MORE
THAN THERE SEEMS
A Sonic
SatAM story by:
Tristan
Palmgren
A.
Fleury
Ealain
Vangogh
J.R.
Grant
Dominic
Smith
Roland
"Jim Doe" Lowery
Post 21:
J.R. Grant
Nayr
woke up. It was night, somewhere a little after zero hour by the look of the
skies. That was one thing he learned from the echidnas... science. The echidnas
were the only race he knew of that were highly advanced in the field of
science. That was after the big war, though... not the Great War that happened
so recently, but one even bigger than that.
Nayr
couldn't help but have a flashback to the conflict of millennia past. It was
not just a bloody war, it was downright sickening. It started when a power
source had been found... the stones of power. There were many of them at that
time, the most powerful being the only stones that had never been carved into
the emerald cut. He believed that they were called the power rocks... or
something like that. Maybe it was the deep stones... It really didn't matter,
the echidnas and sadosii wanted control of it for the purpose of analyzing them
and figuring out what made them work. The mages could care less about this and
seeked the help of the dragons to bring them into power. All the dragons asked
for was a share of the power and they set off on their slaughter. The dragons
known as protectors set out and used their mastery of the various elements to
destroy
the sadosii and echidnas. The echidnas later double-crossed the sadosii and
joined the mages in fear. The entire sadosii race was thus killed off by the
tortursome use of magic. Sadosii exploded into flames and slowly burnt to
death. Others were frozen solid and shattered into shards of ice. Some were
taken apart cell at a time by magic.
One
sadosii, however, managed to survive all of this. Through the use of a sword
that he managed to power using the emerald of fire, he was able to stop many of
the spells that were used against him and was able to deflect the cool ice that
came from the protectors. The dragons were stupid. They were merely the slaves
of the mages and deserved to die... even more so than the mages did. Nayr would
not rest until he killed every last dragon on Mobius... except maybe one. Yes,
he would leave just one to wander aimlessly. Maybe figure out a way to give it
immortality so it could wander Mobius endlessly with the knowledge that there
is no longer anyone from it's race on the planet.
The
mages had already wiped themselves out with their power. They did the same to
most of the echidnas, too. The mages double-crossed everyone. They were the
only ones that won in the end. Then slowly their own power destroyed them and
the stones of power were lost in memory. There was only one mage left that Nayr
knew of, and that mage was named Lazaar. The leader and destroyer of the line
of mages. Evil to the core he was. Nayr would torture him to death if he had
the chance, but did not know Lazaar's final resting place.
Nayr
was now more determined than ever to get to Dragonsnest. He had to kill every
last of those idiotic dragons... Nayr got to his feet and ran quickly towards
Dragonsnest. It was a ways away, but could be seen blotting out the stars of
the night. That didn't really matter. He was fast. Probably the fastest thing
in the world... almost capable of breaking the speed of sound! (OOC: Obviously
didn't know about Sonic yet, did he? ) The normally hot desert like plain was
quite cool at night, but the running did a lot to cause thirst. Nayr ignored
this sensation and kept running across the unchanging terrain.
It wasn't
long before he reached the front door of Dragonsnest. There was no possible way
to open that door without making a creaking sound that could wake the dead. If
only noise could wake the dead he might have some way to continue his species
other than his sole survival. It was the only generosity ever shown him, and it
was by mages. That was the only plus that their species had in his book. A
faction of them gave a piece of the emerald of all. It would grant his deepest
desire, which at the time was to allow his species to not go extinct. To this
day, it was more of a curse than a gift, but he could only die if he tried his
hardest first. Perhaps this was the day he would finally be put to rest. If it
was, may he shed dragon blood first...
Nayr
kicked open the gates and dashed in, pulling in a huge cloud of dust and sand
to guard his entrance. This acted as somewhat of a hindrance to him, though and
he lost his bearings. Fortunately, this had caught a dragon off guard. The
dragon let out a breath of flame in surprise, revealing that is (fortunately)
was not a protector. Of course, it could just be a different initial
reaction... Nayr didn't want to find out. The fire fused the some of the sand
into glass. The small amount of sand fell to the ground as small pieces of
glass. The dragon stared at Nayr in a state of shock.
"A
sados?! It can't be!" the dragon yelled. Nayr smiled.
"May
your race rue the day the became the slave of a mage!!!" Nayr yelled and
shot a bolt of fire from the tip of his katana. The sword glowed in flame; the
perfect weapon against a dragon. The dragon barely missed the flame as it
struck the ground leaving a nice, clean burn mark.
"We
have vowed never to join sides in a war again unless our race's survival is at
stake! You must believe this, sados." the dragon protested. This would do
no use to Nayr's ears. His lack of trust and deep hatred of all the races that
had betrayed him was too great for the supposed vows of the enemy to get to
him.
"I'll
believe you as soon as another sados draws breath, bitch!" Nayr yelled and
sliced at the dragon. The dragon retreated up the stairs towards the outer
doors.
"Then
I pity the death you will cause because of the mistakes that my ancestors
made." the dragon replied. The words were getting to Nayr and this upset
him more than anything. His telekinetic powers got out of hand and destroyed
everything that was in the near vicinity. He psychically knocked the dragon
through the outer doors. In rage, Nayr ran up the corridor and met a stream of
icy wind. It was a protector. Nayr held up his sword, but didn't block all the
ice. Nayr was burnt coldly all over and was on the verge of unconsciousness. He
lifted his sword and, using the advantage over the dragon's shock of the
deflection of the ice attack, sent it straight through the dragon's chest. Nayr
let the fire of the sword burn deep into the dragon's soul. He then weakly
pulled it out.
"See...
you... in... hell..." Nayr gasped. He turned around and staggered out of
the doors. As he left, he heard the dying words of the dragon he had slayed.
"You'll
be there alone, Sados..." the dragon said and died. These words and the
dragons previous ones echoed in Nayr's mind. Nayr knocked the outer doors
closed and the front doors closed. At this point, Nayr had spent all the energy
he could. The burns were too great and the damage to his own body too much to
bear. Nayr fell off the stairs unconsciously and hit the ground with a soft
thud caused by the firm foundation of the castle. As Nayr lay in swirls of
unconsciousness the words of the dragon echoed in his head, mixed in with colors
and sounds...
* * *
Nayr
finally came to. It was because of some unfamiliar sounds entering his blurred
sense of reality that was unconsciousness. Nayr focused in on the open front
doors. Nayr could have sworn he had closed them. It was no matter, it was most
likely part of the dream that he had. What had just happened? Slowly, in
somewhat of a spiral of pieces, the events of the previous hours came into his
mind.
Nayr
then heard the distinct sound of someone vomiting. It was a sound he dreaded
more than anything. It drove him crazy when he heard it... his brother, Cihr,
died from vomiting. A spell cast by a mage. His brother continued to vomit over
and over, dying from both suffocation and
the
fact that he vomited up some of his internal organs. His brother was only two
years old and he was an adolescent of five (OOC: Sados have a very short life
span, so this makes sense...). Nayr's own name was the last word of Cihr's
lips. Nayr slowly ascended the steps, very much weary from the fight with the
dragon and in no shape to defend himself. He would have to give the impression
that he was in better shape, though. Nayr picked up the sword, which had not fallen
with him from the steps. Nayr saw the figure of a koala kneeling in front of
the dragon... could he be in league with them?! A Mobian in league with such a
hateful race was almost unbearable. Nayr held his sword in front of him in a
fighting position, but it was more than apparent that he was in no shape for
battle. With any luck, neither was this koala.
"I
am Nayr T'nargh, last of the sadosii. What brings a Mobian to the gathering
place of dragons?" Nayr asked in a weak, but stern raspy voice. Nayr
didn't know how much more of his current pain he could bear, as the cold was
blistering all over his body and he was bleeding from several areas. Nayr stood
in apprehension and anxiety for the
koala's
reply...
-----------------------------------------------------
Post 22:
Tristan Palmgren
The
stench of death was still rich in his nostrils, even once he'd flooded them
with dry desert air.
The
heaves had only stopped a few minutes ago; he'd probably drunk more from his
water supply than he should have, but that wasn't the highest priority on his
mind right now.
He took
one of the sheets from his backpack, and threw it over the pathetic remains. He
could make do without one of the blankets. It'd be put to better use here than
as bedding, anyway: if he didn't cover the corpse soon, Derek wasn't sure that
he'd ever be able to sleep again.
Derek
was beginning to think that the cloying smell would never leave him. He would
certainly never forget it. Nor would the sight that lay before him ever abandon
his memories or dreams. He knew that the slain dragon would stay alive forever
in his nightmares. The only life the dragon would ever have now was as a shade
left to torment the living.
There
were several holes in the ancient walls, through which sunlight shone in and
sky was visible. Derek turned his eyes to those momentarily. For an instant, he
thought he saw a speck move across the sky, as if another flying creature were
approaching Dragonsnest from the desert air. But then it was gone. He dismissed
it as an illusion, and quickly forgot about it.
Before
he'd cast the sheet over the body, he'd had a chance to recheck the age of the
wounds. The slashes that had killed the dragon had been made fairly recently.
Too recently for comfort, actually. The wounds were old enough to no longer be
bleeding, but just barely.
The
poor creature must have been majestic when it had been alive. The dragon's
wingspan was quite vast. It must have flown quite beautifully.
If
there was any value to be cherished in this world, six long years of running
and hiding had taught him that it was life itself. And here he had just seen
its sanctity defiled in the most repugnant, malicious way possible.
Derek
felt a sudden surge of resentment boil in his veins. He *hated* whoever had
done this. Despised them with a passion. For as long as he'd been alive, the
dragons had been a peaceful, solitary species. He couldn't imagine any of them
ever doing anything to deserve a fate like this. Only Robotnik could be capable
of such barbarism, such *cruelty*!
Their
victim had died too recently for the area to be entirely safe. If this butchery
had been committed by Robotnik's robots, there was still a good chance that
they could still be lurking around Dragonsnest. Derek knew that he should get
out of here as soon as possible. But also knew that he needed to do some
scouting first. He made up his mind to go to the pinnacle of the Dragonsnest
tower, and use the advantage of height to get a feel for the surrounding terrain.
He sat
down for a moment, and took a deep breath. His respiration was still ragged
from the discovery of the dragon's corpse.
A voice
penetrated the gloom.
"I
am Nayr T'nargh, last of the sadosii. What brings a Mobian to the gathering
place of dragons?"
Derek's
muscles tensed before the first syllable registered on him. The voice came from
behind him. It sounded... *hideous*. It was tired, it was stern and angry, but
more noticeably, behind it there was an inflection that Derek had never heard
come from the lips of any person. The rasp sounded as though it could never
have either mammalian or draconic vocal cords.
As the
final word fell across his ears, Derek knew immediately that the person talking
to him was the same one who had committed the murder. The voice spoke the word
'dragons' with such disdain as to eliminate any doubt.
Anger,
and then fury, boiled in his veins. Derek was so enraged that it *hurt*.
Was
this how the real heroes felt? Was this the kind of pain that prompted them to
do incredible things? Was this the kind of impassioned hatred that made them
something more than human, the kind of sensation that rallied souls? Derek
barely had time to reflect on the questions before his muscles were already
acting, without prompting.
He
dropped to his knees and spun around. Adrenaline and endorphins made him feel
more spry and athletic than he'd ever felt in his life. Even as he spun to face
the voice, his hand had already reached his weapon holster. With a single, smooth
movement, he whipped it out and leveled it directly at the intruder.
It was
too dark to see the other person clearly. He could only make out a large,
muscular body. There was also a sword, drawn and held by the hilt.
The
sword's blade was stained with a dragon's blood.
The
last piece of evidence he needed.
Derek's
jaw quivered as he shouted his command. "Drop it, you murdering son of a
bitch!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Post 23:
A.
Fleury
He spent
most of the hovercraft ride staring blankly out the windshield, lost in
thought, or rather, trying to evade thought. He wanted to drift away from the
pressures laid upon him by Julian, at least for a little while.
So, for
a little while, he did. The trees sped below them in a blur of dark green and
black, until finally they reached the rough ground at the foot of the
mountains. The earth was littered with large boulders and trees, of course,
were everywhere, but a landing site had already been cleared earlier for the
freighter.
The bot
next to him did an excellent job in landing, but Snively hardly noticed. His
brief escape was over and he was thrust back into the seriousness of the job.
The freighter had to be found and fixed, and the oil drilled, which in itself,
wasn't much of a big deal; it was the time involved in doing so that mattered.
Julian was not the patient type.
"They've
gotten away...?" He fumed at the news of the Mobian's escape. The SWATbots
looked unconcerned. He ground his teeth, then sighed. Well...at least Julian
hadn't known about them. Or so he hoped.
He
still wanted them. Not that he cared to roboticize them...he just wanted them.
As a prize, as a bonus for Julian. The fat man would appreciate that, eh, his
thoughtfulness in capturing two hapless Mobians? Unconsciously his fingernails
dug into his palms...and his scowl deepened, his impatience and anger...and
darker unnamed feelings... clutching him, making him tremble.
He had
two choices with the freighter, the bots said. He opted for the one that
consumed less time; chasing down the damn thing. It sounded unpleasant; having
to run through this forest, through tangling leaves and darkness, strange night
creatures and unfamiliar ground underfoot... it made his skin prickle.
The
Commander bot launched itself into the air to survey the terrain; he watched
with a slight scowl that deepened into a full infuriated frown. Look at the
fool thing! Obviously it was still malfunctioning, the way it was careening all
over the sky!
It
almost looked like it was enjoying itself...
Suspicion
tinged his gaze and he once again had to remind himself, like a mental hand
shaking and slapping his mind, that this *was a robot*.
The bot
landed a bit more steadily than it had risen, and spoke in its monotone voice.
That put him slightly more at ease. Yeah, the Mobians had gotten away, but
they'd get them. Maybe. It didn't really matter, as long as that damn freighter
was brought back here and put to work, and soon, before He called, before...
"Julian?"
No.
He
misheard it.
His
eyes, bitterly cold, locked on the Commander's face. Probing deep, trying to
find something there...he shivered...the Commander's eyes were so lucid, thick
gold, warm almost, not like a normal robot's eyes...
"Julian...?"
He repeated.
It *is*
a robot, Snively!
The
bots weren't programmed to say Julian.
No,
it's a malfunction. The damn thing's been doing it all night.
But
sudden fear gripped him; shocking as a plunge into cold water. Dead men didn't
come back! No... but still his feet propelled him backwards, his back hitting
the rough surface of a tree. His hand clasped at his belt; at the laser pistol
holstered there.
Stop
being stupid, you fucking idiot. It's a malfunction. God damn you, you look
like a fool.
He
stood there, breathing skitterish with his hand hovering over the gun, just
waiting for his idiotic behavior to be confirmed when this... this Commander
would speak again, monotone and unfeeling, like a true robot.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Post 24:
J.R. Grant
The
koala spun around and glared at him in rage. This was not the reaction he was
hoping for in his current state. A plasma gun was pointed directly at Nayr.
This would not be a problem to block... normally.
"Drop
it, you murdering son of a bitch!" the koala yelled. So much for
introductions... he must have been working with the dragons. He would try to
play it safe for the time being, though. This was one time he didn't want to
fight...
"Murdering?
You don't know the meaning of the word. Murder is the reason I'm the last of
the sadosii. Haven't you studied your history? Or have the mages and dragons
destroyed the truth of the very first of the great wars? I'm repaying the
dragons for the death and destruction that they created. Dragons are fierce
beasts that are easily manipulated for the use of evil. Dragons caused more
than half of the deaths of the sadosii including my parents!!! I will not rest
until they pay for what they have caused. I'm dealing justice, not
murder." Nayr replied, hoping that he would be able to avoid any
conflict...
--------------------------------------------------------------
Post 25:
Ealain VanGogh
Poor
Snively. He was the personification of fear. If only it didn't matter so much
to Sprocket to protect the furries Snively was chasing, something he knew would
be jeopardized if he were found out; if only he could divulge his newfound
consciousness, his newfound ethics, to his once-friend, easing his paranoia,
offering his psyche a reassuring pat on the shoulder. This thought blockaded
the more appropriate self-concern he ought to be feeling at the sight of the
human's quivering fingers caressing the pistol in his belt. Did he even know
how to use that thing? Either way, he would try if provoked; Snively had always
been an exemplary figure of the Fight or Flight theory, surrendering and
sputtering with putrid terror to a danger or putting up a most formidable
battle, clawing and biting and hissing with an unearthly frenzy. Yes, Sprocket
remembered well some of the more colorful exchanges between Snively and his
vindictive father, Colin, when taking a belt to the boy's derriere for every
punishment, usually reducing Snively effectively to a simpering, helpless
child, suddenly had made the younger Kintobar explode with verbal and physical
retaliation. Thus surviving.
Oh yes,
he'd draw that pistol and make a hole in his "buddy's" head if indeed
feeling threatened.
Because
Snively was also the personification of self-preservation. And selfishness.
So
Sprocket made efforts to put the human's mind at ease. He arched his back and
lurched to one side, then straightened, murmuring some excessively technical
babble about yet another malfunction (he was sure even Snively wouldn't bother
to comprehend such detail when in such an impatient mood) and watched as his
master's body oozed back into a comfortably sulky slouch. It didn't take long
before Snively had barked the appropriate orders and they were well on their
way to the Great Unknown, where the freighter was sure to be waiting.
In his
databank, as they flew, Sprocket discovered evidence of a previous indigenous
civilization of flying reptiles--oh, of course . . . dragons. Beautiful,
lyrical creatures, with a flight pattern like no bird ever to grace the planet.
They relished flying--it was like breathing. He had always wanted to fly like
that; now, it seemed, he was only enabled through the barter of his very soul.
His heart burned with remorse, his face crumpled with fleeting pain--he had
indeed been instrumental in the roboticization of the Matriarch. Though the
cold, concise files in the computer with which he'd been endowed did not
include the names of Robotnik's victims, he remembered her--her name had been
Sabina. Had been . . . now she was but a memory, as good as dead. He vaguely
recalled that she had had a child . . . but perhaps that was his mind -playing
tricks on him, helping him to cope with the guilt of his inadvertent actions.
You
weren't aware . . . you were as good as not there . . . you are innocent of
these crimes.
Why did
these thoughts not soothe him?
As they
hissed to the earth outside the great tower called Dragonsnest, the
geographical defiance to Robotnik's tyranny, approximately a quarter mile from
where the freighter had wandered, glanced at Snively ,who had finally dozed off
in his commander's seat. How can he sleep, knowing what he did . . . knowing he
has no excuse? Knowing he's already dead? Or is he? Sprocket sighed.
His
eyes, great grieving pools of gold, grew introspective, his chest heavy with
the weight of an approaching burden, a coming anxiety. Boy oh boy, Snively. The
time is coming soon when you and I are going to have a heart to heart talk.
He
tapped the human on the shoulder lightly, watching him jump awake, jaw savagely
jutted and eyes snapping wide open. "Arriving at destination,
master." If adrenaline were present in circuitry, his head would be
swimming with it right now.
He
awaited his orders.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Post 26:
Tristan Palmgren
Derek
backed away slowly, nervously, unsure of what to make of anything. He had
demanded that the person standing in front of him drop his weapon, and instead
he had gotten a life story.
Not
only did he get an unasked-for story, but what this creature had said didn't
make any sense. He spoke of dragons as though they were fierce, warlike beasts,
when Derek knew by heart that they weren't. Not in his lifetime, anyway. The
contradictions were immediately obvious: this person stood over the corpse of a
dragon that he had just butchered, with blood still staining the edge of his
sword, and at the same time was proclaiming that he was on the side of right.
This
'sadosii' was either a madman, a criminal, or a liar, and none of those left
Derek in a very tenable position. He continued backing away.
Out of
the corner of his eye, he saw a grand, dragon-sized staircase leading upwards.
It was the only exit that wasn't blocked by the dragon-slayer.
The
confidence induced by the adrenaline was starting to fade underneath the fog of
confusion. There was no manual he could refer to for a situation like this. He
could remember no story in which the main character had been placed in a
similar situation. The only thing he was sure of was that he had to act,
quickly. The situation was already bad enough, and it promised to quickly
degenerate if he didn't do anything.
He kept
the laser pistol aimed directly at the 'sadosii', taking slow but sure steps
backwards toward the staircase.
As much
as Derek didn't consider himself the best judge of character, nevertheless he
thought he detected a note of conviction, and truth, in the creature's voice.
For a moment, he wondered if it was even possible that he could have been
telling the truth, or at least some warped version of it. Then he remembered
Nack, and the mistake he had made in trusting the weasel. Derek gritted his
teeth. He wouldn't lower his weapon. Not this time. He would shoot first, if it
came to that.
But at
the same time, Derek was still strongly opposed to acting as judge, jury, and
executioner. Even after spending six years fighting for survival, he was still
convinced that was wrong, under any circumstances. He would be just as bad as
the 'sadosii' if he did something as heinous as that.
The
unmistakable hiss of hover unit engines intruded on his thoughts.
The
noise was coming from just outside Dragonsnest's massive doors. Derek's heart
leapt. It was the same sound he'd heard when he'd been chased by the oil
freighter. One of Robotnik's ships had tracked him here, and had landed
outside. Undoubtedly, he would be captured if he tried to leave the tower. He
was trapped inside.
The
'sadosii' was apparently caught by surprise by the noise, too, because he spun
around to face the doors.
Derek
didn't waste any more time. He wanted out, and the only way to do that was to
make a distraction, and run, quick. He aimed his laser pistol up at the ceiling
just above the 'sadosii', and squeezed the trigger. The razor-sharp laser beam
slammed into the fragile stonework masonry, and burst into a rapidly-expanding
cloud of dust and rubble.
A
shower of debris fell towards the sadosii.
He
didn't see what happened next; he was too busy running up the staircase. The
door he'd came through was blocked by both the dragon-slayer and Robotnik's
airship, so the only way left to go was up.
He ran
up staircase after staircase, barely paying attention to the growing ache of
exhaustion in his legs. The only things he could think of were the sadosii he'd
left behind, and airship parked outside the Dragonsnest tower. His thoughts
were constantly on the imperative that he had to get as far away from both of
them as possible. Going up was the only way to do that, as unsatisfactory as
that route might ultimately prove. Still, for now, the endless tracts of
staircases kept him busy.
There
was no sign of pursuit. As he got higher and higher, he risked a glance down to
the flights below him, and could see nothing moving. The entrance hall was
cloaked in darkness far below him. A sudden wave of vertigo nearly made him
slip. He hadn't thought he was this high. Taking a deep breath, steeled himself
again, and kept plunging upwards.
When
Derek reached the pinnacle of the tower, he was exhausted to the point of
collapse. He kicked open the doors on the roof of Dragonsnest, and staggered
out into the open daylight. The desert heat beat down upon him.
Again,
wondering what to do next, he reeled over closer to the edges of the roof, and
took stock of the landscape around him. The Great Unknown was laid out before
him, spread flat, almost like a map. Not since his stay in the mountains had he
seen anything from this high up. The canyon system that surrounded Dragonsnest
seemed very small from up here.
To the
north, he could just barely see the warm blue of a sea: the ocean where the
island of Nimbus was no doubt waiting. On the very edge of the eastern horizon,
he could see a dark smudge stretched across the land. Though it was still very
far away, Derek could see that it had a green, almost organic tint to it. The
Great Forest.
He
glanced down, towards the ground closest to the roots of Dragonsnest. Just as
he had thought, one of Robotnik's airships was parked near the base of the
tower. Definitely a military model of some kind. He could see the dim gray
specks of robots begin to spread out around the tower, surrounding it.
More
worryingly, the airship's engines still glowed with a faint blue light. It was
ready to take off and give chase to anything at a moment's notice.
Derek
glanced up, and froze. His exhaustion seemed to vanished, buried under piles of
yet more worry.
There
was a dragon, a small one, approaching the tower from the air. There was
something indefinably erratic about its flying. It was definitely heading for a
landing at Dragonsnest: it was already clear of the closest dunes. In just a
few moments, it would be visible to everything on the ground... including the
Robotropolis airship. It probably couldn't see the airship from where it was.
The
dragon was unwittingly flying to its own doom.
There
had to be some way of getting a warning across to the dragon. Attract its
attention, make it fly faster - fast enough to outrun the airship. Make
something happen. The dragon was going to come into the airship's line of sight
soon enough; there was nothing Derek could do about that. Maybe if he could call
the dragon here, he could give it warning to get out of here before the airship
could take off.
And
maybe, Derek thought, not unselfishly, he could even persuade it to let him
hitch a ride out of here.
He
shook his head. This was insane.
If only
Ari were here, he'd know what to do.
Derek
placed two of his fingers to his lips, and let out a shrill, earsplitting
whistle.
---------------------------------------------------------
Post 27:
A.
Fleury
He'd
been having an odd dream... something like drowning; he was surrounded in pale
yellow with his lungs cramping in his chest and floating, paralyzed, down
through shades of canary and then rich gold and finally blackness, and just
when he thought he'd die something touched him and...
He jolted
awake. Commander Apollo was looking over at him. "Arriving at destination,
master."
He
blinked the sleep from his eyes, wishing he could drift off again, but that
would have to wait till later. Blurry-eyed he stared through the windshield.
They were on a stretch of flat terrain; a large plateau apparently. Dust and
sand had billowed up upon their landing and clouded the air outside. 'Almost
like being back home', he thought with a wry smirk, and then he slid out of his
seat and shot a curt command for Apollo to follow.
They,
along with the accompanying SWATbots, halted outside the hovercraft. He coughed
a little, waving the dust away. Fortunately most of it was settling back onto
the dry earth, leaving his vision free to gaze upon the tower of Dragonsnest.
Even if
caught up in his most hateful mood, he would never be able to deny the absolute
wonder of the Tower. Beautifully carved stone rose up for miles, it seemed,
like a fabled stairway to heaven. On the pinnacle, the entire planet was probably
visible!
He
stood eyeing it for a few moments, and then shook himself out of admiration and
turned to Apollo. "Alright, Commander, I want you to find the freighter,
and get the damn thing headed back to the Great Mountains."
He
pivoted sharply about to face the SWATbots. "Activate heat sensors...do a
full sweep of this place." A devious smile touched his face. "If any
life forms are detected, I want them captured."
"Yes,
sir." intoned the SWATs and then they set out with their arms extended,
shining the heat sensing beams onto the tower and the dry ground around it.
He
sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, once more turning his eye onto the
majesty of the Tower. He wondered if Julian would destroy it. Maybe someday. He
shivered at the thought of Uncle...at least the fat man hadn't called him yet.
He would hate to tell Julian how far away the freighter had strayed...hell,
he'd hate to tell him the freighter had strayed at all. Maybe he'd get lucky
this time and things would start going his way.
Yeah
right.
"Sir,"
several of the SWATs reported at once. "We are detecting a lifeform -
inside the tower."
Huge
doors marked the entrance. They were slightly opened. Inside was stifling
darkness. Who would live in that? Maybe some species they hadn't encountered
yet. Dragons, unlikely. Robotnik had made great efforts to capture them soon
after the Coup.
It
didn't matter who, or what, it was. Living free was a crime these days.
"Capture
them," he said.
**
Whew!
She panted. Coasting in the sky was much cooler and less exhausting than
walking, but still, Dulcy was getting tired and thirsty.
She
looked down, seeing her shadow hurtle over winding canyons - like a maze
surrounding Dragonest. She imagined the canyon grounds were full of ancient
traps to keep out earthdwellers; than shrugged the thought away. That was
silly. Her mother had never been against those outside the dragon species;
Dulcy couldn't imagine any dragon being that way.
She
drew closer, her breath ripped away by wind and awe...the tower was
amazing...it was like a beacon, shining, like a lighthouse to a storm swept
ship...the promise of a safe haven. The promise of friends...
"I'm
coming..." she whispered, eh!, the wind was playing tricks with her, drawing
water from her eyes. She blinked it away.
Her
sharp ears caught a noise, something high-pitched, whistling.
The
wind?
Her
breathing grew quicker, Gods her wings were getting quite sore now. It would be
good to land and rest them for a bit.
Her
eyes widened. Someone was on top of the tower!! She saw a motion; they were
waving an arm at her and the whistle came again, shrill and desperate.
"Ok,
whoever you are, I'm coming in for a landing!" she called, her voice
getting whipped away by the wind. It was doubtful they heard her, but she hoped
they'd clear out of the way. This was, after all, her first landing.
She
banked sharply, circling the pinnacle of the tower.
She
drew in a deep breath.
Well,
here goes.
She
swooped down to land...
**
He
thought he heard something. A whistle, maybe.
"Sir..."
One of the SWATbots directed his attention to the sky.
The
small human smirked.
Well
well...
So one
still remained free...
A
dragon was coming home to Dragonsnest...
---------------------------------------------------------
Post 28:
Ealain VanGogh
(Sally
Acorn)
She
liked to come here to ponder. "Ponder"-it was the latest word Rosie
had instructed her to capture in her mind's myriad of knowledge, to make her
own. There was nothing she loved more than learning, cultivating,
absorbing-growing closer to the infinity that was the universe, far beyond the
constraints of this imprisoned planet. Here she could; here the whispered wind,
caressing the ancient oaks and maple guardians of lost souls, told softly the
stories of the exodus of her people from the land and freedom of their
birthright, reminding her of their endurance. Here, floating on her back in the
tiny lagoon behind their makeshift village, their drifter's haven, she could
become one with the stars blazing in the cool, deep, silken night sky,
reflected all around her in the crystalline water. Here in the Knothole
"Ring Pool," as Sir Charles had hastily termed it for Rosie on the
eve of their flight from Mobotropolis, from . . . from that . . . that man.
That
man, that monstrous, big. . . well, she would have to ask Rosie a more precise
word to describe Him. Yes, "Him." it was the only title of reference
to the man ruling the burned, deformed remnants of her city. It was forbidden
to say His name in the presence of the other refugees. It was far too
disturbing; yet she said it in private, to her peers-that name,
"Robotnik"--because they understood her thirst to know, acknowledge,
and express the truth of all matters, however painful that truth might be.
Because they felt the same way-they, the generation of Exile.
"Bean."
She awoke with a start, almost convincing herself she'd heard the nickname of
her toddler years in the breath of the crisp night air. But, no. That was
impossible.
Daddy
was gone.
The
aquamarine eyes of Princess Sally Acorn focused, grew vicious with the angry
tempest of the bereaved, her auburn hair spread out at the water's surface in
damp, flame-like tendrils. She fingered her forehead, void, unoccupied where a
crown should be resting-a crown that would have enabled her to exact justice
and peace to her destroyed world. Would have. She was eleven-eleven-but age had
no consequence in the matters of betrayal, and in the violation of trust and
security. Her fury was every bit as seasoned, as unchecked, as legitimate, as
that of her nanny, who tried to hide it with forced smiles and hidden tears, as
that of her father, plain on his face, locked in a grimace of bloodthirst in the
last moment before he'd vanished behind the palace room doors with two metal
men and His skinny nephew (who himself looked as frightened as any of the
prisoners of the coup). Her father's last words had been for his betrayer, not
for his child. They had never even been able to say goodbye. Because of Him.
No one
knew about Sally's secret anguish; she had learned well to keep her emotions
subservient to her intellect-it was a matter of survival. No one realized,
except maybe the one friend whom she knew would be late to her secret meeting
tonight, the one friend who had always known her to inexplicable depths. Even
though he had a particular talent for haste, and impatience, of all kinds.
Sally
emerged from the ring pool, seizing her small blue towel (no, she would not
accept "little-girl" pink, it was a stereotypical gender
constriction, something she despised) and rubbed her tawny fur dry. She turned
and peered down into the pool. Soon it would glow warm with an ethereal, otherworldly,
comforting kind of light, and out from it would also emerge a large glistening
gold ring, pulsating with what seemed to be a source of raw energy-like that of
His "electrical" creations of metal, only somehow lacking the
manufactured, wicked, sinister departure from nature. And Sally would look on,
mesmerized. Unfortunately, Sir Charles had not had the time to explain why he
had installed the mysterious device at the bottom of the body of water, or what
it might do to enable them to restore the kingdom . . . and find her father. A
dream, indeed, but one yet to be discouraged-never to be broken.
Tonight's
meeting was precisely tailor-made to address this question-to formulate a
mission to the city to somehow find Sir Charles, wherever he might be, and
derive from him the mysterious knowledge. To refuse to accept the theories of
an Overlander of ancient study, who had called himself "Darwin."
Sally
sat on a boulder and awaited her constituents. Gradually they emerged from the
underbrush, giggling at the mischief of stealing out of their huts: First came
Bunnie the trailblazer, a prematurely curvaceous female rabbit of eleven years,
taking bold strides and lulling her head back with the exhilaration of the
fresh evening wind. Next came Miles, an inquisitive, six year old ruddy fox,
generally gawking at every shadow in sight, his wonder of life yet unspoiled;
were it daytime, he might have easily swallowed a congenial cumulous cloud
passing by the sky. There was one more distinctive factor about the child, one
of which few, considering his sensitivity, cared to speak-he had two tails.
Then there was Antoine. Dear Antoine. The son of her father's Captain of the
Guard. She'd always had a soft spot for the young Francophone coyote, even
though his predilection for panic attacks were, at best, annoying. With every
crack of a branch or toe-stub over a rock, the boy uttered oaths of doom,
terror, and despair, crashing into the clearing rather unceremoniously. If that
didn't set Rosie's hut window light ablaze, nothing would. Finally came 11-year
old Boomer, or, as he preferred to be called lately, "Rotor," a
walrus, wholesomely rotund, introverted, and shy as ever, sporting his askew
yellow ballcap, his eyes dreamy and whimsical as those of all curious young
innovators. At the moment, he was supporting Antoine, who was in the middle of
a swoon, with his strong arms, a mixture of nonchalant incomprehension, polite
concern, and utter bewilderment, on his features. He licked his tusks
confusedly.
They
all took their seats around the boulder. Sally acknowledged nothing but the
bushes from which they'd come, glaring ferociously and sighing. I knew it. He's
late again. "Where is Sonic?" she hissed out loud.
---------------------------------------------------------
Post 29:
J.R. Grant
Well,
that went well. The koala seemed scared as ever and slowly backed away with
that laser pistol glued at him. It seemed a lot had been twisted around since
he had last interacted with society (other than miscellaneous exchanges with a
black market of sorts). The look of disbelief and the possibility of
truthfulness turned the look of the koala into pure confusion. That was when
there was a very noticeable sound of engines. Nayr spun around in surprise,
letting his guard down. That was a stupid mistake. Nayr heard a blast and
tensed expecting the laser to go through his head or something and then be in
for a sickening adventure as he waited for the wound to heal all the while
being in excruciating pain... why did he have to fight to the death to die? Why
had he accepted that "gift"? Well, the blast never went through him.
Instead, he heard it strike stone above him. Nayr looked up and saw stone
falling straight on top of him. Nayr jumped back through the door, not after
the koala, but near the entrance. He somersaulted straight off the stairway
again. The second time for today. Even better, he brought one of the huge
boulders in his flip that fell right above him. Nayr, acting quickly, shoved
off the wall near him to avoid getting hit directly by the stone and landed on
the stone ground, belly side down. This was not his day. Things could not get
worse. At this point, Nayr was not entirely conscious. Closer to be fatigued.
He just laid on the ground eyes closed thinking. Mainly, it was the dragon's words
and the koala's surprised... had something happened between the first of the
great wars and now? It was quite possible now that he actually took time to
think about it. Possibly there was another dragon he could get the story from.
At this point, something spoke to him. Nayr opened his eyes slowly and saw a
robot pointing a laser gun at him.
"Surrender
Mobian, you are under arrest by the dictator and ruler of Mobius, Ivo
Robotnik." it droned. Nayr sighed. Things got worse. Nayr psychically
pushed it away. The robot over-reacted and fell on the ground, shattering. Nayr
blinked. How could a dictator of the world have robots that were THAT crappy?
Nayr stood up and went to the doors where he glanced through and saw another
one of the crappy robots point to the sky. A little midgety... white sados?
Strange... he had never seen that species before. It made no matter at this
point. Pointing at the sky meant three things at this point:
1) the
koala was at the top of the tower
2) a
dragon was in the sky
or
3) both
the
odds were not in his favor... Nayr stayed still watching from the doorway for
what would happen next.
---------------------------------------------------------
Post 30:
Tristan Palmgren
It was
a landing completely unlike anything Derek had expected.
Though
there was still something undeniably regal about the way the dragon flew, the
sense of majesty faded as she drew closer. The thing that surprised Derek that
most was the dragon's size. Though she was still larger than any bipedal mammal
he had ever known, she was still incredibly small for a dragon. She couldn't
have been more than a child.
The
expression on her face heightened that impression: a bizarre mixture of
trepidation, concentration, and, oddly enough, more than a little awe. As if
she was doing something that she'd never done before. Considering the erratic
way the dragon child soared through the air, that thing might have been flying.
Derek
hoped she wasn't a novice at flying. He really hoped she wasn't.
That
hope was dispelled when the dragon tried to land on the roof of the tower. The
only thing that saved Derek from a head-on collision with the flying lizard was
a quick duck to the left. The dragon hit the rooftop belly-first, with a heavy,
painful *SLAM*. The crash landing wasn't over yet, though. The first crash
hadn't eliminated all of her considerable momentum. Derek winced, and resisted
the impulse to cover his eyes, as he saw her skid across the rest of the roof.
He knew that dragon scales were thick and tough enough to protect against most
kinds of accidents, but against this kind of friction... it was undoubtedly
painful no matter what species she was.
The
dragon barely avoided careening into the open staircase doors, sliding to a
halt just as she reached their threshold. Dazed, her head looked around as if
confused or dizzy, and finally crashed to the ground, chin-first.
Derek
managed to recover enough of his senses to rush over to the fallen dragon
child. She didn't respond as he placed a hand on her forehead. He didn't know
what the hand was supposed to do, besides just be reassuring. He hoped she
wasn't seriously hurt. He knew a little about medical care, but next to nothing
about dragon physiology.
Fortunately,
she raised her head within a few moments, but her eyes were still unfocused, as
if she was staring someplace else entirely.
More
questions troubled him. He hadn't expected just a lone child to come here. What
was she doing out this far? Were her wings even developed enough to offer an
him an escape route? What if she saw the corpse of the dragon downstairs -
Derek really wasn't sure how a child would be able to handle such a gruesome
sight.
Derek
took a deep breath. Better to try and explain everything at once, then just
wait for Robotnik's goons to come up here and capture them.
"We
need to get away from here as soon as possible!" he insisted. The dragon's
eyes were still unfocused; her mind clearly elsewhere. The crash had done
something to her, but Derek wasn't sure what. He felt panic well up in his
voice. "Robotnik's sent a military airship here! They're just below us!
They've seen you! Please, we have to leave before they send robots to capture
us!"
--------------------------------------------------------
Post 31:
Ealain VanGogh
Sprocket
tried to open his senses to as many elements of the surrounding as possible.
suddenly unable to meet his superior officer's eyes, they were so hungry for
conquest through the means of pain, so foreign to him. he was greeted with
little better than that.
The
desolation of the sky, the sour-sweet smell of dust and mildew from inside the
tower's doors, mixed with a rankness, a decay, that would have made his skin
crawl were it apt, bombarding his attempt at a pokerface, the forlorn shriek of
the wind across the barren landscape . . .wait, that wasn't the wind. it was a
deliberate, soon aborted noise. A whistle.
From
above. Fearfully, not for himself but rather for the whistler, he looked up. He
craned his neck--it was difficult, like trying to peer into the very opening in
heaven itself--but sure enough, there was a Mobian--a koala--gesturing
frenziedly at something on the horizon. He darted about in place, searching
,scanning--no. Oh no. A dragon.
God,
but she was young. A baby, for all he could tell, green flecked and unsteady in
flight, relishing her rebirth, her soul's cleansing, in the air, until she saw
her home--filth-ridden, destroyed. He glanced at Snively, whose murderous
electric glare was fixated on the reeling airborne figure. He was sneering.
Nastily. Yeah, sometimes home was not just a place, but a person, a friend. And
when it was found wrecked it could really taint a person's joy pretty quickly.
No,
Snively. She's a baby. A baby! no, more than that--she's alive. That alone is
enough a reason to stop this. She's alive.
Time to
act.
Somewhat--or
rather, entirely--without regarding the consequences, Sprocket seized Snively
by the back of his uniform collar and lunged him into the hovercraft.
"Securing commander in safe location," he explained, although in
retrospect he realized that his voice had been coated with adrenaline, that
only a complete ass wouldn't realize the emotion charging his voice, his every
act. He'd already sealed his doom.
But he
didn't care. He just didn't. If he couldn't ever come home again, at least he
could make sure somebody else could.
Over
Snively's confused sputtering of curses and half-incoherent protests, he
sharply recalled the three SWATs within hearing range and ordered them to
"guard" the human, obviously assembling further hindrance to the Overlander’s
path of capture and conquest.
"Apprehending
prisoners," he shouted in vain at Snively, whose eyes took in
everything--eyes of pure, icicle-spawned hate. Whether he knew or just felt the
impersonal urge to kill Sprocket for his rakish behavior, the canine could not
discern, but he knew either way it looked bleak for him. Still, up he shot, his
jets belching out flames which burned the tips of his superior's fingers--
Snively had wasted no time in darting to his feet and squeezing through the
SWATs at the hovercraft door, reaching out the soon-to-be-singed hands and
screaming orders at Sprocket: Priority One orders that should override the
neuro circuits of any bot, no matter how malfunctioning, and send it rushing to
its master's bidding. But Sprocket ignored Snively, and the growls of pain the
jet flames extracted form the human's lips. Straight up he shot, to the very
spire of Dragonsnest.
Withholding
the urge to vomit, induced by the vertigo of the pressure change, he flew right
in the dragon's landing path and flailed his limbs at her. She wasn't stopping.
So he
lurched to one side, allowing her to careen to the spire's ground, near the similarly
fleeing koala, fully convinced she didn't even see him, and followed. Amazing
how quickly one could learn to do difficult feats, like flying, in an
emergency.
He
didn't wait for either Mobian to recover from the dragon's landing which, under
other circumstances, might actually have seemed comical. He just took four
great strides across the tower spire and roared at them both, "Get up!
Now! We have to get you out of here!"
He
didn't realize, until he was nose to nose with the koala, that the refugee was
armed--and that his weapon was pointed at the robotic good samaritan's nose,
breathing ragged, face stunned. His own gaze grew wide, imploring a bridge of
communication, as he realized that , to these young creatures, he was not only
an instigator of immediate fear, but also that of sorrow, loss, and betrayal.
They did not realize that he was as much a victim as they. "Please,"
he breathed, gently now, "please, friend, you must trust me. He's not
going to be held off for long."
He
reached a hand out slowly. "Trust me. . . I can help." He hoped the
verity in his soul would shine through his eyes. "Please."
---------------------------------------------------------
Post 32:
A.
Fleury
Dead
men didn't come back.
So
Apollo wasn't...hadn't been...dead.
The
dragon was careening in for a landing, looking majestic from where he stood.
Beautiful, even. Two things Robotnik loved to corrupt. Maybe he thought if he
corrupted all life, destroyed all splendor, he wouldn't feel so ugly in
comparison.
He
didn't care why Julian did it. It only mattered that Julian would want her. He
opened his mouth, ready to scream for her capture.
Dead
men didn't come back so...
Had
Apollo been in there this entire time? Could he see everything? Like a spy without
the intent of spying, like an eavesdropper, had he been silently watching
Snively for years? God, his skin was crawling with something akin to horror...
...Because
Commander Apollo had moved...
swiftly,
gracefully, a motion not of robots. Robots didn't have grace. They didn't have
feeling!
...and
grabbed him by the collar, and Snively gagging and swearing, swung in the
robot's grip with widened eyes, realizing all this...realizing that
Dead
men didn't come back but roboticized ones did. Could. Would...?
Apollo
claimed to be 'apprehending prisoners'. His voice, trembling and tense and
strung with fierce conviction spoke differently.
Snively
sprang to his feet. His tiny body came in handy now; he squeezed through the
SWATs that had come rushing in to guard him on Apollo's orders. He reached out,
howling commands for the Commander to cease, still not wanting to believe the
boy...the boy had come back... but the robot didn't respond...it lifted upwards
and he grabbed futilely, but only managed in getting his hands singed in the
jet flame.
He let
out a scream as the dog-bot soared upwards; not so much pain (although his
hands were clasped to his chest and tears in his eyes) as in anger, pure and
unbridled, nearly choking him in its intensity. He wanted to KILL him. For real
this time.
"Sir..."
The SWATs were crowding him. "You must get to a safe location."
"OUT
OF MY WAY!!" He screamed, shoving at them. "Disregard Apollo's'
orders!"
Good...
they backed off. He tried to calm down, but couldn't... he was shaking and his
breath was erratic, nearly hyperventilating. ""You..." he
gestured wildly at a group of the bots. "Go in the tower, try to apprehend
them up top."
'Affirmative'.
They raced into the blackness of the Tower entrance.
"The
rest of you, come with me," he ran back to the hovercraft, with the
remaining bots on his heels.
Julian
never let Snively fly his personal hovercraft. "I think not, nephew, I
don't fancy an early death," he said. So Snively had flown the lower grade
models alone in his spare time, finding that he was quite adept at the skill.
He
flung himself into the seat. He could hardly focus with the rage shaking him,
making his head scream and his body quiver and he clutched the steering stick
with his reddened hands, grimacing from the pain.
Damn
that Apollo! How dare he...
Come
back... how dare he reclaim life after all these years dead. Dead and somewhat
buried in the human's conscience. How dare he come back, making him think about
it again. He didn't want to think about it. He feared the thoughts...and he
feared the fright, and the fear made him furious.
So
destroy him. The 'out of sight, out of mind' concept had always been quite
useful for Snively. Out of existence, out of his thoughts, out of his
nightmares even, if he got lucky.
Yes.
Destroy him. Capture the dragon, reroute the freighter. Keep the goals in stark
emotionless terms and don't think of the darker, bloody parts of them...the
parts that killed him inside.
With
singed hands shaking, he lifted the hovercraft from the ground.
The
chase was on!
**
If the
koala hadn't expected her landing to be rough, Dulcy was even more surprised.
She thought it'd be easy...just put one foot down and she'd come to a nice neat
stop. Wrong...
She
slammed down hard, skidding across the rock surface of the tower. Pain tore
through her belly. It felt like scales were being ripped away. She flailed with
her hands, trying to grab ahold of something, but the ground was flat and
smooth.
Finally
she came to a stop. Her entire underbelly was on fire, like rug burn. But
worse. Tears squeezed from underneath her closed lids. She heard footsteps and
tried to look at the one who'd summoned her here...but her vision was so blurry
and she couldn't breathe. All air had been knocked from her.
There
was a hand on her forehead; strangely soothing. She sucked air in, nosily,
lungs greedy for sustenance.
"...They've
seen you! Please, we have to leave before they send robots to capture us!"
It was
a boy. He sounded scared.
She
blinked, still feeling dizzy. Her arm hurt; maybe she'd landed on it.
And
then the boy next to her gasped and she shook her head, trying to clear her
vision.
She
might've gasped as well, if she hadn't been busy sucking up air...there was a
robot there, and the boy next to her...she could see him clearly now, a white
furred koala, was training a gun on the robot.
The bot
was reaching out his hand. He gleamed bright silver, making her squint. There
was some kind of insignia on his chest... Robotnik's forces. A hand of fear
gripped her, making her already labored breathing more difficult.
The
koala backed up, crowding closer to her.
And
then the robot spoke and the hand of fear shattered.
"Trust
me. . . I can help."
She
pushed herself up, wincing at the pain in her arm.
This
was no enemy...No...robots didn't talk like this. Not the ones that had tried
to capture Ma. They had spoken with dead, hollow voices, adhering to their
orders to capture and bring pain. They didn't care...they didn't have emotions.
This
one's voice was charged with feeling, his eyes rich, warm, swimming in horrible
anxiety, flooded with pain and guilt.
No
robot had eyes like that.
"He..."
her voice was breathless, but firm, "He isn't bad..."
She
turned her eyes on the koala and his pointing gun. "...Don't shoot
him!"
---------------------------------------------------------
Post 33:
Tristan Palmgren
In all
the stories Derek had ever read, or in all the old movies he'd ever seen,
whenever the hero came to a point like this, the world had always seemed to
freeze around them, to give the protagonist enough time to consider their
options.
No such
luck, here.
There
was no time to consider any options. It seemed that the second he decided on a
course of action, something new happened that changed the situation entirely.
Compassionate robots hadn't been in his original plan. This sympathetic enemy
soldier - this walking, flying contradiction in terms - had been precisely the
last thing he had anticipated. And there was no time to make sense of anything.
Things were happening far too quickly to sort out in his mind. He knew that he
had to make some kind of decision, and soon, but he didn't have an inkling of what
it would be.
Far
below, he heard the airship's military-grade engines roar mightily. When the
drives were being gunned like that, it could only mean that the ship was about
to take off.
One of
the few things he usually prided himself on was his ability to take things
slow; to take the time to make the smart decision. Now his best trait was
working against him. He couldn't do things fast enough.
The
only things that had served him well thus far were his adrenaline-laced
reflexes. Derek was surprised, and secretly somewhat pleased, by the speed of
his reaction to the robot. He couldn't even recall drawing his sidearm. The
weapon had seemingly just leapt to his palm, just in time for him to level it directly
at the cold metal nose of the interloper.
"Get
up!" the canine robot bellowed at them. "Now! We have to get you out
of here!"
The
sheer volume of the robot's voice was incredibly intimidating. Derek nearly
pulled the trigger then and there, but something stayed his shaking trigger
finger. Before he even had time to realize what the canine was actually saying,
he realized that there was an inflection in the voice that he'd never heard
from any robot before.
The
most confusing thing of all was the realization that the robot actually seemed
to have both Derek's and the dragon child's best interests in mind. There had
been none of the usual threats of roboticization, or demands for surrender, but
rather an order for them to save themselves.
The
canine halted when he saw that the pistol was still pointed steadily at his
face. Impossibly enough... his eyes were warm, and wet. Derek had no idea that
robots even had tear ducts. The roboticized canine appeared to consider
something for a moment, and then lowered his voice to a soft plea. "Please,"
he whispered, "please, friend, you must trust me. He's not going to be
held off for long."
There
were too many things going on here for Derek to have any idea of how he related
to all of them. He felt like an intruder in some kind of grand drama -- a hapless
audience member who'd suddenly found himself center stage and in the spotlight.
People were whirling all about him, and expecting him to know what to do, when
really he couldn't even begin to guess at what his lines were supposed to be.
It was the worst case of stage fright imaginable.
"Trust
me," the roboticized canine said, offering a hand. "I can help."
Derek did his best to keep his pistol aim steady. Embarrassingly, though, his arm was star