies again -- hell, millions of people who will never even be able to use their real minds again." He thrust his index finger towards the open doorway, pointing out towards the wilds of the Great Forest, and the direction that Sprocket had fled in. "Did you get a good look at Sprocket Apollo out there? Did you see how much pain he was in? Ms. Rosie, he was one of the lucky ones. He actually got to think for himself for a few hours. We're trying to do everything we can to help those people. If there's just a chance that we could change all of that injustice, or even just a small part of it, I think it's worth the risk. But if you refuse to do anything to change the grander scheme when you're in a perfect position to help, all on the grounds of protecting this sheltered little hamlet of children who will grow up to accomplish nothing if their world isn't changed, I- I- just can't accept that."

 

As the last sentence flew out of his throat, Derek began to realize how unfair he was being.

 

He had no right to do this to anybody Here he was, an invader in this cozy little village, shouting at this gentle old nanny all because she had dared tried to live a normal life and raise a few refugee children. A guilt more powerful than anything he had felt before flooded through his temples.

 

He was making a appalling jerk out of himself. These people more no less frightened of the world around him than he was, and he certainly had no call to order them around like this. Rosie had been right. How dare he? By all rights, he ought to apologize and just leave. All of the sudden he wanted to do nothing other than break down crying. He was a terrible person.

 

Neither of them said anything for several timeless moments. Rosie's eyes had gone dead. How much damage had he done?

 

"I'm s-sorry," Derek stammered at last. "I d-didn't mean to be quite so--"

 

Rosie sat down heavily in her armchair. It was fortunate that the chair had been directly behind her at the time; otherwise it had seemed as though she would've fallen directly onto the floor. Even though her thick cheekfur, it was plainly visible that her face had gone pale.

 

Derek discovered that, against all wisdom, his conscience was capable of slamming down on him even harder than it had before. But he felt what he'd said was true so strongly that-- that was no excuse, though. He shouldn't have done that. "I'll just leave now," he said quietly.

 

"Wait, please," she said quickly. This plainly caught Derek by surprise. It was so unexpected that for a moment he was helpless to do anything but obey. He remained rooted to the spot. "What you said just reminded me of someone else here in Knothole. You sound exactly like them, you know."

 

Confused, Derek asked, "Who?"

 

Rosie didn't answer. Instead, she just stared out of her cabin's window, towards the childrens' huts. Derek couldn't tell exactly whose, though. Her eyes glazed over after awhile, and she still didn't say anything.

 

Derek remained standing in place, unable to bring himself to move or say anything. He lost track of how many seconds passed.

 

"I think you've convinced me," Rosie said, several minutes later. Almost all emotion had been drained from her voice, but still Derek could detect an edge to it that hadn't been there before. It wasn't anger or even fear, but rather... something akin to determination. "I still don't think you can use Knothole as your resupply village. I still do have the children to think about. No matter what, it's too much of a risk for me to take." Derek nodded in helpless agreement.

 

Rosie reached down, and unhooked Nicole from the clip on her boot. When she looked up at Derek, her eyes glinted sharply in the sunlight.

 

She continued, "But if you 'Freedom Fighters' are going to lose this battle before it starts... well, it won't be on my account. What I can do to help you is to find a resupply point that will work."

 

***

 

Princess Sally was almost insufferably pleased with herself.

 

No one had noticed her surreptitiously slipping Nicole back into Rosie's boot after Sprocket had uploaded his last farewell message. As far as the two adults were concerned, the message may as well appeared out of thin air. Even better that, though; no one had noticed her slipping Nicole back out after the adults were done talking to each other. She claimed she heard voices raised almost, but not quite, to the level of shouting.

 

Bunnie watched with through sullen eyes. Out of all the children that Sally had called to this impromptu gathering, she stayed the furthest away from the larger. She sat huddled in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest, as she listened to what was going on.

 

She was usually more active than this. Ordinarily, she would have been right up there next to the others as they'd prepared their schemes and conspiracies. This morning she just didn't have the strength of mind. The memory of what she'd done last night hung was never far from her thoughts, and with it this terrible burden of never-ending shame. This melancholy had been with her ever since last night, when she'd realized just what she'd done when she'd pulled that trigger.

 

The thing that had hurt worst of all was Rosie's iron-cold grip snapping the laser rifle out of her hands as she'd carried the injured robot into her hut. The icy silence of the moment was something she'd never expected. Ever since she'd taken the laser rifle back, Bunnie'd been waiting for her to come back and give her the chewing out of a lifetime, but... she'd never shown up. Bunnie waited half the night for her, expecting, almost hoping, that she'd show up, disappointed and with an angry lecture in mind. But... instead there had been nothing. In a way, it had been worse. It was almost like Rosie just didn't care anymore.

 

She'd been told time and time again that weapons weren't toys, and that if she was going to aim them at anybody - much less fire - her life had better be in danger first. Rosie had trusted her to know this implicitly. So what was the first thing she had done with the rifle last night? She'd shot an innocent.

 

But how could she have been wrong? How could that robot have not been working for Robotnik? She didn't understand--

 

A hand landed on her shoulder. Bunnie hadn't seen anybody approach. The suddenness of it was like someone had thrown a penny on the track of her train of thought. She glanced up, blinking, and saw that Sally had somehow approached unseen. Whatever gathering Sally had called to conspire about their next moves must not have started yet.

 

"C'mon, Bunnie," she said, holding Nicole up towards her. "The voice recording program I inserted into Nicole worked beautifully. I just found what we needed. C'mon over to the circle -- I'm gonna need you to help me keep this bunch in order."

 

Bunnie looked across the room at the other children, and then back at Sally. "Naw," she said softly, "That's all right. Y'all go on without me." With an extra trace of bitterness, she added, "Ah think Ah've done enough to 'help' as it is."

 

"You know, no one blames you for what happened last night," Sally said bluntly. She took a seat on the floorboards just in front of her, forcing her to meet her eyes. That kind of confrontational attitude was very much a part of Sally's nature, but there were times when Bunnie thought that it became a bit much. Like right now. "You had no way of knowing. If that same thing happened again, ninety-nine times out of a hundred you would have done the right thing. You did what you thought you had to."

 

"But what Ah thought Ah had to do wasn't the right thing at all," Bunnie protested. "We aren't even supposed ta know that Rosie has that rifle in her closet."

 

"And we're not supposed to steal Nicole or use her to spy on Rosie, either, but we do it anyway," Sally said, with a feral grin. "Look, Bunnie, sometimes what we're supposed to do isn't the same thing as what we have to do. You were trying to defend Knothole. I don't think even Rosie can hold that against you for very long."

 

"Maybe not Rosie," Bunnie said, "but wut about the robot Ah almost killed?"

 

"When I met him, he didn't seem like the kind to go around hating children," Sally whispered, as if sharing a great secret. She stood up, and offered Bunnie a hand. "I wanted everybody to come here because I think there's still something we can do to help -- whether or not the adults actually want us to. You at least got yourself out of your cabin and down here on time. Won't you at least take those last few steps over here?"

 

Bunnie looked at Sally's hand for a moment... and then, to her surprise, found herself smiling lamely. She reached out and grabbed her friend's hand.

 

"Yeah, yeah, Ah guess ya talked me into it. Again."

 

Sally helped her pull herself to her feet, and, together, they walked back across the room to join the others.

 

The timing of the gathering had been carefully chosen. Whatever conversation Rosie and the strange koala had had in her hut had broken up, at least for the time being. The koala was napping again, sleeping off the chaos of the early morning. Rosie was out in the fields, tending the crops, like she always was at this time of day. Because Rosie was out of the village proper for the moment, it meant that the children had the least chance of getting caught in the middle of their conspiring. It also meant that Rosie probably wouldn't notice Nicole's absence, either, giving Sally ample time to play around with the computer and recall the data she needed.

 

The kids had settled into seated positions that, with a little twist of imagination, could probably have been called a circle. Their positions were actually fairly irregular and unevenly-spaced, but at least the basic shape was still there. Whenever they'd done any scheming or conspiring as a group, something that they didn't want any of the adults to hear, they'd always done so from a circle much like this one. It was an unspoken tradition that they'd followed for as long as Bunnie could remember.

 

It was easier to speak quietly and still be heard in a circle like this... and every child knew that at least someone else was covering his or her back. Even Sonic, who was standing and leaning nonchalantly against the cabin wall, had positioned himself so that he was filling in one part of the circle.

 

The most unusual sight here was definitely Dulcy the dragon. The other children had been suspicious, and not just a little afraid, of her at first, but that had changed as they'd seen more and more of her. Though she was a dragon and as large as any adult, they'd discovered that, at heart, she was just a child, in mental years younger than even them. Dulcy had been terribly eager to please, too. Now Dulcy was quickly becoming a welcome part of the group, even if she was too new to be fully accepted yet.

 

The dragon child looked as though she wasn't quite sure what her newfound friends were planning here, but she seemed quite willing to go along with it anyway. Bunnie couldn't count the number of times Dulcy repeated how glad she was to be with people her own age, and be treated as an equal.

 

Sally sat down on the floor again at one of the larger unfilled spaces still left. Bunnie sat down right next to her, so that she could peer over Sally's shoulder and get a better look at Nicole's displays. Slowly but steadily, the chatter of the other children was dropping to a low whisper as they waited for Sally to begin. Bunnie sniffed, and did her best to put the incident with the laser rifle out of her mind. Larger things were afoot now.

 

"Nicole," Sally asked when the others had sufficiently quieted, "With the voice recording program I inserted in you, did you capture every word that the two adults said to each other?"

 

"I DID," the computer's smooth, feminine voice confirmed.

 

Nicole might as well have been the perfect spy. For starters, Rosie wouldn't suspect her,, and even if she did, there was no way to detect any guilt in Nicole's expression or get her to confess any secrets. That was because, as far as Nicole was concerned, there were no secrets to be kept. In the computer's semi-sentient mind, all of its users were equal, and it couldn't grasp the concept that there were secrets that Rosie and Sally kept from each other. The voice recording program that Sally had added to her ran in passive mode only, and there was no way to detect its presence. Nicole would have gladly admitted to Rosie - had she asked - that there was indeed a recording program running. But Rosie hadn't known to ask, and therefore Nicole hadn't said anything. It was the perfect catch 22, and one that ended in the favor of the children.

 

"Now will we finally be abluh to find out wut the koala and the robot were even doin' here in the first place?" Bunnie asked.

 

"That's what I'm hoping," Sally said, one side of her lips curled upwards in a slight smile. "Nicole, recall from memory the conversation the adults had at approximately nine o'clock this morning, and play it back in its entirety."

 

Lights flashed on the exterior of Nicole's case as she obediently set about her task. Within seconds, the flashing had stopped, and more power was channeled to her audio circuits to give the children the best in surround sound. Suddenly Derek and Rosie's voices filled the cabin, sounding just as lifelike now as they did in the flesh.

 

They talked about only mundane things to begin with. Sprocket's disappearance, for starters, and then Derek and Rosie read through Sprocket's last message. Sally had already shared this with the other children, and they seemed to be talking just about things that they already knew. This went on endlessly.

 

The others started to lose interest. Dulcy started playing with some unseen toy hiding in the corner. Antoine yawned. Sonic, still standing, rolled his eyes and began tapping his foot impatiently.

 

Then, suddenly, the recording started to get interesting enough to garner even the hedgehog's undivided attention.

 

The mention of the phrase 'Freedom Fighters' hit Sally like a sack of bricks. Her jaw dropped limply. Her grip on Nicole faltered, and the computer clattered to the floor. Nicole was, of course, sturdy enough not to take notice of the impact, and continued playing back the conversation unimpeded. Sally snatched her up off the floor as soon as she regained her composure, and listened intently to the rest of the conversation. Bunnie's eyes became almost as wide and unblinking as hers as Derek kept talking about his ultimate objective.

 

As the discussion became almost a full-blown argument, Bunnie became increasingly angry with Derek. She wanted to leap to her feet and do her best to defend Rosie. It was true that what he was saying had merit - Bunnie wouldn't have been sitting in this circle if she hadn't thought so - but it still seemed like that koala had no right to come on as strongly as he did.

 

Still, though, as they became calmer again, Bunnie's anger was replaced by something that was almost admiration. Excitement, too, surged through her veins. There were other Freedom Fighters out there. There were other people who wanted to fight back just as badly as Sally did.

 

When the recording was finally finished, Sally shut Nicole and slipped her away, and the circle was quiet for a few moments. Nobody, not even Sally, could think of something to say.

 

"Oh, man," Sonic said at last, "this is so cool."

 

Sally frowned at him, but neglected to take the chance to chide him for his typically juvenile attitude about this. It had to be said that she, too, was suddenly terribly excited. Bunnie almost imagined that she could hear the squirrel's heart pounding from here. This was what she'd been spending the past few years looking for. This was what she'd spent her life waiting for. Her eyes were almost glowing. She seemed oblivious to what the others were saying.

 

"Excuse-moi," Antoine said, "But, euh, I am tinking that we should not be getting involved here. Rosie always says that our newes should not be sticking where they do not belong."

 

"That's 'noses', 'Twan," Rotor corrected. "Noses."

 

"Yes, yes, yes," Antoine stammered quickly, "But- But my point here is that we have no right to be doing this. We should not be even be doing the- the spyglassing on Rosie."

 

"Oh, yeah?" Sonic asked. "And why not?"

 

Antoine held his head up haughtily, and explained matter-of-factly, "Because one should not stow thrones in grass houses."

 

Dulcy giggled openly, holding one talon up to her mouth as if to stifle the smirk. "What is that even supposed to mean?" She had picked up on the other children's habit of making fun of poor Antoine admirably quickly.

 

Sally held up a hand to shush all of the others. Naturally, it didn't work immediately, but with Bunnie adding a helping glare of her own, the others fell silent soon enough. The mood became more serious again.

 

"Whether or not the adults want our help," Sally said, glancing around at each of them, "they're going to have it." At her side, her hands curled up to make little fists.

 

"This is our big chance at last."

 

***

 

Sally's replacement of Nicole into Rosie's boot went just as smoothly as the original theft had. Neither Derek nor Rosie noticed Sally do anything unusual when she walked into the cabin under the guise of some finding lunch. Within half-an-hour, both Derek and Rosie were once again hunched over the table and looking at Nicole, oblivious to the voice recording program that was still merrily ticking along inside her.

 

"So, if not Knothole," Derek asked the question that had been bothering them both for the past several hours, "then where?"

 

Rosie was helpless to give any answer more specific than, "Clearly somewhere." She shrugged, and continued to scroll through all of the entries in Nicole's databanks. They'd been doing this for the past several hours, and hadn't found a single location that had looked even slightly promising. She was beginning to wonder if she'd have to turn Derek and his band of 'Freedom Fighters' away empty-handed after all.

 

It had to be at least someplace that had enough foodstuff stored and intact to feed at least a dozen people for about a week. Living quarters were a must, too -- Derek had insisted that it was too risky trying to camp in the open this close to Robotropolis. Knothole had the advantage of being obscured by a valley and a number of overly large trees; things that most other locales in the Great Forest didn't have at all.

 

For the past hour they'd been routing through Nicole's databanks, trying to find some kind of intact supply depot or even just a hidden glade somewhere. Rosie'd known that it was going to be a difficult search at best, and a futile one at worst, even before she'd set out. She'd spent several hours a week doing exactly the same thing, hoping against hope that she might find something different than she had every week before. In fact, that's what she'd *been* doing the night of the newcomers' arrival. This felt almost like a continuation of the search that'd been cut off.

 

"I think your best bet is actually this old Royal Navy reserve supply depot, way out in the Tirrel Desert," Rosie said, pointing to the glowing blip on the flat holographic projection. Nicole was projecting a map of the land around Robotropolis, and each location they were examining was marked by blinking red blips. As they went through the list, those blips were growing depressingly scarce.

 

The one Rosie indicated was in the far eastern reaches of the map, surrounded by a blur of pastel brown and gray colors that represented desert terrain.

 

Derek had considered that one himself, but once he had found out more about it he had discarded it almost immediately. "No, I don't think that'll do it. There was never enough food there even when the Royal Navy was at its most pristine. Even if it still exists today, it doesn't have what we need."

 

"It's still better than nothing," Rosie countered, shaking her head in despair. "At the very least, don't you think you should reconnoiter the area?"

 

"I would if I could," Derek said sadly. "But I'm afraid I just don't have the time. Look at how far away that depot is, Rosie. The Tirrel Desert isn't exactly something I could just stroll out to. It would take at least a week and a half walking distance to get out there, and just as long to get back. Ari and his Freedom Fighters are going to leave their camp in the mountains any day now. They'll be here sooner than I could even get to out that desert, and they're going to expect me to have something ready for them."

 

"Well, then I simply don't know where else you expect to go," Rosie said, exasperated. She waved her hand across the portion of the map closest to Robotropolis. "The locations that are any closer to Robotropolis only have the most minimal chances of still being there."

 

"I suppose I could check all of them out one by one, then," Derek said. "If I scout out enough of them... maybe I could find at least one of them that's still intact."

 

Rosie knew that odds were against even that having the slightest measure of success, but she didn't say anything. She was simply bankrupt for ideas at this point. Maybe Derek had a point; if all of the locations only had a slight chance of success each, it was best to check out as many of them as possible. The biggest problem - and there were several of them - was that, traveling on foot, Derek could only reasonably expect to reconnoiter maybe three or four possible locations before his 'Freedom Fighters' finally reached the Great Forest. With Nicole charting the odds of finding anything at any of them as maybe five percent, the odds stacked against Derek were still dire.

 

Rosie paced forward, her mind fraught with worry. She didn't want to admit it, but she was emotionally invested in this search now. It hadn't been Derek's pleas that had caused, this, either. If it had just been him alone, Rosie still would have refused to help him. In truth, the real responsible party was Princess Sally. She'd told her the same things Derek had so many times that maybe just hearing another person echo what she'd said before, an adult, had made her see a grain of truth in it. She wasn't invested enough to actually let the 'Freedom Fighters' stay at Knothole, of course - some things, like the safety of the children, always took priority - but neither did she want to see Derek's group fail.

 

"I don't think that will be good enough either," she said. "But, to tell the truth, I can't think of anything better."

 

Derek leaned forward against the table, wondering exactly how much time he had before Ari's group would arrive at the Great Forest. They might have already left already. Ari had been terribly vague with the time frame.

 

After a moment, he said, "Well, I guess if we're going to take that big a risk, we'd better choose our targets very carefully. We'd better select our targets on the basis of which ones have the potentially largest payoffs. After all," he shrugged, "if we're going to be searching for a needle in a haystack, we should make sure that it's a golden needle. I wouldn't want to take all the risk, actually find a site that beats the odds, and then have that site only have about a day's worth of consumables left. That'd be as good as failure."

 

Rosie nodded. "Point taken."

 

"And Rosie?" Derek said. "I appreciate the help. Really. All of us do."

 

"I'm not doing this for charity alone," Rosie smiled. "I'm thinking of this as more of an investment. You'd better prove yourselves worthwhile, and defeat Robotnik for me, or else I just might take my business elsewhere."

 

Derek grinned ruefully. The smile like the first he'd cracked in weeks. "We'll try our best, but no promises."

 

Once again, they resumed searching, and quickly ran into new barriers. Their new search for locations with the greatest known stockpile of goods seemed almost more luckless than their search before. The largest stockpiles were, of course, more well-known, and therefore more likely to have been destroyed by Robotnik's forces. The sites with the greatest possible payoffs were also the sites that had the lowest chance of actually still being there.

 

There was one notable exception.

 

Derek first spotted it when he was looking for a location for a more permanent base location, just in case Ari had plans for a much longer-term war against Robotnik. They'd need someplace to stay hidden -- someplace that Robotnik wouldn't immediately suspect. Preferably, it wouldn't be in the Great Forest, because that was the first place that Robotnik would scour once he was aware that a possible rebel group was threatening his operations. It had to be comfortably far away from Robotropolis, yet still within a fair traveling distance. It had to be... tucked away somewhere.

 

His eyes fell upon a series of small islands tucked into the vast northern sea, and upon a single red blip that blinked upon them.

 

"Where's that?" he asked, pointing.

 

Rosie followed his gaze across the holographic projection. It stirred something in her memory, and it took her only a few seconds to remember why. That was one of the same locations she'd examined with Nicole only the night before. She was able to recall its name without referring to the computer's memory banks.

 

"The Nimbus Island Royal Navy Airbase," she said slowly. "Nicole reports that Robotnik bombed it into oblivion just a few months after the coup. But..."

 

"But...?"

 

Rosie remembered that Nicole had also said something about a number of underground facilities. Even though the computer was reasonably sure that Robotnik's bombing campaign had been thorough, and that no remnant of any Royal Navy facility still remained there, Rosie knew from memory alone that there had been a *lot* of underground hangar facilities on the island. Nicole had only given her a five to ten percent probability that anything at all remained, but... Rosie realized just then that that was a startlingly large margin of error for a machine like Nicole. For a machine that almost prided itself on accuracy, an answer of "five to ten percent" just sounded off.

 

"What?" Derek asked, confused by Rosie's persistent silence. "What do you think could possibly be out there?"

 

***

 

Rosie's voice was asking Nicole to give her the full range of data she had available on Nimbus island. There was silence for a moment as Nicole's comparatively quiet voice rattled off everything she knew about the tiny island and its history. For a moment, Derek seemed to stop breathing. After that, though, his breathing quickly grew heavy and rapid. His excitement was very audible.

 

"You can't be serious!" he exclaimed incredulously. As if someone had found a knob labeled 'Volume' somewhere on his forehead and given it a sharp twist, he was suddenly shouting.

 

"A lost FLEET? OF MILITARY AIRSHIPS?"

 

"Calm down, Derek, please," Rosie's voice said. "All Nicole said was that there was a five to ten percent probability that one of the old hangar facilities survived the carpet bombing. She didn't say any kind of ship still had to be there, or even any of the foodstuffs that you're really looking for. I doubt very much that anything is actually still intact."

 

"I don't care," Derek responded, his voice wavering with excitement. "That's as much chance as any of the other supply depots have of still existing, and - by the Gods, Rosie! - do you realize what we could do to Robotnik with even just a handful of military-grade airships left over from the Great War? With even just four or five of them?"

 

"I realize that, Derek," she said. "I just don't want you to waste your time searching for anything that you're not going to find. The northern sea, and Nimbus island, is almost as far out of your way as the Tirrel Desert. And it has less of a chance of anything being there."

 

"This is where I'm going," Derek said obstinately. He sounded absolutely convinced. "This is where we have to go."

 

Princess Sally stopped the playback.

 

Night had fallen before she or any of the other children had an opportunity to get their hands on Nicole again. It was well past midnight before she could sneak the computer away from Rosie's cabin. Afterwards, she had gone from cabin to cabin to wake the other children and get them together for another clandestine gathering. They had all been very groggy by the time she finally got them to get together in another conspiratorial circle. Yet, now, the momentous events imparted by Nicole's recording had chased even the tiniest leftover of sleep from their eyes.

 

"This is where we have to go, too," Sally said. Her lips curled downward into a determined glower. She nodded to herself. "We have to go to Nimbus Island."

 

***

 

The morning was cold and windy, but, in the peaks of the Great Mountains, Ari had discovered that it was best to become accustomed to that very quickly.

 

Such weather was the way of every morning, and the better part of every day, to boot. He was almost looking forward to leaving the mountains.

 

From these high altitudes, Ari could see the sweltering flatlands of the Great Plains and the sandy deserts of the Great Unknown stretch onward towards the horizon. It seemed strange to him that, from here, he could see places were hot temperatures and stifling stillness were the norms. From these chilly heights, such inhospitable places were almost a welcome thought. He knew he'd quickly change his mind once he was actually out there... but at present he could hardly see how such warmth could ever be undesirable. He shivered against another freezing breeze as it fluttered through his fur.

 

"Do you think Derek's found a good place for us yet?" Wervin asked. The kid stood at his side, bearing a hiking backpack whose contents stood taller than his head. Ari knew that his own load probably looked no less ridiculous. Now that their camp was finally breaking up, everyone discovered that there was a surprising amount of goods to carry with them, far more than they remembered dealing with before. The dozen or two of able-bodied refugees who'd agreed to become 'Freedom Fighters' themselves stood just behind Wervin, each bearing a heavy load of goods and supplies.

 

"He'd better have," Ari said, trying not to let his worries get to him. "Even with all this stuff, I don't think that our supplies are going to last much farther beyond the Great Unknown." The desert, he knew, was going to hit their supplies the hardest. Even with strict rationing, their food and water wouldn't very long in that inhospitable land.

 

"I suppose there's only one way to find out," another Freedom Fighter, a woman, said. She nodded out towards the Great Unknown, using her hand to shield her eyes from the rising sun.

 

"Right," Ari agreed. He knew that the best way to set his fears to rest was through losing himself in action. They all had their parts to play out. His was no less important than Derek's. "All right, people, the sooner we set out, the longer we can make our supplies last. We might be able to take our time getting through the mountains, but once we get out to the desert, we're going to really have to move through it quickly if we want to make." He turned to face them. "Everybody ready?"

 

A chorus of eager affirmatives poured into his ears. Simple experience told him that their exuberance would fade as they made their way through the harsh desert, but... for right now, it was certainly a welcome sound.

 

"All right," he nodded back at them, and then turned again to face the road leading eastward. "Let's get through this one fast and clean."

 

Ari took the first step forward. The path down the mountain was a winding and rocky one, but at least it was downhill. The walk would become more difficult later, so he was determined to enjoy now. He hummed to himself as he set off downhill. Wervin trailed carefully behind him, followed closely by over two dozen stampeding feet.

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Post 50:

Ealain Vangogh

 

Ever since his parents' murder, ever since seeing all the blood all over the rocks and grass and dirt, Sprocket had developed a peculiar urge to be immaculate--to maintain control and order over all things, regardless of their triviality. Boots, hands, hair, every aspect of his hygiene were impeccable. There was an Overlander term for it--Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, or something like that--but he never tried to refute the inaccurate mental label because he didn't want to divulge the true reason behind his excessive cleanliness. He wanted to leave those memories dormant, forgotten.

 

Yet Snively, particularly annoyed one afternoon years ago, had even asserted that the canine was afflicted with the human mental abnormality; they were doodling a hopscotch square on the blacktop for a third party, a vixen-eyed human girl named Phoebe, who was "open-minded" about Mobians and who had a crush on Snively like syrup on pancakes. Snively got squares one through five drawn in seconds, but the girl lost patience and strayed from the scene when it took Sprocket an hour to create a flawlessly straight and even grid, with his blunt pink chalk, for squares six on up. It was the one time he could recall his friend being DESERVEDLY angry with him. He apologized profusely, and bizarrely enough, Snively was gracious, and told him to forget it.

 

The tendency had subsided for years after that, but Sprocket seemed to be regaining the troubling psychosis tonight, while utterly alone--it proved an especial test, as there had been a torrential downpour in the mountains and it was composed far more of knee-deep mud and grime than anything with relative structural integrity. He had to grit his teeth not to succumb to the desire to bend over and polish his boots and legs, to indulge in fears of rusting--for he was already losing too much time with the blackness. Still it did not augment in frequency, only in length of time per episode. The last one ate away five minutes, compared to the fifteen seconds of hours past. He came out of it inches near to plummeting over a gorge, presumably about to accept some default operative by Robotnik to fly back to Robotropolis if lost.

 

So he ignored his muddy boots and trudged faster. Sometimes he flew low to the ground, just to cover more distance before a bout of blackness set him back.

 

He could smell the gut-wrenching odor of exhaust before he could even see the lights of the freighter. He came upon a crag overlooking the site at which the machines were stabling the earth and drawing oil from it like blood; how ironic it was that Robotnik held such contempt for organic life and yet drew his empire's entire life support from one of its abundant raw materials.

 

No, no time for ruminations. Sprocket fell on his belly and slid down the terrain behind a tree stump. It got him five feet from the hovercraft, a shiny chrome beached whale, and the tarp pitched over its open door. Snively must be exhausted--there was no other circumstance that resulted in such bold carelessness as to leave a door unlocked and open, not from his untrusting friend. Untrusting. Sprocket groaned, lip curling up and revealing his dagger incisors with irritation. Now that he was so close to the treasure--be it the Holy Grail or the Hand of Midas, he wasn't yet certain--he felt farther from it than during the miles and hours past. For Snively was a sick soul, and sick souls scared easily. And considering their recent confrontation....

 

Sprocket's heart did not merely sink, it plummeted--at the regret he had for not holding his tongue when he'd seen his old boon companion in that hovercraft. For a moment he regretted many things: saving Derek and Dulcy, waking from his slumber, daring to associate with the son of his parents' killer, daring to be anything but one of the complacent masses. For a moment he wished he'd been the kind of person who was a robot without metal--unloving, unfeeling, unaware of all that morality and compassion demanded of an individual. Uncaring, even if he did know, of what decency entailed. Yes, he wished for a fleeting instant that he could be more like the tortured little man he had come seeking. But the squealing of the freighter's hinges chastised him for his vain desires, lurched him back into the dismal present, and reminded him that there was no turning back. There was really no choice, no alternative to morality--only those who ignored or despised it. He could never be that way, not now. Not after he'd seen the consequences--and, in this metallic prison of the self, become one of the sources thereof.

 

So he opened the keypad in his wrist, accessed the satellite installed in his left ear, allowed himself a moment to shake his head and grimly chortle about his endless array of physiological tools, and began typing. A written message is always less intimidating than a head-on confrontation.

 

"You're my last resort."

 

No, too desperate.

 

"You owe me a favor."

 

No, too angry.

 

"Help me, my friend. I have prayed that I can still trust you." Bingo. Simple and honest, allowing Snively to feel in relative control. Sprocket sent the message.

 

The staccato rapping of twin booted feet hustling about within the aircraft abruptly ceased--Snively had gotten the message. Sprocket paused, held his breath, and then remembered he had no lungs with which to withhold air; sharply he exhaled, and grimaced. His keen nostrils were burned by the odor of whiskey wafting from within the craft. Snively had never drunk before; he'd thought alcohol uncouth. But then again, "before" was longer ago than either of them could fathom. Before was when there was a home to return to.

 

Before the refugee could expound upon his greeting, a sudden reply bleeped into the communications screen above his keypad. "Go on," it read.

 

Excellent. "Don't you want to know who this is?" he typed.

 

The reply was both icily terse and warmly candid. Conflicted. "I am certain of only one person who would call me 'friend.' " Sprocket allowed his tail to begin lashing with satisfaction as his eyes drank the words. But then: "How sincere that claim may be, I have grown UNCERTAIN."

 

Anguish of proximity and yet remoteness from his goal engulfed Sprocket's sense of judgment--he was typing a response before he could think: " Snively, I could have said the same a few years back, when you turned on a king who harbored you as one of his own. When you turned on me for your uncle. But I realized the futility of pointing fingers and clinging to grudges. I am trusting that you have reached this conclusion, too. I need my autonomy. I am not asking you to face or defy your uncle--not now at least. I just need something in my neural circuits repaired. I know I accused you of heartlessness yesterday. Tell me I am wrong. Or are you still just a traitor?" And then, after a time, he added, "I always thought more of you than that. Remember the Christmas tree?"

 

The silence, the blankness that filled the screen for an eternal crackling, electrifying two minutes, in which the entire planet ceased to pivot and the moon and stars halted in their orbit--for the fate of a living creature hung in the balance of the universe--nearly killed Sprocket in and of itself.

 

Finally the reply: "Where are you?"

 

Sprocket smiled. "Step outside your hover unit, young Master Kintobor. I am visible from there." Even from five feet away, he could hear the gasp of terror, the low moaning string of verbal filth. He forced himself not to laugh outright.

 

Snively's scant form emerged from the grayness inside the aircraft. His expression, on that thin, ashen face of a boy too early robbed of innocence, was indiscernible. Though weighed by a potent weariness, his eyes still shone their lustrous, pale blue, a haunting sight even in the darkness and rain. His hands were wrung at his sides, and his uniform, spattered with mud, oversized, askew, and halfway unbuttoned, gave the impression of a man lost and disheveled. He gnawed on his pouting lip. His voice was especially strangled and small as he spoke. "I don't think I ever told you those . . . those were my mother's favorite decorations." He didn't smile, but those eyes were pleading for something.

 

Sprocket wanted to think this a message of d�tente, but still he balked. Snively reached out a pale hand; it was still burnt from their previous encounter. Whether it was a gesture of peace or war, the canine could not tell, but it all became moot in one hideous instant . . .

 

When Robotnik's voice thundered from inside the hovercraft. The despot who had hurt them both was sending a transmission signal. "Snively! Damn it, boy! What are you standing outside for? Who is that out there, anyhow?" The tyrant's nephew froze. The eyes of two once dear friends locked.

 

The moment of choice had arrived. Sprocket's circuits began to sizzle and crackle again, but that didn't stop him from resuming a desperate mental prayer.

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Post 51:

A. MistressAli

 

"So...So...broken..."

 

One blue eye squinted and peered down into the liquor bottle, into the magical depths of amber-colored liquid. He could feel his last mouthful burning down his throat and leaned his head back, watching the ceiling.

 

His mind was supposed to be clouded. He was supposed to be impaired now, yes. But the ceiling wasn't blurring. And instead of decreased clarity, he kept seeing things, things long forgotten...or at least buried...he kept seeing these things with such vivid detail...

 

Snively groaned, taking another swig from the bottle; God...he hated the taste...but he wanted that numbed stupor so badly.

 

Broken...

 

He could see so many broken things. When he glanced at the blank monitor...his face. His mouth twisted. He could remember his dream...Sprocket. And the lights...those goddamn Christmas lights. What had happened to them?

 

Oh yes...

 

He gulped down another burning mouthful.

 

They had been broken too; crushed under father's feet.

 

'How could you do that? When those were mother's...'

 

But his father hadn't cared, not at that moment. Snively imagined, after he walked away, never to return... he imagined his father had gotten down and picked up the broken strands and wept over them.

 

For some reason that made his mouth twist again...a cross between a smile and...

he had to blink wetness from his eyes.

 

What had she looked like? His mother. His lifegiver. He remembered the photograph in Colin's room... classic in black and white...she had white skin and a shy smile and her hair was billowing around her shoulders...but he didn't know if it was red like father's...or brown like his long-lost tresses.

 

He had only seen it a few times anyway...for one day, with a bottle similar to the one Snively clutched now, Colin had come into his bedroom to find his son seated on his bed, the photo in his hands.

 

"How dare you look at that..." he slurred, and snatched it away...his other hand grabbing a rough hold of his son's thick hair, yanking him off the bed. Thrown to the wall...and beaten bare-fisted by his father...screaming..."How dare you look at her...when you killed her..." Tasting the blood in his mouth and wishing...wishing he had been stillborn and she had lived. Anything to get away from this-

 

Broken.

 

He stood up suddenly, and drew back his arm. He nearly hurled the bottle; wanting to hear it smash into shards...he wanted something else to be shattered...

 

He stayed frozen for a long moment, then sank back down and took a long long gulp...nearly gagging from the taste.

 

He found a surrogate...a replacement for his poor dead mother. He loathed her sometimes...letting Colin inside, letting the seed grow into a child, letting that child kill her body as it joined the wretched world and took its first breaths while she laid dead with her eyes glazing. But Snively found a replacement for her, yes... a man named Julian, a man who stood up to his father and told him he was pathetic. Colin had disowned his brother, thrown him out, but it didn't matter...Julian had won...even as he walked away never to return.

 

Snively stood up...pacing on his booted feet, the bottle, now nearly empty, held in his right hand. It had hurt Colin so badly when Julian had turned his back and left, accepting the disownment without a care. Julian had won because he wasn't hurt...and Colin was.

 

Snively had admired Julian so much for that. And eventually, he had his chance to do the exact same thing. The day of the lights...the Christmas lights, with he and Sprocket laughing. He hadn't wanted it to end like that. But when he'd seen Colin standing there, watching he and Sprocket with a murderous gaze, he knew it was the end of his childhood.

 

It was all over...but he couldn't fall to his knees and let himself be broken. No...he was going to hurt his father.... He was going to walk away and leave him alone. He wouldn't see Sprocket again, he knew. He sacrificed him to wound his father. It was almost worth it, he mused...putting a hand on the cold wall, azure eyes narrowed hatefully at his distorted reflection.

 

He really hadn't won. He lost his friend. His childhood. His faith, his trust...because his beloved Julian had ripped his heart out. He'd lost his freedom. His chance to love, to be loved.

 

His hope??

 

And who was to blame?! His mother. She hadn't lived.

 

He turned and hurled the bottle full force. Over the churning of the drills the breaking sounded very muted; the shards falling soundlessly to the floor, the amber liquid dribbling down the wall.

 

It wasn't her making him hurt now. It wasn't HER who had shaken him up inside, dislodging the memories from the darkened pits of his mind. It was...

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash and pivoted sharply on his foot, staring at the monitor screen.

 

Words blinked. "Help me, my friend. I have prayed I can still trust you."

 

...It was Sprocket.

 

His fingers leapt to the keyboard and he was going to scream in text...

 

'I'm not your friend.'

'Go away.'

'I'm digging up this trash because of you. I'm bleeding inside because you ripped away my scabs. The sight of you. Your voice. You're hurting me...

 

But he didn't. His stomach twisted and he felt ill. The only person to blame was himself. Everyone had handed him the poison...but he had been the one to drink it. He could've spit it out. He could have tried to stay pure...

 

He couldn't bring himself to type that. But he couldn't give in. Not this easily. Sprocket could not be his friend, not after all Snively had done. "...I have grown uncertain..."

 

Surely that would be a deterrent. But Sprocket was persistent...yeah...he'd always been like that. And he could always touch a nerve...whether it was intentional or not, and whether Snively let him see...it still stung and he sat frozen with his eyes locked on the words.

 

"Remember the Christmas tree?"

 

The broken lights, the disowned son, the loss of childhood, the abandonment of a friend, the adoration of Julian...the betrayal...all the fucking betrayal...

 

He went to the door with terror in his heart. And his shields down. He was bleeding inside, and couldn't stand it...he was broken and vulnerable and he was going to be seen like this. He wanted to hide and ignore Sprocket...let him die, let him revert back to slavery...but...

 

He went to the door anyway. The canine stood out brightly, gleaming silver against the towering evergreens that surrounded the site.

 

"Those were my mother's favorite decorations..."

He didn't know why he'd said that. It sprang from his lips in a weak voice, trembling with need. He knew he shouldn't do this. Sprocket was a danger to him...

 

Maybe not. Sprocket was hurt. He could hear the crackling of the dog-bot's wires...his eyes flickering from gold to a darker amber, strangely sinister...freedom and slavery were struggling against each other.

 

How stupid to expect Apollo to help him...to magically heal him like his Godly namesake, to patch his wounds inside. Even if Sprocket could...why would he want to? Snively had stabbed him in the back...no more than that...worse than that. He had murdered his best friend. He had trapped him in a prison of his own body.

 

Pale fingers reached out, trembling.

He had to fix him...at least. 'Fix him and then let him go.'

 

Or...and his fingers twitched. 'I can kill him. He deserves it, really. For making me hurt like this. For making me weak like this...'

 

His tiny body froze. A sound thrummed through him...not the vibrations of the drills...a voice, growling and hateful, this was a harbinger of true pain.

 

"SNIVELY! ANSWER ME!!"

 

Sprocket's golden eyes were wide, his body twitching unconsciously. He was having some sort of malfunction. Snively turned tentatively towards the interior of the hovercraft, seeing his uncle's face filling the monitor in a blur of peach and orange, and those square teeth glinting in a snarl.

 

"ANSWER ME!" DO I have to come down there-"

 

"N0-no...no sir..." His voice came pathetically small.

 

"What is wrong...Snively...?" His uncle's voice lowered dangerously, a guttural growl that made Snively's stomach knot painfully.

 

"Nothing. It's..."

 

Outside the air quivered with a sudden growling yell. The canine had dropped to his knees, his hands clasping his head, eyes flickering like dying candles. A string of robotic gibberish slipped through his lips.

 

"SNIVELY?!"

 

"It's uh..." Snively's eyes were flung wide open, reverting from the agonized form of the dog-bot to the screen, where Uncle's eyes had gone livid red.

 

'Give him up. He deserves it...'

 

"It's just...just one of the robots..."

 

Sprocket fell onto his side. The flickers stopped. His eyes were solid and glowing. "Priority one. Aerial Commander of Lord Robotn-"

 

His voice cut off. Then he spoke again, struggling for feeling while being strangled with robotic overtones. "Help... me... friend...I don't want to lose mys-"

 

"What is it doing, Snively?!" Demanded Robotnik, his finger pressing against the screen in an accusing point. "WHAT IS IT TALKING ABOUT?!"

 

'Don't get in trouble for him. He's not worth it.'

 

"Its...it's the...uh...Aerial Commander. Apollo, sir."

 

"Really and what is it-"

 

"It's malfunctioning, sir! It's n-n-nothing serious!"

 

"Oh..." A malicious smile touched the fat man's lips. ""Maybe it's time to scrap that one. He's been getting rusty of late..."

 

'He deserves it.'

 

Snively shivered, his arms clasping around his torso, eyes flickering out the door to the robot canine. Sprocket had regained freedom for the spur of the moment, his golden eyes pained and yet still shining...shining with a scrap of hope.

 

That's all there was. There had to be hope. A shard of it amidst the wreckage. Snively had to hope he could heal...hope they could still be friends...hope he could be forgiven...hope Julian wouldn't hurt him hope hope hope hope...Hope was the only light in his darkness.

 

Julian was awaiting a response, the sick grin on his face. Destroying Sprocket meant nothing to him.

 

'Nobody deserves it. Not Sprocket. Especially not him.'

 

Snively shook his head. "No sir....That won't be necessary. It just requires a simple repair..."

 

Robotnik's eyes bored into his, trying as always to probe into the crevices of his nephew's mind. Snively stared back as nonchalant as possible, icy eyes hooded. He felt like crawling under the seat and curling into a ball. Finally the tyrant spoke. "If you insist, Snively. But oil is the top priority. If you can't get that bot under control quickly, I want it scrapped. Do you understand?!"

 

""Of course..." he swiped his sleeve across his forehead, sweeping up the beads of sweat there.

 

"And the oil? What's the progress on that?"

 

"Good sir..." He quickly relayed some stats from the computer's hourly report. "In an hour's time we'll have a full tank, and by midday tomorrow we should have another half a tank."

 

Outside, a voice wavered between monotone obedience and free emotion. Sprocket wouldn't be able to maintain that freedom much longer without help.

 

"I do hope you move a bit FASTER than that, Snively!"

 

"I'll try my best sir..."

 

"Alright, Snively..." His uncle stared hard at him, the red light in his eyes slowly diminishing...and Snively sighed. "I'll leave you to your work. For now..."

 

His face winked out of sight.

 

Snively staggered weak-legged to the door where he sank down onto his haunches, pale eyes locked on Sprocket...who had risen to his feet and swayed like he was the one who had just consumed nearly a full bottle of liquor. "I can't fight it much longer..." he said... "I need your help, friend. Prove I can trust you... Prove..."

 

They were now only a hand span away...nearly eye to eye, with Snively elevated off the ground in the hovercraft's door. "...There's still hope..."

 

Snively sat still for a minute, icy gaze locked on the dog's warm eyes...and their hands, both outstretched...touched fingertips...

 

Two lost souls reconnecting again. It would never be the same, Snively knew.

 

His fingers closed around the cold palm of the Mobian's and pulled him up into the hovercraft. He stood up and left for a moment, and when he returned, he was carrying a small tool kit.

 

He bid his old friend to lie down on the floor, because he had no suitable workplace.

 

"I don't know...but this might hurt a bit..." Snively reached a hand towards the wound on Sprocket's head.

 

"But I guess that's the best you can expect from me..."

 

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Post 52:

Ealain Vangogh

 

 

So many foster families--never one environment, never one group of people, souls, lives, to which to bond himself in allegiance. Every year he was torn up by the roots and dragged to a new setting, to a new spirit of living to absorb. It always felt like once he got into step with the marching troops that were his family, he stumbled over a temporal crater and plummeted in, only to be picked up by a new infantry, a new nuclear support group. Perhaps it was this disturbing sense of impermanence, of change and uncertainty, rather than gratitude, which drove Sprocket to maintain his fealty to Snively Kintobor, the sole constant person in his life, despite all of the boy's scars and incongruencies. Hell, why not? The boy had even given him the only name he could remember. Or maybe he fancied it a fated friendship, one that complemented them both--Sprocket an idealist, Snively a pessimist, Sprocket poetic and Snively pragmatic, Sprocket compelling Snively to give, trust, laugh, and care more; Snively fixing his shrewd eyes on suspicious circumstances and protecting Sprocket against the opportunistic and cruel forces for whom the na�ve canine would otherwise be a pawn. They were a strange and perfect pair of buddies . . .

 

Back then. 'But where am I now? Where are WE now?' He had not had the foresight to think what he would do to or with Snively once he got repaired--IF he got repaired. The primary operative of survival--of freedom--had been his only goal when he went ambling up to that hovercraft . . .

 

Where are we now?

 

It was before the coup; he had been with an echidna foster family for barely over a month, when he was something like seven years old. They were the most cultured, collected, composed--and cold--people he'd ever encountered; he was glad to be rid of them and move on to a family of rambunctious skunks from Downunda, whose cousin, Commander Ian St. John, and his somewhat disagreeable son Geoffrey, had a myriad of bloody war stories that made excellently creepy campfire material. Except for their references to all Overlanders as "brutes." In any case, while Sprocket was with the echidnas, he did acquire one memorable experience. It had been funny then.

 

Then.

 

He was living with the family of the Chief Elder; any weekend outings, it seemed, were to the science laboratory, which, despite their restrictions on technology as a "corruptive evil," of the Dark Legion, seemed the pinnacle of the rationally-oriented, emotionally constipated echidna civilization. The lab technicians, overseen by a somber male Guardian named Locke, were making some compelling physiological comparisons between ancient gorilla skulls and those of dead Overlanders. Evolution, they called it. At first seized by the nausea of seeing the skulls of what he knew to be donated corpses of the Mobian Royal Militia's foes, Sprocket was soon attacked by a fit of laughter at the sight of the gorilla skull--he wanted more than anything to tell Snively when next they met that the boy was related to a hairy, drooling, stinking, violent beast of centuries past. What a riot!

 

And then he had seen the boy's uncle, Dr. Robotnik, screaming obscenities much as a gorilla grunts and wails, on the transmission screen--'What is IT doing, Snively? What is IT talking about?" As if the dog were some demoralized, low, disgusting creature unfit to characterize a gender or any other distinguishing aspect of identity. As if he were not alive. "IT." The truest kind of beast--a cruel one--drooling and screeching for his power and control and glory, reeking of hatred even for kith and kin.

 

If only Sprocket had known that day in the echidna laboratory how very true his jests had been.

 

Today he'd faced reality--the daunting reality that his best friend was dominated utterly by a primal beast--and the sound of his friend's whimpering, craven voice, his hasty submission to that cruel glutton, had been far more painful than the crackling of his forehead and the blackness combined. Snively used to always have a nasty comeback, a caustic, verbal array of spittle to thrust into the eye of his assaulter. But now? Nothing--only slavery. But after all these horrible epiphanies, Sprocket was still alive, still awake, so there must be hope.

 

There had been relatively little pain, and time, in the healing process--Snively's hands were thin, long and graceful, deft with their craft, weaving wire and mesh as if creating a masterful tapestry. Hands--they spoke so much of a person. And Snively had offered his. They had been painfully cold and clammy as he led the agonized canine into his hover unit, but eager, willing, even the slightest bit gentle. Earnest apology in the rasping, nasal tenor as he opened his toolkit and urged Sprocket to recline--despite the occasional self-pitying, cryptic remarks which the dog had long ago grown accustomed to expect, and tolerate, in the human.

 

Again, a good sign.

 

Hot damn. Prayer still worked!

 

Now he was stretched out in one of the hovercraft's chairs, tilted back flat, basking in the joy that was physical and mental relief. His eyes fluttered open and shut with ebbing and flowing degrees of consciousness; he knew he ought to be more cautious, but somehow the way Snively had taken his hand, with such genuine, albeit rusty and unpracticed, brotherly concern, had cast a deceptive spell over his psyche--one of returning to the "good old days." He was well aware of the falsehood of the notion--and yet he could not tear himself up by the roots again.

 

He had been in far too many foster families for that.

 

Nevertheless, it was time to face the music--to assess his situation. He sat up, perhaps too quickly, for his head throbbed. He groaned, clutching it.

 

"I knew you would do that. Lie back down, dumbass, before you destroy all my repair work." Arctic as ever, biting as ever, came Snively's voice from the other chair. He had been watching the canine the whole time, with those icy eyes of scrutiny, arms folded defensively across his chest. He looked exhausted; it had clearly been a night-long vigil.

 

Sprocket felt himself fighting a smile. He couldn't help it--what was meant as a withering glare from Snively had always acutely amused his canine companion. It was just so melodramatic to Sprocket, who was a far more temperate personality; he was a dewy spring morning to Snively's windy, desolate winter night. But it didn't matter, it felt like before--it felt like home--HOME. "What do you mean, you knew--"

 

"Because, GENIUS--you always go at things with too much gusto. Can't believe you haven't gotten a LIMB severed without my guidance all these years." With that the sullen human darted from the chair and pretended to be very occupied in mundane tasks of surveillance. He was also trying not to grin--with blatant relief.

 

Sprocket chuckled knowingly, flopping back. It made his old friend, who clung desperately to his facade of nonchalance and apathy, shiver with irritation. "Thank you, Snively," the dog said.

 

"Shut up," the human snapped.

Sprocket laughed harder.

 

"I said shut up, you . . .you irreverent leaking pustule! You saucy can opener!" The Overlander, head previously buried in a console at the back of the craft, pivoted on his heel and hissed complaints to shield his emotional turmoil. "You've lost me a whole night's worth of work, and now Julian will have my head boiled for dinner and my eyeballs fried for an appetizer! He'll string me up by my...by my...my....He'll have me lick his toilet bowl seat, damn you! So don't you go mocking me!"

 

"Oh, Sniv, I see you haven't lost your touch for stirring oration." The canine grinned mildly, complacently.

 

Snively's cheeks flushed with rage. "And you haven't lost your touch for annoying me! What, haven't you found someone else to bug these past years, or has he gotten sick of you too?"

 

Suddenly anger flared in Sprocket's chest like an inferno. As before, he controlled it; it only surfaced in an infinitesimal quiver of his tone. "I don't recollect too much of the past several years, Snively. And I think, if you stop to CONSIDER it," again the quiver, soft but formidable, " you know very well WHY."

 

Snively's jaw dropped, as did the surveillance earphones in his hand; the glittering eyes withdrew into a more safely vacant, pale haze, and he turned abruptly to face the wall. Those graceful, skillful hands wrung themselves viciously. His voice lost all trace of its sarcasm--neither a growl nor a whine, but something even more pitiful. "Damn you....that's not fair."

 

"Oh, yes it is. It IS. You were handed the poison when that beast told you to do this to me. You didn't have to drink it." Sprocket spoke without spite, in a flat, factual tone, one bearing in mind the necessity of self-defense, but not unprovoked offense.

 

The human boy shuddered violently, as if the dog had struck an excruciating nerve. Hoarser still came his voice. "God....Sprocket, sometimes I wonder if you can read my mind. . . "

 

Sprocket felt weariness overpower him. Losing my friend all over again, just like the Christmas lights...."I'm not here to judge, Snively, not anymore. I just ask that you remember, and take responsibility for, what you did."

 

"Remember?" Incredulity, savagery, in Snively's face as he whirled to look the dog in the eye. Sprocket was stunned to see fresh tears streaming down the boy's face. He could not remember a time when Snively had ever allowed moisture to escape the brims of his eyes. Robotnik's nephew came flying at him, snarling, gritting in his face, "You silly bastard, how could you think I've ever FORGOTTEN!" It was not a scream because the walls had ears and eyes, and SWATs swarmed the exterior, but it was throbbing with anguish.

 

It was more convincing--and infinitely more painful--to Sprocket than any kind of apology. "Please," he breathed carefully, for the volatile human was still inches from his frail, healing self, "I didn't mean it that way. I don't want my roboticization to be a burden to you, either . ."

 

The boy laughed: It was a soulless, heartless, despairing cackle. He covered his face and slowly backed away. His words were muffled but the angry sorrow in them was clear. "I murdered you. You want me to look at my corpse and not feel guilty?"

 

"I'm not dead. Just incarcerated--but aware of myself again."

 

"Did I know that at the time? No, damn it. No."

 

"I'm still me--you made sure of that last night. You saved me all over again. Focus on that, Snively. Accept your mistakes, acknowledge your victories, and then move on."

 

Snively looked up. Utter composure had resurfaced on his face, erasing all traces of his humanity.

 

Like a robot. He spoke as if giving instructions to a mentally handicapped child. "Sprocket. I'm going back to Robotropolis in ten minutes, once I've refueled."

 

"Snively . . ." Desperation on the canine's face. I'm losing him again.

 

"So I suggest you try standing up and testing your equilibrium in case I need to calibrate you a bit better . . . "

 

"Do you remember . . ."

 

Snively exploded. This time you could have heard his voice on the Floating Island; spittle flew from between his teeth. "Yes, I remember all of it! All of it! You needn't ask my recollection of every minute we spent having fun together, or how it felt to be ripped in pieces and robbed of that one source of joy! I remember it because you're lying there reminding me, you fool! Stand up, Sprocket . . . "

 

"No."

 

"Damn you, stand up or I'll wire Robotnik!"

 

"No....I feel dizzy." The canine glared at the chair arm, pasty-faced with the lie he'd told. 'God, why am I doing this for him?' He saw an oil smudge. In the face of such an extreme stressor, the old obsessive-compulsive streak kicked in full force. He stuck an index finger over the stain and began wiping frantically, wholly preoccupied. "Blasted spot . . ." he mumbled.

 

Snively was rendered motionless. He stared aghast at the dog. And he began to smile. To grin. "Phoebe . . . "he murmured. "Ha, yes. You and that damned hopscotch square lost me my homecoming date. . . "

 

And hope flickered again. The canine looked at his friend with shining eyes. "I still feel stupid about that. . . "

 

Silence.

 

"Sprocket . . . "

 

"Yes?"

 

"Please leave."

 

"Never."

 

--------------------------------------------------

Post 53:

J.R. Grant

 

 

From the darkness, he had seen all of it. The mechanical canine winced in what seemed to be pain, though to his knowledge a robot shouldn't be capable of feeling. Perhaps it was just a reaction. The gun was immediately confiscated and the canine was carried, actually more like dragged due to the koala's incredible lack of physical prowess. The next few days were chaotic. Nayr assumed the robot has been sent to the scrap pile, though much occurred during the day he didn't see. The next day he had been keeping tabs on the dragon. It just didn't seem possible that the dragons had changed... this one seemed just as gullible as the ones in the past, but-- Nayr just couldn't understand and figured just watching things play out would be in the best interest for both parties. There was one thing that intrigued Nayr about his location, however. One of the stones from the war with the mages was in this village in a little grotto not too far away. That is what had most of Nayr's attention. He didn't want the dragon to find it. The twelve deep power stones were not be toyed with, especially by-- Nayr shuddered at the thought of the young dragon harnessing its energy. Of course, there were few that could, so perhaps she wasn't capable...

 

Nayr finally came across the opportunity he was looking for. A couple days after the robot's death, the children had held a meeting. The dragon had made an intelligent decision on her own. This was incredible, as they used to be hideous violent slaves of the mages. The co-destroyers of a whole race. The downside to all this? The children intercepted a conversation between their leader and the koala. Nayr laughed when he heard the marsupial decide to go to Nimbus. The trade route there was controlled by bounty hunters! He'd have to sell his soul for a drop of water! Nayr's attitude immediately changed when he heard the youngsters' plans to follow the marsupial. While he could care less about the koala that tried to bury him in a dragon's tomb (Cayne forbid such a horrible punishment!), the children were completely innocent. And much to Nayr's reluctance, so was the dragon. It had been a good 10,000 years he had been killing dragon's in their sleep with nothing more than a blood curdling scream. Perhaps times have changed. Even dragons may have learned from their mistakes, and it seemed that now he was the one making the mistake. He would keep a watch on both parties. If the koala was injured, the children might not figure out how to get back. This also... hmm... that wasn't too bad of an idea. He could settle three scores at once. Nayr decided he would confront the marsupial as soon as it got out of the Great Forest. Heh, she'd finally get what was coming after all this time.

 

* * *

 

Not far from the oil digging project of Julian's, a lone figure strolled towards the huge craft. It was rather hazy, partly from the humidity and altitude as well as the incredible amount of pollution created from the oil "mining". This figure was a female echidna named J'ran. She was the oldest echidna on the planet, though she only looked about twenty-four right now and could actually look about any age she desired because of the time stones. Aside from being the world's greatest scientist, she was also the Brotherhood's only contact with the surface world. Although the echidnas had learned from the Jewel War to avoid getting involved with other people's affairs, they felt a need to keep tabs on the world around them, lest they fall behind. This process was done every 50 years and it was time to do the "census" again. J'ran was quite puzzled thus far. Every major city that had been there 50 years ago was either abandoned or ruined. There had been no sign of sentient life until the craft.

 

When she got there, it was apparent that getting inside wasn't really an option. In fact, it didn't seem that there was even a "door bell". J'ran adjusted her visors and knocked on the plating of the ship. Ten seconds and no answer. She knocked again, much more loudly and waited again for a response. There still was none.

 

"This contraption can't be operating itself unattended..." J'ran thought. Getting fossil fuels into a chamber obviously couldn't be done without supervision. Well, it could, but she didn't figure the Mobians had figured that kind of technology out yet.

 

J'ran heard something behind her. It was a floating small contraption. From the center of the machine, she could tell it was a camera. She reached out and grabbed it.

 

"Hi, I'm J'ran T'kol Maga." she said cheerfully into the camera. "I'm here to see what's been going on in the world. If you could so kindly speak to me for just a couple minutes, I'll be on my way." She waited about a minute, but there was still no answer. Then she heard commotion inside. There were two muffled voices. That was all she could tell. That settled it. She had to find a way in... but how?

 

-----------------------------------------------------

Post 54:

Tristan Palmgren

 

Day seven, late morning.

An hour's travel away from Knothole village.

 

First, there was the problem of transportation.

 

"You really didn't have to come out all this way," Derek said. "You've already helped me more than I deserve. After everything I put you through back in Knothole, after everything I said to you... you really didn't have to so much as give me a map on my way out."

 

"Nonsense," Rosie said briskly. "You're my investment now. I've put so much of my time into helping you that I at least want to make sure you get away cleanly."

 

The heart of the Great Forest was thick with leaves and vegetation, but it began to clear as they approached the hilltop. The terrain was rockier here, and getting harder to traverse, but by the time they reached the summit it would still be less than impossible to traverse. A stream trickled through the rocks and pebbles nearby. It looked clear enough to be safe drinking water; they were still far enough from the outskirts of Robotropolis for there to be no chance of it being polluted. Derek bent down and filled his canteen with it.

 

Rosie had spotted the hilltop several minutes ago, and she and Derek had agreed that it was in a superb position for their purposes. For this most dangerous task, they'd need high-altitude with a relatively uncluttered view of the sky. This particular hilltop broke free of the canopy of the forest like a great bald spot. Its surface was too rocky for tree roots to take hold, and only grass and shrubs had managed to eke out a living here. This may have been the same hilltop that Derek, Sprocket, and Dulcy had stood upon the night that they'd found Knothole village. Derek couldn't be certain, though. If it was, it certainly looked different in the daylight.

 

Derek hadn't made a good pace so far, and Nimbus Island was quite some distance away. He knew that he'd never make it on time if he tried to go on foot. It would've taken him almost a week to get out there, when Ari's group was due in the Great Forest in only a week themselves. So he and Rosie had decided that, if he was to get anywhere on time, he'd have to secure some form of alternate transportation.

 

A cold sweat weighed down his fur when he realized exactly what that meant.

 

Their position had been carefully chosen. Nicole's maps had pinpointed this spot as being just underneath one of the numerous flight routes taken by Robotnik's patrol craft. In order to get anywhere on time, he'd have to prematurely do the thing he'd dreaded most. He'd have to come into direct conflict with Robotnik's forces. He'd have to hijack a patrol ship.

 

The task wasn't quite as difficult as it actually sounded. With careful planning, he'd conceded that it could be done with one hard, crucial strike. He'd tried to stay calm and keep some shield of courage about him as Rosie had explained the best way for him to go about this, and so far, he'd succeeded. Deep at heart, though, he wanted nothing to do with this. It scared the hell out of him.

 

There was, quite simply, no way to avoid this either. He'd have to steal an airship or else fail his mission.

 

"It's been awhile since I've been out this far," Rosie remarked suddenly. A sudden wistful smile brushed her cheeks, and then disappeared. She stirred Derek from his reflections. He wiped his forehead, realizing that while he'd been thinking about the danger ahead he'd started to sweat again. "This is really about as far as I'm willing to venture away from Knothole... and I haven't even been this far in years."

 

"Why years?" Derek asked. "We're not that far away from Knothole. It's an hour's walk, at the most."

 

"I hardly ever leave Knothole at all, nowadays," Rosie said softly. Without warning, all expression drained from her face. She either wasn't feeling any emotions at all right now, or she was doing her best to hide whatever feelings she'd just conjured up. "Somebody made me promise."

 

Derek frowned in consternation. "To never leave? Who would ever ask you to make such a ridiculous promise?" he asked.

 

Rosie didn't answer. Her eyes were suddenly clear as crystal, and just as hard. She was unfathomable. Derek watched her for a moment, but he knew better to pry further: her expression was a clear giveaway that he had just breached some very dangerous territory. Much like the sharp spines of a blowfish, this was nature's way of telling him, 'Don't touch this.' She didn't say anything else. For the rest of the journey, they walked in silence.

 

Derek reached the hilltop before he even realized it. Rosie's arm thrust out, handing him the laser rifle she had once again taken out of her cabin. It packed a more powerful punch than his pistol sidearm, and for this task, he'd need all the power he could get. Just the sight of the weapon filled him with a terrible dread. He felt his heart give a hollow thump.

 

"I don't think I can do this," he said.

 

Rosie raised a quizzical eyebrow. "After all the walking we've done, it's a hell of a time to decide that."

 

"I'm sorry, but... but attacking one of Robotnik's patrol ships? I mean, yes, if we can do this right, it should be easy. But what if something goes wrong? What if things happen differently than we expected them to? What if I can't take the heat?"

 

"You are a 'Freedom Fighter', aren't you?" Rosie asked. "You were going to attack Robotnik's forces anyway, right? This is just a little sooner than you expected." She offered the laser rifle again. When he still didn't take it, she continued, "Remember, the artificial intelligence programs that govern the patrol ship pilots are very predictable. If you do things exactly like we've planned, Nicole's got their next actions plotted down to the centimeter. Just stick to the routine, and this will work."

 

Frozen in time, Derek wasn't listening. His eyes were locked on the laser rifle.

 

Rosie kept the laser rifle in her extended hand. She was a very tolerant person, but Derek knew that sooner or later even she would start to grow impatient.

 

She said, "This is when you make your decision, Derek. Are you going to do this, or aren't you?"

 

***

 

Day seven

Late afternoon.

 

The SWATbot pilot had just finished making its mandatory hourly report to the Robotropolis mainframe computer when the alarms started ringing.

 

Two lasers blasts splashed ineffectually against the underside hull of the hover unit. The pilot leapt to a conclusion instantaneously: someone on the ground was firing at them with a hand weapon. This much was confirmed moments later by the craft's sensors. There was a bipedal life sign somewhere on the ground nearby, and it had just fired several shots at the hover unit. The amount of energy absorbed by the hull's conductive plating indicated that the weapon being used was very weak, and was certainly no threat to the ship's armor.

 

The cameras recorded a Mobian standing atop a hill that broke free of the canopy of the Great Forest, with a tiny pistol clenched in both hands. It was firing at the craft with wild abandon, and taking no measures to protect itself.

 

The pilot immediately turned the hover unit, and began brought it around on a course meant to intercept the aggressor. The other SWATbot, the co-pilot, busied with itself radioing the Robotropolis mainframe, negating the all-clear that had just been given and reporting the incident. The city computer's orders came immediately. They were almost unnecessary; the SWATbots would have done this anyway, even without instruction. They were to capture the Mobian and prepare it for the roboticizer.

 

The hover unit curved leisurely throughout the air. The pilot wasn't at all concerned about the pistol the Mobian was firing at the ship. The weapon wasn't large enough to be any real threat. It observed with interest, though, when the Mobian stopped firing and bent down to the ground to scoop something up. The cameras identified the object. It was a heavier laser rifle the Mobian had hidden amongst the rocks at his feet.

 

Too late, the SWATbot pilot realized that the Mobian had only used the pistol to attract the patrol's attention. He had waited until now to reveal his true fire power.

 

Before even the robot's fined-attuned reflexes had a chance to react, the laser bolt pierced the windshield of the hover unit with pinpoint accuracy and slammed into the head of the co-pilot. The sniper's shot had been clean and deadly. The other SWATbot clattered to the deck, dead and defunct. The pilot was suddenly the only robot left onboard the ship. It pulled the hover unit into a sharp dive, pulling down to the canopy of the forest so that the Mobian couldn't get another shot through the windshield. Consequently, it lost its own view of the hilltop.

 

When the airship pulled back up, laser cannons ready make a strafing run over the spot where the Mobian was standing, the pilot was mildly surprised to see that the Mobian was no longer standing there.

 

It had fled. A splash of pearl-white fur amongst the greenery of the forest was the only glimpse the pilot caught of the Mobian before it disappeared completely.

 

The hover unit's cameras couldn't penetrate the opaque canopy of the forest, and the aircraft wasn't equipped with the newer-model heat scanners that the city patrol units were. If the SWATbot stayed in the airship, it was never going to track down the fleeing Mobian, and it would still be vulnerable to a well-placed sniper's shot. The chase would have to continue on foot. The Robotropolis mainframe's orders still stood: the Mobian had to be captured.

 

It brought the aircraft down for a landing, and was out the door immediately, running in the direction that it had seen the Mobian flee. Its booted feet crushed the underbrush below them. Branches cracked, and leaves crunched. It wasn't being subtle about this chase -- but then again, neither was the Mobian. It could hear him crashing through the forestation just barely ahead.

 

Every once in a while, the sound of cracking wood or an accidentally-kicked rock reached the SWATbot, and it gave chase. The sounds let it know which direction the Mobian was moving. It was headed for a small clearing.

 

The SWATbot breached the perimeter of the clearly, wrist gauntlet charged and ready to fire a stun shot at anything it saw.

 

But the clearing was entirely empty.

 

Derek waited on the branch of a large tree nearby. He was behind the SWATbot and comfortably out of its viewing range, though the SWATbot had never left his own sight. The rocks and assorting throwing pebbles were resting sedately on the branch beside of him. Using them as decoys - to throw them just ahead of the SWATbot and trick it into thinking that it was hearing the clumsy feet of a running person - had been one of the more cunning components of Rosie's plan.

 

The laser rifle was in his hands, and its sights were lined up at the entrance of the clearing. He pulled the trigger.

 

The SWATbot crumpled to the ground. Dead.

 

Everything had actually gone according to plan, for once. For the first time in a long while, Derek felt extremely pleased with himself.

 

***

 

Aside from the remains of the SWATbot co-pilot he had downed with his first sniper shot, the patrol craft was empty and ready for the taking.

 

Derek kicked the body of the defunct robot out of the door, and sat down at the hover unit's controls.

 

He was alone out here. Rosie was long since gone, of course: she'd gone back to Knothole well before the patrol ship had gotten here. Derek had waited for several nerve-wracking hours on the hilltop, spending each minute scanning the horizon for the patrol ship that Nicole had promised would be here eventually. He had been starting to wonder if the map had been out-of-date when this one actually had arrived.

 

All the tension and cramps of the past few hours released themselves now in a glorious burst of triumph. He had won. His efforts had meant something! Against his better wisdom, he kicked back in the chair, fists raised high above his head in celebration of his triumph. A clich�d gesture, perhaps, but the only one that came to mind when he tried to think of a way to express the elation racing through him. He'd stolen a ship; he had the means to travel where he wanted and accomplish what he wished.

 

What had just happened was the crescendo of everything that had happened to him in the past few years. All of his fears and failings and angers had just been impressed upon the world with a single physical blow. Rebellion was more than a state of mind; it was an entire state of being. It was delicious. Fighting against all the wrongness in the world left him feeling more fulfilled than he'd ever been before. It sent an excited tingling racing up his spine. He'd fought back. Most importantly, he'd won.

 

He was a Freedom Fighter. Not a very good one yet, perhaps, but skill would come later. The willingness and the heart to do it had to come first.

 

Laughing at himself and this little victory he achieved, he set about studying the hover craft's controls. The first thing he did was to cut himself off from the Robotropolis communication network. He didn't want the computers there to be able to remotely take control of his ship once they'd realized it'd been stolen. He also deactivated the patrol ship's transponders: it would be just as bad off if the Robotropolis computers could track where he moved.

 

It was approaching early evening. The sun was approaching the western horizon, but there were still a few hours of daylight left. He still had enough time to start traveling. He'd have to fly low to stay out of the city's radar range, of course. That would slow him down. But considering that, with the speed of this hover unit's engines, he'd be to Nimbus Island sometime tomorrow morning.

 

A slow doubt crept into Derek's thoughts. One of the things he and Rosie hadn't been sure of was how long it would take Robotnik to respond to the loss of the patrol ship.

 

Cautiously, he switched the communication equipment back on, and set it to receiving mode only.

 

Sure enough, a deep-throated metallic voice started blaring through the speakers. It was partially robotic - there was a bass vibration that could only have been produced by a machine - and partially organic. The voice was certainly rich with emotion and anger. Derek had only heard the tyrant's voice a couple times during his entire life, mostly through old videos or intercepted transmissions. It sent chills down his back. He felt his fur rise on his hackles. It was Robotnik.

 

"--vector all patrols to the area! Charge laser weapons. All units in range, converge on broadcast coordinates! If you see that patrol ship back in the air, shoot it down!" He sounded particularly angry. Losing patrol ships must not have been a common occurrence in the city. Derek felt a vain hope that these would be troubles he'd become more and more acquitted with as the Freedom Fighter movement grew. The voice paused for a moment, and then roared, "SNIVELY! Wake up, you incompetent little twit! Someone in your area just stole one of our patrol ships! I want you to oversee the execution of the thief--"

 

Derek switched the communication system off. He certainly didn't need to hear anything else. It clearly wasn't going to be a wise idea to stay here for much longer. A ripple of cold fear washed across him. The tyrant's menace had just become terribly personal. He was truly daunted by the scale of the operation being put together to stop him. Intellectually, he tried to make himself stop being afraid, because deep down he knew he would probably be safe. The ships out this far were few and far between, which would give him enough time to slip away. So long as he stayed underneath their radar, he ought to be safe. Even as he kept telling himself this, though, that didn't stop his fingers from trembling with fear.

 

There was no real reason to stay here any longer. Nimbus Island awaited. The sooner he took off, the easier it would be to slip underneath the patrol ships now demanding his death, as well. He reached across the control panel, and triggered the hover unit's engines. They ignited with a thrumming subsonic reverberation. The landing jets hissed underneath him, and suddenly he was airborne.

 

Piloting the patrol ship was easy enough. It had been awhile since he'd touched one, but airships were common enough to have evolved controls simple enough for even a unfamiliar pilot like him to figure out intuitively. He halted the airship when it was twenty feet above the forest canopy and facing towards the northern sea. With a sharp push, the engines shoved him forward.

 

Caught between two startlingly strong emotions, jubilation over his victory with the hijacking of the patrol ship and the fear of its consequences, he fled towards the northern horizon.

 

***

 

As soon as he started making real speed, Derek knew beyond the slimmest of doubts that he would escape unscathed.

 

He was making good speed over the canopy of the Great Forest; good enough to get far away from the hilltop long before any of the nearby patrol units could reach it. Robotnik didn't know where he was headed. He would be far enough away from the patrol craft's last known location to make searching for him next to impossible. The longer they took to search, the farther away from the city he would be. He had escaped!

 

Twenty minutes after take-off, with still no sign of Robotnik's forces, Derek let himself relax. He switched the airship's guidance to automatic pilot. Even though he still flew low, the ground was flat here, and he'd only ever need to manually pilot to avoid crashing a few sparse hills. There were none of those in his immediate sight range.

 

In the meantime, he could plan out his next few moves in relative safety. He weighed his options. It was evening already. He would have to spend most of the night flying, he knew, which meant that again he'd be deprived of enough sleep. That really didn't bother him very much. At this point, sleep deprivation seemed to be standard operating procedure. He would reach Nimbus Island by sunrise. If he desperately needed sleep, he could park the patrol ship there.

 

At Nimbus... that's where things got a bit more complicated. He didn't know how he would go about searching for any lost hangar or supply depot. Indeed, if Nicole's predictions were accurate, he probably wouldn't find anything besides rubble. He could use the hover unit to make an aerial search of the island, he supposed, but since he'd still have to fly underneath radar range, that would be very slow. Faster than searching on foot, but still very slow. He also had to contend with the possibility that any surviving hangar wouldn't be visible by air at all. The Royal Navy airbases had been mostly underground, after all. He wasn't sure how it was possible to accomplish all this...

 

After a few minutes of thinking, Derek shook his head clear. He hadn't come up with any answers. It was pointless to try and think about this now, before he had even laid eyes on the island. He didn't know what was left or what had been spared from the saturation bombing. His plan of action would be something he'd have to develop while he was out there.

 

Still no sign of Robotnik's forces. He kicked his feet up on an empty portion of the hover unit's control panel, and tried again to relax. The pilot's chair was surprisingly comfortable. All this soft and plush seating was wasted on robotic posteriors. Derek idly wondered if the chairs had been installed before the hover units had been converted into a part of Robotnik's military forces.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed something green in one of the pilot's mirrors. It was gone within seconds.

 

Something green.

 

It was an awfully familiar shape.

 

Derek's heart stopped beating an instant before he realized what he had just seen.

 

A moment later, he was out of the chair like he'd been shot out of a projectile cannon. He launched himself towards the side window, peering with wide eyes at the landscape beyond, and praying to fate that he had seen an illusion. His hopes were dashed a moment later. Yes, he had definitely seen what he'd thought he had. This was something worse than he could have imagined. Derek never swore often, but this time he felt he'd earned the privilege.

 

With heartfelt vitriol, he said, "Oh, shit!"

 

This was worse than anything he could have possibly imagined. Why couldn't it have just been Robotnik's forces following him? What were *they* even doing out here?

 

He was being followed by a dragon.

 

It was unmistakably the dragon child that he'd found nearby the ancient tower out in the Great Unknown. Dulcy. There were several small and colorful dots of fur on the dragon�s back. Dulcy was carrying riders. Small riders. They were the children from Knothole village. They'd followed them out this way. But why? What could they possibly be doing out here?

 

They'd kept carefully close to the upper right side of the hover unit, staying neatly along the ship's upper diagonal axis. That was the hover unit's blind spot. For a moment, Derek was almost impressed by the children's cunning. Had Derek been behaving like a normal pilot, he never would have seen them. It was only an errant glance thrown to one of the smaller mirrors that had even allowed him to catch them.

 

The worst aspect of this wasn't, of course, the children's presence themselves. Now that he had caught them in the act, it would be easy enough to increase his thrust and loose them, or land and send them back to Knothole. That would prove impossible soon enough. The worst aspect was something that froze his heart. More than anything else, it made him believe that, once and for all, everything was truly lost.

 

The dragon was clearly flying at an altitude well above the minimum range of Robotnik's radar. She had been ever since he'd taken off.

 

Robotnik's airships were no doubt zeroing in on that signal even now.

 

---------------------------------------------------

Post 55:

MistressAli

 

 

Knothole:

"I think this place was just what I needed," said the dragon child cheerily. "I think my wings are stronger now! After all that good food!"

 

"You certainly eat enough," sniffed the young canine boy. He had golden hair slicked back on his small head, and they sat on the grassy shore by a glorious shady pool of water. Dulcy breathed in deep the tree-scented air. It smelled wonderful.

 

Her ear twitched and in the corner of her eye, something moved. Swift and black. She frowned, swiveling her head to look, but it was gone.

 

She snorted, trying to fight back shivers. It felt like something was *watching* her.

 

But nah. It was just...just her imagination. Ma always said it ran 'wilder than an ole Terrapod'. Whatever those were.

 

"Hey, well I'm bigger than you," she giggled finally, feigning unconcern. No need in upsetting the easily-riled boy with her silliness.

 

He sniffed and threw a flat stone out onto the water. It skipped perfectly. She clapped.

 

"Oui, thank you," he grinned, then turned an anxious eye on her. "Aren't you being afraid?" He shivered. "Sometimes I am thinking zee Princess is too...too not careful, I am thinking!"

 

Dulcy shrugged. She reached out a hand, the fingers surprisingly delicate in comparison to her bulky form. They clutched upon a rock, and flipped it out onto the water. It sank immediately with a forlorn 'plop'.

"Oops. I guess I need more practice."

 

"Oui, Oui," he agreed. "I am worried about this, Dulcy. "What if we are caught-ed by that horrible man? What if we get lost and cannot find our way back?"

 

The dragon shrugged again, nonchalant. "Don't worry 'bout it, Tony, I think Sally knows what she's doing! She seems real smart!"

 

"Oui, she is." He sighed. "But I wish we could just stay here."

 

"We'll never stop Robotnik if we do." The dragon put a hand on the fox's shoulder. "And he needs to be stopped!"

 

"Oui..." Antoine looked at the ground.

 

Dulcy looked up into the trees again, but there was no black form to be seen.

 

Heh, yeah, it was just her imagination, after all.

 

**

 

"You ok down there, Dulce?" The hedgehog's voice fought over the wind to reach her ears.

 

Upon her back Dulcy carried her newfound friends, the children of Knothole. She had already memorized their faces; but sometimes the names slipped her mind. Sally, 'Tony, Sonic, Bunnie...or was it Rabbit...? and Rotor, who seemed pleasant enough, but boy was he a hefty kid!

 

But her wings seemed stronger now. The meals in Knothole had indeed given her strength. She hadn't realized how hungry she'd been before, or how little food she had consumed since her Ma had been captured by Robotnik's evil robots. She dipped her head, blinking her large eyes as tears flooded in, unbidden, at the thought of her mother's smiling face.

 

She shook them away with a frown. No, she was doing Ma proud. She was fighting back!

 

They had waited for a while, watching from a distance as Derek managed to hijack the patrol craft. Then carefully, following Sally's instructions, Dulcy had eased up into the air, falling behind the hovercraft in a strategic spot.

 

"I don't think he can see us here," Sally said.

 

"Well that's a good thang, sugah!" The rabbit giggled. "C'mon Antoine, ya'll can uncover yer eyes now! This is fun!"

 

"Oh oui, fun to be falling to our dooms!" The fox whimpered and clasped harder onto the makeshift saddle that Rotor had hastily thrown together. The straps cut uncomfortably into Dulcy's belly but she tried to ignore it, focusing her attention on flying.

 

For a while they flew in silence. Dulcy delighted in the wind currents. They seemed to be moving her smoothly forward. She resisted the temptation to try out some fancy moves; loops and dives...Oh how she wanted to do these things. But throwing her young passengers wasn't a very nice thought.

 

Finally Sonic spoke, yawning. "We aren't gonna run into any more patrol ships, are we?"

 

Sally shook her head, her auburn hair plastering over her face. She brushed it away impatiently. "Nope. I don't think we'll be seeing any of Robotnik's forces today."

 

"Awww..." Sonic mock-pouted. "Too bad."

 

**

 

The 'Good ole days'. Yes, that was where Sprocket wanted to stay. To bask in the joyful memories. It wasn't pretend, not really. He knew what the reality was. But he could go back and enjoy what had been.

 

Snively couldn't. Could not. He closed his eyes with his hands strangling each other, he tried to go back to that place...and it wasn't there. It was ash in a fire long burnt out. He sifted through. And found nothing but scraps. Barely coherent. And his hands were so dirty now, filth under the fingernails.

 

It wasn't that he wanted *this*! He wanted to feel it...that elusive spark of happiness, that something he *had* to have felt when he was a kid. He knew he had felt it...but he couldn't remember. And it hurt. Like a blind man who had seen but couldn't recall the colors, or the light dancing on water. It hurt like that...

 

O, how Sprocket's words stabbed him. O, how they wounded him. Outwardly, with his skin glowing pale, eyes luminous, like light sparking off ice, he was so cold. Inside he was a bleeding mess. He couldn't let them...him...see...any of them see...he couldn't let it seep through his skin.

It was easy with any rebels they came across. They didn't know him. It was harder with his uncle. His heart was still aching from the knife Julian had thrust in. Yes, Uncle had even twisted it to ensure the wound didn't close. And when he talked, he spat salt to further aggravate the searing pain.

 

But he was getting over it...

 

Sprocket was different. Sprocket had been a friend. Someone who had treated him with kindness. 'Kindness', he mused...his mind lingering over the strange word. It seemed like such a foreign concept now. But he had known it. He'd even given it. To Sprocket. To this man lying on the table behind him. And so this man, or boy rather, they were both so young...but he always forgot that...he felt old. Old and dead. Tired of it all.

 

This boy here, lying wounded on the table, was the one person he could never hide the pain from. Part of him craved the comfort his old friend would bring.

 

The other part was like the typical murderer. Frantically scrubbing the blood. Washing the hands. Over and over. So no one would see what he'd had done. And so he wouldn't have to think about it. And looking at Sprocket was like staring at the floorboards and knowing exactly where the victim had lain.

 

Tears felt burning hot down his face. He couldn't stop them. He put his hands to his face, covering the wet-streaked windows to his soul; he couldn't look Sprocket in the eye. "I murdered you..."

 

He had. At Robotnik's whim, he'd killed his best friend. He felt his throat closing tight like a fist.

 

"I'm not dead..."

 

'I am.' He wanted to scream and fall to his knees and let the sobs choking his throat out. He wanted to grab Sprocket's hard and unfeeling feet and beg for forgiveness, or love, or no...no even better...his hate. Because he realized with Sprocket's next words...

 

'accept your mistakes...'

 

He realized he had it all. He had the friendship. The brotherly love. The fucking forgiveness. He had this.

 

'acknowledge your victories, and move on."

 

Sprocket always did sprout the optimism, didn't he? He almost laughed. He had everything he was about to beg for, and it didn't make the bleeding stop. It made it worse. He wasn't worthy of those things. He *wanted* the hate, now.

 

NO!

 

He smoothed his features over, blinking the tears away. He looked up. The dog was staring at him, anxiety in his face.

 

He didn't want to be hated, either. Not by this one, at least. But he couldn't have him near anymore. It was just too painful.

 

"Please leave."

 

"Never."

 

Never.

Never.

Spoken with such conviction.

 

"You have to."

 

"Why?"

 

"Dammit, you just have to!" His voice broke on the last word. "R...R-Robonitk will scrap you!"

 

Sprocket titled his head, those golden eyes keen and mournful. "I'm far from that monster's thoughts. He's already conquered me, or so he thinks. He isn't going to think twice about it."

 

Snively scowled. Somehow the simple expression helped. "You're wrong!" He said more forcefully than needed. "He's got his eye on you now. One slip up and he'll break you. I know him...better than you..." he said, a faint accusing note slipping into his tone. And for, what really? The dog certainly was guilty of no crime.

 

"I know how to act now. He'll never suspect me."

 

Snively shook his head, drawing in a shuddering sigh. "Why would you stay...given a choice..." His voice came out low and shaking, then strengthened. "Don't be an idiot. Take your chance and leave!"

 

"I don't have anywhere to go. And I don't want to go."

 

Snively turned back to the wall again. "I don't know what you expect..." He lowered his eyes; the tears seeping out from under his lashes; "It can't ever be the same..."

 

"Oh sure..." Sprocket's tone was a strange mixture of weariness and good-natured teasing. "It's not that much different. You're still as bull-headed and difficult as ever."

 

The small human let out a growl. "I could say the same thing, Sprocket!"

 

He raised his arm, dragging it self-consciously over his wet eyes. "I want you to leave." The old manipulation came into play. "Do it for me, then, if not for yourself..."

 

"I'm staying here for *you*!"

 

"I don't WANT you here!" Snively didn't think he could stand much longer; he leaned against the wall and slumped his head onto the cold surface. He could hear the whir of the robot sitting in silence. "I don't want to look at you anymore..."

 

"I...I guess you'll just have to get used to it, then. Because I'm not going anywhere."

 

"You-"

 

And then the blank monitor behind him crackled to life. He heard it this time, the subtle warning of the storm to come. "Quiet, quiet!" Snively demanded, and whirled around on his foot.

 

"SNIVELY!! Wake up, you incompetent little twit! Someone in your area just stole one of our patrol ships! I want you to oversee the execution of the thief... SNIVELY!" Robotnik's yelling face appeared on the monitor.

 

"Er..." Snively put on a humble face, staring back at his Uncle's red visage. The fat man literally seemed to have steam rising from his collar. "Ah, sir, what about the oil? I was going to bring-"

 

"SNIVELY!" Robotnik berated him, his voice thunderous. "There is such a thing as *autopilot*! Send the freighter back home..." His eyes fell upon Sprocket standing stiffly in the background. "The Commander there can handle it. You did fix it, didn't you?"

 

"Er, yes...he's all uh...better now." Snively stumbled over his words; painfully aware of Robotnik's eyes scrutinizing the robot behind him. He didn't turn to look. He hoped that Sprocket was not displaying emotion in those luminous eyes or standing in a casual pose unbefitting a 'bot.

 

Finally his Uncle's eyes turned back onto him, seemingly satisfied. Snively gave an inward sigh. "Yes, well then, Snively, get to it! I want that miscreant's head delivered to me personally!"

 

"Yes sir, of course."

 

Robotnik punched a few keys on his end. "These are the coordinates of the hovercraft's last transmission. The wretched animal disabled tracking," he spat. "Smarter than they look, aren't they?" He set a hard glare onto Sprocket's rigid form. "But not smart enough, Snively. Surely even an imbecile like you can find them."

 

"Of course, sir." Snively gave an indignant sniff. "It shouldn't be any problem."

 

The fat man cocked an eyebrow. "Good. Don't disappoint me..."

 

The transmission was cut abruptly and Snively put a hand to his head. "Damn, it's just one thing after another, isn't it?!"

 

As if to confirm his complaint, a SWATbot's voice came crackling over the freighter's COM link. "SIR. We have detected a Mobian lifeform."

 

"What? Where?"

 

"The intruder is by the freighter. Capture in progress."

 

The small man growled. Sprocket was watching him closely.

 

Snively turned away from him.

 

"Well, SWATbots, get them already! They can be brought back to Robotropolis along with the oil. Tell the squadron leader to continue dismantling the drill for transport back to the city."

 

"Yes sir."

 

Outside, a group of five SWATbots moved in their methodical fashion, laser arms outstretched, towards a female echidna...

 

Sprocket opened his mouth, but Snively interrupted. "Sprocket...I want you to go back to Robotropolis with this oil... if you won't leave...then at least don't get me in trouble..."

 

Something dark touched those azure eyes, disturbing. "Or leave now, Sprocket. Once you're back in the city...you might never get out..." His skinny arms clasped over his chest suddenly; he barely realized the gesture. "You might die for real. Or die...in a worse way..."

 

Ugh. He couldn't stand to look at his friend anymore. It was cutting him to shreds. He hurried to the front of the hovercraft and busied himself at the controls, readying the ship for flight.

 

-------------------------------------------------

Post 56:

Ealain Vangogh

 

Apathy is the hardest emotion to fabricate.

 

Sprocket, at least, believed it was. He strained for rigid, dead indifference during that transmission signal. But he knew from the instant that Robotnik's voice, simultaneously entrancing and revolting, declared a stolen patrol ship, that the thief had to be that desperately brave koala Derek. He felt like a field medic in a war--patching up the valiant soldiers only to watch them go back into no-man's land and get another leg blown off--or worse. And what of Snively, who must have known the canine, standing there listening, would recoil from harming one of his own, a furry? Snively, whose enslaved soul was traversing a battlefield far deeper, far more enduring, than any in the external world? The hoarse texture of the human's voice, the fumbling words he sputtered at his uncle, the sweat glistening on his forehead, told that he knew exactly the pain Sprocket was feeling--but that he was afraid to act on it. Afraid that Sprocket would ask him to do so.

 

Then the transmission ended and the real torture began. Snively begged his friend to escape "while he had one last chance."

 

He wants me to go? Of course. I am the ghost of his conscience. I hurt as much as I heal.

 

But sometimes you pour alcohol over the wound to heal it--it sears more deeply than the first stabbing and cutting, but in the end, yes, it cleanses, it heals.

 

Still Sprocket's mind scavenged for thoughts of action. How was he to execute an innocent young woman, to deliver Robotnik his machines' slimy black lifeblood, ultimately to stand by as Snively, his friend of the past, numbly destroyed Derek, his friend of the present? Maybe if . . . "I'll do what you ask. But first you've got to promise me that you'll trust me, no matter what."

 

Snively paced the room in lethargy, taking swigs of a small bottle of brandy. He spoke dully, like a schoolteacher grounded in theories and principles of which he spoke expertly, but was alien to ever really feeling or living. His lips moved, but his face betrayed no emotion. "Trust is loyalty, Sprocket. It is forgetting oneself for someone else." He paused, fixed his most mournful of stares upon the dog's face. To anyone unaccustomed to it, his sorrowful young face would appear heartbreaking.

 

Ha--I'll bet he wants to strangle me, or grovel--something cathartic, dramatic. "I know trust is loyalty. And I've got it in bounties."

 

"I don't care!" soft and strangled, hands wrenched at the overlander boy's sides, though his ashen face and voice struggled for restraint. So much for composure. "This is wrong! It's not selflessness on your part, it's murder on mine! I never . . . I don't know how to give what you do. Don't you see? I could never reciprocate this grace of yours--it's not in me, Sprocket! Do I really have to ask you to forget the person you are to live in that fuming metallic hell, killing and roboticizing your own kind--for me?"

 

The canine was relentless. "Bounties, Snively." He tried to hear not a word of his friend's anguished confession. Because it no longer did any good to wallow in Snively's misery--it was deep as a bottomless well, and suffering only meant one sank farther and farther and finally drowned. Snively had been horribly wronged by those he should have trusted, but unless he overcame the misery it spawned, IT would overcome HIM.

 

And why else? Because Sprocket was terrified of the truth of Snively's words: killing and roboticizing my own kind . . .my own kind . . . but what then is this boy here before me? Isn't he my family as much as any Mobian? No, stop. You've chosen your path--now be strong.

 

I have an idea. Perhaps even divided loyalties can be appeased. I have a plan.

 

"I'll prove that trust to you now--allow me to access the database and send the freighter an autopilot signal. And then I'll take the oil we reap to the city." It was Sprocket's first lie to his best friend--spoken on the threshold of a pledged loyalty.

 

But Snively bought it. "And the echidna?"

 

"And the echidna."

 

Because I have a plan.

 

"But one more thing, Snively," he prodded, " You MUST know from this point on, that whatever I do--WHATEVER I do, Snively--will be done with YOUR best interests in mind, even if you don't agree with me, even if it seems I've turned a different way. You must TRUST me."

 

"You speak of faith now, don't you?" The human bristled, both disgusted and anxious. "That sounded a little too ominous for my taste, friend." He tapped his fingers on the holt of his laser pistol--Sprocket knew, as a wholly empty threat of authority. His lip quirked peevishly, awaiting an answer.

 

Levelly, but earnestly, the Mobian retorted, "Then that's your interpretation . . .friend."

 

Snively sighed. "Fine. . . fine, I promise." He exhaled deeply. "Yes, that's fine. Do that. I hope you know I will always wish you had left."

 

"I do."

 

Silence. Snively looked ready to cry again. But he swallowed it back. "Good. Just . . . give me a little space now, alright?"

 

"Absolutely." Sprocket chortled. "I mean, 'yes, sir!'"

 

With that Snively grew harsh. Perhaps to protect them both. "Get on it, already! I've got to go out and interrogate the prisoner." To protect them both from disappointment, from expecting too much too quickly.

 

The toothy, mocking grin melted as reality invaded the moment. Sprocket stared at the ground as Snively passed, for the boy was still trying to discern his motives with those twin scrutinizing jewels. "Sprocket, if you can't handle one simple interrogation, then you don't have a chance in Robotropolis. Believe me."

 

"Just go, Snively."

 

" . . . Fine. You've been warned." And the human skulked outside.

 

Several minutes passed in solitude, the warring hisses and roars of the human and his echidna captive as they argued outside. Apparently she had little acquaintance with Robotnik's empire, or its virulent nature. She must have expected Snively to welcome her to dinner. Sprocket freed his thoughts from the prisoner's plight for the moment, and wracked his brain for a way to execute his plan.

 

Come on, now. Surely somewhere in his utility belt . . . yes. There it was, long, thin, elegantly lethal to all things mechanical--a "scrambler," for lack of a sophisticated term. Julian, brilliant leech that he was, possessed an opportunistic hunger like no other: Thus, he took note of his foes' strengths, their strokes of genius, absorbed their masterpieces into his psyche, and regurgitated their brainchildren into his own works. He stood on the shoulders of geniuses, as the saying went. There was no doubt he'd taken note of Sir Charles Hedgehog's Bot-dismembering devices from the old scientist's legendary defiant gesture during the coup--"Hey bots, say 'cheese!'" had been the beautifully saucy battle cry as he thrust those same "scrambling" devices at Julian's crude Type 1 SWAT units--and bought a group of younger prisoners, the princess herself included, time to escape. Yes, Julian had seized one of those prototypical sabotage devices and then elaborated upon it. He had installed it in the utility belt of every workerbot with the automatic order to use it against any deviant robots, androids, or whole computer hard drives--even Hover Unit system drives. How ironic, the canine mused, that the sole "deviant" robot--himself--would be using this security precaution to his advantage. To buy his own time to do what he knew he must.

 

He retrieved the tiny, slender chrome Godsend--no bigger than a syringe needle, thanks to Julian's efforts at prototype improvement--and slipped it into an adaptor slot at the side of the control panel keyboard. The central monitor screen flashed alive with the coveted words: "Change directive orders of sendername: Robotnik?" Yes, the canine hastily typed. And there was the chilling order . . . EXECUTE: MOBIAN PARTY APPREHENDING PATROL SHIP--RESPONSIBLE AUTHORITY: CHIEF COMMANDER S. KINTOBOR. One crucial alteration could now be made, with the use of the system-indiscriminate scrambling device. Ha. One day, if Robotnik stagnated at this caution level, a refugee would be able to spy on him using one of his own bugs!

 

 

"What's taking you so long?" Snively snarled, suddenly reentering, and severely disgruntled--a question that eerily echoed the tone and word choice of the uncle he so despised, and Sprocket jumped ten feet. Then the boy spoke more gently, as if he had been struck with the epiphany that Sprocket--the real, awakened Sprocket--had less of a handle of technology, "You . . .you want some help with that? If you forgot how, I can--"

 

"No!" A bit too frantically, the robot leapt in front of the panel, feigning guilt. He spread his arms out wide--Lord, what if the human could see the screen--the words of sabotage? If only he could understand, the need for deception would die. But Snively had scoffed at the notion of faith, so how could he understand this? "No, uh, n-no Snively, for God's Sake, how much do you have to spoon-feed me? I've caused you enough trouble, so . . . so at least let me do a little of your busywork."

 

Snively thrust a disdainful sniff his friend's way. "Well, hell, it sounds like you're finally catching on. You are indeed a grade-A ass-pain." A playful lilt in the words, but suspicion lingered in his all-too vicious eyes. For a moment Sprocket wished his boyhood pal hadn't inherited so many of Julian's intellectual and analytical genes. He prolonged his clumsy, blustery countenance and forced a nervous chuckle at the insult-laden joke.

 

And finally Snively let the peculiarity of it pass. The human frowned; shame clung to the edges of his lips and to the brims of his weary eyes as he turned away, shrugged and mumbled, "In any case, I'm not sure YOU owe ME anything." He fell in his commander's chair and rubbed his temples. Again distracted.

 

Perfect. Doze off, Snively. Le it all go--let me succeed at this.

 

--CHANGE COMMANDER OF AUTHORITY, he typed.

 

--NAME NEW PARTY, the monitor demanded.

 

--SPROCKET APOLLO 9000, he replied. Mission accomplished.

 

"You know, the echidna is ready for transport," the nasal rasp came again. Sprocket's neckhairs rose and he turned. Snively was still speaking with his eyes shut, his temples rubbed. Thank God! "Were you planning on taking her to the city this millennium?"

 

"Y-yeah, sorry. I'm getting to it." Hastily he switched to Com mode and sent the freighter its auto-pilot signal. A loud humming from outside confirmed its altered functioning.

 

"Good job," Snively muttered, mildly pleased. "You figured it out."

 

"Yeah," Sprocket breathed, stabbed in the heart. "Yeah, I sure did." And he departed without another word.

 

 

 

The inferno-red echidna allegedly named J'Ran was cuffed hand and foot, but even behind her visor Sprocket could feel the fire of fury in her eyes. "Let me guess." Her voice was silky and perceptive, but laden with sarcasm. "I'm to 'abandon all hope and prepare for roboticization.' Hardly a good phrase to embroider on a welcome mat."

 

"I agree," Sprocket whispered in her ear as he secured the cuffs, making her blink in shock, "so hang in there and I can guarantee your escape."

 

She studied him as he ordered the SWATS to march forward with her in tow. "While I had wished to perform a more extensive study of this fellow 'Robotnik' of whom your little hairless friend threatens . . . I'm nevertheless not robot-proof, so I'm listening." She was wise, and as cool and collected as he remembered the echidnas with whom he'd resided to be; she spoke out of the side of her mouth, not turning her head to face him.

 

He shook his head once. "Wait until we're out of the hover craft's viewing range. Beyond that boulder." He gestured to a curve in the gorge just ten or fifteen feet away.

 

The distance was quickly crossed, the canine marching behind the two SWATS and the captive, the first four cans of oil slung over his back. "Alright," he said, "this is a team effort. I'm trying to get out of this situation for the moment, as well."

 

"Are you a spy or saboteur of some sort? You look like one of them, but you don't act like it."

 

"Worse. I'm a man with ethics. Ethics that I must follow, despite the personal cost."

 

She chuckled. "A tragedy indeed. Your name first, and then your plan?"

 

"Call me Sprocket. Sprocket Apollo. The plan is simple. You help me take a hunk out of these tin cans and I'll tell you where to find someone who can tell you all about Robotnik--from the most accurate of perspectives."

 

"I'm fond of martial arts." Her grin grew serpentine. "Although my favorite stunts involve a little chaos magic. Nevertheless, something old-fashioned, a punch perhaps, may be called for. I usually don't get a kick out of a fight, but . . . hell, do I have any options?"

 

"No. Are you right-handed?"

 

"Yes."

 

Slowly Sprocket drew his arm up and aimed it at the SWAT to his right, letting the oil slip off his back. "I'm going to free your fighting arm. Get the one on your left.--try for the neural circuits." He winced. "Those'll getcha quick, believe me."

 

"Will do."

 

The attack was clean and efficient, as if choreographed. Sprocket fired a small round hole in the right SWAT's head, and it crackled convulsing to the dusty ground. "SWAT 364, " he barked at the robot to the left, "investigate!" it scrambled to his bidding--just in time for the echidna to deal its head a lethal blow and, once the act freed her entirely, a backflip that sent the machine sprawling.

 

Sprocket grinned and shook the echidna's, helping her up. "You will benefit from a visit to the Great Forest, where you will find a squirrel named Rosie," he almost mentioned the princess but hesitated--this woman was, still, a stranger, and her motives still uncertain. "She will give you the history of Julian Kintobor, the man you know as Robotnik, and the horrible things he's done in the name of glory and progress. You may go there with my blessing--I won't stop you. Only, one more favor?"

 

"It's the least I can do for that juicy bit of info."

 

He nodded. "My thanks. You mentioned chaos magic? Are you able to alter a technological system's tally of, oh, say, total gallons of oil obtained per day, from any given point?" He nodded at the four tanks of oil that would not be delivered today-not if he carried out he remainder of his plan. The oil that Robotnik would surely miss.

 

"I can try." She grinned, deeper now, and ran a finger over the rim of her visor, a salute. ""You're a clever one, aren't you, puppy-dog?"

 

"I've been accused of worse." He fired up his rockets and levitated over her. "If you could send the main control room of the city called Robotropolis a signal that four tanks of oil were successfully retrieved this afternoon, I would be forever in your debt." He did not wait for her response. Even if she couldn't succeed, he still had to go. He had no choice but to continue. "Thanks again!"

 

Changing the responsible commander mode of the hovercraft would give Snively the perfect scapegoat once Sprocket warned Derek and helped him escape the clutches of roboticization--an act he was set out to accomplish that very minute, jetting full speed towards Nimbus Island. Sprocket, that goony malfunctioning robot commander. The one whose glitches could be fixed, ignored, pardoned and forgotten by Robotnik. Unlike a fully conscious human : Snively, flesh-and-blood Snively, kin Snively, lackey Snively. Robotnik would forget he'd ordered Snively, not Sprocket, to execute Derek, Derek would escape and Snively would go unpunished. And no one would go betrayed. No loyalties violated. When the plan had formed in his brain, Sprocket had thought foolishly little of his own well-being should Robotnik, on a whim, decide to scrap him, rather than again "repair" him. But selflessness--loyalty--that was what trust was about, wasn't it?

 

Sprocket was so engulfed in his thoughts that he didn't see the large green airborne mass in front of him. He rammed right into Dulcy the dragon's side and they went careening to the ground. It was a good thing his velocity had decreased, because had he been going full speed, he'd have killed her. As he fell on top of the squealing, scaly creature, he struggled for both a joyful greeting and an apology, but was shocked by the sensation of six other furry masses toppling over him. One of the voices belonged to none other than Princess Sally as she demanded an explanation for the "airborne attack." Amidst all his stress, Sprocket still managed to laugh outright. The mirth softened his harsh words. "I won't even bother to tell you kids how stupid it is to be out here alone--I don't have the time. Where's your friend Derek?"

 

And at that moment, far from the place of reunion, the signal on Robotnik's radar faded. And the tyrant--and his nephew--noticed.

 

---------------------------------------------------

 

Post 57:

J.R. Grant

 

J'ran watched as the robotic canine jetted off. What a strange world this had become... She knew that heading to the Great Forest was her concern now, but she had a favor to try and accomplish for her canine savior. She flew up to a port on the bottom of the ship and carefully opened a section. The wires led straight to the networks in Robotropolis, where the oil count was being recorded. This would be a piece of cake. Signals were sent using the classic "binary" method, meaning they were only electronic pulses. Just a few Chaos generated pulses should do it...

 

...100... she finished the tweaking. Four tanks of oil had now been recorded. She closed the section and took off into the sky towards the Great Forest. It was time to find out what she came for. From what she had seen so far, the Brotherhood was not going to get a good report...

 

* * *

 

Nayr couldn't believe his eyes as he watched the robotic canine crash into the dragon. Obviously its once friendly nature had now turned sour. Nayr soon scolded himself for jumping to conclusions again as he watched the robot try to come up with some way for apology. Finally Nayr heard the robot say in a surprisingly soft tone that it was dangerous to be out there alone?! Nayr was somewhat infuriated that he considered his presence being "out here alone" until he realized his stupidity again. They didn't know he was out here. Well, that wasn't a problem. He decided he'd show himself and try to make up for his rash actions earlier. He didn't want the children to get hurt anymore than anyone else did. Nayr came out of hiding and walked towards the group.

 

"Hello children and robot-dog!" Nayr called out. Not a very catchy phrase and it came out with a slightly disgusted tone. Nayr decided to try and cover up the last statement.

 

"You haven't been alone! I've been following you..." Nayr frowned realizing that his phrase sounded less innocent than the last one. He just stopped about two meters from the group and waited for the undesirable response that was sure to come...

 

------------------------------------------------

Post 58:

Tristan Palmgren

 

 

The first warning sign occurred long before Rosie arrived at Knothole.

 

She spotted several small berries on a nearby bush, a kind that she couldn't recall seeing before. Scavenger instincts kicked in; Knothole was completely isolated from a diverse food supply. There was only so much variety that could be taken from the small fields of crops around the village. The promise she'd made ages ago to the Princess's older doppelganger kept her from foraging farther away from the village. Most of the time, they had to eat the same type of food for weeks on end. The children were always eternally grateful for any kind of variety in their meals. These berries were red, and they looked ripe and delicious.

 

Rosie stooped down to take Nicole out of her boot clip, ready to have her scanners analyze the berries. Her hand swished through empty air. Nicole wasn't down there.

 

For a moment, she panicked, thinking that she had dropped the computer somewhere along her walk. But that had never happened before. Like everything else about Nicole, the clip that kept her attached to her boot was extremely well-designed. It had never given way before. Somebody must have taken her.

 

Her mind leapt to Derek. She had known thieves and cons before. He certainly could've been one of them. If he was, he was a good one. Not only had he pick-pocketed Nicole, but he even persuaded Rosie to give him a laser rifle.

 

The more she thought about it, though, the more she knew that it couldn't have been him. No. Confused, dumb, stubborn, foolish, lost, hopeless -- Derek was all of these things, but at least he was genuine. Rosie was sure of it. All the pickpockets and con artists in the world couldn't fake the heart he had shown. There had to be another answer somewhere. Perhaps one of the children had done something with Nicole without her permission. She'd have to ask them when she got back. If none of them knew where Nicole had gone... well, they'd have to scour the forest thoroughly tomorrow. Maybe she had fallen out.

 

She was so preoccupied with thoughts of what she'd do if the worst came to worst that she hardly noticed that Knothole was deserted when she arrived.

 

A slow sense of creeping dread overcame her. None of the children were in their cabins, or out in the fields. Nobody would answer her calls. Even Dulcy, the precocious dragon child, was gone.

 

She was alone.

 

After half-an-hour of mounting desperation, she sat down heavily, feeling sick. A special kind of horror unique to maternal love overcame her. Something had happened to her charges. Something terrible; something that she had never been prepared for. At least she knew that it couldn't have been Robotnik. The village would have been little more than a smoldering ruin had his forces stumbled upon it while she was away. Feeling worse by the moment, she ran through the remaining possibilities in her mind.

 

Like all things, there was a dark side to the refugees that managed to escape Robotnik's armies. Not all of the escapees were would-be heroes like Derek and his friends, or even just good-willed runaways. There were bandits and crooks and black-marketers that had built thriving businesses in the absence of the law. Gangs like the Nasty Hyenas ran rampant through the Great Unknown and the even out here, in the Great Forest. Though she certainly didn't like it, circumstances had occasionally even made it necessary to make deals with the likes of them. She knew first-hand just how bad they could get if they weren't appeased. The scenarios that poured through her mind about how they could possibly be related to the children's disappearance made her shudder. She saw slave-traders raiding the village, rounding them up and taking them away to shortened lifetimes of manual labor and forced servitude. Over the past few days, she'd could've sworn that she'd seen eyes peering at her from the shadows...

 

But no. She eventually discarded those nightmares. There would have been some sign of struggle if something like that had happened. Her charges were still small, yes, but they were more powerful than they looked. She'd done a good job of teaching them to defend themselves, even with their small bodies. Sally, and especially Sonic, were both apt fighters, and they wouldn't have been taken without a fierce battle. Everything in the village was quiet and undisturbed.

 

With that option eliminated, though, she didn't know what else could have happened. The only reasonable thing she could think of was that the children had been taken willingly. Or that they had left of their own accord. Why would they leave, though? They must've known that she'd be back soon, and would notice that they were gone. What could they possibly be after--

 

Rosie was bolt upright before the thought even finished forming.

 

Somehow they'd found out about Derek's plans. They knew that he called himself a 'Freedom Fighter' - the very phrase Sally seemed to idolize - and that he was going out to fight Robotnik. Rosie didn't know how they'd found out, but now she was almost certain that they had. She had hoped that her conversation with the Princess the night they'd found Derek, Dulcy, and Sprocket had at last put an end to their desire to go out on those foolish 'Freedom Missions,' but she'd obviously been wrong. This would also explain what had happened to Nicole. The pick-pocket was none other than Princess Sally. She'd probably taken Nicole to help her out on her 'quest.'

 

A sudden anger rose in Rosie's throat, competing with until-now overpowering maternal protective instinct. Her goals were now twofold: she'd find out what happened to the children, rescue them, and then give them a chewing out the likes of which none of them had ever experienced before. Damn Sally! Did she have any idea what she'd done? She was more foolish than even Derek, and given Derek's staggering incompetence, that was saying quite a bit. Now she stood a good chance of getting herself, the other children, and Derek all killed or roboticized. Didn't any of them have the slightest bit of sense - of reason - about them?

 

Couldn't any of them understand that it was far better to stay here and play it safe than to risk their lives with 'Freedom Fighting?'

 

They'd also left Rosie in a terrible bind. She'd have to chase after them. She'd have to break a promise she'd made years ago, and leave Knothole village herself. She'd have to follow them to Nimbus Island. It hurt her dearly to have to do that, but she was out of options.

 

She stalked towards an old, dreary cabin at the edge of Knothole. It was one she hadn't entered for many months.

 

Rosie knew that she was at a terrible disadvantage in this chase. Derek had probably finished hijacking one of Robotnik's patrol ships by now. Sally, Sonic, and the other children were probably riding Dulcy. She had seen how dragons could move through their air; their landings were always a bit rough, but when they rode updrafts, they could really move. Even if they weren't riding Dulcy, Sonic's speed would still no doubt enable them to keep up with Derek's stolen hover unit.

 

There were no vehicles at all in Knothole, which left her with a considerable speed disadvantage. If she was going to go after them, she'd have to go by foot. That was an impossible task right there. It would take her nearly a week to get out to Nimbus Island, whereas Derek and Dulcy could both be out there within a day. If she was going to go by foot, she may as well give up now.

 

She needed help. She needed someone to loan her a vehicle. There was only one way she could think of that would get her a vehicle on such short notice. She'd have to make a deal with the very same black market that, only moments ago, she'd feared could have been responsible for the childrens' disappearance.

 

Ordinarily, she would have used Nicole's scrambled comm channels to communicate with her contact in the black market. Since Sally had taken Nicole for herself, however, she'd have to come up with an alternative means. Knothole village had been originally created as a Royal Retreat, but even though he'd constructed the village with the interests of privacy in mind, King Acorn had still wanted some way to communicate with the outside world. The cabin Rosie entered now had been built for just such a purpose.

 

A vast array of bulky computer equipment greeted her silent as she stepped inside. All of it had been built with the purpose of interfacing with the Mobotropolis computer network -- for sending and receiving messages, checking news bulletins, all of that. As soon as Robotnik's coup had forced Rosie and the children to move here, she'd deactivated all of this equipment. There was no sense in letting Robotnik use it to trace Knothole's location. She had no intention of ever plugging the machines back into city's computer network, either, so most of the computer consoles now waiting before her were useless. The computers did have one or two safer abilities that she sometimes used, such as standard radio communication. Nicole usually performed that function much better, but in her absence this equipment would have to do.

 

She waited impatiently for the machine to finish booting up. The monitor in front of her wavered to life. Her hands flew across the keyboard. She told it to send out a continuous radio ping on a select frequency, with added instructions to scramble it and make it untraceable, in case Robotnik was listening. This was standard procedure for contacting the person she needed.

 

After a moment, the console informed her that someone out there was opening up a scrambled audio channel in response to her ping. She patched it in.

 

"Mother of--! Godsdamnit!" a sharply annoyed masculine voice started cursing, then the sound of hover engines whining cut him off. "Scared the derby right off me! I was just trying to steer this two-bit hover bike when suddenly my comm pack starts screeching an alarm like all the banshees of hell were wailing right next to me! I almost crashed this thing! I don't care who you are or what you're pullin' here, whatever you want from me is gonna cost extra now, just for that!"

 

She didn't feel like acknowledging his theatrics. "Hello, Nack. I thought you would've known better than to wear a derby while racing a hover bike."

 

Nack the weasel's voice immediately clouded with dark suspicion. "Oh, it's you. Nanny woodchuck. What do you want? It better be good enough to justify almost making me take a spill on this lousy thing."

 

Nack was hardly a friend, and Rosie didn't trust him any more than she believed that she'd really almost made him fall off his bike. Still, they'd made deals in the past. He'd respected her money, and then, when she'd run out of that, she'd even managed to force the occasional fair barter out of him. With Nicole's scanners providing an instantaneous analysis of all his goods, he'd never had any opportunity to cheat her. Rosie knew that he would have if he could, though, and as such had never invited him into Knothole village itself. She didn't trust him not to sell its location to the highest bidder.

 

"I need a ride, Nack," Rosie said. "I need some kind of hover vehicle to take me out to Nimbus Island."

 

She could hear Nack chuckle harshly. "Shit, lady, don't you think I have better things to do than ferry the missus around all day?" Rosie ground her teeth, but didn't remark on his deliberate jabs. Nack said offensive things like that all the time, no matter who he was talking to, just to provoke people. After a short pause, Nack continued, "I don't give out rides. At least not to freeloaders. If you're willing to come to *me* to ask for a ride, that means you're desperate. And that, miss, means that this is going to be expensive. What are you offering?"

 

Rosie paused. She hadn't considered that part yet. There weren't many things in Knothole village that would interest a character like Nack. She couldn't even offer him any of the usual standbys, like money or food. She had depleted her meager supply of paper money a long time ago, and this year their crops were struggling to even produce enough food to feed the children.

 

There really was only one thing she could promise him at this point. She winced. She braced herself, and said, "You can name your price once this is over, and whatever it is, I'll pay it."

 

She may as well have just sold him her soul.

 

Nack's expanding grin was almost audible over the communication channel. He sensed a clear opportunity for maximum profit for little price. "You are desperate, aren't you, nanny woodchuck? Well, damn! Unlike a lot of my customers, you're a trustworthy sort, so I know you'll pay up when I ask you to. You realize that once I give you your ride, I could think of a lot of things you have that I want, and you'd have no choice but to pay up?"

 

"I realize that," Rosie said darkly.

 

She could only imagine what Nack would want from her later. A ten-year supply of foodstuffs. Knothole's location, or perhaps Knothole village itself. Even one of the children. Nack was low enough that none of these things would be beneath him. She had just sold herself into indentured servitude. What his ultimate price would be, though, and whether or not she would pay it, were questions that she would have to answer later. Her first priority right now was to save her charges. She had no choice but to do this. Whatever Nack would ask of her later was something she'd have to worry about then and only then: later.

 

Nack laughed again. Coming through the computer's low-quality speakers, it was a more grating noise than usual. "Hah. Nanny woodchuck, I accept your gracious terms. I'm glad you're being such a good sport about all of this. Just send me some coordinates, and I'll be right there on my hover bike to pick you up."

 

**

 

Something gray and metallic smashed into the dragon's belly, and together they all went tumbling down. They disappeared beneath the forest canopy.

 

Derek blinked, and shook his head.

 

When he looked back up, the dragon was still missing. He couldn't understand what had just happened. It had moved far too quickly.

 

Had Robotnik's forces caught up with them already? No, that couldn't be what he had just seen. Robotnik would be sending hover units and SWATbot troop carriers to the blip the dragon was making on his radar screens, and plenty of them. Not just one of... whatever that gray thing was. Moreover, SWATbots would target the stolen ship first, and then only mop up the dragon afterwards. His next thought was that it had been a long range missile tracking Dulcy. Yet, if it had been that, then the missile's warhead should have exploded.

 

The hover unit's autopilot continued cruising steadily away from the site where the dragon had crash-landed. Derek reached out to cut it, but pulled his hand back at the last moment.

 

He realized he had a hell of a choice to make.

 

Should he turn around and head to the dragon's crash site? Robotnik's forces were no doubt still zeroing in on the area even now. He had no idea how close they were. If he stopped to park and investigate, there was a very real chance that Robotnik's forces would catch up with him before he could take off again. On the other hand, now that Dulcy was no longer in the air and attracting radar pings, he could just keep going and slip safely into the evening. He'd be safe, and moreover, he'd be free of any discreet followers bringing Robotnik down on his head. He'd have to trust that Dulcy and her friends could recover from the crash and get airborne quickly enough to evade Robotnik themselves, of course, but technically speaking they weren't really his concern. They had followed him. It was their problem.

 

Even as the thought struck him, Derek knew that he couldn't do it. If he wanted to call himself a Freedom Fighter, then he had to take every obligation that came with the title, convenient or otherwise. The first thing that everybody who followed Ari had sworn to do was to shield the innocent from Robotnik's metal monstrosities. The kids needed help. He had to do it, too, no matter how many SWATbots he risked confronting in the process. He sighed.

 

Muttering soft curses at the foolhardiness and follies of children, he cut the airship's autopilot, and brought it about on an arcing course towards the area he had seen Dulcy crash.

 

After a thorough yet fruitless aerial search, he at last decided that wherever Dulcy had crashed, he couldn't see her through the forest's thick canopy. He set the airship down in a small clearing that was at least somewhere close to where the dragon had gone down. From here, he'd have to search for her on foot. More time wasted while legions of SWATbots grew ever nearer. Once the airship hit solid dirt, he didn't delay any longer. With Rosie's laser rifle in one hand - standard precaution - he burst out of the airship's hatchway and started scouring the forest.

 

Derek didn't have to search for long.

 

What he stumbled onto was almost a reunion of sorts.

 

Dulcy was belly-up near a series of skid marks on the forest floor. It didn't take much imagination to figure out exactly where those skid marks had come from. She looked dazed and - although it was probably his imagination toying with him - Derek could've sworn he saw her pupils actually spinning around, like a comic effect from a pre-coup cartoon series. All she needed were three twittering birds flying in a circle around her head, and the image would be complete. That odd effect wasn't important right now, though, so it escaped Derek's attention. Sally, Sonic, Bunnie and several of the other children he had become briefly acquainted with during his stay in Knothole village were there. So was Sprocket.

 

Derek stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Sprocket. He almost dropped his laser rifle. He hadn't expected to see the canine ever again. The last he'd seen of him... his old workerbot programming had been taking over his mind, and he'd been driven off into the forest by his own impending insanity... and then Sprocket was just suddenly here, good as new, looking at him curiously as though everything was normal and he had every right to just randomly appear.

 

This was far too much to deal with at once.

 

By the way the canine moved, it was clear it was Sprocket's own personality driving his body, and not a workerbot's. The motions were far too fluid to be a robot. The most telling sign was that, even though Sprocket's face was metal and incapable of bending, it somehow seemed to have expression nonetheless. Sprocket glanced over at a corner of the forest, as if trying to tell him something. Derek followed his gaze.

 

Nayr was reaching for something on his belt.

 

Derek had already leveled his rifle at Nayr's face and barked, "Don't!" before he even recognized the sadosii. It had been days since he'd even thought about the confessed dragon-murderer he'd met in the dungeons of Dragonsnest. Yet the face was ingrained permanently in his memory, and when he saw it now, that memory screamed Enemy! He'd trained the rifle's sights on Nayr long before he even had time to recall where he had seen the face before. Pure adrenaline drove him now. Only seconds after Nayr had already drawn his hands up in surrender did Derek remember Dragonsnest.

 

So that had been what made Dulcy to crash. The Sadosii obviously wanted to kill her, too. He wanted to murder a child. The bastard was as bad as Robotnik.

 

Nayr idly flicked his wrist as he raised his hands. For a moment, Derek thought nothing of it.

 

By the time he saw the discus that Nayr had expertly thrown with that innocent little movement, it was already too late. It smashed into the crown of his skull with a sharp crack. He dropped the laser rifle and fell to his knees. Vision evaporated underneath a field of stars.

 

-----------------------------------------------

POST 59:

J.R. Grant

 

 

No sooner had Nayr introduced himself with little expertise, than the koala walked up. This could mean some serious trouble... Nayr reached for a discus at his belt to toss at the koala. With incredible ease (especially for this guy) the koala focused a laser rifle on Nayr's head.

 

Oh great... Nayr thought to himself. He was too hasty once again. Reaching for his belt obviously sent the message of harm. Boy did he blow that one... Of course, the marsupial probably would have done the same thing in either case, except this time Nayr had an advantage. Nayr barely smirked, though it could only barely be seen from his intensely black skin. He lifted his hands into the air and with a condescending flick of the wrist sent off the discus. It had worked. The koala seemed to think nothing of the flick, either that or saw it as an expression of arrogance. Then the koala's eyes went wide as the discus met its target right on the head. The koala dropped the laser rifle as he fell to the ground. Nayr noticed the terrified looks on the face of everyone.

 

"What?! He lowered his rifle at me! Was I to sit there and watch him put a beam through me?" Nayr responded in a smug, irritated voice. This wasn't what Nayr was really thinking, however. Nayr was somewhat disappointed as the koala was only unconscious. The discus hadn't killed him. Even though that was never the original intention, Nayr never liked how brash the koala was back at Dragonsnest. He had never spoken anything but words of death to the sado. Here he just said "don't". What a jerk. Nayr was now furious from his further thoughts. He unsheathed his flame sword.

 

"Then again, perhaps I should remove him before he pulls a gun on anyone else." Nayr said, the anger clearly coming through in his voice as he raised the blade to make the mortal blow.

 

* * *

 

J'ran was now going through the Great Forest on foot. It was too difficult to maneuver the trees in the forest without crashing into something and she wouldn't see a thing from above the trees. Now J'ran wished that she had gotten better directions from Sprocket... this forest was too huge to find a simple village in.

 

"Great Forest"

 

Shouldn't that have been a sign? She closed her eyes and used her Chaos magic to search for any lifesigns. She found one southeast of her location and another above her landing at that location. There was no doubt in J'ran's mind that this is who she was looking for, the question was who was with Rosie? Could it be Sprocket? Then another thought made her take into flight once again. Perhaps it was more of those robots from the Robotnik fellow? She flew quickly after the hovering entity she had sensed...

 

--------------------------------------

Post 60:

Ealain Vangogh

 

Sprocket felt Derek's trust float like a faint yet unmistakable song across the terrain between himself and the hovercraft, where the koala stood. "Anam cara," he breathed, however enraptured by the fact that the reassuring words were unnecessary. A fleeting instant of newly forged friendship, of precocious alliances still blessedly intact, passed in the feeble smiles exchanged between the robot and Mobian. Sprocket grimaced, struggled to cautiously rise from beneath his furry burden, prying gently but firmly. Were he not made of cast-iron, he was certain the collective weight of all the children would have crushed his chest and lungs. At this bitter irony--this cruel reminder that there were tempting perks to being a creature of circuitry--he managed a pained chuckle.

 

Princess Sally had risen first, azure eyes aglimmer, and begun berating the canine for his lack of flying discretion before he could so much as overcome the vertigo of the convulsive landing. After her all but Sonic; what disturbed the canine about this was that the young hedgehog had displayed the most bold aggressive resolve during their last encounter, and now slowly, almost warily, rose last from the pile on Dulcy's belly. And the boy was, silently, glaring at the landscape behind them--glaring in that same savagely defensive manner. His tiny blue spines were quivering like electric needles.

 

Sprocket's heart--wherever it was in that metallic shell in which he was trapped--froze. His gaze followed the boy's--to the sight of a vaguely familiar man approaching them--a Sadosii. Yes, the hunter from Dragonsnest. He'd never gotten a good look at the creature, far too preoccupied in his drive to rescue now close companions Derek and Dulcy from Snively's latest cowardly rage. But the man's eyes--they gave him the sensation of poorly digested meat--lingering unsettled in the pit of the stomach, not fiercely painful, but strange enough to warrant suspicion and discomfort. Those eyes were hiding something.

 

Smoothly, so as to sidestep causing a panic, Sprocket slid in front of the children, his body immediately in the path of whatever weapon the Sadosii might select for his potentially shady purposes. The coyote boy whimpered, the princess drew a sharp breath, and the hedgehog rose his brassy voice in brief but pungent protest before Sprocket whirled to face him with his most vicious of paternal, authoritative scowls. The boy was immediately silenced. The canine shifted eyes to meet Derek's--the puzzled koala could not see the new stranger from his vantage point. The Freedom Fighter frowned, cocked his head, stepped forward--and gasped, his feelings of happy reunions severed. He'd seen the intruder now.

 

Immediately at the sight of the pearl-white marsupial, the Sadosii's eyes clouded with hate and suspicion. It was enough to put Sprocket in fight-or-flight mode. He spread his arms out as wide as possible to further shield the children; instinct of centuries past overtook him as his lips withdrew to reveal glimmering dagger-fangs, and a strange, alien noise, some sort of primal growl, rumbled in his throat. The dog's warrior-like stance seemed to empower Derek to step boldly closer to the source of danger, arm outstretched as if to forbid something. "Don't!" he bellowed, suddenly.

 

The intruder--Nayr, he congenially called himself--did not seem to heed the koala's warning as he pulled something indiscernible from his belt. Instead, he was eyeing Sprocket as if out of pure perplexity, as if unsure why the canine was defending the children against him. And then an entrancing, fluid motion, as he flicked his wrist . . .

 

And Derek unarmed and vulnerable, crashed to the ground with a startled grunt. There was blood--blood, all over the dusty earth as he fell.

 

Sprocket rushed to catch him--to catch his friend, his fellow Mobian, as he fell. Blood spattered from Derek's forehead onto his sleek silver arms and chest. . .blood . . . Like mom and dad . . . blood everywhere . . . like a gun . . . like Snively's father . . . like death . . .vile, red death . . . God, I wish I could go wash this off . . . it's filthy . . .

 

Sprocket swallowed hard to suppress the urge to vomit, to flee the scene and cleanse himself of the sorrows of the battle into which he'd been helplessly flung . . . ever since his awakening. Instead, rage--awful, untempered, unbridled fury, the fury of one betrayed--filled his being.

 

HE'S filthy.

 

"You . . . " He was barely able to rest Derek against a patch of grass before lunging towards Nayr. "You sneaking scum, how DARE you!" Before the Sadosii's nimble reflexes could save him, the canine had him five feet in the air by the neck, his previously unused robotic strength a sudden sadistic asset. The growl returned to his throat. But his voice acquired a sob. "I ought to break you--I really should!"

 

Had Robotnik been there, he would have laughed for wicked joy.

 

Nayr, evidently unused to being bested in combat, coughed and choked and wriggled for the belt from which the deadly discus had come, his face drained of color; Sprocket seized that hand and squeezed it until the knuckles cracked. Even Sonic winced. "Don't you DARE aim one of those at those children," the canine snarled, stunned at the bestial quality of his own voice. Through wind-tousled gray hair, the mournful gold eyes grew murderous.

 

"The children?" the Sadosii managed to gag; saliva dripped from the side of his lip. "What in hell are you saying, you damned crazy fool? I was PROTECTING the children!" His eyes squeezed shut; the pressure on his throat was beginning to overcome him.

 

Sprocket froze. "What?" His grip loosened instantly and Nayr slipped to the ground--the intruder was on his feet in seconds, clutching his neck.

 

"From the antagonist in the hovercraft--I've already met him before; he's an aggressor . . . " Those concealing eyes fell on Dulcy, terrified and trembling, with a covetous glaze, the look of one who wishes to use or abuse, and it was clear that something deep in his subconscious resented Derek for being a dragon sympathizer as well.

 

Sprocket guffawed, retreating several paces, his hands flying to his head in exasperation. "An aggressor?' He breathed, more in his typical gentle, melancholy tone, " You ass, you . . you presumptuous ASS, he's their ALLY!"

 

Nayr crossed his arms skeptically, casting a cynical eye over the fuming, weary dog. "Oh? And am I to take the word of Robotnik's slave that this is true?"

 

"But it is!" Bunnie was the first to intercede, on behalf of whatever peace or hope might be salvaged, flanked closely by Sonic and Sally as the three of them broke free and ran to the fallen form of Derek. "It is true! Derek here is our friend! And so is Sprocket--believe me, you can take his word as real. I made the mistake you're making--an' dog mah cats if I didn't go an' hurt an innocent person!" She cradled Derek's head in her arms, tears in her voice and in her earnest jade stare. "Please don't hurt him more, mister!" Sprocket swallowed hard--he decided now would be a poor time to admit he was in cahoots with Robotnik's Nephew--indeed, boon companions thereof--and that that same individual would be coming to question him harshly once he discovered that the dog had tampered with Robotnik's orders. And that would be soon. Very soon.

 

The Sadosii, unable to read Sprocket's thoughts, but quite attentive to Bunnie's unadorned plea, shifted weight uncomfortably. He fingered his belt, but this time it was an idle act, a fidgeting gesture, like that of one ashamed but too proud to admit a wrongdoing. "What can I do to assist you?" he finally said. His face was full of sincerity--yet he avoided meeting eyes with Dulcy.

 

"Just stick with us for a while, Nayr." Sprocket knelt down over Derek and the children who, terrified and distraught, were inspecting him. How to stop the blood? He looked at the coyote child. Bingo. "What's your name?" Spoken gently, for the child was terrified.

 

"Antoine," the boy whined around horrified bouts of tears.

 

"Give me your overcoat, Antoine," the canine ordered, still in that practiced, patient voice of an elder brother or a teacher. The boy obeyed, hands trembling. Instantly Sprocket tore the blue military trainee's coat in half, wrapping it around Derek's head like a bandage. The act derived deeper wails of grief from the child and a sweet murmur from Bunnie, "It's okay, Ant, yo' Daddy would have been mighty proud you used it to SAVE a man. Anyway, it wasn't his REAL uniform--that one's back at Knothole!"

 

"But he gave it to me--it was the last thing he gave to me before. . . before the fat man came and . . . " the boy was whimpering in response. Sprocket shuddered, trying not to hear. Trying not to remember. "Follow me, everyone--I need to get him inside the hovercraft."

 

The act was easily accomplished, children and Sadosii warrior in tow. Once all were inside, and Derek was sprawled across the navigator's seat, Sprocket sealed the door and stationed himself at the pilot seat. Dulcy, despite her bulk, fit barely into the back; were she fully grown or even adolescent, she would be marooned outside.

 

"Where was Derek headed?" the canine asked Sally, who paced the floor behind the cockpit. She stopped, exploding, "Nimbus! Nimbus Island!" She flew at him brandishing he tiny personal computer. "Nicole can tell you everything!" Sprocket nodded, took the computer from her hands, and placed it on the dashboard, fervently thanking God for its presence.

 

"How good are you at patching up a discus wound instead of making one?" he queried wryly over his shoulder, at Nayr. He glanced at the monitor; a surveillance and tracking screen was flashing with a tiny red orb--an approaching hovercraft. Snively. "Because I'm getting the feeling I've got some major flying to do before this day is through."

 

Because I've got to keep catching all my friends when they fall.