2
"This meeting meant a lot," Prower recalled. "I am a full colonel, and I don't want to leave the military. The whole point is to stay in the military." He was not going to tell Knuckles his ultimate objective. "It was a surreptitious plan of mine. And some people would say it's not beanbag. If I just could get with the Sonic team, I thought in a year or a year and a half at the most, I could get out of there and probably get a good assignment back in the Mushroom Kingdom. But of course, I couldn't tell Knuckles that what I so desperately sought was only temporary."
After announcing himself to the receptionist, Prower took a chair and watched the outer office. Lots of hurried movement but these were happy people. Their candidate, and Prower's, had won. Their devotion was paying off for them. They were going to Central City, headfirst into the smoke.
A young hedgehog came tearing around the corner. He was grinning. Had to be Silver. They shook hands. He looked kinda like Sonic. Just, well, silver, and with golden eyes.
"Sir," Silver said, "please follow me."
"What a jolt it was to hear from you," said Knuckles, standing and coming forward to shake hands in a warm greeting.
He had not changed. The long, fire-red, drooping dreads were intact, a trademark of sorts along with the bright red, green, and yellow shoes.
"What brought you back to the United Federation? Or maybe I should ask what you're doing in Soleanna in the first place. Here, sit down."
They updated each other on their lives, adventures. Prower outlined his Soleanna problem.
"Nearly everyone signing up or designated for the White House staff is an out-of-towner," Knuckles said. He joked that Sonic, the great hero himself, was the only one who had been to Central City before. They needed people with "Central City experience" like Prower.
G.U.N. agent Rouge the Bat, promoted to colonel only 3 months earlier, had returned from the Mushroom Kingdom and was slated to be the military assistant to Shadow the Hedgehog, the newly announced Sonic international security adviser.
Prower knew Rouge well from G.U.N. They had both served in the commander's office.
The Sonic world was moving fast, and Prower could feel it slipping away. "Well," he proposed, "perhaps there would be an open slot on the International Security Council staff?"
"No," Knuckles said. They planned for only one military officer on the Shadow staff, and if they made an exception, Prower would have to take a job normally filled by a more junior officer. Knuckles assumed that would be worse for his career than being stuck in Soleanna another year or two.
Prower agreed. He wanted no part of an assignment he would be overqualified for, even if it were in the White House. He had obviously arrived a few weeks late to compete with Rouge, who was known as an ambitious, driven, wily opportunist.
As the talk was winding down, Prower stood and thanked Knuckles for slipping him into his schedule. He tried to feel good about it. He had taken maximum action, hatched a plan, flown to the United Federation and done as much as he could within the bounds of propriety—whatever that might be. So, he would return to Soleanna, where he had a fine though exquisitely smokeless assignment.
He thought he read an expression of sincere regret on Knuckles's face.
As they walked out, Knuckles asked, "Why does it have to be a military job? Maybe there are other possibilities. Maybe we should consider another job in the White House?"
"Well, yes," Prower replied, "maybe we should. I'll think about that, Knuckles, and let you know right away. Meanwhile, the best of luck. I mean it."
Back at the Green Hills, he tamped down his natural instinct to stop at the chili dog stand. It was a long trek back to Soleanna.
Days later he wrote Knuckles a long thank-you letter and said that if it would help Knuckles build his team he would consider a civilian position and leave the military. Prower later said, "It seemed that Knuckles really liked being with me. You really could pull this off. You are going to need some luck." At the same time, he added that he was surprised he had so readily offered to cast aside a sterling Air Force career. But he found there was an excitement in the air in both Central City and Empire City.
Weeks passed. Then, just eight days before the Sonic inauguration, where the president-elect would become the president, Prower's phone rang.
"I've been giving a lot of thought to our talk," Knuckles said, "and wondering where you might fit into all of this. I didn't tell you exactly what I'll be doing in the White House, and there's still a lot I don't know but Son—" He paused, then corrected himself. "The president, Mr. Sonic, has said that I'll be working directly with him. I'll be ensuring that he gets everything he needs, that there's proper follow-up to the tasks assigned the staff."
"I know," Prower replied. "Like an executive officer," the number two in an organization, the person who gets the operations off the ground and follows up.
"Well," Knuckles continued, "I'd thought all along that I wouldn't need a deputy, that I could handle everything I had to do alone." He paused. "I'm sitting here beside the commander now and he has convinced me that I should have a deputy. I had never thought of that." Knuckles said he did not necessarily want one but the commander had persuaded him.
"That seems to be a perfect job for you," Knuckles announced. "How would you like to be part of this and come in as my deputy? I'm really going to be the president's alter ego, and I want you to be mine."
He then put it another way. "You will be to me what I am to the president."
Prower was dumbfounded. This was the job offer of a lifetime. He thought, "If I'm going to go as a civilian, I've hit a home run."
"Now, I realize you'll want to think about this, but we've decided here that we want the whole team on board the day after the inaugural. We don't want people drifting into Central City for the next six months."
"Jeez, Knuckles!" Prower almost shouted. "You've really knocked me for a loop." He wanted to find words to express gratitude rather than surprise. "I do have things to think about. I'm not even sure how to get out of the Air Force. You know… how to retire. But whatever happens, I want to thank you for the confidence. I'm tremendously flattered and honored to be considered." The wrong words, he later realized. He was not being considered. It was a flat-out job offer to be at the center.
"Just let me know as soon as you can, Tails. And incidentally, you don't have to leave the Air Force. Of course, that's all up to you." They had power, he reminded Prower. "Keep in mind also that we can help you right here. Just call me." He gave several phone numbers. "The commander and the rest of the G.U.N. command is just a phone call away, and if you need anything done, anything, we can do it immediately from here."
Prower did not miss the "anything." He promised an answer with the next three days. "Is that okay?"
"Three days is fine," Knuckles said. "And Tails, I'd encourage you to think carefully about this. It's an opportunity you don't want to miss."
Prower loved the prospect. He had not accepted on the spot because he thought it might be improper, perhaps even unlawful for a military officer on active duty to accept a nonmilitary assignment in the White House.
After the conversation, Prower sat in silence in the motel room, deep in thought. Finally, Prower sighed and said to himself, "When the president of the United Federation calls, Tails, you don't have much choice."
Three days later, he called Knuckles and accepted.
Knuckles sounded genuinely pleased. "Do you have a place to stay?"
Prower did not ask about title or salary. He, however, decided it was best to resign from the Air Force to avoid any appearance of a conflict or impropriety.
"I'll be an assistant to the president, one of five or six with that title," Knuckles volunteered, "and you'll be deputy assistant to the president."
A week later, Prower flew to the United Federation and was immediately invited to a fancy dinner party hosted by the commander. "The Honorable Miles Prower" was seated ahead of all the ambassadors as if he were more senior to four-star officers. And he was given a general officer's quarters at G.U.N. Central Air Force Base outside Central City.
Old Air Force buddies came up to the table and ribbed Prower, some calling him "Your Highness." Prower simply smiled and laughed his sweet, infectious laugh, which spread around the table. All seemed right with the world.
It had been a race to get to Central City for the inaugural, and Prower watched snatches of it on television.
The next morning, wearing civilian clothes, he arrived at the White House for the first official day of the Sonic administration. At 8 a.m. Knuckles took the seat at the head of the table in what was called the Froggy Room, right across from the president's office. Some 30 top White House staff crowded into the room, including Shadow. For Prower it was a room full of strangers. They had all, or nearly all, worked on the campaign or had deep associations with Sonic.
Knuckles was stern, all business, very much the man in charge. "This is the new man Miles Prower," he announced. "He is my deputy. He and I will be working together closely."
Damn nice of him, thought Prower. It gave him immediate standing.
"Keep in mind," Knuckles said, "we're here for eight years."
What? Looks of mild bafflement appeared on a number of faces. Knuckles explained that though Mr. Sonic had been elected to a four-year term, in this day and age it was virtually impossible to push through Congress any kind of meaningful legislative program and do all the other things—foreign and domestic policy—in four years. "So, it's eight years for us. Develop that mind-set," Knuckles said. Though he was clearly the top staff person in the new administration, he was adamant that he not be called chief of staff.
Eight years was a bold declaration, boiling with self-confidence. It was a nice, unexpected touch. Prower thought it insightful, if they could deliver. Eight years could give them enough time for an era, a Sonic era. He figured Knuckles was acting as a good football coach getting his team mentally prepared: we are here to win our games, not to lose.
"We want to start thinking of ourselves as invisible," Knuckles said. "Mr. Sonic is the star on the team, the only star. We're here to serve and support. No grandstanding by the staff."
This was all said in utter seriousness, no levity.
"Finally, this is important," Knuckles directed, "no one of the staff other than communications director Espio"—the calm, soft-spoken chameleon—"and Vector"—the loud-mouthed crocodile—"the new press secretary, is to have any contact with a member of the press. We're going to be the silent staff." Exceptions would have to be approved in advance by him. He would have to be convinced such contact would benefit the president. If not, he would not approve the contact. "In case there is any ambiguity, the rule"—Prower thought it was an edict—"goes into effect today," Knuckles said. The atmosphere was clear. Prower would later call it "a mood of manic resolve."
"Be in the Emerald Room of the White House at 12:45 p.m. for a 1 p.m. ceremony in which each of you will take an oath of office," Knuckles said. "Go to your assigned office and draw up a list of any repairs, furniture or supplies you might need."
Eight years, invisibility, strict orders not to talk to the press, to-do lists apparently down to how many paper clips they might need? Did Knuckles think of everything? Prower wondered. It was as if Sonic, and his presidency, was being wrapped in an impenetrable cocoon.