MORE THAN THERE SEEMS

A Sonic SatAM story by:

Tristan Palmgren

MistressAli

Ealain Vangogh

J.R. Grant

Dominic Smith

Roland "Jim Doe" Lowery

Post 81:

Dominic Smith

"Who are you, what are you, where are you, why are you?"

J'ran wanted to scream, to tell 'it' to stop doing whatever it was doing but she could not. The reason for this was she had no mouth, no throat, no teeth or tongue she was completely without any physical form at all.

Her thoughts were erratic and inconsistent which was quite understandable when you considered that she had no brain. Memories from the last few strange days mixed with those of her entire life to create a disturbing, nonsensical mess.

"Who are you, what are you, where are you, why are you?"

The words, or what she interrupted to be words came at her again. She tried to answer them, the first one, 'who are you' she did not know. Ok try the second, 'what are you' it was similar to the first she realized, but it had a slightly different texture, in any case she was dumbfounded about the answer to this one too. No problem there's always the third, 'where are you' are this was very different, she tried to look around but anger struck her when she remembered she has no eyes but then curiosity overcame her, what were eyes, am I supposed to have them and what function do they serve? No answers came so she tried again to answer the question, 'where are you.' She knew there was absence where there should be...should be something and yet there was something's where there should be nothing, it was all so very confusing. If she was to answer the question she knew she had to focus on the something's, she did not know how she knew but right now she was not interested in questioning what little she did have.

Perhaps it was lucky J'ran was in the state she was, for it meant her mind was more open to except the impossible, if she or indeed anyone else had tried to focus on the things she did with their rational mind in tact the effect would have been catastrophic.

Smelling texture, tasting sound, feeling smells and hearing light were by no means what she was experiencing but with our conditioned minds it is perhaps the closest we could come to comprehend them.

Yet through it all an answer finally came, 'where was she' why she everywhere. The dimensions of time and space no longer bound her, she came to understand the absence she had felt was not really an absence but mealy the lack of overwhelming restrictions placed on the senses she used to preserve the Universe. The reason she had thought she could not see was because she was seeing everything, the reason she has thought she could not hear was because she was hearing everything and so on and so on. Infinity was nothing to her, now she could understand it all, all the information in the Universe from it's violent birth to it's eventual death, only to be replaced by something else entirely and she could understand that too was within her grasp.

She would exist this way forever, but something was wrong, infinity was trying to absorb her, it was not content that she remain a separate entity and so her consciousness began to stretch and twist through space and time. She wanted to scream again but on a level so much stronger than before, the horror of being powerless to prevent the knowledge escaping her was unlike anything else, to go from something nothing is tragic enough but to go from everything to nothing, that was indescribable, incompressible.

It was at that moment that something touched her, which took her by great surprise because this event has just happened rather than will happen, was happening and has happened like everything else.

As it struck her she felt narrow paths open up in infinity paths that led to specific pieces of information, as though they were somehow more important that everything else. The paths led to names, faces, places and sensations why are they important she wondered. The names, Derek, Sprocket, Nayr what of them why do they matter she continued to wonder. But then something strange happened, she found herself being, pulled, urged, and coerced down the paths. She did not what to go for the paths were narrow and she would lose nearly all of the knowledge of infinity, only vague impressions would remain but then is was still better than being absorbed completely.

As She traveled down the paths the questions came again, one at a time.

"Who are you?"

I am J'ran came the answer, she fought against it rejecting it; no I am everything!

"What are you?"

Echidna tried to come to the surface but J'ran suppressed that as well, I am the birth of Stars, the expanse of space, the energy that's binds atoms together, I am the past and I am the future!

"Where are you?"

I...am, but already J'ran's resistance was failing as the knowledge left her, attempts to retain it were as futile as trying to hold water with a sieve. I...am...on...the...planet-

"Mobius."

What? She tried to focus on where the word had come from, but she was finding it hard to adapt to the sensory limits of a mere Echidna. She looked up, or what see thought could be considered up, moments ago she had be beyond such petty concepts. There he was, she could see him now, distorted somewhat, as though he were underwater, no that's was not it, it was as though she were underwater and he was above the surface looking down at her.

"Nayr" she whispered, then gasped amazed that she could say it, somehow she had a body, it was not a real living form of flesh but one projected by her mind, but it was a body non the less.

Cutting through the surface Nayr's hand came reaching out to her.

"Take hold" he said, "let me give you my energy."

J'ran was in shock, so many new concepts we overloading her, they were all so small but somehow they felt so big and then it dawned on her, they felt big because, she was small to. She began to cry.

"I can't!" J'ran shouted, hoping he would hear her above the surface, "I don't want to live like that, small and empty!"

"Then you will be absorbed and die" Nayr said.

"No!" J'ran yelled, "somehow I'll find another way, somehow, I will not live like again that not now, not ever!" Then with the power her brief stabilization had brought her she willed herself away from Nayr's outstretched hand.

"J'ran!" Nayr shouted and reached down farther, letting in most of his body and risking getting absorbed himself, but it was too late. Already J'ran had entered the maelstrom; already he could see her form begin to brake apart. "J'ran" he said softly, his voice tainted with regret. He had failed, him the last of the Sadosii perhaps the most powerful warrior on Mobius, he shook his head, this was not right. With determination he willed himself out of the astral plane and in the physical plane he collapsed to floor.

***

Nayr stirred, as consciousness slowly returned to him. The first thing that registered was pain, lots of pain. He sat up clucking his head disorientated only to feel several pairs of hands easing him back down again. Instinct told him to resist but a soft voice cut through it.

"Easy now, just relax everything going to be alright." The soothing voice went.

It trigged the thought process in him and everything started to come back. Slowly he opened his eyes and saw the gently unthreatening face of Rosie along with several wolves.

"You had us worried there for a bit" Rosie said, "gave us a case of the willies dropping over like that."

"Well I'm fine now" Nayr said cross at himself for shoeing such weakness and in spite of the protests was able to extradite himself from the bed and stand up. Once he was sure he was back in control of the situation he inquired about J'ran, "what have you done with her body" he said, "I'd like to pay my respects."

"Body?" Rosie said startled while the wolves looked at her assuming she knew what he was talking about.

"J'ran's body!" Nayr snarled.

"B...but she's not dead," said Rosie confused. For half a second Nary accepted it, a small trace of denial still in him then he grew extremely angry.

"Don't try to hide the truth from me women! I witnessed her death on the astral plane, her very soul disintegrated while I watched powerless to stop it! Do not think that your are protecting me, for I have seen more death in my lifetime than you could possibly hope to imagine!" Nayr's breathing was fast and he had to fight the urge not to reach for his sword he spied on the table and threaten her with it.

"I'm telling the truth, see for yourself" Rosie said desperately pointing to a bed on the other side of the room.

Nayr knew it was impossible but yet Rosie's tone had been so honest and just what would she have to gain from lying? He dashed over to the bed and saw J'ran lying there under a blanket while a nurse attended to her manually checking her pulse, for they lacked any machines for such a task. The nurse was startled when he appeared next to her, for although he had been shouting very close by she had ignored it and focused on the job at hand. Looking down at her Nayr knew she was alive, he could sense her life energy, however faint it was.

"How is this possible?" He whispered and his mind began to rationalize. She had said she would find another way, he had thought he delusional, crazed by the experience of remaining on the astral plane too long. No soul should ever inhabit that place for more than the briefest of moments, it was alien and dangerous. Although his powers had increased far beyond that of a normal Sadosii he had never until today been there himself. He drew power from there all the time as did every physic but going there, only the powerful Mages had been able to actually visit the place with any degree of competence and even they he knew had lost thousands of their kind to it. J'ran had gone there by accident, it sometimes happened when a physic pushed themselves to near death. It had been an irrational and foolhardy thing to do but then by doing so she had saved their lives.

So how is this possible? He asked himself again lightly stroking her hand and then carefully tucking a long quill that draped over her face behind her ear. He remembered he final words, 'somehow I'll find another way, somehow...' had she found a way? If she had remained on the astral plain she would be dead, her brain would have suffered intense internal hemorrhaging. So if indeed she had left the astral plain the question was, where had she gone?

***

Unlike Nayr J'ran could chose whether she wished to remain conscious or not and exactly how much information she could access from her mind along with the speed at which everything took place. She chose the naked truth and soon had access to her memories, relief rushed over her, she had retained much of the Universe, there were gaps no doubt about that but they would be filled in time. She allowed access to her senses, one at a time. She began with smell and was washed with a rich aroma. It was familiar, the sea she was smelling the sea! Next she chose her hearing and was unsurprisingly greeted by the sounds of waves crashing against the shore. They sounded very close by and so she activated her sense of touch and felt sand on her body and face, along with the pull of gravity. Taste was disappointing with only dryness that because of its unpleasantness she decided to switch it off again. Finally she activated her sight.

J'ran had expected to be greeted by a view of sand and perhaps the ocean depending on weather she was facing it or not, instead she found out she was drowning. Water, it was everywhere she panicked, tried to swim but she struck, sand? What was this? She took a handful of water in her hand, it had the appearance of water, the transparent quality for example but it felt and behaved exactly like sand. J'ran opened her fingers and watched amazed as the grains of water fell through. She looked up towards the sky but instantly cried out in pain. Her visor was gone, so were her cloths in fact, although she was not bothered about that since she was any longer affected by such a primitive concept as modesty. The sky, if you could call it that was just an expanse of intensely bright light and where there should have been a Sun if she were on Mobius there was only a small dark circle, not that you could look at it though due to the closeness of the light. It puzzled her that her body was not reacting to the light like it should, but there were bigger mysteries at hand. Shielding her eyes with her hand she got up and looked out towards the sea, she saw the waves of sand acting like water, crashing down on the water that behaved like sand.

J'ran looked towards the mainland but it was difficult to very look far because of the light that forced you to look downwards. This place did not match J'ran's nearly complete memories of the Universe, either I am somewhere that's covered by the missing fraction, she thought, or somehow I'm somewhere that is completely unconnected with it, someplace that goes beyond even my knowledge. The thought made her shiver and slowly with her head down she began to walk toward the mainland, she wanted answers and fast.

***

Freedom fighting, the words bounced around the inside of Nic's skull, how utterly pathetic. The mild respect Nic had secretly began to develop for the group of defiant kids evaporated with those words. She cold always shoot that pretentious little bitch in the leg, it would not do any good, and she'd lose out for damaged goods, but it would be worth it to see that cocky smile replaced by fright and panic.

It was than the idea came to her with the same force as the lightning outside, meteorically speaking of course.

"So Sally" Nic said her confidence coming back, what are you most afraid of?"

"I can't say" Sally replied, "Us Princesses have such a sheltered upbringing you know."

"How about watching one of your friends slowly and painfully die in front of you?" Nic said slyly, "Surly that must rank, oh at least in the top ten?" Then without even looking at Sally she stood up, aimed the laser pistol at Bunny and fired.

The children screamed as they rushed over to her, while Nic chuckled lightly to herself.

She decided to give them a moment or two to calm down before speaking.

"As you can see, she said eyeing Sonic who applying as much pressure as he could to the wound with his hands, I have shot your friend in her right arm. Now you have two choices" Nic was thrilled, this felt like she was making a sales pitch. "Either we all stay here and wait for her to bleed to death after which I will pick another one of you or we all head off to Achten Sie island right now where if we're lucky she'll receive the proper medical attention and live."

"But, you can't kill all of us" Sally said her strong mentally poisoned with a dose of harsh realty.

"But don't you see, that's the beauty of it, I won't have to kill all of you even if you all decide to stay her, watching your friend, wait a minute what is her name?"

"Bunny" Sally said quietly.

"Ouch" said Nic, "having Weasel as my second name I can relate to her though. Look at things from my perspective, while there's no certainty that you'll give in, although I doubt you've got that much bottle and your right there is no profit to be made in killing all of you, on the flipside there's no profit to be made if we all stay here and at least this way there's a chance at profit. Anyways the guilt you'll feel from knowing that you could have saved Bunny bit didn't will eventuality take it's toll if you decide to stay whether you like it or not.

"The only person here who has any reason to feel guilty is you!" Sally screamed doing her best to block the volcano of hate that was burning inside her for as overwhelming as it seemed she knew it would be of no real use to her.

"So Sally, her life is in your hands, weather she lives or dies it up to you." Nic said with a calm degree of patience.

Sally looked around at her friends, Dulcy and Antoine were both whimpering away as expected, consoling each other so they did not bother anyone else, I should be grateful for that she thought. Bunny did not look good, she appeared very weak indeed and going into shock and by her side Sonic was tying the laces from his sneakers onto the spots directly above Bunny's wound under Rotors direction. Oh how much she loved them, all of them even Antoine had him moments, if it was her dying then leaving would never have been an option, she'd sooner have pushed the trigger herself, but since it was Bunny, well that was different.

"Well Sally, times a wasting if you really do hope to save Bunny's life I suggest we get going now, you do what to save her life don't you?" Nic said slyly.

Post 82:

Ealain Vangogh

He didn't know when it had started--how it had grown to this. He didn't recall waking up one blessed morning and feeling enraptured by the thought of one of her rare curled, ebon-lipped grins, the supple contours of her body as she danced before a bonfire, or the sound of her voice, soft, rich and contemplative. He did not know how this exquisite inner beauty had begun to thrive--and lent itself to one name. All he knew was, after the first one who could stir this deeper sensitivity inside him had surrendered herself to a robot's laser shot and to her own spilled blood, the name that was his salvation, like a turning tide but in the same deep ocean, became that of another. The name of another, the same conjured rapture. The same feeling of warm soft fleece blankets, and the sweet taste of chocolate chip cookies, and the seductive aroma of a woman's fine mysterious perfume, chasing fireflies at dusk and other simple pleasures he'd either forgotten or been denied. One name only.

"Lupe." Sprocket almost gagged on the greeting, for it came out his mouth in a peculiar manner--at the same time he was gulping back an urge to turn and flee.

The lovely gray Chieftain had slid silently into the chamber--silently, he at least CONJECTURED, for the agonizing plinking of chisel against his metal core had not yet fully ceased. Rather, his makeshift doctor had grown more aggressive, honing in on his shoulder blades and gut and almost slamming the tool against a hollow shell that should seem free of all pain or feeling. SHOULD. But "should" was the most futile word in the vernacular language, incapable of accomplishment or promise. "Should" was a word that had been far too often used in the past few years, often linked to regret, to events surrounding the coup, to fruitless dreams and vulnerabilities exploited. But so much for regrets. They were only a ball and chain at the moment, here, as he sat wounded and weak before his true liberator.

"Sprocket. I see you're still lucid. Always a good place to start." The wolf smiled subtly back; she never chose to make sport of a friend's offbeat behavior, so, gracefully, his awkward hello was dropped.

She also never laughed, no matter how humorous the provocation. Nor did she cry, nor lose her temper. Lupe had learned long ago to withhold all her real emotional content, to store it up for when it was truly needed, "so that," she had once told him her father had advised, "you never feel a drought in your soul's river." Lupe was a fortress of iron. That fortress seated herself next to him on his woven cloth cot, legs crossed nimbly and tail curved about her lace sandals, and rested her chin in her hands. Her muzzle quivered and she suppressed a sneeze; the dust from the chisel was being flung into the nearby air by the force of its impact to Sprocket's chest. He tried to exhibit a wobbly smile, unsure as to whether her presence or the chisel were making him tremble.

She spoke while gazing straight ahead through the richly painted wall, into a far off place of rumination. "I seem to have rubbed against your companion Derek Hadrian's . . . grain. I am seeking a solution to the matter as we speak, and yet I can't fully blame him for his pugnacity. Perhaps, though we are all joined by the same cause, our styles vary enough to give us reason for contention."

"I can't believe that," Sprocket replied, though doubt was already seeping into his circuitry.

Lupe eyed the nurse of sorts with a piercing scrutiny. "You've had a GREAT deal of time to use our friend as a cave sculpture. What's the diagnosis?"

"Fine." Sprocket's voice injected tightly; ever aware of the communal nature of the Wolf Pack, he had overheard a young female discuss the dismal conversation Lupe had exchanged with Derek, and wasn't about to make himself a burden to a society he cherished--and would rather die than see floundering in starvation. "I'm fine. Just. . . need to take it easy for . . ." damn, but he was a hideous liar, especially when it mattered ". . . for maybe a week. Then I'll be on my way."

A grumble of dissent sounded in the chiseler's throat; he shook his head once, sharply, at Lupe. Sprocket glowered at him, grabbing him at the laboring arm; despite the damage to his limb his grip was formidable enough to pop it nearly out of its socket. He then turned back to face the creature who had taken his spirit captive. "I don't want to put you in danger of losing opportunities for food and shelter because half of your labor and hunting force are tending to my needs. You can't ask me to stay here, no matter how much my heart yearns for it."

Lupe fixed her predatory gaze on the canine, an icy mountain stream that refreshed and retreated all at once. Earnest honesty, as kind and yet as unadorned as it could be, coated her words. "I wasn't going to ask you to stay."

Sprocket's world fell apart. He felt like he had metamorphosed into a pool of molten lava and was sliding, burning for something and yet too insubstantial to grasp at it, through the cracks in the cave floor. "What?" he breathed. Not now, no, he wouldn't stay with her now anyway, but later. In the future. After the King was restored. The tyrant overthrown. His body returned to a state of fur and flesh, ready for fruitfulness, for romps and revels and the siring of many puppies with her . . . Later--but he had to be DESIRED in order to EVER be able to return to her. The fact of her immediate rejection crushed him.

The Chieftain rested a gentle paw on his most dented shoulder, stroked it softly--she was asking him for patience. Her eyes, however, fell on the chiseler. "Give me an accurate diagnosis and then leave us for a few minutes."

"Severe internal damage to the circuits connected with his shoulder blade units--the tendon like structures that connect the outer units to his very 'guts.' It's easily repaired, but in short it means that if he were even to take an hour stroll around the grounds he might dislocate literally thousands of vital circuitry implants . . . and kill himself.

The Chieftain rested a scolding glare on the canine, who cringed despite himself. "'Just fine,' are we?"

He grinned winsomely, trying to forget his confusion of seconds past. "Relatively speaking . . . give or take a few vital signs." He shrugged, and immediately groaned at he pain the movement induced.

"Very well, Sprocket." And then Lupe stunned him. She laughed, low and sultry, and waved the chiseler out of the room. It made the dog bot shiver.

The moment hey were alone, he had to ask. "Why, Lupe? Why the yanking away of the welcome mat? I always thought I'd become one of the pack after those years living with you . . . Is it . . . is it Nakuma?"

The Chieftain turned away quickly, her jaw muscles tensing as though her clenched teeth, under her lips, might break themselves apart. "You are far too perceptive, old friend. Yes, you remind me of the sister who loved you so dearly. And of my father. And my people. And my home, all lost because we were invaded by a brutal human and his. . . " She picked up the chisel, plinked it mildly, but enough to illustrate her point, across the tip of his glimmering metal finger. His METAL finger. " . . . . and his robots. I know you, Sprocket. You are my forever friend. You are my . . . my . . . ' She traced his back enticingly with her finger, from shoulder to tail, and, again gulping hard, he knew her meaning. "But I . . . I can't help but think every time I realized\ you have oil in your veins instead of blood, that what if something in your system malfunctioned, and you went ballistic?" Sprocket decided now not he most opportune time to describe that exactly such a thing had just happened days past, as she continued. " What if your laser fired the wrong way or your hand accidentally crushed the skull of one of our pup�s heads with your cyborg powers--"

"Oh, Lupe," Sprocket curled into a ball away from her on the cot, cradled his head in his hands, "of all people , I thought you to be the one who could see my SOUL behind my SHELL!"

"Sprocket," Lupe's whole body, taut with frustration ,seemed to want to convey something more ,but she was imprisoned by these excuses she was spouting, these excuses that they both knew to be hollow. Her ears flattened against her skull. "You MUST know that I . . . SOUL?" Suddenly the word registered, and seemed to draw the wolf's mind back to a remote place of reverie and worriment--the look of a leader surveying her realm for dangers--the look he'd often seen on young Sally's face. Sally . . oh, God, Sally . . . .who could be dead, or enslaved, or mutilated . . . Lord God, how dare he indulge in such egocentric desires even for a minute, when that brave child and her friends were lost to despair? He was opening his mouth to take it all back, to swear his apologies for his outburst on his dented knees, when the wolf continued, "your friend Derek . . . he said something that disturbed me this afternoon, just before he left with Ms. Wells, the Sadosii, and Mr. Weasel. He said . . . Sprocket, you must understand, I did not mean to eavesdrop, but my hearing is too keen for my own good--he said that he had learned, of his own foolhardiness, that HE HAD NO SOUL. And I can't help but think that he is beginning to be right about himself--perilously right. Something lost in him . . . a luster lost in his eyes. Something was off. And your human friend--he behaves similarly--lost, forgetful of his own purpose."

Sprocket swallowed hard. " I saw that too. In . . . in BOTH of them." Suddenly he felt like he was ready to trip and careen into an abyss. He was consumed with fear for Derek, for his disillusionment ever since their separation at Achten Sie, but he had fully unexpected her to mention Snively, and again initiate their dance in a high wire over a pit of snakes that was the human's barely concealed hated identity. They would all be up to their knees in stinking brown matter if Lupe knew Sprocket was consorting with a relative of her world's killer. Worse--she would never look him in the face again. A flame in him would be eternally snuffed, as it almost had been the day Nakuma had been killed. Fragile flame indeed.

"A peculiar thing . . ." Lupe ran her claws through her vicious Mohawk, and fingered her scar. "There are moments when that hairless boy almost seems . . . familiar to me." If they could, Sprocket's neckhairs would have risen on their hackles. For it had been SNIVELY, Sprocket's historical databanks told him a week ago when this mad quest had only started, who had ordered a patrol of Buzzbombers into the Wolf Pack's sacred grounds to kill any survivors of the coup, SNIVELY who had allowed them to pursue a tall, gray female decoy wit h a black Mohawk . . . SNIVELY who had told their Aerial Commander to corner and combat the Chieftain's daughter, and leave a mark on her she would never forget . . .

Snively who had ordered the deliverance of Lupe's facial scar.

Lupe must not . . . she could not . . . it would be the end of them all if she . . .

"Sprocket." Her voice--as ever, it wrenched him back from the world of demons and phantoms that was his new reality.

"Yes, Lupe?"

" I will be honest. You need not eat, or drink. You can work your keep. You are safe to the children here than an angel. That is not the issue, not the reason why I hesitate to ask you to stay. What if I told you that . . . the real reason . . . made the others in my pack very resentful, untrusting--that your presence would rip our union to shreds? I can not even assure you that they would not rip YOU to shreds, the moment my eye was turned. They are peaceful, loving family, my Pack, but times have made them hard."

Sprocket shuddered. "Another mutual philosophy that my two soulless friends share."

'Indeed." Lupe nodded, "But . . . but tell me, Sprocket--what, again, did you say was the name of your human friend?"

"Lupe," a panic made a lump in the canine's throat. Bizarrely, it catalyzed him to express what had been on his chest since he'd first seen her again--if nothing else, in order to distract her train of thought. "Lupe, I . . . I love you." And with that he locked his arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her--metal against flesh, it mattered not to him--for physical discrepancy bowed to thriving passion in that split second--and Lupe felt it too, so that his cold smooth lips were forgotten in the truth of his devotion. It tore her innards to shreds. She let out a yelp and pushed back.

"There," he concluded, pulling back away to face her, "tell me you felt nothing."

"I felt nothing," she lied.

And at that moment, someone standing in the doorway cleared his throat. The two lovers leapt away from each other, so much that Sprocket nearly fell off the edge of his cot. The interrupter, a much bandaged and crutch-bound Snively, suppressed a scowl and a roll of eyes. "I beg your pardon. I think perhaps I should return later . . ."

"No, no," Lupe chuckled, rising, and apparently grateful for his intercession. "We were just talking about you. . . ?" her voice rose inquisitively, clearly asking of him what Sprocket had been too terrified to fib about.

"Colin," he supplied with perfect non-Snively sangfroid, wise not to involve the "Junior" or his surname in the title. It was a gamble, using his real name and betting that Lupe would not link it to his overlander warlord father Colin Sr., and uncle Julian, but it was one that ended up in his favor. She smiled benignly, buying it, and quickly exited. ". We'll discuss this later, Sprocket," she tossed over her shoulder. 'Oh ,are you feeling better now, Colin?"

'Smashing," Snively grunted. Because Lupe was unaccustomed to his subtle manner of sarcasm, she only replied, "Excellent. Good evening, then."

Sprocket's eyes lingered longingly after her. "I'm going to marry that woman," he cooed.

'I came to ask what your furry friends have planned--when we are getting OUT OF HERE," Snively gritted, hobbling up to the cot and collapsing on it. 'So that I can get free and KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF THEMMMMMM......"

Sprocket was oblivious to his seething hatred. "Yessirree, there'll be white roses and white swans, and a beachside reception party ,and a--"

'Sprocket." A tone thick with annoyance, followed by a pointed sigh.

"Yes, Snively?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

'Indulging in pleasant thoughts. It's a healthy thing. You should try it sometime--"

"You are fourth in command of the entire city of Robotropolis. What kind of ass-head are you, planning to even make bloody LOVE--hell, man, even to bloody make OUT--with a woman who's got a death wish against Robotnik?" Snively spat. "Do you normally go around bloody DECEIVING your lovers like that? Or did you plan on coming clean and having me bloody butchered?"

"As usual, your skill at saying the word 'bloody' far too frequently, and at deflating my enthusiasm utterly, are impeccable, Snively." Sprocket's wry grin faded. "Anyway, it seems I'm only dreaming. Lupe has some strange reservations against my robotic state, and while its tearing us apart, she won't confide in me."

The silence that ensued alerted him to the fact that something was terribly wrong--that something had triggered dangerous knowledge in Snively. The Overlander had gone chalk pale, fingers playing with the stray bandages on his leg, chest, forehead and arm.

Sprocket didn't want to ask, but . . . "What?"

Something almost akin to sadness and pity welled up in Snively's features. He was gentle now--unusually patient and gentle. "Sprocket. Shit, I should have just told you this the first chance you and I got alone here. Burt somehow I . . .Alright, listen, I can explain for Lupe's hesitance. I . . . think your historical databanks have been damaged by the rock avalanche."

Horror hit before Sprocket even knew his once friend's meaning. He felt his throat close. "What do you mean?"

" . . . How do I . . . how do I SAY this?" The human struggled painfully to his feet, wincing fiercely as accidental weight was placed on his injured leg. He was moving so hastily, scrambling to his feet, as if in desperate desire to escape once he'd made his confession, that caution regarding his wounds had been forgotten. It must truly be hideous; Snively NEVER neglected to look out for his own interests first and foremost. "Sprocket, can you tell me what Commander Bot was leading the Buzzbombers the day that your lover Lupe got the battle scar she is so fond of showing off?" For a moment the old venom, the old scorn, returned, with the words 'lover,' and 'showing off,' but was lost again in Snively's resurfacing desire to be forthright to his only real friend.

"Well, I always thought it was the #1 Buzzbomber of the unit who stung her with its. . . ." and then he understood. He understood before the words were even out of Snively's mouth. "Oh my God. Oh . . . no. No."

The human spoke softly but plunged on relentlessly, despite his own fear of being slammed against a wall or killed by the nearly apoplectic dog standing two feet from him. Robotnik's nephew tried to make distance towards the door as he spewed the truth, but it was too difficult for his buckling, weak legs. "I'm afraid it wasn't a Buzzbomber. Sprocket . . . . that was a priority operative, calling for the most efficient, the more ruthless--w-well, the wolves were, you see, quite a threat to that BEAST'S"--referring, with uncharacteristic contempt, to his uncle--"empire. The . . . the Aerial Commander of the Buzzbomber unit that day, the one who wounded Lupe's cheek with his . . . with his canine fangs . . . it was y--"

"NO! NononoNOOOOO...." It came out of his very core, a wild wailing howl, as he gripped his head, and leapt form the cot, devil may care for bodily damage and injuries when the injuries of the spirit were at stake. His eyes glowed a furious hot molten gold, so far from the warm and benevolent canary yellow of moments past, and he started for Snively. The human moaned a whine but was hardly able to move two steps before the canine had him by the tattered shirt collar. "I did it? I? YOU MADE me do it, DAMN you! WE did it TOGETHER! We, with our indifference!" It was the angriest Sprocket had been since he'd killed those two bounty hunter pilots--the anger of pure spiteful pointless vengeance. He knew he was going mad, but in that moment he didn't care. It was his only was to keep from desiring to return to that unconscious, robotic state of several years past, this rage that kept him awake and alive. He rose his hand to strike Snively good and hard across the cheekbone . . .

The human cowered, eyes squeezed shut. For once, he put up no fight . . .

It was as if Sprocket had become, in his eyes, his uncle. Except for one crucial difference--Snively CARED for the wrathful creature gripping him now--and felt nothing but guilt. But he was still terrified.

Ten eternal seconds passed, and Sprocket, with a fierce effort, lowered Snively to the cot unbruised, and slammed his own forehead against the doorframe. "God," he half wailed, "I WISH I COULD HATE YOU!"

"Go ahead," came a dejected wheeze that he hardly recognized--he must have involuntarily squeezed all the air out of the human boy's neck, "I wouldn't blame you. No one would. In fact, it would do you good."

"Don't you even START that!" A roar, utterly unbridled; it would have knocked Snively over were he not gripping the cot post, eyes great blue saucers of regret. He bit his lip as the canine pivoted and ran down the hall, in the direction of Lupe's quarters. "You'll HURT yourself," the nephew of Robotnik choked in the direction of the empty doorframe, much as Sprocket had, hours ago, warned Derek in utter futility. And then, for the first time since he'd been captured, Snively bowed his head and wept bitterly.

**

Sprocket cornered his lost lover making her last surveillance of the canyons out of a crack in one of the cavern's outer walls. She held a torch and wore nothing but a transparent cotton shift over her tall, slender frame. The first bloody creature in this whole inane escapade who was exactly his height--who saw him eye to eye. Damn him--damn them all.

He straddled the hallway between the wolf and her chamber, stabbing an index finger at her. Why couldn't he cry? God, he had taken for granted the glorious relief of purging his anger and sorrow in tears, and now it too was lost.

"Why didn't you TELL me?!!" Fury at her, at himself, at his fate and at his universe, made his voice hoarse. Doubtless his voice roused the entire rocky corridor of inhabitants.

Somehow, Lupe knew precisely the awful truth to which he was referring. Her expression did not change once. "I'll answer that the moment you tell me what good telling you could have possibly done." She took a step closer to his tortured face. "And the moment you tell me HOW you found out."

Sprocket, because of her last question, was rendered mute. Because, again, of preserving Snively. So Lupe brushed easily past him, one hand clutching the infamous scar, and left him there, retreating to her chambers at the farthest darkest tunnel. The torch she held died in to the blackness like his vision of their future together. Sprocket bowed his head, for the pain had now returned to his body, and it was nearly debilitating. He had a long walk back to his guest chamber.

A black moth, a silent messenger of a soul killed, descended from a stalactite and landed on the canine's nose, recognizing him as no more alive than any delicious article of clothing on which to feast. And it was right. For Sprocket knew in that moment what it must be like to feel one's joy die.

But one's hope? He thought of Derek, of Rosie, of Nayr, out there alive, generated by hope, out there trying to secure the lives of the Princess and her friends. Those children were a beacon to him, a security deposit of a brighter future. No, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. "I won't be made into a mere memory THAT easily, Lupe," he breathed.

Post 83:

MistressAli

Tears. His tears were like rain in a desert. Elusive. But now they came down like a torrent, burning; a desperate attempt of his body to purge the acidic feelings within. But the rain dried up. His shoulders kept shaking but his tears had withered to dust. His eyes stung.

He opened them, focusing his gaze dully on the far wall. A chair was there, and a small worktable with a mallet. They blurred before his eyes, his vision going out of focus, staring, staring dead like a zombie.

For the moment, he felt so empty inside. A gaping hole. He should feel good, then, feel thankful for the absence of thoughts and emotions...but no...this emptiness was horrid. If he were to feel like this forever, a breathing corpse, then he would surely take up that mallet over there and beat himself to death with it.

It was pointless to exist without feelings...but no...maybe it was for the better? To be numbed...to become cold? He wouldn't feel the guilt then...or the hate. He wouldn't feel, or care, at all.

Maybe, he would become a frozen corpse, a living thing that was dead inside...maybe that was the cure to all this pain.

He indulged in this fantasy for a while, until he shifted and pain shot through his injured leg. He was jolted from his trance, and with a groan, he struggled to stand.

He finally managed to get to his feet, gritting his teeth, casting an anxious glance to the door. His 'old friend' still hadn't returned... 'well', Snively thought, trying to be contemptful, 'the fool is probably crawling along the passageways, destroying his insides'. "Good," he said aloud, "Good..." He had to keep his voice hard and harsh, because he couldn't break down again. Too vulnerable. Too weak... He couldn't cry like that anymore.

And why was Sprocket crawling? All for her...that woman Lupe, and his lip curled. Oh, the pain was retreating, but numbness was not replacing it. It was his usual animosity...jealousy, could it be?

He laughed out loud, a harsh sound cut off abruptly by stabbing pain in his ribcage. He groaned and put a hand there, but his eyes still burned a sick flame; Jealous? Of what? Of Sprocket's hopeless love? Jealous that he didn't have a maid to run to, also? The small human sniffed.

In times like these, he couldn't afford a lover...no...not with Julian...not with him...not with what he would do to her. Julian had made him roboticize his best friend...what would he force his nephew to do to his lover, if he had one?

He staggered towards the door. Wise it would be, to get out of here before Sprocket inevitably came back. He would be broken by the wolf maid's rejection, because Snively knew she would reject him. Or he would come in steeped in anger, and that anger might be thrust upon Snively again...he shivered. Sprocket had never shown such violence towards him before, ever, and though it was warranted... ('I surely deserve it', he thought sourly) he was horrified of it. He did not want to face it again.

Or...maybe Sprocket would come back, fueled by that anger and that spurned love; he would come back with Lupe and her pack. He would tell them who Snively was. And they would rip Snively to shreds.

Wise, yes, wise it would be, to get out of here before Sprocket returned. So whimpering and complaining from the discomfort of his body, he made his way down the stone corridors.

Torches danced from niches in the walls...it was all very primeval. Eerie. His shadow cast out long before him. There were crevices in the rock, deep and long, curved...they reminded him of that ragged scar across Lupe's cheek.

He paused for a moment to catch a breath, his eyes bright in the light of the torches, but deeper inside those azure irises something dark lurked, a turmoil of troubled memories.

Uncle was so sick. Sick how he'd hand-picked the perfect warrior for the destruction of the wolf pack...all those years ago...

And Snively remembered...

**

"I want the wolves destroyed," Robotnik said, his fat lips twisted in a leer. "They are strong people, Snively...and I want to see them break. I want them to see their strength is nothing compared to mine... like an ant under my boot. Oh yes, Snively, an ant can lift ten times its weight...but still it is crushed so easily under a child's foot..."

The young Kintobor wasn't paying attention; his gaze was staring out the window of the command center, looking down on the miles of city they'd converted. Beautiful stone and lush gardens were now smooth metal, and robots marching, marching, and smog clouds rolling.

"SNIVELY." His uncle growled, and he turned with a jolt. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he wiped it away. He felt so much colder lately, ever since he'd lost his luscious mop of hair to the blue hedgehog, Sonic. Snively narrowed his eyes at the thought of that miserable rodent.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm putting you in command of their destruction."

The boy's eyes widened and his hands began to tremble. "I, sir?"

"Oh yes..." His uncle stood and approached his nephew; Snively backed up to the window, his slight body pressed against the glass. He cringed as a hand descended, but it only rested genially on his shoulder as Robotnik continued. "This will be your first solo mission, m'boy...I'm quite...interested in seeing how you'll handle this."

"Of course...sir..." The boy's voice wanted to tremble, but he held it steady. Uncle was trusting him, now. He had to strengthen himself for this task. He had to succeed to make Julian happy! Maybe it would make Robotnik take back those words that he'd spoken before...? 'You will call me sir! You will do exactly what I say!'

Snively wanted so badly to have those words recanted. He wanted the knife wound in his back to heal, the hole Robotnik had ripped in his heart...he wanted it to stop bleeding.

He just wanted Robotnik's approval...

"I won't fail you, sir."

"Good, Snively..." Robotnik squeezed his nephew's delicate shoulder. "And I know exactly what Robot I'll be sending along with you..."

*

So young Snively had flown out to the desert on his first solo mission, and the robot who was his assistant? None other than the freshly roboticized Sprocket, his eyes no longer a gentle gold, but a fierce blaring yellow. His body was a formidable weapon, his long canine teeth were honed and gleaming. He was quite the creation, except for the fact that he WASN'T a creation...not a creature borne of circuits and wires...he was someone who used to be flesh, flesh and a young thinking mind!

And now, nothing.

"Sprocket..." he glanced over at the robot. The dog sat upright in the chair, stiff and cold, mindlessly piloting their craft. "Are you in there...?"

There was no answer. He really was dead.

'I am a murderer...'

Snively tried not to look at Sprocket again through the entire flight.

**

At last, they reached the Great Unknown, and they came across the wolf pack. They were so fiery! The tall canines did not run from the sight of the Robotropolis ship; they came forward, throwing stones and spears, howling battle cries.

"You won't be so brave in a few moments," the boy muttered as they landed. There was a troop of SWATbots in the back of their craft, and he sent them out with orders to capture those who surrendered. The ones who did not give up? They were to be killed.

The SWATbots marched out and the melee began. The robots lasers sang through the air, cutting through fur and flesh. The wolves' spears and rocks dented armor and skewered SWATbot heads. Snively watched through the windshield, gnawing on his fingernails. He gave a few half-hearted cheers as he watched a few wolves fall dead, seeping blood. Julian would like that, eh?

He was getting sort of nauseous, watching this. Sprocket just stared ahead, lifeless.

A tall brown wolf, wearing a bright orange bandanna, hacked the arm off a SWATbot with a stone axe. He was promptly shot in the back by another bot, and fell dead to the ground. Snively was stupefied by the efforts the living wolves made...braving laser fire to drag him, and their other dead comrades away. Yes, they were a strong people, indeed.

And then, inexplicably, the wolves began to gain the upper hand. The SWATbots were disappearing, ripped to pieces of scrap metal. Spears and rocks began to outnumber lasers.

Snively reached for the intercom, about to order a retreat of his remaining SWATbots, and have them regroup. He needed a moment to rethink his strategy. He was not going to win this way...

Julian would not be pleased. He would not praise.

He would be disappointed.

Snively's heart plummeted with the thought.

He would...

Snively gulped.

Would Robotnik hurt him...?

Snively didn't want to fear him...he thought he'd gotten away from that when he left his father...away from fearing pain, fearing contempt! Was Robotnik going to treat Snively the same way his father had?

NO! Not if he pleased Robotnik...

And then he saw her. A flash of gray fur, weaving, running, a spear held high. She was letting loose a keening cry of defiance.

Oh Gods!

She was a desert queen, she was their leader, he knew it. He could see it in her stride, in the way their eyes followed her. The wolf maiden, tall and young, lean and muscled. A goddess of wolves, surely.

Chieftain Lupe. She was the reason for their strength.

His SWATbots were scattered and dying. They had no such leadership to direct them. Snively watched the Goddess, his eyes wide and his teeth clenching down on his fingers. A crawling feeling, like maggots, was in his stomach...She made him feel so pathetic. And he wanted to hurt her for that.

He knew her name. Lupe. He knew it, because he remembered Sprocket talking about her. And her sister...

Nakuma.

Snively figured Nakuma was dead, because only a few days ago, his SWAT troops had gunned down a group of wolves, and a young girl had been among them, a young girl who bore a striking resemblance to the fierce warrior Lupe.

Yes...Nakuma was dead, and Lupe was soon to follow in her departed's footsteps.

He smirked at the thought of the chieftain falling down bloodied. All that glory and strength gone. The admiration of her pack would be in vain. All her love would be in vain. All the things Snively didn't have...he didn't need them, right? Because the wolves had them...and they still were going to die.

Jealous. Yes, he was jealous there, for a moment.

But when he turned and looked at Sprocket all his bitterness fled. Shame swept him under and he choked, struggling to breathe. It filled him like stagnant water, and he couldn't fight it...he drowned.

He had roboticized his friend...killed him. His best friend. The only one who...accepted him. The only one who...approved of him.

OR HAD. HAD accepted. Because Sprocket was dead now, and Snively was going to send the robotic corpse out to murder his lover's sister.

Sprocket had been in love with Nakuma, and now she was dead. Dead by SWATbots...they were Snively's hands. He had her blood on his hands, the blood of his best friend's beloved! And now...he was going to send that friend out to murder the rest of her family!

NO NO NO!

Too much for his mind. He was too young. No...too young to be committing this level of atrocity, this degree of sin.

He curled up in the command chair, shivering and clasping his arms around his slender body. The wolves outside had destroyed the rest of his SWATbots and now they were trying to get into the ship.

Snively didn't lift his head. He moaned to himself, his eyes squeezed shut. Tears oozed out from under his lashes; they burned like acid.

He couldn't do this.

*

But he had. Ripped out of the memory, Snively lifted his head at the sound of footsteps approaching. A long tall shadow with a tail...it was a wolf, of course. Was it Lupe herself?

No...she had a mohawk and this wolf coming towards him did not.

*

He had done it.

Robotnik called him from the city. His image filled the monitor, glowering and formidable. "Snively! What are you doing?!"

The boy, still curled and shivering in the chair, jolted upright.

"Hello, sir!"

"How goes the attack?"

"Oh...uh..." Stuttering, Snively's eyes went wide and he gulped. "It's going well!"

Robotnik glared at him and Snively nearly squealed. When Uncle looked at him like that...it felt like the tyrant could see right into his mind, his grubby fingers riffling through all Snively's secrets and deceptions. He gibbered. "The wolves...they...they...are very strong fighters, sir..." he confessed.

"Well, Snively, that is why I sent THAT along with you as well..." The monitor image of Robotnik stabbed his finger in Sprocket's direction.

"Oh...uh...yes, sir..." Snively's voice trembled on the verge of crying...Gods, he felt so sick. He was going to vomit...no, he was going to pass out. NO...not with Robotnik's eyes on him! He didn't want to do this...but he HAD to!

"Commander Sprocket," He said sharply. "Switch to battle mode...and go outside. I want those filthy beasts dead, or captured. Get to it, now!"

"Affirmative," the robot intoned, and the dog bot rose and stalked to the door.

Robotnik snickered. "Very good...let me know when you're finished, Snively..." And the monitor faded to black.

Snively stared out the windshield. Sprocket was out there, driving them back. They were stunned at the sight of him, so stunned they retreated without a jab of their spears. They stared at him, as if expecting him to talk, or greet them with jovial words, but Sprocket merely stood for a moment with his ears laid back flat and his eyes glowing.

He was switching to battle mode. Lupe came forward, her braid blown back in the wind. She opened her mouth to speak -

And Sprocket lunged.

Three wolves leapt between him and the Chieftain.

Three wolves were laid low, fur flying, blood glimmering on the dog's metal hide, his teeth and claws slashing. Snively covered his face with his hand, peering out through the fingers.

'Don't want to see this...' But he couldn't tear his eyes away.

They knew him as a threat then, and they attacked him, but Lupe seemed utterly crushed. Hurt flashed in her eyes and she sprang forward, trying to pin the dog down, screaming at him, but Sprocket fought her with no emotion, no realization for who she was, or had been to him. Because he was dead. He was a zombie now.

She realized that finally when his fangs flashed...and they ripped the cheek of the Goddess Lupe wide open.

She fled, finally, with the rest of her pack.

Dead dead dead. Dead wolves. Dead love.

Snively could see his own reflection in the windshield, distorted and pale.

Dead soul.

He called his warrior back inside and they returned to Robotropolis.

But Robotnik didn't praise him. He insulted his nephew's inadequacy. Because Snively hadn't captured a single wolf...and he hadn't killed all of them. Robotnik lashed out his hand and it split open his nephew's lip with a hard vicious slap. Snively tasted his own blood, and it tasted sick. Tainted. It was on his hands too...and he couldn't seem to wash it off.

*

The wolf approaching down the corridor had reached him now. Snively was still leaning against the wall, his breath coming in heavy, and his eyes bright with a film of tears. Sewage water in his eyes...tears laden with guilt, his bitter shame...his weakness...

His cowardice.

"It's the Overlander," she said, stating the obvious. She had a honeyed voice, rich and unintentionally seducing. Snively turned his head away from her and blinked the tears away. When he looked back he found her eyeing him rather suspiciously. Her ears were laid back on her head.

"What are you doing about at this hour?" Her fur was an odd color, a sort of dusty pink, and her hair was a muted violet, braided in cornrows along her skull.

She was a bit too close for comfort and he backed up, wincing and biting his lip. Gah that hurt, stabbing pain through his leg. "Merely returning to my room." His voice was weak and strained, his mind still reeling from the bitter memory he'd just relived. He really wished he could be amnesiac sometimes.

Her eyes, the color of pewter, were sizing him up. Her tail swished. "Well, then, perhaps we should escort you...to ensure you don't..."

He gasped as another wolf, nearly identical, stepped out from behind the female. His eyes darted between them. The only difference was the newcomer wore her violet hair loose. She continued her twin's sentence, "Stray off the path..."

"Well..." he stammered, obliging them, "Perhaps that would be a good idea. As I don't rightly know my way about this bloody- er... place..."

They walked, one on each side of him, and he felt smothered between them. If he faltered or stumbled in pain, they were pulling him up. He cringed at their touch; Gods...if they knew who he was...

He pictured a rope toy between two dogs, each canine tugging viciously on an end until finally it ripped apart...yes, that would be his fate if they discovered his identity!

"What do you call yourself, boy?" the wolf with the loose hair asked. She had her hand hovering near his arm in case he staggered again. He did and she steadied him. Her grip was gentle, but firm, and he shuddered. He could feel the controlled strength in her hand. This was an ill place for him to be...a weak fragile human amongst these furred fighters! He gulped and felt sick, but her question was hovering in the air, and delaying it only meant arousing further suspicion.

"Colin," he said, strongly resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose. The name brought images of his father and his condescending frown.

Colin Jr...he sneered inwardly. How he hated that name. Implying he was a cheap clone of his father. Implying he was to follow in that bastard's footsteps.

"Here is your room," they lilted in their seductive coo, halting him before the door of his chamber. It was a small room with one bed, which wasn't really a bed by his definition. It was actually a woven pillow of desert grass with a colorful knit blanket thrown over it. He had been laying there earlier before going to see Sprocket, and it seemed comfortable enough... (though it had made him itch)

"Many uh...thanks..." he gritted, watching as they slunk away into the flickering torchlight of the corridor.

He had a feeling they would not be straying too far from his room. The wolves seemed hospitable but they certainly weren't stupid, he knew that much.

Indeed, the snippets of conversation he caught confirmed his thoughts.

"What is an Overlander doing with that group? It seems odd."

"Does he seem familiar?"

"I can't place him, but there is...something. Something familiar."

He strained to hear them, but they were getting too far away and he caught only one last sentence.

"And what about Sprocket? What are we going to do about him?"

Snively stumbled back from the doorway, his leg hurting. Time to lay down, then. He took a few deep breaths, trying to fight down anxiety. As if he could sleep with these animals all around him...probably all thirsting for his blood. Or would be...if any of them pieced together his true name and nature.

He collapsed onto the grass bed and lay there until morning, hardly sleeping, tossing, turning...and itching.

**

Nighttime sped by; Snively had, despite his fears, succumbed to the need for sleep.

The two females came to retrieve him and he was brought to a large chamber which seemed to be a gathering place for the pack. Lupe was there, and Sprocket too. The dog-bot was seated, watching silently with forlorn eyes as the rest of the pack enjoyed their morning meal.

He and Lupe did not seem to be speaking. Snively raised an eyebrow, pondering. This was perhaps a good thing; at least his old friend had less a chance of revealing Snively's identity this way...but at the same time...being on the good grace of Lupe and her vicious pack seemed like a good idea as well.

'I'm going to die here.' The small human looked about the cave walls with the crude murals of sunsets and cactuses. They would probably use his blood to make another painting on the stone...

"Are you hungry?" the woman with the braided hair asked him, and Snively nodded. Her words brought painful realization to his body...he hadn't eaten in...his stomach angrily gurgled...days. Days, wasn't it? And barely any liquid either. No wonder he felt like shit.

The two females - who seemed to be assigned to keeping an eye on him - acquired him a plate of the food. It was some kind of chopped up plant, maybe a tuberous foliage, or cactus perhaps? He wasn't quite sure. There was also a portion of meat, rabbit, he guessed, not exactly cooked to his satisfaction. But he was too hungry to be fickle, so he ate it all... quite sure he was going to die of some horrible food poisoning later.

After the meal, the wolves dispersed. The females...Snively sighed and asked them their names... because he was getting tired of referring to them in such informal terms.

"Lyco," the woman with loose hair replied, while the other revealed herself as "Leeta."

"Where is everyone going, Leeta?"

"Daily work," she said. "Hunting and security, and the like. Some of us are going to salvage your wreckage....you don't have much use for it anymore? Did you have any possessions on board we should look for?"

Snively shook his head. "No..." He looked down at himself...this uniform and his gun (which had been confiscated when he was first captured by Nayr and Derek) were the only things he'd brought with him. No contact to Robotropolis. Stupid, stupid of him! But alienating himself from the city right now was a good thing. The only way he was going to stay alive.

When the bus had crashed, and Snively had tried to dig the group out to no avail, he had searched for some kind of help, or tool, to help them out. He had heard the wolves coming, a growl, a shifting of footsteps on the loose cave earth...and he had suddenly, joltingly, remembered his hated identity. Commander of Robotropolis! All alone with Mobians approaching him! He had already ripped off the robes he'd been wearing as disguise in Achten Sie, and now his uniform was revealed to all... so he had grasped his red armband with the blazon 'R' logo and ripped it off. It had been tossed and fluttered somewhere to the ground.

And when they reached him...Snively was dressed in a nondescript gray uniform, he was of unknown affiliation. He was a lost boy, a scared young Overlander who needed help for his trapped friends.

"I find it curious, Colin, that you were traveling with a band of Mobians." Lyco's gray eyes were searching his face.

"They're my friends," he lied. "I...I don't have..." This was such a struggle to say, but he was a good fibber, "any prejudices towards Mobians..."

She raised an eyebrow. "You must understand, it is hard for us to trust an Overlander...after what's happened."

He nodded, his eyes wide, shining blue innocence. He could look quite the harmless sweet boy when he wanted. "I understand..."

She seemed satisfied for the moment. "Very well, Colin. Leeta and I shall be off then. Make yourself comfortable here, but do not stray from these main rooms. The others might not be so friendly with you...and the caves can be dangerous..."

He nodded and thanked her. They left him then, and he turned away, his features transforming from charming to a dark sneer. How annoying it was to be civil to these dirty beasts!

Another transformation overtook his face as his eye fell upon Sprocket; the dog-bot's eyes were upon him. The sneer dissolved, replaced by the meek guilt of a puppy caught piddling on the floor... and he gulped. Tentatively, he approached the seated dog... "I thought...you weren't supposed to be moving around..."

"I haven't been moving," the robot replied with an atypical distance in his voice; no, he was not happy with his human friend, and Snively knew it.

He tried to retreat, but there was not really anywhere to go. He didn't want to wander the wolf caves alone, and his leg hurt besides. With a sigh, he settled into a sitting position against one of the cave walls. He wished he had a book to occupy his attention; he stared at the floor instead.

"I didn't pick you personally," he muttered, cryptically, not caring if Sprocket heard or understood...he just wanted to purge his guilt. Julian was always using Snively's hands to perform atrocities, and it was the boy who ended up with blood under his fingernails. The boy who couldn't get the images out of his mind. The boy who...

...had willingly let his hands be used.

**

In the outer caverns, the wolves were starting to tear apart the airbus, piling up panels of metal from the walls (or what remained of the walls) and electrical components, oily engine parts and heaps of rubbish from the bus's former owner. There was not much treasure to be found, but the wolves were resourceful. They would find some use for the junk here.

Lyco followed a trail of debris, a small canvas bag in her hand. She collected a few screws and washers, wrinkling her nose. There was no treasure trove this way. She turned to head back to the main wreckage, and her foot stepped upon something soft. She peered down. It was a scrap of cloth, red. Blood? She picked it up. No, it was dyed red and in bad condition, ripped and frayed. She frowned. There was a letter on it.

An R.

An R...?

This could be...anything. Unimportant, she thought. But nevertheless, she shoved it into the bag. Maybe one of the others would find some meaning in it.

Post 84:

Ealain Vangogh

Eight years ago. . . .

The wispy, black nimbostratus clouds that crept over the canyon horizon that morning taunted its inhabitants with the denied sunlight, teased them with threats of rain, clung pettily to the dusty land's terribly needed moisture, and finally relented around five that afternoon-and did not cease.  It was Sprocket's first week with the Wolfpack, his first week away from his dear friend Griff's foster home: He had been terrified, in this barren, rocky new land, that his entire new family would wither away of thirst, or starvation, or both.  But the rain proved him wrong. The rain proved that just before hard times became unbearable, relief and hope came washing over one's deepest fears. 

There was just one catch:  Today was also Snively's thirteenth birthday: The storm that had begun a blessing grew into a torrent that drowned the canine's joy, for his foster father, the Chieftain, had forbidden him to leave home-to leave the annual First Rain Dance.  And so had Lupe and Nakuma.  Safety from the lightning that crackled the testimony of the Great Unknown's legendary tempests, as well as avoiding the painful threat of disappointing the two women whom he had begun to deeply admire, finally enticed Sprocket to stay put . . .

Even though he had promised Snively he would be there to help him blow out the candles-their very first year that Snively would not have to hide his best friend from his father on his birthday, for now he too was living among Mobians.  It had seemed fitting, the human boy had said, in a rare burst of affection, that the only person who made breathing-living-a hell of a fun time for him, would finally get to share with him the anniversary of the day he took his first breath of life.  Sprocket had agreed-and then turned back on his word. 

It wasn't the first time he'd broken a rendezvous with Snively on his birthday-it wasn't the first time he'd broken his promise.  Exactly a year earlier, on the human's twelfth birthday, an early spring snow had been merciless to the fragile budding greenery in Megacentral.  Still, Snively had asked Sprocket to come to their evergreen tree and spend an hour just talking or horsing around as a means of festivity.  That day, a young Griff had fallen off his ice-laden roof while trying to repair a thatch that leaked snow--and fractured his delicate goat kneecap. 

Sprocket had no choice but to assist the family in any means possible as they transported the injured youth to the local hospital. The befuddled canine failed to contact Snively to cancel their meeting-and Snively stayed outside for three and a half hours: waiting.  This had earned him a hideous case of frostbite and, as he had neglected his advanced chemistry homework that evening, a vicious twenty lashes by his father's belt.  He hadn't blamed Sprocket-but he never waited for him to show up more than five minutes late after that day.  It was the sign of trust eroding.

One year later, then, after unintentionally assaulting the same trust, shame was a much louder voice in Sprocket's ears than the lilting howls and chants of the wolf dancers about the cave bonfire.  He sat at the dark corner of the cave, unwilling to enjoy himself at his abandoned friend's expense, gnawing on a loose strand of hair and watching the shadows of the dangers flickering and bouncing off the limestone.  He searched the images pensively, vigilant for the outline of the person he knew he wouldn't see. 

But then something happened, something aching and stunning, and awful.  He heard the cessation of the flute and drums, the grating of claws on rock as four of the dancers left their posts growling to crowd the cave entrance.  Sprocket turned, puzzled--and a bit nauseated, for violence was not in his blood--to watch: At the head of the mob was a brawny white-coated youth named Drago, flanked by three other raging adolescent males--Diablo, Canus, and Lobo.  The pearl furred male had a snarl poised on his fangs, his shoulder and neck hairs bristling, and his voice, low and throaty, was quavering from a hiss to a roar and back as he questioned some smaller individual, one so short as to be below the horde of wolves and beyond Sprocket's sight. 

"What. . . what is it?" the canine mustered, frown creases curling his gray forehead into a prune.

"Intruder," Nakuma murmured, taking his hand and leading him closer.  "One of the elders is coming to question him, don't worry."

For a moment, just a millisecond, Sprocket's heart twitched with a jolt of apprehension.  " 'Him?' "  No.  Surely not . . .

But then he heard a voice, belonging to no wolf with whom he was acquainted, rise in frail protest.  A voice barely digging into the depths of puberty-one that broke with boyish self-consciousness, like the SOUND of pigeon-toes-and a marked nasal undertone. 

"N-no, I'M not an Overland spy . . ."  The voice rose to a whimper, a purring, imploring, brown-nosing sort of whine: "N-n-no sir, please, I just w-want to . . . M-m-may I speak to...to...I just came to visit. . . "

"Spit it out, HAIRLESS!"  Drago, rarely a bearer of charity, snarled, flinging the most popular of human racial slurs in the face of the intruder.  He bent over and grabbed at the alleged spy, egged on by the growls of his compatriots. 

"NO, don't TOUCH me!"  the intruder barked, then, greeted with bays and snarls, a scream split the silence as Sprocket, with Nakuma in tow, approached; no sooner was the dog at the foot of the line of interrogators when a pale, grappling, soaking wet mass, an Overland Boy's Academy uniform clinging pathetically to its skinny frame, barreled through the crowd of fur and teeth and flung its arms around the foster boy's waist.  "Oh God, Sprocket," a too-familiar shriek escaped the ashen creature's lips, 'SAVE me!"

Sprocket's jaw dropped; he seized a strandful of the dead-rat-brown, leaved, thorned, and nettled mess that was the creature's hair, pulled it from the intruder's face, tilted the white chin up into the light, and found himself gaping into the petrified aquamarine eyes of Snively Kintobor.  "What on MOBIUS. . ." he began.

"Owwwch!" the human boy roared, at once withdrawing, and vainly attempting to smooth his mudcaked locks.  His eyes flooded and spilled over tears.  "Bloody hell, that HURT!  You HURT me, why did you HURT me like that?!"   Sprocket might have laughed at the absurdity of the situation, out of good-natured relief, and stupor; however he bit his tongue, realizing the boy spoke of much more than his harshly yanked hair.  Indeed, Snively collapsed on a boulder in the middle of the entire company that instant, forgetting to care for his own immediate peril, his shoulders wrenching with childish, however pitiful, sobs.   

Sprocket hunkered down on his knees at eye level with the friend who had been so desperately lonely as to brave a storm in the Great Unknown.  How could he ever have forsaken someone that miserable-someone, more importantly, for whom he cared so much, for whom he had always pledged to exhibit the same devoted brotherliness?  "Oh Snively, I'm so sorry, I wanted to come so badly, but I had no CHOICE . . ."

No choice.  Never any choice.

But then the boy told him what he already knew. "You did have a choice-we both did-but I ACTED on it, damn you!" 

These were the words that would haunt Sprocket to his grave-that would permit him never again to give up on the skin-and-bones-and-bitterness that was his human brother. 

"Who the Nostrils of Lazaar is THIS?" The bullying youth, Drago, snarled, coming forward.  He reached out sinewy hands that were hungry to volunteer Snively's blood as his next cave painting.  The boy shrieked again and dodged behind Sprocket, who was prepared, this time, to defend his unlikely friend. 

Before he needed to, however, Lupe, her father close behind, interceded.  Years later, this was to be the greatest, and cruelest, irony of all.  "That is ENOUGH, Drago-can't you see this child is miserable?"  The Chieftain's daughter rebuked. 

Drago, rows of fangs glistening and reflecting the crimsons and oranges of the bonfire, took two steps backward.  He tried to buoy his courage by increasing the raucous tones of his voice.  "Typical of you, Lupe," he ranted, words bouncing madly off the cavern walls, "to be soft on a filthy HUMAN.  Don't you know who this kid IS?"

"Yes," the wolf maiden retorted, "He's our GUEST.  He's Sprocket's friend.  And that's ALL that matters." 

"I hope you don't live to regret this."   The white wolf, dead sea blue eyes narrowing o Snively's shuddering, thin form, cracked his knuckles.  "I really do, Lupe."

"I hope I simply LIVE," Sprocket's new friend and budding romantic crush grinned, betraying the fa�ade of civility with her own pair of formidable jaws.  "But how long we live is not up to ANY of us.  What IS up to us is how we treat others."  She offered the simpering Overlander her delicate, however firm, hand.  "And I think I'll choose to be KIND to you, Mr. . . . ?" 

"Kintobor.  Colin Kintobor, Junior."  He sniffed loudly, accepting her offer, and came to his feet.  "Thank you . . ."   It was to be the first and last time that Snively would show Lupe the Wolf Chieftain gratitude instead of hatred.  For shortly thereafter, dripping dry in front of the fire as the festivities recommenced, he demanded an explanation for Sprocket's absence that afternoon.  For his broken promise. 

Sprocket could do nothing, under the vindictive blue-hued stare of his judge, but tell the truth-that convenience, politeness and romantic intrigue had caused him to choose one dear friend over the other.   "But I hated choosing between you," he insisted in a frail voice, for Snively's glare had grown all but withering.  " Really, I DID-"

"But you HAVE to choose.  We all do." A strange, superior tone, one laden with a detachment, a numbness, that of a professor wearily and impatiently lecturing a particularly slow student, seized Snively's voice.  "Even when it's important.  And we only get ONE shot at it, Sprocket.  You can't go back and fix every poor decision.  You're DEFINED by your decisions, never forget that." . . . In short years, another cruel irony to pass. . . for no one was to make a poorer choice than Snively, when he swore allegiance to . . . to . . .

"I won't," was all Sprocket could say at the time, for that was all he knew of choosing . . .

 At the time.

 Snively caught a flaming fever within an hour and was bundled up in a cot in Sprocket's chamber; he was not allowed out of bed for five days at risk of death, at which point Sir Charles was hailed all the way from Mobotropolis to come fetch the dog's poor friend.

Sir Julian was too busy to come see Snively safely home.  Too busy to assure the welfare of his own blood.

Sprocket should have known that very day what was amiss about his human brother's kinsman.  Ironically, though, it was Julian's callousness that he later, when he had passed by the opportunity of knowing the location of the fiercest of his post-coup foes, regretted.  So, in the end, the canine supposed, it was another blessing in disguise.  At the time, he was consumed with guilt, and all but groveled to the partially recuperated Snively in apology-for the boy's illness, his disappointment, his abandonment.  "I never wanted to choose between you," he pledged. "And I NEVER will again."  The human accepted through tight lips and glistening azure eyes as his feeble frame was lifted onto Charles's airbike.  But he did not turn or wave goodbye as they jetted away into the horizon.

And a week later, on Sprocket's birthday, Snively remained pointedly absent from the festivities-even though he had promised to come. 

Promised. They had both promised.  Trust had been violated, and disillusionment had been the gift both boys had received.  A gift too hideous for a glossy wrapping or a frothy bow. 

Sprocket barely managed to get through his presents-a rawhide bone, a new set of drumsticks (despite his meek demeanor, he was a percussionist at heart), and a kiss from both of the Chieftain's daughters-before retreating to his room to cry.  Strange tears, these were-for Sprocket's rose-tinted spectacles rarely got a smudge or a crack wide enough to feel any means of grief-and this weeping was not just of disappointment or hurt feelings-it was one of loss, deep, core-shattering, loss-the kind which is irrevocable, like the death of a brother who never knew how much you really cared . . . . waving goodbye at the body as it descends into the dirt-hewn grave, trying to throw a rose for remembrance across the pale crossed arms, but being sealed off from communication by the tombstone of alienation. . . . 

"Penny for your thoughts?"

The question wrenched Sprocket from his reverie.  Meek fingers brushed across his shoulder.

He wasn't sure how long Snively had been sitting there next to him in the pack's bonfire den, in the only place where they both could be assured safety, but it was clear that every fiber of the human's consciousness was currently focused on him-his thoughts-his intentions.  The boy's face, still cracked and bruised, tensed with something faintly resembling concern.  He winced and the hand of greeting gingerly flew to his injured leg and massaged it.  "Well?"  He attempted, unsuccessfully, to sound free of pain.  "You look troubled.  Is it. . . . Lupe?"  When no reply came, the Overlander resorted to babbling nervously, proving just the discomfort he was trying to hide.  He leaned back on his cot, pretending to sprawl luxuriously, and rested his hands on his stomach.  "I do say, though, there is one thing these savages ARE excellent at providing-excellent gourmet!  Why, I mean, corn, squash, fruits of all sorts, meat I've not savored in  . . . ah, heh, um, well, just look at me!  I'm fit to burst!" 

Sprocket glanced half-heartedly at Snively; however irritating his blabbing was, there was truth to his crude, bigoted compliments: Where usually a ribcage jutted, a round bulge had gathered about Snively's gut, swollen, making the change of clothes the wolves had provided-a tan buckskin shift and pants-all but snug.   And no wonder-the boy had pounced on his five or six portions of food as if anyone might suddenly be compelled to snatch it away from him and leave him to starve.  The canine wanted to joke that if the boy weren't careful, he might someday be a competitor with his uncle for the highest number on the weight scale . . . but to do this, to simply indulge in little careless fun, would blow their cover and get them killed.  And this fact only made him angrier at his friend, who was wholly to blame. 

The awkward silence finally compelled Snively's prattle to cease.  "So . . . so out with it: What's troubling you?  Your silence worries me."

For a moment, Sprocket was touched by the ghost of his brother. . . but then he remembered Snively WAS a ghost-that all Snively cared about was whether the canine was spiteful enough to reveal his identity, to have him flayed or burned at the stake or knived.  All Snively cared about was Snively . ..

Wasn't it? 

If there was something Sprocket had learned in the past 24 hours, it was to assume the direst of any situation.  So he recoiled.

"You don't want to know," he retorted, scooting a few inches away from the human and folding his arms across his chest.  The candlelight flickered too brightly across his metallic chest, burning his eyes and, he could tell by the grimaces of nearby wolves, those of his hosts as well; grunting, he tried to shield them, squirming even farther back into the corner.  But no angle was completely immune to the light. 

Snively hissed a sigh.  "Don't move too much, you'll injure your-"

Sprocket snapped back around and flashed his fangs once at the human. "What do YOU care?" the canine growled.  Snively let out a stunned yelp and scuttled back several inches, hands still clasped to his aching gut.  All in all, the dog's emotional outburst generated a great deal more commotion than would have been wisely nondescript. 

Roused from their contented fellowship, a number of the wolves turned frowning, and one of the females stood and queried, "Everything alright, boys?"

Both young men shot ramrod stiff under the sudden attention of their company.  As ever the impeccable liar, Snively took hold of the situation.  "Oh, fine, Sprocket just moved a bit too suddenly and strained a muscle...er , a gear," he managed in a tone of practiced sweetness, resting a falsely nurturing hand on Sprocket's shoulder.  Oh, to bite off every individual finger of the traitor who used the canine as a tool of murder, and then dared to judge him.  To hate him. That vile creature had been inside Snively all along, gestating, gleefully awaiting the opportunity to rear its gruesome head . . . even on the day the boy had accused Sprocket of cruelty for ignoring his birthday. Lurking always, waiting to strike.  It was NOT fair--how DARE that filthy monster of a human judge ANYONE? 

The floodgates of pettiness and resentment were gaping now, and try though he might, Sprocket could not stop them.

The moment all eyes of the wolves, who had gathered around the cooking kettle over the crackling fire to collect portions of their meat, strayed back to the source of the rich aroma, Sprocket bucked the false kindness off his shoulder.  "Quit that," he hissed.  "Quit lying."

"Ah, yes.  And finally we reach the crux of the matter:  Will YOU, the champion of 'truth' and 'trust' and other myths?"  The human's whisper was taut.  "Will YOU be honest . . . at ANY price?"

Sprocket repressed the urge to explode a second time.  He calmed himself by drawing a deep breath-an absurd habit, as he had no lungs, that died hard.  "Do you remember your thirteenth birthday?"

". . . What of it?"  Warily.  Snively's eyes narrowed; they scanned the canine's shimmering iron fa�ade like a heat sensor, a cold, merciless robotic probe.

Sprocket returned the glare, only mingling his own harsh scrutiny with sincerity. "I meant my promise-the day Sir Charles took you back to the city."

"You've got a poor track record," Snively hissed, pushing himself up heavily and leering in close to the dog's face.   "I don't believe you anymore.  NOT EVER AGAIN."

Sprocket did not flinch, nor pull away.  He drew yet closer, thrusting the challenge back at the blue-eyed specter of brotherhood, so that they were nose to nose.  Flashing his fangs again to remind the arrogant youth of who could still come out superior should they come to blows.  "Then why ask, if you've already MADE your final judgment of me?"  Damned Overlander.  No, damned OverlanderS.  ALL of them-every one of them seemed to have an aggravated, heightened paranoia about every potential betrayal, every possible cruelty, most of which were total fabrications of the imagination.  Damned warlike creatures.  Usurpers. 

He thought of his parents for the first time in years-of them precisely, not just their death itself-of their faces, and voices . . . . even their names. . . ?  His gaze returned to Snively, and his rage destroyed the faint recollection at which he'd just grasped.  More than usurpers . . . MURDERERS. Why had he EVER befriended one?  Old Colin, old daddy dearest, had passed on to Snively more blood-lusting genes than the boy knew . . .   Suddenly he was nauseated with his own loathing, like he'd swallowed poison. It quivered in his words.   "I could hear you in a whisper, Snively, but you can't even hear me scream* -not even after all-all of this MESS-that we've undergone. How can YOU doubt ME?" (* Evanescence reference ;) )

"Why give me CAUSE to doubt you, you . . . you . . .worthless MOBIAN? DAMN you!  Sometimes I am SURE the worst decision I ever made was to save y . . . . "  The most hateful of undertones wove itself into Snively's words, just before he caught himself. 

It was the first time Sprocket heard hate, and ONLY hate, in Snively's voice, when directed at him.  And it passed, and was instantly replaced by regret, but it had been there. It had BEEN there. Worse than the day he grabbed Sally and tried to run off with her on Achten Sie, for that was self-preservation. Survival.  This was HATE.  This was a desire for another soul to be extinguished-a pure maliciousness.  Fleeting though it had been, it had been REAL.  And in that moment, purged of any guilt he might have felt for his own contempt, the canine knew exactly what he chose to do

"No, Snively. . . the worst decision you made consisted of your OWN cowardice and a roboticizer tube."  Sprocket thumped his fist against his side, and metal resounded against metal.  Giving reference to Snively's worst crime.  His worst betrayal.  "Tell me, was I your first REAL victim inside that thing?  Or did dear old uncle just suggest that you PRACTICE on someone you cared about first, to get the old numbness flowing quick as possible when it became a HABIT?"  He forced a laugh.  " Like brushing your teeth, or making your bed?  You kill people like you cut your toenails, and YOU expect ME to acknowledge an accusation of trust broken?" 

This attack alone bested Snively.  His jaw hung ajar.  But not with guilt, with rage-choking, unbearable rage.  A vein pulsed against the soft skin of his temple, one long-lashed eyelid twitched ever so slightly, like a nervous tic; it seemed Snively, a self-proclaimed victim of his own conscience, no longer fancied being reminded of his fleets of transgressions . . . or facing up to his responsibilities.

It seemed.

"WHY . . . mention . . . . THAT?"  he managed to whisper, his whole frame trembling. 

Sprocket shot to his feet, a rocket sizzling to the end of its fuse and ready to throw hazardously hot sparks at any standing too near.  Only he, unlike a mindless weapon, was aware of his danger to others. "Why mention what?  The TRUTH?  Oh, DEAR, I forgot-the truth's just, oh, what did you say?  A 'myth?'  My MISTAKE."  The dog snorted, harnessing his uncharacteristic sarcasm..  " . . . I need some air . . ."

"Don't."  Snively too rose, recovering reflexes with remarkable speed, and grabbed him harder, by the arms.  The look on the boy's face alerted Sprocket to just how he'd stayed in firm command of all of Robotropolis all these years.  He was intimidating, in some strange, serpentine way, terrifying, even at his stature and poor state of wellness.  "FORGET what I just said," the snake hissed, " It meant nothing." Words too, somehow, like a puppy's cry.

Still Sprocket guffawed.  "Like HELL it did.  You're scared witless.  It's all that matters to yo-"

"SIT.  NOW.  I won't have you hurt again on my account.  Besides with the other bleeding hearts gone looking for their precious little princess, " faint disgust flickered in those azure eyes, "if you are killed by one of those brutish young wolf men, I'm as good a digging my grave too."

A long moment of silence, then, atypically, Sprocket would not be appeased by a plea for mercy.  "Shove off," he grunted.  "Just . . . just get away from me."

But Snively clung to him even as he tried to pass.  "You aren't going anywhere, blast youuu!"  the human gritted, ending on a lilting, nerve-peeling whine, digging his heels into one of the bunched up floor rugs as Sprocket, determined, dragged him along. 

It was a mercy that the cooking and crackling meat, the whoops and howls, the sound of earthenware dining utensils clinking together, and the laughter of the company nearby was so loud, or the wolves would have surely heard and become suspicious-even alarmed-at the two boys' display.

Snively's hands-Sprocket saw they were still scarred from their first confrontation days ago, when he had first befriended and saved Derek and Dulcy-Snively had tried to intercede then, too.  To meddle. 

But this time, it reminded him of something good he could do with his skills in flight.  Oh, yes, he new where he was going now. 

"You're right." Sprocket dropped his voice low, flat, menacing, glancing once their way, the refocusing murderously on his once-friend.  He seized Snively's arms and pried the boy's fingers from his.  Every strain on his gears and circuits was agonizing, but it was worth it.  He knew where he was going now-Lupe had left the room alone and gone to her chamber to fetch her flute to play for the evening prayer-now was his last chance at happiness--free of sin.  "I'm NOT going anywhere, Snively.  I'm already GONE." 

But Robotnik's nephew was, somehow, perversely, sickly, or perhaps selfishly-covetously-determined to thwart the love he knew Sprocket was departing to kindle.  For he too had seen Lupe leave the circle of wolves.  His eyes grew frenzied. "I'll scream," he croaked.  "I'll scream for help if you go.  This is foolish, Sprocket.  It's SUICIDE.  You KNOW it is."

Sprocket rumbled a growl.  "For WHOM?  Me or YOU?"  He grabbed Snively's wrist, and squeezed it . . . exerting a slowly escalating amount of pressure.  Snively began to cringe, but showed no sign of backing down or crying for mercy.  "For the LAST time, TRUST me-KNOW me, Snively.  I would never see you hurt.  Damn you," more agony in his whisper, "you OWE me this chance at happiness . . ."

The human's lips parted to show clenched teeth.  A flush of passion went to his cheeks.  A tempest cloud gathered at his brows.  "Have it your way . . ." He was going to scream.  But Sprocket was so very far away from the point of listening, of bargaining, of compromising, of CARING.

"Don't you DARE."  Harder he squeezed, and Snively bit his lip, and whimpered.  The canine spoke his final verdict.  "Now. . ."

Harder still ". . . .MOVE . . .* human  *."

An eternity of silence, as ice and ore bored into each other in a battle of wills.   And finally, Snively, without speaking, without even nodding acknowledgement, jerked, infinitesimally, to the side of his lost brother's path.  Sprocket passed by, and never once looked back. 

It was his hunger to end that incessant itch, that twinge, somewhere near the left side of his chest-which caused him to neglect the sudden sobriety cast like a funerary shroud among his hosts.  They were gathering in a circle far more airtight, fingering suede dagger hits and leather belts.  The thirst for an evening hunt burned in their eyes.

Snively alone saw that accumulating doom-he was well acquainted with the turning of sentimental tides to stone.   He scanned his leg for fresh blood, fidgeted in his cot, tightened his bandages where reinforcement was needed--musing as to why.  Of course: It was a regular practice of his.  Survivalism.  Emptiness for others.  But his fingers-blood under those nails, signifying a hazardous and irrevocable plunge into emotional involvement.  Proof.  He was encoiled utterly in this mess now.

Softly, to the empty space that his angry friend had seconds ago occupied, he murmured a curse.

Because blood clots never came when they were most needed.

Only Lupe's chamber door was open, but even if it hadn't been, finding her was simpler than recognizing one's parents at the first breath of life.  It was natural-it was intrinsic.  Sprocket SENSED her.

The room suited her, a perfectly crafted environment, like the very fur coat that bent and curved seamlessly with her body.  The walls were washed with crimson, cerulean blue, orange and yellow swirls; separated by four feet and mounted formidably high were exquisitely carved war masks, each bearing a muzzle wrenched into a unique snarl-fangs of neon purple, green, even red.  Warlike in no aspect, Sprocket still shivered with thrills of enchantment at the sight of them.  On the floor next to her makeshift bed was an enormous dried gourd-in it rested the rainbow of grated chalks, charcoals, flower petals, and other pigments that she had bent to her will to conjure this free, untamed decoration.  Stout beeswax candles specked the close chamber with dapples of gentle light. 

Still bashful, Sprocket steadied himself against the doorway, trying to make out a tiny array of black chicken scratch on the doorframe:  and discovered it was anything but nonsensical.  It was her own small tribute to her people's history: years of it.  Fierce little black marks told of battles won and lost, children born, the esteemed elderly dying . . . all etchings of wolves dancing for joy and wilting for sorrow . . . . one scene took his breath away-or rather, beat it from him.   This one was done in a finer line, more hastily and nervously scrawled, an image of a female wolf locked in battle with a robotic dog . . . a thin, pale, clawed creature hovered in the air above the combatants, egging them on, digging its talons into the robot's back-all except for a discernible nose, two frost-coated eyes, and two hands, it ceased to look like a creature of reality.  It looked more like a demon. 

The creature was Snively.  And the combatants . . .

But no.  There was a reason why Lupe had drawn this historical event in a less finite tone. These were sentiments that could be altered-that were not yet unforgiving facts.  It was time to seize that chance.

Finally tearing his eyes from the haunting scenery, drawing his own imaginary charcoal stick from his soul, he spotted her and began his effort to change history.

She was hunkered over a large darkwood chest, those curves and contours perfectly crafted, her onyx hair cast carelessly over her shoulder, shielding that awful, brave scar.  Only the dim candlelight illuminated her ethereal form.  So lovely.

Sprocket tiptoed inside: quite a feat, considering the pain of every step to his innards and the unwillingness of his metallic feet to remain silent against the stone floor.   As she stooped lower, apparently still unaware of his presence, and grabbed a shiny wooden flute from the bottommost part of her trunk, he loomed forward and grabbed at her eyes from behind her, covering them.  Ever collected, ever the warrior, she did not even gasp. 

"Guess who?"  he purred.

A delicious fanged grin curled up her ebon lips.  "Come, now--How many young men do I know with hands that shine like the moon and feel smoother than a stream of water?" 

He croaked a laugh-unpracticed, but fresh, genuine for the first time in days.  "Milady has grown too wise for me, it seems."

Her tail swished slyly between his legs, making him gulp with anticipation.  "Too true . . ."   And the grin grew wicked.  In ten seconds, Lupe's arms slid under his , she heaved mightily and flipped him upside down on her bed.  He landed with a stunned "whoof!"  and a shower of down feathers . . . and the Chieftain on top of him.  "I hope I haven't been too rough on your vitals," she crooned. 

He saw his chance.  "Hardly, Lupe-you are my lifeblood."  Her mischief quickly sobered as she realized his intent-but he had her cornered now, even while pinned under her.  Somewhere deep inside his conscience, he felt a twinge of guilt for taking advantage of her vulnerability of spirit, but for now, the ends might just justify the means.  "It is, in fact," and he dared to stroke her wild hair from her gaze, "precisely the topic I came to you about.  I want you to close your eyes."

One of her eyebrows rose in warning.  "Sprocket, I hope you're aware that no matter how injured you are, I won't hesitate to throttle you mercilessly should you make inappropriate advances-"

"No, no!"  He chuckled.  "Nothing of the sort.  Just . . ." for a moment his heart panged with the futility of a recent conversation with another loved one.  "Just TRUST me."

". . . Alright."  She complied. 

Gently he bid her stand, and followed.  He took her firmly in his arms, and ignited his leg rocket boosters. Something good with that flight, indeed.  Oh, for Robotnik to see now what a blessing the canine could fashion out of a curse.  Even being a robot could be made into something beautiful. 

Slowly he levitated to a place near the ceiling over the bed, a place of stalactites where Lupe had installed a dreamcatcher of wax strings and eagle feathers.  Lupe felt the upward-boost. Her brow rippled with confusion, but still those eyes-they were shut-trusting.  The words came at once, impulsively:  "Lupe, I love you.  I, not the shell, the prison, that I inhabit.  The monster who hurt you was NOT me.  He is dead, gone forever," coldly he ruminated on Snively, " and his accomplices with him.  Now, open your eyes." 

Still Lupe complied.  And this time, when the sight of her dreamcatcher inches from her face registered, she gasped, grabbing him harder.  "Oh . . . "

Sprocket pressed his cheek against hers, against the scar, as if the erase it from existence.  "Share this possibility with me, Lupe.  Loyalty, love, happiness, together.  PLEASE let me show you how potential, how hope, can be made a miracle when it is used to start a life afresh.  Be my mate-see our live from an extraordinary perspective.  SAVE me, please-I don't want to fall from grace again."   

A strange noise escaped Lupe's throat.  Something being strangled there, to cling to her muteness.  He beheld her-Lupe was beginning to weep.  But the tears were gone as quickly as they sprang up and threatened to thwart her strength.  She smiled at him, apologetically.  "You know I already said it was impossible-"

"Nothing is impossible."

Her face crumpled; Lupe was stubborn. She began to squirm-would she jump to get away from him?  Did she really think it best for him . . . to desert him?  "But it's YOU I worry for, YOUR well being among my brothers and sisters-" Apparently she did.

And suddenly he could not bear it.  "Could you . . . could we just . . .um . . . " 

Oh, to hell with it.

He kissed her, harder than before, as best as his metallic mouth would allow-a dead man's last plea for mercy.  And this time Lupe kissed him back.   They descended to her bed.

Half an hour passed as they lingered in silence, on opposite sides of the straw and down cot, not touching, not speaking. And then came the miracle.  Lupe looked up at Sprocket and grinned in a way that a predator does its kill, and yet as a lover does her newest--and oldest-- prospect.  "You'd better get back, or they'll . . . suspect.  I think it best we get the others acclimated to your-PERMANENT-presence-before they get edgy about what we've done together."

"Of course . . . I'll be waiting."  He rose, and floated from the room-no, his feet didn't touch the ground once.  And that sense of levity wasn't due to his rocket boosters, either. 

Now he knew.  He knew he had to stay here somehow.  Tonight, he would turn Snively loose, and send him back to the city.  Tonight he would be free. 

Down the darkened corridor he raced, against the rushing speed of his joy, an exhilarating feeling nipping at his heels; oh, after all that had come to pass, he truly tried to be prudent, to be cautious with his heart, but finally could not help but indulge: and let it, that joy, swallow him whole.  He let himself forget to care for twenty seconds. . . . his pain was gone, he was healed . . . there was the light at the end of the tunnel, the warm glow of the home fire he would become so familiar with, he and Lupe . . .  HOME . . .

A motion in the darkness-Drago, the white wolf male who thirsted for trouble, loomed in front of the door to the den. 

Cutting off the light. 

A sneer all too satisfied contorting his snowy countenance.  Reminding Sprocket of the pearly complexion of Derek, another friend lost. . .  only God Forbid Derek should ever find cause-or capability-to smile in so cruel a manner.

But Drago WAS quite capable-and quite motivated.  Something was wrong.  Sprocket's hope deflated like a balloon carried by the wind against a rose bush-a deceptive beauty with thorns that punctured, that killed.  "You've been a busy boy this past hour, haven't you?" the wolf smirked. 

"Drago."  Sprocket was alarmed; still he maintained a tone of gentle firmness.  "Move out of my way, please."

The wolf disregarded the civil request, resting heavy claws on Sprocket's shoulders, as if they'd been chums for years.  Truth be told, Sprocket had never liked Drago, not from his first day as Lupe and Nakuma's foster brother.  And now, realizing just what the arrogant male was implicating, he detested him.  "One of the ladies in our Pack found something peculiar and would like to present it to your human friend-for identification. You see, we have reason to believe it BELONGS to a human . . . and we don't get many of those around here anymore."  A pointed sneer. 

Sprocket maintained remarkable calm in his reply.  "Oh?  And may I be of any assistance?"

The wolf cackled, a harsh, deafening sound in the close hallway.  "I sure HOPE so," he roared, shoving the canine inside the den. 

There in his usual place squatted Snively-only now he was taut like a praying mantis or a jaguar, ready to spring.   His jaw was gritted, his fists clenched.  His face was whiter than death, and he refused to look Sprocket in the eye as the canine approached. 

"Fetch Lupe, Diablo," Drago barked at a nearby brown male, who scrambled down the hall to his bidding.  Down the same path that had seconds ago been beaten with joy. 

One of the twin females, a soft pink furred creature, stepped forward, her hair tightly braided and her muzzle delicate but wrinkled into a fearful frown; something dirty was grasped between her paws. . . . something red . . .

"This is the item I bring for identification," she explained to the already sickened canine.  "I . . . would never have mentioned it, but Drago convinces me that all suspicions are worth . . . pursuing."  She glanced sidelong at the cornered, predatory Snively, who, underbreath ,began to make a peculiar, unearthly hissing noise. 

"Yes indeed," the tyrannical white wolf injected, swaggering up to Snively.  "Are you a boy or a rattlesnake, little  *  friend  *?  I suppose we shall soon find out."  He chortled, tweaking the nephew of Robotnik's cheeks and nose in mockery.  Snively jerked away; his eyes flashed homicidal lust.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the human lied.

Drago grinned; he didn't buy it.  This time he yanked the human's head up so that his neck was exposed, so that  he had a clear shot at gnawing out the boy's jugular.  "Care to rephrase that?" He tickled the boy's Adam's Apple with his fingernail.

"No, I would NOT." Again Snively lashed back; this time, with a savage growl, he tried to bite Drago's fingers off.  The wolf only laughed.

Not again.  Why always when Sprocket thought he'd finally stumbled back upon his path?  Why always did fate backhand him THEN?

"Tell me, Sprocket . . . PAL," the white wolf sniggered, grabbing the remains of Snively's red armband from the more charitable female's grasp, "how many humans have you known on a first-name basis?  I can think of ONE," and he wavered the awful, sullied thing tauntingly in the canine robot's face, "I can REMEMBER one-very WELL indeed.  One who, it turned out, shared blood with a man-no, a MONSTER-whom I think we can ALL agree we hate."  Again the armlock around Sprocket's wounded shoulders, and Drago scratched his brawny chin in feigned puzzlement. " Curious coincidence, don't you think. . . that you would suddenly show up a ROBOT, with a human 'best friend' in tow . . . and that this 'Mark of Judas,' as the Overlanders call it, might follow you into our lair days later, like an eager, starving RAT?"     

Sprocket glared at the ground.  He knew he was incapable of skilled lying-he remained silent.  But silence can condemn worse that any well-crafted proof or poorly crafted deceit.  Finally the words came-incriminating though they were, they had to be spoken:  "I think we can 'all agree' that given the chance, Drago, you would shed your own 'loyalty,' and use that monster of whom you speak to become a despot in your OWN right." 

Drago barked a snarl and tossed him to the floor next to the culpable human.  Snively winced at the sound of metal denting, before his attention was occupied with the hateful wolf's hot breath-right in his face.  "Tell me, boy-rattler-have you returned because you're still pissed that we kept your old BUDDY from coming to your birthday party?" 

Snively smirked back, though his nostrils curled as if he'd smelled something rancid.  It seemed that every moan Sprocket made, anguished on the floor of the den, swelled his spirit of defiance more.  Perhaps he DID still care. "Get out of my face and away from my friend, you BRUTE.  You haven't ANY real proof of my bloodlines OR my deeds.  Remember your Chieftain took MY part the last time we faced off-she will do the SAME tonight."

"That's what you think," came a new male voice, freakishly calm. "That armband is not the ONLY thing that's unsettling us lately."   The silversmith, the same wolf who had tried to repair Sprocket's injuries, stepped forward-just as Lupe, her face drawn, entered the room.  "This weather beaten communication system was extricated from Ms. Wells' hovercraft just before she departed with Mr. Hadrian."  He produced a radio-looking device that crackled with vicious energy.  " We've just now gotten it to operate."

It was then that Sprocket saw true panic surface on Snively's face-the proverbial look of "Oh, Shit!"  He realized why-that was a Robotroplian intercom system-and anyone in the city could communicate using it. 

And someone did.

A voice-rumbling, the roll of distant thunder announcing acid rain-wove in and out of the sea of static:  "--Sn--"....buuuzzzz. . . "--where ar--" . . . . breeeep. . . "--lazy fool, I'll have you flog--" . . . "-ely, are you listening to m--" . . . ."-ANSWER me, boy, this is your uncl--". . . . "DAMN YOU!" . . .

Sprocket darted a look at Snively.  The boy's face had paled to a shade between gray and diluted white-blue.  His hands flung to his neck and grasped it as if shielding it from a noose; a choking wheeze shot out from between his teeth.  His eyes glazed over in a petrified kind of trance.  "It's HIM," he whispered.  "Oh, God . . . oh . . . he'll KILL me . . .I'm DEAD . . . we're ALL dead . . . "

Sprocket was both grievous and exasperated at how Snively's common sense, courage, and clarity of thought fled out the window in the presence-direct or otherwise--of Julian.  "Shhh, be QUIET!" he murmured, in a rare role reversal as the prudent of the two, hands wrung at his sides. 

"Why?  What's the matter?" Drago injected hatefully.  "What's he to be afraid of revealing?"

Whether or not the wolf was out to condemn Snively, Sprocket was now certain of Drago's own madness.  "Do you have any idea who that IS?"  he bawled, gesturing wildly at the intercom, and the voice ranting in volcanic intervals through the static.  "If you harbor NO fear of HIM, you are the greatest buffoon to walk this planet!"  He gestured at his roboticized form.  "I made that mistake, Drago, and look where it got ME!"

"Our doubt is not of my bravery, but of the sincerity of this young fellow . . . ." Drago shrugged, pretending to disarm himself with objectivity, "and of yourself." 

"Fine."  Hoarsely, Snively spoke up, struggling to his feet.  He rose a palm to the stiff-postured Lupe as if a man swearing his honesty to a judge of the severest disposition.   "What do you want me to do to prove I've no link to that barbarian?" 

Sprocket almost felt like commending him for being such a remarkable liar.  

Lupe's eyes were hard.  But she wasn't looking at Snively when finally she spoke.  She was looking at SPROCKET.  The lover she'd dared to trust. "There is always the case that Ms. Wells stole one of Robotnik's hovercrafts from the city, and didn't want to tell us for fear of our alarm and unwillingness to harbor her fellow refugees." She nodded at the two guests who had become invaders. "Therefore, this is what we'll do to determine your innocence:  Say something.  Respond to that. . . agitated. . . message.  If Robotnik does not recognize your voice, then this whole matter shall be dropped."  She glared at Drago, her eyes never once melting to something kinder or more favoring.  The perfect judge.  "IMMEDIATLY."

"Understood," the snowy prosecutor grunted.

But Snively was less appeased by the compromise.  "I-I-I, no!  I can't! I'm-I'm afraid of-of-f. . ."

Sprocket winced each time he stuttered, each time a bullet of culpability turning their claim of innocence into Swiss Cheese. 

"Do it." Lupe took hold of the com radio and heaved it to the ground in front of the crouched criminal.  And she said no more. 

Snively gulped.  It was obvious he'd expected an array of probing, meddlesome interrogations from the wolves, each of which he could skillfully outmaneuver or deceive.  But his own voice was far too distinctive to hide from his hideously omniscient uncle. 

Still he had no choice.  "Yes?  Who is it?" Whispered into the microphone at the top of the device, in a nearly inaudible voice.  He pitched it a bit lower, a bit fuller, hoping for some slim disguise.  "This is . . . Colin. Do you r-read me?"  He was beginning to sweat-a spiderweb of perspiration dripped down his forehead, cheeks, and neck.

The radio only crackled.  The tyrant had not heard a word-a storm gathering over the plains, a male in the back of the circle of jurors informed, was fouling up all of the radio signals within a five-mile radius.  The human would have to speak at a higher volume than usual.

Damn.

" 'This is Colin' WHO?" Drago brayed, prodding for clarification, and Lupe joined, "Colin?  How could I have . . . Julian Kintobor-Robotnik's-- brother was named Colin. . . and his son . . ."  Her face rapidly darkened.  "LOUDER, boy! " she snarled.  'So he can HEAR you!"  She flung one wrist about Snively's delicate neck and prepared to squeeze.  "Or you'll have no voice left-nor a throat to house it!"  Her mercy quickly gone with the wind, she drew a dagger and brandished it high.

Snively gagged without any such provocation.  His eyes became great pools of distress.  Sprocket, still praying for victory, came forward and rested a paw on Lupe's  stony shoulder.  "He'll do it," he assured, in that mesmerizing, peaceful voice he always used to sport, and reluctantly, she backed off. But then he lied:  "He . . . has nothing to hide.  WE have nothing to hide."

She pierced him right through with her gaze.  "Do I have your word?"

Sprocket's jaw went slack. Silence.

And then Fate provided one last card trick on Snively and Sprocket's side: The tuning went out completely just as Snively was about to comply.  Drago dove at the device and began to shake and pick at it.  Still only static. Snively breathed again.  "Well," he smirked, a bit too cockily, "I suppose we'll have to do this the old fashioned way:  Ask me whatever you like, Miss Lupe, and I'll be glad to . . ."

"Aha, I've GOT it!"  Drago boomed, as the radio communicator crackled back to life.  A voice clear as glass contorted and twisted by a hateful blowtorch resounded in the entire room.  It seemed not a breath was taken between the derisive words as the despot raged, while the wolves, angry rather than frightened,  listened with eyes narrowed and hands tightened around their daggers and spears.  'Snively, you little twit, speak up, I can't HEAR you. Or perhaps I'd rather you remain MUTE, so I don't have to endure the pathetic excuses  you use for your INCOMPETENCE! As of now you've abandoned your oil freighter, neglected to return the echidna female specimen to the city for robotization, ignored my daily pages, and vanished from the city vicinity without my clearance.  What by the Horn of Naugus are you UP to?"

Sprocket's heart sank.

"Say something," Drago snarled.  The other wolves withdrew to silence-they were a fierce people, but one who chose harmony over barbarism any day.  They didn't WANT to incriminate anybody, if it could be avoided. 

But Snively whimpered involuntarily, thrust a finger between his clenched teeth and bit down hard, as if the only way to tolerate the pain his uncle's very voice inflicted were by creating a pain that was yet stronger, in order to distract.  He arched his back and froze in place, even as Drago shook his shoulders fro compliance.

"Report, you worthless little ass!"  The radio, too, roared: as if somehow Robotnik could sense the cruelty on the other side of the line and was egging it on, in order to beat Snively into submission and obedience.  Somehow, Sprocket couldn't entirely bring himself to think this impossible.  "TALK!  Snively, I KNOW you're there, and I'm getting very ANGRY. . . " 

Whatever unspoken meaning the word "angry" really implicated, it was far more awful than the despot said.  For, as if on cue, Snively attacked the communicator's on-off switch, severing the link to his uncle, seized his gut and wrenched violently to the floor, vomiting up, with some difficulty, every bit of his dinner.  Putridly he coughed, moaned, and turned away from the mess.  He was so miserably afraid that one of the females cried out in a sudden fit of pity and rushed to fetch him a towel.  Drago backed away quickly in disgust.  But Lupe looked more enraged than ever.  "Please, please," Snively groveled, clambering back up on knees, " I confess, my surname is Kintobor, and you know me as Snively-yes, I AM that Fiend�s nephew and Second-in-Command: I detest him but his deeds ARE mine! I confess! Just spare me, and don't make me talk to him!  PLEASE!"  He clung at Lupe's legs, like a leech that cannot be extricated from its host.  His cheeks went aflame with humiliation.

"Well, well." Drago sneered, sliding the armband on Snively, who squeezed his eyes shut to contain his rage.  "What do you know?  A PERFECT fit."  Insufferably, he clicked his tongue and wagged a finger in Snively's ashen face. "So UNpleasant to see you again. . . SNIVELY."

The human could only glower back.  "A mutual sentiment, Drago, you BASTARD," he sizzled, retrieving his impudence.  He wiped his soiled mouth with his shirt sleeve, rejecting the female benefactor's fetched towel. He drew himself up to his full height-still several inches in deficit of the wolf's.

Sprocket went for Lupe immediately, every excuse imagine able poised on his robotic tongue.  But he had felt her slip out of his fingers before the proof had become unquestionable.  She had probably known all along, somewhere deep in her psyche, and just desperately wanted to deny it, until now.  His betrayal. 

"Oh, Sprocket!" one wolf maiden, the pink one's twin, cried, covering her face.  "To think you capable of . . . of . . ."  She collapsed in sobs.  Moans, wails, and growls followed, catching like wildfire among the ranks of the fiercely communal people, who shared every joy and grief a if it were their own . . . And suddenly the canine, their honored guest, became their OWN disgrace.  The other males flanked Drago, and began to advance vengefully on Sprocket and Snively, their spears and hatchets poised 

Snively tore off the armband and threw it to the earth at their feet.  He stabbed a finger at Drago's throat. "YOU are the enemy," he spat.  "People like YOU-no matter WHAT side they claim to follow.  You people who LOVE to HURT."  He swallowed a furious sob and flung an arm in the direction of the condemning radio.  "You're no different from HIM."

The white wolf set his jaw, cracking his knuckles.  He drew his hatchet form his belt and traced Snively's profile with the blade.  A terrifying luster ignited in his eyes. "I suggest you execute your thinly-existing right to LEAVE, Mr. Kintobor. NOW."

"To HELL with THAT!" The tan male named Canus slid around the deadlocked white wolf and human, raising a club over Sprocket's head.  The dog, in all his shame, did not dare raise a finger in defense.

But, to Sprocket's shock, the tiny, frail Snively leapt in front of him, arms outstretched to shield him.  "G-g-get back, I say, leave him BE!" the human's grating nasal voice pealed.  "It's me you want, isn't it? P-p-punish m-ME!" He clutched at his injured leg, but stood his ground.  Oh, but he was trembling SO violently, his brassy aura having finally crumbled: Sprocket doubted he could even stand upright, let alone protect someone else. 

"I knew something was wrong with the lot of you." Lupe breathed, expressionless and ascetic as a catatonic. "I TRIED to give you the benefit of the doubt . . . .That prickly koala, and that Sados . . . even that old nanny!  And then tonight I dared to think that . . . you . . . "  She held up a paw for restraint; with some difficulty, Drago and the other males withdrew. Snively, for the first time since his accusation had begun, let out a choked whimper of relief and collapsed to the floor.   Lupe continued, unheeding.  "YOU--in bed with the kinsman of Robotnik!  Sprocket, to my chambers-NOW."

Rueful, Sprocket bent to retrieve the armband, the stigma it had never been his desire to bear, and followed her.

"Some wounds-some reminders--are deeper than skin, Lupe, I know that."  Her eyes grew distant, then, as if she were storing those particular words in her memory for a future time.  But then she came back to him, angrier still.  He swallowed, and tried to continue," But Snively is not just ANY friend, he saved my LIFE-"

"And ENDED it, it seems.  And if you could do this whole thing over?" Her eyes-they were brimming.  God, to touch her, to wipe that anguish away and comfort her that nothing had changed-would be both exquisite . . . and a cruel lie.  So Sprocket told the truth.

"I would have done nothing differently," he swore.  Lupe, the rock, the fortress of stone, moaned and withdrew from him, covering her face to quickly compose herself.  Sprocket plunged ahead in desperation. "But you can't tell me you're foolish enough to think I'd not do the same for you, were you in HIS place-"

"Get out-just . . . go!"  The Chieftain exploded, leaping to her feet.  She seized a terra cotta pot and swung it high above her head in apprehension of a throw, her muzzle wrinkled into a snarl.  So this must have been what she looked like when they were doing battle, when he gave her that scar, that day after the coup. 

Yes, some wounds were deeper than skin.

"How could you think it's the SAME? That HE deserves the same kind of mercy from a creature as loving and as blameless as YOU?  I have never betrayed you, I have never withheld my forgiveness, I have never USED you!  Oh, Sprocket, just go!" She threw the pot, and it shattered with a clang against his side, for he was too slow, still to injured, to dodge.  He crept out he door-feeling nothing of her assault, but everything inside was being wrenched apart-everything DEEPER than inside---everything that was his intrinsic substance was dissolving, for she had rejected him.  "GET OUT, I said-and be farther than a MILE from here in a half hour, or I will NOT be responsible for what Drago and the others DO to you!"  She hated him.  "And NEVER COME BACK!"  It was over.  Done.  Gone.

Sprocket closed the door behind him.

Snively never departed from a newfound foe without getting his dose of revenge.  So while Sprocket and Lupe conversed on a topic he had known all along to be futile, while the other wolves allowed him his thirty-minute grace period to pack his belongings-little more than as much food and wolven as he could filch into a coldly-provided knapsack, he seated himself at the edge of his cot and began typing a location configuration into the radio communicator.  It would not get the precise location of this filthy rabble of Freedom Fighters, but it would allow his uncle a pleasing proximity to their new lair.  And that location, should he calibrate the message signal correctly, would be permanently inserted into the Central Command mainframe computer's memory.  A message beeped onto the modest screen at the bottom of the device:  "ROBOTROPOLIS DATA AFFIRMATIVE: COORDINATES SUCCESSFULLY RETRIEVED." Bingo.  Hell would break loose, one day, here in the Great Unknown.  And uncle would love him for it.

Snively grabbed a nearby loose rock from the floor next to his bed and dashed the radio to pieces, destroying the evidence of his act:  Sprocket would not understand this deed-it would seem cruel, base, to him-it would not seem like a favor until it came to full fruition and the dog could finally understand the nirvana of retribution.  Aphilosophical choice, this act reflected--the only wise choice that existed.

Yes, yesssss, he would finally get that pat on the back from uncle, that precious little phrase: "Good job, Snively," and they would regret hurting him . . . They would regret hurting . . .

Yes, out with it . . . . you know you feel that way, you know you still care:  THEY WOULD REGRET HURTING HIS FRIEND:

Sprocket.

They'd burn for it.  Twist and writhe in anguish for it.  Bloody savages.

A knock on the door from the very creature he'd been hoping to avenge made his start with a peculiar sense of shame.  He was the kid caught scarfing the chocolate chip of sadism from the cookie jar. 

But as it turned out, the dog's mind was anywhere but in the place where he was capable of judging another's deeds.  He was too busy punishing himself.  Indeed, Sprocket's face was grave. Pained.  His lip, if Snively could conceive it possible, was quivering on the brink of bitter tears.  "Let's go," was all he could muster, bravely, but in a shaky voice. He never once looked Snively in the eye.

Something for which the human was grateful.  "Okay," he said, softly, almost tenderly, hoisting his knapsack over his shoulder.

They met very little resistance as they departed from the caves.  A few males crowded the entrance so as to ensure that there would be no subversive acts or second thoughts by the pair of intruders.  One of the pink females rushed to bid Sprocket a hasty and hushed farewell-it seemed she couldn't bear to remember him a traitor.  She clasped her arms about his neck for a brief moment, gulping back sobs-when it appeared that the canine was all but smothered, Snively seized her by the arm with a growl and shoved her aside.  She drove a kick into his injured leg; he buckled but steadied himself, still trailing Sprocket, unwilling to give her the pleasure of his defeat.  "You'll ALL regret this," Robotnik's nephew snarled, in her ear, as he passed.  Sprocket heard, and turned to berate him, and Snively shrank down into himself, following more humbly; the canine opened his mouth to make one last apology to the people who had almost become his family, but this time the girl's face, even, was hardened with hate.  So, the only one incapable of loathing ,and yet the only one caught in No Man's Land dodging bombs, bullets and mines of resentment, he went on.

After all, Lupe was nowhere to be found.  She was probably grieving him, alone in her bedroom-as she had her father . . . and her sister.

And herself.

The rocks and turf outside were even less charitable than the inhabitants, the tall grass rising up to scratch their knees and a few wayward cactus sprouts biting their arms.  Struggle downward though he might, with the added burden of his leg injury, Snively still refused any help from the broken canine.  Some sort of way, the dog assumed, to grapple at atonement that would never really come.

Once at a distance, Sprocket only turned once to seal in memory one last look of the last place where he might have discovered happiness. He imagined a few of the gray rocks shuddered once or twice, and he wondered, vaguely, if she were there, hiding, watching him go, her slate gray coat camouflaging her into blessed opacity as he, his whole spirit dissected like a cadaver split asunder, limped into oblivion.  He could almost swear he saw a scar emerge and then vanish again into the cave's towering boulders.  "I'll be waiting," he breathed.  If she were there, he knew she would hear the pledge.  No matter what.  Finally he turned and willed himself in the opposite direction of Joy.

A steady, brisk set of footsteps rejoined his.  Any other time, Snively's sarcasm would be a welcome sound, almost like coming home to what was known, what was safe.  But now, the words were worse than the chisel the wolf craftsmen had used to diagnose his wounds:  

"I guess you finally chose, huh?" 

But Snively wasn't joking, anyway.  His face was grimmer than death. 

"Yes."  The world, as in the moment when they had confronted each other for the first time since he was roboticized, ceased to pivot.  "There is no one else, now." He gave a quivering sigh, but dared not glimpse again in the direction of Lupe's cave, of a world that hearkened back to simpler, more joyful times.  " NO one." 

Snively held up a bruised hand, for silence. "Sprocket . . . before you say anything else, remember that 'there is no one else' BECAUSE of ME.  Remember that-and don't reward a criminal for his deeds."  God, he was really trying-REALLY trying to give Sprocket any way out that he could-ANY way to get rid of the awful burden that the human was, without putting any guilt on the canine's soul.  Trying to condemn himself to give Sprocket an excuse to exile him for good.  Turning him loose after all these years, lying to seem as though he could thrive on his own.  But that was the only illusion here, the only untruth-that Snively would not cease to exist when left alone, in that monstrous city far in the distance.  So it wouldn't work. 

"Snively, be that as it may . . . I can't commit the same crime against you THRICE.  I can't.  I knew from the day I reawakened to this world that I'd have to confront this decision." The scenery around Sprocket began to spin with the implications of his words, of this pledge that he would NOT break, like an abstract painting, the canvas torn and flung together with splatters of earthen hues.  He steadied himself against a nearby tree sapling and continued. "And I've made it.  In the end, when all this is through, you can bet your soul exactly where I'll be going--forever."  He nodded in the direction of Robotropolis.

Snively nodded, cautiously, and attempted to test the waters of fealty: "And the princess?  What if I were to try to. . . ?"

No hesitation:  "You'll have to kill me to get to her.  That I swear.  But once I've parted ways with her . . . "  He held up Snively's tattered armband, and pressed it against his chest-against the place where his heart had once been.  Firmly.  Snively, for a fleeting instant, looked as though the friend before him had melted into something hideous, something alien.  And then his cold mask of indifference returned.  Don't say I didn't warn you-- the words hung in the air about his face. 

A silence.  Then the canine pressed, "Do we understand each other?"

Snively nodded, once. Deadpan.  He turned, and limped seven paces away from the dog before stopping.  'So, are you coming?" he asked.  In a strange, rigid, high voice, without turning.  "Another storm coming-better seek some other means of shelter."

Sprocket rose and shed his spirit for the sake of another-finally, wholly, utterly.  "I'm right behind you," he said.

Miles and darker worlds away from the two companions, after his fourth unanswered page to his putrid young second-in-command, Dr. Ivo Robotnik began to indulge in feelings of rage.  He heaved his great bulk from his stolen iron throne, flicked a meaty wrist in the air and bid a sadistic robotic fowl, its beak a gleaming razor, land on it.  "You know, Cluck," the hellish despot crooned, and a quiver of barely-tapped fury seeped into his voice of thunder and silk, that flame moustache curled about a gruesome smile,� I DO believe it's time we went looking for that irascible nephew of mine. . . ."

Post 85:

Dominic Smith

(Flashback to before the Coup)

Part 1

3224 - Mobotropolis

King Acorn sighed at the man in front of him, he found it amusing that someone so courageous could be so humble.

"Of course you'll be there Julian, everyone is anxious to meet the man responsible for winning the Great War...you're a hero." The words had rolled of King Acorns tongue with little resistance, Julian was without doubt one of finest people he had ever known, his intelligence and wit were matched only by his compassion. Tonight he would introduce this great man to others and upon meeting him they would abandon their immoral, prejudice, values. An Overlander Julian may be but they forgot how even amongst Mobians there were those who lived on the fringes of society and indulged in morally ambiguous practices, was it really so hard for them to believe that Julian could also be against the norm for an Overlander?

"Oh forgive me your majesty I just can't-"

"Nonsense" King Acorn said cutting him short, raising his hands to emphasize its impact and then began to pace away while he uttered his next words placing his hands behind his back.

"Tonight I will announce the closing of the war ministry then your appointment as mister of science." As he finished he pointed at Julian, he had to, to ram it home somehow, Julian had done so much for him, for everybody, he had to show him his gratitude.

"You will attend Julian, that is a royal order" winking at him as he continued, like his father before him and his fathers father he wore his power like a pair shoes rather than his royal tunic, a necessity not a flamboyance. Individual rights as well as public opinion were of paramount importance to him. Julian knew that in spite of his assistance when push came to shove, although he would be hugely disappointed, he would never impose his wishes upon him. King Acorn finished off.

"And your plans for dismantling the military are approved as presented get started at once." He picked the plans off the table and handed them to Julian as he said it.

Julian took accepted them with the high level of grace and dignity he had come to expect from him.

"Of course sire." Julian said and although he longed to say and converse with his close friend he was the King and a kingdom did not run itself and so after a quick smile he turned and headed for the door but his thoughts of the celebrations were interrupted mid stride with yet another admission from Julian,

"I am honored sire." The King rolled his eyes, did he always have to be so damned submissive, after the celebrations he decided he would have a long chat to Julian about his self-esteem or apparent lack of it, as wonderful as compassion was Julian needed to know that it was ok to think of his own needs and desires first once in a while, after all he wasn't the King which by its very nature took that freedom away from you. He hopped Julian's appointment to minister of science would do him some good.

"See you tonight" King Acorn declared turning around and raising his hand then headed out the open doorway and around the corner.

Julian watched him depart, a sinister smile spreading over his lips, he turned and removed a radio from his pocket.

"Snively" he said speaking into it, "ready the palace attack force."

***

The Kings steps echoed throughout the wide empty corridor, the walls were adorned with many prestigious works of art, not too prestigious though, the greatest pieces were in museums where everyone could enjoy them as well they should be. As he walked his mind drifted back to the celebrations this evening, it was going to be wonderful, he thought. No expense had been spared, he had hired the finest caters, the most popular musicians he was so excited that he almost took a wrong turn. In a way this celebration would be small compared to the one that immediately preceded the end of Great War 2-years ago, he remembered how Julian had decided to boycott the event but he did contribute by designing and making several electronic fireworks that lit up the sky. Good old Julian he thought, so creative in coming up with different ways of contributing, in the Great War he had spread freedom and hope and now in this time of peace he was spreading happiness and joy.

However he concluded, this was going to be a different kind of celebration so it was silly to compare the two, this one would be a more formal occasion reserved for the aristocracy, the heads of many of the public services, some of the more prospers civil merchants and of course the top brass of the military that would no doubt put up much fuss regarding the decision he had just made. King Acorn's brow frowned as he considered the potential commotion that could be caused by one Mobian in particular. Maybe it would be best to have the argument with him now rather than later and have it unsettle the guests, he thought.

The Mobian King Acorn was referring two was none other than General Macintyre the supreme commander of the Mobian military and the internal security forces known as the Royal Guard. Although saying that, King Acorn could override any order the General gave without exception.

As fate would have it the General happened to be waiting for him outside the throne room sat on one of the red couches. By his side stood Jason Grey, a Mobian King Acorn disliked considerably more than the General. Despite his impressive physical attributes that surpassed even General Macintyre's he was when all was said and done a rather poor specimen. King Acorn has often wondered, where he was when the brains were handed out? But what he disliked even more than the Privets thick headedness was his almost fanatical devotion to the General, he just never left his side unless the occasion demanded it. Loyalty was one thing, he himself had seen much of it from Julian but even he would not demean himself in public by following him around like a dog. When the King has thought dog he was of course thinking of the unusual sub-species of canine that possessed limited intelligence that many believed held clues to the origins of Mobian life, Sir Charles had one and he had often seen his daughter plying with it along with his nephew Sonic.

"Your majesty" the General said as King Acorn entered leaping to his feet and saluting as he did so. Privet Grey did not but instead regarded him with a cold penetrating stare, were he not so preoccupied King Acorn would have commanded him to show the proper respect, he asked so little of his subjects would they respect him more if he were a malicious tyrant, he wondered or was Jason the problem? Like his talk with Julian, a more serious inquiry would have to wait till later.

"Are General" King Acorn said hiding his discontentment well, "I was about to send for you, there are some pressing matters I wish to disuses with you."

"As do I your majesty" the General replied eagerly and then held the door open for him to enter. The moment the door opened the royal guards inside ceased whatever conversations they were having and snapped to attention, becoming unmoving statues.

King Acorn entered the throne room and sat down upon the fabulous purple crystal throne closely followed by the General who just before entering had informed Jason of his wish to be alone with a single glance and now stood still waiting for either a cue to speak or for the King to begin himself.

In truth King Acorn had no idea which of the two would be preferable, both of them knew that they each wished to disuses the very same thing, the closing of the war military. The General could not yet know he had already made his decision, true he had a lot of informants but due to the time involved they meant nothing. In essence the General was about to make an attempt to influence his decision when it had already been made. The problem would be having to deal with the Generals anger when he discovered this, he would take great offence that he was not even consulted in the matter even though technically he had no legal precedent to demand that he should have.

Reluctantly he decided to let the General have his say even if it was completely pointless, with any luck he though the General will tire himself out, which should lessen the force of his protest when I inform him my decision has already been made.

"Well General" King Acorn began, "what's on your mind?"

Smiling the General began to put forth his case.

"Thank you your highness, as you indeed know like my father before me I have always conducted myself and made my decisions based upon what I believe to be in the best interests of the Mobian people, as you yourself adhere to. So it may come as a surprise that on so many occasions you and I happen to be in disagreement. The reason for this is not in the strength of our conviction to the continued prosperity of the people but due to the information we obtain on which we base our decisions that for one reason or another often contradict each others."

General Macintyre paused and took a breather, things seemed to be going alright so far he reasoned and then a slight anger crept over him, if only my hands weren't tied, if only our roles were reversed, I'd not recklessly gamble the lives of countless Mobians on the sickeningly optimistic assumption that only clear blue sky's and bright rainbows lay ahead. Things may be that way now but you don't destroy an umbrella just because it hasn't rained in a while nor should the military be dismantled, this new era of peace and tranquility requires vigilance if it is to be maintained and protected.

With increasing vigor the General began again.

"It has come to my attention that the Overlander Julian has drawn up some plans for the proposed dismantlement of the military. I do not wish to disuses details of the plans themselves but rather the reasoning behind them."

The General was looking King Acorn in the eyes; he wore a poker face it was he mused going to very hard to make him understand. King Acorn was a fine King perhaps the best the kingdom has ever known but if he had one flaw it was that he was too consumed in the present. A true leader had to consider the past, present and future with equal concern, a true leader, he thought again and his gaze shifted ever so slightly to focus on King Acorn's crown, a 'true' leader, the words continued to ring through his mind, he stooped, blinked and returned to the matter at hand.

"I am and have always been committed to peace and I fully except that the immediate threat posed by the Overlander Empire is now nonexistent thanks in no small part to the courageous efforts of the Overlander Julian. Their capital and only city Megacentral has as you know been reduced to little more than a shantytown with much of the populous scattered throughout their continent. Aerial recon has shown that already a number of different political factions have appeared and they are currently fighting amongst themselves for dominance wasting what little resources they have left. However while dismantling the military may seem like a logical next step I believe that not be the case."

General Macintyre was growing frustrated, the King remained passive, it was almost as if he had already made his decision, he heart skipped a beat, what if he had? But would he really be that arrogant? Would he really make a decision of this importance without even hearing him out first? He probably has, he thought dryly, how dare he that pompous, egotistical, madman! In spite of his rage the General had remained calm on the outside, well, he concluded, I'll just have to convince him to 'change' his mind.

"The reason for my caution your eminence is that the deceased Overlander Empire was never the only threat to our society. Take the Dragons for example, on the surface they appear to be a peaceful species but there is much archaeological evidence to support the theory that this was not always the case and if these claims indeed turn out to be true then there is no certainty that at some point in the future they may return to their previous behavior. Remember we still know very little about them and their society while in contrast many Mobians have been considerably less than secretive about ours disclosing extensive details of it to them which would put us at an even greater tactical disadvantage than the one caused by having no military were a conflict to arise. Along with the Dragons are the threat posed by Mobians themselves, I know it sounds ridiculous, there has not been a civil war among Mobians for over a millennia, but there is much unrest among the citizens who are adapting to the reinstitution of the social controls under your wise leadership."

The General did not add that those very same controls had been removed under the direction of a younger and considerably more na�ve King Acorn a decade ago. He remembered the day well, he had been 21 years old at the time, he had achieved the rank of sergeant and was out in the Great Unknown conducting field tests with laser weaponry. Blueprints for the complex construction of all sizes of laser weapons had been stolen from Megacentral, they had been so desperate to catch up with the Overlanders in the arms race, yet had they known then that all out war was only a few years ahead as stretched as the were they would have doubled their efforts.

3214 - The Great Unknown

It was unlike anything he had experienced before, he watched amazed at the eruption that took place on the high sand dune. To know that he had caused that destruction, that he had pushed the button was exhilarating. The standard gunpowder artillery they used was pathetic, ludicrous; the effort wasted caring the heavy mortar shells was enough reason to make the transfer to laser weaponry let alone the actual effectiveness of the weaponry itself, which so far was proving to be beyond everyone's expectations. Eagerly he instructed the technician to increase the power and adjust the direction of the huge laser cannon to a fresh spot.

"Adjustments complete sir" the technician said and Sergeant Macintyre's finger dived towards the firing control. At the edge of the button it froze and slowly caressed it's surface for a few seconds while the perplexed technician looked on. Then gritting his teeth, his eyes growing wide the button submitted to the firm pressure he applied and instantly a large blue beam sprung forth with a high pitched wine but this was quickly drowned out by the explosion as the beam impacted against the dune 20-feet from the last point of impact. As the sand settled the Sergeant observed how very much larger the creator was and smiled widely.

"Was that the maximum setting?" Sergeant Macintyre asked the technician.

"No sir" the technician replied, "Minster of science Charles Hedgehog's instructions are that we don't exceed the half way mark in today's testing, then when the weapons are brought home they can be disassembled and then every part examined. Although we copied the overlander blueprints exactly intelligence reports that the weapons can become highly volatile if pushed to far, we're hoping that given time we may be able to improve them beyond their current state."

"Good" the Sergeant said, although he was disappointed that he would be unable to examine the cannon's performance fully the idea of developing laser weaponry that surpassed the Overlanders was most welcoming. He also took some comfort that he would not be the only one slightly disappointed for throughout the area tests were being conducted with everything from handguns to cannons even larger than the one he was testing. He could make out a few of them in the distance and he could make out the occasional blue flickers even better, it was while he was scanning the horizon that he saw the Privet running towards him, running in spite of the burning hot Sun.

Questions formed and melted in his mind as the Mobian approached.

"Sir" he said, "communication from General Macintyre, your father" and he offered him a holo-disk." Angrily he snatched it from him.

"I am fully aware of the genetic connection between the General and myself 'Privet.'" Sergeant Macintyre snapped, emphasizing privet not so much as a threat but as a reminder.

"I'm s...sorry sir" the privet stuttered, he had not seen him before so he was obviously one of the batch of new requites that had arrived last week. The chewing out of new recites or newbies as they were known was essential in order to separate the strong from the week; this was going to be most satisfying he thought.

"What is your name Privet?" He said with an air of superiority.

"Kyle Osborn sir" the Privet answered regaining his confidence. Good thing, though the Sergeant, he's going to need it. He took a step towards him, twitching his nose to emphasize the fact that Kyle did in fact reek of sweat, of course in this heat Sergeant Macintyre did too but that was inconsequential.

"There is only one thing I hate more that incompetence Privet, do you know what that is?" The question was rhetoric and the moment he finished it he leaned forward until their faces were almost touching.

"You Privet, I hate you for what you represent, a disgusting undisciplined animal." The Sergeant let the disgust spread evenly over his face and then he spat in Kyle's face, he reared back and shouted.

"Now drop and give me 20!" Privet Osborn obliged but right away he cried out as he felt the boiling hot sand burn into his hands.

"Shut up!" Sergeant Macintyre bellowed and struck him across the back of his head causing him fall forward.

"Come on, get up!" The Sergeant roared.

"Faster!" He wailed as Kyle stated to perform his push ups.

"I was doing better push ups when I was junior cadet! You're a disgrace, a disgrace!" The pressure was getting to him and the Sergeant smiled to see his cheeks turn read and his teeth clench together, yes he though smiling on the inside that's what I want to see. The Sergeant knelt down next to him and said coldly.

"If only your mother were here right now, if only see could see what a worthless pile of shit you've turned into." Yes he thought again, eyes growing wider at the short intakes of breath, the twitching in the facial musicals.

"But then you'd like to see her wouldn't you? Ask her to come over and give you a kiss to make everything better. Maybe you'd ask her for good fuck as well you revolting barstard."

For a brief moment Sergeant Macintyre considered the moral implications of what he was doing. It did not surprise him; his mind went through the same motions every time he'd done this with a new recruit, Kyle was his third to date since he had received his promotion last month. It had to be ethical, he reasoned, his motives were noble, the desire to strengthen a soldier, to help him develop that hard skin necessary to survive in combat. He was not doing this just to satisfy some sadistic craving, the enjoyment he got from it was the pride that came from the knowledge he was doing good. There his conscience was clear and with an even clearer head he continued his assault.

"You'd love that wouldn't you Kyle, the chance to fuck your mother but if you had the choice you'd want to watch me fuck her instead so you can have the privilege of seeing how a real man fucks, something you'll never be able to do yourself." Kyle was on the edge, just one more push and he'd snap like a breadstick but regrettably his time was up, the Privet finished the push ups and stood up before him. He was visibly shaking and he could well have been crying but it was impossible to tell under all the sweat. Sergeant Macintyre slowly rose to his feet, allowing his smile to show plainly on his face. He looked down and saw Kyle's right hand had formed a tight fist and it was shaking more intensely than the rest of him.

"Do you want to hit me Privet?" The Sergeant asked in a bemused tone, Kyle remained silent. "I asked you a question Privet!" He shouted forcefully.

"Yes sir" came Privets Osborn's answer through gritted teeth.

"Then you must hit me," said the Sergeant solemnly.

"What?" Exclaimed Kyle.

"I said, then you must hit me! Do I need to repeat myself again!?" Sergeant Macintyre demanded.

"No sir" Kyle said a wild fire burning in his eyes as he stepped forward and swung as hard a blow as he could muster. He felt it connect and the Sergeants head give way as he staggered to the side disorientated by the sudden strain. As he regained his footing though he turned to see a site that made his gasp. There before him stood Sergeant Macintyre, his head had given way to the left when struck but the rest of him had not moved. Slowly the Sergeant brought a hand up towards his face and felt the small trickle of blood flow freely from his nose. For a brief few moments he gazed at the blood on his fingers then without warning he stepped forward and struck Kyle across the jaw.

The impact was heard rather than felt by Kyle since he was rendered unconscious before the pain reached him. As the wrenching crack filled the air, Privet Osborn spun around like a Dragon caught in a hurricane while a stream of blood spewed forth from his mouth. He came to rest on the hot sand and Sergeant Macintyre looked down at the unconscious body.

"You'll do just fine kid" he murmured then as gently as he could he picked him up and carried him back to base camp in his arms.

A terrified technician peeped over the top of the consol he had hid behind during the violet encounter. He saw the Sergeant walking away at a brisk pace in the direction of base camp. I suppose I'd better follow him, he though but his legs refused to move, well it's not like I have to go right this second, he assured himself and then ducked back down behind his conical.

***

Relief flushed over him as he stepped in the cool air-conditioned interior of base camp, the place had been brought over in pieces and connected up in a couple of days, the place was cramped and poorly equipped but is was acceptable for their needs.

"What happened to him?!" The field medic exclaimed as the Sergeant entered the infirmary and laid him down on the table. The medic then saw the dried blood on the Sergeants face; "oh" he said comprehension coming forthwith. "There's a sink in the corner if you'd like to give your face a rinse off Sir. There's no hot water but then we don't really need it do we?"

Without saying a word Sergeant Macintyre left the infirmary and headed for the officers room. Fine suit yourself, thought the field medic then turning back to Kyle sighed.

"What a mess" he said dryly.

***

"Out, now" Sergeant Macintyre said to the other Sergeant already present and although he was quite comfortable reading a book the look in his eyes had told him it would be a really, really good idea not to argue. It did feel a little weird though he thought, to be taking orders from him like that as though he were a Corporal but then even as a Privet Macintyre had shown, ambition and drive that left you feeling week, were it not for the extra scrutiny placed upon him because of his farther he was certain he would be a Corporal by now. As he passed through the door he wondered for the first time why the Sergeant had demanded the time alone.

Within a few seconds the holo-disk Sergeant Macintyre had placed in the pocket of his shirt was inserted into the computer. The computer was slow, they had only mastered the secrets of holographic technology a few years ago and it was expected to be a few more years before they could streamline it.

After keying in a few commands and waiting yet again the image of his farther General Macintyre flickered into view in front of him.

"Sergeant" the message began rather than son, although he and his farther were close, there had always been a strict distance kept between, he had never kissed or hugged him or even told him he loved him. His mother had always filled that side of parenting with gluttony.

"I'm afraid I must inform you of the gravest of news, our King had decided to remove the social controls regarding homosexual and transpeciescal disorders." The General's message paused then, knowing how shocked his son would be and allowing him time to regain himself.

"I did everything in my power, to deter King Acorn from this course of action, but alas I failed. He believes that their removal will be of great benefit to our society, that there only purpose was to control and oppress a minority whose only crime was to wish to life a lifestyle that is different from our own. Obviously this is sheer madness, reasoning that it not only completely unethical but defies rationally. I fear that if I cannot make him see the wrongness of this decision, the end result will be the extinction of all Mobians leaving the Overlanders to reclaim Mobius that the legends claim they nearly destroyed."

While his father had said this Sergeant's Macintyre's mind had been dancing in circles, he just could not understand why the wise King Acorn had done something so foolish and so dangerous. The General is right it does defy rationality, he concluded.

"As tragic as this is, I regret to inform you that there is more to come." Sergeant Macintyre was startled, more? How could things possibly get any worse?"

"King Acorn has given me a summary of many new legalizations he plans on implementing over the next few months, of particular notice among them are, large cuts to the military's budget to redevelop the run down areas of Mobotropolis, the eradication of the death penalty for treason, placing the heads of public services into a democratic system so that the public themselves can elect them and most disturbing of all, giving women rights that are equal to men's."

By now the Sergeant was almost cationic, forget the slow extinction of Mobians if all that goes ahead society is going to break apart at the seams, he thought bitterly.

3224 - Mobotropolis

Like salt placed against the eye the memories burned. Things have improved he knew with the reinstitution of the social controls and the increase of funding to the military which the Great War had made unavoidable, but, the General mused, all the other things such as the democratic elements and the equal rights for women, they still stood and were to him like a shit drenched fly resting atop a birthday cake.

The democratic elements in the Government were a horrendous weakness, people the General knew from experience tended to be ignorant, caught up and distracted with their own petty problems. The idea that they were responsible enough to make decisions of that nature was ludicrous. General Macintyre had come to realize long ago that his only purpose in life was to protect those ignorant, even pathetic masses and so it logically followed that their only purpose was to allow him to protect them by whatever means he deemed necessary, such was his Devine judgment.

"In short your majesty" the General said deciding to bring the speech to closing.

"It is my sincerest, however humble opinion that the closing of the War Ministry should not go ahead, to do so would be a risk so great that I cannot in good conscience condone it." General Macintyre exhaled through the corners of his closed mouth; if this audience had been over a videophone he would have crossed his fingers. He was not superstitious but crossing his fingers when awaiting something with a potentially negative outcome was he discovered a way of reinforcing his own control over them, otherwise his hands tended to act up if a bad result cam up and do questionable things without his consent.

King Acorn's shoulders sagged as he slid forward slightly in his throne. As always the General had made his case infuriatingly well, there was never any question about changing his mind but the words did weigh him down somewhat. His mention of the reinstitution of the social controls King Acorn knew to have another meaning to the quite unbelievable one he outlined. The General was reminding me that I am capable of making mistakes, he thought.

"General" King Acorn began.

"Your dedication to duty was never in any doubt, however in this case I know you to be in error. Part of being King is knowing when to trust your own judgment. The people are happy, the economy is booming but one thing holds them back from attaining their true potential and that happens to be the War Ministry. With the money saved, research can be put into all kinds of vital causes, from the development of efficient reusable space shuttles to the treatment, if not outright cure for cancer. You insist you desire to see the people prosper, can you not see that the closing of the War Ministry will mean that very thing?" King Acorn stopped, he was looking at the General with sympathetic eyes, they spoke to him assuring him that he understood but also that he must except that it was not his place to have such concerns.

"Although I will announce it officially this evening, out of respect for the many loyal years of service your father provided and your own continued dedication I will inform you now that the dismastment of the military has already begun under Julian's trusted supervision according to the very plans you referred to earlier."

Al-ready be-gun? Like oil and water or the positive poles of two different magnets the two words refused to connect in the Generals mind. There was no time to think, only act. General Macintyre reached down and removed the laser pistol he was authorized to wear at all times and brought it to face King Acorn.

"General?" The King exclaimed in shock.

"I'm sorry your highness" the General said, "I hope one day your daughter will understand it was necessary." He fired and tears seeped out as he saw the King explode in front of him from his barrage of accurate shots to his head and chest. Already the members of the Royal Guard at the back of the Throne room were rushing forward, armed only with spears, for there presence was mainly ceremonial, they were no match for him and he easily gunned them all down.

"General!"

What? General Macintyre shook his head, feeling dizzy.

"Are you alright General?" King Acorn said concerned.

I have to get it together, General Macintyre thought I have to stay focused, there is so much I have to do!

"I'm fine your majesty, I was just a little taken back that's all. Are you sure it's quite wise to begin the dismantlement of the military so soon?" It was then that another thought hit him.

"Surely Julian does not even have the clearance necessary to undertake such a task, only you and I have complete and total access to the Pace-bots mainframe computer?"

"Quite true General, however because of the unusual circumstances, I have given him the access codes, why he could order the peace-bots to rain death and destruction on the whole of Mobotropolis if he wanted." King Acorn let out a light chuckle at the thought of Julian doing something so completely, out of character.

"That is of course, had the peace-bots laser weaponry not been replaced by sonic stunners after the Great War, I seem to recall that you were not in favor of that either."

"Yes sire" the General said and his head bobbed slightly, should he say something, he thought was there anything left to say? There was he decided one more thing.

"So you intend on announcing this at the celebrations tonight, when we are to properly meet the elusive Overlander Julian?"

"Yes that is my intention." King Acorn said wondering were this was headed.

"And everyone who holds a position of power will be there?" General Macintyre probed.

"Well yes, at least their presence have been requested it is by no means compulsory although I cannot think of a reason for not attending, it should prove to be a most enjoyable evening." King Acorn answered.

"I see" the General said.

"May I take my leave your highness?"

King Acorn dismissed him with a single wave of his hand.

"Do as you wish" he said his desire to rest evident in his tone.

With a bow the General departed and as he passed out through the doors Jason immediately matched his pace and was walking by his side, their footsteps almost in sink.

"I take it you didn't have any problems and heard everything?" The General inquired not altering at all in his speed.

"None whatsoever sir" Jason replied, there were of course referring to the tiny microphone the General wore on his jacket that sent a signal to an equally small receiver in Jason's Jacket. General Macintyre believed that in order for his right hand Mobian to function at optimum efficiently he should be made aware of as much information as practically possible. "However" Jason said, "once again I insist that going to the trouble is unnecessary, even with all the information on Mobius I could never hope to compete with your astounding intellect, your are if you don't mind me saying so sir perfect.

Inwardly the General began to relax a little, Jason was the only Mobian he could ever hope to have an even remotely rational conversation with. Despite their slowness his statements were so often saturated in truth, he was he knew indeed perfect, there was no doubt about it, he shone and radiated like the Sun, it was he reasoned an appropriate compassion. Like the Sun he was immeasurably powerful and like the Sun he possessed the power to give life and to take it away. Such power should only be yielded by my hands though, he thought for as Jason had said, I as perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect!

General Macintyre reached out and patted Jason on the arm.

"I know Jason, I know," he said.

"But without the information how could you fully understand the reasoning behind all the orders I give you?"

"I don't need to in order to carry them out sir" Jason said quite seriously.

"True enough" General Macintyre sighed.

"True enough."

The pair walked in silence until they reached the outside of the palace where upon he brought them to a halt, the air was cool for there was a light summer breeze blowing. The General inhaled deeply savoring the sent of the wide selection of flowers from the place grounds. Around them a flock or birds flew overhead while the blades of grass and bushes danced amongst themselves. He peered sideways at Jason who appeared to be feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

"You have no taste for natural beauty Jason?" He asked curiously.

"Why, should I sir?" Jason asked back a trace of guilt creeping into his voice.

"No" The General said, "I suppose it's not important to care for what you're fighting for provided you fight to the best of your ability. Still I've always found nature somewhat fascinating. Without the presence of sentient beings, nature however complex and seemly erratic is relatively stable. Species compete with each other in a food chain that balances everything out while weather patterns repeatedly continue the cycle of the seasons. Yet into this self-perpetuating system we the sentient species come with the power to completely destroy it."

General Macintyre gestured to the stream that had been diverted to flow through the palace grounds in order to sustain the plants and provide that little bit of extra eye candy.

"Although we adapt the environment to suit our needs I cannot help but wonder whether originally the environment adapted us to suit its needs. That all sentient life exists to serve some higher purpose, something important we were designed for but somewhere, somehow it went wrong and we lost our way. So here we find ourselves, at odds with the environment that spawned us, no matter how hard we try to kid ourselves with our environmentally friendly architecture and without any purpose but to survive and spread that will inevitably lead to our own destruction as well as the planets."

General Macintyre founded deeply, it was not wise to think so abstractly, while he was certain his own superior mind could cope with anything the effect of thinking this way was a reduction in confidence as well as feeling of general morbidity and pessimism. But such ideals did not settle with the General and he fought against them violently.

"However" he said.

"While all sentient life is destined to fall from grace and cannibalize itself, there is a strange factor that remains, that will either slow down this system if not halt it all together. Do you know what this factor is Jason?" General Macintyre asked his companion to which Jason shook his head.

The General looked up towards the sky spying the Sun, it's so tiny he thought, I need only raise my hand to block it out, it was never my equal, foolish me.

"I am that factor Jason" General Macintyre said.

"I'm not angry or even disappointed that you could not see it, only I can perceive realty as it truly appears because I'm not trapped within it, I exist somewhere beyond it. Look Jason!"

General Macintyre pointed to a gardener who attended a patch of daffodils. With an electronic device he measured the acidic level of the soil as well as the concentration of minerals.

"That is who I am Jason," the General said proudly.

"A gardener attending the flowers. But even as I cherish them and spray them with pesticide there are weeds Jason, weeds than must be removed from the garden least they threaten the other flowers by taking their soil and sunlight, taking what they need in order to survive." General Macintyre stared hard at those flowers, his mind weighing over the solution he had formed upon hearing the horrifying news regarding the closing of the War Ministry. When a gardener prunes a tree, he thought, though he takes a blade to it he is acting in the tree's own interest. The decaying branches are sacrificed for the tree itself and so too he resolved must I make a sacrifice.

"Come Jason" he said and headed towards the road where his military hover unit awaited him and in a few moments had entered the craft with Jason at his heals who took hold of the controls.

"Where to Sir?" Enquired Jason.

"The base" he answered quietly and leaned back in his chair and then looked out through the reinforced glass windshield at the palace as they took off and continued to focus on it as they departed turning he head to follow it.

Jason knew something was up, through the long years of loyal service he had gained an almost telepathic ability to detect the General's mood. While he lacked the intelligence to even speculate on what was about to happen he did know on thing, it was going to be big.

Post 86:

Tristan Palmgren

"You were supposed to fly under the radar, kid!"

"I did," Derek protested, voice hissing through clenched teeth. "I kept us under twenty meters. There's no way any radar could've detected us that low."

Rosie shivered in her seat, drawing her cloak around her. "Oooh, they must have been watching for us."

It was the same dance all over again.

He'd almost started congratulating himself for a successful stealth entrance over Achten Sie. It was nighttime, and the ship's running lights were off. The cockpit was drenched in darkness. He'd made sure stay no higher than twenty meters above the waves. They'd made it through the city's sensor interference screen, even made it above the island itself with out incident.

By all rights, nobody should have seen them. That didn't change the fact that rear sensors screens were flashing an urgent warning about a ship directly behind them.

Rosie was right. The mob syndicates must have been waiting for them. They must have stationed airships all around the island's perimeter, and had been waiting for someone to pull a nighttime infiltration. If that was right, then the one behind him must have called for reinforcements. It wouldn't be alone for long. It was happening all over again.

The only difference this time was that they weren't in a broken-down junker airbus. They were in a Robotropolis hover unit - a heavily-armored military airship. They could defend themselves. It was the same dance... but to a different tune.

Derek only hoped he could tango to the right tempo.

The sensors screeched another alarm. Someone was trying to acquire a targeting lock. A laser bolt sizzled past the brow of the hover unit, briefly illuminating the ground below like a lightning bolt before splashing against the beach.

"Somebody man the swivel turret," he said. "I'll take the forward lasers."

Nayr volunteered himself by taking the co-pilot's chair, and turning towards the gunnery controls. From above, their came the brief whir of gears grinding as the dorsal turret began moving. The hull of the hover unit reverberated with a heavy thud as Nayr fired twice.

Their pursuer deftly weaved above the first shot, but the second glanced off its hull in a burst of sparks. In the darkness, Derek couldn't see the other ship, but he could see the sharp burst of light from its deceleration jets. It started falling back.

It retreated until it was beyond the range of any laser weapon, and then just hung there, keeping its distance. It shadowed them, like a phantom, and refused to be shaken. It was all but invisible except for the blip that persistently appeared on the sensors.

"They must not have expected us to be armed," Nayr said, relaxing his grip on the firing controls. "Maybe they thought we'd still be in the airbus."

"Either way, they're still going to be trouble for us," Nack demurred. "They ain't goin' anywhere. They're probably signaling for reinforcements right now."

Derek felt extraordinarily tired. He didn't want to deal with this again. This was what had destroyed the fragile remnants of his sanity just hours earlier. He briefly toyed with the idea of slamming the braking thrusters, chasing down the other airship, and giving them a good shouting out. He felt frayed enough to actually do it. He would have risked it, too, if it hadn't been for the thought of Sally and the other kids.

Rosie tried to make a suggestion. "If they're going to stay behind right now... maybe we could land, and hide in the countryside, before their friends arrive?"

"They'd destroy this ship and we'd have no way to get off this damned island," Nack told her. "They probably have infrared scanners, too. Hunt us down like rats."

"I need a glass of water," Derek said. Everybody ignored him.

"We could chase it down and... mmm... terminate it," Nayr said, savoring the last two words.

"It's faster than us, and even if we could, it wouldn't matter a damn to the reinforcements," Nack said disparagingly. "We should set this thing on autopilot a couple meters off some flat surface, and bail while the ship's still moving. Maybe that'll be enough of a distraction."

"Any idiot could see right through that," Nayr replied. "Especially if they have those infrared scanners. And then we still wouldn't have a way to get off the island."

"I need a glass of water," Derek said.

Rosie said, "You know, if you were thirsty, you really could have taken care of it earlier."

This was so damned absurd that Derek felt like crying. Instead he just ran an exhausted hand through his forehead fur. He'd never been fond of being treated like a child, even when he'd been one.

"Gods' sakes, I'm not thirsty! There are some glasses in the rear hold. Someone just get one."

Nayr was the first to relent to Derek's plea, and he stalked back to the rear compartment of the hover unit. He wasn't gone long. He returned with a glass of sparkling water, standard issue from the ship's holds. He stepped in just in time to see Nack point out the second airship on the sensors screens.

"Here come the first of the reinforcements," the weasel said darkly. "When there's enough of them, they'll swarm all over us like locusts."

Derek stared at the glass for a moment, and then, in one swift movement, upended it over his shoulder. The water splashed against one of the side windows, and trickled down in rivulets to the deck plating. He allowed himself the empty luxury of a moment in which to wonder what the hell he was doing.

"Kid, couldn't you wait until some other time to play with your food?"

"Shut up!" Derek insisted.

Before anybody else could come up with a smartass protest, Derek switched on the hover unit's communication rig. Fumbling with the controls, he set it to broadcast on as many frequencies as possible. The sharp static crackle of an open radio channel shushed everyone.

He raised the glass to his lips. His voice, resonating against the sides of the cup, became a deep, echoing bass. He sounded like Sprocket could sometimes, when he was upset.

For the first time, Derek realized what he was actually up to. He'd just been moving on instinct before.

"Attention SWATbot unit seven," he barked, "this is Commander Sprocket Apollo 9000, patrolling Nimbus Island. Resistance group spotted. Scramble all bomber units and prepare to sweep the island. Coordinates to follow on secure channel."

Derek cut the communication channel.

Nayr was already at the dorsal laser controls, and he fired several shots for effect. At this range, the lasers had little chance of actually hitting the target, but combined with the radio signal it produced the desired result.

Both airships began to fall behind. Suddenly, as one, they both swung away towards the direction of the city. Derek could see their engine plumes stark white against the inky sky. They faded to nothing on the black horizon.

He hoped it would take them a while to realize that he hadn't been broadcasting on standard Robotropolis frequencies, or that there were probably no other airships within fifty kilometers.

Nack visibly relaxed. He took off his derby, and used it to wipe his forehead. "Hey, keep sticking with me like this, kid, and we could go places."

"I was afraid that..." Rosie started, then said, "Well, never mind. Good thinking, Derek."

"If lady luck's on our side, they'll be halfway through evacuating that city before they notice that no one's coming." Nack replaced his derby. "I'd give anything to see the look on their faces. Now that's a trick you'd share with your grandkids - assuming you're dumb enough to have any kids in the first place, of course."

Derek wished the others would just shut up. He knew that he should have been proud of what he'd just done. A lifetime ago, he thought he'd lived for moments like that. Now there was nothing but growing frustration - no, a burning hatred, actually - burning in his cheeks.

The old Derek would never have been able to do something like that. The old Derek was better than he was. There was a slim chance he'd actually had a soul before it had been driven out of him by this damned quest. He hated himself because he'd been able to do that.

"I'm bringing us in for a landing out on this plain," he said sourly, without acknowledging anything the others said. "I can't see it in the dark, so I'll have to rely on the sensors to tell me where to land. Everybody better hold onto something in case I'm wrong."

***

The side portal hissed open, and Derek stepped out.

He was immediately surprised to find himself walking in knee-high grass.

Derek couldn't see how far the field extended. The only light source was the unblinking glare of the hover unit's running lights, and they only provided light to a distance of ten meters in any direction around the ship. His eyes would have spend several minutes adjusting if he wanted to see anything else.

This was the first time he'd seen any kind of living vegetation here. From every other view he'd had of Achten Sie, the island had been completely lifeless. He bent down to examine it. It was brown, dry, and crumpled like straw in his hands, but there was still a modicum of life about it.

The moon was waning, but even if it hadn't been, it wouldn't have been able to cast much of a pallor on the night. The sky was overcast. The stars were hidden. Far off to the east he could see a brief square of stellar light, a whole in the cloud, but it was small and lonely in the pitch blackness. It emphasized the dark instead of relieved it.

Rosie was the next person out, but she didn't know enough about the island to think there was anything extraordinary about the grass. Nack followed her, while Nayr stayed beyond to shut down the hover unit's systems. Nack picked at the grass, and remarked, "The saturation bombing must not have been as heavy here."

"The city's about three-quarters kilometers thataway," Derek said, hiking his thumb to the northwest. "They'll probably be looking for us by the time we get there."

The ship's running lights abruptly switched off. Derek only noticed the deep thrumming the airship's engines after it was gone. The ship was lifeless. Nayr came through the open portal, and manually sealed it behind him.

"They'll spot our ship if they do a visual sweep of the area in the morning," he said, brushing through the grass. "But it won't appear on any other sensors. Since it's not generating heat or power, it'll just blend in."

"I plan to be gone long before morning," Derek said. "We just need to grab the kids and get back."

"Reminds me, kid," Nack said, "just how do you plan to do that? Waltz into town?" He grinned. "By the time we get there, they'll know what you did. They'll be watching for us. And we don't even have any disguises this time."

"I don't know."

There was a heavy weight in Derek's hand. He looked down and was stunned to see the laser rifle in his palm. He must've grabbed it before leaving the hover unit.

***

Nic hadn't forgotten her desert lore. She knew that, contrary to common sense, it could quite cold, even among these sun-scorched dunes. Once the sun was down, the chill was her biggest enemy.

She'd gathered the children in a circle around the fire, including the wounded bunny rabbit. The fire served a dual purpose. It would keep her little captives warm enough to survive - more mercifully, it would also silence their whining - and it would serve as a beacon to the Achten Sie rescue ships she was sure were coming.

They'd better be coming. Or she and certain individuals would have to have words when this was all over.

She stalked around the edges of the campfire, mostly in the shadows, while keeping an eye on the kids. They were starting to fall asleep. All of them except for that squirrel. Her eyes were always on Nic, and she was obviously trying to do her best impression of a bird-of-prey regarding its quarry. It would have been cute on such a tiny little kid, if it hadn't been so pathetic.

C'mon, she was a kid! She couldn't stay awake forever.

Nic wondered how long it had been since she'd been able to grab any sleep herself. She knew endurance was to be desired on these kind of long mercenary jaunts, but, to tell the truth, she was used to a much more comfortable life. She'd been in a high position in the Achten Sie hierarchy. She'd let herself slip into cushiness as a well-earned reward for her endeavors. She was paying for that laxity now.

At the very least, though, she knew she could outlast this little girl. Sally just wouldn't stop staring at her. Nic hoped that she would sit to close to the flames, and that her fur would catch fire.

Periodically, Nic glanced skyward; looking for the rescue ship that she knew would be invisible against the night sky. It was a useless habit. The Achten Sie pilots weren't dumb enough to fly with their running lights on. If they finally found her, she wouldn't know it until they were very much on top of her.

She paced the perimeter of the shadows - and waited.

***

The irritating little girl finally fell asleep a number of hours later. She was the last of them.

The rabbit kept twitching in her sleep, cradling her arm and mumbling, but Nic was unconcerned. She knew that the wound was only a little burnt skin and singed fur. She'd had the laser on its lowest setting.

Even her slave-trading friends had standards, after all. If she'd shown up with a child with a full-power laser wound in her arm, her reputation would have taken a hit, and her reputation was more valuable than any currency.

Nic allowed herself to stop pacing, and she crouched to the ground at the edges of the firelight. This was the closest she'd allow herself to come to rest. She didn't want to risk even the slightest possibility of falling asleep or relaxing her guard. That little girl only *looked* asleep, after all. Fates knew if she actually was.

Her internal chronometer told her that it was somewhere in the vicinity of three in the morning, though it could have been later. The eastern horizon wasn't even slightly lit - was still very black, actually - but it had a slight pallor that made it seem just the slightest shade brighter than the rest of the sky. It was a haze almost like moonlight, but not quite, and it promised sunrise in no later than two or three hours.

The fire was burning down, but it was still warm enough to keep the kids from waking up in the nighttime chill. It was no longer radiant enough for its warmth to reach Nic, however. The cold was starting to bite.

She lowered her pistol, and reached in her knapsack to find a spare cigarette. That's when she heard it. It was a slight, high-toned whine, and sounded almost like a plastic puck being slid across a sheet of metal. It came from high above. There was no mistaking it: airship hover engines.

The noise swooped across the sky, and then fell to the ground just off to the west. Nic couldn't see where it landed, but she could tell by the sound that it was close. That was the only thing that mattered.

She grinned, and stood up. She walked over to the campfire, and gave each of the kids a sharp kick in the small of the back.

"Wake up," she ordered. "You lucky kids, your ride back to Achten Sie is here. C'mon, up!"

The kids moaned and whined and did whatever other little irritating things kids do. Whatever. Not worth playing attention to. Nic didn't aim her pistol at them, but she still had her finger wrapped around the trigger, and made it clear that she was willing to use it. She ordered them to get into a group, easier to round up and move into an airship hold. It was finally time to get some profit out of this trip.

She peered into the shadows around the flickering edges of the campfire, and waited for her saviors to make their appearances. She would have to pay them a tidy sum for their services. It was to be expected; price gouging was the way of life at Achten Sie. She would have done no less herself. She could afford whatever they asked.

Finally, she could hear heavy footsteps kicking through the sand to the west. Laser pistol still in hand, she began waving. "Over here! I've got some cargo I'd-"

"SURRENDER IN THE NAME OF DOCTOR ROBOTNIK."

Nic lost the rest of her words in a weak exhale of terror. She stumbled backwards for a moment, lost in disbelief for what she'd heard. She felt all her dreams and plans crashing into the dark sand dunes around her.

She couldn't still couldn't see the source of the gravely voice. Acting on instinct, she fumbled for her pistol and fired into the night. Her shot went wide.

The reciprocal laser bolt caught her underneath the chin. She spun around like the laser had been a physical object that had smacked her in the jaw. She felt herself twirl like she was in some terrible and ridiculous ballet, and was in the part of a dancer who know that she had failed to make a move correctly and was about to break a leg. Then she tumbled to the sand, and could move no more.

A great, murky ache engulfed her.

The next thing Nic could feel was damp sand against her face. It was sticky and cloying, and smelled of blood. Her blood.

A large amount of blood was seeping into the sand around her. Her fur was soaked with it. She couldn't tell whether the wound was on her shoulder or her neck. Her whole upper body burned. She could scarcely breathe, and when she did, a gurgling noise always accompanied it. So, this must be what a mortal wound felt like...

She could hear the cries and screams of children in the background, but she paid them no attention, for the thing that had returned her to consciousness was a metal boot planted three inches from her eyes. It was entirely robotic, and its heels were studded with a wicked spike. She recognized it easily. It was the foot of a SWATbot.

Nic tried to rasp out a plea for help with lungs that wouldn't breathe. She felt herself reflexively writhing and coiling. None of that disturbed the robot in front of her. She was being ignored.

She couldn't see the second person standing behind her, but she could feel the impact of heavy feet against the sand.

The voice was dark, black as the night itself, and felt like gravel being ground between metal plates.

"Status report, subcommander?"

Nic coughed weakly in disbelief, feeling more of her blood trickle into the sand. It couldn't be him. Not him, not here. That would be too much. She felt the crippling horror universal to every living thing when it felt a justified belief that the entire universe was out to kill it.

"FIVE CHILDREN RETRIEVED AND CAPTURED, LORD ROBOTNIK. ONE BEARS A LIGHT WOUND, AND ONE IS OF DRAGONKIND."

"A dragon child?" Robotnik's voice arched greedily over the word 'dragon.' "Delicious. Is that all there is in this area?"

"ONE CHILD FLED THE SCENE, AND HAS SINCE DISAPPEARED FROM OUR SCANNERS. SPECIES HEDGEHOG."

"Inconsequential," Robotnik said brusquely. "Bind the reminder and load them into our cargo holds. Radio the city authority and have them warm up the dragon roboticizer. Prepare for liftoff. And if you see the hedgehog before we take off, shoot him."

"BY YOUR COMMAND, DOCTOR ROBOTNIK." The SWATbot seemed to hesitate, inasmuch so as robots could hesitate. It nudged Nic with its spiked heel. A spike of pain ricocheted up her spine. "WHAT SHALL BE DONE WITH THIS ONE?"

Nic could feel Robotnik's eyes scrutinizing her... sizing up her chances of surviving the laser wound. If she was lucky, he might decide that she would survive long enough to be able to withstand roboticization. If not...

"Leave her," he said icily.

Nic didn't see them leave. It seemed like suddenly they were just gone, though she must have blacked out and not seen them go. She felt a lot worse now. She felt like she would have thrown up, if only she'd had the strength to do it.

She couldn't move. She could hardly think or feel. Most of her body was numb to her. The only thing she could feel with any clarity was her blood trickling down into the sand. She strained to concentrate on it.

Her sight faded. She was blind. Senseless eternity yawned before her. The only thing she could feel at all was the blood.

And then nothing at all.

***

Robotnik took stock of his prisoners on the cargo hold cameras. He ignored the wailing, and the pleas to the SWATbots sealing the doors behind them. He'd heard such noises too many times to take much notice of them.

A rabbit, a walrus, a coyote, a dragon, and a squirrel. Oddly enough, it was the squirrel that interested him more than any of the others. She was only one who wasn't make any noise at all; could even have been said to be taking this gracefully. There was some remarkable feature about her, something he couldn't quite place, that stirred some of his most ancient memories.

He switched off the camera monitor. He hadn't come all the way out here just to collect a few new toy workerbots. Discovering the campfire had been an interesting distraction, but he'd only stumbled across them by chance.

His hover units rarely patrolled this area, and he'd never been here himself before now. Robotnik vowed that he'd pay more attention to this area in the future. This was the area that Snively's last transmission had come from. The little wretch must be out here somewhere. He'd better have one hell of an excuse if he hoped to avoid summary execution. If there was one thing Robotnik couldn't abide, it was seeing his best traits - ambition and treachery - in others. If Snively were to show any sign of them, it'd be a swift end for him.

Robotnik ordered his hover unit to take off, and rejoin the rest of the task force already in the air and sweeping the cliffs and canyons of the Great Unknown.

The task force had flown out of Robotropolis almost immediately. Finding the source of Snively's transmission was proving to be disturbingly difficult. The message hadn't lasted long enough for the Robotropolis computer to completely trace his position, so the only thing he knew was that Snively had broadcast from somewhere in this general area. So far, the sensor sweep had revealed nothing. The campfire was the only thing of note any hover unit had found so far.

Robotnik was beginning to become convinced that Snively had already moved on. Perhaps this was a trap. No, perhaps this was a lure, to draw him away from his city. Snively could already be back there even now-

"INCOMING TRANSMISSION, DOCTOR ROBOTNIK," the techbot pilot reported. "MULTIPLE FREQUENCIES."

In lieu of his usual lackey, Snively, Robotnik had had to rely on these robots to be his right hand. He hated to admit it, but, when compared to Snively, the techbots were decidedly lacking. Robotnik drummed his fingers on his console, reluctantly turning his attention away from Snively's hypothetical betrayals.

"Let's hear it," he said.

"Attention SWATbot unit seven," the radio crackled, "this is Commander Sprocket Apollo 9000, patrolling Nimbus Island. Resistance group spotted. Scramble all bomber units and prepare to sweep the island. Coordinates to follow on secure channel."

The voice had a metallic twang, sure enough, but it had come from no robot. The voice actually had tone and inflection, instead of the usual monotone.

There was no such thing as SWATbot unit seven. The speaker had completely failed to follow any standard military protocol. Whoever this was seemed to be just making it up on the spot. Something was definitely wrong.

Robotnik checked the transmission's direction. It was definitely coming from Nimbus Island. The speaker had been truthful in that regard, at least. He also saw that the transmission strength wasn't very high. It wouldn't reach Robotropolis intact. If he hadn't been out here, he probably would never have detected it.

Something in his memory stirred at the mention of the name, though. Images of a canine came to mind, and then Snively as a boy, just after the coup, weeping when he'd mistakenly thought that no one was around to see him. He didn't know what had summoned the images to mind, though. He could remember nothing more than that.

"Sprocket Apollo 9000," Robotnik mused. "Aerial commander, I believe. Wasn't that robot assigned to Snively's command before this whole debacle?"

"AFFIRMATIVE," the techbot answered.

Robotnik straightened. This was the next clue, then. If Snively himself wasn't at Nimbus Island, then at least someone who knew something about him was hiding out there. Either way, he was prepared to rain death upon whoever he found. This was beginning to irritate him.

"Set a course for Nimbus Island," he ordered. "Charge all weapons. All units, assume battle formation."

Post 87:

Ealain Vangogh

They busied themselves diluting the reality behind and before them, shoving down, strangling, drowning, the thoughts of unrequited love and mutual betrayal and a despot and the vanished princess who came between them, who might be dead or alive, but who still, *still* wedged between them. You'll have to kill me to get to her, the canine had pledged, on the threshold of his vow to his friend, and the city, Robotropolis, to which the human now prostituted himself. Something sacred rested in the wellbeing of Sally Acorn, something like hope that refused to be snuffed-and it came, it locked, between them. They avoided the topic at all costs.

Yes, Snively and Sprocket were doing their damndest to be whimsically delusional.

There, in the Great Unknown, an unconscious thousand-year-old echidna in tow, with the biting chill of indifferent desert darkness closing in, the hot air of the sun sucked straight up through the cloudless sky and cast into the desolate, uncaring void of space. . .

Like their bravado, should they dare one *second* consider the reality of their situation: Three helpless, shivering creatures, all of them injured, none of them sure-footed in this alien place, trailed by the omnipresent wrath of Ivo Robotnik. This latter truth Sprocket had already guessed at numerous silent times; finally, as the vast stretch of sand offered sparing chunks of cactus, rock piles, razor sharp grass, he side-stepped a boulder, turned on his heel, and dumped J'Ran, gently as he could, onto the sand at the threshold of an abandoned mine. It had belonged to Robotnik once, no doubt, another foolish fuel quest before he'd wizened to the advantages of oil: For only machinery could have ground the precise, crisp gouges into the glistening grains of the cliffs and plateaus. The canine shook his head, softly, ruminatively, and turned to Snively with a shrug.

The human, it seemed, was expecting the precise question on the dog's tongue; it made his fair little features contort into an even darker grimace. "Don't ask, Sprocket. Because I don't KNOW where we are. You lost us a damned arm and leg of daylight insisting on backtracking for this worthless carcass." He jabbed the unconscious echidna in the side with his boot toe, then jumped back a bit, as if suddenly recalling the immensity of power she'd displayed during the airbus chase.

"Worthless?" The canine's silver eyebrows darted skeptically up. "I should think she'd be our savior if we could only revive her." He stooped over J'Ran's body, shook her once in vain, stroked her compassionately on the cheek, hoping any manner of warmth might withdraw her from whatever dreamscape had swallowed her so whole. He shuddered with the recollection of hours past, returning to the wolves after having walked barely a quarter a mile from their cave, begging for the echidna's body, having to brave his way back into the catacombs to where she was laid up-and Lupe, his beloved hope and faith and courage in himself, still lost, obscured, from sight. This time, when he marched back out, J'Ran in his arms, with Snively waiting, he never once looked back. The human had even flashed him a grave thumbs-up for his resolve. He shook his head, his whole frame, a useless habit of shaking one's organic dog fur free of fleas and wetness and other disturbing elements like good memories past: a habit that died hard even while one was clasped by a metal shell.

" 'IF' is the most crucial word of our language," the human spat, tugging him back to the present. Snively heaved a grunt and plunged his hindside down on a nearby rock. Hardly a second passed before he reared back to his feet, turned hissing at his seat, and thrust a shriek of "Ow, bloody HELL!" the rock's way; it was not a rock at all, but a small round cactus-with sharp thorns indeed. One was embedded in his offending rear; with a grunt he pulled it out and tossed it deep into the mine. "Blasted terrain, now I shan't sit for hours!"

Sprocket tried not to laugh. "That thing looks half as inhospitable as that hedgehog child. What's his name again, the one who runs around hooking arms with the princes-" His eyes became great gaping chasms to his guarded soul; he gulped back the forbidden word and winced.

Snively, who had-for Snively-been exceedingly kind with his friend since the departure from the Wolf Pack Lair, did his best to patch the awkwardness: "Sonic, the kid's name is Sonic. Well, that's the name he goes by." He rolled his eyes, snorting; vapor fumed out his nostrils into the crisp, chill night air. "Sir Charles Hedgehog's nephew. Always was a little brat."

"The LEGENDARY Sir Charles?" Sprocket's hands flung across his chest and squeezed, with a near-worshiping piety. "Griff's dad used to commute to Mobotrop . . ." Again he cringed at his unmindful gift at stumbling across sticky topics of discussion; again Snively glared at some far off point in the dark distance, awaited the correction of speech with tact. "Drat, I'm sorry . . . I mean Robotropolis . . . as an assistant professor at the university where Sir Charles occasionally taught physics, chemistry, and . . . I think it was industrial arts. Said he was a genius with no peers-"

Snively guffawed, forgetting himself this time. "Except for MY uncle. I mean, think of it-Julian practically SPONGED every bit of Charles's work and made it twice as good-" He bit his tongue, sensing tension cracking between them.

Sprocket's head was bowed; when he spoke, his voice was twice as deep, and as flat, as before. "You mean ROBOTNIK STOLE it." He bent over J'Ran again, pretended to busy himself searching her pockets for some sort of reviving potion or antidote.

Snively was honest. " . . . Yeah. I guess that IS what I meant."

"And what he stole . . . you mean the Roboticizer."

" . . . I was making fun of him, Sprocket. Both of them, actually. NOT commending them."

The canine shot to his feet, kicked and uprooted the cactus that had injured Snively's rump moments earlier, his steel boot impervious to the thorns that raged and scratched against it. "Charles was a good man. He didn't know his work would be . . ." Another kick . . . "corrupted. You know, he's one number behind me on the inventory. Bot #8999. He was the one who told me where to find you . . . that first day that I . . . woke up."

"Perhaps we should change the subject," Snively snapped; his voice quaked. His face had drained its color, and gone a hue halfway between chalk gray and pale green.

The canine dared a chuckle. "But it'll be waiting for us the next time we trip over it. And the next time. And the next. You know that."

" . . . More than there seems," inexplicably, the human echoed the final cryptic words of his speech of three, perhaps four, days past, uttered in the entranced, almost horrifically beguiled, Princess Sally's face. The princess who was missing-but yet stood between them. Even this irony cackled straight in the two boys' faces.

"Tell me about it," the dog mumbled, mounting a boulder, surveying the panorama before them with his ignited night vision.

Neither of them had an answer for this truth; for a moment they stood in silence, scouring desperately for another topic of discussion. Trying to help, Snively unbuttoned his deerskin knapsack, the hide the same color and species as the vest he'd filched from the Pack, and began to chew on the end of a stolen corn biscuit. He continued eating, just to keep his mouth occupied with something aside the dangerous threads of conversation to which he seemed prone. By the time Sprocket had arrived at his next question, the human had gorged himself with six of the ten biscuits, and was slowly, deliberately licking his fingers free of crumbs-quite certain that, even for the sake of diplomacy, he could eat no more.

It was a tender, caring question, the kind typical of the dog when he was feeling the most desperate. Evading his own crises and indecisions . . .

For Sprocket tended to project his unresolved worries for himself onto the plight of his friends: yes, the preoccupation was soothing.

"Snively, do you really think that hovercraft that Derek and Rosie and Nayr are all riding can outrun a bounty aircraft?"

"They'll be back, I wager." The human breathed a laugh; it wasn't cruel, but rather incredulous, wondering. "Even when you've decided you'll never see them to their victory, but rather fight against them," he mused, eyeing the canine with a keen stare, "you STILL care for their fate? Why torture yourself so . . . commander?"

"They are TRYING. They fight against being swallowed by the injustice they face-whether they win or lose the last battle, their refusal to accept what is wrong has already won the war." Sprocket shrugged, trying to make light of the monumental observation. "They CARE. That's why . . . 'sir.'"

" . . . I wish I could be that way. . . like them. Like . . . you."

For a moment Sprocket thought the wind in the canyon was playing tricks on his sensitive robotic ears. But the flush that had arisen on Snively's face, the vulnerable, embarrassed downcast of his luminous eyes, proved it had been no fabrication of the mind. It had been a real confession.

The human looked up at his best friend and smiled, winsomely, in surrender. "Buuut," he added, louder, regaining a bit of his hard cold shell, "I'm a coward. We all know that. So it isn't possible. I shall be 'swallowed, ' I suppose. I shall play the part of Jonah. And I shall enjoy the ride into the belly of the whale. All wet and cold, and ...ha, slippery and nasty . . . and dark." He picked up a couple of twigs and rubbed them against the earth, attempting a fire.

Sprocket shuddered; it was a joke, but spoken so passively, with such futility. When he rejoined, his voice was iron, for he wanted still to lurch Snively free of the demons he had never deserved. "The fact that you just admitted what you did proves that you're no such person . . . Snively."

A long moment passed, in which surrogate brothers locked gazes and spoke without words. "Thanks," Snively finally whispered. Meaning it. He began rubbing the sticks together twice as hard.

"No problem." Sprocket bent over the twigs and his finger spat a tiny tongue of laser flame. A regular inferno licked up orange and hot above their heads and finally settled into a hospitable campfire. "Ah, finally, we did it!"

" . . . WE?" the human breathed.

Snively had started shivering forty minutes ago, clutching his bandaged leg, but something, perhaps fear of seeming ungrateful, or weak, or fallible, had kept him from voicing his discomfort. The fool still thought his best friend could not see through him as clearly as a slate of glass. And Sprocket, again eager to forget his own needs, gladly sacrificed the rest his inner gears still needed in order to scour the next quarter mile ahead: for the sparse portions of firewood that the sand had to offer. After Snively had bitched at him for his "needless, senseless generosity" for a relatively brief ten minutes, he departed. The human wrinkled his nose and returned to his futile attempts at rekindling the fire, hopping around on his shins in the process, trying not to succumb to hypothermia.

Determined to need no one.

Sprocket spared a grin as he rounded the corner of the mine shaft, imagining Snively howling at the moon when next his buttocks found rest on a cactus lurking on the desert floor. He progressed down a steep, smooth dune, coveting the days when his paw pads were organic, when he could shiver with delight at the feeling of every individual grain tickling his feet. Days long past. But feelings that lingered . . .

Wait. That wasn't sand. That was . . . something FURRY he'd just stepped on. Something MOVING.

Sprocket's night vision flared brighter, and he stooped low to the ground-immediately jumping back, for the gruesome sight twisted and gored there before him in the sand derived instinctual disgust.

It was a vermin of some sort, a female discerned only by the swell of her breast, for her face was caked with a mixture of dried blood, pebbles, and stained sand, in rivulets that had streamed from a small but deep slash wound singed into her neck. Sprocket had seen the effects of that kind of wound from his own paws, in the previous few days, in the chaos of air attacks, and predatorial lust, and defensive gestures. It was a laser wound.

He shivered-a useless habit of the mesh and circuitry borne, but one that died hard. There were only two groups on this ravaged planet that regularly carried laser guns of this caliber: bounty hunters . . . and the denizens of Robotnik. Neither could be counted as pleasant company. Both, he noted it likely, remembering the livid radio transmission from Snively's uncle in the Wolf Caves, and Nack, Nayr, and Derek's despairing words following the airbus chase, were hot on their trial.

Nack . . . something about that weasel . . . reminded Sprocket . . .

The victim in the sand stirred and moaned, her swollen eyes roving in the dark. "Whoa, hey," Sprocket gripped her shoulders, trying to sedate her. "Easy there, miss, there's a girl. Come about gently. Gently, now." He braced her under his shoulder and lifted her upright.

The girl's eyes lulled in his direction; even in incoherence, they had a coldness, a survivalism and a hardness, that made his metal shell want to crawl. Her muzzle, he saw now, was long, slender; her ears equally razor-thin and keen. She was a weasel, her fur tinted the familiar dusty purple . . . of Nack's.

Nicolette. The bounty hunter, Nack's detested sister. As likely to have resisted catching and bartering off the Mobian children as to earn an honest living.

With this revelation, Sprocket forgot his soft-heartedness, seized her tighter, and shook her once, rabidly. "Where did you take the children, you thief? Where is the princess? Did the people who bought them do this to you? DAMN you, will they do it to THEM, too?!"

"Oh, gods!" The vermin screamed, possessed by a fit of true hysterics. She gained sudden remarkable strength, beating him over the head, in the chest, in the groin, all the places that might fell a creature of flesh but didn't even dent him. Still, he found it difficult, at first, to restrain her, as she screeched and hissed and growled, arms madly flailing. "Gods, no, no, leave me alone, Robotnik! Leave me alone, go away! Haven't got any more goddamned souls for you to eat! No price, no price on it, go AWAY!"

He recoiled, let her gasp for breath. Let her flop back to the earth rasping and hacking, clutching her wound. "Oh, no . . . ohhhh no. . ." Why hadn't he thought of it? Why hadn't he even considered the possibility? It was too hideous. That was why. Too horrific to imagine, the princess in the hands of such a demon. A swift death, a swift robotization. . . he could still pray for that, pray that she didn't struggle, break line or run, and volunteer for torture. . . but no . . . no, his prayers could change drastically for the hopeful if he took action.

If he never gave up. "Nic, it's not Robotnik's bots. It's just me, Sprocket Apollo. From the subway station. Come, now, calm yourself, and let me help you to shelter. I'll see to your wounds, too, if you tell me where he took the princess and her companions." He felt a twinge of remorse for bartering a creature's health for personal gain: but his gain would be the children's, and besides, Nic was a bounty hunter: Profit was her only real language.

Nevertheless, she didn't respond-she had already drifted back into slumber. He groaned, resisting the urge to sink into utter despair, and slung her over his shoulder. The second mortally wounded person he would carry on his shoulders in 24 hours. His mind flew to Derek, to Rosie, and Nayr, and even a shred of pity went out to Nack, and he felt his chest swelling fit to burst with concern, and bleakness: What if their protracted absence was proof that he'd soon have more near-corpses to bear?

He reached the top of the dune, and the mineshaft, in record time, his fear for Snively's safety, considering his own hour-long absence, making him risk flight with his new burden. He landed at the waning fire, and found the human facing the shaft, his back to his canine friend, with his whole body strangely tensed-crouched forward in the prelude to a pounce. Sprocket dumped Nic's body next to J'Ran's, tiptoeing towards Snively. Ordinarily he would have attempted to make sure the new captive was comfortable, or at least able to endure, but the peculiar posture of the human alerted him to larger worries.

Somehow, Robotnik's nephew heard him approach, even though he was hovering half an inch above the terrain. Without once turning, the human snapped, "Company. Down there." And he jabbed a finger at the dark, coal-dust blackness inside the shaft. "Been there since a few minutes after you left."

The canine nodded, voice dropping low and flat. "How big?" He murmured. "And what species?"

"I'm not sure, damn it!" Now Snively backed away, crept towards Sprocket, craning his neck at the shaft as long as he could before turning and, shedding all his dignity, scrambling behind Sprocket. It was at this point, tripping over her slung-out arm, that Julian's kin noticed Nic's bloodied form. His pitch vaulted two octaves. "Oh, shit, how did THAT happen?" Wholly unconcerned with who she was or what her injury implied for her or for the children, Snively's eyes widened at the gash in the weasel's throat-one that could easily transfer to his, by the hands of whatever was prowling out in the dunes.

"Your uncle," Sprocket retorted, simply, morbidly, concentrating his night beams down the shaft, seeing nothing. "He found her gallivanting around with the princess and her companions. The rest I don't know. But he's . . . he's out here somewhere."

Snively's cheeks drained; even in the chill air, his forehead beaded with clammy sweat. But this time, it was not because of the mention of Robotnik. "Do you hear that?" His throat was taut. "It's coming this way!" He dove for a sheltering boulder. "Run! Run like hell, Sprocket!"

There came a faint roaring, the sound of a jet plane and yet a stir in sea grass. Like something moving very fast, with no intention of stopping. Sprocket clenched his fists and moved towards the shaft-a blurred blue form came at him like a raging meteor. Its momentum puttered just as it reached him, and he made out a pair of sharp dark eyes and a tiny black nose before impact, before a shower of sand and a prickly little body slammed into his chest and knocked him flat on his back. The creature's sharp, tiny hairs squealed against his smooth alloy coat, making little scratch marks that he, in any other situation would have guffawed at. Then a few feet away, he heard Snively cry out, in recognition and rage, "RODENT!" and felt the quivering mass above him lifted. He sat upright, dazed, squinting, and made out, in the flickering, dimming firelight, Snively grappling with the sapphire intruder, who was quickly gaining the upper hand. The human found himself soon in Sprocket's place-on the ground, with the antagonist, nothing but a child of roughly ten or eleven years, crouched over him-sobbing its eyes out . . . but shaking Robotnik's kin by the deerskin shirt--hard. It was the young male hedgehog, the boy that Sally seemed to favor the most of all her friends.

Sprocket stood and darted over to the two combatants, prying the boy loose from the sputtering, snarling Snively. "Sonic," the canine addressed the child. "Sonic, isn't it? Come on, boy, stop that." He sat the grappling youth down by the fire and held him until he was mildly soothed. Tears cascaded down the child's beige cherub face, tears he was obviously unused to shedding, for the expression of vulnerability rendered his little face twice as miserable, the skin twice as flushed beneath the quilled fur.

"Yes," Snively spat, rolling over on his stomach and slowly, gingerly rising. "That's him, alright. The little bugger." He stalked up to the dog and hedgehog, seizing the terrified and enraged boy's blazing cheeks between his icy, harsh fingers, squeezing. "But a brave sod, at least, eh?" SQUISH. The child cringed, but oh, how his little eyes flashed a murder thirst.

"That's enough, Snively," Sprocket half-moaned, shielding the child. Snively drew back, blinking, hurt, and alarmed, at the canine's sudden shift in loyalty.

"He did this," the child screamed, losing composure again, bucking the dog's protecting arms. "Him and his stinkin' uncle! Robotnik took them, he took them away and now he's looking for Derek! I'll kill you both dead if you hurt them!! You hear me, human? DEAD!!" Spittle flew from between the tiny jaws of the intruder, the child named Sonic; his every quill trembled erect with battle energy. Both young men believed his declaration utterly, a claim suited better to an apoplectic old war general. Snively skulked over to the mine shaft entrance, to the darkness.

"To think hours ago I said I admired you little furballs," he threw back, his bravado unconvincing, for his voice broke on the word "fur." "But the last laugh is yet to be had, little BOY!"

"Hey, Snoot-ley, Sneetl-ley, Snide-ley!" the boy sang, taunting, with a sudden cheerful brassiness, a cocky sense of justice, that somehow entranced Sprocket. The child stood up, aimed a wagging index finger at the balking human, dancing in circles, making arcs in the sand with his red sneakers. "Don't be talkin' out your hindside, cuz it ain't over till the fat bot sings!"

The canine could not help it; he barked a brief bellow of laughter, quickly aborted, but Snively heard it. "You think that's funny? You think it's funny to harass me, Commander?" he demanded, voice becoming a roar. Funny how Sprocket became a 'commander' whenever they were around the human's enemies. Snively was an excellently tyrannical ass when he put his mind to it.

"No, no, of course not," Sprocket assured him. While chuckling. He composed himself quickly, though, seeing it prudent to pursue a plan of action-his mind exploded with nightmarish images of Rosie mangled and decapitated and Derek a glistening metallic centurion, a listless submitting spirit. No-it could never happen. He could not let it, not while he was able to intervene. Not while he could TRY. "He went after Derek, you say? Trust me, Sonic-we'll get them back. But you must trust me."

Snively scoffed. "Oh, that word. There's that WORD again." A smirk was plastered all over his lilting voice. Sprocket did his best to let the sting of it roll off his back, as he awaited Sonic's acceptance or rejection.

The boy's eyes drank the dog's face in-amiable muzzle, warm gaze, empathetic arms, dented though they were. "But you're friends with HIM." He gestured at Snively, who sneered back as cruelly and creepily as he could, while shivering uncontrollably, muster.

"Yes," the canine acknowledged, offering the boy one of the tattered towels from Snively's backpack stash. "But I care about YOU, too. About YOUR friends."

The boy blotted his face dry, heaving a loud sniff. "About . . . ?" He coughed, trying to steady his squeaking prepubescent tone. "About Sally, too?"

Unseen, for the two Mobians' eyes were locked in deep communion, in the formation of a truce, Snively's eyes alit with a strange, hungry new flame. Full of fear and deceit, as he listened, alert, ready to swoop his prey away to oblivion. His hands pressed together and his fingers enmeshed, weaving and scheming, as Sprocket replied, "Of course, Sally, too. Sally . . . Sally is our hope."

"Our second chance," the hedgehog rejoined, louder, again in that bold tiny warrior's voice, that brave shrill of David facing off with Goliath. Sprocket saw his own visage reflected in those bottomless black eyes, those indomitable twin blazes, and felt more honored than ever in his life.

"Yes," he assured the boy, whom, he at once realized, needed no assuring. "Yes, precisely. We will follow the hovercraft that stole our hope: at once. If only I knew what direction . . . "

"Northeast," Snively's icy tenor sliced through their conversation. A little too eager to seem innocent. "They'll be headed straight for the city. Robotnik gets a real rise out of roboticizing his victims, or at least interrogating them until they're begging for the fate, as quickly as he obtains them. I'll be headed that way. You two will stay right here."

This final declaration drove a gasp from Sprocket's chest. "Have you run MAD?" he demanded. "You wouldn't last a single DAY between here and the city alone!"

"He 's gonna cheat us!" the young hedgehog brayed in unison, with judgment of character as sharp as his gaze and his youthful purity, uncoated by the bias of blind affection, blind loyalty, that clouded Sprocket from the obvious. The canine knew well of the abstraction of his own judgment; he was thankful for it, and the sound of his deepest fears about Snively voiced in not ANY creature, but another MOBIAN, made his shoulders hunch. Still the boy held fast to their newfound camaraderie, their mutual fealty to the crown. "Don't listen to him!" he wailed, clutching the canine by the arm; the metal alloy was slippery, and yet still Sonic's grip was inextricable. His entire existence was at stake, so easily delivered into the hand of his traitor's nephew by Sprocket's foolish idealizations, and even at ten short years, he knew it. "Don't listen, he'll TRICK us!"

"He'll do no such thing," Sprocket croaked, swallowing his own near-leap to acrimony. His eyes leveled with Snively's, subtly threatening. He could not help his suspicion. "But one DOES wonder what prompts such sudden eagerness to please one's enemies. Be straight with me, Sniv. STRAIGHT."

"Firewood." The human's eyes roved. "Where's the firewood, it's getting colder-"

"Snively." Uttered as if by a parent bringing a naughty youth back to the point of a scolding. "WHY?"

Snively swallowed hard. He bore open palms to the canine, looking unbearably humiliated. "I . . . my uncle will be expecting me, anyway. He'll never suspect me to be spying for you if I find you the location of the kids and spring them."

"You don't fear getting caught?" Sprocket was filled wit ha new register of skepticism; like a hearty portion of poorly cooked, badly digested spinach, he knew it was good for him, but it still settled poorly in his gut.

"I may hate these kids, but . . . Remember what I said I wished I could be like earlier?" The human breathed, glaring at the dust below their feet. "Well . . . that's why. That's the reason." Then he caught Sprocket's incredulous gaze, and stabbed it straight through with the sincerity in his. Expertly using his pale victim's face to reverse the role onto the best friend who wished so badly that he could believe him.

Sprocket's stray had flew to his neck, as though a noose were there, ready to be pulled should he make the wrong choice: Oh, God, but he's such a good actor. A ruse-it could be a ruse. It MUST be. Snively IS a coward. I love him, but he's weak. I pledged my oath only hours ago . . . but now Sally's at stake. Sally and the innocents that share her conviction in the good lurking somewhere in this world.

If that good still exists, then there may even be hope for the lost . . . for . . for Snively.

My decision is clear. "NO, Snively," the canine finally spoke, stepping between the human and the hedgehog, who were ready yet again to square off, hissing, spitting, growling at each other. "I can't allow it."

The human's lip quavered; it was something between a bitter smile and the twisted grimace that preceded a sob. "You don't trust me. You ask that kid to trust you, but YOU don't trust ME. You chose him over me. I knew you'd choose your people over me!" He thrust his head up to the sky, tossed an angry, amazed cackle up at the stars-hoping to disturb them, too. "You always have-EVERYONE always finds someone to pick before they pick ME!"

"Shut up!" Sonic screamed around Sprocket's shoulder, struggling to get around him, to throttle Snively. "Shut up, you creep, YOU'RE the one that ruined everything!"

"Guilty as charged, Sweet Cheeks," the human hissed back, drawing closer, clawing again for Sonic's face.

"Both of you STOP!" Sprocket snapped, so harshly that for a moment silence did in fact ensue. He shoved them apart. "Stop, there's no TIME for this-"

"Yeah," the child mumbled, shuffling his feet "You're right. Sorry. We gotta go find Sal."

But oh, Snively was mad now. Snively was aching with rage, and he wanted to share it. He wanted to contaminate someone with part of it. He found Sprocket, and plunged ahead full throttle. "YOU would be an expert on wasting time, wouldn't you? This is all folly." His teeth gnashed behind his sullen lips. "Because you keep changing all over the place-you don't know who you are or what you want or what the hell will happen in five MINUTES anymore! And you know why? It's because the more 'loyalty' and 'faith' you preach and practice, the less loyal and faithful you become-you want to serve EVERYONE so you can't bloody PICK your priorities!"

"That is NOT true-"

"Oh, it ISN'T?"

"At least I don't make friends with people just so I can use their generosity to take and take and feel like I'm in power of my situation for once!" Sprocket leered at Snively, repulsed by his own incredible pleasure at having gained the upper hand of the argument. "At least I'm CONTENT with ME!"

But Snively stood his ground. He had something in mind that he was determined to see gratified. " 'YOU?' And who might THAT be? You're a MILLION people, damn it, so you're NOBODY! You're a mask over a million hidden people! You're a HYPOCRITE, Sprocket!"

"That was mondo MEAN, Snert-ley!" Sonic spat into the quiet that ensued, leaping into the space between the two comrades who yet again faced the only roadblock to their friendship: the absence of the people they no longer were. The presence of the adversaries they had become: over one little girl-and every decision, dream and regret she embodied. Neither older boy heard or saw the hedgehog child now. They were too busy seething at each other. The echoes of their battle flung ceaselessly in the canyon walls and mineshaft, drained to tiny faint whimpers, like the dirge of a flock of mourning doves, like affection withered before its first bloom. Finally utter silence descended, and one of them was still not finished.

"Well." Sprocket felt his ears humming with the awful noise that preceded battle mode-that preceded his sick outburst of fury at Snively, two nights ago, when the human had confessed that he had sent the canine to irrevocably scar his beloved, Lupe. The same disgust at the cruel Irony of the universe. "LOOK WHO'S TALKING."

Snively took the blow with uncharacteristic resilience. Or perhaps he took it worse than usual: For apathy, rather than anguish, tainted his face. "Then shoot me. Shoot me here, now-go on and point your pistol at my brains. Because I'm the one who's going back to Robotropolis-dead or alive. It's my home. The place that makes God Himself weep is MY HOME. MINE. And by any love I have left for you, Sprocket, I SWEAR YOU WON'T be JOINING me. I can't BEAR to see it. Now let me go-one way or the other."

"Perhaps I could intervene?" A new voice-female, buoyant at the end of the sentence, an almost idle curiosity. Deep, cool, collected, though it bore the throaty rasp of an exhausting series of travels. It did not belong to Nicolette.

As if on cue, Sprocket, Snively, and Sonic all flung around in he direction of the speaker, none of them quite able to believe what they had heard.

But sure enough, there on the sand, next to Nic's still-fallen form, rubbing the side of her head, ruffling unkempt dreadlocks, and readjusting her crooked visor over bleary eyes . . .

Was the newly awakened J'Ran.

Post 88:

MistressAli

Alone.

Snively knew the burdens of alone. The rigors of alienating oneself in order to prevent further pain. To them. No. He never cared about THEM. He cared about him. About him starting to care for them...for if he began to care about their suffering, their damnation as robotic shells, their tears...their laughter never to be heard again? If he even thought about it, the thought stabbed. Mercilessly. He could NOT risk emotional attachment. So...ALONE, he became utterly alone.

Sprocket undermined Snively's fatal decision to be solitary. He offered his friendship, his consolation, some of his trust, even. Sprocket willingly forked these things down Snively's throat, and the friendship CHOKED him. The dog might as well locked his cold metallic hands about Snively's neck and squeezed.

Part of him wanted the friendship, the other part...the bigger part...wanted to escape it. But Sprocket wouldn't let him go.

'He knows I won't save the kids. I know it. So why does it hurt so much, knowing he can't trust me?'

They were stupid thoughts to be churning about in his head. Not even the sight of J'ran gazing at them could push the thoughts out of his mind...but he pushed them as far back as he could.

"OH, J'ran!" Sprocket took a step towards her, his tail daring to wag. Another presence...another life! The sight of her eyes, blinking...awake and aware...was like a blossoming of hope. She was oK! "You're awake...are you alright?"

He touched her shoulder tentatively, a nervous smile on his face. The echidna was silent and then nodded. "I could say...I'm fine in this moment...but who knows what the next will bring?" She grimaced, bracing one hand on the ground, as if a dizzy spell had overcome her.

"H-hopefully...the next will bring better things than this..." The robotic dog put both hands on her shoulders to support her, but she waved him away.

"I'm alright now, I believe. Thank you."

Sprocket took a step back. "It's really good to see you awake. We were worried-" He cut off as Snively made a spitting sound. Sonic kicked a rock over at him, but it missed, disappearing into the darkness. 

"Pleasantries are all well and good." The echidna rearranged her disheveled dreadlocks, "But I imagine there are more pressing matters at hand?"

"Oh boy, are there ever!" crowed Sonic, finally taking a few steps towards her, his face clouded with anxiety. "Sal and the others were taken by Robuttnik!"

J'ran looked them over. "And we appear to be traveling wounded, and mostly helpless, I imagine."  She eyed the still body of Nic with a raised eyebrow. "And still in ill company, I see."

Sprocket's tail wasn't wagging now. It dropped dejectedly. "Yes, we've gotten ourselves into a fine mess." He resisted turning his head towards Snively. Though surely, it was partially because of the human they were here.

"And who's fault is that, I wonder?" muttered Snively. He wasn't shy in laying the blame, those pale eyes stabbing daggers into his friend's back. Sprocket pretended not to hear.

J'ran clambered to her feet, dusting off her clothes with a frown. "I suppose I could lend a hand," she said, "Although I fear it will only be *one* hand. I don't have energy for much more."

"Oh, no, don't exert yourself," said Sprocket hastily. "If you're not up to it-"

"Don't fret. I know my limits..." She sounded bemused as she said this, and Snively rolled his eyes.

"Wonderful," he said dryly, "Why don't you heal this blasted leg of mine, then?"

"Hope you bleed to death," the hedgehog growled. "Sally...Sally and the others! You hafta help THEM!"

Right. Sprocket's mind never once considered his own sorry state. The dents...the crippled gears within. But he was at a loss. Help the kids, how? And they...they were all wounded...and how far could they travel like this? Finally he uttered, "The kids...can you...can you see anything about them? Sense anything?"

Snively muttered something to the effect of 'besides that they're little meddling brats?' and Sonic kicked another rock towards him. J'ran closed her eyes, brow furrowed.

"Not much, I'm afraid."

Sonic gave a dismayed moan.

"But...it does appear...Chaos is on their side...for the moment."

"What does that mean?" Sonic demanded, but Sprocket smiled slightly. It had to be a good sign. Robotnik was a creature of Order, of control and rules and numbers... Chaos was surely his enemy. Even Snively was nodding.

"If there's anything my Uncle hates...it's when things are out of his control," he told the hedgehog with a sneer, his boot finally sending a rock flying back at the boy. "So it seems your dear Princess is still *alive* for now."

Sonic's eyes flared. "Sally's too smart for ole Ro-BUTT-nik to kill her!" He lunged at the small human, a fist swinging, and Snively growled, preparing to meet the attack. A scuffle was prevented with an angry shout from Sprocket as the robot threw himself between the two.

"Knock it OFF, both of you!"

"Creep," Sonic spat at Snively.

"Sonic...we can't fight. We have to think about your friends. C'mon now..." Sprocket put a hand on the hedgehog's shoulder and the boy's bristled quills laid flat again. But the eyes retained their fire, casting a threatening glare at Snively.

The echidna seemed unperturbed by any of the scuffling. She was gazing out into the darkness.

"So...what about this leg then, eh?" Snively said to her, finally. "If you want to help so bloody badly."

She eyed the wound, nodding. "I imagine I could heal that..." She eyed Sprocket. "And you...you aren't in good condition either."

"No," said Sprocket, "But...I'm alright for now..." He was silent. "We have to...help the kids, somehow."

"Oh, the kids, the kids," mocked Snively, glaring over at Sonic. "When you're practically falling apart and I'm bleeding to death over here, you concern yourself with those brats! They're miles away, Sprocket! We can't help them if we're half-dead!"

At their feet, Nic moaned and stirred, her hand moving weakly to cover her face.

"Well fine then..." Sprocket relented, his voice pealing in desperation... "Heal him, first, then, and then-" His eyes fell on Nic's form and his voice trailed off.

The gears in his body were damaged, but the ones in his mind worked quite well. They turned rapidly. "Oh...oh, wait!" He cried. "Heal her!" He knelt down by Nic's trembling body. "Yes...J'ran, do you..." he looked up, eyes hopeful, "Do you think you could?"

"What?" Snively took a step forward, his fingernails digging into palms, his eyes wide and mouth snarling. "Heal that vermin?! Are you out of your mind, Sprocket? What for, fool?! What FOR!?" He turned away suddenly, a laugh escaping him. "Oh, I see...yes...I'm even lower than her, now, aren't I, 'friend'?"

"Shut UP!" Sprocket said sharply, "None of *that*, Snively. This isn't some petty revenge." He put a hand on Nic's forehead, nodding silently to himself. "She can help us...she has connections. She can get us transportation. Maybe even medical help..."

"Oh yes...trust her..." The human's voice was a scalpel, trying to slice into Sprocket's heart, but the dog didn't heed the pain for once.

"Can you do it?" he implored J'ran.

"And go where with this 'transport'?" growled Snively, stepping closer, his boots actually treading upon Nic's tail. She twitched weakly.

"After the kids."

"Oh for Christ's sakes," Snively said, taking a step back, putting a hand to his face. He shook his head hopelessly. He watched through his fingers, lip twitching in annoyance, as J'ran knelt by the weasel's body and placed one hand upon Nic's wound. The other she placed on the weasel's forehead. Her eyes shut and a hum rattled in her throat.

"You wanted to go to the city," said Sprocket, narrowing his eyes.

"Alone."

Sonic glared at Snively. He moved towards Sprocket, standing by the dog's side. Clearly showing who he supported. Snively was alienated away from the group, clasping his arms around his body to keep from shivering.

Alone, indeed.

He wanted to be though. He wanted it. "Fine then," he spat. "Do whatever you damn well please. Don't expect me to save you when Robotnik discovers your little secret." A shudder rippled through him at the thought of Uncle. "Not that I could, anyway..."

"We ain't gonna get caught," said Sonic, watching J'ran intently. Now the echidna had both of the weasel's hands in hers, their fingers entwined.

Snively titled his head, studying Sonic. "Oh, so he's going too, eh?" He jerked a thumb towards the kid, sneering. "You're going to put him in that much danger, Sprocket? Do you want a kid's death on your conscience? My goodness...then you'd be more like me...heaven forbid."

Nic moaned. Sprocket didn't take his eyes from echidna and weasel, his voice low. "...Yes. It can't be helped. Besides...until he's safe at home, he's in danger *anywhere* we go."

"Home, eh?" A dangerous light gleamed in Snively's eyes. He licked his dry lips. They tasted like blood. Sand. He coughed. "Maybe that's where you should take him, Sprocket, and let me handle Robotropolis. That's *my* home, remember."

"I already said no."

Snively turned away, throwing his hands up in frustration. A boot kicked a rock angrily, sending it spinning off into the desert, but the gesture made his injured leg flare in pain. He whined out and stumbled to the sand. Sonic snickered. Snively aimed a finger at him, his eyes murderous, gleaming with pain-tears. "You're a lot of fools...all of you! Going there!? Why, fool...why do you want to throw it awa-...if I...if I didn't have to go back..." He trailed off, glaring down the sand, gripping one hand to his temple.

Sonic tilted his head, staring at Snively curiously. He took a few steps towards the small human, his brow furrowed. "Why do you?"

"Why do I what?"

"Have to go back. Can't you just run away?"

Snively didn't stand up. He settled back on his rear, legs sprawled before him, his hand draped over the wound. He grimaced. "It isn't that simple, hedgehog."

Another moan came from Nic. J'ran, still bent over her, mopped her forehead with one of her dreadlocks, exhaling loudly. "She's nearly healed..." Her voice was breathless; Sprocket watched, amazed, as the weasel's torn skin came back together, as if pulled by invisible stitching.

"Why isn't it that simple?" Sonic was genuinely curious, eyeing the human intently. Sonic disliked Snively...but he didn't hate him. Not yet. He hated Robotnik...so much it filled his heart to the brim, and he didn't have room to loathe another that severely. He wanted to believe, that maybe, Snively wasn't *that* bad.

The Overlander's voice was barely a whisper; he was mummering to himself. "He'll find me...he always..." Then his voice rose, firm and icy. "The matter is NOT up for discussion, rodent. The simple fact is-"

"What the fuck?" A female voice, lacking the civil manner of J'ran's, sliced through the air. Nic's eyes were open, glaring up at J'ran. Then they slid over, beholding Sprocket, and widened. She squirmed backwards, a panicked lilt coming to her words..."Robotnik!" Her hand flew to her chest. "W-w-where is he?! He was-"

"He isn't here." The dog spoke soothingly. Despite his disgust for Nic, her fear drew pity from him. They were both Mobians, both in terror and repulsion of Robotnik. They held that thread in common...the only thread...but a thread nonetheless. "You're ok now." Her eyes darted over the rest of their company. Sonic. The boy stared at her warily. Snively. His lip curled at her.

"I don't get it." The weasel sat up, still clasping her chest.� Why is he with you? Did he defect?"

"Hardly." Snively seemed appalled by the very notion.

"It's a long story. And unimportant at the moment." The robotic dog's eyes darkened. "We need some help from you. You owe us."

Nic let out an incredulous laugh. It was cutting. She stood, swaying, hand coming away from the non-existent wound to jab at Sprocket. "Me, owe you? Ha! If anything, you owe me for wasting my time!" She smirked, adjusting her derby (which strangely, had managed to stay attached to her head all this time).

Sprocket raised a finger of his own, pointing towards the circular tear in Nic's midriff shirt, the edges burnt black from the heat of the laser blast. "You owe us for your *life*, Miss Weasel."

She spat on the ground, eyes narrowed. "That ain't a fair trade, I never asked you to."

"Then I'm afraid we might have to take back what was given..." Sprocket's hackles bristled, and his lips drew back to reveal gleaming rows of teeth, his robotic tail lashed like a whip. Oh yes...sweet doggie could look quite vicious when he wanted.

"I suggest you listen to him..." Snively's odd voice rang out, his hand clenching around his injury, his body cringing away from Sprocket. He bit his lip. Nic stared at him, eyes still narrowed, trying to see through his act.

He knew she couldn't. He was SO good at acting victimized. And Sprocket had threatened him earlier, hadn't he? Not that the dog would ever REALLY carry it out... or maybe he would...if he went back to the city...if his soul and spirit degraded further...if they became stained by Robotnik's nightmare world.

He wanted to go alone there...he hated Sonic, and J'ran, and maybe even Sprocket...

But he wanted out of this desolate place even more. 

Nic eyed him, nose wiggling. She caught the scent of blood; her ears flattened back and a nervous gleam came to her eyes. Her gaze flitted back to Sprocket and she gave a one-shouldered shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "Fine. Whaddya need? But not too much. In my business, lives ain't always worth that much...even your own."

"Amen to that," Snively muttered.

"Business...is that what they're calling it nowadays?" asked J'ran pleasantly.

"That's what *I* call it. Well...?" She stared at Sprocket impatiently.

"You have ties in the city. People who owe you favors."

"More than I can count on my fingers n' my toes, tinman."

"Good." The robo-dog's tail wagged in approval. "And any of them...any of them have a hoverunit by any chance? Or any sort of fast transport?"

"I'm sure they do. You ain't no-one in this town if you don't got a ride."

"Splendid!" Sprocket resisted doing a jig; that would've totally obliterated his tough-guy fa�ade. "Ok. You're going to call one of those pals up, and get us a transport. We have places we need to go. As soon as possible."

Nic growled. "That's a mighty big favor, but I know the guy to ask.

Olson, my old," she spat again, "friend. Yeah. He owes me somethin' fierce and he's got a few units to spare."

"Give him a call."

Snively cleared his throat. "And no 'tricks', weasel. Or Sprocket rips you and 'Olson' to shreds..."

Her voice was spiced with indigence, as if all along she had been nothing but honorable. "I owe a debt and I intend to pay." She reached for her boot, where a sleek radio unit was strapped.

A pang of anxiety hit Sprocket; he would've paled if robots were capable. It reminded him of the Princess. She had carried a mini-computer on her boot. Those wise midnight eyes could be gone by now, dead in the face of a robot. Her noble heart turned to lead. Gone. "Tell him to hurry."

"Yeah, yeah." She snapped the device open, tapping a few buttons, then

she snapped it closed, glowering at the group. "And what about me, after this?"

"You're free to leave."

"Alright." She opened the device, and keyed in a few commands. A list of contacts came up (Sprocket caught names like 'Salty Jim', ''Mr. Bruiser' and 'Nack the Asshole'). She highlighted the name 'Olson' and a series of beeps came from the radio. There was a rush of humming static and then a gravelly male voice groaned through the speaker.

"Who the hell is calling at this crazy hour? EH?"

"Yeah, Olson? This is Nic."

The man cursed and groaned louder. "Oh for Gods'-"

"Save it. You know that favor you owe me? Well...payment's due..."

**

Alone. Sprocket knew the anguish of alone so well. Even now, when it did not press on his mind, he still felt the chill of loneliness around his heart. When he looked at Snively, especially.

The only person on this planet he really knew...his oldest friend. And he didn't really know him anymore...and befriending the human was ostracizing Sprocket from his *real* kin. The Mobians. They were his people...and he had never felt further removed from them.

He couldn't fix it yet. He wasn't ready to commit to them...not now.

Yes...Sprocket was dreadfully aware of alone and the hardships that it brought.

He gazed over at Snively; the boy was trying not to flinch as J'ran put a hand to his wound, gauging how much energy it would spend to fix it. She had said, in a non-apologetic voice, that she was growing weak again, and could only heal one or the other.

Sprocket's gears or Snively's leg.

Sprocket hadn't said anything. He hadn't needed to. For once...Snively didn't argue with him, he simply sat back and allowed the echidna to roll up his pant leg.

'I wonder...if he really hates me now...' The dog thought idly. But no...it couldn't be...it was only an issue of survival. Blood loss could be fatal; broken gears would only cripple a robot. It was an easy decision.

But still...he hadn't even argued...

"Any time now, Olson," Nic grumbled. She was sitting cross-legged near the cactus, her eyes continuously sweeping over the group. She seemed to look at Sonic a little *too* much...so much that Sprocket had beckoned the boy to come stand by him. The weasel had raised an eyebrow and given a lazy snake smile. "I swear...that man will hurry-hurry on his own time, but when it comes down to anyone else's, he's slow as molasses."

"As long as he gets here," the dog said. "I hope for your sake, his 'son' doesn't have any bright ideas to double-cross us."

To Sprocket's dismay, Olson had told them over the radio that he needed another person to come along. "Can't very well fly two aircraft at once!" he'd said. "I need somethin' to get me back to Achen, don't I?"

Sprocket, reluctantly, was forced to agree with that logic.

"Olson's kid is as dense as they come. He forgets where his own ass is half the time."

Sonic giggled.

Snively huffed. "A second person...unnecessary. Just engage autopilot...track and follow the leader. It's mostly for convoys, but it'll work on any number of-"

"Excuse me, but we don't have all that fancy Robotrillian shit, Hairless."

Snively was ignoring her, talking over her, his eyes suddenly on Sprocket. J'ran stepped away from him with a sigh, taking a seat on the ground. She looked out of breath, yet still elegantly stoic. "You should've known that, Commander. It's part of your aerial training."

Sprocket stiffened. He hated to think...no he loathed, he despised... to think of those blank years of his life spent as Robotnik's puppet. So much hurt he'd inflicted. His gentle mind warped into everything he stood against, everything that disgusted him. His golden eyes darkened but he refused to satisfy Snively with anger. He knew it would just feed his friend's bitterness...the thing Snively thought was his only sustenance in life. He was such a FOOL.

But Sprocket still loved that fool. Despite it all. For now. For now, anyway.

The plucky hedgehog touched Sprocket's arm, feeling the cold metal under his gloves, his young brow furrowed. "He doesn't work for you!" He spat at Snively. "He doesn't work for Robotnik!"

Snively's healing seemed to have an adverse effect on his sick mind. Yes, it made him bolder. Wanting to stab more deeply instead of just peeling skin off the surface. He let out an almost feline hiss, leaning forward with those blue-lantern eyes on Sonic, his lips curling into the evilest of sneers. "How do you know this isn't some elaborate plan to capture you as well?"

"That's enough, Snively," said Sprocket. "There's no need to take your feelings out on this boy-"

"Oh no?" Snively didn't look at him, he continued to lock Sonic in that hateful stare. "I suppose I'm just annoyed because I was looking forward to seeing him made into a workerbot!"

Sonic thrust out his tongue in a spray of spittle, grabbing a rock off the ground in one smooth motion. He went to throw it at Snively, but Sprocket caught his arm. "No, Sonic." His voice acquired an odd tone, like a doctor's scalpel, cutting yet sterile. "Don't stoop to HIS level." Something in his eyes made Snively's teeth bite into his lower lip, chewing, that pensive expression that meant he was bleeding inside. "You'll get back to your beloved city soon, Sniv...and your LOVING uncle. You'll be back in your safe little world...so, do us all a favor and be quiet."

Nic blinked at him; a small smile spread on J'ran's face. Sonic cast a smug look over at Snively, because the small human was flush-cheeked, whether in anger or chastisement, the hedgehog couldn't tell, and didn't care. He still found it amusing.

"Yes, I will." Snively stood and turned his back on the group, walking beyond the circle of weak firelight and standing with his arms crossed over his chest. "And I'll be quite GLAD to be away from you bloody fools."

Nic nodded over at J'ran, her tooth gleaming. "They have these lover's quarrels often?"

The echidna shrugged.

There was silence for ten minutes...it felt like hours. Nobody even moved much, except Sonic. The boy simply could not sit still; he paced and kicked rocks (a few directed at the darkness-veiled Snively, who did not respond), humming to himself.

Sprocket heard it first. The buzz of engines, the cutting of machinery through air. His ears pricked and his hackles rose involuntarily; he turned towards the sound. Sonic raced to his side. "They're here."

Moments later, two aircraft approached. The first landed, a small blue airplane with dark windows and purring engines. It was shiny and clean; a sleek machine of the air. It touched down quietly, a cloud of dust rising.

The second aircraft seemed to be a hybrid of the junked airbus and one of Robotnik's hovercraft. The front was egg-shaped and sleek like a Robotropolis model, yet the back was squared off. The door on the side seemed oversized and was painted a gaudy orange, clashing with the sea-green (rust-spotted) shade that covered the rest of the airship.

"One guess to which one we're going to get," said Sonic, making a face. He gave the hybrid aircraft a thumbs down.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, kid," Nic chuckled. "Sometimes Olson's ugliest creations turn out to be the best ones."

Sonic looked unconvinced.

The hybrid's door opened first and a scraggly young ferret, perhaps 18 in age, leapt down. He left the door open and leaned against the aircraft's side, eyeing them. There was a ratty bandanna wrapped about his forehead and a rolled cigarette between his lips. The pungent odor of smoke met their noses. "Hey Nic, baby," he said. "You in a spot of trouble, I reckon?"

"What I tell you about sassin' your elders?"

He laughed. "Nice batch you're hanging out with." His eyes lingered on J'ran and Sprocket frowned, but the echidna paid it no heed.

From the airplane came another ferret, quite a bit older, shirtless with a beer gut and a tattered pair of denim pants, splotched with grease and oil stains. "Nic, you little mink." He coughed roughly. "I'd say this is enough of a favor to cancel out any *future* favors I might owe."

"Oh please." The purple weasel tipped her derby back. "It isn't like you couldn't use the exercise."

"Believe me..." He patted the protruding stomach. "I exercised plenty hard to gain me this." A loud belch escaped him and Sonic went into a fit of giggles.

"Alright...enough chatter...I'm frozen enough already." Nic pushed her derby back down, shadowing her face again. "The deal is, you leave one of these junkers here for these sods," She aimed a thumb at Sprocket and J'ran. "Then we head back to the city."

"You expect me to give up one of me' prime aircrafts?"

"HMPH! It looks like you brought the worst of the batch, anyway, Olson, don't give me that crap! A deal is a deal."

"Damn woman." He cast a suspicious look at the group. "You sure have sunk low to be hanging out with Robotnik's trash and Echidnas." He took a tentative step towards Sprocket. "Maybe we should just take them back with us, eh? I bet this walking can-opener could fetch a nice p-"

He stepped back hastily, words sputtering to a yelp as Sprocket took a vicious step forward, his lips drawing away from silvery fangs. "Hey...hey...down doggy! I-I was just a-kidding with ya, c'mon now."

"Olson." The weasel's fists went to her hips. "I've had enough of them, and I owe them this. We're gonna part ways nice and easy, and if you cooperate, maybe I *will* consider giving you a freebie favor in the future."

The ferret sighed overdramatically. "Alright, woman." He turned to eye the two aircrafts, grumbling.

"We don't want the junky one," said Sonic.

"Good. Cuz you ain't getting it." He waved at Nic and the teenager. "Let's go."

Olson's son clambered back into the hybrid and Olson followed. Sonic's mouth gaped open. Nic shrugged. "So long, guys. It's been unpleasant knowing ya." She disappeared into the craft and the door slammed shut. Before Sprocket could protest or even utter a reply, the hybrid aircraft lifted off with a tremendous rush of air, sending Sonic reeling.

J'ran straightened her mussed dreads, unperturbed.

"I wonder what the catch is? Maybe it's low on gas?" The hedgehog cocked his head at the airplane, his gloved fingers scratching the top of his skull.

"It's insufferably slow, I imagine." Snively's voice drawled from the shadows. "That mishmash of a hovercraft they took off in had all sorts of modified boosters. That's why it left such a back draft. They can probably tilt the boosters to any position, using them to propel the craft forward at great speeds."

"I can go at great speeds," the hedgehog offered.

"That's hardly helpful at the moment. Unless you plan to carry us all."

"I'd carry you off a cliff, maybe!"

There was the sound of Snively's boot scuffling on the ground, and a rock came hurtling from the darkness, cracking Sonic in the shoulder. Sonic squealed in rage, lunging forward, but Sprocket swooped in and caught the boy around the middle, holding him back. The motion made the gears in his body scream in protest and he groaned.

"Oh, Sprocket!" The hedgehog cried, alarmed. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No...of course not." Sprocket released his grip. "I'm fine, Sonic." He touched the boy's shoulder, glaring into the shadows. "I'd be much better off if everyone would quit fighting, though!"

"He started it!" Sonic zoomed over to the airplane, yanking open the door. "I say we just leave him here! He's USELESS!"

"Go without me then," Snively sneered. "We'll see how far you get into Robotropolis without MY help." The human crossed his arms over his chest, standing stubbornly while Sonic and J'ran boarded the plane. Sprocket clambered in as well, then turned to give Snively a stern look.

"We're ALL going. Come on, Snively."

He didn't move.

Sprocket sighed. He disappeared into the airplane; moments later, the engines roared to life.

But Snively didn't move. He waited, knowing Sprocket would appear again. Like clockwork. He was so predictable. And he did. His silver face poked out of the still-opened door, his eyebrows sagging. "Snively, get in here. We're running out of time."

Snively took a few steps backward, his lips twisting into a sneer, his eyes gleaming in the weak glow of the dying embers, the rest of that twiggy body engulfed in shadows. "Why should I save those brats? Why should I risk it? For who, Sprocket? For you? You've already shown you're good at breaking your promises...you've shown who's side you're on."

"I'm not on anybody's side." The dog's voice was flat, but his eyes grieved. Snively wished they weren't such a vibrant gold shade; he wished they were dark...so he couldn't see the pain there. "I can't be."

There was silence. Sonic's voice broke it, braying from the cockpit. "Sprocket! Come on...let's get outta here!"

"Yes, in a moment," the dog replied. He rested his paw on the door handle. "Don't make me drag you in here." The statement was jovial, but his tone wasn't. It was half-hearted, weak. The dog's eyes were so sad...and so real. He did not fake such looks to manipulate the human boy's decision. He simply felt it...and he was not skilled at hiding his intense grief, unlike Snively. He just didn't know how to stop his eyes from shining it, or stop his voice from becoming rich with unshed tears. It was too hard.

Snively stepped out of the shadows, his eyes guarded. He came up to the airplane without a sound, but before he stepped up, before he accepted Sprocket's outstretched hand for assistance, he moved back and silently beheld his friend. His enemy. The one he burdened; the one who burdened him.

His friend, ultimately.

"How much are you going to sacrifice for me?" One delicate hand rested upon his leg, where the bleeding wound had been. The wound that Sprocket had allowed to be repaired, at the cost of his own body degrading further.

The dog said nothing. He kept his hand out, his ears drooping.

"You can't keep doing this. You have to..." Snively closed his eyes, taking a breath, "You have to let GO, Sprocket."

The dog leaned down, extending that hand further. "Everyone has choices, Snively."

Metal hands met organic. Sprocket pulled the small human into the airplane, shutting the door behind them. Snively's teeth were bit down into the softness of his lower lip, his eyes dangerously blank; he was desperately trying to hold up the shields. Too bad Sprocket was starting to learn these new tricks...so well-honed now. Snively had always been a master of illusion, even as a child...time had only strengthened those skills.

Sprocket could almost see through it now. He only wondered...if, when he saw beyond the veils of indifference and hate and coldness, if he was truly seeing the real thing underneath, or if that was just another layer of armor and lies.

"I choose to...to hope..." he said.

Snively pulled away from him, those eyes glinting with spite now. "Then you're a fool." His lip curled in disgust; he turned on his heel and disappeared into the cockpit. Sprocket heard Sonic's acidic greeting to the Overlander, he heard J'ran mummer something.

"It's all I have... It's all I know how to do..." His whisper met dead air and silence.

Suddenly a hand clasped his and he jumped. A round face gazed up at him, the brow wrinkled in impatience. "Sprocket, man!" The young hedgehog shook the dog's captured hand. "We gotta go...we gotta go help the others."

The boy's eyes were wide, worried, anxious. Impatient. And yet...still hopeful.

Sprocket nodded firmly.

'Until all chances are spent, until roads are taken, until all life is dead...

then you're a fool NOT to hope.'

**

Alone.

He had never really known it.

Well, he had, but it was never in the forefront. It hovered on the edges of his worst dreams, it made darkness curl inside his eyelids when he couldn't sleep. It disappeared without any bitter aftertaste as soon as sunlight arose, as soon as a friendly voice touched his ears.

Sonic had always had someone there. In the absence of his parents, he had Chuck to care for him, Chuck who was both his surrogate father and loving friend, his idol. He had Bunnie, and Sally and Antoine, and everyone...they loved him, he loved them...they were so close.

Even now, he had Sprocket and J'ran. Sprocket, especially, was becoming trusted and dear in his heart.

But alone...loneliness...

The ache was clutching his heart, making his lungs struggle to breathe in, and his eyes blur. He stared at the group, Sprocket at the controls, guiding them through the clouds and space, the echidna, sitting stoically in her chair, and the human, his head resting on his hand and the spiteful glow of his eyes concealed behind closed lids. Did they feel this too? Did J'ran miss her family...did she have one? Did Sprocket have parents that had been roboticized too, or killed in the war...did he ever cry over them?

Sonic wanted to ask, because this feeling, so yawning and empty...like a hole inside him...it frightened him. He was even willing to shake Snively awake, and ask him, ask him if the reason he couldn't run away was because he would miss his Uncle too much, because he would be too alone without him...

But he didn't. He sat still for once, clutching his hands together, the fingers writhing against each other in anxiety. 

It was ok though. It would go away, because they were hurtling through the air, heading towards the city...and Sally. She was so smart. She would stay alive...she would get away, somehow.

He'd see them all soon, and this awful feeling would be snuffed out. Maybe he'd even get a hit in on Robotnik too. The thought made him smile. Soon. They'd be there soon

**

Sonic couldn't know, he wasn't psychic. Not even J'ran could really see it, not yet, she was too drained. She felt a stirring in the forces of Chaos...forces that could work against them. It was really hard to tell with Chaos sometimes. It had a way of conveniently assisting and the next moment stabbing in the back. Sprocket kept his eyes on the clouds, watching the fluffy tufts of whiteness constantly reshape. He didn't know.

Snively was unaware. He thought, with every passing moment, the plane carried him closer and closer to the man he feared. The one who would bleed his body and break his bones...but at least he could expect a nice long rest in the infirmary. With painkillers...

He licked his lips.

Every moment, yes, they were drawing closer to Robotnik.

None of them could have known, that they weren't...The distance between them and the tyrant was lengthening.

Robotnik's ship wasn't going to Robotropolis.

It was approaching a different city...and he had brought along fireworks to celebrate his arrival.

Nimbus Island was in for quite a surprise.

Post 89:

J.R. Grant

Nayr and the party peered through the grass at the heart of Achten Sie looming in front of them. It would seem much more frightening if not for the chaos that was apparent. This was not just any evacuation. This was a mass genocide. The bounty hunter mind did not work in the way that any other mind did. Self preservation was key to this way of life and the dead bodies on the ground accompanied by flying lasers from rifles turned this evacuation into a bloody free-for-all.

"Well hollleee shit... will you look at that?" Nack asked, slightly perplexed. "They should've figured out the joke a half hour ago." It was true that this field took a small while to navigate through... especially in the dark without light. The only thing that kept them on the path was Nayr's night vision and the tip off on the city's direction from Derek, which ironically didn't help much when all you could see were giant blades of grass in your face.

"Perhaps luck is in our favor tonight. It's quite possible that some bounty hunters have taken advantage of the momentary confusion and are trying to secure some extra profit by knocking off their competition." Nayr replied, his eyes glued to the flying lasers. "The children are certainly not in a very safe position."

"On the contrary, mate, they are. Nic is one mean bitch when she wants to be. No doubt that she's holed up somewhere saf-- GODS!!! I'm an idiot!" Nack exclaimed and pulled a small communicator that was attached to his derby and flipped it open.

"What's are you doing?" Derek asked Nack. Nack glanced over at the freedom fighter with a toothy grin.

"What better way to find my dear sister than calling her?" Nack asked. Nayr's eyes narrowed.

"Have you lost your mind or were you never born with one?!" Nayr asked harshly. "I can imagine the scenario now... 'Hello, sister. I was wondering if you could tell me where you and the children are hiding so we can come and take them from you'. I'm sure she'd be quite willing to tell you."

"For one thing, that's not what I'm aiming for, Cheerful. I'll call her. It doesn't matter if she picks up or not: I'll have her coordinates and we can make for where she is... and why on Mobius wouldn't my dear, beloved sister not want to talk to me?" Nack responded and flipped open the communicator and scanned through the list of names down to "Nic the Bitch" and chose it. Before long his sister came on the screen with an irritated look.

"Whaddya want, asshole?" Nic asked. Nack immediately knew something was going on. He had basically been raised in Achten Sie and this was nowhere in that city... in fact, she was in airship. Her coordinates put her two minutes from closing in on Achten Sie.

"What in the gods' name are you doing, woman?" Nack asked in confusion. Nic smiled.

"What's it worth to you?" Nic asked with a smile. Nack glared at his sister... damn he hated that bitch. Nack slammed the communicator closed and slipped it back on his derby.

"What was that?" Nayr asked with a smirk. Nack shook his head.

"That was me wondering what the Hell just happened. She's in an airship heading towards us. She'll be here in a minute and a half." Nack replied.

"Why is she heading towards the island?!" Derek asked in shock. Nack shook his head.

"Don't ask me, kid. All I know is that we can catch her when she lands... but we'll have to be quick about it: and we'll have to go through the city for a small part of it." Nack replied and started walking off to the left through the grass, making towards the closest docking bay to his sister.

* * *

J'ran leaned back in her seat, meditating. She hadn't tried to make a scene, but there was something wrong. Something terribly wrong. She should have been dead. Nayr tried to save her, but it didn't happen. She succumbed... and then someone picked her up. Something she hated above all else had saved her life and she was not grateful for it.

This is quite... enjoyable, echidna. It has been so long... since I was able to... escape.

You were probably rightfully banished to begin with, mage.

Do not... flatter me, echidna. I soon... shall have you as... my puppet.

Eventually, mage, you may have me, but for now I am still in control. The only mage that could possibly threaten me is Lazaar.

But what of... his apprentice?

You speak of Naugus. That cannot be who you are. Naugus was thrown out of the Mage's Council centuries ago. There is little doubt that he would be far too weak to do anything now.

Just because... he was exiled does not mean... that he gave up magic, echidna.

The council would track him down if he had and disposed of him.

What if... Naugus disposed of... the Council instead, ... Kayla-la?

Kayla-la was J'ran's old pseudonym back when Echinaopolis was still joined with the planet. She had discovered the comet that would eventually destroy Angel Island and devised a plan to get them out of the way. The use of this pseudonym meant that this mage at least knew who she was.

You... you are Ixis Naugus?

Yessss... and you will... soon be as well... echidna.

You may be the second most powerful mage on this plan--

I am now the MOST powerful mage... on this planet... echidna. I destroyed the Council... and my master disappeared. If... it weren't... for Robotnik... I would still be in this... realm today.

At least this Robotnik did something constructive for Mobius.

Not for long... echidna. Soon I will rule the world again... through your immortal body... through your... POWER.

There's no way that's possible. I have complete control right now.

That'ssss what... you think, echidna. Even now I have mild control over your extremities.

As if on cue, J'ran's fingers bent back and forth slightly. The echidna scientist's eyes widened explosively and she quickly lost her trademarked cool.

"THAT'S NOT POSSIBLE!!!" J'ran exclaimed, jumping to her feet a ghastly expression cast towards her hands. The sudden exclamation startled all but Sprocket, who was far enough away that the sound simply drew his attention. Sonic was on his feet almost immediately and Snively had simply been jarred from his own inner despair.

"J'ran? Is everything okay back there?" Sprocket called out. J'ran was sweating, but the canine wouldn't be able to tell.

"Yeah... yeah. I'm fine. It was just a nightmare." J'ran lied. It was a decent lie, as she was able to lie when she wasn't in any sort of pressure... not to mention that she wanted to believe her lie. She wanted to believe that she was imagining what had just occurred.

"Was it really scary?" Sonic asked. J'ran removed her visors, her eyes closed, and wiped sweat from her forehead, almost not registering the child's question.

"Terrifying." J'ran replied. Snively snickered in a corner, his face still buried in his hands. J'ran replaced the visors on her face to see the hedgehog looking up worriedly at her. J'ran understood the uncertainty that he was feeling. The possibility that everyone around him could possibly disappear in an instant...

How had she gotten caught up in this mess? This was simply a routine check-up on the world and this time she had gotten sucked into something far greater than she had ever anticipated.

"What happened in your dream, Miss J'ran?" Sonic asked. This was the kind of pressure she was speaking of when it came to lying. She could not expand on lies for the life of her.

"Someone was chasing me." J'ran replied. Snively snickered again.

"My, my... isn't that scary?" Snively laughed. J'ran didn't make any change in expression, as she chose to ignore the comment.

"I have nightmares sometimes, too. I have lots of nightmares where I see Uncle Chuck getting roboticized..." Sonic told J'ran. Speaking of lost friends...

"Sprocket. How far are we from Robotropolis?" J'ran asked. Sprocket glanced down at a panel on the ship.

"About 300 kilometers." Sprocket replied. J'ran sighed and, unlike usual, slumped down in her chair exhausted.

* * *

"I trust you have an idea on how to get through here, Nack?" Rosie asked. Nack bit his lip, but was still grinning. The weasel pulled out an ion powered laser pistol and glanced over at Rosie.

"Yeah. You and I run while the kid and this Sados here cover us." Nack replied, shoving the laser pistol into Nayr's chest. Nayr was not pleased and let the pistol fall the ground, the safety off (as bounty hunters didn't bother with a safety in their line of work anyway). A charge left, striking someone in the crowd near the hanger down, but the chaos served in their favor, causing them to be unnoticed. Nack brought a glove to his face in exasperation as Nayr drew his blade and brought it in front of the bounty hunter's face. Nack's eyes went wide as he brought his gloved hand down.

"Easy there, mate! You don't need to use the pistol if you don't want to!" Nack said, slowly backing away from the sword that was glowing a sequin red in the dark night sky.

"I would NEVER use one of those charged devices when I have my sword at my side. Do not forget that, weasel." Nayr said between clenched teeth. Nack nodded disdainfully.

"I think it would be rather hard to forget." Nack said and backed away. Nayr lowered his sword to his side and looked over at Derek.

"Give him your weapon." Nayr told Nack. Nack was about to pick up the pistol when Derek exposed a weapon of his own; a laser rifle. Nayr chuckled.

"It seems the jellyfish has grown a spine." Nayr said with a smile, his gleaming white teeth showing in the dark like polished pearls in the depths of the sea.

"There's the ship... and I'll be damned. It's Olson's ship!" Nack laughed to himself. "I never thought I'd see those two in forty kilometers of each other again!"

"This is know time for reflection over past circumstances. This must be a swift and perfect execution if we are to make it to the ship without casualties." Nayr told everyone. "I will charge out first and draw their fire while the koala covers you both heading towards the ship." Derek's eyes widened.

"Wait! What if--!" Derek called out, but Nayr was already executing his idea. Nack gritted his teeth.

"That guy's a damned fool, but he's right. It's now or never." Nack said and shoved Derek out of the safety of the grass. Derek dashed towards the ship, not really wanting to look over at the dragon assassin doing what he did best... he looked up anyway to make sure no one began to notice them. If anyone did, Nayr's plan would fail: which is what Derek had tried to tell the Sados before he charged into the murderous crowd.

Nayr grinned sadistically as he brought his red sword into the back of a lizard like Mobian. The lizard's eyes went wide as his blood spilt forth from his mouth. Nayr removed the sword and began hacking his way through the crowd. It wasn't long before the other bounty hunters there realized that someone else was clearing out the crowd. Laser fire streaked towards Nayr, Nayr smiled and closed his eyes, creating a barrier around him. The fire did nothing to him and he continued his slaughter... until he noticed that a small portion of the crowd was chasing something else. Nayr's eyes narrowed as he realized his error in judgment. There was no possible way the koala could hold off that crowd. His diversion was supposed to keep them away enough so that Derek only had to deal with stragglers. Nayr dashed through the crowd, his sword held in front of him at an angle where he could dispose of anyone in his way.

The Sados broke through the crowd just in time to see plenty of laser fire heading straight towards the now sprinting Mobians. Derek was actually the furthest behind and he wasn't going to make it. Nayr didn't have time to think. He had his grudges against the koala, but somehow he couldn't see him injured: or killed. Nayr ran as fast as he could and scooped Derek up off the ground... just in time for the Sados to be hit in the left leg by a plasma rifle. The burn spread out engulfing a good five inches of his lower left leg and the Sados tripped, dropping Derek. Rosie and Nack were at the ship... which wasn't very helpful without the hatch being open to escape into. Nayr wasn't used to being caught off guard... and he was very bad at thinking fast. How could he have been so careless? Nayr dove and blocked another laser fire, this time from of laser pistol. The Sados caught this one in the back, which shattered his vertebrae, paralyzing him for the time being. Nayr collapsed on top of Derek. The last thing Nayr remembered was a sharp thud into the back of the head before everything went black.

* * *

Nayr opened his eyes to see a dark smiling face in front of his. Nayr's eyes flashed in the realization that he had been caught off guard and struck the face with the force of his hand and immediately jumped to his feet, reaching for his sword... that had been removed. Someone else laughed. Nayr looked in the direction of the laugh and saw a black hedgehog. His legs and feet were robotic... as well as a few minor bionic appendages on his forehead and arms.

"The favor�s repaid, 'Sados'. You're damn lucky we were there..." the hedgehog said, closing his eyes with a smirk. "Though Nagi wasn't too lucky she was in your face when she awoke..."

"Shuddup, Blade..." a female voice said from behind Nayr. The Sados turned around to see a spyder rubbing her face. Nayr raised an eyebrow. Spyders were a very rare species of spider... related to the black widow. The only known spider capable of flight-- an ability that was necessary seeing how weak they generally were. This spyder was a little taller than the hedgehog with black and red hair and dark skin. An odd corset was the only thing covering her body. Seeing her brought his eyes to the only familiar faces in the room. Nack, Rosie and Derek. Nack was leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette while Rosie sat on the ground sobbing. Derek was unconscious for the time being.

"Why is the koala incapacitated?" the Sados asked. Nack snickered.

"You'd be out cold if someone twice your size fell on you as well..." the weasel replied, tapping his cigarette, ashes falling to the ground, briefly lighting up the dark room. "...and I got great news for ya, too."

"Spit it out. We don't have time for this." Nayr replied, beginning to tap his foot impatiently. Nack looked the Sados in the eyes with a toothy grin.

"My dear sister doesn't have the kids. They're in the safe and sound custody of Robotnik." Nack told Nayr. Nayr made no real reaction to this. It didn't seem to sink in for some odd reason.

"They're... not here?" Nayr asked as Derek began to stir from his little nap. Nayr grimaced. Derek slowly sat up, wincing in slight discomfort.

"The... children..." Derek gasped. Nayr frowned.

"They have been captured by the one you call Robotnik." Nayr replied. Derek blinked a couple times, not comprehending what had just been said.

"What?" Derek asked in disbelief.

"Cheerful's right." Nack replied, gesturing to Nayr. "Nic doesn't have the kids.

She barely escaped herself... and that's all I've gotten out of her."

"There's more?" Derek asked. The black hedgehog, Blade, walked up to Derek smiling.

"Yup, but she's not giving out that info for free, buddy..." Blade said. "However I'd be willing to help you for a much smaller price than she'd want." Nayr's eyes narrowed and he reached for his sword... which was still missing. Enraged, Nayr instead grabbed Blade by the neck and held him up off the ground. Nagi drew closer, but Nayr turned towards her, tightening his grip on Blade's throat.

"Move an inch closer and he's dead." Nayr growled. Nagi knew that Nayr wasn't bluffing. She stopped. "First, 'Nagi', get me my coat and sword. Then we can have a little chat." Rosie looked quite startled, although Derek remained rather calm... already desensitized to the brutality that Nayr often displayed.

Nagi pushed a panel on the wall and a trap door slid open where Nayr's weapons were concealed. Nagi removed them and threw them to Nayr. The Sados threw Blade to the ground, catching his coat and sword with little difficulty. Nayr looked down at Blade.

"I don't think you're in the position to be making demands, hedgehog. I saved your ass before. You'll be repaying me the rest of your life for it." Nayr said, glowering at the hedgehog. Blade got up, rubbing his neck, then spat on Nayr's shoes.

"I just saved your life, Sados. I think that's a fair trade." Blade countered. Nayr knew that that was most likely true. It was difficult for him to die from the gift he had received, but not impossible... still he couldn't stand being proven wrong.

"Saved my life?! I'm immortal you stupid hedgehog. You saved everyone else's

life. Not mine."

"Doesn't saving your friend's lives mean anything to you?"

"I don't have any 'friends', mobian. It was your mistake to save them, not mine."

"If they aren't your friends then why did you take the bullets for the koala over there?" Blade countered. Nayr was a quick thinker... and a quick liar. It took little time to cover for it.

"Because he's the only one that can fly our ship and get us out of here." Nayr replied.

"You can fly a ship, Nayr. You flew us here to begin wi--"

"SHUT UP, FOOL!!!" Nayr screamed at Blade. "I'm not here to argue with you.

If you say another word, I'll eat you like the Great Rainforest delicacy that you are. Listen... I'll go back and get more information out of the weasel's sister." Blade nodded irritably as Nayr walked towards Nack.

"Where's your sister?" Nayr asked. Nack pointed out a door to the weasel's left.

Nayr nodded and walked out, drawing his sword as he left.

This room was a classic interrogation room. Single light and a desk. Nic was chained to the wall, smiling smartly at Nayr. The Sados placed his sword at his side and sat down in the wooden chair, leaning over in front of Nic.

"I'll be reasonable for now. Tell me where the children are." Nayr began.

"Sure. They've been captured by Robotnik." Nic responded. Nayr nodded.

"I know that much. What were the circumstances behind this? How did you survive? Until your brother called you, I thought for sure you were dead." Nayr asked. Nic yawned and just smiled at Nayr. The Sados grabbed his sword and brought it to Nic's neck.

"ANSWER ME!!!" Nayr yelled in the bounty hunter's face. Nic laughed.

"I know you're not going to kill me..." Nic responded. Nayr blinked a couple times.

"What makes you so certain of that?"

"I have information that no one else has. I'm you're only way to get that info and killing me would destroy any hope you have of retrieving it." Nic responded coolly. Nayr took away the sword and put it away. Damn her... Nayr usually got whatever he wanted with threats. That wasn't working this time. The Sados dragon slayer sat back in the chair, the wood creaking from the shift in weight. He sighed and wiped sweat from his forehead. He was left with no choice.

"What do you want?"

* * *

Blade grabbed a folding chair and sat down, pulling out a cigar and lighting it. It was sad, really... he owed that black freak his life. If Nagi hadn't found Nayr while they were escaping from Lower Mobius, he might not be around. Now he tried to repay it by saving them from sure destruction just now and nothing came of it.

Nagi came over and sat down next to Blade, putting her arm around him.

"You know how he is, love. He's been through some serious shit and gods know that he thanks us for what we did." Nagi told Blade. The hedgehog tapped his cigar, continuing to stare off into the distance.

"I blocked all those bullets, destroyed the hull of Olson's ship, a ship I wanted like a good fuck I might add, and got underground with your help... and he just blows us off like we didn't do shit. Don't get me wrong, I'm not the most moral thing on Mobius, but generally even the lowest scum that breathes follows street laws." Blade said, crumpling the rest of his cigar and tossing it across the room in anger.

"Fine. So what do you want to do about it?" Nagi asked. Blade smiled.

"I want revenge."

"And how do you plan on that? You can't kill him easily, you know..."

"Yes, but that backstabbing general friend of yours in Lower Mobius could do something much better..." Blade said looking over at Nagi. Nagi grinned.

"I suppose you mean General McIntyre." Nagi said, nodding, her eyes closed thinking of just how screwed they would be if they were to go into Lower Mobius under the right circumstances. "It's certainly an intriguing idea... but how would you do it?"

Blade chuckled to himself.

"I have an idea."

* *

Robotnik smiled. Nimbus Island was very close now... and it would be a major victory for himself. The island was a brimming metropolis... almost a mini Mobotropolis in its own right. Ships were flying away full speed from the island in an obvious attempt to escape him. Robotnik chuckled to himself and glanced over at one of his tech-bots.

"Commence attack on my mark..." the dictator said grinning, savoring the last moments before the final downfall of Nimbus Island.

Post 90:

Roland �Jim Doe� Lowery

�Estimated time of arrival?�

Before Doctor Ivo Robotnik had even finished his sentence, the techbot that had been assigned as his personal assistant had turned its sensors inward momentarily, then outward into the tactical radio network running through the surrounding ships. After a few log readings and quick calculations, the techbot turned its attention back to its master and reported, �Five minutes and thirty-five second, Dr. Robotnik.�

The fat tyrant sat back in his massive control chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. �Excellent,� he rumbled deep in his throat. �And the secondary fleet?�

Another moment of calculation passed by before the �bot said, �They have cleared Heliopolis city limits ahead of schedule and will arrive at Nimbus Island approximately eight minutes after the initial attack is to commence.�

�Most excellent,� said Robotnik. �It is so very rare that Snively�s inept bungling results in anything other than unmitigated disaster. If this goes as well as I expect, I may even forgive my mutant nephew for his disappearance . . . for a short while, at any rate.� He chuckled darkly and flexed his robotic hand in anticipation of the destruction to come, both at the island ahead and at whatever ungodly dark corner he finally found Snively cowering in.

�Nimbus Island has entered visual range, Dr. Robotnik,� the techbot said, pulling the doctor out of his reverie.

�Sensor contact?� he asked.

�Passive only, Dr. Robotnik,� the �bot replied. �Active sensors are I conflicting information, possibly due to ambient magnetic field interference.�

Robotnik waved a gloved hand in the air. �No matter,� he said. �Show me the visual logs.�

The viewscreen at the front of the bridge flared to life, showing the nighttime sky, an expanse of dark water, and a small island in the distance, rapidly growing in size as they encroached on its airspace. Here and there, Robotnik could make out the running lights of small personal crafts and hover freighters as they sped away as fast as they could from certain doom. Occasionally the night sky was lit up by laser fire as a few of the pitiful Mobians fell on each other like starving wolves fighting over a scrap of meat.

Opportunistic filth, Robotnik thought as he watched the erupting dogfights. That�s right . . . waste your energies on each other. It will only make my inevitable victory that much easier . . .

Robotnik�s thoughts were suddenly derailed when alarms started sounding off from every corner of the bridge. The view on the front screen suddenly shifted to show his attack fleet erratically scrambling back and forth across the sky. He scanned the screen with his eyes, looking for some opposing fleet, but could see no reason for these sudden lunatic maneuvers. Looking down at one of his personal monitors, he saw that the alarms that were sounding involved mostly proximity alerts and loss of contact with various fleet members.

Thinking quickly, he activated a commlink and thundered into the open channel, �Full stop, all units!� He turned to his assistant techbot and, eyes flaring bloody murder, shouted, �What the hell is going on?!�

�Contact was lost with several members of the attack fleet,� the robot calmly replied. �Contact with several of those units was reestablished shortly thereafter, but both their position and trajectory had substancesly changed, putting this and several other craft in the fleet in direct danger of collision. Hoverpod units GA-13 and RP-07 have-�

With a bellow of pure anger and frustration, Robotnik lifted his roboticized arm high above his head and brought it down full force on top of the techbot�s fragile dome, smashing it nearly a foot downward from its original position. Chunks of metal flew through the air as sparks flared in the bridge�s dark interior and sharp electric crackles competed for loudest sound with the crunch of metal and still-blaring klaxons. Heedless of all of this, Robotnik raised and fell his arm two more times, smashing the techbot further and further towards the ground. He then stood up heavily and kicked what was left of the �bot square in its barrel chest, sending it flying into a nearby computer console.

�Shut off that damn noise!� he growled at the remaining �bots as he sat back down. �And get me a tactical readout! NOW!�

As his orders were completed, Robotnik sat back down and seethed. He had been so happy moments ago . . . how dare those insolent Mobians find some way to foul up what was supposed to be a perfectly easy routing operation?

He snorted and leaned forward as the tactical readings he requested appeared on his personal monitors. On his right, several 2D schematics appeared, showing varying angles of the adjacent airspace, while the holographic projector on his left showed a 3D model of the area. He slowly studied the maps and the tactical information they provided as his earlier rage subsided into a dull ache in the back of his neck. As he stared at the data, a pattern started to emerge . . . a very familiar pattern. First, there had been the active sensor breakdown, and then the fleet�s flight patterns had become erratic . . .

Robotnik cursed under his breath and gritted his teeth when he finally realized what had happened. He quickly punched up a 2D bird�s eye view of the situation on his largest monitor and ran his finger along the screen. All of the ships at the furthest forward position in the fleet were cut off into an almost perfect semi-circle, except for one straggler who � despite Robotnik�s earlier full stop order � was slowly drifting back towards them, reeling like a drunken sailor.

�Route the sensor logs from hoverpod unit RP-03 to my chair,� the doctor said in a far calmer voice than before. �Specifically time indexed from ten seconds before to ten seconds after contact with the anomalous airspace.�

Robotnik�s monitors lit up with sensor readouts of every imaginable kind. Radar, sonar, electrostatic, visual, x-ray, thermographic . . . all of it showing the fleet cutting through otherwise empty air over slightly choppy waves. And then . . . there. The doctor frowned deeply as the radar told him that the ship was crashing straight towards solid ground, the sonar placed it at twenty-five miles up into the atmosphere, the electrostatic put it in the middle of an ion storm, and the visual said it was flying over downtown Centropolis.

With a snort of derision, Robotnik shut the replay off. It was no wonder that the situation seemed familiar. He�d had to deal with exactly the same tactic back during the Great War, just shortly after he�d introduced the use of WarBots and PeaceBots into service. The Overlander army began manufacturing massive jamming systems that did nothing more than project conflicting readings into robotic sensors, then used them against WarBot battalions. Whole squads were wiped out at first when �bot driven troop carriers would suddenly turn and smash straight into a wall, or off a cliff, or into each other.

In the end, these jamming systems weren�t as insidious as those of wars past. Robotnik recalled reading about one station that broadcasted a signal that would cause Identify Friend/Foe systems to suddenly flip-flop so that automated tanks would fire on their own comrades. Another caused a sudden influx of feedback power into a machine�s energy core, causing catastrophic explosions.

But what they lacked in finesse, these Great War generation systems packed in power. Even the most sophisticated and shielded of instruments could be affected because of the massive signal they put out. Fortunately, due to his experience with this sort of interference, Robotnik knew how to counter them. Unfortunately, due to time constraints, he would be unable to fashion the devices he needed in order to do so.

Instead, he would have to improvise.

With a quickness and energy that belied his great mass, the fat tyrant stood up and marched over to the pilot�s station. �Move,� he rumbled at the attending techbot, who quickly wheeled backwards so as to better escape it�s co-worker�s fate. Robotnik settled himself into the pilot�s chair and opened a channel to the rest of the fleet.

�Set all active sensors on standby and follow the course I am plotting now,� he said as he quickly tapped the information into the navigational system. �Do not � repeat, DO NOT � pull active sensors back online until I give the signal. If even one of you rustheaps disobey this order and survive the jamming signal, I will put you through the junk crusher and have you recycled into my new toilet seat!�

Robotnik flicked the commlink back off and gently nudged the ship�s controls forward. He knew that even the most baseline of AI systems in the fleet would be able to follow his plotted course and that the jamming signal would have no effect whatsoever. Any system would be hard pressed to screw up flying in a straight line.

As he manually piloted the ship across the dead airspace, Robotnik kept one eye on the sensor readouts. They showed exactly as he had expected . . . nothing but garbled nonsense. If the ship�s other systems had been paying attention to that mess, he would have likely ended up at the bottom of the sea along with units GA-13 and RP-07. But as it was, the entire fleet was safely crossing the area, without a single foul up.

Robotnik took in and released a cleansing breath when he looked down at the sensors and saw that they had finally straightened out. He stood up from the pilot�s seat, allowing the techbot to take over, and sat back in his own command chair. Another �bot rolled up hesitantly towards him, apparently having been given the dubious honor of being his new assistant for the rest of the flight.

�Inform the Heliopolis fleet of the tactics required to pass the jamming signal,� he told it, and then he smiled. Nimbus Island was very close now, and he would still be able to claim this as a major victory. On the viewscreen he could see that it was a brimming metropolis . . . almost a mini-Robotropolis in its own right. Several ships were still trying to fly away full speed from the island in an obvious attempt to escape him.

Robotnik chuckled to himself as he glanced over at his assistant techbot again. �Commence attack on my mark,� he said as he grinned evilly, savoring the last moments before the final downfall of Nimbus Island.

�NOW.�

�What do you want?�

Nicolette The Weasel grinned widely as she heard the magic words. �First, safe passage off this island-�

�Yes, yes, of course,� Nayr impatiently cut her off. �I did assume that was a given.�

Nic nodded slightly, then continued, �And second, a ship of my own to escape this madhouse in. I�m not picky . . . anything with a seat and some grav plating�ll do. Once I�m a good enough distance away, I�ll radio back to ya and tell ya what you need to know.�

The ubst curled his lip upward in a sneer. �Unacceptable,� he said. �We have no guarantee that you�ll radio us, much less that you�ll tell us the truth once you�re out from under our watch. If you give us the location right now, I can promise you these things . . . but not before.�

The weasel cackled, a harsh, unpleasant sound that grated on Nayr�s nerves. The cackle seemed to have a manic edge to it that he didn�t like or trust.

�Why don�t you just trot your little selves down to Robotropolis and wait for him to show up, then?� Nic said after finally getting control of herself. �I�m sure you�ll do just fine on his home turf, neh?�

�Also unacceptable, as you well know,� Nayr said as he gritted his teeth together. �We could, as a matter of trust, take you to a transport-�

�-and help me secure it-�

�-and help you secure it,� the ubst added reluctantly, �then gain the location from you before you boarded.�

Nic stretched her face down and half-lidded her eyes, then said, �Unacceptable,� in a startling approximation of Nayr�s voice. She blew him a kiss, then grinned mischievously at him. �I can�t be sure that sword of yours won�t be sticking in my new ship�s engine quicker than I can get it off the ground. You�re gonna have to do better than that.�

�You know that if you don�t tell us the location, we�ll be taking you with us?� Nayr asked. �If we find the children without your help, you�ll never attain your freedom. In fact,� he added, playing his fingers over the hilt of his weapon, �I can�t be sure that this sword of mine won�t be sticking in your old body�s guts quicker than the others can stop me from killing you.�

�Big threats, big man,� Nic hissed. �But if you take me with you, you can be sure that I�m going to fuck with every thing you try to do. You can kill me, but I�ll make damn sure that you never get those kids back. Savvy?�

Nayr snapped up straight from his chair, his eyes flaring. He felt a surge of frustration at Nic�s constant refusals to help. He wasn�t used to this . . . wasn�t used to making bargains, wasn�t used to the lives of others hanging in the balance, wasn�t used to helping . . . Ever since he had taken on the role of dragon hunter, he had taken whatever he needed. He killed who he had to kill. He did whatever it was he had to do in order to accomplish a single goal: to slay dragons.

Now that his goals were in question after his meeting with the dragon child, however, he was in completely uncharted waters. It would be so much easier to just kill her and get on with business . . . he thought to himself, and he felt the anger at his situation rise to the point that he was becoming afraid that he might do just that.

A soft chuckle from behind him broke through the red haze that had been pulled over his mind. He turned to see Nack The Weasel standing just inside the doorway to the interrogation room, still laughing and shaking his head slowly.

�Ag, Cheerful,� the bounty hunter said after a few moment, �it�s pretty obvious that you ain�t got clue one about dealing with bounty hunters.�

Nayr felt his muscles unknot as he gradually calmed down. �It would seem to me,� he said, �that you did not have much more luck in this area yourself, weasel. If you had, I would not be in here now.�

Nack stepped forward and shook a finger in the air. �Ah, but the difference between then and now is that I wasn�t entirely sure you were gonna be I� up from your beauty sleep earlier,� he said. �I was havin� to play it cool and careful due to the substance lack of manpower, neh? Now though . . . � He leaned in towards Nic, who strained at the chains that held her to the wall, and gave her a lop-sided grin. �Hey, sis.�

�So, I guess this is it, huh, Nack?� she spit at him. �You finally got your good ol� sis right where you want her, neh?�

�Yah,� Nack said with a nod. �Yah, I�d say that pretty much sums it up. But hey, babe, no worries . . . this really ain�t personal, after all. It�s business. And you know how business-�

The sudden sound of distant thunder cut Nack off. He and the other two looked up at the ceiling, which rained a small bit of dirt down on them as the entire structure shook. The first thunderclap was quickly followed by another, then another.

�What do you suppose that is?� Nayr asked.

�Sounds like . . . a bombing run,� Nack said quietly. His ears twitched slightly as the explosions became louder and less distant. The shakes, barely perceptible before, started to make the desk and chair squeak slightly as the earth underneath them shifted. �Do ya suppose . . . no,� he cut himself off. �Those bastards might take pot shots at each other during a raid, but there�s no way they�d take to trying to take out whole buildin�s.�

�An attack from outside?�

Nack shrugged. �It happens sometimes. Not every pirate, hunter, and black market dealer is allowed into �chten Sie. It can make for some mighty sore feelin�s.� He looked down from the ceiling and slapped his hands briskly together. �Well, then,� he said, returning to his normal tone, �I suppose this changes our plans a little. �Scuse me, sis . . . �

Much to Nayr�s surprise, Nic didn�t give a single word of protest as Nack shifted through her jacket pockets and pulled out her commlink. In fact, she looked positively shell-shocked, morbidly ubstances by the rumbling explosions coming from the ground above, and unable to process the fact that her brother was fiddling with her property. Nack had activated her commlink and clipped it to her jacket collar before she noticed anything was amiss.

In his hand, Nack held his own commlink. He shook it teasingly at Nic, who stared back with haunted eyes. �We�re about to get the hell outta Dodge, sis . . . but ya see what I�ve got here, neh?� he said. �It�s currently hooked into your little number there, allowing me to hear any and everything you�ve got to say.� He turned the volume on his link all the way up, allowing her and Nayr to hear her ragged breathing amplified several times. �Now, the only thing I want to hear you say is the location of Doc Bolts and the kiddos. You tell us that, and we�ll turn right back around and get you off this wall and take you with us. If ya don�t, or if ya wait to long-� he let an explosion and rain of dirt punctuate his point, �-then I�m afraid it�s gonna take a long, long time to dig what�s left of you outta here.�

He then took a small earphone and plugged the jack into his link, set the link in one of his jacket�s inside pockets, and placed the other end in his ear. �Now this,� he explained, �is so Nanny Woodchuck and the Kid don�t hear you and get some funny ideas about coming back and grabbing you before you tell us what�s what. You see, Cheerful,� he said, turning back towards the ubst, �this is true negotiation. You just have to remember that if someone won�t tell you what you need to know, then they�re just as useless as if they didn�t know the information at all . . . making them entirely expendable.�

The bounty hunter then spun on his heel and marched towards the doorway. Taking one last glance at Nic�s sagging form and now-bloodshot eyes, Nayr quickly turned and followed him out of the room.

Out in the larger anteroom of the underground bunker, the rest of the Mobians were staring up at the ceiling. The looks on their faces ranged from worry to confusion to outright anger. When Nack and Nayr stepped in, every face turned towards them.

�What�s going on?� asked Derek.

�Nothin� we can�t handle,� Nack replied before Nayr could say anything. �But we�re gonna have to get off this rock right quick or we�re gonna have a long time in the afterlife thinkin� about it. Let�s git gone before this whole place falls down around us.�

�What about your sister?� Derek asked as he and the rest of the group herded themselves towards the shelter�s exit.

�She�s gonna wait for us to get outta her way before she heads out,� said Nack. �She doesn�t trust me enough not to stick her in the ribs in the damn stairway . . . and she�s probably right to.�

Rosie, who was a few steps ahead of them in the stairwell stopped and looked back down. �The children?� she asked fearfully.

�We got a deal, Nanny Woodchuck,� the weasel said, tapping the device tucked into his ear. �And don�t you worry . . . she�ll honor it. Now let�s get skollyin� on while the skollyin�s good, neh?�

Uncertain, but mollified for the moment, Derek and Rosie took the steps as quickly as they could. Blade and Nagi were already well ahead of them, opening the door to the second stairwell. Nack trailed slightly behind Nayr as the ubst took off after the other Mobians. He reached into his jacket, pulled out another cigarette, and lit it with his windproof lighter.

In his ear, the weasel could clearly hear the keening sound of his sister�s voice, wailing and cursing him.

�Fuck you, Nack! FUCK you! ROBOTNIK IS THE ONE ATTACKING THE ISLAND! Walker�s sake, just please come down here . . . come down here and SAVE me! Plea-�

With a self-satisfied smile, Nack carefully reached into his jacket a second time and switched the commlink off.

�chten Sie was a war zone.

It�s almost as if I made this happen, Derek reflected, remembering the fake SWATbot call he�d made just before they had landed. He gaped in amazement at the level of destruction spread out before him.

They had come up out of the ground on the edge of the bounty hunter city. Apparently, the structure they had been staying in had been some sort of storm shelter back before the unlawful element had come in and turned everything into something else entirely. On one side was the wide field that they had parked the patrol unit in earlier, but it was the city itself on the other side that held everyone�s attention.

The bombing runs had been very effective, it seemed. Several buildings lay in ruins. Those that weren�t completely busted down were nothing more than burnt out husks. The monorail system that wound throughout the city was now missing several key pieces. Fighter planes strafed the streets as they passed over and engaged the odd hunter craft as they tried to flee. Here and there, laser fire erupted, lighting up the night sky as entrenched criminals tried to hold off the siege. Smoke from a hundred burning fires swept across the island as a high wind � the precursor of an onsetting storm � blew through the few still-standing pieces of architecture.

Nayr was the first to pull his eyes from the destruction. �Right,� he shouted over the noise of battle and wind. �We need to get back to the patrol ship, escape, and regroup.�

�Regrouping won�t do us much good if we don�t know where we need to go,� Derek countered. He looked at Nack, who cupped his hand over his ear and shook his head. �But . . . I guess we I have much of a choice.�

�Indeed.� Nayr pulled the hood of his cloak up against the wind and started leading the way back to the ship. When he noticed that Blade and Nagi were following them, he turned and asked, �Now what?�

Blade shrugged expansively. �We still owe you a Walkerdamned favor, now don�t we?� he replied bitterly. �If we�re gonna have any chance of I� out from under it, we�re gonna have to stick to you like glue. �Sides, it looks like you guys might be our only ride outta town!�

Nayr looked to Derek and Nack, both of whom shrugged. �Fine,� he said. �But if I think even for a moment that you are about to betray us, I�ll remove your debt to me myself. Permanently. Understand?�

�Perfectly,� Nagi said.

They trudged on through the field, uncontested except for a single hoverpod that swept by momentarily. The group had hidden in a particularly tall patch of the greasy looking grass until the machine had passed over without challenging them.

About halfway back to their own pod, they heard a sharp crack over the now-howling wind. All of them looked back just in time to see a plume of dirt fly up into the air right by the entrance to the underground shelter that they had been in earlier. It seemed that the constant bombing had finally helped years of neglect bring the whole structure collapsing in on itself. Nayr shot a sharp glance at Nack, who gave him a solemn nod as he pulled the earpiece out and shoved it in his jacket pocket. The ubst nodded back and they continued on to the ship.

They found it just as they had left it. Quickly they all filed in, glad to be out of the wind and in the relative safety of the craft�s confines. Nayr turned to Nack again and asked, �Did Nic hold up her part of the bargain?�

�Yah,� the weasel said. �She told me just before the shelter collapsed. She�s . . . probably in her own ship right now, bugging the hell outta here.�

�We should be doing the same,� Derek said as he settled into the pilot�s chair and started pre-flight ubstancesl. �Were are we headed?�

�Ah, not really sure,� Nack said, rubbing the back of his neck. Derek looked back at him and frowned.

�What do you mean?� the koala asked. �Where did she say Robotnik was?�

�Yah, see, that�s the problem . . . � The bounty hunter waved his hand at the city that could be seen in the distance outside the front windscreen. �That . . . is Robotnik.�

The craft�s cabin settled into an uneasy silence as the ramifications of Nack�s statement hit home.

�Oh, my . . . � Rosie said, placing her hand over her mouth, which had dropped open in horror.

�Yah, no kiddin�,� said Nack. �We ain�t got a chance of wading through that to get to �em.�

�Then what�re we supposed to do?� Derek asked. �We can�t just sit here!� The cabin went silent again as Derek looked back and forth between Nayr, Nack, and Rosie.

In the end, however, it was Blade who cleared his throat and spoke up. �Ah, I think . . . � he started, �I think maybe we know something you might do.�

�Looking to repay your debt so early?� Nayr asked, skeptical.

�Sooner the better, jackass,� Blade said, his demeanor severe for just a moment. �Anyway, uh, Nagi and I were talking it over earlier, and we think it�d be best if you went to Robotropolis.�

Immediately, the room filled with dissentions and curses. �That�s fuckin� nuts, mate, if you don�t mind me sayin� so,� Nack said after things had quieted down. �Hell, on second thought, I don�t give a damn if you mind. That�s fuckin� nuts! Even if we did decide to go there, how the hell would that help us get the kids? The second Doc Bolts gets them in city limits, they�re going to be locked down tighter than a skinflint�s wallet!�

�Well, now, you just gotta hear me out,� Blade said. �Nagi and I used to live in the underground there. The reason we owe this asshole here is because he helped us out shortly after we stepped out onto the surface.�

�You were nearly dead when I found you,� the ubst filled in. �You weren�t far behind him, as I recall, miss spyder.�

Nagi looked down at the floor while Blade scrunched up his face. �Yah, anyway,� he said, �we still know a lot of the ins and outs of the underground paths. We could take you in, set you up with a nice hide-away hole, and you could set up some sort of sneak attack. We even know a few ways into the doc�s tower itself, so you might be able to break in and get �em out without him even knowing you were there. So, whaddaya say?� He held out a hand palm up towards Nayr. �We�re offering to help ya out with getting these kids you keep talkin� about back. If saving your worthless hides ain�t gonna rub this debt of ours clean . . . surely their lives are worth it?�

Nayr mulled this over for a moment, then looked at the others. �Miss Rosie?�

�If it gets us any closer to getting the children back,� she said.

�Derek?�

�Agreed,� the koala said sternly. �Whatever it takes.�

�Nack?�

The bounty hunter chewed over the situation slowly, almost seeming to savor the taste of it physically. He stared hard at the hedgehog and spyder for several moments, looking as if he wanted to bore holes into them with his eyes. He finally turned to Nayr and shrugged.

�Personally, Cheerful, I wouldn�t trust �em any farther than I could push �em through my own urethra,� he said. �But . . . in this case, my vote ain�t the one that really counts. I just want my payment. I don�t care how the hell we get to that destination as long as we do get there, neh?�

�Very well,� said Nayr. �We�re going to Robotropolis.�

�Just in time, too, by the looks of it,� Derek said as he looked over the freshly booted up sensors. �Another fleet of ships entered the island�s airspace just a few moments ago. We�ve been lucky enough that they haven�t come this far afield yet . . . I doubt they�ll be so lax with this many ships added to their force.�

�Take us up when you�re ready then,� Nayr suggested.

�Way ahead of you,� the koala responded as he pulled back on the ship�s controls, lifting them up into the air. Nayr quickly took the co-pilot�s position while the rest of the passengers strapped themselves into the back seats. �Nayr,� Derek said, never taking his eyes off the terrain as he started towards the island�s edge, �I want you to look over the control panel here and see if you can find a gauge marked IFF, or something similar.�

�Right,� Nayr said as he began to search. �Do you have any idea what it will look like?�

Derek checked the radar briefly before answering. �Yah,� he said. �It should look like a switch or knob sitting next to a display showing a series of numbers.�

�And why am I looking for it?�

�IFF stands for Identify Friends/Foe. It-�

He stopped when he saw Nayr nod in sudden understanding. �I should have known that,� the ubst said ruefully. �It has been far too long since I have had to fly a machine under combat conditions.�

Deep inside Derek, a small spark flickered. He found himself hoping, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, that he would be able to look back and say that he had forgotten something associated with conflict and strife. He pushed the hope aside, though, and concentrated solely on keeping a steady course away from �chten Sie.

�I found it,� Nayr said after another moment or two of searching.

�Is it lit up? Showing numbers?� Derek asked.

�Yes.�

�Oh, thank the Walkers,� he sighed. �Hopefully they haven�t changed the frequencies since the other day. We should be able to sail out of here without a single other ship batting a robotic ey- what on Mobius is that?!�

Out of the night sky, already marked with streaks of rain, a massive shape bulged out at them. It was a massive dark spot, tinged with small lines of red, blue, and yellow lights, hanging in the air and threatening to swallow them up. Derek, suddenly close to panic, altered course to avoid a collision. This maneuver also served to ubstancesly give the passengers in the back a good view of the object.

�Ah, hell, I know what that is,� Nack said with a dark laugh. �Everybody better get a good eyeful . . . not too many folks who�ve seen that bastard have lived to talk about it.�

Nagi turned her wide eyes towards the weasel. �Why?� she asked. �What is it?�

Nack sucked noisily on his over-sized fang for a moment. �Robotnik�s flagship,� he finally said.

�Oh, my word,� Rosie said under her breath. �The children . . . �

�No point in trying anything stupid before you even get it in your skull, Kid,� Nack called up to Derek, who was starting to calm down but was also beginning to look sort of like a zombie. �That thing�ll cut us to ribbons if we get too close, IFF or not. Ol� Doc Bolt�s�d rather build a new pod and some new �bots before he�d let a possible collision scratch the paint job on his baby.�

�I�d heard,� Derek sighed as he readjusted their course, �back during the war . . . but I never believed . . . �

�Believe it, Kid,� Nack snorted. �If all the rumored estimates are right � and from what we saw back at the island, they probably are � then that thing can carry twenty-five hoverpods, thirty fighter planes, ten troop movers, a couple of MMRAVs or straight combat hovertanks depending on what kind of mood he�s in, and even a couple of them damn stealth-wing bastards he�s been playing around with the past month or two. Hell, I�d half bet he�s got his own personal ubstance stored up in there right now. So just keep your course, Kid.�

�He�s right,� Nayr said softly.

�I know,� Derek replied.

He switched the controls over to purely manual and they plunged into the sensor-dead area, leaving �chten Sie Island behind in bursts of static and contradictory readings.

�Status report.�

�An estimated 85% of Nimbus Island�s organic population has been either terminated or captured for roboticization.�

Dr. Robotnik felt so giddy with excitement that he was sure he almost felt a genuine heartbeat in his chest. �When was the last escaping ship detected?�

�Four minutes, fifty-five seconds ago, Dr. Robotnik,� the techbot dutifully replied. �It has been determined that there are no functional vehicles of any type left on the island except for those directly under your control.�

The doctor took in a deep breath and held it for a moment. �Aaaaah . . . � he exhaled in complete satisfaction. �Is there anything sweeter than hearing that there is no escape for your enemies? It�s more delicious than all the desserts in the planet put together.�

With another deep, satisfied breath, he leaned forward and studied the datapad that a passing techbot had handed to him a few moments ago. It gave him detailed information about the structural stability of the few buildings left standing on the island. A wicked grin crossed his face when he saw that only a few small energy sources were still detected here and there. Having become familiar after the first batch of prisoners with the element he was dealing with, Robotnik assumed that these were probably booby traps and electronically locked safes and other little surprises that the bounty hunters and other criminals had set up over the years to keep each other out of their own personal businesses.

The tyrant cared little for their riches, however, and more for the owners themselves. Could gold, credits, and illicit ubstances buy him more workerbots? Of course not. Only the capture and enslavement of organic beings could accomplish that. And it was a lot more fun.

But still, fun time had to end eventually. Robotnik sighed and sat back in his command chair. He had important things to do . . . he needed to get the children back to Robotropolis so he could learn more about them, and then he needed to resume his search for his ratty little nephew.

�I believe that 85% of the population is plenty, don�t you?� he asked his assistant �bot. �Recall all the land troops and then have the Heliopolis bombers join the Robotropolis squad for one last run. When they�re finished, release nerve gas to root out any stragglers. This storm wind should spread it over quite nicely over the entire island.

�And then,� he added with a yawn, �I believe it will be time to gather all the troops and head back home.�

That morning, after the storm broke, the sun rose over Nimbus Island, and Nimbus Island alone.

�chten Sie was dead.

Post 91:

Tristan Palmgren

Before they slipped underneath the sensor curtain, Derek was distraught.

Lasers flashed beside them, searing the air and sending thundercracks rippling through the hull of the airship. Underneath, bright yellow explosions illuminated the night like lightning.

The fire was continuous now, spreading and gorging even during the brief pauses between bombing runs. It had caught onto the oil pipelines that ran like a spider's web through the old industrial city. It engulfed them and blossomed higher, sending shimmering waves of heat and light skyward. The occasional bright blue flash pierced the yellow, the secondary explosion of a fusion generator rupturing. Between that and the incendiary devices still raining down from the heavens, there was light to rival even the glare of the sun coming from the city.

Even at night, it was daytime in Achten Sie.

Derek was finding it difficult to believe that many incendiary weapons even existed, let alone were being leveled against a single city, but he had other problems on his mind. He felt bad for the people below who'd just lost their lives, bad for the people even his ostensive allies had killed just to get him this far, but by now he was used to putting that all behind him and concentrating on the immediate danger.

It was a reflex reaction a bit like swallowing his own vomit, and every bit as palatable. When this was over, he knew that the person he'd been before this would never be able to forgive him, that he would be damned, but that too was another thing he tried to put behind him.

He kept an eye on the hover unit's threat warning system, even as he steered a careful course through the swarming Robotroplian armada.

If there had been human pilots in those hover units and bombers, he wouldn't have doubted that he could slip through unnoticed. They were computer-controlled, though. There were many disadvantages to having robot-controlled airships, but one of the few benefits was that they never missed a detail. Unlike people, they had the processing power to take in everything.

The theft of this airship certainly hadn't been forgotten. It hadn't even happened that long ago. To Derek, it felt like he'd stolen it a lifetime ago, but, in real time, it certainly was fresh enough to still be imprinted on Robotnik's consciousness. If one of those robot pilots sent him this hover unit's designation number...

Actually, it was kind of pointless to keep an eye on the threat warning system. He'd be dead before it even had a chance to switch on.

He held his breath as he slipped as close as he dared, half-a-kilometer away, to that hulking monstrosity of a command ship. Its black hull shimmered in the light of the growing firestorm below.

If he peered close enough, he could imagine the heads of the children nailed to the prow of that ship, their blood painting its nose.

"No!"

"Shit! Steady, kid."

The image vanished. Without realizing it, Derek had started to steer towards the command ship. Hastily, he corrected their course.

His throat felt dry and raspy, like he had a bad cold, but he knew there was no infection. He didn't tell anyone else what he could have just sworn he'd seen. The hallucination was gone, but he still felt like he was in a nightmare. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, something darker was setting in.

"Our pilot doing all right?" Nayr poked his head out from somewhere behind him.

"I dunno." Nack sounded uncertain. "I think what we just saw could have mebbe gotten to him. It's not everyday you see a mass murder, you know."

Blade snorted, derisively. "Heh. Probably his first."

Very suddenly, Derek wanted to steer these people right into the ocean. He didn't care if he vanished underneath the blue warp with them, but all the horror and revulsion just wouldn't get out of his head.

He'd known Robotnik was this bad, but these people had seen everything he had and they just didn't care.

These people... but they weren't even people. They were his enemies.

Very quietly, he set the ship on automatic pilot, even as the hover unit careened through a flock of those butchers - the bombers - and took a deep breath. Without a word of warning, he summoned all of his muscles' strength to ram his elbow into Nayr's stomach.

Nayr had been standing off to the side, too busy checking over auxiliary controls to see it coming. There was suddenly an elbow embedded in his gut, and the air was being forced from his chest.

Despite his prowess, he hadn't been prepared. And no matter how much training, strength, or magic went into a body's maintenance it was, after all, only a body. It had vulnerabilities. And Derek's blow was stronger than he would have expected the koala capable of producing.

"You son of a bitch!"

With each accented word came another blow, these ones straight punches. Now that he was alert to the attack, Nayr sidestepped them before they landed. Derek wasn't deterred. He launched himself at Nayr.

Then came a flurry of blows, but none of them had the same effect as the first. Bitter and angry, Nayr seized Derek's little finger, and snapped it back against itself.

Derek wasn't seeing properly. Right in front of his eyes, he could see the blood on the ground left behind by Robotnik's bombing raids. And that blood ran across the ground, coiled like a snake up into Nayr's tunic, where it blended with the dried blood of the lizard-morph he had run through earlier tonight. He could only see the lizard.

With the pain of his pinkie finger being broken, though, the real world came crashing down around him.

Deafened by rage and agony, he drew back and sheltered his hand. His finger was bent out of shape, and it wouldn't bend back. Electric pulses of pain spiked down his wrist. Nayr hadn't pulled his punch. He'd broken his little finger to suggest that he could have done the same to his neck just as easily.

In the background, he could just barely hear the voices of the others. "Hey, what the hell happened to our pilot?"

"The kid's fucking flipped."

"Somebody take the controls!" Nayr barked.

"Yeah, don't wet yerself. I've got them." That was Nack. "I'll hold it steady.'

The next thing Derek felt - besides the pain in his finger - was being pressed against the far wall of the cockpit. A muscular arm held him pinned there. The sadosii's angry breath was hot against his cheek.

"Have you lost your mind?" Nayr hissed, next to his ear.

Derek tried to bite back the torment long enough to speak. His mind was still on fire. Death on the scale that he'd seen was too much to comprehend, and even worse was the fact that he'd been a part of it. His tongue trembled while it tried to find the words.

"You killed him-" A sudden rush of agony made Derek pause for breath. "You killed him and there wasn't any reason."

"Killed who?" Nayr's voice snarled around the words.

"That lizard. You just... stuck a sword in his chest. He wasn't even doing anything."

It took Nayr a moment to bring the memory back to the surface. He'd almost forgotten it. In his mind's eye he saw darkness punctured by the flash of lasers, the whine of bombers flying by overhead a humanoid lizard hanging on the tip of his blade, blood spilling out of his mouth. "He was in our way."

"He was just running. He hadn't done anything to-"

"If I hadn't, he would have tripped us up, made us vulnerable, or even attacked us when we'd turned our backs. I had to take precautions." Nayr leaned in closer. "I saved your life. You don't have any excuse."

Derek looked at Nayr, and the eyes of a killer looked back at him.

"You did just what he would have done," he said, waving his uninjured hand towards the forward window, "if he'd been on the ground. Indiscriminate murder."

By the way Nayr lurched closer, he could tell he'd struck a cord deep underneath the sadosii's skin. Without warning, he reached out and took Derek's broken finger, and twisted it further. This time, Derek couldn't keep the screech from leaving his throat.

"That lizard," Nayr said, through slit teeth, "was already dead, just like everyone else on the surface."

Nayr let go. Derek's balance wavered, and he nearly fell to his knees. The signals from the nerves in his knuckles had obliterated everything else in his consciousness.

"You, on the other hand, still had a chance at living. I took a laser for you, nearly paid with my life, and you repay that debt by trying to attack me. If I'd known you were so soft, I wouldn't have. You don't deserve to be alive."

"I wanted to save lives," Derek gasped. "Not be responsible for ending them."

"You wanted to be a Freedom Fighter. Well, this," Nayr gestured at the stain the lizard-morph's blood had left on his skin, then at the firestorm still raging outside, "is what being a fighter is all about. If you can't stand moral compromise, or the pain of a broken bone, then the only thing you'll achieve is to die and be forgotten."

Nayr was seething. The bloodlust that had taken him on the surface hadn't left him yet. His veins boiled. It didn't take Derek much effort to see that he was thinking about splitting him on his blade even now. But something held him back.

Even while he was still coiled in pain over his broken finger, Nayr seized Derek by the scruff of the fur on his neck and thrust him towards the door in the rear of the cockpit.

"Now, go get a splint for that finger," Nayr commanded. "If you take its lesson to heart, you might achieve something other than treachery today."

He stepped into the hover unit's passenger cabin, partly propelled by his own feet, and partly by Nayr's shove. When the door shut behind him with a hydraulic hiss, he leaned against it and slumped to a sitting position. He knew that he was drawing stares from the people in here, from Rosie especially, but they were beyond his caring.

There was still a bright yellow glow streaming in through the observation window in here. The daylight of a hellscape. The thunder of the butchers' engines rattled the deck plating underneath him, shook his bones.

The floor was slippery, slimy underneath his backside. It was almost like engine grease, but when Derek opened his eyes and look down, his fur was matted with blood. The deck plating was infused with it. The cracks between the metal lapped it up greedily, but it wasn't disappearing.

It ran like a torrent over the outside of the observation windows. Its rivulets split like lightning bolts, or forked tongues. It stained the glass. Even the light coming through the window, horrible as it was, was made even worse through its filter.

Derek just trembled, and held his legs close to his chest. He knew that this was a hallucination, that nothing was really there, but knowing it didn't make it go away. All he could see was the blood dripping across the hover unit. His whole body was covered with the ichor, like he'd just emerged from the womb, and no matter how many times he blinked it wouldn't go away.

He could see the bodies that it was coming from, but they shifted arbitrarily in front of his eyes. One moment, it was coming from Rosie, the next the lizard-morph, and then finally from all of the children. His earlier hallucination had only been off by a degree or two. Their heads weren't nailed to the prow of Robotnik's command ship. They were nailed to this one.

If this had been a fair universe, this would be the part where he would faint. Stricken by pain and horror, he would simply lose consciousness. Sleep would be a blessing. It didn't come, though. He couldn't even feel his finger anymore. All he could do was sit, feel the blood that flowed from mass murder he'd just seen run slick through his fur, and hold himself close.

***

With its automatic pilot on, the hover unit handled smoothly underneath the hands of its unpracticed pilots. Nayr worried about the same thing that had been on Derek's mind - that one of the Robotroplian ships around them would realize that this was the same vessel that had been stolen only days earlier - but the hammer blow never came.

Still, he worried up until they passed through the sensor curtain. Nack switched off the auto-pilot just as the first control board displays started to go woozy. He held the steering column steady, guiding them on a straight course out away from the burning isle.

Just as the sensor curtain had shielded Achten Sie from Robotnik's prying eyes, it would shield them now that they were both on opposite sides again.

With Blade whispering directions in his ear, Nack began a slow, lazy arc that would take them back over the mainland.

***

Tendrils of green whipped across the mountainsides, driven by the wind. Like enormous vines, they coiled across the rock face, searching for any crack that could harbor soil and life and invading it. And like vines, they sprouted from seeds. Seeds that now spread across the entire island.

Unlike vines, there was nothing living about these gargantuan, translucent tendrils.

He watched them grow. They expanded evenly, bent in the wind, began to drift upwards and outwards. A silent explosion in slow motion. Every thirty seconds they doubled in size, and flattened to hug more of Mobius's surface. The only sounds in the airship's bridge were the thrum of the engines and the whistle of wind outside the windows.

The nerve gas had originally been transparent: odorless, colorless. That was its natural state. Robotnik hadn't felt that would have the desired effect. He'd added the color additives himself. He'd lost any chance of a stealthy gas infiltration. That was an adequate shortcoming, when the payoff was being able to see death spread across a whole landscape.

He planted his gloved palms on the console in front of him and took a deep breath, as though he wanted to go down and taste the air himself. He watched his green seedlings spread across the island. At loose intervals, they were highlighted by one of the sparse fires still raging on the ground, or by the light of the morning sun just beginning to peek above the jagged mountaintops. Eventually, they would spread all the way out to the ocean.

Just then, he missed having Snively around. As much of a nuisance as that little mutant could be, announcing how majestic and beautiful the landscape below him was just wasn't the same when only a techbot was around to hear it. A slow smile spread across his face.

The adrenaline and the anger, when he'd discovered that all this time someone had eked out a civilization, still bubbled in his veins. He hadn't believed it. The idea that someone was trying to live without his permission was like an affront to him. After all this time, he'd thought the people on this mudball of a planet had known better. Well, he'd put a stop to that.

The nerve gas now visibly spreading around the island was like the conclusion of a satisfying day, a job well done. He'd fall asleep feeling good about himself when he got back to Robotropolis. The nerve gas felt like it had come from his own exhale, a sigh of relief that came from sitting down after standing for hours on end. He could rest now.

His gloved index finger came down on the comm controls. "All units," he said, "follow me out of the sensor curtain. Our work here is done."

With a little consternation, he glanced at the beaten up techbot beside him. Still in working order.

"I'm transferring command of this fleet to my flight computer and robotic co-pilot. I won't be on the bridge when we leave the sensor curtain, so carry out my last orders to the letter. Then return to your stations..."

A chorus of emotionless affirmatives roused his ears. He let his eyes slip from the comm controls to the internal camera monitors. They were still focused on single onboard prison cell, where his young captives wondered at the walls, confused as to what all the noise and movement had been about.

"...I've got some prisoners I want to interview in the meantime," he said to no one. Long after they were out of his mouth, his lips curled around the words.

***

Derek bit down on his tongue. A hiss of air escaped between his teeth, the best exclamation of pain he could manage.

"Hold still," Rosie said. "This splint is the best I can manage. There weren't any medical kits onboard. I get the idea that this ship wasn't designed for organics."

The dream of blood had faded back into metal deck plating. His fur was still slick, but it was with sweat. All the time he'd been sitting in the deluge, wishing for unconsciousness, it turned out that he'd already achieved it. Rosie had told him that he'd fainted almost as soon as the cockpit door had shut. The blood had been the product of his dreams.

Despite the fact that he otherwise trusted Rosie, deep inside he didn't believe her. He could remember setting there drenched for minutes before she'd grabbed him by the shoulders.

From there, she'd taken him to the rear of the passenger cabin. Away from the others.

There was a thin metal strip wrapped around the underside of his little finger, held there with industrial tape. It kept it straight. It would stop the worst of the pain, though certainly not all of it.

While she was applying the last of the tape, Rosie looked up at him. She wasn't dumb. She knew that, when he'd boarded the hover unit with the rest of them, there hadn't been a broken bone in his bone.

"Who did this to you?" she whispered.

Derek resented the question. As hostile as he felt to Nayr, an innate stubbornness kept him from heading to the closest available mother-figure for help. He opened his mouth to say that one of the control boards had jammed his finger between it and the console, but stopped before the first word left his mouth.

She already knew. She gazed at the cockpit door with a dark look under her eye.

"It doesn't," he said forcefully, "matter."

"I think it would be best to disembark soon," she said. "I think we're the only two sane people onboard this ship."

Derek remembered the dream, and gave her an unassuming, unpleasant stare. When he spoke, there was absolutely no irony in his voice.

"You should pick a funny time to say that."

Blade and the spyder were back here now. Derek hadn't seen them come in; they must have entered when he was dreaming. Maybe they'd gotten bored with Nack and the sadosii.

The black hedgehog pointed out the observation window at the burning island. "I swear, we've been flying for fifteen minutes straight, and that place hasn't gotten any further away. Doesn't Nack know where the gas pedal is?"

"It's an airship, genius," Nagi said. "It doesn't have a gas pedal."

"My point still stands."

Derek raised his voice to talk from the other side of the room. "No, that's not it. We came out on the wrong side of Achten Sie, facing away from the mainland. We have to take a long arc around, staying outside of the sensor curtain."

"Oh." Disappointed.

The burning island would stay in their line of sight for the next several minutes, at least until Nack and Nayr could get oriented enough towards the continent to fumble their way to their next destination. Another city to bring ruin and death raining down upon.

"It doesn't rain underground," Nagi said suddenly.

"What?" With a start, Derek realized that he'd been speaking aloud. Of all the times when he'd lost control in the past few days, this was one of the lesser incidents.

"The Lower Mobius cavern. Where we're headed."

A thousand and two bitter invectives about anyplace that could be called Lower Mobius burned on the tip of Derek's tongue, but he bit down on them. Any new city was irrelevant. For a long time, Achten Sie had been the only one that mattered. As bad as it had been, it was the only place in hundreds of kilometers that could possibly have resupplied Ari's band of Freedom Fighters. Unless he came up with a new location in less than a day - and he wasn't - they weren't going to survive. He'd failed.

And he still owed an obligation to Rosie, which he'd utterly failed to fulfill. Nayr had been wrong. This was what being a fighter was all about.

To his amazement, he saw that some parts of the island city were still intact. They were far removed from the center of town, though. More outposts than actual outgrowths. Those few intact sections probably hadn't attracted Robotnik's attention because his sensors hadn't detected any life there. They were empty. Still, despite the fact that it wouldn't help a single person, Derek was ruefully glad to see that some buildings and city streets had survived.

It didn't make the rest of the devastation any more bearable, but it was to light a spark of intelligent thought in him again. For the first time, he saw that there were very large craters in sections of the island that had only received only light bombings.

The craters were bigger than anything an ordinary bomb could produce. They were out far from what had once been Achten Sie's central city. They weren't so much blast craters as piles of rubble, collapsed in on itself, concave-shaped. It was almost like the ground had fallen through to... some other floor far below.

"Whoa," Blade said. He pointed a metal finger towards them. Derek wasn't the only one to see them. "Ain't remember seein' those before."

All four people in the passenger compartment studied the observation window. The stolen airship took a long, smooth arc around the island, giving them a clear view of the new rock formations.

"Mmm," Nagi said, a moment later. "It looks like the bombing collapsed a natural cave system."

"Hey, there aren't any caves around Achten Sie. The island's volcanic. It's too new. Everyone knows that."

"And yet, there they are," Nagi said. "You'd be amazed what a few decades of water erosion can do to a place."

This all struck Derek as very absurd, these two arguing geography while their city burned and a genocide was still happening. He wanted to rip his eyes away from the window and back to the burning city, yet something held them there.

"Aw, man, then I wish I'd found them sooner," Blade complained. "It's not like Achten Sie had many import restrictions, heh, but still... there were some things I would've liked to keep well hidden from the guild bosses."

"Too late now."

"Heh, yeah, even if we could get the island re-inhabited, the caves wouldn't be a secret no more because the roofs have been blown sky- hey, kid, watch it, huh?"

Derek had rather brusquely shoved between the two on his way to the front of the room. He muttered an unfelt apology, and then bent over the terminal that would access the onboard computer.

Though this was only the passenger cabin, he could still control a few minor ship functions from here. One of those were the airship's exterior cameras. He found one with an appropriate angle, and focused it on the closest of the collapsed caverns. When the terminal's monitor lit up with the image, he zoomed it in all the way.

He sensed, rather than saw, Rosie sidle up beside him. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked.

There was nothing but a cluster of rocks on the terminal monitor. Dissatisfied, Derek shook his head. "It was just... something you said..."

He thought he'd seen something discolored among the rocks, but it had turned out to be just other hallucination. The camera monitors revealed nothing besides rubble there. This time, he'd been lucky that his imagination had decided to torment him again. Without the exterior cameras focused and zoomed in on the cavern collapses, he wouldn't have been able to see the real abnormality.

After a moment, even Nagi was able to see it from the other end of the passenger cabin.

"It's too regular," she said. Even through the rubble, the shape was apparent. "No natural cavern is that large and has such perfect corners. They're artificial."

It all came back to Derek in a flash. He hadn't originally come out here looking for Achten Sie, it had been something else. The Royal Mobius Air Force. Abandoned underground hangars. They were here. But even as that small hope came back, it was quashed flat. These hangars were empty. Even if they hadn't been, any airships left inside would've been smashed by the collapsing cavern ceilings.

Even from here, he could see that not a single airship remained inside, even underneath the rubble. The hangar had probably been like that for a long time. Picked clean by scavengers.

A low moan escaped his throat. Despite all he'd seen elsewhere on the island, he'd always held some small measure of optimism that the stories Rosie and Nicole had been telling about a fleet were true. Like always, he'd been a fool. It was insane to assume that a hangar would go unnoticed on an island with the population that Achten Sie had boasted. It had probably been discovered early in the city's life; if there had been any surviving airships, they had been fleeced off or disassembled for scrap.

And now, like all the other hopes that brought him to Achten Sie, this one had been reduced to dust. Feeling his moan become a growl, he switched off the terminal.

Blade hadn't seen it. He was irritated that the image had vanished before he could spot what they were looking at. "What? What is it?"

"Nothing," Derek said. "It's nothing."

He sat down heavily. The bench was cold underneath him, and chilled his flesh through his fur. There was no safety harness, despite the constant air turbulence.

After a while, he realized that Blade was still staring at him.

"Ya gonna tell me what that was all about? Or do you always like playing the part of the drama queen?"

"I need a safe harbor for my people," Derek said. "That could've been it. Now it's gone."

"Then, like told your friend, you might want to check out Lower Mobius." There wasn't much of a disguise on the tone of Blade's voice, as much as he tried to put one there. He wasn't very good at it. He was trying to defraud someone. "It might just do."

"If you avoid getting on the wrong side of the natives," the spyder said, darkly.

They were both biting their tongues about something.

Derek couldn't be bothered to interrogate them. He closed his eyes to shut out the pain of his broken finger, and tried not to think about blood. He thought about the island instead, or the failure of the hangar. He wondered where all those dozens of airships could have gone.

Then he thought about what had happened up in the cockpit only minutes ago. What had passed between him and Nayr was something that he had a lot of very strong feelings about, but he realized that one of those feelings, that usually accompanied everything else he did, was missing.

Shame. That was the missing feeling. About everything else in his life, he'd always harbored some guilt, some shame at the idea that he hadn't done it right or could've done better. He'd been living with it a long time. It was part of his character.

But there was no shame over what he'd done to Nayr.

The airship started to turn. The island fell away from the observation window, replaced by a glasslike ocean morning. He could imagine Nayr up in the cockpit, directing Nack towards the mainland, ignoring the bruise that was undoubtedly blossoming where Derek's elbow had struck.

He didn't regret it at all. He was only sorry that he hadn't done it sooner. He should have seen him as a cold-blooded murderer right from the start. He was an assassin. And Derek, despite the rebellious clan he was a part of, was a peacemaker. They would only ever be at odds.

Right now, that assassin was in total control of the aircraft. With his unquestioned physical prowess, there was no way they could think to challenge him. He did not balk in the slightest at genocides or indiscriminate killings.

Derek slid his eyes open. He watched Rosie pace about the cabin. Barring exchanging frivolities with Blade and Nagi, there was nothing else for her to do. She was right. They might just be the only two natural allies aboard.

Nayr had no reason to go after their goals, or rescue the children. He even had incentive to kill one of them.

Rosie finally sat down on the bench next to him. She pulled her cloak over her head, as if to keep warm. Underneath, her eyes were fidgety and agitated.

They had to get off this ship.

Post 92:

Ealain Vangogh

They landed in the holding dock of the basement of Central Command; it hadn't taken rocket science for Robotropolis's Second and Third in Command, a rebellious child who rapidly acquired knowledge of every weak nook and cranny of the city, and a telekinetic, telepathic immortal echidna to break the security code on the front door-even thought the old boat of an airship they'd bartered off of Nic the Weasel was all but foreign to the city patrol bots.

"There are so few guards on patrol this morning," Snively murmured, peering shiftily through the dashboard window; though his knuckles whitened from their terrified grip of the back of the pilot's seat and his shirt collar had grown moist with sweat, this observation was peculiar enough to momentarily distract him from the dark fate looming ahead of him.

The fate at the end of dear uncle's fist.

Sprocket glided the ship into port, saluting the small brigade of SWATbots poised at the doors of the city hangar. "A petty detail," he grunted, scowling all the more fiercely at the control panel-at anything, so long as it was not his childhood friend. "Especially for a man who's going back to his coffin."

The Overlander sniffed, tossing his head defiantly, as though it were still blessed with volumes of rich brown hair. "I won't even dignify that remark with a response." A sliver of good humor seeped into his tone-his best attempt at thanks and apology for his sole living ally's most recent sacrifice on his behalf. He cast the robotic dog a sidelong long.

"You just did, idiot," Sprocket snapped back, continuing to glower straight ahead. Snively just shivered and glared at the ground-the role reversal, himself the brunt of cutting attacks, forced to receive brusqueness with grace, while Sprocket did the pot-shotting, was all but unbearable. But, he realized deep in the bowels of his mind, it was an appropriate punishment for crimes he wasn't even willing to try and rectify. Nay, it was a merciful punishment.

Was this guilt, fluttering, beating against the tips of his soiled black heart, like an oil-stained white bird trying to break free of some deep inner cavern? Was this remorse?

Oh, shit, no. Not inside Snively Kintobor's chest. Not Snively's heart. Never.

And who the hell said he had to react to Sprocket the way Sprocket reacted to him? Who the hell necessitated HIS grace?

No one. No one-not when the fat tyrant was away. He could do whatever he bloody well pleased now, with no one controlling him. He could piss in grace's face. So he did. "Go screw yourself, mongrel," he spat, under his breath, straight into the canine's ear, and darted from his seat, stalking out the opening hovercraft door. On his way, a piece of loose aluminum flooring tripped him up and he nearly fell on his face. "Damned shithole!" he snarled, over Sonic's snickers. "Nothing but a bounty hunter trash-craft!" He tidied the scummy remnants of his uniform and dismounted the thing, making a grandiose gesture at the scant patrol bots and SpyEyes in the hangar, shouting orders, drawing them away from sight of the two flesh-and-blood Mobians aboard the hovercraft.

Sprocket's ears twitched once, but other than that, he acknowledged neither Snively's putdown nor his attempt at assisting the rescue mission.

"What did he say to you this time?" Sonic piped up, speeding to the canine's side. Flashing a murderous look at Snively's back, as the human strode out into the yawning basement hangar. "And why don't you ever get him back?"

"Mercy," Sprocket mumbled in return, giving the boy's shoulder a distracted pat. "Mercy or . . . or some other stupid thing like that."

"Stupid?" Sonic nearly whimpered, his brave, sharp little eyes momentarily growing confused. Fearful-for a child's elders were not supposed to look more lost than the child himself; it was something every child knew, intuitively and from birth. And Sprocket looked very lost indeed. "I don't get it. Sally's dad never said it was stupid to give second chances. And he's the King! He's all . . . wise and stuff."

"Second chances," Sprocket retorted, inadvertently baring his fangs. "Not millionth."

"Oh . . . okay. Then . . . like I said, why don't you get him back now?"

Silence. The dog and hedgehog appraised each other for a moment. Finally, Sonic won: Sprocket looked away. "I don't know, kid," he breathed. "Mercy and forgiveness are different things. You can forgive someone over and over without tiring of it. You can even love that person, no matter what he does to you. But eventually, you lose the trust required to give him another chance to hurt you . . . or the people you care about." He sighed, not certain his words made sense even to him. "Or maybe it's not mercy at all. Maybe it's just . . . nostalgia or something. Maybe it's like keeping a relic of something that's long gone."

"I . . . think I get that. Kinda like you keep a brick from an old house after you move to a new one, right?"

"You're a good lad," Sprocket mumbled, pulling the boy suddenly into a brief, tight embrace, then letting him go. "I wish I could give you some assurance of a blessing or of good fortune, by my own hands-a blessing you deserve."

"Hey, you brought me here, didn't ya? You helped me find my pals," the kid shrugged, flashing a lopsided grin. It made Sprocket's heart ache all the more: The little warrior who had already been orphaned and witnessed carnage was missing his two front teeth, and probably craved a nice shiny coin or two to pick out from under his pillow like every other child did, instead of being stuck here in hell searching for his possibly-dead friends. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

"That I don't doubt for a minute," the dog managed to chuckle.

"Pardon me," J'Ran interrupted, looming in the hovercraft doorway. "But your hairless. . . companion . . . has told me that he has checked the daily roster from the mainframe computer upstairs, and that this Robotnik fellow's largest airship and over half his heaviest arsenal, as well as two thirds of the SWATbot units, are all absent from the city. Their destination was rerouted rather abruptly yesterday to Achten Sie Island." She straightened her white shift's collar and reset her visor on her nose, maddeningly indifferent as to the monumental implications of her report. "I assume this means that Robotnik himself, and the children whom he has kidnapped, are on their way back from that place by now. That is, if he has not killed his hostages at this point, depending upon his motives. But they are certainly not here. Shall we pursue them?"

Sprocket's world reeled. What in God's Name could have provoked such a change in itinerary? What horrible, cruel thing . . . ? The canine covered his mouth and sought some relative facsimile to a trashcan into which to vomit. But then he realized that robots do not vomit, or feel horrified, or even care. And once again he remembered his uncomfortable existence, straddling between the world of the living and the dead. "Please ask Snively to rejoin me in the cockpit," he finally spoke, in a carefully flat voice. "I need his help getting this thing to run full speed."

They had been cruising full throttle towards Snively's rough estimate of Achten Sie's destination; while the Overlander's bitter, cryptic remarks about the irony of "returning to Satan's toilet" were hardly helpful, his skills as a navigator were superb. Soon they were barely an hour from the tip of the mainland, where the Mobian Ocean began. But it all went to hell that evening, just as the red fingers of the sunset were beginning to curl around the blue sea's horizon.

Sonic had fallen into the deep, unstirring slumber with which only a child, still mustering a glimmer of basic trust in the efficacy of goodness, could be blessed. And with an equitable lack of pickiness, too: The boy had found a tattered, stale tobacco-scented blanket in one of the storage closets in the hovercraft's walls, and burrowed into it, fetus-style. Sprocket had needed take only one glance over the back of the pilot seat at his optimistic young charge before relinquishing his own blanket to the hedgehog. The boy took it drowsily. "Thanks, Rosie," he mumbled in his half-coherent state; his young mind still flipped to a default safe place, the thought of being torn from the nucleus of Knothole too incomprehensible while he lay half-suspended in a dream world. Sprocket was torn between disdaining and admiring such a simple train of thought, until ruefully he decided he was too inexperienced himself to pass judgment-for he never slept, and thus never dreamed. "No problem, kid," he breathed, turning forward in his seat.

. . . Or maybe he did dream, he continued to muse. Maybe he did dream while awake: For he could still close his eyes, push back all the little red-glowing meters and mechanisms that came with the curse of a robot body, and focus on the memory of a towering gilded house, a mansion really, at the border of Megacentral, dotted with honeysuckle bushes and guarded by great aromatic pine trees. He could hear the sound of small, quickening footsteps, and a voice: "Sprocket, you made it! Glad you beat the rain-it'll POUR soon!" A pale but lively human face darting from the bushes. "I've a new game for us-oh yeah, you'll LOVE it! The ancient humans who called themselves 'Americans' did this to celebrate some kind of freedom from another country, and so did the 'Chinese' at their New Year! It involves setting off fireworks in my prude old grandmother's back yard!" Honeysuckle blooms all over a simple blue flannel shirt, the same blue of the accoster's eyes, above an impishly grinning face. A thin hand-thin but warm-giving the canine's shoulder a teasing punch. "Come on, I just felt a raindrop! I know a place that'll be good shelter where we can set off the bottle rockets!"

Shelter. Fun. Freedom.

The past. The unobtainable past.

Sprocket realized he had indeed let his eyes slide shut: The entire hovercraft had started flying at a clumsy 45-degree angle. An annoyed grunt from the remnants of his past memory-the peevish, white-faced human next to him- and he quickly straightened out their aircraft.

"Are you alright?" Snively snapped, in a tone that indicated he could care less, and instead felt inclined to critique Sprocket's shoddy management of the big machine.

"Actually, I need some . . . uh . . air," the dog replied, stumbling to his feet. "Can you manage the controls for a moment?"

Snively sniggered. His eyes glinted. "The real question is, do you TRUST me with them?"

Sprocket set his jaw, unwilling, rarely, to be baited for Snively's pleasure. "Don't have a choice, do I?" He shoved past the Overlander, who took the pilot panel a bit too hungrily for the canine's comfort. "In any case, I'm worried about J'Ran. She's been in the back room for hours, and I'm still not convinced she's been the same person since her . . . ah . . . shellshock of sorts."

"And the Savior Complex strikes again! You have enough worry and pity for everyone, don't you, O Sprocket Christ?" Robotnik's nephew hissed, his derisive voice swelling into half-mad giggles.

"That's a misnomer if ever I heard one," the robot breathed, turning gently round, riveting the human still with his tragic stare. "I'M no benevolent, forgiving God. I don't pretend or believe for a moment that I could save the whole world." He nodded at Sonic's dozing form. "But maybe a handful of people who don't deserve damnation. Just a few people. And then maybe they can save a handful more, if they feel like it. There's no certainty, just a . . . a chance. Maybe I WILL do something when I CAN. There's nothing extraordinary about that." He limped on past the human and sleeping child, towards the back room where he hoped to find J'Ran, a comfortingly powerful and stable presence, intact.

Snively watched him go, thoroughly tongue-tied. At last he found his voice, long after the dog was out of earshot. " . . . It SHOULDN'T be extraordinary," he mumbled, with a touch of resurfacing admiration. "But it IS."

Sprocket reached the rusty metal door to the back room of the hovercraft, which to his sense (and his gratitude to Providence) was piloted a great deal more smoothly since he had relinquished the controls to Robotropolis's Commander-in-Chief. He just hoped Snively wasn't consorting secretly with the enemy, promising to deliver Sonic up to his fat, bloodstained Satanic priest for the sacrifice: the slaughter.

The canine was soon to realize that Snively wasn't the only person on the hovercraft capable of secret conferences.

He was stopped by a deep, rich female voice-unmistakably belonging to the immortal echidna, so it was not the voice itself that sent a shiver through his metallic hide, but rather the content of the words . . . and the fact that J'Ran, not one to idly chatter to herself, much less in the dark, solitary confines of a near-stranger's aircraft, was even talking at all.

But she audibly, clearly spoke. More than that. She was having a conversation.

Her lilting contralto sotto voce never once rose beyond a pitch too low for even the robot's honed ears to hear but at the very brink of the back chamber. And yet there was something firm, something formidable, in its undertones that assured her unheard debating partner that she was unwilling to buckle under the topic of discussion.

Sprocket's slowly inched open the door and peered inside, taking care not to let its hinges creak. Using his night vision would make him far too conspicuous, so he had to struggle to let his standard visual sensors adjust to the dim lighting of the room. J'Ran was there, alone as ever, her back to him, and it seemed as though she were slowly rocking to and fro, hands cupped curiously at her sides.

"Yoga," Snively used to jokingly call those poses and movements, when they had watched cheesy infomercials on one of the Kintobor family's enormous telescreens in Megacentral, those early morning slumber parties in the sitting room by the open window through which Sprocket had climbed, at a time when the human's father, Colin Sr., was asleep or out of town on military business. "Craptastic Meditation Medication Club membership," Snively had snickered with Sprocket in their pajamas, while they lounged on his father's expensive black leather sofa. "Yours for 40% off if you call our toll free number now!"

But there was more to J'Ran's posture here-more fervency, more agitation, than a mere attempt at stress relief or spiritual healing. It was as if she only remained in their world in a tangible, corporeal sense, and her mind was far elsewhere. Between discernible Mobian vernacular speech, she fell into spasmic fits, grunting and humming to herself like the Buddhist priests he had read about in human cultural history books.

The canine's first inclination was that his enigmatic companion, never once offering herself in service of bluntly delineated good or evil, but rather whatever she deemed the act most pragmatically suited to the moment, had coolly decided that the company of the Freedom Fighters had grown dull, and had taken actions to abandon them: Perhaps she was discussing the particulars of a meeting with one of her neo-psychic, magical, omniscient companions in some strange other dimension that he could scarcely comprehend. Perhaps she just didn't care about the fate of the planet anymore, and, setting her precious visor calmly on her muzzle, had resolved to take a vacation in one of those "alternate Emerald Hill zones" of Mobian lore, leaving them to their carnage. Perhaps he should spring from his hiding place and stop her before she made the deposit to her cosmic travel agent.

Or perhaps he should wait-and watch-and listen.

J'Ran spoke suddenly then, her voice gone hollow: "You haven't a real grain of power over me . . . I knew Lazaar, too, and he taught me as well as he did you, and I am less tainted than you . . . It means I have both experience AND spirit, Naugus. . . Yes, you are . . . No . . . Never, Naugus. Never."

Naugus.

Who was Naugus?

Sprocket knew that name. He KNEW it . . . and it made him shiver again, though he could not recall WHY. A weak memory stirred, a glimpse of the Mobian Royal Palace the day he had first seen it. Something that smelled like a mixture of formaldehyde and more natural smells, like wet, musty-odored snake skins, of long hours tampering in secret laboratories over cauldrons. He remembered being very scared at the height of the buildings, feeling a heavy, hard, cold hand-no, it was a claw-descending on him, and a prickly long thing-like long, coarse hair-against his back. A voice like a sinister breeze through tall grass: "LOST, little boy?" A kinder voice, one he recognized, for it belonged to the long lost Sir Charles Hedgehog, had rejoined, "Oh, NAUGUS, stop scaring the Mobitropilan children! They already fear you from all your court magic tricks, you know!" But Sprocket hadn't turned to thank Sonic's uncle OR to face the great creature who had accosted him; he simply ran down the streets of the capital and to the prescribed address of Julian Kintobor's laboratory, where Snively had been eagerly and happily waiting to greet him. He didn't even mention the incident; he felt like his friend would giggle and call him a coward (how ironic). He never found out what Naugus looked like, or who he even was, more than he was a disturbing figure with some official position in King Acorn's Royal Court.

There was only one person, Sprocket now realized with a sense of utter dismay, who was old enough to remember the exact role of this "Naugus"-what it entailed to have an ally communicating actively with him-and that person was Snively. Whether the human would be forthright about his exact knowledge was to be determined shortly; the canine rose from his crouch by the back door and turned to begin his interrogation in the cockpit.

The door squeaked-loudly.

Sprocket froze. He turned and gaped over his shoulder, mortified.

J'Ran was already fully twisted around, looking straight at him. Smiling. "You must be puzzled, Mr. Apollo," she purred.

He gulped, trying to muster a lie. "I'm sorry, I thought you were asleep. Did I . . . wake you?"

"Oh, no. I was quite finished." She removed her visor, probing him harder. "Are you alright?" The same question Snively had asked, again without the true meaning of concern-this time a conveyance that she knew exactly what he had seen and heard. It unnerved him to the core.

"Fine," he said, flashing a wobbly smile, tripping in his haste to return to the cockpit. "I won't, ah, trouble you again, J'Ran."

"It was no trouble, Mr. Apollo," the same gently seductive tone menaced him on his way out. "Not for me, at least."

Sprocket plopped unceremoniously into his seat next to Snively, wide-eyed, panting in a way that would rival any organic canine. "Has the boy been sleeping well?"

"Like an . . . angel. Or a devil, I should say. Problems?" the human tersely queried, not bothering to look away from the dashboard.

"How far are we from Robotnik's hovercraft?"

Snively clicked his tongue; his fingers pecked some buttons and he glared at a little screen in the center of the control panel. "About two hours." His voice cracked slightly. "Why?"

"I overheard J'Ran . . . communicating . . . with someone whose name I recognize, but only vaguely. It alarmed me a bit . . . I think I should ask you, because you might have known him from the days when your uncle was the King's Minister of War and Science, and would understand perhaps what his presence would mean to us."

"Oh?" One sardonic eyebrow rose high on Snively's forehead. "I haven't many friends. What's this fellow's name, pray?"

Sprocket took a deep breath, forgetting as usual that he no longer required oxygen. "His name is Naugus."

The entire hovercraft lurched from right to left as Snively's taut arms inadvertently jerked. His eyes became great, panicked blue moons, his voice shrill and brittle as a cicada cry, as he blurted, "Naugus? IXIS NAUGUS?!" Veins popped against his temple and neck. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that . . . that . . . CREATURE is?"

"Hey!" The child, Sonic, blared thickly from his new spot, sprawled on the floor where he had been deposited by the sudden turbulence. "Watch where yer goin'!"

"Shut up, brat!" the Overlander crowed.

For the first time in his life, Sonic was too exhausted to argue. He fell asleep again, still sprawled there on the floor, too weary even to return to a more comfortable position.

Snively, still agitated, attacked the autopilot mechanism and then grabbed Sprocket's arms, pulling him from the cockpit. "Air-yes, I need air now, too. Can't breathe-oh, God, Naugus! We must act quickly! Quickly!"

"Would you care to SETTLE DOWN," Sprocket growled, forcing him back into his chair, "and enlighten me as to the judgments you've passed just now?"

Snively's heartbeat was so rapid that the robot could hear it in the newfound stillness of the hovercraft. The human clutched his throbbing temples. "Very well. But briefly. Everyone knew of Naugus, before the Coup. He had a dark past, but somehow the King was fool enough to take him in as reformed Court Sorcerer. Naugus is a man of . . . of little known origin, but great power. He is a powerful mage, and an evil one, once apprenticed alongside other legendary figures, certain echidna families and strange humans like Megacentral's own Dr. Nathaniel Morgan, all under the legendary sorcerer Lazaar. A true prot�g�, Naugus was: He learned more of Lazaar's treacherous nature than any of the others, and soon surpassed him in power using those same throat-cutting means for which Lazaar was so notorious. "

Sprocket nodded softly, remembering the other peculiar name, Lazaar, mentioned in passing by the echidna they taxied.

Snively continued breathlessly, "Naugus has no compunction for exploiting and destroying anyone or anything in the path of his idle pleasures. He is worse than my uncle, Sprocket. My uncle at least is directive in his destructive approach, and feels some sense of righteousness in what he does, of returning a specific wrong, and his ambitions and his resources are narrower. Naugus not only enjoys bouts of vengeance, he ALSO evokes spite for the hell of it, for the fun of it. Everyone is his enemy, his plaything to molest and dismantle, and he has the power, the wits, and the skill to snuff everyone out if he so pleases."

"Why should we fear him if we have never crossed his path?" Sprocket shifted weight uneasily in his seat, sensing more to be told in the silence that followed his question. "I mean, he may be powerful, but he seems to only whet his appetite for the 'playthings,' as you put it, that he happens to stumble into."

"That's just it," Snively gulped. "I HAVE stumbled into Naugus. I mean WE have-my uncle and I. Rather deliberately stumbled, actually."

Sprocket moaned. "Let me guess: Julian and Naugus are old friends."

"Of a most . . . acid nature. Yes. Naugus and Julian . . . Robotnik . . . struck a bargain back before the Coup, in which the mage would help Robotnik discover a means to enter this . . . this hellish place, Sprocket, this cold, unfeeling alternate reality . . .In exchange for half of the profits Robotnik would reap from the Coup, he would allow my uncle to take advantage of that alternate zone as a place to forever incarcerate the place in exile . . . slowly going mad . . . a place where the King is . . . right this minute. . ."

"My God." Sprocket could no longer feel any warmth in his fingers or toes, metallic though they were-numb though they were meant to be. "You mean this mage with whom J'Ran consorts created the legendary Zone of Silence?"

Snively shuddered at the name of ancient Mobian and human lore. "Naugus calls it Sanctuary. My uncle calls it the Void. It is coldness, emptiness, the nonpresence of love, or noise, or scent, or touch. It has no time, no beginning or end. It is oblivion."

"It's Hell."

"Yes."

More quietly, not meant to be heard, Sprocket mumbled, "There's a Void here, too. Between us. And in Robotnik�s heart. There's no heart there."

But Snively did hear. Many years anticipating his uncle's abusive fist had honed his every sense to the emotional cues of another living creature. Warily, he nodded, " . . . Maybe so."

Sprocket returned quickly to the subject at hand. "And Naugus helped Robotnik send the King to this Zone of Sil. . .this 'Void'?"

" . . . Yes. And then Robotnik betrayed him, and sent him in after the King, despite his many threats of repercussion should such an act be committed. I myself turned the knob that sent them both-the King and Naugus-into the Void. To this day, there is no known exit. But . . . I think . . . with such an all-powerful vessel as an immortal echidna . . . Naugus doesn't need to face his foes to wreak revenge."

A stillness, a horrified, terrified stillness, passed between them.

Sprocket at last shattered it. "You want to get rid of J'Ran, don't you?"

Snively's eyes glittered with resolve. "Absolutely."

"On the eve of a very daunting battle with your uncle for those children, when her help would be indispensable?"

"That doesn't matter. We can only deal with one tyrant at a time, damn it!"

"Snively . . . she sounded like she was contentious with him, not in allegiance."

"She probably knew you were there listening, you fool."

"No, Snively. I need utter proof, proof of her own actions, before I ditch such a formidable ally."

"Is my word not proof?"

The canine hesitated. But honesty, he knew, had at least to be maintained on his part. So he croaked, "No. Not anymore."

Snively visibly withdrew, curling into a tight ball, lips thinning. "I see. Well." His eyes twitched shiftily to the left and right, then down at the keyboard panel. His fingers drummed anxiously against them, itching to enact release from some sort of restraint that the robot had apparently, with his caustically honest words, imposed. Calculating something-but he was a master of the pokerface, and so Sprocket could extract nothing from it. Finally Snively spat, "I don't suppose you'd allow me the courtesy to speak to our echidna friend myself? It's my hide, too, you know."

"Fair enough. But be warned, she saw me eavesdropping, as you predicted, and I haven't a clue as to her next action should someone actually confront her."

"I understand that."

"Alright, then. I'll watch the controls while you're gone. But, Snively," Sprocket added over his shoulder, pointing at the radar screen, where an ominous red dot blipped in an out of view. The Overlander, in his eagerness, had already made it halfway to the back of the airship; he stiffened and turned as the canine spoke. "Be quick about it, we're closing in on Robotnik more rapidly than you had predicted. We need to be ready to act against the despot who's almost within arm's reach."

" . . .Fine." And then the human was gone, faded into what seemed to be his natural element: the shadows.

Snively was tense from head to foot. He began to think that asking J'Ran to reveal the mage with whom she was conversing-or else he would divulge the nature of Ixis Naugus to Sprocket (there was no need for her to know that he had already done so) and the hedgehog child-was a bad idea. But she had been so calm and complacent, almost amused by him, like a bug scientist studying a gnat and finding it funny, agreeing instantly, that it had happened before he had the time to reconsider the dangerous chess game he was about to play.

To hell with her, Snively was no gnat. He was a mosquito. In one little pinprick bite, he could spread a whole deadly fever disease if he so wished. His great, big, arrogant foes had no clue who they were dealing with-as he would insure in the conversation to follow-between himself and the very sorcerer against which he had, five minutes past, bitterly railed.

And just as J'Ran hadn't needed to know that Sprocket was well aware of Naugus, so Sprocket didn't need to know that Snively was on better terms with the old wizard than he let on. There was still room for diplomacy and bargains, and blackmail, between old "friends" like Snively and Ixis.

"I shall allow my body to be a channel for his spirit, for his voice to consort with you, but only briefly," J'Ran purred. "But I warn you, little hairless one, though it is really of no consequence to me, you are playing with fire."

"Just do it, echidna," Snively snapped, resolute.

J'Ran shrugged, sighed, and bowed her head. Several moments passed, the silence as loud as any uproarious crowd to his tortured, nervous mind. Eventually, the echidna began to rock slowly back and forth, sneering in a manner wholly not her own.

But the human recognized that smile, that reptilian grin, even on another face. "Naugus," he greeted. "I trust you are well?"

A breathless cackle oozed between J'Ran's clenched teeth. A voice that was not hers, a high-pitched, thin male voice idly chanted, as though observing something completely unrelated to Snively, something more interesting, and from a distance. "Aaaaaah, such superb speed!" She stroked her delicate chin, where the parasitical presence inside her spirit must have possessed a beard. "And such a fiiinnnne miiinnnnd! Yessss. Interessssssting!"

"What the deuce are you yammering about?" Snively snapped, his own impatience overriding his prudence. "I've come to strike a deal with you, not to discuss some other subject of interest."

Her empty eyes became pale red orbs, shifty and restless, glowing on his face. It made his skin crawl, for THOSE eyes he remembered QUITE well. "Of courssse, my boy. I remember you having more hair the lasssst time I saw you."

"Another petty detail," the human snarled, faking an admirable degree of control over the situation. "We must make haste, now, or I'll be caught chit-chatting with a foe who is by now WELL known to the other passengers on board. I've come to ascertain your situation and to perhaps help you to a degree that my backstabbing lard-pile of an uncle would never honestly reach."

"Your uncle's nature is WELL understood, boy." For an instant the red eyes glowed richer and brighter, like blood on fire. "I suppose you want me to believe that you were just an innocent pawn in his game and that your loyalties were to me all along."

Snively nodded fervently. "Yes, yes, indeed. Or maybe it's more accurate to say my loyalties were MISPLACED, but NOW I know who my REAL friends are, and that you are one of them."

The voice through J'Ran's windpipe, Naugus's voice, acquired a saccharine, mocking edge. "Oh, how CHARMING. Julian's little lapdog slave of a nephew put all his trust in good old Saint Naugus, did he? I suppose you think I can grant you some sort of salvation."

"I don't want salvation. I just want security, and solitude. And I can get them through POWER. Something which I can secure using my own means, one day, you mark me: but perhaps not SUSTAIN. Something you have, contrariwise, consistently and in abundance."

Again the wheezing, rhythmic noise from Naugus, one which Snively, trying to hide the goose-bumps on his arms, took for laughter. "You DID inherit Uncle Julian's witsssss, boy. I'll give you THAT. However, I have my terms when I strike any bargain, or make any allegiance, and especially knowing the treachery that courses through YOUR young veins, I find my methods wise. You say you want my help. My loyalty. Is that not right?"

Snively nodded, gazing deep into the echidna's possessed eyes, feigning his very best beaten puppy groveling. He had obtained much practice at it.

"Acceptable," Naugus inside J'Ran conceded, sweeping her arm up towards the ceiling of the hovercraft. "However, this idea of shifting the center of power in Robotropolis does not particularly amuse me. I don't fancy meddling in your sssssilly mortal affairs of state. So I'll let you prove your mettle before I stick my neck out, boy. You show me that you're strong and smart enough to overthrow your uncle-anytime, mind you, as far as, oh, say, ten years from now, for my contracts have no time constraints, as, in Sanctuary, we know no time-THEN I shall readily agree to help you in your reign as ruler of Robotropolis, Mobotropolis, whatever you wish to call it these days. But one more thing, duckling."

Snively, who had leaned closer and closer to J'Ran's face, so thirsty was he for the bait dangling over his mouth, now retracted, tensing again. "Yes?"

"You must promise to release me from the Void on that day in which you obtain your authority over your city. Your uncle knowsss how to do it. He has just not shown you how, yet. Ascertain how, and do it for me, and you'll have my allegianccccce."

The young human was far too gleeful to think. Without hesitation, he blurted it: "Done."

That wheezing again. "Good, very interesssssting. Anything elsssse before we close our little meeting?"

Snively could not bear the curiosity. "How fairs your . . . company?"

"The King?" Wheeze-wheeze. "Decently. I keep him on hissss toessss. Deliciousssss discussions of various items pass between us every day, of days gone by and lovely vacation ressssorts, like the Great Sssswamp, and Ironlock Prison." The red eyes became hard, unyielding, and the human knew, somehow, the imprudence of asking further. Then Naugus added, rather abruptly, "May I suggest sssssomething?"

Snively blinked. "Ah . . . um, of course."

"My vessssel, this . . .despicable creature, J'Ran, will have heard every word of MY side of our discussion, as a third party of ssssorts. I'd rather my eavesdroppers not live to tell about it. Ssssso . . . As your first act of loyalty to me, little plucked duckling, perhapssss you might oblige me in tossing her body out the hovercraft door. She may not die, seeing as that pesky immortality comessss into play, but at least she'll be . . . ah . . . detained."

Snively felt a pang of discomfort at the concept of proving loyalty yet again, to another master, so freakishly similar to his act of betrayal against Sprocket to prove his loyalty to Uncle Julian. This would be the second time he would murder someone to prove devotion to someone else. Even to him, it seemed . . . perverse. Sick. Unforgivable.

But he wanted security, and solitude, he had said-and meant it. He didn't want salvation, or forgiveness. Useless frills, they were, in a world like this. So he nodded, hoisted the limp form of J'Ran under his scrawny arms, and, with a quick glare round the chamber to make sure he had gone unwatched, thrust her out of the hovercraft.

"Thankssss very much," the voice of Naugus could be heard hissing out between the falling figure's still-clenched teeth, until at last she vanished under the vapor and clouds.

For a moment Snively grinned maliciously to himself, even spared a soft giggle of vengeance beginning to bloom. But then, in place of all the schemes blossoming in his brain against dear uncle, there came a flood of images of the echidna maiden's mangled body lying broken on the ground, of Naugus's blood red eyes and the human tyrant's swiftly-approaching hovercraft-Julian might kill him before he ever got the chance to usurp the throne of Robotropolis. And in any case, now he was STUCK with Julian, if he ever wanted Naugus's help and magic and power, stuck with him until he overthrew him. He was TRAPPED.

Suddenly his glee turned to nausea, and nausea to wild spinning vertigo, and he braced himself against the open doorway and retched out into the vaporous darkness of his own self-created Void.

But not for long. A child's voice, Sonic's, for once uttered his name with utmost precision, and without taunting adornment. "SNIVELY! Come quick, Robotnik's here!" A burst of air from behind to rival the swishing current out he door, bred by the hovercraft's velocity, and Sonic was suddenly behind him, tugging on his sleeve. "Whatcha doin' there? And where's J'Ran? Come ON, man, ROBOTNIK'S here!"

Snively didn't bother to turn and look at the child, for his eyes were absorbing the stealthbots and hovercraft arsenals dotting the sky like ink stains on an otherwise beautiful watercolor painting. His shirt collar grew moist with sweat. "Shit," he mumbled. "So he is."

"Where's J'Ran?" Sonic repeated, in that loud, incessantly squeaking pitch, jerking harder on Snively's shirt sleeve. At last a hovercraft spotted the Achille's Heel in their airship, took lethal aim, and fired, advancing on them. Before Snively could even scream, Sonic grabbed him and darted to the far end of the back room, slamming them both to the ground. "Watch OUT!" the child, on top of him, brayed, pointing to the whole in the opposite wall that would have been marked in the human's skull.

For a split second Snively stared at his unlikely rescuer, and for a split second he was grateful. But then it passed. "Get off me," he growled, shoving the boy aside. "I need to go talk to Sprocket!"

"Who has a marvelous idea, if he may brag about it," the canine, suddenly there on the ground with them, trumpeted. He grinned despite the melee around them, inadvertently making Snively shudder from the sight of his rows of fangs. Until now, the human had not considered the repercussions of once again going behind his friend's back. "The ship's back on autopilot. Robotnik's airship is directly in front of us, and he has a huge arsenal surrounding us. He has no idea who we are, probably counts us among a handful of bounty hunters straying from Achten Sie. But we'll change that opinion. Here's the deal: I'll play the idiot slave again, and I'll fly you and the boy here to the door of the fat tyrant's airship. You pretend to be delivering Sonic up to him as the final victim of his collection. In the meantime, I'll try to slip off and free the other kids. Once we're INSIDE his airship, you see, there won't be many forces aside himself to stop us. A few SWATbots, maybe, but nothing that I can't handle, considering they consider me their official superior. And then I can hand the kids over to you, J'Ran, and . . ."

And that was the first moment at which Sprocket realized that only three members of his little regiment were on board the ship. He took a deep breath, suppressing a snnarl. "Snively, where IS she?

The human swallowed back the urge to shriek and to leap from the aircraft, after the fallen echidna, ending it all then and there. When he spoke it was barely even a whisper. "I . . . she fell out, when the hovercraft shot at us. She lost balance."

Sprocket drilled a gold-flecked hole through his friend with his piercing stare. "Oh, DID she?"

"That's a lie!" Sonic piped in, shoving the human, making him fall. "You big JERK! I saved you from that bullet just now and it was only the TWO of us!"

"There was another one before you came, kid!" Snively roared, shoving him back.

"I only see one bullet hole in the walls, Snively," Sprocket breathed, looking away-though his voice simmered. "And how did the door get opened? Believe me, we'll be discussing this later."

". . . FINE," the Overlander hissed.

Another fire, this time a whole machine gun full of bullets, and several laser rifles, tore the top off of the airship, opening them to a cold vacuum. Sprocket took hold of Snively and Sonic, who were squealing at an equally shrill pitch from the fright of it.

Although the child, simultaneously, seemed to be enjoying the danger as well.

"Alright, I think it's now or never," Sprocket shouted, igniting the thrust boosters in his shoes. "As of this moment, I have no mind of my own." And while Sonic obediently placed himself in Snively's arms and feigned an angry struggle, the canine fell into a gaze as wholly hollow as that of any robot slave. "I'll make up the rest as we go," Sprocket added out of the side of his mouth to Robotnik's nephew. "Snively . . . just do what you must."

The human gulped as they approached Robotnik's formidable, black-and-red airship. He clutched Sonic by the arms, for there was no other place on the child's body devoid of painfully sharp blue quills. The child continued to enact a false-or perhaps, considering the man who held him, legitimate-struggle.

For a moment Sprocket turned to regard their destroyed bounty hunter aircraft. Without a pilot, and with the autopilot mode shattered by the mass damage done to the mainframe, ceiling and hull, the airbus coasted slowly askew and downward to crash, and, for the inferno that blazed at its impact many miles below them, made a shockingly gentle sound of explosion. His heart sank-for therein lay their sole mode of transportation and escape, lost for good.

"Aaahhhh," a freakishly familiar voice, thunder and silk and mechanical gears all in one, oozed into the sky from the ship's loudspeaker. An enormous red-clad figure loomed at the helm of the airship, waving languidly but somehow imposingly out the window, one fist-the legendary roboticized fist-clutching the control panel loudspeaker. "If it isn't my irascible nephew. Snively, my dear, dear boy, forgive me for destroying your rather . . . unconventional mode of transportation. I did not imagine it could be you. Yet now, at long last, I understand why you have been absent these many days. You were exercising your ambitions to catch the ultimate prize-the nephew of Sir Charles Hedgehog himself. Tsk, now, I shall have to punish you for not asking my permission for such a privilege first, but nevertheless, a job VERY well done."

"Thank you, Dr. Robotnik, sir," Snively simpered, attempting a salute with one hand and a clutching of Sonic with the other. It came off as a clumsy, awkward muscle spasm, and Sonic let out a defiant shout and flung his arms around Snively's neck when he nearly fell from the sky. The human whimpered, contracting several quills to his arms and chest.

Sprocket nearly fainted, as well.

Robotnik continued in an even more disgustingly delighted tone, "Ah splendid! Your company, too, leaves little to be desired! I have much favor and regard for the Aerial Commander, for a recent report it has delivered me, and am glad to see it restored fully intact. We shall have it especially well oiled and polished for its service to the New Order once we have returned to the Glorious City."

IT. Sprocket did his best to remain expressionless under such a brazen remark of his stature to Robotnik-that beneath the living, a mere IT. He was shocked at the swiftness and sharpness of his swelling hatred. Silently he swallowed it back, allowing malaise at the puzzling declaration of a "message" that he had purportedly, but obviously not in reality, delivered. He wondered who on earth would have the knowledge or the motives to impersonate him. Who knew of his rank in Robotnik�s Command but Snively, and a handful of . . .

Of Freedom Fighters? Oh, impossible . . . and yet . . .

"Patrol units," Robotnik rumbled, pulling him from his thoughts, "at ease. Let the boy, the robot, and their rodent captive inside."

"I'm no rodent, Ro-BUTT-nick!" Sonic shrilled at the airship fa�ade, and at the face of the tyrant himself, the moment Sprocket glided inside the cockpit. "But YOU sure STINK!" An immature remark, but notably brave.

Or, Sprocket thought with a gulp, remembering the many times that little Princess Sally had snapped at her best friend, stupid.

The tyrant rose from his pilot seat, passing two SWATbot bodyguards. He quailed from head to foot, as though the boy's piercing voice had whetted his temper beyond control. But then he sneered, that fiery, angrily flaring moustache curling upward. "Such spirit. No matter. It makes it FAR more entertaining to watch it break before my eyes than to receive a victim who is ALREADY broken." He leered at the three companions, Sprocket at impeccable, deadpan attention, Snively trembling and somewhere between the same formal position and a cower, and Sonic with chin tilted brazenly upwards, eyes ablaze. "And I WILL break you, my lad. You and your little friends. You will join them in a little cage I've prepared in the back sector of this airship. I've been working on a portable roboticizer for some time now, and would just love to test it out on all five of you." He rested a hand on Sonic's head, in a manner that was not benevolent, but almost in the manner of an iron press ready to crush the boy's young skull. "Yessss, I WILL break you ALL."

"Don't hold your breath," Sonic snarled back, bucking his clutches, teeth bared. "I aim to keep my own promises!" He pointed at the tyrant's arm, the metal arm that had reached out for him, that he had pushed into Robotnik's own killing machine, indicating his vow, as a five-year-old, to finish what he had started.

"Ah, my dear rodent! Promises, like dreams, are meant to be broken!" Robotnik retorted, thrusting his head back and roared a terrifying laugh, the contents of his giant belly shaking like a shuddering round mountain.

"Sonic, is that you?" a blessedly familiar voice, that of the young Princess Sally, rang out from a far place in the airship. There was the sound of subdued scuffling, and a SWATbot ordering "Do not move.

"Sal?" Sonic screamed, making for the back sector of which Robotnik had spoken. Before he could get far, however, Robotnik bent, still bellowing his cruel mirth, and smacked the child hard across the face. Blood sprayed from Sonic's burst-open lip, and he fell sprawling back against Snively's form.

For a split instant, the human cringed in empathy, for he knew well the pain associated with his uncle's sporadic temper. While Robotnik was too busy in his cackling to notice, his nephew quickly helped the boy to stand upright, puzzled at his own involuntary kindness.

"Thanks," Sonic mumbled through his cracked lip, too ashamed at being bested by the tyrant to look Snively in the eye.

Robotnik's nephew was equally grateful for the child's discretion, for he had no wish to take credit for dealing kindness to a filthy Mobian.

Then a marvelously self-serving thought flitted into Snively's mind, ever the epilogue, he mused, to his rare sickening acts of goodness. He reached quickly into a pouch hanging from his belt, withdrew a tiny metal device scarcely larger than a pinhead, and brushed it into the boy's ear. Just in case. Sonic shuddered and squirmed under his grasp, but otherwise didn't seem to realize that a very sophisticated tracking bug, of use only to the tracking and spy technology born by Robotnik's empire, had been planted on his body.

Sprocket did not notice, either. His heart, or whatever reasonable facsimile existed in a reawakened robot, skipped a beat in the midst of the noise. The children were still alive and well! So engrossed was he, in fact, in the wonderful and inadvertently delivered news, that he did not hear Robotnik addressing him.

Suddenly he felt a poke in the ribs, one made by Snively, who was giving him a wide-eyed look of sheer panic. The canine caught himself ready to start in alarm, and turned a carefully dull face to his "master."

"Forgive him, sir," Snively supplied, in a strangely thin voice, "he endured a great deal of weathering while we were tracking this miserable rodent through the Great Unknown, near the location of the former Wolf Pack-oh, and by the way, sir, if I may, I have a new location to divulge to you, where Princess Lupe and a handful of rebels still reside-and in any case, his hearing sensors require some repair."

So THAT was what Snively put in his backpack the day the Pack banished them-not just food or clothing, but the coordinates of their home . . . Sprocket mustered every inch of self-restraint in his being not to turn around and rip out Snively's jugular for mentioning the discovery of Lupe's new lair. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

"His arms and extraneous digits seem a bit bashed up, as well," Robotnik was saying, with the same peevish carelessness that one would exhibit while discussing the inconvenience of a broken toaster, or can opener, stroking his many chins with his fleshy fingers. "No matter, an easy glitch to rectify." Then he spoke louder, enunciating almost grotesquely. "I-wish-to-com-mend-you-on-de-li-ver-ing-the-co-or-din-ates-of-Ach-ten-Sie-Is-land-to-me-so-I-might-ob-lit-er-ate-its-den-i-zens, Commander Apollo 9000."

WHAT? THIS was the message he had supposedly delivered?

WHO-WHAT MOBIAN-WOULD DARE DO SUCH A THING-IN HIS NAME? IN HIS VOICE?

Or perhaps it had been a mistake, or a desperate diversion-but Sprocket knew only one thing, and that was that he had not spoken to Robotnik about Achten Sie Island, that he did not even know of its destruction-that the last time he saw them, Derek and Rosie were headed there to find the children, and had not, obviously, succeeded. They had vanished, and for all he knew . . . they were among the "obliterated."

Visibly, he cringed. VISIBLY.

He blew it.

Sonic gasped.

Snively's eyes grew wider still. "Oh, bugger," he moaned.

"What was THAT?" Robotnik seethed, getting so close to Sprocket that, were the dog still organic, he could have counted the hairs in his nose. "Another glitch? Or MORE?"

"Why, whatever do you mean, sir?" Snively interceded, trying to help, but the stiffness of his tone only confirmed to his uncle that something was amiss.

"An expression," Robotnik frothed. His eyes glowed hellishly, the flabby muscles of his face twitching and skewing, and, Sprocket realized with much shock, he was sweating. "I saw a facial expression! He FROWNED at me! He was PUZZLED!"

AH. NOW it was not "It," but "He."

Robotnik was AFRAID.

"He was AWARE-right then! Did you see? DID YOU? Come, Snively do you not understand the implications of that?" The despot turned savagely on his nephew. "I saw it in Robot 8999 once. Do you know which robot that is? A mere millisecond of it, and I had it repaired, but do you know which robot?!"

"I-I-I believe that is Sir Charles Hedgehog, s-sir."

"IS? IS? Why do you say IS? Why not WAS? WAS Sir Charles, IS Robot 8999! How much of this do you REALLY understand, Snively? It is the greatest fear of my worst nightmares, a monstrous malfunction that I had believed I had erased, and if I'm wrong, if my most formidable of foes during my Coup are reawakened . . . my empire . . . it is threatened of annihilation, Snively. . . it is the return of that of which I have robbed these disgusting, filthy creatures . . . and with it, their vengeance . . . or perhaps you already KNEW that . . ." Sinewy tones of accusation overrode the frenzy in Robotnik's voice. "Perhaps you knew it AND sought to USE it." His iron fist reached out for his nephew's shirt collar.

Snively crumbled to his knees, lurching out of reach. "N-no! I really have no clue what you mean, sir," he sobbed.

Robotnik hoisted his kin off his feet, unconvinced. "You little TRAITOR . . ."

In the chaos, in Robotnik's mad engrossment in what he imagined to be a vast conspiracy within his empire, Sonic easily freed himself and shot to the back of the airship, making quick destruction of the handful of SWATs in his path. He spotted a far back room, more SWATbots guarding it, bleeping at Sonic as "Intruder!" He squinted his sharp, dark little eyes, spotting a strange set of glowing red beams . . . and his friends inside them. "Sonic!" Sally, in the center, rose, crying out again, her lapis eyes promising her trust in him.

And he knew exactly what he had to, and would, do.

Inwardly Sprocket cursed. There was no sparing Snively or the children, who surely, for all of Sonic's resourcefulness, would not be able to escape single-handedly, from Robotnik's hundreds of laser rifles, SWATbots, and stealthcrafts, all poised and ready at the whim of the despot's wrath: not if Sprocket did not confirm the suspicion of his awakened mind and soul. And he would be made into scrap metal anyway, at this point-now that his supposed accomplishments for the "New Order" were found to be misplaced.

So it was time for another sacrifice, the blowing of his own cover. "Julian," he spoke, surprised at the calmness and firmness in his own voice. "So nice to see you again. We parted most unpleasantly."

Robotnik froze in the backswing preceding a punch to Snively's gut. In his shock he dropped his nephew to the cold hard metal floor of the airship. Snively groaned and crawled over to the robotic dog, whose arm-and built-in laser pistol-were aimed at the tyrant's head. Oh, so tempting, Sprocket mused, licking his lips. But if Robotnik were that easy to kill, someone would have done it already, and it was not worth the risk to

Nevertheless, Robotnik was still doing his fair share of sweating, gazing alarmedly into the barrel of the gun in the robot's index finger. "So . . ." he thundered. "It IS you . . . Sprocket, am I right? The mongrel that I used to break my nephew into his duties? You became my Aerial Commander."

"In a manner of speaking," Sprocket retorted tightly, baring those fangs.

"And was it or wasn't it you who delivered the coordinates of Achten Sie into my hands?"

"It was not."

"Then who was it, mongrel?"

Sprocket considered lying, but decided at last that the truth, in all his own ignorance of the matter, would be the wisest course. "I do not know."

"Interesting. Do not despair-I shall find out. And how long have you and my nephew been conspiring against me? How have you regained your free will? Has he managed that single-handedly?"

"I fear I must correct your accusations, Julian. Your nephew and I are hardly on good terms." Not exactly a lie. He grabbed Snively's belt with his free hand and lifted him up to his feet, pressing his gun against the human's throbbing temple. "I've been holding him hostage, you see, using his knowledge to my advantage. You quite fell for my little trick when I brought him and your precious quarry, the hedgehog, here. Tsk, Julian. Dear me."

The tyrant rumbled another laugh. But this time it was not merely raucous: It was spite put to sound. He had felt around inside Sprocket's brain, molested and raped it, and, like a dark magician, pulled out the knowledge of the dog's act. He spoke with rising confidence. "And what are your conditions for releasing my . . . CHERISHED kin and much coveted quarry? Do you not understand that you are surrounded by the most powerful aerial arsenal on this planet-right now? Well, of course you do, my dear mongrel-after all, you've commanded it for some several years now! And do you realize that I could not care less if you killed Snively, here and now, before my very eyes?"

Snively's face went ashen gray, and Sprocket tried to hide his balking assurance. "What of the hedgehog, Julian? What if I snatch him up, he and the Princess, and whisk them off? You may catch me eventually, and shoot me down, but I have places and people that can hide them before you catch up to us." Oh God, what an extravagant lie: There was NO one, now, for all he knew.

Derek was dead, and Rosie, too, for all he knew. And there was no returning to Lupe, or Dragonsnest.

"I call your bluff, boy," Robotnik sneered, raping his mind once more. "You are as alone as an island in your. . . wait . . ." It was then that he realized Sonic had vanished, having been liberated long ago from Snively's grasp. "DAMN IT! ALL airship units pursue the HEDGEHOG!"

There was no response. The tyrant turned his back to Sprocket and Snively, lumbering down the hall with a speed that, for his bulk, was surprising. Cautiously Sprocket followed, dragging Snively along, making him appear as authentic a hostage as he could. "Sprocket," the human breathed, "what on Mobius possessed you to . . ."

"Because I'm an idiot and I give millionth chances," the canine growled, motioning for silence, ignoring his old friend's confused stare. About a quarter mile back in the enormous aircraft, they reached Robotnik, crouching forward at the door of a huge dark, fluorescent-lit chamber-the back sector. There was a large cage with laser-lit bars in the center of the room, but the lights were flickering on and off at erratic intervals. The bars had been breeched. They came, all three of them gasping, upon a smoking, teeming wreckage of SWATbots turned to metal shreds at all corners of the room, reaching a crest just in front of the laser cage. Sitting calmly among the rubble, surrounded by the smug Sonic and bold Princess, and the other the Mobian children so long in Sprocket's anxious thoughts . . .

Was J'Ran!

A low, primal growling sound rumbled in Robotnik's gullet, his eyes again hot red coals. Snively's breath caught in his throat, as if something were obstructing his windpipe. But Sprocket was overjoyed. "KIDS!" he cried. "Are you alright?"

"Fine!" they all chorused together.

J'Ran smiled serenely, like a true Buddha, although this time she was not humming and rocking.

"Did YOU do this?" Robotnik snarled, thrusting an index finger at the echidna.

She cocked her head complacently. "Why, no. I only just got here."

"I did it!" Sonic shouted, shooting to his little feet. "I trashed your crap-bots, Ro-BUTT-nik! All by MYSELF!"

Sally tossed her hair and took his arm, smiling an a manner very much less friendly than J'Ran had done only seconds past. "See what you're up against, Robotnik?" she hissed. "You're in for some dreadful days ahead!"

The tyrant's fists curled up at his sides. Slowly he began inching towards the liberated children and echidna. "I believe I shall input a new command into my SWATbots from now on, boy," he purred, sneering back at Sonic. Overlooking Sally completely. "It shall be: 'Hedgehog, Priority ONE.' An honor for you to be the first Mobian hero that I DESTROY." And, like a mad bull, he charged.

With this J'Ran stood, as slowly as a languid kite floating into the sky, still smiling. "Sprocket, Hairless One, I am going to rescue the children for you now. Do not fear-they will be safe. Children, before the mean man tries to bruise us, let's all join hands and meditate on a safer place. NOW!" With that she clamped hands with Sonic and Sally, they with Bunnie, Rotor, Antoine and Dulcy, and in a burst of white-hot light . . .

They all vanished.

Robotnik had already made a leaping tackle for Sonic's vaporizing form, and so he landed on top of the robotic carnage, empty-handed. It took great efforts, as though he were an overturned tortoise or slug, to heave himself upright. He bellowed angry commands, but through the thick walls of his airship, they were most ineffective. The arsenal and stealth patrols outside continued to hover idly in the air.

Sprocket guffawed. "I think we'd better leave now!" he said, around chuckles.

Snively gulped. "We?"

The canine turned to him, crookedly smiling, and shrugged. "Like I said, millionth chance. But the last one. Got it?"

The human reflected the smile like a pale, watery-eyed mirror. "Yeah, got it."

"Good, now for my encore." Then Sprocket pitched his voice louder, higher. "I told you I had allies, Julian! Maybe this time you'll believe me! Know this: I've got your nephew in my grasp, and all the information I care to torture out of him, as well as your quarry. I hope it gives you nightmares sufficient enough for a lifetime . . . 'SIR.' "

Robotnik frothed, at last on his feet, coming at them with teeth bared. "I'll GET you!" he roared. "You WON'T live to LAUGH about this, MONGREL! You're DEAD!"

"That's my cue," the canine muttered, turning, igniting his thrust boosters, clutching Snively tight, and rocketing out of the room, down the hall, to the cockpit. It was somewhat unnerving flying at such a velocity INSIDE an airship, but escaping outside only increased the adrenaline rush.

Not yet aware of his rebellious intentions, Robotnik's 'formidable' stealth patrol arsenal sat stupidly and watched Sprocket and Snively dart out of line of fire. "We're going under the clouds," Sprocket shouted, "hang on!"

He made a stomach-lurching dive bomb, straight down, and the world before Snively's weary eyes reeled and went black.

The canine spotted the teeming remains of Achten Sie far in the distance, numbing his mind to the implications, to the possible losses. The poor fool who had impersonated him, for whatever reason, had better have no conscience about the consequences of his actions, or he would be better off dead. Or asleep . . . as Sprocket had been when he had committed atrocities in Robotnik's name.

A hideous noise-Robotnik's voice-pierced his thoughts. Over the loudspeaker, the tyrant was ordering a full throttle pursuit of "Aerial Commander Apollo aand Chief Commander Kintobor.

So much for family values.

Sprocket's eyes darted at the immediate landscape, tearing away from Achten Sie. There were peculiar craters in the earth below, and a strange glowing green light-he wondered how deep? How concealing? Worth a try.

"Here we go," he whispered, preparing to dive again.

Post 93:

J.R. Grant

Naugus, former apprentice of the most powerful wizard and mage on Mobius, sat in a throne of crystalline structure, his eyes closed. This was most fortunate of him. It had been about four or five years since that damned miscreant, Robotnik, had imprisoned him in his own inner sanctum. He had gained mental access to the outer world... just not physical access. To get out he'd need to create a portal between his Void and Mobius... and even then he'd need enough speed to get through the temporary wormhole: but mentally, he simply needed a mind to inhabit. A mind that came quite readily when the echidna scientist, Kayla-la, allowed herself to go into nothingness... into a Void. This provided the breech between realities that he needed. He messed up, though. Somehow he brought the echidnas memories with him back into her mind, where she quickly began merging with her physical body again. If Naugus hadn't cast a spell at the last second, he would have been locked out. He wasn't locked out, though. He was a virus in her mind... slowly taking over her motor skills... working his way into her eyes and senses, slowly possessing her. Already he had gained access to her short term memory... where he made an interesting discovery: he found another Sados still existed that Lazaar hadn't dealt with. Naugus wasn't completely cruel. He had to play mostly good for those in his vicinity, only occupied by two others, otherwise they may not cooperate when he needed them.

"Oh, Miranda... my dear..." Naugus beckoned in his breathless, raspy voice, "a friend of yoursss has been dying to meet you."

A still rather young looking female Sados was immediately unfrozen from a pillar of ice that Naugus had imprisoned her in where she cleared her head of what happened. This Sados was similar to Nayr in the respect that her skin was pitch black, but there were notable differences. She had bright blue hair for one thing and seemed to be much less aggressive than her counterpart. She was also about a foot shorter than him, being much closer to Mobian size.

Miranda sat down and huddled into a little ball, glaring at Naugus with her bright sapphire eyes. Naugus gave a weak laugh and continued.

"Come now... Sados... surely you remember..." Naugus hesitated, getting the name from J'ran's memory. "Nayr T'nargh."

Miranda's eyes widened and she fell to her hands and knees. It seemed like yesterday and yet was a million lifetimes ago that they were separated. There was no chance on Mobius that he was still alive. The mages would have surely killed him.

"That's not possible..." Miranda lamented, tears starting to form in her eyes.

"Oh... he is alive... my dear. After 8700 years he's still alive." Naugus told her smiling to himself. With any luck, he could finish his ancestor's job in one fell swoop.

Miranda could hardly believe it. In fact, she really didn't. The sadosii lived a far much smaller life span than any other species. Nayr was seven when she was with him. He would have died at most about twenty or twenty-five years later... still, there was something that made her hope. Nayr was all she ever had and when they were separated, she had repeatedly tried to kill herself -- but you couldn't die in the Void. After awhile you couldn't live, breathe, feel, hear, see or anything else for that matter. The Void was nothing more than an illusion in and of itself. An icy Hell.

"If he's alive, then prove it." Miranda told Naugus. Naugus smiled.

"In due time, my dear... in due time."

* * *

J'ran arrived in a glowing ball of light in the Knothole village with the children where she collapsed to the ground exhausted. The children looked around in astonishment at the fact that they were magically safe and sound back in Knothole.

"How are we being here at thees movement?" Antoine asked.

"Moment." Rotor corrected under his breath. Sonic smiled.

"It's magic, Ant. Magic." Sonic replied.

"NO!!!" J'ran snapped in anger, surprising all the kids. "I - I mean, it's not magic. It's science. No magic." She couldn't stay. She hated mages. Stupid, double-crossing bastards.

We�re... not stupid... Kayla-la...

"SHUT UP!!!" J'ran screamed. The kids started taking steps backwards.

"I-I'm sorry M-Miss J'ran!" Sonic stammered, frightened "W-we weren't saying anything!"

J'ran shook her head, her fists clenched trying to keep herself from crying. Emotions were worthless, illogical creations of the sapient mind. They rendered any sane individual irrational.

"Never you mind, Sonic Hedgehog. I'm glad I could help you all. Your nanny should be home soon enough, but I'm sure you kids know how to fend for yourselves for a little while..." J'ran said with a wink and brought two fingers to her forehead and closed her eyes, an act that couldn't be seen from behind her dark visors. "...you are freedom fighters after all. Good luck Knothole freedom fighters." It was then that J'ran disappeared in a sharp white light and the kids were left on their own. J'ran hadn't wanted to do that. She wanted to make sure that Rosie made it back to them alright, but with Naugus slowly taking control of her that was out of the question. It was imperative that she get in touch with Angel Island as quickly as possible...

* * *

The guardian of Angel Island sat on a log that lay across the top of a giant volcano meditating. The guardian was known as Knuckles, a cruel name given to him by his father as a pun. You see, Knuckles had bony spines that grew out of his knuckles. The guardian was so deep in thought that he didn't notice the female echidna walking up behind him.

"Excuse me, guardian--" J'ran started.

"GAH!!" Knuckles screamed, losing his balance and falling off the log into the volcano. Knuckles brought out his arms and legs and swooped in an arc bringing him back up to the log where he landed and looked over at J'ran with a slightly perturbed expression that was quickly replaced with a smile.

"Ahh, J'ran! So, how are the land Mobians doing?" Knuckles asked with a smirk, adjusting his cowboy hat. J'ran delayed.

"Guardian... where'd you get that hat?" J'ran asked nervously. Knuckles seemed surprised as it was not J'ran's way to get off topic.

"I got it from Grandfather Hawking -- you feeling alright, Miss T'kol Maga?" Knuckles asked in a slightly worried tone. J'ran shook her head no.

"The land Mobians numbers are at, if we're lucky, about three hundred now -- and that's a very hopeful estimate." J'ran replied. Knuckles mouth dropped open, trying to comprehend the report.

"Umm... Miss T'kol Maga, our report fifty years ago shows a number in the billions.

What in the Walker's name happened?!"

"A white, hairless mammal--"

"They're called Humans, J'ran. Please continue."

"A human by the alias of Ivo Robotnik has used a device called the roboticizer to turn the entire planet's inhabitants into robotic slaves. There are about three hundred that may still have their free will."

"A roboticizer... a device capable of enslaving and effectively immortalizing any living creature in a matter of seconds..." Knuckles said to himself in awe. "An interesting idea, J'ran. These humans seem to be much smarter than the Land Mobians."

"But, guardian... surely you must see that this is a terrible abomination?"

"Howso? The human was able to outwit the Mobians and enslave them with technology beyond their understanding. Abomination, genocide or whatever it is NOT the way of the echidnas nor of Angel Island to interfere with the affairs of the inferior races."

"You don't seem to understand, guardian..." J'ran said, laughing to herself nervously, appalled at the reaction that her leader was giving. "I have MET this Robotnik fellow. I saw the remains of a city he destroyed. I watched as he tried to kill his own servants. The man is insane and ruthless."

"That isn't our problem. If he is in control, then he is. It's not our way to interfere with nature's dictation." Knuckles replied calmly. J'ran then smiled, remembering what Naugus had told Snively.

"...and he is friends with the mage Ixis Naugus." J'ran told Knuckles. The guardian's eyes lowered into a deep rage. Guardians were the only other echidnas that knew the history of Mobius and what the mages had done.

J'ran's eyes suddenly turned a dark red behind her visors and she continued.

"...and ssso am I." J'ran said with a wicked smile before the female echidna gritted her teeth and grabbed her head, her eyes squinted shut as she tried to push the invader from her mind. The damage was done, however. Knuckles knew that voice regardless. The records had Naugus recorded.

"Naugus..." Knuckles said with anger brewing in his voice. The guardian began to show a bright green aura around him. J'ran held up her hands.

"Please, guardian! Stop! I'm not Naugus!" J'ran said quickly. Knuckles remained poised to attack.

"Explain."

"While I was out I died and my spirit went to the Void. Naugus saw this and tried to

possess my body, but unintentionally brought my spirit back with him. Now we both reside in this body..." J'ran winced and Naugus came through again. "...although sssoon I will be in complete control once again, guardian. Then... thiss entire world will call me masster!!!"

"Over my dead body..." Knuckles said and brought out his hands, pure chaotic power emanating from them. J'ran brought out her hands and the chaos dispersed around her. The female echidna began to float into the air.

"Firsst the motherland... and then your pompouss race." Naugus said and then spoke with J'ran's voice. "And I'll have you know that they'll help me. After all, I'm the wise and caring scientist J'ran!"

With that, Naugus disappeared in a crackling field of energy, leaving the Guardian in a predicament. Would he assist the inferior races? Gods interfering with the affairs of the others was unheard of, but if the world of the inferiors fell, then their existence would be threatened. Knuckles sat down and meditated on what his next course of action should be.

Post 94:

Roland �Jim Doe� Lowery

"Hell and damn," Nack The Weasel mumbled half to himself, half to the Sados sitting in the co-pilot chair next to him.

"What is it now?" Nayr asked. A slight tone of angry resignation colored the dark man's normally flint-hard voice.

"Heh, nothin', really," Nack reassured him. "We just cleared the island and sensor curtain is all . . . we can finally set on a straight line to Robotropolis. 'Bout time, too. Looks like ol' Doc Bolts is just finishin' up with his newest playset."

Nayr looked out the front window to see Dr. Robotnik's vehicles of mass destruction beginning to gather back into the flagship or take up positions around it. He snorted in disgust and sat back in his seat. "We will most likely be in the city long before he has his forces fully regathered."

Nack shrugged as he began resetting the pod's auto-pilot. "Yah, mebbe," he said, "if these were organic pilots we were dealin' with. Those 'bots'll be on our tails before we're halfway through, tho'."

"Grand."

"Ain't it? Still, gives us a pretty good head start. Time to get a little relaxin' in before the next big scary deal goes down, neh?" Finished setting the pod's gauges, Nack swung his titanium-toed boots up onto the console and slouched back in his seat. Nayr, not as comfortable with the art of relaxing as the bounty hunter, simply stared out at the dark storm buffeting their ride.

Silence was something that the Sados had long become accustomed to, having spent most of his long life surrounded by it between the brief, destructive noise of battle with a dragon. Silence shared with another living being so nearby, however, was something he was still getting used to. Through most of this current venture, when there had been long periods of travel, he had at least been able to keep his mind on walking forward while they were on foot, or staying in a different part of the vehicle from everyone else.

Now, however, the back of the pod was filled with people who's dim view of his tactics were becoming tiresome, and it didn't appear that Nack would be getting up from the pilot's seat any time soon. With a low grumble of discontent, Nayr made a decision that he hoped he would not later regret.

"I suppose," he said after a lengthy pause, "that this would be a time when most people engage in . . . 'small talk'."

Nack raised an eyebrow at the Sados and shrugged non-commitally. "Yah, I suppose it would," he said. "I ain't much one for social blathering, though."

"Neither am I," Nayr replied. "My apologies for bothering you."

With a slight chuckle, Nack shifted back up in his seat and waved his hand in the air. "Nah, nah," he said, "you're all right. Don't know 'bout you, but I'm sure as hell tired a'hearin' the Kid's moanin' and Granny's blubberin'; so hell, some random chatter might do us both some good right now. So pick yer topic! Weather? Sports? Seen any good holovids lately?"

Nayr nodded slowly to himself, then looked in the rear-view monitor. There he saw Achten Sie growing smaller and smaller as they left it behind. He then looked back up at Nack and said, "I take it that there was very little love lost between you and your sister."

Nack let out a sharp bark of laughter and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. "Damn and tarnation, Cheerful," he said, "you were right about not bein' much for small talk. That's about as big a topic as they come, neh?"

"It would appear that my manners still need some work as well," said Nayr. "If I've broached a difficult subject-"

The bounty hunter shook his head quickly and said, "Nope, no worries, mate. Normally I don't talk to folks 'bout my family an' past an' all, but . . . well, there's somethin' about ya. Now, see, one of the things you gotta understand about me and the weasel-chic is that we're fraternal twins. Neither of us was told or could figure which one came out first, so we sometimes hold being the oldest over each other, whether it's true or not. Usually depends on which one of us is in control a'the situation at the time.

"Unfortunately," he said with a sigh, "most of the time, it's her."

"It doesn't sound like it was a very pleasant relationship," Nayr said. "For you, at least."

"No, Cheerful," Nack agreed. "No, it isn't. Somethin' else you gotta understand about us is where we came from . . . for one thing, we ain't Weasels."

"You're not-?! You certainly appear to be . . . how odd." The Sados shifted slightly forward in his seat, looking at Nack carefully. "I must admit," he said, "I haven't had contact with Mobians . . . in a long while, but surely . . . "

Nack merely grinned widely as Nayr looked him over. After a few seconds, he finally leaned over and said, "Gotcha!"

With a confused look on his face, Nayr sat back. "I'm afraid I don't understand the purpose of your joke," he said.

"Heh, you will in a second," Nack assured him with a wink. "See, as far as biological makeup and all that jazz goes, sure, we're weasels. Halfway, at least. But what I'm sayin' is that Weasel ain't our real last name."

"Halfway?" Nayr said, a little stunned. "What's the other half?"

Nack's demeanor suddenly soured for a moment. "Wolf," he said bitterly. "It don't show much, I know . . . but there's still some wolf blood in me. My sister, too, 'course."

"Hybrids . . . " Nayr said. "Is that . . . possible?"

"Oh, yah, absolutely," Nack said with a nod. "Though we're as rare as hen's teeth, 'cause of all the laws they used to have against it back before the Great War. My parents, though . . . well, they weren't the sort to have to worry about laws. Y'ever hear of a family called the Packleaders, by any chance?"

"I can't say I have. Royalty?"

Another sharp laugh. "Something like that, mate," the bounty hunter said. "But naw . . . they were businessfolk. The whole Packleader family had their paws in damn near everything before ol' Doc Bolts went and blew the whole economic system to hell and back. Everything from the biggest piece of military tech down to the smallest educational tinker toy had somethin' from a Packleader-owned factory in it. Even now, if you've eaten anything that came out of a Mobian city or hidden village, it's likely to be either Packleader Farm grown, or have some sort of preservative in it from one a'their factories.

"So when Samuel Kennedy Packleader decided that he wanted to marry him a Weasel woman, not one voice rose up in alarm. Can't go around badmouthin' at the guy that makes near 'bout every modern convenience you enjoy, neh? Well, then they up and decide they want kids. 'Course, there were laws about that, but a few credits here, a few barter deals there, and sha-sha-sha! One Grade A hybrid matin' license found its happy little way right into their records.

"Nack and Nicolette Packleader were born just right after. You'd think that havin' softened his heart enough to marry outside the wolfpack woulda meant ol' Sam was gonna go easy on 'em . . . but nah, 'course not. 'Cause we weren't all wolf, we had t'work twice as hard to impress the bastard."

Nack fell silent for a moment. A grimace had fixed itself across his face, making it look like he'd taken a bite of something particularly foul-tasting.

"I take it that your sister accepted this challenge better than you did?" Nayr asked quietly.

"Ah, ya take it wrong, then," Nack said. "She hated it just as much as I did. Problem was, she was better at it than I was. Right this very second, I could run a man twice my speed down in any terrain without breaking a sweat. I can beat the shit out of people three times my strength and durability. I'm a deadly crackshot with near about any ranged weapon you care to place in my hand. But business matters? Fuck me, I'm dumb as a rock.

"All the time I was with the Packleaders, I had to not only hear about all the great and wonderful things the wolf side of the family had done over the centuries, I had to hear every single day about what a mega-super-great-and-splendiferous businesslady Nic was turning out to be. Not that I really gave a damn whether she was or not . . . the fact that it was shoved in my face every day, that's was burned my gut.

"So, when I was fifteen, I up and ran out on 'em. Got tired of the whole mess and just zip!, went right out the door one night. Ended up growing up on the streets and that is where I learned what I was good at. I took on my mother's maiden name and went on to turn Nack The Weasel into the most feared bounty hunter on Mobius."

"It wouldn't seem that many of the people back at the island were afraid of you," Nayr interrupted. "Least of all your sister."

Nack nodded slowly. "Ag, Cheerful," he said, "this time you're takin' it just right. One day, I got a job that led me into the middle of a 'mysterious cabal' . . . my employer's words, not mine. Well, I eventually come face to face with the leader of this li'l criminal syndicate to find that, damn it all to hell, it's Nic.

"Well, that's when she tells me that shortly after I struck out on my own, she did the same thing. 'Always gotta follow my little brother', she says. Turns out that while I had found my own way in the world, she just went and applied all the business crap that she'd learned to build herself an underworld empire. She'd actually set up the whole job just so she could lure me in and show me that, once again, she'd beaten me at something.

"In a straight one on one fight, or even four or five on one fight, with folks helping her . . . I could easily stomp her into the ground. She's a fair fighter, but nowhere in my class. But it's never come to that. I'm a pretty good manipulator and can fast talk my way out of almost anything . . . but I can't match up to her in that area. Virtually every time I've tried to get back on top after that meeting failed because she has a whole army of hunters, con men, and thugs to keep her protected.

"Today, though . . . I finally had an opportunity to get her outta my way for good, and I took it. I'd be tempted to go back there and tell Granny Woodchuck that I've been paid up in full 'cause the job she hired me for gave me that chance . . . but the debt 'tween me an' my sis really ain't got nothin' to do with her. And that debt will be paid, no matter what."

There was another pause. Nack stared intently out the window, his fingers crossed in front of his muzzle.

"Are you saying that it wasn't paid tonight?" Nayr asked, breaking the silence. "You keep speaking of Nicolette in the present tense, as if she were still alive . . . I thought you had left her back there in the collapsed shelter."

"She's a Weasel," Nack said, "just like me. She might not be as skilled in the same stuff I am, but still . . . if there was a single chance to get outta that place alive, you can be damn sure she found it. She may be dead, sure . . . but until I actually see her dead and broken body, I won't believe it one hundred percent. And even then," he darted his dark eyes over at Nayr for a second, "there'll always be that shadow of a doubt.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Nack yawned, "all this here 'small talk' has worn me out. I think I'm gonna take a little nap. Wake me if anything happens . . . which I'm sure it will."

"Of course," Nayr said as Nack slumped back down and placed his hat over his face. For a short while, the only sound in the cockpit was the gentle hum of the engines and the spatter of rain hitting the roof and windshield. Just as the weasel's breathing had begun to slow, however, Nayr got the sudden compulsion to wake him.

"Nack?" he said softly.

"Yah?" Nack said blearily, his voice muffled by the hat. "Trouble already?"

"No," said Nayr. "I was just wondering if I could ask you something."

The bounty hunter shrugged slightly, but kept his face covered. "Shoot," he said.

"I realize that I've been . . . out of the loop, as it were, for quite some time," the Sados said, "but bounty hunters, I've come to know, generally keep their personal lives very secret, both to keep their loved ones from being targets as well as pervading some sort of mythos about themselves. I highly doubt that has changed over time."

"Mmm," Nack muttered.

"You said earlier," Nayr continued, "that there was something about me, and that's why you told me your story. What exactly is that something?"

Nack chuckled sleepily. "Well, Cheerful," he said slowly as he trailed off into slumber, "thing is . . . when I'm talkin' ta you . . . it's a lot like . . . I'm talkin' . . . t'myself . . . "

The soft wheezing coming from Nack's hat and the gentle rise and fall told Nayr that the bounty hunter had finally fallen asleep. Not wanting to bother the Mobian any further, he went back to staring through the front windscreen and silently pondered the meaning of Nack's words . . .

**************

And�this is where we left off. Our story has been in limbo for several months now, and it�s possible we will never continue it. I hope that is not the case, but regardless, I hope you have enjoyed what you read!