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 41:
Ealain Vangogh
Sprocket
was vaguely aware that he had been joined by his indomitable Mobian
comrades--one of them, Derek, the koala, had even uttered with some
incredulity, an oath about the blazing and them diminishing glow of light in
the distance, "the hell was that?"--to which he heard himself
cryptically respond some quip about a dearth of sleep.
But it
was as if his lips, his very words, were detached from his brain and
consciousness. Far, far too engrossed in the sight before him to intelligently
respond to his companions beyond this fatalistic joke, Sprocket smiled softly
in the darkness. It was a hazy smile, mesmerized, drunken by the startling
radiance in the depth of the woods.
He had
upon impulse been seized by predatory, bestial survival instinct, but now, now,
really staring at the pulsating glow in the distance, swallowed by its pure
organic power, its benevolent enduring light, his very wits coxcombed as to an
eloquent or witty verbal rebuttal....
....God.
. . somehow, he realized his infinite smallness in the vast scheme of all
things, a mere metallic speck in the mosaic of nature and the universe, and yet
this only redirected his exploding mind and soul to the greatness of that
Entity to which he owed every fiber of his being, that great unobtainable
Something from which he and all other life had sprung and which Julian wanted
so desperately to control, which he could never control, because neither his
puny mind nor his puny efforts nor those of anything else could hope to reach
this Being, this Something. This Source of Creation, this Life apart form
Darkness, this Source of Everything--of All.
Having
been in the presence of charitable Overlanders for the greater portion of his
life, he had always believed in a monotheistic human God, the Judeo-Christian
God, and to him this was the Source from which the light in the distance beckoned
his conscience, his newfound fierce will to fight for these fragile little
creatures with such disproportionately large courage. But he couldn't speak to
the others in terms so distinctive, for they had some other entity, some vaguer
deity or spiritual presence, to which they attributed this awe. A different
name for God....But it was the same awe, the same reverence for life.
So it
was, perversely, as if he were suddenly overcome by both a stinging rush of
futility and yet an uplifting wind of moral drive to fight that which sought to
control and to destroy nature itself--Julian. No, Robotnik. Robotnik. That was
the despot's name now. Sprocket must discard the names of the past--the past
itself. Or at least store it somewhere in his memory, for the feelings that
coated the phantoms of things gone by clouded the goals of today.
This
light had in it something divine and it made perfect sense that they approach
it. Only good could come of it. Only good people could harbor it.
His
heart, or whatever had replaced it, stirred warmly in his chest. Home. The
light was like coming home.
"I'll
go first," he said, finally, clear and resolute. He bit his lower lip and
slowly, gently pawed towards the light. He frowned deeply, activating his night
vision, a burst of bright yellow that could almost best the light before him,
were it not so pale, so harsh and artificial.
But it
didn't used to be artificial. These two Mobians, they probably thought him
impatient with their need for slumber and nourishment and warmth. If only he
could feel that need again! If only he could escape this gnawing anxiety in
sleep, or in a delicious aromatic meal.
He
pushed away the dismayed, angry thought, and the flickering vision of the
equally pale, harsh, hollow person with whom it was connected, quickly form his
mind and scanned the trees as if with a flashlight. No traps, or spies, it
seemed, lurking in the nooks and crannies awaiting to spring on them. The light
had given him comfort, but still, there was no use in being foolhardy.
Derek's
footsteps, soon carrying his form beside the canine, were calculated and
discrete. Sprocket appreciated the caution; he winced at the somewhat more
bumbling gait of the dragon child, especially when she apologized, embarrassed
and loud, in the darkness, but forgave her naïve enthusiasm immediately for
want of the same innocence he once had.
They
were descending a sort of hill...and coming upon a kind of tower. No...he
darted ahead of his comrades and inspected the tethered, wooden design--on the
hill, they were standing at the top of it, and it had been sort of built into
the landscape. It was a makeshift elevator; the sophistication of the design,
considering its makers couldn't have been skilled laborers but rather a handful
of bewildered refugees, swelled in his chest a forgotten pride for the Mobian
people to whom he once had owed allegiance. His throat became heavy with a knot
or lump of some kind. "It's beautiful," he breathed.
Derek
understood. "Yes." He nodded. "Yes, it is." He peered down
its shaft. "And it seems it's in use."
Sprocket
and Dulcy shot ramrod straight in alarm. "What?" they hissed in
unison.
They
joined the koala in his downward gaze. Halfway up the elevator, tugging with
all her might on the pulley rope, was a humbly-clad ground squirrel, tints of
silver invading the youthful brown of her hair, accompanied by a small, lean
child, another squirrel, whose hair plainly shone a vibrant auburn even in the
dull light. Something in her bearing was proud, but not haughty--somehow
defiant, brave, but not without a degree of compassion beyond her young years.
Just below and beyond them in a small clear body of water was the radiant light
that they had been pursuing for nearly half an hour. From it came many loud
whispers, clearly those of other young Mobians, who plainly thought that they
were being quite secretive about following the two in the elevator. One of them
was even visible, a particularly blue-tinted little male hedgehog. For the
moment, they didn't see their three observers, who had gone collectively
slack-jawed.
"We
found them," Dulcy guffawed. "We found other Mobians!"
Her
overzeal rang again loudly in her voice, and she clapped her claws over her
lips in realization, but the echo of her youthful words was already ricocheting
off the hills and trees.
The
hedgehog who had been in hiding jumped out and vaulted straight up into the
air, clutching the side of the elevator with his hands and shrieking ,
"Rosie, look out! Robots!" He balanced himself on the edge, glaring
at Sprocket, teeth bared. There was murder, not fear, in his sharp little dark
eyes, making the beast, the carnivore, the warrior, in him far greater than the
child on the outside. This was what people like Robotnik had done to the psyche
of children. Sprocket was too saddened by this to find the child either comical
and cute or frightening.
The
other children hidden in the darkness turned and fled back to the Light.
The
elder squirrel looked up and locked eyes immediately with Sprocket--the
metallic intruder. The enemy.
An
eternity seemed to pass before she put her trembling form in front of the child
in the elevator, pulled the other child the hedgehog, to her, and accosted him
in a strong voice belying her round-eyed terror, "Leave us be, slave of
Robotnik, and let those two poor Mobian souls you've snared go as well."
Sprocket
sighed in despair. Was this to be a futile night after all?
-------------------------------------------
Post 42:
Tristan Palmgren
Rosie
knew that it was probably a mistake to trust the other kids to their own
devices, and just assume that they'd had back to their cabins, but the emotions
surging through her bloodstream were too intense to pay heed to such thoughts
now.
Princess
Sally was the real focus of her attention right now. She was often the
ringleader of these 'Freedom Fighter' escapades, after all. She knew each of
the other children as only their real parents had before, and she knew with a
warm certainty that none of them could yet take the initiative on their own.
They would be fine by themselves, for at least a few minutes, while she took
Sally out for this quiet walk. Even when it came to a constantly problematic
case like Sonic, there was still a big difference between his impulsiveness and
an actual ability to lead and act decisively. So Rosie's anger, subdued though
it was, and her protective instinct were focused entirely on the worryingly
impetuous ground squirrel.
Rosie
took Sally by the arm - the child's hand was still small enough to be grasped
wholly within Rosie's adult-sized palm - and led her firmly away from the power
ring pool. Sally was at the age when there, though she wasn't even a teenager
yet, she despised being treated like a child. Rosie knew that, and it was part
of the reason why she was treating her as such now. She'd been a nanny all her
life, long before even Sally was born, and knew that there were some times that
she had to gently but forcefully remind her charges that they were, in the end,
just children. This was certainly one of those times.
Sally
resisted at first, trying to tug back at Rosie's arm. When she saw that wasn't
going to deter her, though, she stopped, and eventually started to walk
alongside her. Rosie knew better than to let go just yet, though. Sally's mouth
opened and closed silently, as if she wanted to protest or say something, but
couldn't quite force the words out.
As soon
as they had moved a far distance from the ring pool, Rosie spoke.
"First
of all," she sighed, "you might as well tell me what you were trying
to do."
The
princess child blinked at that. She was clearly surprised. She looked as though
the first thing she had expected to hear from Rosie was a lecture, or at best,
a reprimand. Not simply a tired voice asking for information. Still, she
recovered from the surprise quickly, and her voice was strong and firm as she
answered.
"We
were only about to rescue one of the greatest living scientists of our
time," Sally said, proud and bitter all at once. "Sir Charles
Hedgehog. Sonic's uncle might be the only one who can help us win back our
country."
Rosie
kept walking through the dark forest, stepping over the roots and rocks she
knew by heart were in her path, and generally took her time moving. She knew
that she had plenty of time to answer, and wanted to keep the mood as subdued
and peaceful as possible. However new and unusual this situation might be, the
knowledge of how to handle these conversations was almost second-hand to her.
Sally, her hand still locked inside Rosie's, stayed in step beside her.
"So that's your ultimate plan, is it?" Rosie asked at last.
"Saving Mobotropolis?"
Some of
Sally's fire had been extinguished by Rosie's unexpectedly quiet voice, but
certainly not all of it. "That's what Daddy would want me to do," she
said stoutly.
"Do
you think your father would want you to get yourself killed?" she asked
quietly.
"We're
not gonna get killed," Sally shot back immediately. She took a deep
breath, and tried to regain control over her voice. More composed, she
continued, "We're not going to die. If we plan well enough in advance, and
strike hard enough, Robotnik will never see us coming. And it's only going to
get easier once we rescue Sir Charles. I know we can do it, Rosie; we're ready
to be Freedom Fighters. Why won't you let us go?"
Rosie
knew better than to point out Sally's age again. It seemed absurd to Rosie, an
adult, that this headstrong eleven-year-old was telling her that she could do
things that the entirety of the Royal Army had found impossible. Still, she
knew that Sally would never accept that argument - it just didn't conform to
what she saw as her world. To a child in a situation like Sally's, anything
seemed possible, even a group of children bringing down a well-armed military
force that had already conquered Mobius's most advanced civilization.
Instead,
Rosie decided to work within the bounds of Sally's world, and still convince
her that she couldn't go through with this.
"Sir
Charles tried to fight back himself, too, you know," Rosie said carefully.
"One of the survivors that came through here a few weeks after the coup
told me about it. He used a few electromagnetic darts to scramble the nearest
SWATbots, and threw himself straight at Robotnik."
This
had caught Sally's attention. She hadn't heard this before; Rosie had never
told any of them about it. She looked up at Rosie. "Really? What happened
then?"
"I
bet he was just as convinced as you were that he would succeed," Rosie
said. She didn't know that, of course -- the story she'd heard had actually
made it sound like Charles had known how futile the attack would be. Still, in
the case, she knew that it was acceptable to embellish a few details. "But
Robotnik caught him just a few seconds later, and he was one the first Mobians
to be roboticized."
Sally
kept walking silently beside Rosie. She had gotten the point that Rosie was
trying to make. She just wasn't accepting it.
"I
think what's really going on here is that you just don't want to acknowledge
what could happen if you fail," Rosie continued. "You know just as
well as I do that something could go drastically wrong. This isn't something
that you can take lightly, Sally. This is your life. You won't be able to help
anyone if you take these foolish risks, and end up getting yourself
roboticized."
A
change had settled over Sally. Though she was still convinced that she was
right, she was taking Rosie a bit more seriously than she had before. Rosie
knew that this was a step in the right direction. The argument was now
proceeding on her terms. Experience had made her a more able child psychologist
than those who'd spent decades studying in universities. "I know what the
dangers are," Sally said quietly. "And I'm willing to risk being roboticized."
"And
are you willing to risk your friends' lives, as well? If something goes wrong,
do you want them to die, too?"
Sally
looked up. She'd been caught off-guard. "Huh?"
It was
time for the hammer of reality to fall. Rosie pressed on, voice growing darker.
She knew that, to an outsider she might appear heedless of Sally's feelings,
but she also knew that the only way to get Sally to recognize that danger she
was inviting was the hit her with the truth. Hard. "Do you think you could
live with yourself if Sonic died on one of these missions? Or Antoine? Bunnie?
Rotor?" Her voice grew more intense. "Or all of them? Because I won't
let you lie to yourself, Sally. No matter how noble or worthwhile your cause,
that's all you'll probably end up doing. Killing them... and yourself."
Sally
shrank back, almost involuntarily. Rosie kept her hold on Sally's hand firm,
though, and kept her walking right alongside her.
She
suddenly felt terribly bad for forcing Sally to confront this, and, for a
moment, the only thing she was aware of was a desire to bend down, and wrap her
arms around the frightened squirrel child in a tight embrace. She kept telling
herself, though, that it was better that Sally find out what the real
consequences of these 'freedom missions' now, rather than after her friends had
actually perished.
"Rosie,"
Sally started, and this time her voice actually squeaked. She sounded more like
an eleven-year-old now than the regal Princess Freedom Fighter she'd tried to
be moments earlier. "Could that really happen?"
Rosie
stopped walking, and at last let go of the princess's arm. The child didn't
seem to notice that an escape route was open. Her eyes were wide, and still
locked on her nanny's face. She'd probably thought about the risks in these
'freedom missions' before, but this was almost certainly the first time she'd
been told to her face that they could kill everyone she cared about. Rosie
knelt down until her eyes were level with Sally's. She wondered how to handle
this question, and, for a few seconds, wasn't able to think of anything. Then
the beige rectangle affixed to her boot heel caught her eye.
"Do
you trust Nicole?" she asked.
Despite
Sally's jab at Nicole earlier tonight, Rosie knew that Sally had always had a
special affinity for the computer. She was constantly fascinated by Nicole's
artificial personality. Her eyes always twinkled when she talked to her. She
was becoming increasingly absorbed with the information the King had entered
into Nicole's memory banks before the coup; maybe she saw Nicole as being her
last link with her father.
"I
trust her, absolutely," Sally nodded. Rosie reached down, and unclipped
Nicole from her boot. She held the computer up between both herself and Sally
as she unfolded it.
"Nicole,"
Rosie ordered, "input hypothetical situation for probability analysis.
Princess Sally leads the rest of the children in this village to the heart of
Robotropolis. They're on a covert mission to rescue Sir Charles from his
roboticization."
"TACTICAL
MODEL LOADED. INPUT PARAMETERS."
Rosie's
eyes locked onto Sally's. "Taking all their known skills and abilities
into account, what is the probability that they'll succeed?"
"FOUR
POINT ONE PERCENT."
Sally
didn't visibly react to Nicole's pronouncement. Instead, she looked petulantly
back up at Rosie. Whether she just didn't believe the numbers, or just simply
didn't care, Rosie couldn't tell. She wasn't done yet, though.
"If
they attempt this mission, what is the probability that *all* of the children
will be captured and roboticized?" Rosie asked calmly.
"SEVENTY-SEVEN
POINT NINE PERCENT."
Sally
inhaled sharply, as if she had started to gasp, but tried to hide it. She took
an involuntary step backwards. Rosie didn't blame the child for her reaction.
She had just been told, by an impartial observer, that the mission she had
probably pinned her hopes on for the past several weeks would likely result in
the destruction of everyone she cared about.
"What
is the most likely situation your tactical models forecast?" Rosie pressed
on.
"THE
CHILDREN WILL SUCCESSFULLY PENETRATE ENEMY TERRITORY FOR AT LEAST A QUARTER
KILOMETER DISTANCE PAST THE CITY LIMITS. ENEMY CAMERA ORBS WILL DETECT THE
INTRUDERS, AND THE INTERCEPTION SWATBOTS WILL CAPTURE BETWEEN ONE AND THREE OF
THE CHILDREN. THE SUBSEQUENT DROP IN MORALE WILL REDUCE THE REMAINDER TO
NEAR-INEFFECTIVENESS. THEY WILL SCATTER, BUT THEY WILL BE CAPTURED ONE-BY-ONE
AS THEY ATTEMPT TO FLEE THE CITY."
Sally
cried out, and suddenly Rosie felt her arms wrap around her in a tight embrace.
The poor child was terrified. Rosie had to admit that even her fur had raised
on its hackles; the picture Nicole had painted hadn't been pretty. The image of
her children, panicked and reduced to tears and fleeing merciless SWATbots, was
something that she wanted to forget quickly.
"Now
you see why I can't let you do this, Sally," Rosie said gently.
"You're not Freedom Fighters. You're just children."
"I
don't believe Nicole," Sally said sharply, even as she held tightly onto
Rosie. "I-I'm not going to sit here and let a computer's forecasts control
my future."
"Sally,
listening to Nicole isn't quite like rolling dice. She may be a computer, but
she knows what she's talking about. Your father even programmed her personality
himself. She knows that you're not ready for this."
"We
won't die," Sally said, voice wavering. She sounded like she was trying to
convince herself rather than anyone else. "I won't allow it."
The
point was being driven home. Sally sounded as though she didn't really believe
herself anymore. Whether or not she would ultimately change her mind about the
'freedom mission', Rosie didn't know, but certainly the fears that had been
awakened by Nicole's verdict were real ones. Powerful, too. They looked like
they were tearing the poor kid apart.
Rosie
brushed some of Sally's auburn headfur away from her face. "Don't get me
wrong, kiddo," she said quietly. "I applaud what you're trying to do.
Robotnik is the most evil force on the face of the planet, and I would give
anything - *anything* - to see him gone. But what you're doing just isn't
realistic. I'm afraid the only thing it's going to accomplish is getting you
and your friends roboticized, or killed. Do you understand why I can't let you
do this?"
Sally's
face crinkled, as if she were about to break out in tears, but she held her
composure, and remained silently. Slowly, she nodded.
"I'm
glad," Rosie said honestly.
There
was a sudden flash of brilliant golden light behind them. The solemn mood was
broken. Sally and Rosie's gazes reflexively snapped back to face the light, but
they both relaxed when they saw where it was coming from.
"Oh
dear," Rosie said. "The power ring came earlier than we expected
tonight. I had thought there wasn't one due for another hour, at least."
She stood up, the flashing gold light playing tricks with her shadow as she
moved. "I hope one of the others will be able to grab that before it sinks
back to the bottom of the pond."
Moments
later, the glow died as the power ring finished forming. Rosie had a passing
wish that they could stop the rings from coming at nighttime. They were almost
a bigger visibility risk than bonfires. Thankfully, though, the rings formed
quickly. Only a few moments after she first noticed the glow, it had already
started to fade. Night resumed.
She
took Sally's hand again. "Why don't we walk a little further? Come on,
I'll take you up to some of the farther paths. I can tell you a little more
about Sir Charles, if you want."
Sally
nodded, and sniffed. Her voice was milder than it had been before.
"Yeah... yeah, sure. I'd like that, Rosie."
Rosie
smiled, and led onwards through the dark forest. They walked quietly together
for several minutes. She liked to think that she had made a breakthrough with
Sally tonight. She had broken through some of the foolish determination, the
stubbornness, and the headstrong attitude, and gotten her to at least consider
reality. Sally was a good child, but she had to learn to balance what was
*right* with what was *realistic*. She needed to use a dose of rationality when
pursuing her dreams. With any luck at all, this would be the last she would
talk about these 'freedom missions' for quite some time.
A small
cliff face loomed out of the night. There was forest below, and forest above.
It had usually been a pain to navigate around before, but not any longer. One
of the more recent additions to Knothole village had a small, manually-operated
elevator carriage on its side. Building it had actually been an enjoyable
summer project last year. Rosie had enjoyed seeing just how adroit the
children, especially Rotor, had become with tools and hand projects.
Rosie
stepped into the carriage, followed closely by Sally. Rosie grabbed the rope by
the side of the machine, and started to pull upwards. They were a quarter of
the way up to the top before she spoke again.
"I
remember the first time I met Sir Charles," Rosie began. "It was at
one of your father's palatial dinners. He was the guest of honor, because just
a few days earlier, he'd discovered--"
Sonic
burst out of the darkness with frightening speed, and slammed roughly into the
side of the elevator carriage.
He had
leapt an incredible distance up through the air, at least several dozen meters.
He clung to the side of the elevator carriage with startling tenacity, and
snarled at something up above them.
Rosie,
startled, reflexively leapt back against the opposite side of the carriage.
What scared her the most, though, wasn't Sonic's sudden appearance as much as
the expression of sheer terror he wore. Without stopping to explain his lurking
in the bushes, Sonic pointed up towards the top of the cliff, and cried,
"Rosie, look out! Robots!"
A
sudden noise at the top of the elevator platform drew her attention. She let go
of the rope, and the elevator stopped moving upwards. They hung suspended
halfway between the ground and the top level.
The
piercing gold eyes of a robot canine stared back down at her. There were two
other Mobians around him, both of them looking frightened. Rosie didn't need to
ask to know what the source of their fear was. She had seen that look countless
times before. The two Mobians were obviously prisoners, and the robot canine
their captor. Her matronly protective instinct spurred her into action.
Adrenaline surged through her bloodstream, giving her muscles an incredible
burst of strength and speed. Courage, too.
A robot
had found Knothole. She was *determined* not to let it leave to report the
village's position to the enemy.
She
spread her arms out to shield the two children in the elevator behind her.
Summoning every ounce of bravery she could muster, she shouted a challenge up
at the intruder.
"Leave
us be, slave of Robotnik, and let those two poor Mobian souls you've snared go
as well!"
For a
moment, neither of the three people above her gave any reaction.
She
thought she heard the canine grumble something under his breath. She wasn't
entirely sure... but she thought she heard the robot's voice issue something
along the lines of a complaint:
"...Not
again!"
***
Bunnie's
two feet pounded the dirt in front of her as she leapt over vine and root. The
other children had often teased her about her two oversized feet, but now she
was glad for the superior balance they provided. The soft, furred pads of her
rabbit-proportioned heels provided greater traction than the best of Knothole's
footwear could offer. With this balance, she was one of the fastest runners of
all the children, second only to Sonic.
She
knew all the paths by heart. She took the one that would take her back to
Knothole the fastest. If all went right, she could be back within thirty
seconds.
Although
fear was certainly one of her larger motivations right now, purpose also
inspired her speed. The second she had seen those glowing yellow eyes in the
darkness, a plan had formed in her mind. She knew what she had to do.
Bunnie
was the first to arrive back at Knothole. The others were still quite some
distance behind her. Her breathing was heavy, and sounded terribly lonely in
the silence. Fear coursed through her body, charging her every motion. She ran
from hut to hut, seeking out only one.
She
nearly kicked in Rosie's door when she arrived. The cabin door slammed against
the wooden walls as Bunnie strode through. She moved quickly through her
surrogate parent's room, ignoring bed and furniture. Only one thing held her
attention: the closet of the very end of the room. She tore open the closet,
and reached around in the back of it. At first she found nothing, and started
to panic, but soon enough her hands clasped around the smooth, cool shaft of
the object she sought.
Bunnie
knew that she and the other children weren't supposed to know about the laser rifle
Rosie kept in her closet.
They
had found out anyway, one lazy afternoon when Rosie had been out gathering
food. Sally had made them put it back, of course. Yet Bunnie still hadn't
forgotten it. She had actually felt strangely comforted to know that, if worst
came to worst, they still had one last line of defense. The weapon had that
same effect right now. Though it was awkwardly large for her young frame, it
still felt good to hold. She grabbed the power cells from underneath the bed,
and loaded them into the rifle's firing chamber. She held the gun upright, and
charged the primer.
"Rosie,
Ah know ya didn't want us to know about this, but... stars alive, Ah hope
you'll forgive me."
She ran
out of the cabin.
Bunnie
met the other children just as they arrived at the fringes of the village
themselves. She ran past them without a word, ignoring the wide-eyed glances
they gave her when they say the rifle slung over her shoulder. She just ran on
and on, not liking to think about how much time she had wasted grabbing the
gun. That horrible robot could have killed Rosie by now. It could have dragged
her, Sonic, and Sally all the way to Robotropolis by now...
When
she reached the cliff face again, the elevator had already ascended to the top
platform. Bunnie fell to the ground, using the bushes to hide herself. She
lined up the rifle on the top of the platform. She peered through the scope
mounted at the top of the rifle, and used it to get a clearer view of what was
happening up there.
Rosie
was cautiously stepping out of the elevator carriage towards the golden-eyed
robot. Though Sonic and Sally were still cowering in the carriage behind her,
they didn't look as frightened as they might. Rosie was even warily extending
an arm towards the canine.
Bunnie
shivered. It was even worse than she had thought, then. The robot was using
some kind of mind control on Rosie and her friends. A terrible prelude to the
roboticization that would surely follow.
Young
though she was, she would fight to her dying breath to protect her friends from
Robotnik's wrath. She snarled. She *wouldn't* let him get away with this.
She
lined up the rifle's sights on the canine. She waited until she was sure she
had a clear, open shot. The crosshairs hovered dead-center on the canine's
forehead. She took a deep breath...
...and
squeezed the trigger.
--------------------------------------------------
Post 43:
A.
Fleury
By the
time Snively arrived back at Dragonsnest sunset was cloaking the sky with deep
colors. It was beautiful, but his eyes only saw the choking dust rising up and
through it shone the dying sun. Turning the dust blood red.
He
hated the color red.
After a
sudden bout of shivering which left him with arms around his chest, trying to
fight it away - the paranoia, or shock, or whatever was fucking with his mind
this time - he and the few remaining robots walked tentatively to the entrance
of the Dragon tower. He'd been wondering why the troops he'd left at the tower
hadn't responded.
It was
apparent when the SWAT's shone their lights about the cavernous room. A large
stairway led upwards. Likely that was how the white Mobian had gotten up.
Littering the ground around the staircase and the doorway where the broken
bodies of his robots. He growled, the fine hairs on the back of his neck
rising, and quickly retreated.
"Who
did that, I wonder...' he mused outside, thinking of the white Mobian. He
hadn't really focused on him, but from what he remembered the koala didn't seem
capable of destroying his troops singlehandly. Perhaps the young dragon had
done it?
Eh.
Wasn't important. His main concern now was the freighter.
*
They
found it drifting further into the Great Unknown. On the horizon Snively could
spot cliffs, black against the purple and blue sky. Pretty soon they would fade
together in darkness...
It was
lucky they'd found it.
For
him. And others.
If the
freighter had drifted a bit farther it might've broken peace and tranquility. A
village of wolven folk made a home out in the wasteland. They had security,
however false, that they were safe in the barren reaches of this land.
Finally.
He
breathed a sigh of relief while leaning back in his passenger seat, a SWATbot
replacing Sprocket at the hovercraft's controls. Eyes closed, his brow
furrowed. Sprocket. He was the one who'd reported the freighter's malfunction.
Puh. Sniv gritted his teeth, eyes snapping open. Glaring out the window to
ensure the freighter was still behind them - it was, following placidly. Sprocket
hadn't just reported the malfunction. He'd caused it.
'Stop
thinking about him...'
He
gazed out the side window, recalling that face leaning in, the words it'd spat
out, hurtful words of torment and betrayal. He shut his eyes.
Behind
his eyelids twin lights of gold glowed.
'Damn
you...'
He
wasn't sure who he was addressing.
"SWATbot,
how close are we to the Great Mountains?" An aimless question to distract
himself.
"ETA:
40 minutes."
"Alright..."
20
minutes later the jagged peaks of the mountains tore the horizon. They were
only slighter darker than the night sky. Above them the stars spiraled, below
the earth was alive with small wild creatures who'd escaped Robotnik's grasp
thus far - the tyrant was interested in the more sentient species at the
moment.
The
mountains would look gorgeous come morning. The violet peaks shrouded in mist
and the sun haloing behind.
A
dreamy boy's voice echoed from the darkness of mountain meeting sky.
'Aren't
the mountains beautiful...?'
'They're
just rocks and trees.'
'C'mon,
don't you have any joy in nature? I like books too, but-
"Hey,
give that back!'
'-sometimes
you have to stop reading and look around!'
'Whatever.
Give it back.'
'You're
not listening.'
'I'm
listening. I just don't care...'
A
disillusioned voice closed the conversation. Didn't he always have the last
word? No, the face of the other boy, the golden eyes downcast, was the final
statement. That Snively had done it again. Hurt somebody.
He was
good at that. Ah, everyone was good at -something-. So he'd learn to indulge in
it, in a twisted sort of way. What Sprocket didn't know was that it hurt him
too. But the dog would never know, because that was a truth Snively wouldn't
admit. Saying it would cut too deep, bleed too long.
The
drilling site was pitch black, nestled down in the trees. He had to fight back
shivers, staring into the blackness.
"Get
some light out here," he ordered quickly, clutching his arms to his chest.
The SWATbots hastily obeyed.
He
nodded in satisfaction, no longer afraid now that the dark trees were lit,
their hidden menaces revealed to be nothing. There was not a creature in sight.
The
light was really only for his comfort. The robots had night vision. They could
work comfortably in the dark. He went back inside. The SWATbots tended to the
freighter, getting the oil drills set up and functioning. Soon the rich liquid
would be filling the freighter's empty tanks.
Julian
would be pleased.
Snively
had settled himself into the bunk at the back of the hovercraft, eyes drooping.
He yawned, starting to slide under the cool sheets, when the silence was
shattered.
"SNIVELY!"
Eeep!!
He bolted upwards, nearly slamming his head against the wall. With a slapping
of his bare feet he hurried to the front of the hovercraft, his eyes locked on
the leering face on the monitor.
"L-l-lord
R-r-Robotnik, what a p-p-pleasant surprise!"
His
uncle sneered, mustache twitching. "Cut the pleasantries, Snively, I'm not
interested."
"S-s-sorry,
sir." Snively clutched his hands to his chest, an unconscious pleading
gesture.
"So..."
Robotnik's voice suddenly held an amiable tone. "How much oil have you
collected, Snively? I imagine we have at least one full tank by now."
That
was a lot of oil. They weren't even near full, Snively guessed. Probably not
even a quarter of a quarter full! He gulped. "Um, yes sir, pretty close, I
believe..."
"You
believe, Snively? You don't *know*?"
"Well,
it's uh, hard to uh, say, sir."
Robotnik
steepled his fingers under his chin. Snively's eyebrow twitched, wanting to
frown. He really hated when Uncle did that. "One thing I prize, Snively,
is perfection. Accuracy. Preciseness."
A nasty
thought shot to the monitor. 'Then you must hate yourself...' the eyebrow slid
down, a dangerous expression to wear before Uncle.
His
Uncle's eyes glowed. Blood red. "Imperfect things have no place in my
empire, Snively..."
"......"
There wasn't really a response to that, well a good ole 'fuck you, Julian!'
would've been nice, but Snively wasn't that stupid. So he kept silent.
"And
what of the problems you mentioned earlier, Snively? Are they taken care
of?"
"Yes
sir..."
His
uncle's gaze met directly with his. Snively tried to avert his eyes, but it was
too late. He was locked to Julian's fiery glare..
"Well..."
He tried to keep his voice strong. "To tell you the truth, sir, there was
a mal- a mal-" His voice deteriorated as Robotnik's eyes further burned
him, trying to scorch his entire soul it seemed - "malfunction with the
freighter. Sir."
"Really,
Snively."
It was
that falsely calm tone. Oh shit, yeah, that meant Robotnik was about to start
screaming.
He
didn't even bother to look calm, to sound collected. Whimpering he pressed his
hands closer to his chest. "But it's fixed now, sir! It's fixed!"
"IT
HAD BETTER BE!"
The
small man trembled. That hadn't been so bad. He raised a shaking hand to wipe
away the sudden sweat on his forehead. It felt chillingly cold.
"Do
I need to come there personally Snively? Or are you going to get your act
together? Hmmmm?"
"No,
no sir, you don't need to come. It's fine now, sir, I swear!"
The
tyrant looked malicious, as if thinking he might pull a visit despite his
nephew's assurances. He would too, thought Snively bitterly. He only hoped
things were going smoothly whenever Uncle decided to drop his fat ass into the
mountains.
"All
right, Snively, I'll leave you to your work. Robotnik out."
The monitor
flashed white and then died to black. A ragged exhale followed. Thank goodness
that was over...
With
legs still wobbly and weak, Snively crept back to the bunk and fell into
blissfully empty sleep.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Post 44:
Ealain Vangogh
He
moved quickly enough to avoid a penetration of the head, aided in part by the
shoddy aim of the sniper on the ground below. No wonder the matriarch was so
bold--she had reinforcements. These refugees were indomitable! And yet . . .
then why did she cast so bewildered a look over her shoulder, and why did the
two young ones seem so baffled, when the shot rang out . . .
And hit
him? Oh, yes, it still hit him, despite his acute reflexes. It grazed the side
of his temple, and that was enough to sizzle the organic fur of his scalp with
a stomach-turning smell of burnt feathers, and open a clean crisp incision in
his forehead, proceeded by a hole through his right ear. He gasped--it was like
feeling one's veins turn into live wires and sear straight through the flesh in
an explosion of heat and light.
No,
worse. He couldn't think, he couldn't think, he couldn't think, he was losing
himself again. . . oh God don't let me ever go to sleep again or I might not
wake up for another six years. . . . and what will I have done to my people by
then. . .? He nearly retched, grabbing his scalp, foolishly feeling for blood,
wondering what to feel for instead as a cause of grave alarm.
Derek
whipped out his own weapon and aimed at the forest floor, thankfully feeling
compelled to owe a certain degree of gratitude for Sprocket's past actions
through a loose kind of loyalty to the canine . . .
The
nanny gawked at the weapon in the hands of a furry, appearing to suddenly grasp
the fact that Sprocket's "slaves" were nothing but companions of the
robot--with their own measures of personal protection. She clasped her hand
over her mouth, and the squirrel child looked attentively, fiercely
concentrating, into her eyes. Unpermitted, the perceptive girl whirled around
and cried the name "Bunnie," followed by a plea to cease fire. And
the koala's weapon flopped to his side as quickly as it was drawn, when the
culprit was illuminated by the glow of that same divine light of minutes past,
in the shape of a ring. It rested pulsating gold in the hand of a small walrus;
he rested his hand on the rabbit's shoulder as she stood there rigidly gaping
at the three of them. The spry hedgehog child accosted the walrus--Rotor was
his name-- and grabbed the light source. The sapphire youth then wavered it
over his head at the three intruders as if it had some sort of mystical power
at his advantage . . . but still Derek stood staring at the initial eleven-year
old long-eared attacker, the struggle in his features obviously indicating his
sense of futility.
Dulcy,
too, was oscillating in front of and behind Sprocket, as if uncertain what to
do, trying to sputter explanations but succeeding only in gibberish. Sprocket
forgave them both their moral dilemma of fealty, for he struggled with the same
question in his own heart.
Still
Derek stood sedentary, unwilling to fire at a child, even an upset and armed
one. He looked with apology and concern at his robotic companion, a wheeze
where words were unable to form escaping his lips.
On
impulse, somehow not registering the attacker's age or the horror in her wide
young jade eyes, Sprocket almost wasn't so gracious; he aimed his finger, at
the end of which was a built-in laser pistol, at her chest. "Can't let you
take me . . . us. . . back there. . ." he heard himself slur. But what he
meant by it, he hadn't the foggiest clue. It wasn't even directed at the
Mobian, but someone else . . . someone they both hated . . .
The
koala was shouting something about a wound to a neural circuit and a behavioral
malfunction, and clutching at the dog's arm pleading him to come back to his
senses . . .
But
coherence wasn't to be tempted.
A
flash, a reeling nauseous blur, and he was thrown back in memory--he was on the
brink of puberty, lodged for two years in a spacious room of a cave with one of
his last Mobian foster families after he left the Overland and before the coup,
in the Great Unknown--wolves, they had been. The closest kin, by culture and
species, to his nearly forgotten family, true lovers of the aesthetic as
discovered in the bosom of nature--they gave him the psyche of perpetually
curling up to doze in a warm afternoon sun beneath one of those scarce yet
enormous, thick evergreen trees, those deep dusty green guardians of souls, of
enduring life, surrounded by the sweet aroma of pine and sheltered in a sense
of pure belonging . . . And then there were the campfires, he had especially
loved those weekly socials with the whole conglomerate of the Wolf Pack because
when he was a child he used to have weekly campfires just outside the Overland
capital, Megacentral, with . . . with . . . another . . . kind of family
member. A brother . . . of sorts. Who hated him now . . . His brain choked on
the memory and swallowed it quickly back into the dark bliss of obscurity. But
another memory dominated it. . . warmer still . . .
He was
with the daughter of the Chief, not the eldest daughter Lupe, who was already
betrothed, but her younger sibling--yes, lying together under a pine tree
barely thirty feet from the campfire at the lower cave mouth. The Chief had
grown fond of Sprocket and trusted the gentle, introspective orphan canine with
his unclaimed daughter. . . Ah yes, Nakuma he would always remember, wild,
spontaneous, impetuous Nakuma, perhaps so much less elegant and proper and
graceful and strong than her elder sister, yet so much warmer, with her long
raven braid of hair and her rich amber eyes like two harvest moons reflected in
the luminous clarity of a pool . . . she was giggling and trying to teach him
some native wolf tongue, trying to explain some complicated linguistics and he
was apologetically stumbling over even the simplest of pronunciations, laughing
ashamedly at himself. But oh, what fun, to make mistakes and yet still be
accepted and loved . . .
Somehow
their words were drawn to his past, to the topic of Overlanders and their
customs, and the wolf princess's sheltered views of the supposed barbarism and
cruelty of the hairless, naked species were patiently scrutinized by the
canine, who divulged his friendship with a human boy and his continued
acceptance of humanity despite the cruelty done by a human to his own family.
The princess studied his eyes deeply, pained but uncertain what to say.
"But
what will you think of humanity if an Overlander kills me?" A strange, bizarrely
foreboding question from a young, careless girl. It produced a hiatus in the
conversation.
And the
mood went warm again, smoothly as silk, as if the query had never been uttered
aloud. Those sultry eyes were fixed on him. She pulled closer and slid her lips
across his, slowly and tenderly, in the thick lovely darkness. And then she
rose, with an uproarious howling self-delighted laugh, and skipped back
whooping with glee to the campfire, where Lupe and the others received her with
laughter.
Nakuma
made him a man that day. She stirred in him the depths of what love could be.
She gave him his first kiss. And she was a Mobian.
And the
day that Robotnik--an Overlander--sent his SWATs to the caves to capture as
many stray Pack members as possible, the day Sprocket had gone out to visit
Snively in Mobotropolis and found it in the process of a bloody coup . . .
.that day, Robotnik, an Overlander did kill Nakuma. By his order, a SWAt shot
her down point-blank trying to break ranks of the prisoners being shipped to
the portable roboticizer. Trying to stay free. She had died free, yes, she had.
Died by the hands . . . of an Overlander. His best friend was . . . an
Overlander. Not a Mobian. A Mobian had not shot Nakuma. An Overlander . . .
And now
his laser pistol was aimed point blank at a Mobian? Had he too become the
enemy?
For the
love of God, let her kill you, let her fry your brains out and devour your
guts, but don't kill her. Don't kill one of your own, a member of the race that
gave you your understanding of love. The love, the purpose, that you hope to
show your human brother who saved you despite himself . . .
Sprocket
mustered his senses enough, sifting through the excruciating pain to clutch to
a piece of rationalism, to lower his arm and apologize, in a trembling voice
bordering on a sob of exhaustion and physical anguish.
The
face of the elder ground squirrel was changing now. And there was something
indescribable on the face of the regal, red-haired girl child behind her--could
it be empathy? She was looking at him and then at her little rabbit friend, who
had dropped the still-smoking weapon and was sobbing now on the ground, sobbing
at her own action borne of the desire to protect those she adored, that which
had seemed so noble only seconds ago but now with the injury of another person
. . .was terrifying.
A kid?
I've been shot by a kid? Look at her tears. A kid. She must be a sweet little
soul, he vaguely conjectured. And then all thought ceased.
It's
not warm here. Not warm anywhere now. Or is that place hidden somewhere for us
all. . . ?
"Where
is it warm? Take me to where it's warm," he moaned.
He
teetered towards the ledge . . . it hurt too much now, and he was robbed of any
more fond memories to cushion the shock of it . . . Derek grabbed at his
shoulder, bellowing a warning again into his befuddled ears, crinkled flat and
perturbed against his skull; the marsupial even tried to clasp his roboticized
tail, but lost grip of the smooth frictionless material . . . Even the dragon,
for all her charity, could never swoop under him fast enough to save him.
But the
elevator was right below him, and when he went lurching over the edge, it took
a millisecond for the squirrel matriarch to snake out a hand and seize a mass
of his tousled hair.
Saving
him. Not knowing what side he was on, but unwilling to withhold mercy from any
creature. He felt hazy gratitude stir inside him.
He
winced then, for the tangling of his hair only worsened the pain in his
forehead. It gave Derek and Dulcy just enough time, though, to grab him by the
arms, hoist him up between them, and lift him into the elevator. 'We are
freedom Fighters," the koala declared, and then, after a pause, in a tone
not entirely convinced but nevertheless earnest, "All three of us. Do you
understand?"
"Yes,"
Sprocket heard the nanny breathe, as he sank to his knees and then flopped
helplessly on his back in the elevator floor, the throbbing in his head like a
mace. And the squirrel was looking at the canine then, he saw as he glanced
wearily about him, in the same way the child had been looking at him only
seconds ago. With the same gradual sort of empathy. "Yes, I do. "
Sprocket wasn't sure what hidden understanding was exchanged in the eyes of the
two grown Mobians, but it evoked immediate trust from the matriarch. She opened
up a small handheld computer hidden in her cloak, which clicked pluckily to life
at the touch of the keyboard and gave a salutation in a deep female voice, and
bent down over him just as he felt his mind and senses begin to descend into
blackness. She requested that the other two visitors enter the
elevator--dubiously she even invited the large dragon child--and instructed
Derek to grab the locked rope and start the descent. "Hold still,
now," he heard her crooning, holding the bleeping computer over his wound,
as he surrendered to whatever a robot might deem sleep.
-----------------------------------------------
Post 45:
Ealain Vangogh
There
would be pain.
He
could feel it already. The churning in his belly, something like the five
minutes preceding a child's piano recital, the blinding lights of the stage,
the stiff tuxedo with the strangling collar, the roaring clamor of the
audience. The scrutiny. The impulse to urinate all over oneself. The
exposure--the exposure of all things vulnerable. That was what was coming now.
Sprocket
supposed that it hadn't been one of Snively's brightest notions to dig his
family's Christmas lights from the attic of his father's mansion stronghold--to
then, of all things, invite Sprocket over to decorate the titanic pine tree
under which they'd first met. And, at all times, within the hour that Colin Sr.
returned daily from his post at the government ministry building, where his
prestige as Chief Justice and war veteran were marked-- unlike his parenting
skills.
But
Snively had been uncharacteristically joyful that afternoon, his cheeks unusually
flushed and his voice bearing an optimistic lilt, so Sprocket hadn't the heart
to caution the human against their holiday festivities. He'd fought, gently and
loyally, for years to get through his friend's impenetrable defensive shell of
ice and grit, to grasp at Snively's trust, and he wouldn't let anything destroy
what seemed, finally, an emotional triumph.
So they
chortled over dirty preteen boy jokes, sang hopelessly tone-deaf carols, and
strung the tree top to bottom with gaudy old electrical lights. Earning himself
a skeptical look, Snively claimed they had been an Overlander tradition since
archaic times, in what was known as the "Western" part of the old
human world. "Or if you want to be Jewish, they're for the Festival of
Lights. Or, let's see, if you're a Hindu," he added to the canine, who was
already sold, "you could call them Diwali lamps!" Sprocket had been
laughing too hard to argue, and, fearing for his comrade's safety--for Snively
was standing on his shoulder s trying to get the last strand over the top of
the tree, and the icy, white earth made it hard to support him without
slipping. "You have incredible recall," he chuckled, "to know
all the nuances of all those celebrations from so long ago."
"Oh,
shut up," Snively grunted, as ever awkward with compliments. "Doesn't
matter to me which one you pick, as long as we get a chance at one."
"One
what?"
"One
celebration, genius!" Snively's tone reeked of good-natured sarcasm.
Sprocket knew that meant his friend was delighted, but, for fear of seeming
childish, trying to hide it. "Aaah," he grinned, "I see."
It was
pure joy for two otherwise forsaken children.
He had
no idea how long Snively's father had been watching them. But he saw the man's
face, and understood it immediately, when he turned and glanced at the path
from the house. Colin stood there, straddle-legged and hunch-shouldered, his
jaw agape, in the snow. The beauty of the scenery, of the moment, was
immediately polluted.
For the
act to merit such a murderous, revolted look from his friend's father, now, as
they stood in the snow, their forbidden friendship finally learned, he couldn't
fathom.
Somehow
he felt no hate for the man who'd gunned down his parents, neither fear--not,
at least, for himself. For himself, he felt . . .nothing. Numbness for his
parents' killer.
But he
felt fear for Snively. For the boy's father, that towering flame-haired
"Minister of Justice," was recovering from his disgusted
shock--removing his belt from his overland military uniform and beginning to
storm in the direction of Snively's hindside. As he walked, his shiny black
boots crushed the unstrung Christmas lights under him, shattering them.
Something equally as excruciating, as broken, emerged on the face of Sprocket's
human friend. His arms flopped to his sides and his head drooped.
And the
canine knew that all he'd drawn from Snively in the past several years had been
crushed as well. It was then, not before, that he finally began to feel rage
towards Colin Sr. That he began to understand what real rage even was. God, no.
I've lost him. Please, God, no.
"Come
here, boy," the man finally addressed his son. He was still brandishing
the belt. "It seems you've forgotten yourself." Indeed.
Snively
set his jaw, clenched his fists. His eyes glittered. Not with rage or even
fear, but with the luster of a cadaver--hopeless but hideously bright. Coated
with a kind of "what-the-hell" defiance. Then as he spoke, they
regained a terrifying vitality, sparking with thousands of volts of
electricity. They were truly disturbing. "No," he hissed. "No,
father, I will not. And I have not."
"Sir,"
Sprocket tried to intercede. "Your Honor, please let me explain." To
plead to deaf ears.
He took
two strides forward, but Snively fixed that arctic stare on him and growled one
word in a tone bordering on rabid: "Stay!" Then, gentler, "Stay,
Sprocket. Stay back."
And
Sprocket withdrew. Yes, I've lost him.
"I
don't know what this. . .this thing is," Colin spat, his voice rich and
thunderous, and awful. Apparently referring to Sprocket, for his finger was
pointed at the canine, "And I don't know why you are associating with it,
boy, but your impudence is clear! Your . . . your blatant disregard for
patriotism, for. . . for the tenets of our society! It's almost too much to
bear! I can only hope that a respite from the company of that foul, radical
uncle of yours, that fool that I'm quite glad I banished, will drive these
notions out of your brain--associating with this brute, this . . .this animal!
Well, you can thank It for earning you a good solid reprimand!"
And he
had dragged Snively to the other side of that very tree that had hailed the
beginning of a friendship between warring worlds, and ordered his son to bend
over. Sprocket could hear the leather on flesh as clear and sharp as a crow's
call, and the accompanying stifled whimpers. He would not leave, though. No.
Numbly as before, he stooped and gathered the shards of colored glass, poured
them into the sack in which the strands had been stored, and waited. Ten
minutes later 30 lashes had been delivered and the two humans had returned.
They spoke, the elder preaching with arms on the younger's thin shoulders,
while the younger's face was downcast and pained, as if Sprocket were no longer
present.
He knew
it. Her knew there would be pain. But perhaps not the lasting kind . . .
"You
may apologize, disown this 'friend' of yours, and be pardoned, or expect to be
disowned by me just as I have disowned your beloved Julian," Colin
snarled, hateful mockery seeping into his remark of Snively's banished uncle.
Then his voice spiked to a roar. "Are you sorry NOW?"
Snively
did not waste time. "No," he retorted calmly, through his teeth,
though his voice quivered and his eyes were wet. "I am not sorry. You're
the one who should be sorry."
"What
the blazes are you talking about? Stop crying!"
"I
am not crying." Uttered in the same flat voice.
The
father scoffed cruelly, pulling away. "It's no wonder that nickname of yours
has stuck. You certainly do your share of snivelling."
A new
register of hatred in the voice. "You gave it to me, dad. You did it.
" He looked at Sprocket, who felt his own eyes begin to flood. "Not
me."
"Alright,
boy, that's enough out of you! You willingly relinquish your citizenship here?
I can give you a second chance. You're a minor, after all. You can either
apologize or go join your uncle in the toilet bowl of the Mobian mainland--with
Max Acorn and the other beasts."
Snively
nodded at the belt his father was still holding. "Harder," he
breathed. And he sneered. It was a smirk that made his father's skin crawl.
"All
right," Colin croaked.
Was it
remorse Sprocket saw on his face?
"Fine,
boy. If that is what you really want. We cannot harbor usurpers and traitors in
the Kintobor household. Or in the Overland empire." He swallowed. Hard.
Were
those tears in his eyes?
"Go
home. I'll see to it that your discharge papers are signed. After that,
Snively, you must understand, you will have been exiled. There will be no
returning, no starting over. There will be no second chance."
Snively
nodded. "Story of my life," he breathed. He did not look at Sprocket
as he passed him, and hobbled gingerly, for his hide surely ached, down the
path.
Colin
turned wearily to Sprocket. All of his fury, it seemed, had withered. He opened
his mouth to speak. "You don't understand, sir," the canine tried
again. His eyes spilled over. "He saved me. Your son saved me!"
"I
understand," the human said. "But it is not the way of things. Just
go home, dog. Just take your fleas and leave."
So
Sprocket returned to his foster home, a family of goats, whose plucky son was
named Griff. But this was not his home. He didn't have a home anymore.
Snively
did not go home that night, either. He did not go to his room. He never came
back--he just kept walking until he'd crossed the border. The next time
Sprocket saw Snively Kintobor, he had already sold his soul to his Uncle
Julian. To Robotnik.
That
was fifteen? No, more like sixteen years ago. But he had nothing better to do
at the moment than reminisce. And he didn't seem to have much control over
which memories tainted his stream of consciousness.
Either
way, there was no reason not to cling to the joy of the half hour preceding the
catastrophe. It was how one hoped to survive.
But was
he surviving? Was he still alive, even? He couldn't remember much in the recent
past, before the latest pain--the injury to his head. He was pretty sure he was
still in Knothole, where the terrified little rabbit had shot him. Pretty sure.
Or maybe Robotnik had found and pillaged the little settlement, crushed the
rebel children where they stood--he chuckled morbidly, perhaps like Christmas
lights-- and taken the canine back to the city. Maybe he was back in the
factory reposing between Workerbots 8999 and 9001 again, blissfully dormant,
armed with the excuses of ignorance and immobility. Either way , he was flat on
his back, and there were others in the place, prodding at his head wound. No,
they were too gentle to be the hands of other robots, too patient and delicate.
They were the hands of creatures alive. Thank God.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Post 46:
Tristan Palmgren
As far
as Rosie was concerned, there weren't any medical facilities in Knothole even
fit to deal with flesh-and-blood Mobians. There'd been the occasional medical
emergency every now and again, like Rotor's allergies or the time Antoine had
broken his ankle, but otherwise the worst she'd ever had to deal with was cuts
and scrapes. She'd tried time and time again to set up an infirmary equipped to
deal this town full of children, and failed every time. There simply weren't
enough supplies around for an undertaking of that scale. It was difficult
enough to keep them fed every day, and, as a single person, she simply didn't
have the time to set up much more than a medicine cabinet.
As she
limped in with the arm of the robotic canine slung over her shoulder, she
wished she'd been a little more persistent. It would have been bad enough if
this 'Sprocket' - as his companions called him - had possessed a real body when
he'd been shot, but to have to deal with this mass of metal... she just didn't
know how he could be healed.
Could
it even be called healing? Would 'reactivation' be a better term? Repairing?
Reassembling?
The
burden of the canine's weight was made somewhat lighter by the koala bear,
Derek, who had the canine's other arm slung over his own shoulder. Rosie
couldn't escape the feeling that he wasn't quite pulling his weight, but she
didn't mention it for now. Together, they slung him down on the closest bed.
She made sure to be as gentle as the robot's bulky mass allowed, but that
didn't stop him from coming down rather roughly. She grimaced, hoping the
impact wouldn't aggravate the wound.
Simply
for a lack of places to go, they'd arrived back at Rosie's hut. It was the most
logical place, she supposed. This was where Rotor had stayed after his one
worryingly bad allergic reaction, and where Antoine had also stayed the first
few days after he'd broken his ankle.
Rosie
set the laser rifle back in the closet, and shut its door. Back outside, she
had snatched the weapon from Bunnie's unresisting hands. The rabbit child had
been very confused about what was happening, but already tears wearing been
pouring down her cheeks. Though she hadn't known what to make of the situation,
she'd been able to guess enough to know that she'd had done something very,
very wrong. Rosie hadn't said a word. There'd be time to worry about that
later, after all that could be done for this canine had been done... and after
she knew more about what to make these circumstances herself.
"W-What
can we do for him?" Derek choked out breathlessly. He looked as though he
were having difficulty holding back tears himself.
Rosie
sized up the koala. The pearl-white fur on his forehead was covered by a thick
sheen of sweat. He was panting, and his face was screwed up with emotion. He
certainly looked exhausted to the point of collapse. She decided that maybe she
had misjudged him moments ago. She was still sure that he hadn't been pulling
his fair share of the robot's weight... but he had at least tried his best to.
The miserable thing just wasn't very good at it.
She
placed her hand on the canine's metal head, as she would have if she were
taking the temperature of one of the children. She didn't know what she was
expecting to find. The metal was as smooth and as cold as ice to her touch.