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 61:
A. Fleury
The
hovercraft's engines roared and Snively leaned onto the dashboard, gazing out
over the drilling site one last time before lifting off the forest floor,
sending leaves and dirt billowing in a cloud underneath him. There was more
hesitation before he finally sent the small ship hurtling over the evergreens
and oaks, speeding away from the precious oil and towards the thief of their
patrol ship.
His
trust was a fragile thing, and he was putting it into Sprocket's hands for
safekeeping. This was very... frightening.
And
very foolhardy. He knew he should've gone with his initial idea; having a Spy
Eye tail the canine to make sure he stayed true to his word.
But
he hadn't.
'Faith'
(he still scoffed at the word) had to start somewhere...
He
sneered a little, then pushed Sprocket from his mind. Or tried to. It was time
to focus on the task at hand.... finding the stolen patrol unit and in
Robotnik's words, executing the thief, bringing the head to Robotnik
personally. He smirked again, yeah; ole Fatty always had such a way with words.
Yelling tired clichés and threats. The only problem was, they weren't empty. He
meant every threat he said.
He
thought for a moment of adhering to Robotnik's exact words. Bringing the
bloodied head of the filthy animal, tossing it right into Robotnik's lap. The
fat asshole would certainly scream about that. A smile quirked his lips, then
he shook his head. Nah. He'd just shoot the bastard and be done with it.
Then
he could go home, finally. To his hard little mattress, his little black
blanket, that stupid lumpy pillow. He was going to collapse on that bed and not
move for at least 24 hours!
He
was actually looking forward to pulling the trigger.
*
Focusing
on the coordinates, the hovercraft moved speedily over the
He
whined a little to himself, thinking about his shitty bed back home again,
staring out the windshield.
His
fingers drummed on the dashboard, the blanket of trees below blurring into a
featureless green mass. The canine came again, unbidden, to his mind. He
wondered how the boy was faring with his task. It was simple enough. Bring the
oil and a prisoner back to the city. There shouldn't be any problems. But if
there was, if that bumbling idiot failed...
Snively's
head would be on the chopping block. But wait, no, Robotnik wouldn't drop the
guillotine; that would be too quick, too merciful. And too permanent.
Though
Snively feared for his life when the violence escalated to a fever pitch,
bodily alarms screaming he was hurt hurt hurt damaged and dying?... He never
thought Robotnik would go as far to kill him...
He
gritted his teeth. If that silly tin can screwed up, he was going to scrap him.
Yeah,
right. Snively didn't know if he could just...destroy Sprocket now. Not without
difficulty.
He
touched the laser pistol at his belt, fingers running over the smooth surface,
thought of putting it to his former friend's head, right between those silken
gold eyes. Just a little squeeze of his fingers, such little effort, and the
boy would be dead. For good this time.
He
had to turn his thoughts again; he was getting nauseous.
The
blank communications monitor suddenly flickered to life with a rush of static
and a roar of "SNIVELY!"
He
was too weary to really startle much, so he fixed a half-closed eye on the
monitor where Robotnik's fat face was wrinkled into a smile. Great. Fat Boy was
happy. That was always a good thing. Until the inevitable crash into anger
occurred.
"We're
getting a signal on the city radar. Something has been flying in the radar's
limits for quite a while now, Snively. I told you those filth weren't that
smart."
"Indeed
not." Snively managed a sneer.
"I
expect you shall have no troubles tracking down that scum now, Snively!"
"No,
sir, definitely not!" Snively nodded, patching into the city's radar
channel, watching as the scrolling coordinates appeared on the monitor next to
Robotnik's. He nodded again. "Yes, I'm not far from there. That dirty
animal won't escape our wrath."
The
fat man cackled. "Very good."
He
cut the transmission and the monitor faded back to black.
*
Snively
was getting quite near to the latest set of coordinates, his eyes scanning the
horizon through the windshield. He should be seeing the patrol ship by now. He
squinted.
Nothing.
There
was a *beep* from the console, and a curse escaped his lips; the radar had lost
the signal!
Apparently
the animal had figured out they were flying at a dangerous altitude. Or maybe
they had just crashed. He hoped. Certainly would make his job easier.
He
snarled. No way this bastard was going to get away from him...
The
hovercraft jumped forward in acceleration, hurtling towards that last set of
coordinates, a spot of forest just as boring and featureless as the rest. There
was nothing around to hit, unless the idiot had gone too low to the trees, and
he couldn't see even an animal being that stupid.
He'd
landed then, maybe.
He
nodded and patted his pistol again, to assure its place still there on his hip,
his heart beginning to quicken in pace.
The
trees were parting ahead of him; a clearing, only a few minutes ahead now.
There was the glint of polished smooth metal through the foliage.
The
patrol ship.
The
Mobian had landed, the fool!
'Well',
he thought, one of Robotnik's clichéd threats coming to his mind.... The thief
was going to pay for this mistake, surely. Pay for it with his life.
---------------------------------------------
Post 62:
Ealain Vangogh
No
sooner had Sprocket's black-gloved hands gripped the steering wheel than a
wonderful, blessed groan sounded from the navigation seat. Derek was awake.
For
one blissful moment nothing mattered to the canine as much as the sleepy,
disoriented smile on the koala's face as he revived. He pivoted in his seat and
slammed the dashboard with relish. "Score!" he whispered, relieved.
The children gathered eagerly around the elder Freedom Fighter like moths to a
light, screeching questions, elbowing and shoving for most conspicuous and most
important young protégé to their bashful, snow-furred hero. Sonic, of course,
gained the spotlight with a spry leap to the arm of the chair and a wail,
"You shoulda seen the blood, man! It was way uncool!" This derived a
collective shudder from the boy's comrades, a scold from Sally, and another
protracted whimper from Antoine, whose eye was still on the remnants of his
coat, soaked with that same bodily fluid of which the hedgehog spoke
Derek
wasn't really listening; his glare acquired swift sharpness when he spotted
Nayr lurking over his head, brooding and fingering at his wound. "Sprocket
. . ." he wheezed, nodding weakly at the intruder, wincing at the
prodding. "I trust an explanation is well underway?"
"Most
assuredly." The dog cracked his knuckles, rose, and ushered the children a
breathable distance from the victim. "There's been a misunderstanding.
Apparently you and Nayr are acquainted, and from past experience he got a
little...ah..." H e glanced at Dulcy, sulking in the back of the craft,
trying to mask her fear of the Sadosii with irritability. " ...uh, a
little....suspicious...of your motives. He got a little aggressive . . ."
"I
struck decisively and aggressively when I believed you intended harm to
innocents," the charcoal-skinned newcomer boomed, severing all diplomatic
terminologies, eyes ablaze. "If you expect an apology, it's not coming,
but I do intend to correct my error by healing you. It shouldn't be too great
an undertaking--the blood makes the wound seem far deeper than it is."
There
was ill-concealed terror, and fury, on the koala's face. "Are you
sure?" he hissed, ducking the Sadosii's fingers when Nayr attempted to
remove Antoine's coat. His neckhairs were bristling. The children watched the
anger mounting like boiling water between the two men, their eyes widening.
Sprocket
lifted a peace-preserving palm. "Please. We don't have time to quarrel. I
just discovered an approaching hovercraft on the radar, and I've good reason to
believe the pilot is on a Take-No-Prisoners agenda." He gulped back
anxiety strangling his throat.
Derek
knew. He knew well, so vivid, no doubt, were his memories from the flight from
Dragonsnest, from Sprocket's rare vulnerable words of confession, of the past.
His voice was soft but steady. "Snively?"
The
canine couldn't bear to meet eyes with the people he had brought to certain
oblivion in an attempt to save. Silently, he nodded.
Derek
tried to probe gently. "Sprocket....one of these days, you're going to
have to--"
"I
KNOW!" Snarled, shouted, causing them all to jump in shock--for these were
the words Sprocket didn't want to hear--the things he knew he'd have to face. A
choice of loyalty. Ultimate, irreversible, once it was finally made. A choice
he could never make. Shame seized him; it was the first time he'd ever risen
his voice against another Mobian. "I mean...I'm....sorry. I'm sorry. Let's
head for Nimbus Is--"
An
overwhelming shriek of alarms, the red flashing of the monitor's warning
lights--someone was trying to open the hovercraft door. The canine darted to
it, and motioned Nayr, whose every muscle was tense for attack, to shield the
koala and children with his body. Derek, despite his weariness, was bolt
upright in his seat, eyes twin saucers of horror. '"Shit," the koala
moaned, jaw set, body braced.
"Here,"
Sonic retreated to the left of the cockpit and retrieved Derek's laser, which
Dulcy had picked up after the struggle outside. "Here, use this." The
koala looked at it as if it were dipped in anthrax. "Thanks," he
croaked, staring dully at the child. The CHILD.
The
door opened of its own accord, and there, crouched like a hungry mosquito in
the entrance, stood Snively, armed with tiny glistening laser pistol. The
children collected together in a huddle, the princess at the front, Dulcy
squeezed into the back, her tail shielding what it could of their little
bodies. Derek hid his pistol behind his back.
"You've
been very bad little furries," Robotnik's Nephew purred at the youths,
sliding into the cockpit. In his hand was a security decoding keypad, the tool
of his intrusion, which he'd used to scramble the lock on the hovercraft door. His
every feature was laden with smugness. "Let's not put up too much a
struggle, shall we? If you behave, I'll just shoot you and be quick about it,
and..."
His
words puttered to a halt like a teakettle robbed of steam when he saw Sprocket.
Dark suspicion was soon replaced with reluctant confidence in the canine. One
trembling hand shoved in uniform pocket, the other still armed.
He
was trying to keep his promise of trust.
Sprocket
felt the blow to his heart more fiercely than any bullet could cause.
"I'm
not sure what detracted you from delivering that oil to the city, Commander
Apollo," strange how Snively suddenly became formal, distant, in front of
their victims, "but it seems you've got it all under control. Sorry for
stepping on your toes...." He paused, awaiting a confirmation, a brutal
jerk of one of the children's arms or a slap across one of their cheeks, to
assure the canine's loyalties. Sprocket only stood there wincing at him. As the
angry grief of one betrayed seeped into the human's face, he began to stutter.
"I
couldn't stand to see you . . .with your own hands, Snively . . . to see you .
. to these. . . these KIDS . . . ."
'Damn."
Snively's lips thinned with rage, and his whole body shook. His finger pressed
harder against the trigger. "I knew you couldn't take this. I knew you
should have left. Damn you, Sprocket. When I'm through with this rabble, I'll
finish you off--by then, after you see what happens to these 'kids,' I think
you'll be grateful for it." His voice broke, broke like glass, on the word
"finish." His eyes were brimming with the proof that he had no true
desire to do what he pledged he would. But it still hurt Sprocket too deeply to
fathom.
"You
creep," Sally injected, stepping towards the anguished human. "I
remember you. You're almost as good a FAKER as your uncle."
"You
shut up, little girl!" Snively shrieked, whirling to face her, and the
pistol snapped in her direction like a copperhead. "Shut up or consider
yourself the first volunteer for the firing squad!" One tear spilled down
his cheek through his tantrum, and the princess's jaw dropped. It entranced
her, as if she had never realized that an enemy was capable of emotion. No, the
gun did not frighten her, but the tear stupefied her.
Derek's
reflexes were quicker than Sprocket would have thought. He lashed Rosie's laser
out from behind him and demanded in a quavering tone that Snively back away
from Sally.
Snively's
face transformed in that instant. It shed all remorse, all sadness. He cackled.
The sound was a hideous, maddened crow's death cry, reverberating in the
metallic chamber. Sprocket shuddered. Snively never used to laugh that way.
Hideous dismay seized the dog--he didn't know this boy at all. This boy was
more a stranger to him now than the Sadosii who'd almost killed Derek.
"Who
are you?" he breathed. Snively did not hear him. He was far too busy
attempting to be diabolical, swinging the pistol cockily, skulking around with
eyes that could make the skin crawl. . . far too occupied trying to become his
uncle. . .
Who
are you?
"Oh,
riiiight," the human sneered, thick nasal arrogance in his tone. "You
don't have the balls to shoot me, Freedom Fighter!"
Indeed,
Derek's grip faltered. He stumbled over numerous weak comebacks while the
hateful Overlander's smirk curled wider.
But
Nayr wasn't so soft. "Maybe he doesn't," the hunter growled, and
somehow, like an electric current, crossed the room, drew his sword, and
grabbed Snively by the neck. "But, oh, my dear young friend, rest assured
that I can do even WORSE." He ran the edge of the blade across the fine
skin of Snively's neck, taunting the boy's convulsing Adam's Apple.
The
human gagged, all color draining from his young face and making it that of a
frightened corpse. The insufferable sneer dissolved. "No, no, please, have
mercy . . ." That thin neck twisted in a frenzied search for a savior, and
finally those tragic eyes found Sprocket's face, begged the canine in a way so
heartbreaking that Sprocket almost wanted the blade to slice his own neck.
Strangled words, desperate words: "Oh, God, Sprocket--help me, you fool!
Help me, don't leave me!" Tiny sweat beads danced down Snively's ashen
face as he pleaded.
Sprocket
wrung his hands. He could not think, he could not think. God, what to do . . .
?
"No,
don't kill him," he blurted. "D. . . d-don't."
The
room went silent as a tomb. Nayr's lip drew back in a contemptuous growl.
"You know this little freak pretty well, don't you? Got a soft spot for an
old buddy?"
"I
. . . I just mean he could be...ah, quite an asset. Yeah. You can use him as a
hostage." He turned to Derek, hands wrung harder. "Use his knowledge
of Robotnik's tactics to predict how to really launch an attack against the
city!" He nodded feverishly. 'Yeah, don't kill him--he's alone!"
The
Overlander, in the Sadosii's grip, went limp, gnawing on his lip, as he awaited
his verdict. His eyes and hair were wild., like that of a caged thing.
Derek
looked as though a heavy burden had been dumped on his shoulders--like a pile
of rancid, vile garbage, and he was the man honor-bound to deliver it to the
dump. Finally, he mumbled, "Let's keep him for a while. Make sure he's
unarmed. We need to get going."
Sprocket
nodded, frisked his friend quickly while a grumbling Nayr held Snively still,
and found only some communication devices to confiscate. 'I'll take him."
He led Snively as gently as possible to the center of the cockpit, his every
thought and step laden with guilt, and allowed Nayr to tie the human's hands
and feet with some inexhaustible rope. All the while, Snively's head bowed at
the ground, his eyes bleary and dull, a haze or stupor having overcome him.
Like humiliation in the act of incompetence, anger at the disease of weakness.
Slavery at its best. It reminded Sprocket of the look his friend used to get on
his face whenever Colin Sr. took a belt to Snively's hindside--gloomy,
enduring, dead ACCEPTANCE. 'Worthless," he thought he heard the human
mutter.
Then
one of the children, Sonic, approached and gave the human's armband, with the
red R for Robotnik, a cruel, teasing snap. Snively growled and a loosely-bound
booted foot struck out, but easily missed the speedy child's frame--the
hedgehog dodged, laughing and sticking his tongue out at the prisoner. From the
back of the craft, Bunnie's syrupy young voice implored her saucy friend to
leave the human alone, strengthened by Sally's reluctant agreement. No doubt
the children were keeping Rosie's teachings of charity in mind. It was an
admirable grace for their young age. Snively, for his part, settled back into
place and slouched even further to the ground at the sound of her kindness.
While
Nayr warily approached Derek and asked for a briefing on his mission, Sprocket
took the opportunity to convey his makeshift plan to his incarcerated friend.
He thought no one else was listening. "Just hang tight. I'll find a way to
release you when we get to Nimbus. Just play along like we hate each
other."
Snively's
gaze snapped on the canine's face. "But I don't need to 'play
along.'" Sincerity lashed every word with venom. " I DO hate you, for
this."
"But
you don't--"
"Oh,
I understand. You screwed with the command files back at the oil freighter,
didn't you? That's what took you so long. You did it deliberately to free your
filthy little animal friends instead of letting me just do the job quickly and
cleanly. Damned dirty little animals . . "
"Two
of them could have killed you in a heartbeat if I weren't here, Snively."
The
reply was both impulsive and illogical. And painful. "I still hate you.
Why can't you just be DEAD?" Snively writhed against his bonds, in order
to turn and face the back of the craft, away from the canine; air hissed
between his bared teeth. 'Why can't I just KILL you?"
"
You can't accept that trust is unconditional? You don't know me well enough to
know I would never harm you?"
'"Shove
off, Mobian." The human's arms crossed over his chest, made him his
cocoon, and he cringed away from the friend who had become his conscience. He
tried to engulf as much of himself as he could into the gloomy dim light of the
craft's floor, fingers over face. "Just leave me alone. I don't care
whether you let me go or let them kill me--I don't care! When will you get it?
I just want to be left alone! ALONE!"
Numb,
Sprocket stood and backed away from the stranger who had once been his brother,
returning to the pilot seat. "I'll always catch you, you stupid
goof," he breathed. "And just my luck, you do a lot of falling."
Snively's shoulders jerked--it was impossible to discern whether he heard or
was just fidgeting against his uncomfortable bonds.
Sunset
was painting the deep blue paper of the sky radiant reds and oranges. Temporal
peace had returned. Despite the fierce quarrel, the canine was satisfied with
his plan of action . . . until the princess appeared from behind the chair.
"I heard every word," she declared. "Why are you doing that for
a monster like him?"
Sprocket
was paralyzed. Still words managed to form on his lips. "Because he's
still my friend, and I still love my friends. Always."
"You
still have hope in their potential," she finally remarked, after an
eternal silence, gnawing contemplatively on a nail.
"Yeah,"
he croaked. "Something like that."
Her
stare was imperceptible. "Good night, Mr. Apollo," she said, and left
him to his flying.
If
only he could soar above his own fearful ruminations.
****
Nack
the Weasel slung a gangly leg over the edge of his airbike, crooked canine fang
gnawing mercilessly on the end of an unlit cigarette.
Damned
thing, he mused, ripping the thin white object from his mouth. It was as
useless as these uppity "Freedom Fighters"--crusaders with no gain.
No profit.
There
was nothing more pointless, no graver sin, in Nack's mind, than committing an
act without thought of personal profit. What else was there anymore? Greed was
no crime--it was survival instinct; it was the fuel of motivation. Hell, if
there was one thing he'd give nasty old bulk-bottom up in Robotropolis, it was
that the brute had discerned a profit, made a clear plan of action, and seized
his treasure. He'd shoot old Julian point blank if he had two seconds'
chance--yes, despite the biter testimonies of the bounty hunter's clients, he
felt a little something against the tyrant human for what he did to innocent
Mobians. A morsel of anger and disgust, for after all, the man HAD sent robots
out to murder his parents the day of the coup-- on their wealthy western
continental ranch, leaving Nack and his twin sister bankrupt and orphaned.
But
there was no denying the despot knew how to get what he wanted. No matter what
the means. And Nack had to admire that breed of determination.
He
sighed--a long, hissing, weary, protracted sort of groan. This attribute, the
cause of his only reverence, was utterly lacking in the client with whom he had
a rendezvous today. She was one of those soft old fools who mistook stupidity
for selflessness. Maybe that was why he felt like vomiting instead of leaping
for joy at the thought of the boundless fortunes she'd promised him. Maybe he
even felt sorry for her, for her desperation, because she was such a slave to
her ability to keep others safe and contented. Nack prided himself on the fact
that he had no strings attached--that he was at no one's mercy.
It
was an unseasonably hot day--sweltering, even through the shade of the canopy.
Nack shook his frame free of the sweat beads that were making his dusty
lavender fur stick and itch against his skin. He flashed a look at his watch,
removed his derby and wiped his forehead and crazy unkempt hair. He eyed the
silent, dark Knothole huts, in the near distance. "Come on, Nannie
Woodchuck, let's get crackin.' " He put the cigarette back in his mouth,
just to alleviate his boredom. Another pride of his was the fact that he'd been
able to smuggle contraband tobacco off just about every black market source
this side of MegaCentral since the coup. Since he joined the Bounty Hunters
Society, since he realized that there was a price, really, for everything.
"That's
a peculiar expression," an ascetic female voice floated from the foliage.
"Could you explain the logic behind it?"
Nack
gasped and vaulted off the bike, clambering for a weapon in his belt. He was
more enraged than startled, for it had been years since anyone had the stealth
to catch him by surprise. His long tail lashed fiercely, like that of a
mongoose preparing to strike a wayward snake. "Who the hell--"
"Easy."
The voice grew soothing. "I'm unarmed." A curvaceous ruby echidna
slid from the underbrush, a wry smile on her lips. She cocked her head.
"And I'm not from hell, either."
Nack
blinked, sputtered a few attempts at a witty comeback. Having expected the
company of a modestly-clad woman old enough to be his mother, he now struggled
to veil an extremely pleased croon of, 'Well, helllll-oooo, dolly!" and a
lopsided grin. As ever when enthusiasm got the better of him, his Western lilt
seeped back into his voice. "YOU sure ain't Nannie Woodchuck!" He
tipped his hat, with a hoot, eyeing just about everything below her neck.
"And I'll THANK y'all for THAT!"
The
echidna frowned, adjusting visors, pursing her lips. She was either mildly
irritated or mildly amused at his uncouth greeting, but behind the shiny black
curtain she was fingering, it was too enigmatic for him to decide. She was
still talking, in a breathy and mesmerizing tone; he wasn't listening. He was
gawking.
"EXCUSE
me, sir!" Her voice acquired volume and firmness. Hoping his cheeks were
not as red as her fur, the weasel shuddered back to alertness. His eyes snapped
back on her perturbed face.
"I'm...uh...sorry?
What?"
The
echidna planted hands on her waist. "I said, who is Nannie Woodchuck? Does
she know these parts fairly well?"
He
chortled. "Too well, girlie. And her real name's Rosie." The sound of
the name made the echidna jump and wring her hands. Suspicion shrouded Nack's
dagger glare--might this woman be a rival hunter, come to steal his clients
from under his nose? No, he couldn't allow that--his sister Nicolette would
have too long a laugh over that one. He eased closer to her, one index finger
extended towards her. "Who wants to know?"
The
echidna grinned. She was stolid and still as a statue, composed as a human on
valium. Almost as if his company were tedious. "You're going to have to
work for that answer."
"Oh?"
he bared his fangs; he was grinning, relish in his eyes. Licking his lips,
irreverence and mirth in his tone. "Pray tell, mademoiselle," he
snickered, spitting out the cigarette at her feet, "what might my homework
assignment be?"
"You
get my visor off my face, I'll tell you my name first. I get your derby off
your head, you tell me yours first." Her smile acquired mischief.
"Deal?"
Nack
cackled, slapping his thigh. When he sobered, he nodded once.
"Yes'm."
"Alright,
then." She inhaled deeply, staring upward, as if concentrating or
meditating, arms folded across chest. "Go ahead."
Nack
rose a skeptical eyebrow. He wondered if perhaps his unexpected company were
blind. "Hey, now, listen, I may be a shameless swindle, but I'm not gonna
fight a lady without giving her a fair chance." He spat on the ground
challengingly. "What kind of ass do you take me for? I mean, Mogul's
Trunk, girl, haven't ya got a pocketknife or something? I'll wait!"
She
did not even look down at him. "No unfairness here. Believe me. Go ahead,
try."
Nack
guffawed. "Well, of all the arrogant... fine, sweetheart, you asked for
it!" Well versed in martial arts, gained from a close friendship with a
sniper of sorts, Rouge the Bat, Nack utilized grace and savagery all in one
attack. He flung at her with leg outstretched, like lightning.
He
still wasn't fast enough.
A
rumbling noise filled the landscape, and yet seemed to emanate solely form his
opponent's being. In a time measured too liberally even by milliseconds, a
bright emerald current of energy, neither liquid nor gas nor electricity, and
yet all of these, bombarded him. The feeling was both exquisite and
excruciating, but more than either, overwhelming. Nack flopped to the ground
beyond the echidna like a dead fish. He wheezed, eyes wide, as she stepped over
him and gently removed the derby from his sweat-caked head. "Name's . .
.N-N-Nicholas Jay Weasel II" he coughed. "Call me Nack."
She
offered him her hand and he struggled panting to his feet. "I'm J'Ran.
It's a pleasure. Oh yes," she breathed, in his ear, making him quiver,
"By the way, don't call me 'sweetheart.' "
"Whatever
you say!" He limped to his bike, trying to collect his thoughts.
'Well,"
a new female voice, rich, benevolent and somber, sliced through the tense
moment, "that's something I don't usually hear out of YOU." Rosie
strode from the direction of the huts, wrapped in multiple gray garments. She
offered J'Ran an apple from her backpack, pointedly sidestepping Nack. He
rolled his eyes and snorted. "Here, dear, please accept this gesture of
peace," Rosie proceeded, "and tell me your name. It seems you've been
looking for me."
"You
gonna give the arthritic nannie your little 'test,' too?" Nack hissed,
feeling dejected, rubbing a throbbing elbow. "Because that would REALLY be
amusing."
"No."
J'Ran spoke as if the dark humor of the statement did not register. "No,
because Miss Rosie has information of a vital nature to me, information that a
person by the name of Sprocket told me would be boundless. Rest assured,"
she added, when alarm seeped into the squirrel's face, "that he also made
it plain that you would not succumb to any measure of brute force. If you
choose not to divulge information to me, I will not harm you. After all,"
and she winked winsomely at Nack, "I don't have any weapons."
Rosie
sighed, and nodded to the airbike. "Can it carry three?" she asked
the weasel.
'Aw,
come on, I don't have all freakin' millennium..."
"Just
answer the question, Nack."
He
grunted. "Yeah, sure. But you get to sit in the back." He grinned
another grin of attempted aplomb at J'Ran. "I aim to enjoy my company this
evening!"
'Come
along, dear," Rosie snapped, quickly making herself a barrier between the
bounty hunter and newcomer on the bike. She handed the sullen weasel a
tattered, hastily-scrawled map. "Nack, here are the coordinates of
J'Ran
shook her head. "Milady, I'm afraid I already have learned that lesson far
too well."
"Just
one question," Nack sneered while revving up his engines. The leaves and
pebbles of the forest floor roiled under them as they began to elevate, and the
echidna awaited the query patiently, tilting her head over Rosie's shoudler.
"Yes?"
"What
exactly IS your line of work, Miss J'Ran? You know Robotnik and his Pretty Boy
nephew? Or are you with Nannie Woodchuck here?"
"I'm
not well acquainted enough with their struggle to take sides," she retorted
frankly. "I'm a neutral."
He
chuckled, low and cynical. "Yeah," he murmured, "I pretend that
I am, too."
----------------------------------------
Post 63:
Tristan Palmgren
"So
what's it like to be a Freedom Fighter?" the rather hefty walrus asked
him, breathlessly. When it looked as though Derek would ignore him, again, he
tugged sharply at the koala's arm fur. Being hairless himself, the walrus was
evidently unaware of just how painful and irritating that was to his furred
brethren. "Is it anything like Sally says it is?"
It
had been years since he'd had to deal with children. He'd almost forgotten how
unintentionally egocentric their little minds could be - the walrus had just
blithely assumed that he'd already known everything the Princess had said on
the subject, when in fact he'd only met each of them a few days ago, and then
only briefly. Keeping one eye firmly on the airship's control panel, Derek
turned to glance at the child. This kind of undeserved hero worship had been
the last thing he'd prepared for. He had no idea how to respond.
While
the other adults had busied themselves securing their prisoner in the back of
the airship, Derek had gone back to the pilot's controls and lifted the ship
off the ground. He faced them towards the northern sea, and the course that
would eventually take them to
Some
of the kids had left, but of those who were here, all of them had their
attention focused on Derek. Dulcy seemed to have picked up on how the others
were treating him and was starting to do the same herself, as if trying to fit
in with her peers. She had seen just how useless Derek was in a pressure
situation first-hand, and she was still doing it! Even the brash blue one
regarded him with something akin to adulation.
Didn't
any of them understand?
"C'mon,
what's it like?" the walrus prodded again. "Do you think we could
help you fight Robotnik?"
Derek
fought a sudden impulse to point to the blood that still stained his forehead
and tell the walrus that that was what 'Freedom Fighting' was like. That voice
wasn't his better self speaking, he knew, but he couldn't ignore it. He was in
no mood for this. He just wanted to scare the kid straight, and make him
understand that this wasn't the kind of thing that should be worshipped. He was
still terribly groggy from blow to his skull. Though he hadn't told Sprocket or
anyone else about this yet, he was having trouble thinking clearly, and was constantly
fighting an overpowering urge to sleep. It was probably a concussion. Maybe he
would have to ask the squirrel Princess if he could borrow the medical scanners
and her computer... what was its name? ...Nicole? That would have to come
later, though. Right now the pilot's console needed his attention.
Instead
of giving into to either impulse - to fall asleep or scare the walrus straight
- he merely chuckled weakly, and said, "I'll tell you around a roaring
campfire someday. I promise. But I'm a little busy right now."
The
door to the rear compartment hissed open. Derek glanced back, hoping to see
Sprocket so that he could finally understand how he had evaded insanity
earlier. He needed some backup here. Instead, though, he saw the squirrel
princess. She glanced about the room, expression implacable. She was one of the
only children who didn't seem to regard Derek as some kind of hero, and for
that he was grateful. She looked out the airship's viewport for an empty
moment, and then pulled Nicole out of her boot and began speaking to her in
quiet tones.
Derek
blearily thought to himself, Nicole? Wasn't there something he'd meant to ask
something about her? About some kind of scan? Well, he couldn't remember now,
so it must not have been important
Normally,
he would have shooed the children out of the airship's cockpit, but the only
other room on the tiny ship was the storage room in the back, and that was
where Snively was being held. He hesitated to send any of them back with that
beast. It worried him that even Sally had gone back there. Snively had almost
shot her! Derek would have killed that monster himself if he'd had to, no
matter what Snively had said about his courage or lack thereof. When a child's
life was on the line, he... he was willing to kill to defend it. He would've
s-shot, would've murdered, right then and t-there.
Wouldn't
he?
He
remembered just how fiercely his hands had trembled when he'd gripped that
rifle. It had seemed like he would be more likely to pull the trigger by the
accident of shivering fingers rather than any action of his own volition. He
had never been put a situation where had to take a life before, and it was only
by the sheerest of luck that he had escaped the choice this time. Abstractly,
intellectually, he knew shooting was the right thing to do if the life of
someone more innocent than his target was on the line, but he didn't know if he
could make the same choice while under the actual pressure.
Well,
it was over now. Thanks to the timely intervention of Sprocket and the Sadosii,
he hadn't had to make that choice. Both Snively and Sally still lived. If he
was still fated to make that decision at some point, at least it wouldn't be
for another day. He could concentrate on other things.
His
present situation was somewhat worrying. To put it bluntly, he had no idea what
was going on.
The
Sadosii had attacked him, certainly, but that was the last thing he could
remember. The next thing he knew, he'd waken up here to face the unfriendly end
of Snively's pistol. Nayr was acting as Derek's ally - if a reluctant one - and
had probably saved both his and Sally's life just now. He wasn't even
threatening Dulcy. He had no idea what had happened between then and now to
provoke this startling change. And Sprocket... ye gods, Sprocket!... was here,
good as new, and acting as though he'd never been shot in the faceplate. So
many strange and completely unexpected things had happened that he was
seriously starting to wonder if he'd dreamed this entire affair.
Derek
may not have been in control of the situation, but the kids sure looked up at
him as if he were in command. He was the first 'Freedom Fighter' they'd ever
encountered. Ari had imparted a few words of wisdom about the art of leadership
in the weeks before they'd parted company. The most paramount rule, he'd said,
was to never show fear, no matter how afraid he actually was. The person giving
orders should never be publicly terrified. That was when people started
panicking and stopped following commands. It was only out of respect for this
rule that Derek didn't immediately launch himself out of his chair, grab him by
shoulders, slam him against the wall, and loudly and fretfully demand an
explanation for everything that had happened since he'd been knocked out. The
last thing anybody needed was to terrify the children even more.
Instead,
in a quiet, controlled voice, he asked, "Sprocket, don't you have something
you'd like to tell me?"
His
forced timidity had the effect opposite the one he'd intended. The canine
dismissed Derek's question with a simple wave of his paw. "In a
moment," he said. "Where's Princess Sally?"
The
other children glanced in Sally's direction. Sprocket followed their gaze.
Sally was in the quiet corner of the airship's control cabin, and, once she
heard her name spoken, she raised her hand a little to acknowledge Sprocket.
Her face was composed and serene, despite the fact that she'd stood on the
precipice of death only moments ago. If anyone looked to be in command of the situation,
it was this child. For a moment, it looked as though her face was nothing more
than a regal mask, and that she didn't want any emotions to slip through. Then
her eyes softened. "Yes... Commander Apollo? What do you want?"
Derek
briefly considered just giving up and placing Princess Sally in command. She
certainly seemed more capable than he was. He was a little frustrated at the
ease with which Sprocket had shrugged off his question. It was a little late to
protest now, however. Sprocket was already involved in another conversation.
Derek took a deep breath, turned back to the pilot's controls, and listened.
Sprocket
leaned down on his knees until he could face Sally eye-to-eye. "You took
Nicole back almost before I could get the whole story out of her, but I found
out enough," he said. "That wasn't a very nice thing you did, you
know. You shouldn't have used Nicole to spy on Rosie."
Sprocket's
paternal tone of voice slid right off Sally as though her oak brown fur
repelled it. It probably affected her inside, of course, but she let none of it
show on her external. The next words she spoke were tranquil and adult, a sharp
contrast to her distinctly eleven-year-old body. "Please don't be
condescending, Commander. We did what we thought had to be done, and we knew
just what rules we were breaking when we did it. Rosie... well, Rosie just
doesn't understand what Mobius needs. We had to do it. We want to help."
"You
mean, you want to help," Sprocket murmured. "You did what you thought
had to be done. The others, they're good kids, but none of them have the
initiative to pull what you did, not yet. Don't hide behind a group. If you're
anywhere near as adult as you're pretending, you'll step up and take personal
responsibility. Because, kiddo, with that one move you made, you just walked
out into the big leagues. Nothing can protect you out here."
Sally
stood taller. She drew a cloak of hostility around herself like a shield, and,
without words, she made it very clear that she disliked what Sprocket was
implying. "I *am* taking personal responsibility for this. You don't know
how much it hurt me to betray Rosie like that, but I'm doing it for the right
cause. I'm an adult and fully capable of making my own decisions. I can help
fight Robotn-"
"You're
not an adult," Sprocket interrupted. His tone deceptively soft and gentle,
so as to keep the other children from overhearing. It was only by straining his
ears that Derek was able to listen. The canine's voice was smooth but pained.
He was pulling no punches now, even though it clearly hurt him to be saying all
of this to such a fragile-looking child. If Snively were speaking these same
words, he would have done it coldly and without a trace of emotion, but
Sprocket couldn't eliminate his innate compassion. He was empathetic, but still
relentless. "You know that's not true. You're not just a child physically,
but mentally, too, no matter how much you try to hide it from yourself. You've
done entirely the wrong things ever since we've met. You've betrayed the trust
of your caretaker, spied on her and then used that information to run away from
home. You've endangered your friends by bringing them here, and not telling
them the extent of the danger they're in. You may wax poetic about 'the right
thing' and 'Freedom Fighting' all you wish, but that doesn't change the fact
that you brought them here without even letting just what exactly they were
risking. You've interfered in things you shouldn't have. You flew above the
city's radar range, and that's what brought Snively here. You nearly got you
and your friends roboticized, and Derek murdered. These are the fruits of your
labors, Princess. You can't lie to me. No matter how you try to dress it up or
explain it, these were still the actions of a child. Worse, they were the
actions of a fool... and you *are* going to take personal responsibility for
them."
Sally's
eyes were wide open and unblinking; the folds of fur on her forehead were bent
into an expression that could have been called anger, but instead looked as
though it had been frozen halfway its through formation. She stared at Sprocket
without seeing him. Her hands were curled up into fists at her side. One arm
trembled.
It
was a dressing down the likes of which she'd never seen before, and it was
clear that it had affected something hidden inside her. She wasn't sure how to
react, so she simply said nothing.
Sprocket
asked her, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have Derek turn this
airship around, and take you back to Knothole right now."
Sally
didn't answer. Her face had gone pale, enough so to even be visible through her
thick brown fur. The fur on her forehead was covered with a thick sheen of
sweat. The expression of anger had long since disappeared, only to be replaced
by... what? For a moment, Derek was unable to fathom it. It was part fear, yes,
but that wasn't the whole of it. He saw that it was doubt. Sprocket's words had
- for the first time - given her serious cause to doubt herself, and it was
shredding her apart inside.
Looking
at her as she appeared now, Derek could see the illusion of adulthood vanish.
Sprocket was right. It was easy to see it now. Sally wasn't the adult she
pretended to be, and neither were any of the other children. As brave as she
might try to be when it came to 'Freedom Fighting', she was only eleven years
old, and now that she had confronted her own failings it was more apparent than
ever before. She was just a small, frightened child who'd stumbled into
something far too big for her to handle.
After
a long moment of silence, patted her gently on the shoulder, and stood back up.
Remorsefully, he said, "Well, I can give you two reasons. We don't have
the time to drop you off anywhere. There's a group of people out there who need
to have supplies soon, and every hour counts. We can't turn around now. Rosie
is the second reason. She's probably gotten back to Knothole, now, and
discovered that you were gone. That means that she's going to come out this way
looking for you herself, and that she's not going back to Knothole until she's
found you. I'm afraid you're stuck with us, until this is all over."
Without
another word, Sally scooped up Nicole, and walked towards the airship's rear
compartment. The hatchway slid shut behind her. The other children gaped
wide-eyed at her retreat. Most of them hadn't been listening to the
conversation - most of it, anyway - but they had never seen Sally like that
before. Sprocket bore their accusatory stares. For a moment, he wavered, and
looked as though the only thing he wanted to do was to bend down and embrace
them. He regained control of himself, though. Some of them looked hopefully at
Derek, as though they thought that he would offer his support against the
canine aggressor, but he said nothing. Some of the glances turned to glares, as
he was rendered guilty by association and inaction. One by one, they all
followed their Princess to the airship's rear compartment.
Sprocket
slumped down into the seat closest to Derek's, the co-pilot's chair. They were alone
up here. Derek acknowledged him with a quiet nod, but otherwise didn't say
anything. They shared something that felt like an after-battle mentality. They
both felt as though they had just committed a crime. A necessary crime,
perhaps, but a crime nonetheless.
"I
didn't want to hurt them like that, you know," Sprocket said at last.
"I
know," Derek said.
"You
should get some rest, you know. I can take over the controls," the canine
offered. A slight grin worked its way into his voice. "You certainly look
like hell. Are you sure you're okay, after that disc hit you...?"
"I'm
not sure. But I can keep flying. I don't think I'd be able to sleep much,
anyway," he lied. Something tickled the back of his mind, something he'd
been dying to ask earlier, but had almost forgotten in all the confusion. He
glanced over at the robot. "Sprocket?"
"Yes?"
"Between
when I get conked out and when I woke up here... would you mind getting around
to telling me what the hell happened? Good gods, man, I don't even know how
you're still alive!"
--------------------------------------------
J.R. Grant
"How
good are you at patching up a discus wound instead of making one?" the
robot asked irritably over his shoulder. "Because I'm getting the feeling
I've got some major flying to do before this day is through."
Nayr
didn't even understand the significance between a discus wound and flying, but
he was too broken to ask. His stupid imagination... he remembered quite
clearly. As he imagined his sword cutting the marsupial in two, the hands went
around his neck. Nayr could normally have avoided this. In fact, he probably
could have broken free. This however, was a robot. Its moves were incredibly
fast and its grip more than he could have taken. Then he found out that the
marsupial wasn't some trigger happy idiot. He had the same intentions as
everyone else except the white sadosii... the overlanders. Nayr shuddered.
Look
at me. Do I look like a doctor to you? A belt full of weapons, a sword strapped
behind my back and-- Nayr stopped. It was his fault that the mistake had been
made. Now he had to make up for it, even if he still questioned the koala's
authenticity. Nayr knew that stopping blood flow was the first priority, but
how to do that on the head was something he didn't know how to do... then he
remembered. Apply pressure. Nayr pushed his palm against the torn uniform,
blood turning it sanguine. It wasn't long until the koala began to come to
through groans of severe discomfort. The robot immediately swung around, his
face full of radiance.
"SCORE!"
He yelled slamming his fist down on the dashboard, the dashboard remarkably
remaining intact. The next minute made Nayr fume. Sprocket explained that Nayr
had gotten "aggressive". While that was true, Nayr didn't like
hearing the affair repeated, past events constantly rubbed in his face...
"I
struck decisively and aggressively when I believed you intended harm to
innocents," Nayr loudly retorted in anger. "If you expect an apology,
it's not coming, but I do intend to correct my error by healing you. It
shouldn't be too great an undertaking--the blood makes the wound seem far
deeper than it is."
"Are
you sure?" the koala asked darkly, ducking from the fingers that were
trying to remove the bandage. Nayr growled, but Sprocket told them both to can
it. Nayr reluctantly dropped the subject. Nayr drifted off much like he had
earlier, losing touch with the current conversation. Mainly by a smell... a
foul stench that belonged to the white sadosii-- the overlanders. Nayr
remembered the history that had all but disappeared about the underground
society of the overlanders. Millennia before, they had moved underground and
when they came back to the surface thousands of years later, they tried to take
over the planet. They felt they had the right to do so. The lesser races fought
back and finally agreed to a treaty, where the overlanders agreed to remain in
the city of
Sirens
brought Nayr back from his horrible memories of betrayal. The smell
strengthened. One of those cursed white sadosii was trying to break in. One of
the ones who succeeded where thousands of other white sadosii failed. Sprocket
motioned for Nayr to follow and he gladly obeyed. The hatch to the back opened
of its own accord and the small white sadosii walked in.
"You've
been very bad little furries. Let's not put up too much a struggle, shall we?
If you behave, I'll just shoot you and be quick about it, and..."
He
paused, eyeing Sprocket. He seemed to be struggling over something...
"I'm
not sure what detracted you from delivering that oil to the city, Commander
Apollo," the white sadosii said with a hint of doubt in his voice. "But
it seems you've got it all under control. Sorry for stepping on your
toes...."
Nayr's
first reaction was another case of betrayal. He almost turned on Sprocket when
he noticed Sprocket's tone and how the white sadosii delivered his sentence to
the robot. It looks like the betrayal was the other way around...
"I
couldn't stand to see you...with your own hands, Snively...to see you..to
these...these KIDS...." Sprocket weakly rambled.
"Damn.
I knew you couldn't take this. I knew you should have left. Damn you, Sprocket.
When I'm through with this rabble, I'll finish you off--by then, after you see
what happens to these 'kids,' I think you'll be grateful for it." his
voice shaking with rage and anger, the voice of trust being broken. The little
girl spoke then.
"You
creep, I remember you! You're almost as good a FAKER as your uncle." she
yelled at him.
"You
shut up, little girl! Shut up or consider yourself the first volunteer for the
firing squad!" Snively yelled, tears coming down his face now. The child
took a step back, surprised by the inaccuracy of her unjust assumption. The
weakness of Snively must have had an effect on the koala's actions. He whipped
out that same laser rifle that was focused on his head only a little while
earlier. Snively just laughed maniacally.
"Oh,
riiiight, You don't have the balls to shoot me, Freedom Fighter!" Snively
replied with amusement at the koala's threatening actions.
"W-W-Well
y-y--" Derek stumbled over his words, the laser pistol losing its sight.
What a wimp... the children were in danger. They all were. He hated this
overlander. He hated them and everything they stood for. Domination. Like the
mages...
"Maybe
he doesn't," Nayr held out his hand and used some of the magic in his
necklace to draw his sword, electric current pulsing through the air as it
glided into his hands. With a quick fluid movement, the little overlander was
hovering above the ground in front of his face, held up by the collar of his
shirt. Nayr placed the sword flush with the skin, just a little slide could
slit the throat... "But, oh, my dear young friend, rest assured that I can
do even WORSE." Nayr lightened the pressure of the blade, but kept the
adrenaline rushing by slowly bringing it back and forth lightly on the neck.
The little overlander stuttered through some pleads for mercy before calling
out to Sprocket.
"Oh,
God, Sprocket--help me, you fool! Help me, don't leave me!" Snively cried
in terror, a final plead to a former friend...
"No,
don't kill him, D... d-don't." Sprocket muttered. Nayr winced at what he
heard. Obviously there was still friendship between the two. Nayr growled and
did not loosen the grip. Perhaps there was more to this situation than there
seemed.
"You
know this little freak pretty well, don't you? Got a soft spot for an old
buddy?" Nayr asked, glaring through the little overlander.
"I...
I just mean he could be... ah, quite an asset. Yeah. You can use him as a
hostage. Use his knowledge of Robotnik's tactics to predict how to really
launch an attack against the city! Yeah, don't kill him--he's alone!"
Sprocket replied. His words had credit, but the tone did not. Nayr reluctantly
let go, the small figure dropping to the ground. Nayr had to keep from
chuckling at the pathetic overlander. Nayr would keep an eye and both of them.
He suspected that their friendship could either greatly work for them or
greatly work against them. Nayr decided that he could handle the situation when
it came anyhow, so he walked off to see what the koala was up to. It was time
to get a little info on what his mission really was.
"So,
koala, what is your reason for going out to Nimbus?" Nayr queried. The
koala shrank away.
"Why
should you care? Don't you have any more innocents to kill?!" the koala
replied and started walking away. Nayr was enraged, but didn't pursue the
comment further. He was about to ask again, with a little incentive this time,
but the koala replied on his own.
"I'm
refueling." was all he said, this time with a little less aggression in
his voice, and headed off towards Sprocket.
-------------------------------------------
A.
Fleury
(Snively)
He
curled into a tight little ball. An ear to the floor; he could hear the purring
engines of this machine. Children's quiet voices and the occasional hesitant
word between the koala and the black skinned creature.
He
thought he might sleep a little, but sleep seemed impossible with those voices;
they made him paranoid and he was still so bitterly angry. He never thought
Sprocket would take up the knife. Put another puncture into his back. But it
was only fair right? After what Snively had done...
Wrong,
wrong - Stupid! Stupid to trust anyone now.
He
must have drifted asleep nevertheless because he was no longer bound on the
floor. He was walking.
It
was blustering cold winter and he had lost his hat somewhere along the way. The
wind savaged his hair he could barely see through the thick tangling strands
and the snow blown white and wild around him.
What
am I doing out here? He clasped his thin arms around himself, shivering.
Then
he remembered. Where he was; why he had stopped with the snow cold around his
ankles. The thick hemlock trees were vastly familiar; this was the backyard of
his home. He was waiting for someone.
But
they didn't come. He called out, his voice ripped away by the wind; he could
see the snow whirling past the murky light Colin kept lit constantly on the
back porch.
He
finally slipped down under one of the trees, curling his knees close to his
chest. He was shivering; hands numbed. A few tears froze into hard beads on his
cheeks. This was what loneliness felt like. This was what the word alone meant.
And he felt strangely betrayed. Cold and angry, but mostly...empty.
Later
he learnt it wasn't Sprocket's fault. He had gotten stuck doing chores in his
newest foster family. Snively had patted the dog on the shoulder and said,
"Oh, it's alright. I quite enjoyed *not* having your mangy ass around for
once."
Sprocket
had laughed.
Ah
well, thought the dream Overlander, staring out over the snow which lay calm
and white in the forest now. At least those tears had melted....even if inside
he still felt frostbitten.
**
He
awakened with a groan. What a stupid memory. Or dream. Or combination thereof.
Gah. The bindings on his wrists were starting to get uncomfortable. He flexed
his fingers, wiggling a little, but the black hunter had pulled the bonds
tighter when Sprocket wasn't looking, and he couldn't get out.
The
door slid open with a quiet 'swish' and he feigned sleep, peering through his
eyelashes. If it was the hunter he wanted no further conflict with him, and Sprocket
had wandered into enemy territory. But no, it was the little girl. The defiant
one.
Too
bad he hadn't shot her. He didn't like her, no, not the way she'd called him
out. 'A faker?' he replayed it indignantly. She thought she could see through
him, apparently. Too ambitious for her own good. She'd be troublesome when she
grew up. Maybe he'd get another chance at her before then.
Right
now she had a peculiar look on her face. As one who had spent his lifetime thus
far maintaining a shield (no...a stone wall) he could see what this was. A
fault line in a shield, a line threatening to crack and shatter the barrier. It
made his lip curl. And she called him the faker...
She
stood there staring at the wall, in one hand clutched a small computer. He eyed
it curiously, noting the small red indentation in the top. So...the computer
was equipped with a laser. He opened his eyes wider, hands twitching. That
would cut through the ropes. Yes. Probably would take off a few of his fingers
in the process, but hey. As long as he got free, right. He'd prefer to do it
without Sprocket's empathetic help as well; just so he wouldn't be indebted any
further to that blasted canine.
A
moment later another child entered; the blue punk-ish looking hedgehog.
"Hey,
Sal," he said. "Are you ok?"
She
didn't answer.
"What
he'd say?" Sonic had actually heard part of the conversation but none of
it registered with him. It was just the prattle of another adult who thought
they were so much smarter.
"Maybe
we shouldn't be doing this," she mumbled.
"Hey.
Don't listen to him. What does he know anyway, huh?"
She
turned to the boy. They, even at this young age, had the air of two lovers who
had battled the years together.
'Star-crossed,'
Snively thought with a sneer. His eyes were half open now, lazily watching the
conversation. They didn't seem to notice him, or just didn't care.
"But
he's right, Sonic. I did...I screwed everything up. I thought everything was
going right."
"Hey,
we made a little mistake," the boy put a hand on her shoulder. "Rosie
always says mistakes are ok cause we learn stuff from them. Right?"
"Not
when they endanger lives..." She gazed upwards, sapphire eyes blinking;
shiny with tears.
"C'mon
Sal, we're all ok..."
He
trailed off as the door opened a third time. The girl seemed to regain her calm
air, the tears dissolving from her eyes, as the rest of the children wandered
in. They all looked equally dejected, indidgnance in their posture.
They
stood babbling around her, and the walrus nearly stepped on Snively's nose. He
grumbled and rolled closer to the wall. The chubby boy startled and jumped
towards the others, nearly bowling over the rabbit child.
The
defiant girl's eyes rested on Snively finally, and she frowned.
Snively
smiled back, his hands in fists under his chin; he was partially amused by
whatever their little dilemma was; and annoyed by being crowded in; having
little love or patience for children. "Oh...what's wrong..." he
taunted. "All your dreams of being warriors shattered, eh? Isn't that so
sad?"
The
hedgehog scowled. "Who asked you anything? Who *are* you, anyway?"
Snively
just smiled again, languidly, taking in the whole brood, and his eyes finally
stopping on one in particular, a little fox with blond hair who appeared to be
terrified by the sound of his voice. "One of your worst
enemies...rodent..." he purred, delighting in this at least; the way the
blond fox shivered and ducked behind the walrus's bulk.
HA!
At least someone was scared of him! It made him chuckle despite his plight.
"Leave
him alone, you creep," 'Sal' shot at him, her eyes narrowing.
"Shut
up, brat." He glared back at her. "You called me a faker...when
you're just a pathetic little girl trying to be all grown up... You think
you're smart shit, don't you?"
"Hey!"
The rabbit, who by all appearances looked sweet as sugar, showed her spice by
stamping closer to him and aiming a finger at his face. "Ya'll don't talk
to her like that, don't ya'll know she's a Princess?!"
Sal
pulled her back by the arm. "Just ignore him, everyone. He's not worth our
attention."
"Is
that so..." Snively mummered, entranced by the rabbit's comment. A
Princess? *The* Princess?? Sal...Sally, of course! He eyed her more closely as
she turned away, his eyes gone cold and predatory.
Yes,
it was she. Most certainly. When Julian and he had lived in the castle, he saw
very little of the Royal Daughter; he being busy in crafting a coup, and she
being constantly at play or in studies. And here she was, with her hair grown
out and unkempt, and wearing nothing on her body except for a pair of battered
blue boots. Her silken garments must be shreds by now.
"She's
Princess Nothing...now..." he retorted at the rabbit, who was still casting
a glare with her leaf-colored eyes.
She
grit her teeth, but apparently the Princess's word was sacred with the children
and she said nothing. The kids huddled into the corner furthest from him,
talking in hushed tones.
"Are
they taking us back?"
"No."
"Well,
that's good!"
"Yeah..."
Snively
sighed, eyeing the Princess's back one more time. How Robotnik would love to
have her. He could see Uncle's eyes now, lit up crimson as he held the fiery
upstart dangling by one arm. And how lovely she would squeal under the
roboticizer's beam. A cruel smile quirked his lips. He wanted to see that
too...
He
began to wiggle against his bonds again, in hopes of loosing them enough to
slip out, or maybe somehow nab the computer clipped onto the Princess's boot.
It didn't matter, so long as he got away from these wretches. And bringing back
a prisoner, especially the prestigious Princess, would perhaps make up for everything
Snively had botched.
Maybe
if Uncle had her in his grip, his fists would forget all the abuse they wanted
to inflict on his 'idiot' nephew. Surely the bloated bastard was screaming at
him now over the COM link...he could hear him now. Snively, where are you?!
Where is my oil! Did you get the ship, did you kill the thief, do you want to
die today, do you want another trip to the infirmary you worthless little
maggot? And so on and so forth...he was getting sick just thinking of that
horrid voice. He moaned and rolled up against the wall where he lowered his
head and brought his fists up further to his mouth, trying to tug the knots
loose with his teeth.
This
would take a while, but they would loosen eventually. He hoped. It was looking
to be a very long flight indeed. When they got to their destination maybe he
could make them all suffer doing this to him.
Maybe
even then, with the fresh stab mark in his back, he could even muster up the
willpower to turn his gun on Sprocket and be rid of him. Maybe he could destroy
the last tie to anything good (false) and loving (unreliable) and hopeful
(non-existent) in his miserable life.
Just
maybe.
Ealain Vangogh
He
remembered.
"Ye
gods, man, I don't even know how you're still alive!" The jubilant wail of
the koala piloting the hovercraft at Sprocket's side was a far cry from the
rusty dagger of, "Why can't I just kill you?" only half an hour ago,
and the accusatory glare, the ravaged visions, of a few moments past, both the
products of his own provocation. What despaired him more--violating the
security of a pure, untainted, courageous child or a tarnished, frail lifetime
friend?
Weariness
and hurt mounted Sprocket's shoulders and burdened him, made him drunk with the
desire to simply cease existing. Explaining how Snively had saved him from
certain death did not help to ease this sorrow.
And
hours later, as night descended thick and dark around the ship, as he and the
koala allowed the autopilot to coast them through the air to gratify an urge to
sleep, he remembered. Yes, memory, as ever opportunistic when he sank to
exhaustion and despair, struck. It struck as though a venomous serpent, with
cruel Irony.
The
only time in Sprocket's life that he truly considered abandoning Snively was
the morning of the coup. A convulsive shiver wracked his metallic frame.
"He.
. . killed it. . ."
He
was warning me.
Late
summer 3224. Sprocket was living with the Wolf Clan, face paint, loincloths and
all, and Lupe's father had indulged him in a visit to Mobotropolis under the
fib that the canine was picking up some produce. He would never forget that
strange, hazy afternoon when the air seemed too thick with stillness, with the
anticipation between spotting prey across the clearing, absorbing its wide
trusting eyes, and shooting without a flinch. The eye of the storm--so
inevitably temporal, transient, fleeting. Nakuma knew--yes, she knew why he was
really going to the city--but she smiled and pinched his arm as he left, that
clever, rich young voice so softly joyful and wise--"Going to rescue your
little hairless buddy again?" She tooted on her makeshift wooden flute,
pretending to be casual. She had seen the deepening worry creases on her
puppy's face.
Sprocket
tried to laugh. "He doesn't need to be rescued."
"No,
love--he doesn't WANT to be. It's too scary to change. He would rather live a
tepid existence with no risks than a glorious life laden with pitfalls."
An
unexpected lump choked the canine's throat. "So what should I do? What, if
that's true--if I can't fix anything for him? For anybody?"
"Just
sit with him. Sit with him and hum a happy tune, and talk about sunlight and
beauty and pumpkin pie, and laugh, until he realizes you can stand and stretch
for something better too--TOGETHER. The soil bears trees that stretch to the
sky every year because the mountain towers unshakable next to him--the mountain
promises him, in his gentle voice, that it is indeed possible to touch the
stars with your fingertips. Whether fingertips be rocks or weak, breakable
wooden branches, it IS possible. And in time, he will fix things for HIMSELF
because he knew YOU loved him--because he saw the wonders YOU could achieve
with that love."
"There's
a lot of faith involved in that fable, Nakuma."
"Of
course. After all, in the end, what else do we have?"
He
had departed with a new surge of bravado in his then-pulsing organic veins.
Rain pursued him during the entire trek following the end of the arid sand. It
was typically an hour walk, but the minutes crept by him, slithered from his
grasp, and suddenly an hour had become three. His stomach churned--God, Snively
was going to be so pissed. It was already a rough day for the boy's raw
emotions.
The
13th was his mother's birthday.
He
met the human by the bubbling and spraying palace fountain around 11 that
morning. They had hardly exchanged warm hellos--and, on Snively's rare part, a
desperate sort of hug--when a disturbing interruption soured the conversation.
"Snively!
Don't dawdle, boy!" Julian's great hulking form appeared in the doorway of
the palace, lips thinned with irritation. "It's getting LATE, you
know--you've only an hour left. Too late to play with your little...friend. Do
you see what I'm getting at, boy?" He crossed his meaty arms over his
chest.
Snively's
head hung; his eyes, having ignited with their fierce glimmer, died. The change
in him was remarkable. "Of course, sir. In a minute."
'Sir?'
When had he started addressing his uncle as 'sir?'
Julian
was not appeased. He stepped fully out into the light. "NOW, Snively.
There is no time for this anymore."
Snively
whirled around and bristled at the kinsman he revered in a manner Sprocket had
never seen. "IN A MINUTE!" He snarled, slicing an arm in the air.
Julian's
face was a mask of rage; his whole massive core trembled, and his eyes--it was
as if they glowed red. But perhaps it was only the glare of rain and oil
puddles off the street. He vanished back inside.
Sprocket
waited silently for his friend to speak. It was clear that a leaden weight was
dragging Snively into the ground, some grave and untold secret. Finally the boy
spoke. "I don't have much time--I need to ask you something. To . . tell
you something. Have you ever known you were going to do something
bad--something hideous--but it was too late and you were too tangled up to
stop? I mean, have you ever been afraid to voice your misgivings?"
"Well
. . ." Sprocket gave an honest chortle. "No, not really. Well, there
was that time I toilet-papered Ian St. John's Eucalyptus tree when I lived in
Downunda . . ."
"No,
not like that." Snively grabbed his arm; his palm was cold and clammy, his
eyes imploring. "Not a prank. A crime--a sin. Something that makes you
toss around in your bed all night with voices of doubt and accusation in your
brains . . ."
Sprocket
withdrew from him and faced him square in the eyes, jaw set like that of a
stern elder sibling, despite his younger age. He extended an index finger; he
was still fighting laughter, for his friend often voiced these dark, cryptic
riddles of his psyche and was easily pacified by the canine's patient, warm
rapport. "Tsk, tsk, Snively, now, what on Mobius--"
"Never
mind. Just . . .never mind!" It was then that Sprocket understood
something was seriously wrong. A deeper register of grief had saturated his
friend's every feature--more than grief--it was REMORSE, thick and merciless,
draining blood from the boy's cheeks and returning only dark circles and bags
under his eyes. Snively was suffering, but this time, misery was expelling the
company it so typically loved. "I want your word that no matter WHAT
happens today, you'll just go home and STAY there. Just leave me alone
today--no matter what."
He
was warning me.
The
silence was longer and more terrifying than an anaconda. "What are you
going to do in an hour, Snively?"
Snively
stood ramrod straight, a squire confessing his fallacies to his knight. "I
found a bird nest this morning." It was a bizarre response.
"Yes?
And?"
"The
eggs were crushed from a fall--all except for one."
Sprocket
felt tears of empathy welling in his eyes. "I'm sorry you had to see that,
man, it must have been--"
"And
I crushed the last one under my boot."
The
dog's heart stopped. "What? Wh-what do you . . WHY?" The tears began
to spill over--but his spirit was retreating to safe numbness.
"Why?
Because of what I am going to do in an hour, that egg will be better off
crushed." Now Snively, too, was fighting tears--gnawing on a quivering
lip. "Now LEAVE. For God's Sake, leave."
Sprocket
did leave . . . for forty minutes. He did actually turn and walk away without
once looking back, with no intentions to ever look his friend in the face
again. Somehow the act against the very frail, blue speckled symbol of life had
violated some deeper part of him--had proven Snively's soul hated all things
connected with hope, truth, and the future. It had repulsed him.
But
then, five minutes outside the city, something had made him change his mind. He
came back.
Julian
invited him into the palace and apologized for his rudeness of an hour past. He
was oddly-clad in a red and yellow caped garment that was a stark departure from
his usual dull military uniform. While Sprocket's suspicion was keen, he
nevertheless accepted the hospitality --the tea that was spiked with a sedative
that knocked him out until the coup had been executed. He woke up in a roboticizer
tube. Muffled through the glass, he heard Julian, sprawled horrifically across
a desecrated version of King Acorn's throne, cackling: " Now you'll get
your dues for coming between myself and my nephew--now you will see that in the
end, his loyalties are to me alone--as will be the loyalty of the WORLD."
And
the last face he saw, the face of the one who roboticized him, was the face of
. . .
He
is still warning me. He is still telling me to leave him alone.
But
. . . but I can't do that. It would only prove to him that his belief in the
death of hope is real. There must be some way to prove . . .
What
was that? A tiny creak--detectable only to his enhanced robotic eardrums--from
the back of the craft brought him back to the present. The circular doorway
between front and back of the craft was open. And no one, not even the vigilant
Nayr, was awake.
Sprocket
slid from his seat and approached the children sleeping in a pile all over the
floor of the craft. Nearest the door was Sally, one leg stretched towards the
opening. A shadow was moving behind her. Sprocket charged for it soundlessly.
Snively
emerged from the floor in the doorway, crouched predatorily over the princess.
His pale complexion and hungry expression transformed him into a vampire. In
his bound arms was her filched computer, Nicole, a laser in its side blinking
and ready to shoot. And aimed at Sprocket's skull. Devoted rage was all over
Snively's face; a vein pulsed against the skin of his neck and forehead, and
his eyes were crazed. He would shoot if he had to, in order to fulfill his
purpose.
Damn,
Sprocket thought, remembering the consequences of the last time he failed to
heed Snively's warnings. When will I ever learn? And, remembering Nakuma's
words, he began to hum a tune from his childhood while approaching the
infuriated human. He put a finger to his lips, a promise that he would not cry
an alarm. Snively's resolve began to crumble as tears built in his eyes. He had
not expected, apparently, any expression of loyalty from the dog.
For
some reason, Snively's breath caught in his throat when the canine noted the
cords on his arms had obviously been shredded by a concerted effort at escape.
The dog's eyes drank in his face, probed for motives; while those twin pools
were keen, they revealed no comprehension. Without once ceasing humming,
without gaining a trace of emotion, Sprocket inclined his strong fingers around
the bonds . . .
And
ripped them off. Snively's jaw dropped; a wheeze of disbelief scrambled out his
open lips. Then, Nicole still tight in grip, he jerked back, eyes thinning to
hateful slits, and tried to wiggle his way to the rear of the
compartment--apparently seeing the dog's act as a sadistic taunt, a dare to
escape, now that he had discovered him.
Patiently,
and still humming, Sprocket followed. Snively, belly down on the floor like
that of a worm as he crawled, froze and craned his neck to face the once-friend
who now towered over him. His glare was that of a snake's head at the chopping
block--well aware of impending doom, but still willing to thrust every last
fiber of his contempt at his executioner. He sniffed hard, perhaps to hide the
angry terror of one betrayed.
Sprocket
smiled as he hummed. Wryly, sadly, knowingly. He bent over, slowly, gently, for
Snively's nerves, ever sensitive, were flirting with panic . . .
And
tore away the remaining bonds on the Overlander's legs. Every sparse muscle in
the human boy's body tensed; he blinked, inhaled sharply. His mouth formed one
mute word: "WHAT?"
Sprocket
remained in his disarming crouch, eyes locked on his prisoner's, and seized the
kidnapped computer in Snively's hands--like a benevolent schoolteacher urging
obedience from a particularly rebellious student. Still humming. For once,
Robotnik's Nephew was so stunned by the act of one whom he'd believed had
abandoned him that he put up no fight--Nicole slipped right back into the
safety of Sprocket's grasp.
The
canine stood, still humming, still staring, and backed in soft, methodical
steps from the escapist. He rested Nicole on top of a pile of fuel cans in the
corner.
A
place where a freed prisoner, a prisoner coveting a weapon with a built-in
laser, would be easily able to reach it again. Utterly unguarded--a temptation
that the strongest man would find irresistible.
He
stepped back to the door to the front cockpit, where all of the children still
slumbered in peace. Uncertainty roiled in his heart. But he had to give Snively
one last chance at honor. "My old friend," he breathed, "I still
TRUST you. You can't just crush me like the last egg in the nest."
Snively's
brow creased with the pain of one shot in the chest. He understood. To steal
Nicole now would be to violate every last grain of hope that his single remnant
of inner goodness--his only friend--had in him. Responsibility burdened what
strands of purity, as thin and wispy as his hair, remained in him with bitter
conflict. For Sprocket had put Snively's fate in his OWN hands, unwilling to
side with the human who was his past or the Mobians who were his present, in
order to continue avoiding the choice of loyalty that would determine his
future. Now the Overlander's own damnation or salvation was his to choose. Like
a true best friend, the canine had dealt him what he NEEDED, not what he
wanted.
Snively
hissed a lingering breath through his teeth. Slowly he nodded an affirmative,
not moving from the floor. Fear, deep ponderous fear, was in his eyes.
With
a swallow and a fierce effort, Sprocket turned and exited. He closed the door
behind him, knelt on the floor protectively near the children in case his trust
were to be misguided, and succumbed to nightmares that roiled with his inner
chaos. A marvel it was--even robots could dream.
Awakening
was a melee of harsh landings, piercing sunlight through the front window, and
a smack across the shoulder by the Sadosii. Nayr was cross--as usual.
"C'mon, kid, wake up--hell, I didn't know you robot types even
slept!" He hoisted a bleary-eyed Sprocket up on both feet, rousing some of
the children. Sally, still disconcerted by her upbraiding of the night past,
awoke first. Her muzzle curled with irritation at the sight of Sprocket so near
her, but she remained silent. "Derek's landed us on Nimbus," Nayr continued,
"and he asks that you and I go see your. . . the prisoner . . .for some
input on how to check the radar for Rosie's location without attracting any of
Robotnik's forces."
Sprocket
swallowed hard, his heart grappling for a swift silent prayer. It was time for
Snively's verdict--guilty or miraculously innocent. And the part of him that
had wanted to abandon the human on the day of the coup already sneered at his
deeper desires to believe in the good his friend once had possessed.
Yet
today, as it turned out . . .
Miracles
were not in such short supply after all.
Snively
hid in the shadows of the far back corner . . . and Nicole, precisely as she
was the night before, perched complacently on the pile of fuel cans. He had not
touched her.
He
had stayed.
It
was Sally, peering from behind the two adults in the doorway, who noticed first
that the human's bonds had been stripped form his limbs. "How did you get
untied?" She demanded. At this all of the kids started awake and bustled
to join her, sleepy and confused.
Despite the sleep deprivation haunting his features, Snively's smirk crawled wickedly up his face. It drank in, as before, the apprehension of the young ones, the powerlessness of the Acorn child who strove to lead t