Machinist Dreams

If the machine's eyes had been open, it would still have been dark.

The bleak gloom of the catacomb in which it rested may as well have been lifted from the surface of the moon. Its floor and walls were pitted with craters and crevices, the rock cracked and cut by the tiny rivulets of moisture that ran from the ceiling. From occasional breaks in the lofty, arching roof of the cavern, where from the floor one could even faintly distinguish the soft texture of natural soil and the wispy threads of still-growing grass, feeble beams of light lanced through the eternal dusk, serving not so much to cast light as to highlight the existing blackness. Amid the ever-present murmur of running water, a few bats chittered from somewhere in the winding passages. For all its apparent menace, it could still have been a perfectly natural cave, yet another shining example of the tourist-pulling subterranean tunnels that honeycombed the Emerald Hill Zone. Had the authorities known of this place, it is highly possible that it would have been swarming with visitors and aglow with camera flash bulbs in the blink of an eye.

This, however, was not a cave that attracted that kind of attention. Along the walls, thickened like armour under years of accumulated grime, the faint outline of a logo, a stark moustachioed face leering out of a metal plate, told its own story. That sneering face contained within it all the malice, contempt and greed that had tormented and suffocated an entire planet for years. It told of a struggle that had nearly obliterated all that remained good on Mobius, and one that its people would never return to lest some force from the stars dragged them screaming back into the Dark Ages. This cave deserved to be left alone, and to have the elements rot it. It was fitting punishment for the way it had contributed to the rotting of the world.

The room in question still played host to that unspeakable legacy. Broken computer terminals, trailing wires, fossilised blueprints and CDs and rusted instruments, all caked with a layer of limestone and loam that was thickening inexorably every day. It was as if the land itself had moulded itself into a tombstone, serving at last to lay this place to waste and bury forever all that it represented.

But in one corner, under the hood of a bank of lights that had long since burned out and broke, one final piece in this mural of terror stood defiant against the decay that was claiming the cavern around it. Iron bolts, rusted to the point of uselessness, bound it to a stout operations bench where it reclined in a stiff, moribund posture that suggested it should be in a coffin. Through the haze of dust, it was just possible to see a faint metallic gleam against the dead sunlight, as photon fingers curled around a heavily built, golden frame. Its hands were, even in its sleep, balled into wrecking-ball fists by its side, batteries of unused weaponry bristling around its wrists and lining its hips. Legs like oak trees rooted it to the stone floor, supporting it to perpetual attention. Only the head, slumped in disuse across its barrel chest from a stout, wire-ridden neck, betrayed any signs that the machine, for that was what it was, was not active. Two gigantic lamps that would have served as its eyes stared determinedly at its feet, their glow dulled for the moment, its bank of square teeth set into a stone-faced growl.

Why the designer had deigned to give it teeth was a mystery. But it did create a very imposing grin.

Slumped in suspended animation against its dying surroundings, standing alone against the clutter that was heaped all around it, the creature remained, as it had done for years. How many never mattered. They would not matter when the day came at last.

Even as it stood utterly motionless, a great energy seemed to bubble just under its stainless skin. A power yet to be tapped, a fury that could lay a world to waste.

The power to conquer the world stood briskly in rest against the wall, soaked in darkness, wrapped in rock, smothered by ignorance.

If it had been able to anticipate at the time, it would have. It would also have laughed.

There were a number of things that Sonic truly hated. Among them: megalomaniacal ex-dictators, wannabee rivals….

….and not being able to run.

His friends continually told him that he needed to rein in his hyperactive tendencies, but he had shrugged aside these particular remarks in a usual whirlwind of blue spikes as he streaked over the horizon. But there was only so much running one cooler-than-cool blue hedgehog could do before you started to feel like you were seeing the same things twice. So, after a number of lightning quick round-the-world trips, Sonic had finally, uncharacteristically, confined himself to the Freedom Fighter base of operations in the Emerald Hill Zone to see if he could find some other way of entertaining himself. He was already regretting it.

The base itself was looking almost as bored as he felt these days. Tails had set up an impromptu hammock, strung haphazardly across the north-east corner of the room, where he was presently trying to sleep through the doldrums and awake when something interesting happened. One of his distinctive double-tails was draped like a blanket across his face, apparently acting as a sleep-aid, while the other swung idly in the breeze of an open window. With Tails dozing, Sonic allowed himself a wry grin. At least Tails had some capacity to switch-off when there was no action to be had. This was more than could be said for Amy, who was idly flicking a tennis ball against a wall in a vain attempt to improve her already exemplary hand-eye coordination. The repeated 'ker-thunk' of the ball hitting the metal wound around Sonic like a steel cord, suffocating him even further. The only other signs of activity in the entire place came from the Kintobor computer, who was rapidly exchanging excited-sounding radio banter with the Floating Island. Sonic recognised the voice of Porker Lewis from the other end of the line.

"Old hideaways, you say? From the RRB period?"

"Almost certainly," Porker chirped from the speaker, his voice becoming as unusually high-pitched as it always did when he became giddy, "I've been monitoring some satellite data for some time now. It seems that Robotnik had several major orbital weapons platforms in construction over the planet not long before his committal. I've been analysing their core memory banks, it's like stumbling into a gold mine!"

"Fascinating…." Kintobor mused, "and you think that you might be able to break the codewalls regarding their location?"

"As soon as I get these new algorithms cracked, the safety precautions are extremely complicated…"

Sonic took great care at this point to zone out whatever was being said by the two scientists. Unless it could be run through, knocked senseless or blown to pieces, he really wasn't interested.

"I don't personally see the attraction," Sonic drawled, "So walrus-chops left some of his toys behind. Why should we touch 'em?"

"Now really Sonic, that isn't like you," Kintobor clucked, "Some of this machinery could bring serious benefits to the people of Mobius if we can lay hold of them. I have to say, Robotnik was extremely ahead of his time…"

Sonic shot Kintobor a venomous stare. Compliments about Robotnik didn't get past him.

"Yeah, a leading expert in the field of ripping planets from the roots, burning homes to the ground, turning innocent people into badniks on a production line basis…. Did I also mention that he's tried to kill us all more than once!" He hissed, with a dreadful note of finality. Kintobor appeared to concede, hanging his disembodied head.

"Well yes, of course, such an evil has never tread the planet…. But if some of this technology could be reversed engineered, re-programmed to help the public…."

"Who knows?" Sonic spat, "By tomorrow we could have a death-ray in every house! One pet badnik for every child! Now that's what I call progress!"

From the other end of the line, Porker's voice crackled through.

"Sonic, this is narrow-minded, even for you. Nobody has a greater contempt for what Robotnik did to Mobius than we do, I fought alongside you against him for more years than I'd care to count…. But if we have any opportunity to undo some of the damage that he's done to our world then we owe it to everyone to take it. Even you couldn't deny that!"

Sonic narrowed his eyes and dropped his gaze from the terminal, but said nothing. Porker had proven his point. He certainly knew of the horrors that Robotnik had once been able to conjure. He had been a prisoner of the Brotherhood of Metallix for over a month, stuck on the Miracle Planet while the Emperor and his robotic hordes had altered the timeline of Mobius itself and nearly wiped all organic life from existence. It was this incident that had pushed Porker into a nervous breakdown and, eventually, to leave the Freedom Fighters. Porker had certainly earned the right to contradict Sonic. If anyone knew of the evils of the past, it was him.

"We actually managed to zone in on a couple of bases in close proximity to you, in the Emerald Hill Zone!" Porker continued, "Most of South Island is riddled with subterranean tunnels, it would have been a perfect spot for Robotnik to launch some kind of a sneak attack. Luckily, we brought him down before the badnik production could start. Knuckles and I are going to take a look around ourselves, see if there's something we can salvage."

"I guess that means we can leave you to it," Sonic replied, barely stifling a yawn, "I need a run anyway, and those tunnels aren't the place for it."

At this point, Sonic began to flex the muscles in his arms and legs, feeling the power seep back into them after his long period of boredom. If nothing else, he may as well stretch his legs, but it had been getting less fun doing it alone. He craned his neck as he got to his feet, eyeing Tails from across the room.

"Yo, Tails!"

In his hammock, the fox stirred. He gave himself a brisk shake from crown to both quivering tails as Sonic's distinctive voice pulled him back from sleep.

"No time for dozing pixel-brain, I'm getting tired of this place! I feel a run-around coming on."

Tails stretched his limbs in response, several bones clicking into place. A new confidence had crept into his eyes, a streak of adolescence that was so unlike the persona of his guerrilla days.

"What'd ya have in mind?"

"Three laps of the Emerald Hill Zone, from here to the coast, back to the Frozen Zone border and back. You get a head start." He added, casting a sly grin at his friend and planting one foot in readiness against a convenient wall. Tails leered back, then sent a brief, powerful gust sweeping through the space with a sharp twirl of his double-tails.

"See you on the horizon!"

Tails was in the air a moment later, both tails now a blur in the air behind him, piercing gouts of cold air rocketing between ceiling and floor. Then, springing off the wall behind him, he had accelerated past a terrified-looking Kintobor and out of the open window behind him. Tails was still gathering speed as he dwindled into the cotton clouds gathering over the Zone. Sonic nodded to himself, half in admiration, but retained his cocky sneer.

"Can't fault him for enthusiasm," he mused, habitually easing one ankle off the floor, "But when it comes to pure speed…."

Sonic had curled into a low crouch, both hands low in front of him, eyes fixed on the tiny gap of the window. Amy looked up briefly from her time-wasting and gave him a mocking glance.

"Shouldn't you be gone? Tails won't slow down for you."

"Good. Makes the race more interesting…."

Sonic was gone in the following second. All that remained of him was a vanishing blue sheen, an azure streak barrelling through the air and into the world beyond. From where she sat Amy had just enough time to see him uncurl from his trademark 'spin attack' technique, slide gracefully down the walls of a conveniently close house (past the stunned-looking occupants, apparently honoured to have Sonic blaze up and down their home) and break smoothly into a full-tilt sprint as he hit the ground. A whirl of motion and a resounding sonic-boom later Sonic was levelling with his opponent, both of them now shrinking specks against the vast shine of the ocean beyond. Amy allowed herself a grin. Sonic's amazing running ability had never failed to astonish her when she had first known him, but years of seeing him charge around Mobius faster than sound (or hearing him brag about doing so) had numbed her to it. She turned back to Knitobor, who had by now severed his link with Porker.

"Poetic justice…" she muttered, twirling the tennis ball around her free hand. Kintobot gave her a stare of incomprehension.

"Pardon?"

"Poetic justice," Amy repeated, smiling, "you and this excavation thing. Years ago all the things in those hideouts would have been used to try and wipe us all out and tighten Robotnik's control over everyone that was left. Now we're going to use it to get this world back on its feet while he gets to watch from his padded cell! The very things he created are going to erase the last traces of his legacy. See?"

Kintobor gave an intellectual nod.

"Poetic justice," he echoed, "very profound, Amy."

She smirked and bounced the ball idly against the wall a few more times.

"I'm not just a pretty face you know."

"Well, I'm sure we can find someone to appreciate that as well," Kintobor chuckled, "besides Sonic I mean."

Amy giggled, and raised an eyebrow at the holographic pensioner in front of her.

"Amen."

At this point, she finally threw down the tennis ball with a bored huff.

"Bored," she finished, making for the door, "maybe I can take the crossbow on the range for a while…."