The following short story is based on characters created and/or copyrighted by SEGA! Enterprises, DiC Productions, Archie Comic Publishers, Fleetway Comic Publishers, and the Taki Corporation. All other characters were created and copyrighted by Roland Lowery.
The author gives full permission to distribute this work freely, as long as no alterations are made and the exchange of monetary units is not involved. Any questions, comments, suggestions, or complaints should be sent to esn1g@earthlink.net. Thank you.
"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:"
-Ecclesiastes 3:1
A Time to Kill
by Roland Lowery
Melanie Alacius Quack loved her father's job. Loved it so much, in fact, that she had decided at an early age to go into the profession herself. Her father's death only steeled her resolve to follow in his footsteps, and after six years of hard work, she finally achieved her dream.
She became a doctor.
Finding a place to start her career hadn't been very difficult. Even so many years after the Robotnik War had been won, professional workers of all types were in short supply. With one short interview, she had landed a position with the newly rebuilt New Mobotropolis Medical Center, a very prestigious and very difficult job.
The work was almost non-stop. From the ongoing attempts to de-roboticize the more unfortunate victims of Robotnik's regime (Melanie refused to call him a "doctor") to treating the latest SEZ outbreaks to overseeing the genetic treatment of mutate children with unhealthy DNA alterations to implanting bionetic systems to fixing the regular number of bumps, bruises, breaks, and illnesses that the citizenry of New Mobotropolis were always bound to get . . .
Sometimes, Melanie simply felt washed out after weeks on end of digging through people's bodies, trying to fix every ache, pain, and major injury that came under her capable hands. But she didn't feel that way on May 12, 3246 AD. In fact, she felt rather chipper that morning.
It wouldn't last long.
"Well, well," Nurse Garring said as Dr. Quack swung brightly into the main reception room on the third floor of the NMMC. "Someone looks like they've had their coffee injection today."
Melanie smiled broadly at Garring as she tapped a display on the wall next to the nurse's desk. "Just having a decent day for once," she said. "The tests came back negative on the Foxen case . . .it always feels good to tell parents that their child is going to be just fine. Dr. Kellen and I think we've found a way to stop the bone degeneration in the older roboticized patients." She finished looking through the patient list, shut off the display, and turned fully to face the nurse. "And I'm just about to go save a young man's life by putting through the final compwork that will get the rare-blood transfusion he desperately needs."
Garring let out a low whistle as he swiveled back and forth idly in his chair. "Sounds to me like you're cashing in some serious karma there, Mel," he said. "Think you could swing some of that stuff my way? I could go for a day without someone bringing their kid in because they think a stomach cramp is a sign of the plauge."
"If only good luck were something I could give out piecemeal," Melanie said with a grin. "Take it easy, though, and things should go your wa-"
An insistent "bee-bee-beep" stopped their conversation cold. Garring immediately swung his chair around to face the main computer terminal and turned the general alarm off. "EMT3 just came in the front door," he said, reading the screen. "The patient is a male weasel; second and third degree burns all along his left side. Drs. Kellen and Catt have been called to attendance, and-"
Another alarm sounded from the pager clipped to Melanie's belt. She snapped it off with a deft flick of her wrist and smiled. "-and I'm to get the dermal regenerator warmed up so it'll be ready when they've got him stabilized," she said. "I'll get it started, them I'm going on lunch break. I should be back well before they need me."
"Bon apetit, doc," Garring said as he stood up, "and if you figure out how to give that luck out, try to give it to this fella . . . looks like he'll need it."
Armed with a full stomach and feeling refreshed after a few rare moments of peace and quiet, Melanie entered the burn ward. Nurse Clawz, her personal attendant for the day, was waiting just on the other side of the hallway's open double doors.
"Hit me with the details, Paige," Melanie said as the nurse fell into step beside her.
"Male weasel," Clawz replied, reading from her datapad. "100.3 centimeters, 44.45 kilograms. Purple fur, blue eyes. Third and second degree burns on lower left face, left arm, left side of torso, and upper left thigh. Was found, came in, and is currently in a comatose state. The expected duration of coma is unknown, so he's under heavy sedation until he's been run through the DR. Kellen and Catt had no trouble stabilizing him."
"Possible causes for the burns?" Melanie asked.
Nurse Clawz paused for an uncomfortable half-second. "Undetermined at this time," she said. "There are . . . a few anomalies concerning this patient."
Melanie frowned as they stopped just outside the doors to the dermal regenerator. "Such as?"
"The burns are consistent with those associated with a plasma grenade explosion, doctor, except that there is no shrapnel in the patient's skin, and the clothing covering the burns sustained only minor damage. It was almost as if he had been burned, then someone else put his clothes on him afterwards. And besides, of course, there hasn't been a case of plasma burn since the Great War."
"One of the few benefits of the Robotnik War," Melanie snorted. "What else?"
"The patient was found with an odd artifact grasped in his right hand," Clawz continued. "It's a stone of some sort, carved into a warped circle. Dr. Catt tried several times to pry his fingers open, but with no success, so he's still holding it. The glove he was wearing on that hand had a metal section on it, so it's been cut away to keep it from interfering with the DR. The stone itself shouldn't raise a problem. And finally . . . there seems to be some question as to the patient's identity."
"Did you try a DNA sampling?"
Again, the uncomforatble pause. "There really isn't any need, doctor," the nurse said, her professional manner dropping momentarily. "Maybe . . . you should just see for yourself." She signed off her datapad and hung it next to the door as she and Melanie stepped through. Dr. Quack nodded politely to the intern standing behind the DR controls, then looked over at the patient laying on the prep table.
Her blood turned to ice as recognition, then horror stole over her. Every muscle in her chest tightened as she fought not to let out a piercing shriek. She was barely aware of Nurse Clawz standing next to her, repeating "It's him, doctor, it's him, no doubt about it, it's him," like a mantra.
But it couldn't be him, her mind demanded. And yet it was. Even with the dermal bandages plastered over half his body, his fur shaved away from the twisted, burnt skin, and the absence of his trademarked hat, boots, and jacket . . . it was most undeniably-
"Nack The Weasel . . . "
It took Melanie several seconds to realize that the horrified whisper had come from her own bill. As the unreality of the situation washed over her, she felt the contents of stomach begin a full-scale assault on her esophagous.
"Are you alright, doctor?"
She turned blearily towards the intern who had asked the question, and nodded. It was a lie, but a necessary one. She choked back the bile that had begun to rise in her throat, and turned back towards the patient.
"Am I right . . . in thinking that that," she said, pointing at his still form, "is the bounty hunter, Nack Weasel?"
"On the record," Nurse Clawz said, "no. The NMMC's official stance is that he's a transient that happens to look amazingly like Weasel. Off the record . . . Melanie . . . it's him! We ran his DNA sample through the computer, and it checked out! If he's a cosmetic ripoff or even a clone, someone went way out of their way to get the job done right!"
"Impossible . . . " Melanie said softly, then shook her head to clear it. She took a few deep, cleansing breaths, and tightly reigned in her emotions with professional detachment.
"Alright . . . okay. In the end, it doesn't matter who he is," she said. "He's our patient, and we're going to give him the best damn care we can provide. Get the DR running so we can grow this man some new skin . . . "
According to the history books, Nack the Weasel - bounty hunter, mercenary, revered and reviled equally - disappeared in the latter half of the year 3235. It wasn't until early the next year that anyone even noticed, as Nack had a habit of going missing for months at a time, a necessity due to his all-too-often shady work.
Because his disappearance occured just shortly after the end of the Robotnik War, many people thought that he had gone completely underground to escape prosecution from the newly reformed Acorn Kingdom government. Others took the saying more literally and said that he was living in a bunker far below the surface, waiting for another war that he could profit from. His infamy seemed to generate many such stories, both plausible and unbelievable . . . and all unconfirmed.
And now here he was, sleeping in room 364 at the NMMC, not looking one day older than he did when he went missing eleven years earlier. Melanie sat, waiting patiently for him to wake up, and hating him more and more every second that he did not.
The regeneration of his epidermal layers had proceeded smoothly. The energy residue that had still clung to his body had been removed, followed by the stimulation of cell growth. The few first and more numerous second degree burns were now completely healed, and the skin shone as brightly pink as a newborn's. The more serious wounds would have to undergo a second treatment, so they were still covered with bandages. Muscle fiber and bone were a bit more difficult to grow than skin tissue.
Melanie silently cursed the fact that none of the major burns had cut through any vital organs, allowing her to avoid the confrontation that would eventually have to happen. Medical science could do wonders, but a gut wound was still a slow, painful death sentence.
She quickly banished those horrible thoughts from her mind, reminding herself that regardless of her personal feelings, she was a doctor and she had taken an oath to preserve all life. Even imagining her worst enemy dead was distasteful to her . . . or, at least, it should have been.
She was having a hard time grappling with the situation, but she had to keep it under control. If anyone else at the hospital knew that she was personally invested in this case in any way, she would be automatically pulled off duty and ordered to stay away from Nack until he was fully healed. She couldn't allow that. She couldn't allow him to get away from her again.
A slight change in the displays monitoring Nack's condition caught her attention. She stood up, straightened her lab coat and blonde hair, then crossed her arms and watched as the bounty hunter slowly regained consciousness.
His eyes opened millimeter by millimeter, then gradually scanned the room. When they finally reached her, they stopped and blinked rapidly a few times. His mouth opened, letting out a dull croak.
"D . . . doctor . . . Qua-" he managed before a coughing fit overtook him. Melanie stepped up to the bedside and grabbed a squeeze bottle of cold water from the end table. She placed the nozzle between his lips and he began to suck it dry.
After finishing the entire bottle off, Nack shifted his position on the bed and mustered enough strength to open his eyes all the way. "I'm sorry," he said, his nasal voice filling the room, "I thought you were-"
"I know who you thought I was," Melanie cut him off, "and whether or not the mistake was intentional, I don't appreciate it."
"Ah," Nack said, suddenly understanding. "I do know you, then. You've grown, Miss Melanie."
The doctor sneered at him. "Don't you call me that," she said threateningly. "Why don't you just use one of those insufferable nicknames you give people?"
Nack started to laugh, a pleghmy noise that nearly crossed over into another coughing fit. When he finally had control over himself, he shook his head at her sadly. "I didn't think you'd . . . appreciate the levity, my dear," he said. "But, as you wish. What would you like? Legs? You have a couple of . . . very nice ones, y'know. Maybe . . . Blondie. Or Baby Doc. I bet your college buddies called you that. I'd use Sawbones, but that one's already taken . . . I'm afraid. Besides, from the look on your face . . . you've decided levity isn't appreciated after all. So c'mon, Lady M . . . what's on your mind?"
To Melanie, it felt as if every neuron in her brain was rubbing together, creating enough friction to set her mind on fire with blazing hatred. Her teeth began to slowly grind back and forth across each other in her bill, and her crossed arms clamped tighter around her body as she fought to push out the question that had been foremost on her mind for over a decade.
"Did you kill my father?"
Nack stared at her for a long moment, an odd look on his face. He seemed to contemplate the question, mulling it over in his mind. He closed his eyes and sunk his head back in his pillow with a sigh.
"Yes," he said simply.
When she was a little girl, Melanie had thought that knowing the answer, one way or the other, would set her free. She imagined that she would hear it from Nack's own lips, and that things would suddenly be right with the world. The mystery would be solved. She could move on with her life and deal with the consequences without the hurt and pain that the uncertainty had caused all those years.
Instead, she felt the tension increase. Anger, despair, hoplessness, and hate all flooded over her body in a red hot wave, and she found herself wanting to do nothing more than kill Nack with her bare hands . . . but she could do nothing more than stand as still as a rock. Her breathing had slowed down to nearly a standstill as her heart rushed forward with the speed of a hundred bullet trains. All the plans and contingencies that she had stored up over the years - all the things she was going to do and say if he'd said yes - were gone. She simply stared at him.
And then without another word, she turned and stormed out the doorway.
On December 12, 3234, the failure of the Doomsday Project brought a sudden end to the Robotnik War. After a few months of intense fighting, Robotnik's nephew Snively and former partner Naugus had been similarly deposed and the Acorn Kingdom had been restored under the rule of Queen Sally. The former king, who was still trapped in the extra-dimensional Void, had retired so that his daughter could rightfully take his place. All throughout her current reign, up to present day, the world had slowly rebuilt itself into the proud near-utopia that it had been before the Great War.
Doctor Horatio Quack, one of the kingdom's staunchest supporters and personal physician to the Acorn family, never lived to see any of this. He had been mrudered the year previous to the Doomsday Project by an unknown assailant. Several persons were named as suspects, but unfortunately no leads were followed up. During the Robotnik War, after all, any sort of formal inquiry was hard to come by when the entire Mobian populous was in hiding.
The name that was most often heard by Dr. Quack's young and impressionable daughter Melanie, however, was that of Nack The Weasel. So, in between the times she was studying hard to become a doctor, she began to learn everything she could about the infamous mercenary. Everything she learned brought her closer and closer to confirming, at least in her own mind, that he had to have been the murderer. She would often spend hours fantasizing about catching him, forcing him to confess, and bringing him back to justice . . . and she would also fantasize that somehow, in some way, this would bring her father back.
When he disappeared, those fantasies began to fade, and hope that she would ever bring Dr. Quack's killer in became a distant memory. His sudden reappearance and confirmation proved to her with painful finality that she could never get her father back. In truth, it felt as if she'd lost him all over again.
As she lay on the floor of a rarely used utility closet, crying into the arm of her lab coat and powerless to stand on her own two feet or even wipe away the grime that was now covering her face, she came to the horrible realization that if she ever wanted to close the wounds and come to terms with her father's death . . . she would have to look the devil in the eye again.
And this time, she couldn't afford to blink.
"Back again, back again, jiggity jig," Nack said in a sing-song voice as Melanie stepped into his room. "Feelin' better, Lady M?"
"No," she said as she closed the door behind her, "but it looks like you are."
"What can I say, Lady M? The lady nurses here are a sight to see, and hospital food and I get along wonderfully. It beats digging around for grubs in the Great Forest all day."
Melanie stepped up to the bed side and looked down at Nack with her red-rimmed eyes. "Is that where you've been the past decade, Nack?" she asked. "Hiding out in the forest?"
Nack smiled at her briefly, then said, "Now, now, doc. You and I both know that can't possibly be true."
"No, it couldn't," she agreed. "Not unless those grubs have some wonder-drug in them that keeps you from aging."
"If only," Nack said with a snort. "Unfortunately, the real truth is a bit more unbelievable. Hell, here I am right in the middle of it, and I'm still not sure it's really happening. But here . . . just check this out . . . " Reaching under the sheets of his bed, Nack pulled out the stone artifact he had been clutching since the emergency medical team had first found him so many hours ago. "Ever seen one of these?" he asked.
Melanie looked at it closely, examining every nook and cranny of the stone's unusual design. While she had been running Nack through the regenerator, she had been too busy to take much notice, but now . . .
"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "It does look familiar somehow . . . "
"Not because you've seen an actual picture of it, or seen one in real life, I'm sure," he said, sliding the stone back underneath the covers. "But I bet you've seen it plenty of times in picture books, or read descriptions of it in fairy tales, ain't ya, doc?"
Melanie gasped lightly as she realized what he was talking about. "The Time Stones?" she said incredulously. "But . . . how did you get them?! I mean, they're not supposed to be real!"
"Why does everyone say that?" Nack asked rhetorically. "And as for how I got 'em . . . believe you me, it wasn't easy! Damn fool Freedom Fighters stuck enough traps to choke a-"
"Wait, wait!" Melanie said, waving her hands in the air. "The Freedom Fighters knew about them? Look, maybe you should just . . . start from the beginning, alright?"
"Sure," he said with a shrug. "Why not?" He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and said, "Apparently, you guys don't know about Sally and Sonic's little adventure into the past, right?"
"Apparently," Melanie replied sourly.
"Right. Well, some time back, the two of them learned that the Time Stones were located on this floating island somewhere . . . south of here, I think. It may have moved since then. Anyway, they used the things to go back in time in an attempt to stop Robotnik before he became Robotnik. Didn't work, as you well know, and after they put the stones back where they found 'em, they set all kinds of traps on the island to make sure that they didn't fall into the wrong hands. Seems they didn't trust the previous tenants to take care of business since the hedgehog and Sal-gal busted in pretty easily the first time. Gettin' this so far?"
"I have a hard time believing that the two foremost Freedom Fighters on the planet saw fit to meddle with the timeline," Melanie said, "but yes, I'm following you well enough."
"Okay," Nack continued, "so, I get this call about a year or two later, an anonymous mark saying he'll pay me well and handsomely enough if I can get these stones for him. Of course, I'm skeptical, but I've been called around to pick up much more fantastic items that turned out to be real, so I lead him on for a while. 'Course, when he says he'll pay me full - half up front, half later, even - whether I manage to get the stones or not, I'm already booking flight to the floating island, neh?
"Well, he tells me it's not so easy as all that. Tells me all about the traps and that the FF spared no expense in setting up the best. Naturally I'm a pretty fair trapbuster myself, but this guy says that it's going to be a doozy, even for me, so he sets me up with this other guy. Real trapmaster, this fella. Name a'Digger Finchley, if you're to believe his fake ID. Mole, brown fur, about so high. Squeeks when he talks, waddles when he walks, and paranoid and a half to boot.
"So, yah, whatever, I've done runs with worse people before, so I say sure. For that money, I'd work with a monkey sportin' explosive diarreah. We meet up later, jet over to the coordinates the boss-man gives us, and find this floating island easy enough. As soon as we get in, Squeeky gets to work dismantling everything in sight. I wish I could say I wasn't impressed, but this guy was phenomenal! It's just a shame he had to go and mix professionalism with a bad attitude and personality problems . . .
"Anyway, we get into the main chamber of the temple where the stones are stored through a combination of Squeeky's tech and my crackshot aim, and this huge owl-thing comes out of nowhere and asks us this silly little kid's riddle. I guess back when the stones were made, this was a pretty heavy thing to figure out, but this is stuff we trade in grade school nowadays, y'know? But, hey, boom and we got the Time Stones, so I figure everything is going great.
"Wrong, naturally. Squeeky suddenly starts in on his whole paranoid routine, suddenly figuring that I'm going to stiff him out of his cut from the venture. Hell, to show him that I'm on the level, I even let him keep one of the stones for transport back."
Melanie cut him off abruptly. "Hold on," she said. "I just realized . . . you only have one of the stones with you, right?"
"Yah, yah, Lady M," Nack said with a wave of his hand. "I'm getting to that, okay? Okay. So I give him the other stone and he just stands there, starin' at it. I ask him what the hell is the hold up, and he says - get this - that he ain't so sure these are the real Time Stones. He says he wants to try them out to make sure they're the real McCaw and all that. I figure, hell, sure, give the little whiner what he wants so we can get the hell outta there, and I say let's just jump a couple minutes into the future then. Couldn't hurt anything, right?
"Well, wrong again. We lock the stones together and start the 'mind sychronization' crap, when suddenly the little wiggler pulls out a plasma grenade - prob'ly the last one on the whole damn planet - pulls the pin, pops the clasp, and drops the damn thing not two feet away! Suddenly he starts chanting some other time than I am, probably hoping he can escape to somewhen else and I get blown to pieces! Well, you saw first-hand the effect a plasma grenade combined with warping time fields can get ya . . . right, Lady M?"
"Right," she said. "So you hadn't intended to jump into the here and now like you did."
"No more than you intended to be the doc that patched up my skin," he replied.
"And now you can't get back because you only have the one Time Stone."
"Ah, not exactly," said Nack. "See, Squeeky may not have been much on research, but I like to know what kind of mess I'm getting into when I take on a job. I studied up quite a bit on these things . . . seems that whenever one goes, the other has to go, too. Some sorta failsafe mechanism. Try as he might, there was no way Squeeky was gonna get away from me by goin' to another time. All he did was put us in different locations in a random - but still the same - section of the timeline. All I've gotta do is find 'im, put the rocks back together, and bammo! I'm goin' home!"
Melanie stood over Nack, soaking in all this new information. She couldn't really be sure that his story was true, but the facts seemed to bear him out. Everything he said would explain the unusual plasma burns, the fact that he wouldn't give up his only link to his own time even while unconscious, his ageless appearance . . .
"Ah, speaking of going home," he said, interrupting her thoughts, "what do ya think my chances of gettin' outta here so I can get about finding that other stone are?"
The doctor let out a short bark of bitter laughter. "You must be joking," she said.
Nack's face shifted ever so slightly. Though he still had a jovial look of someone who'd been enjoying a pleasant conversation, it now held an undertone of dark and deadly earnestness. "I assure you, Lady M," he said in an even voice, "that I am not joking in even the loosest sense of the word."
Her own tone lowered to match his. "First off," she said, "you still have another treatment to undergo followed by at least a week of bedrest before you can be discharged. Second, the board of directors hasn't determined the status of your identity yet. I'm sure that they will easily come to the conclusion that you are, in fact, Nack Weasel, and they will hand you over to the authorities to answer for your many crimes, including," she grated out through clenched teeth, "the murder of Dr. Horatio Quack. And third, I know what you are thinking, and there is no way in hell that I am going to help you."
Nack raised an eyebrow at this. "Really?" he said. "And why not? 'Cause I killed your dad? You're gonna punish me by making me stay in a time that I don't belong to?"
Yes, dammit! she wanted to scream in his face. I want to make you suffer like I suffered! I want to take your whole world away from you just as casually and unremorsefully as you took mine away from me! I want to make you stay here and stand trial and be locked away in a prison cell forever! I WANT YOU TO DIE!
The last thought caused her face to blush crimson red underneath her feathers. She turned quickly away from Nack and covered her eyes with a hand as she fought back bitter tears of pain and shame.
"No," she finally said in a quavering voice, back still turned. "No, damn you. I'm going to make sure you stay here because sending you back would change the timeline. According to my version of history, you disappeared all those years ago, never to return. I'm not going to change my past just to accomodate you."
"How selfish of ya, Lady M," Nack said with a wicked grin. "I'm impressed!"
She turned halfway back to face him. "What are you talking about?"
"Think about it," he said. "If I hadn't come forward in the first place, none of this woulda happened. If I was sent back, it would be setting things back the way they were before. By keeping me here, you're denying that other timeline - the true timeline - its very existence."
"But . . . well, let's say for a moment that what you're saying it true," said Melanie. "Then really, even if you go back, you have some knowledge of the future. Not much, but likely enough to change some small things here and there. In a sense, you and that mole friend of yours already destroyed that timeline completely. It will never come back."
"Throw in the rodent and Sal-gal's trip through time," Nack added, "and you've already got a real mess, Lady M."
"So really, it's a moot point. And in that case, yes, I can afford to be selfish." She jabbed a thumb towards herself. "It's my timeline you're asking me to abandon. I cannot and will not change my own past."
"Not for any reason?"
"No," she replied adamantly. "Not for any-"
His crooked eyebrow and knowing smirk stopped her short. She suddenly realized that what she was saying was not strictly true, and that he well knew it. She felt her skin burning red again as she pointed an accusing finger at him.
"I am sick and tired of you playing with my emotions, mercenary!" she said threateningly. "You are staying here, in this time, and you are going to face up to your crimes when you leave this hospital. Now give me the Time Stone!"
Nack looked oddly thoughtful for a moment, then slipped his hand under the sheets, pulling out the stone. "Sure thing, Lady M," he said as he handed it over to her. "Just don't do anything with it that I wouldn't do . . . "
Melanie stuck the stone into a pocket of her lab coat and marched out the door. She walked to the reception desk and leaned over it to glare warningly at Nurse Garring, who in turn backed away from her as if he were afraid she was going to bite him.
"The patient in room 364 is not to have contact with anyone except for me under any circumstances until I get back," she said. "PERIOD."
Garring was barely able to mutter out a startled "Y-yes, ma'am!" before she turned on her heel and strode purposefully down the hallway.
Nack awoke to the sudden sensation of weight dropping onto his chest. "Wha-" he mumbled sleepily, then stared stupidly at the datapad that had been thrown on him. When he finally had some of his bearings back in place, he looked up at the figure of Melanie Quack and said, "Thanks, Lady M, but I've already got one."
Melanie looked angrily at the pad he was holding in his hand, which had apparently been reading just before he fell asleep. She theen shook her head and said, "I want to know how you got that, but we'll talk about it in a minute. First, look at this."
He shrugged, shifted into a sitting position, and glanced over the datapad. "I'll be damned," he said after a moment. "Squeeky."
"Yes," the doctor confirmed. "It seems that he was brought in just shortly after you were. But because his wounds weren't nearly as serious, he was taken to a regular emergency room down on the first floor and given standard burn treatments. His case wasn't very hard to find, since he's listed as identity: unknown. We don't get many of those."
"Bastard's paranoid enough, tho', that'd he have gone into the official records long before the Robotnik War and erased his DNA sample," Nack said. "But, yah, this's him, all right. Burns on the right side of this body, carrying a stone in his left hand . . . why didn't someone connect him with me earlier?"
"The board of directors have been trying to keep any information about you quiet until they figure out what to do with you," she said. "In fact, they called Dr. Melbourne and told him to tell me that they appreciated my order to keep you quarantined . . . an order that I see hasn't been kept very well."
Nack chortled a bit. "I'd already made nicey-nice with one of the female nurses earlier today, Lady M," he said. "Getting a pad off her wasn't too hard, especially when she got her friend to keep that burly fella out of the way while she snuck it in."
"Remind me to reprimand Garring, Cherry, and Foxglove later," she said dryly. "I don't suppose you realize what kind of pollution you'd be introducing if you did manage to make it back in time?"
"C'mon, doc, you should know better than that," Nack said. He picked both pads up and handed them to her with a flourish. "I just wanted to do some light reading, not download every single news report and sports statistic from the past ten years. You can even check the pad's history buffer yourself if ya don't believe me."
"Nice try, mercenary," Melanie said. "I know quite well enough that you used to live with a gang of hackers."
"I don't lie without a reason to," Nack said seriously. "What reason would I have to lie to you now?"
Melanie felt her cheek twitch as she tried to find a reason, but she could unfortunately see his point. If there was any information that he was going to get from the pad, he had already gotten it and there was nothing she could do about it. Besides, she had already said that she wasn't going to let him go back in time . . .
Aren't you?
No, I'm NOT! she told herself stubbornly. Why would I?!
"None," she said aloud, conceeding his point. But just to be safe, she began to check through the pad's buffer as he'd suggested as she talked. "In any case, this means that we have both Time Stones under one roof right now, so we can hand them over to the authorities at the same time we give them you and the mole. The board seems to think we may get a rather sizable donation from the Queen or the Royal Council out of this."
"Maybe they can build a new floor here and call it the Melanie Quack wing," Nack said offhandedly.
"Mmm," the doctor murmured thoughtfully. According to the history buffer, the bounty hunter had only accessed a few small news files, many hardly worth noticing. One was a story detailing the events at Bunnie Rabbit's twenty-fifth birthday party, which the entire kingdom celebrated as she became the first victim of roboticization to become wholly flesh and blood again.
If only we could repeat that success, Melanie thought as she scanned through the accompanying images.
Another item involved the fifth anniversary of King Sonic The Hedgehog's death and the commemoration of the statue bearing his likeness in Acorn Castle's courtyard. There were also a few weather reports from seemingly random dates, an obituary for one Samuel Kennedy Packleader, and a single image of a thin, whipcord muscled young lady. Nothing that seemed terribly important, or that Nack could really use if he went back in time.
Nothing, at least, as far as she could see. The story about King Sonic's statue didn't mention how he had died or even the exact date . . . everyone had those sad details etched into their memories well enough thanks to the tremendous loss to all Mobians alike.
"Why don't you just ask me already?" Nack said suddenly.
"I'm sorry, what?" Melanie replied, startled.
"Ask me," he said simply. "You never know . . . I might say yes."
At first, she was prepared to tell him that she had no idea what he was talking about when suddenly she realized that she did, and that it was an idea that had been buzzing around in her head ever since she learned how he had gotten where he was. She simply hadn't wanted to admit that she wanted to take such an awful risk . . . but he knew she had to ask, all the same.
Her voice came out unsteady, burdened by the fear of what she was about to suggest. "I-if I bring you both of the Time Stones," she said, "and . . . let you go back to your time . . . would you . . . would you . . . " She hadn't thought she had any tears left in her, but she was proven wrong as they began to stream down again. With a gulp and a haggard sob, she managed to blurt out, "Would you help me go back and save my father?"
Nack stared off into space for some moments. Then, with the same solemnity that he had confirmed his guilt in Dr. Quack's murder, he said, "No."
She didn't break down. Somehow, some way . . . she managed not to break down into sobbing hysterics. She wasn't sure if it was simply because she was so emotionally spent after all the events of the day or if she had already known what his answer would be. All of the anger, hate, hoplessness, and despair had washed out of her, leaving her feeling . . . nothing.
Nack's words were soft, soothing, and filled with a sanity and logic that Melanie wished she felt at that moment. "If we went back and stopped the Nack in the past from fulfilling his mission," he said, "then it would change you into a completely different person. A person who wouldn't feel the need to go back and save their father because their father didn't need saving, meaning that when you returned to now, there would be another you already here. This you would no longer have a place in the new timeline because that you would already be occupying it. You may think that your family wouldn't care and would love you both equally, but would time itself be so forgiving?
"You may well fade into nothingness shortly after you got back. You may merge with the other you, making both of you someone else completely. You could cause a quantum explosion that would rip reality apart at its most basic levels. And then if you add in the possibility of me going into my present and your past to find another me hanging around . . . it simply clutters things up and poses even more of a danger to the stability of the timeline.
"So my answer now is the same as yours was earlier today. I cannot and will not allow such a thing to happen, even if it means that I have to stay stuck here in the future for the rest of my life."
Melanie hugged herself tightly, rubbing her hands up and down on her upper arms as if to warm them. "From what you said earlier, King Sonic and Queen Sally ran much the same risk when they used the Time Stones all those years ago," she said quietly.
"The universe probably came closer to ultimate destruction then that it ever had before," said Nack. "I guess we're all better off that they didn't succeed. This kind of thing is probably why the people that made the stones sealed 'em away on the floating island in the first place."
"They should have just destroyed the damn things," Melanie said as she rubbed her eyes dry. She then sighed and looked down at Nack sadly. "How is it that you sound like such a moronic jerk most of the time, but when you want to, you're . . . well, you're like this?"
"Hell, Lady M," Nack said, jokingly slipping back into his normal mode of speech, "I can't go around flashin' my smarts at every-damn-body, can I? Too many marks out there to sucker in, neh?" He winked at her, then became serious again. "I'm sorry, Melanie," he said. "I'm sorry that we can't go back and save him. You know that I can't feel remorse for doing the action in the first place, but . . . "
"Then why do you do it, Nack?" she asked. "How can you go around killing people one day, then saving entire villages and cities the next? How can you do anything anyone asks you to, regardless if it's good or evil, just because they can pay you enough?"
The bounty hunter looked her straight in the eye. "How can you do it, Lady M?" he asked. "How can you go every day doing the extraordinary things you do? How can you save countless lives every time you come in to work? How could Robotnik take over the entire world and hold onto it for so long? How could the hedgehog save his friends, his village, his world so many times over? Hmm?
"The answer, doc, is that I - just like you and everyone else like us - am good at what I do. It was what I was born to do, and it's what I'll die doing. I don't like thinking of it in such high terms as fate, or destiny, or whatever, but that's about as close as you're going to get to it. I kill people for money because it's what I'm good at. I destroy SWATbot factories for supplies because it's what I'm good at. You cure diseases and mend broken bodies because it's what you're good at. Good and evil don't enter into it, because it's simply what has to be."
"It shouldn't be that way," she said sorrowfully.
"I know," said Nack. "But we all have to do what we have to do."
Melanie closed her eyes and felt a final, stinging tear roll down her bill. She felt all of her hate and anger towards Nack evaporate into the cool, sanitized air of the hospital room . . . though she may never forgive Nack, she could at least somewhat understand him.
"I'm sending you back," she said softly.
"I'm sorry?" Nack said, sitting up sharply in the bed, then wincing painfully as his bandages stretched his skin.
"I said I'm sending you back," she repeated as she opened her eyes. "You were right. You don't belong in this time. And though it isn't what I want to do, and it may not be the good thing to do, it's what has to be done. Getting you and the mole back to your time may not change things back to the way they were - may not change things at all, in fact - but whatever destiny had in store for you, it's back then. Not here. Not now."
"You've got a plan, I'm hopin'," he said thoughtfully. "I don't think your board a'directors is just gonna let us waltz right inta Squeeky's room and then out the door, neh?"
Melanie nodded. "Yes, I have a plan," she said. "Apparently, your friend decided to continue playing comatose even though all his monitors say that he's awake."
"Paranoid bastard . . . "
"In any case, they're going to be taking him down to the psych ward for therapy, to see if they can snap him out of it," she continued. "At about the same time, I'll be taking you in for your last DR treatment. I can handle the machinary well enough by myself, so I'll tell the others to leave the room so I can care for you personally."
"Won't they be suspicious?" Nack asked.
Melanie shook her head. "I've taken care of patients alone like that before," she explained. "They know I prefer a personal touch from time to time . . . makes me feel like an old country doctor," she added with a laugh. "Dad loved to play that part himself occaisionally. Anyway, I'll leave you in long enough that your skin will be able to heal on its own over time. I'll have already grabbed your belongings and stashed them in the DR room, so we can sneak out and go straight from there to head off the intern that will be transporting the mole. And then-"
"And then me and Squeeky are gonna have words," Nack said with a growl. "You leave the rest up to me after that, Lady M."
She nodded slowly, then said, "Okay, Nack. Now get some sleep. You've got an eleven year trip ahead of you tomorrow."
"G'mornin', sunshine!"
It was all Digger Finchley could do not to scream out loud when he heard the nasal voice that had tormented him in his nightmares the previous night. As it was, he was sufficiently surprised enough to open his beady eyes as wide as they could go, unable to maintain his feigned unconciousness any longer.
Nack The Weasel grinned down at him as the ceiling above moved by at a far too rapid pace.
"Nonononono," the mole squeeked as loudly as he dared. "What happened to the other guy?!"
"He's taking a nap in the broom closet right now," Nack said. "He'll probably be telling everyone how I knocked him out about . . . oh, about the same time we'll be leaving the building, far far away from anyone who can save your scraggly hide."
Digger could see that Nack was limping as he and a female doctor swiftly pushed his gurney down the hallways, but didn't fool himself for a second thinking that the bounty hunter was any less dangerous than before. The lady was constantly shouting for people to move out of the way for an emergency case, but he could tell that she was keeping just as stern an eye on him as Nack was.
"Fire exit," Melanie whispered back to Nack in between shouts. The weasel stepped forward quickly so that he was walking in front of the gurney, then did a quick hopkick that sent the fire exit door flying open.
Any hope that the mole may have had for a fire alarm died quickly when he realized that the building's internal computer would be able to tell there was no fire. It would merely send a report to the receptionist on the floor about an unauthorized entry, and that might take several minutes to respond to.
Nack and Melanie rolled the gurney down a short ramp that ran down to the back parking lot of the NMMC, then turned sharply to the right and continued on until they entered a nearby alleyway. Digger had momentarily considered screaming out for help, but abandoned that idea shortly after Nack had placed a warning hand on his throat.
They stopped in the alley and hauled the mole off the bed and onto his feet. He immediately shriveled in stature and backed up against the alley wall and started to moan pitifully.
"Oh, shut up, Squeeky," Nack said derisively. "You'd think someone was pulling your toenails out instead a' trying to get ya home!"
"Here," Melanie said as she opened up a white duffel back she was carrying. She pulled out Nack's jacket, boots, gunbelt, and hat, then handed them to the bounty hunter, who began quickly shrugging them all on.
He stopped short just as he was putting the jacket on, then laid it down on the gurney. "Ya got a piece of paper, Lady M?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Why?"
"Hold on," he said, ignoring her. "This'll do . . . " He turned and grabbed Digger by the front of his hospital gown, forcing a startled squeek from the pathetic creature. "Hold still," he told Digger, then abruptly ripped the gown's sleeve off. He let Digger drop back to the ground, then fumbled through the pockets of his jacket until he came up with a all-purpose marker.
"I want you to put on my coat," Nack said as he scribbled something on the piece of fabric. "Someone will be by to pick it up here in a minute or two . . . it's okay, I sent them. Or will send them. Or whatever. Anyway, give it to them, and everything'll be okay. Okay?"
"You're not going to mess up the timeline, are you?" Melanie asked worriedly. "I thought we-"
"I know what we said," he cut her off softly. Placing the torn sleeve in one of the jacket's pockets, he held it up for her to put on. "It's going to be all right," he told her. "It's just something I gotta to take care of. If anything goes bad wrong, don't worry. The guy I'm sending to meet ya will know what to do. And, uh . . . don't stick your hands into any of the inside pockets. They bite."
He stepped back and looked at her. She looked so small and helpless in his big jacket, and he could see the worry and doubt running across her face. Better not let her change her mind, he thought, and turned back to Digger.
"Up, Squeeky!" he yelled. "Get that Time Stone ready, boyo, or I'll skin ya head ta tail! Got me?"
Digger made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a scream, but managed to stand and hold out the stone he still gripped tightly in his left hand.
"Same time now," Nack warned, "or when I find you in the new time, I'll turn your skeleton into a puppet and use it to frighten small children with!" He turned back to Melanie and said in a more friendly tone, "Usually this is the moment where the hero leans over and kisses the lady just before he heads off to meet his destiny, but where I'm going . . . you're still only twelve years old." He winked at her with a wide grin, then said, "You better get back, Lady M. These things kick up quite a ruckus when they go off."
She nodded and trotted a small way down the alley, then turned back. Nack and Digger already had the stones put together and were chanting rhytmically. A glow began to surround them as the wind picked up and a low pitched whine filled the small space between buildings.
And then with a cacaphony of sound and light that she felt more than she heard or saw, they were gone.
Melanie breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
Even though it had only been roughly twenty-four hours since Nack had come under her care, it felt as if a lifetime had passed her by. She sagged against the nearest wall and buried her face in her hands. A sudden movement and burst of wind and sound caused her to snap her head back up . . . surely they weren't coming back? But no . . . the alley was still just as empty as it was a moment ago-
"Excuse me, Dr. Quack?"
She nearly jumped out of her skin when the slightly nasal voice emenated from behind her. She whirled around and found herself face to face with Sonic T. Hedgehog, the world reknowned Fastest Thing Alive, King of all Mobius, and champion of the Mobian people.
But he's dead!
No . . . that was a silly thought, she decided as she collected herself. Of course he wasn't dead. Why would she have thought otherwise?
"I'm sorry if I startled you, Dr. Quack," King Sonic said, a look of concern on his expressive face. "Are you okay?"
"Yes," she said as she straightened her mussed-up hair. "Yes, I'm sorry, my liege. I've just had a . . . most unusual day."
Sonic smiled warmly. "I know the feeling," he said. "Ah, I hope you don't mind, but I'm here to pick up Nack's jacket. He'll be wanting it back now. He said that you'd understand . . . "
Melanie laughed with relief and said, "Yes, yes, of course. I-" She stopped short as she was removing the jacket and, for reasons she couldn't quite fathom, reached into the pocket and pulled out the torn sleeve that Nack had placed in there. She slowly unfolded it and, with eyes brimming with tears, she read what he had written.
"I always collect what I'm due, Lady M . . . but I also repay my debts as well. Cool runnings! -Nack"
"He was a rare man, Nack The Weasel," Sonic said as he wrapped the jacket around the small, unadorned tombstone.
"Yes," Melanie said sadly. "I wish I could have known him a little better."
"I wish we all could have," said Sonic. "Always kept to himself, though. Not that we ever gave him much choice in the early days," he added with a sigh. "Back then we thought that he was the one that didn't give us a choice-"
"-but you just didn't understand him," Melanie finished for him. Sonic nodded, then the two of them stood quietly for a short while. Soon, it began to rain and they started back towards the nearby chapel.
"How did he die?"
Sonic frowned at the question, and was slow with the answer . . . perhaps one of the few times in his life that he wasn't in a hurry about something, Melanie reflected. "We'd hired him on to help with a dimensional anomaly that had suddenly sprung up near Knothole Village," the king said. "It was a pretty nasty affair, tearing up trees and putting out all sorts of miniature - but still pretty destructive - tornadoes. The odd thing was, it was doing all this damage, but it wasn't making a single sound. In fact, the closer we got to it, the less we could hear. By the time we got to see the damn thing, we had to shout just to make our voices sound like a whisper. I think it was Bunnie that decided to call the anomaly the 'Zone of Silence' . . .
"Anyway, Sally scanned the tear with Nicole - she was a handheld deal back then, y'know - and found that the blasted thing could only be closed from the inside. She had Rotor construct some kind of gadget from all that stuff he lugs around with him, so all we had to do was figure out who was going to go in and shut it all down. I had volunteered, of course, and was just about to take the gadget and jump in when Nack knocked me in the head, snatched the machine, and ran into the zone."
Sonic paused as they reached the chapel, briskly shaking off the rainwater they had accumulated before stepping inside. They took a seat just inside the doors and sat in thoughtful silence for a moment.
"We found him laying on the ground after it was all said and done," Sonic continued. "He had just enough strength to say, 'I'm all paid up,' before he passed away. I was never really sure what he meant . . . all I knew was that he had given his life for mine." After a short pause, he stood up and put his hand on Melanie's shoulder. "He was a rare man," he said, "and a great one. Don't let anyone tell you different."
She looked up and smiled bittersweetly, noticing the tears in her eyes reflected in his. She placed her hand on his briefly and said, "Thank you."
He smiled back at her, squeezed her shoulder gently, then turned to go. "My driver will take you home when you're ready," he said over his shoulder. "Sleep well, Dr. Quack. You deserve it."
And then he was gone in his characteristic blast of speed. Melanie was left alone with her thoughts, which were interupted only by the intermitent pattering of rain on the chapel roof. She cried softly in the dark entryway, mourning the loss of a man that, until just a day ago, she had wished death upon for half her entire lifetime.
"Why did you do it, Nack?" she asked the empty church.
We all do what we have to do, the sound of Nack's voice echoed in her head, rising up from her subconcious like a dark specter from the past. You sent me back to my time at the risk of your entire universe, a debt that I could never hope to repay you, even if I had a hundred lifetimes to spare. So I repaid my debt to the entire world of Mobius, trading my own life for that of a man who's heroic deeds I could never match.
She wished that she could write it off as cold, selfish rationalization on her own part . . . but she couldn't.
After Nack had returned to the past, he had used his knowhow and a little help from his friends to start life anew under an assumed name, causing Nack The Weasel to disappear on purpose just as he had disappeared accidentally before. In his will, he'd made sure that his funeral would be carried out in secret and that his gravestone would be unmarked, so that his sacrifice at the Zone of Silence wouldn't overshadow Sonic's participation or heroism during the affair in any way. He had even managed to leave a note for himself in the datapad that his past self would cajole out of a lovesick nurse later on down the road, all so the timeline would proceed as it had before, with one special exception.
Melanie Alacius Quack stood up and wiped her eyes dry. With one last, heavy sigh, she pulled her longcoat tight around her body and walked out into the rain. She nodded politely to the driver Sonic had provided for her as he opened the gravcar door for her. She was just about to step inside when she happened to look over at the nearby graves.
She knew that only one person could have been fast enough to do the job, and she smiled when she saw the new epitath adorning a once completely blank tombstone. How appropriate, she thought, then stepped fully into the car's back seat.
"Just drive," she told her chauffer. "Let's see where destiny takes us."
Nack The Weasel
1/5/00 - 8/15/38
Fated To Die Before His Time
He Will Be Missed
END.
Roland Lowery
esn1g@earthlink.net
September 24, 2003
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