What? ANOTHER Note From the Author? Ooookay. The jury has reached a verdict, and Knuckles' accent will be downplayed (slightly) in future chapters. To those of you who helped me reach this decision, thank you. Your hate mail is always appreciated. Sarcasm, gotta love it. Anyway, this chapter kind of gets back to Isaac and Merlin, who have been notably absent for a few chapters. Moreover, this chapter really reminds the reader of the uncomfortable truth that chaos Cycle is, at the end of the day, part of a crossover. As a side note, it has been ventured by some of my Beta staff that a more appropriate title for this chapter would be "Sally's Miracle." Another suggested title, slightly more colorful, was "Sally Gets the Crap Beaten Out of Her." In the end, I opted to leave the title as was. But enough of my senseless banter. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight: A Calculated Risk

I'll try and warn Knuckles. That's what Uncle Chuck had written in his hastily scrawled note to Sally, and he meant it at the time. The hitch, which was a bit late in occurring to him, was that he had not the vaguest clue how. He'd never even met the Guardian. Sure, he'd heard Sonic's account of the Death Egg's crash on Angel Island, and how a dreadlocked maniac had been duped into helping Robotnik fight Sonic while he reconstructed the station, and he knew from pirated surveillance orb footage what Knuckles looked like. But when Sonic and Knuckles parted ways afterward it was on shaky terms at best, and even their renewed alliance during the Perfect Chaos incident (which, Chuck surmised, was probably the Guardian's only foray off the island in his life) had only very slightly eased relations. Given that, Chuck highly doubted that Sonic would have taken the time to say "by the way, did I ever tell you about my Uncle Chuck? Yeah, he got roboticized, but now he's a spy. Tell him I said 'hi' if you see him."

"So the million Mobium question is 'how the blue blazes do I get a message to an echidna running loose somewhere on supposedly deserted Angel Island?'" Chuck murmured once he was sure the manhole cover leading to his hideout was securely back in place over his head. His robotic feet made filled the former sewer passage with hollow, echoing rings with each rung of the ancient iron ladder he descended, and in the back of his mind he winced with each ring. Not only was there the constant, nagging worry that one day some SWATbot would hear that sound and have the presence of processor to realize it was out of place, but there was also a simpler, albeit, more ironic reason for the wincing. Chuck's knees hurt.

It was, when you got right down to it, an absolutely cosmic irony. The roboticizer's original purpose, before it's psychologically detrimental qualities became known, had been to help elderly Mobians live longer, fuller lives, free of the worries that come with an organic body's unavoidable wind down (And I should know, Chuck brooded, because I invented the damned thing). And yet, those mechanical joints still had their own form of arthritis when one had put the miles on them that Chuck had. It wasn't a pain that an organic being would recognize. Pain receptors were one of the body's systems for which the roboticizer found no mechanical analog. Instead, each of a roboticized Mobian's moving parts had a neuroservo sensor that monitored the wear and tear done to the joint by routine activities. When the damage reached the point where maintenance was necessary, or when routine activities were beginning to bring with them the risk of irreparable damage, the sensor relayed a signal to the digitalized brain informing it of this. Normally, the subject would then report to the nearest mechanical facility for routine maintenance.

Normally, though, the subject wasn't the second most wanted person in their home city. Chuck's knees had been in need of maintenance, including a few replacement parts, for the better part of a year now, and his neurosensors were more forceful about telling him this each day. He was, he knew quite well, nearing the point when his internal safety system would begin shutting down limbs to prevent further strain, paralyzing him in the process. If that happened while he was within the city, it was all over. Sonic and Sally both had been urging him to come to Knothole and have Rotor look at him, but his duty to the cause here had taken precedence. Besides, he wasn't sure how safe it was for him to come to Knothole. There had been occasions when the roboticizer had taken temporary control of his mind back from him, and if that happened when he was in Knothole…

"If this happens when I'm here, or if that happens when I'm there," Chuck chided himself. "There's risks either way you look at it, old man, and you're going to have to face one of those risks eventually. Put them at risk by going, or put them and yourself both at risk by staying. It's called 'war.' Live with it." In the meantime, he'd reached the bottom of the ladder, and was about to whisper a quick 'thank the gods' when he remembered his current dilemma. "If I want there to be any gods left to thank, I'd better come up with a way to get a message to Knuckles. Unfortunately, the only time that Island's seen modern telecommunications equipment was…" The answer came with such force that Chuck worried for a moment that the neurosensors had added his brain to the list of overused parts in need of maintenance. "The Launch Base, of course!" Once that datum slipped into place, the rest was as simple as extradimensional quantum metaphysics.

The Launch Base was equipped with a PA system, used for delivering base-wide messages to units not equipped with internal modems (such as Workerbots). From what Chuck remembered, it was probably loud enough to be heard anywhere on the island. This only made sense, given that Robotnik was not the kind to ensure that his troops stayed within their defined territory. This PA was controlled by the central communications computer, which could be remotely accessed from Robotropolis's Master Control Center. So all I have to do is slip into Master Control unnoticed in the middle of an operation big enough to have Task Force E.G.G. docked at the capitol, tap into the communications network of a base on the other side of the planet while Robotnik stands there in the room with me, and issue a verbal warning to a known rebel who has no idea who I am, thereby declassifying a classified project, and somehow make him believe the warning. Once all that's done, phase two is a matter of getting out alive… Right. That should be simple enough. "Well, time to get to work."

Well, Sally gave a mirthless chuckle as she threw herself to the ground behind a rusted old dumpster just in time to avoid a volley from the blaster carbines of a four unit SWATbot patrol. At least it's not so unnervingly quiet anymore. Her thoughts were interrupted by the clattering sound of plasma rounds impacting on the other side of the dumpster as the SWATbots followed their target, forcing her to pull herself up to a crouch and seek a new hiding place, and quickly. A momentary glance revealed a hole through the nearby brick wall of a building that still bore the royal seal of House Acorn over its windows. It wasn't far, maybe twenty yards, and since it was in the opposite direction from the SWATbots, the dumpster would provide cover the entire way. "It's worth a shot," she assured herself and started to make a run for it. She became aware of a burning sensation in her left knee after the first few steps and decided she must have skinned it against the duracrete during her dive, but there was no time to worry about that now. Her only concern at the moment was reaching the momentary safety of having a brick wall between her and the SWATbots. After that, she would have to risk a comm signal to Sonic to let him know they were pinned down and needed help.

Wait a minute, Sally realized with four yards to go. We? There's no one else here. I must have gotten separated somehow. The thought gave her yet another reason to be afraid. Being alone in Robotnik's 'Brave New World' was never safe, but here in Robotropolis it was tantamount to a death sentence.

There was an explosion of some kind behind her, a force more felt than heard, and Sally once again found herself face down on the duracrete. The burning whine in her knee grew to a shriek that she felt certain she could measure on a seismometer for an agonizing instant as her weight came down on top of it. "Come on, Sally," she urged herself through gritted teeth. "Get up and move it!"

"Halt!" A SWATbot voice said from directly over her, and Sally froze. Unsure whether she wanted to see how close the command had come from, she forced herself to slowly lift her head. When she did, she found herself looking directly into the crimson optical lenses of a SWATbot. "Roboticization is unavoidable, rebel," the droid said in that chillingly self-assured bass monotone that all SWATbots possessed. "It is pointless to resist." Then, just to make sure its point was made, it pressed the muzzle of its blaster carbine into the small of Sally's back, causing her to wince as she was pressed against the duracrete for the third time in as many minutes.

So this is how the Acorn dynasty ends, Sally mused as she heard the noise of three sets of metallic feet moving to join the SWAtbot who stood over her. My family built this city from the foundation upward, and I end up waiting for the roboticizer, cringing at the feet of some SWATbot Sergeant that just got lucky enough to catch me alone?

"On your feet, rebel scum," one of the SWATbots brought her back to reality by clouting her between the shoulder blades with the stock of his rifle. When she did not respond quickly enough, the droid turned the weapon around and pressed the electro-bayonet against the back of her thigh. Sally screamed, in spite of her best efforts otherwise, as the electrical current locked up her motor functions. Finally, after what seemed like hours (though Sally would later learn it had been only a five second burst), the SWATbot withdrew the bayonet. The pain, at least the pain from the shock, went away immediately. "Further noncompliance will only result in more painful disciplinary measures," The SWATbot with the electro-bayonet was kind enough to inform her. "Now move."

"I can't," Sally tried to say, but her tongue refused to move. Somewhere between the burning in her left knee, the pinching throb in her back from the blaster muzzle, the bruise between her shoulders from a rifle stock, and the dull ache of tightened muscles in her thigh from the electro-bayonet, she had lost her breath. Now, her voice came out in choked and gasping spurts. After several failed attempts to haul herself to her feet, she felt as though her scalp was on fire as one of the four SWATbots grabbed her by the locks of her hair and dragged her up.

"Corporal," the SWATbot with the bayonet on its rifle said to one of his subordinates. "Since it doesn't want to use its legs, break them. They can be replaced with treads once it is roboticized."

One of the three other SWATbots (Sally thought it was probably the one that had pressed her to the ground with the muzzle of its rifle, but she couldn't be sure) clipped its weapon onto a set of rings on its chestplate to free its hands. Once that was done, it took Sally's right leg in both of its hands, one above the knee and one below. Aside from the coldness of its durasteel hands, Sally could feel the power of its hydraulic-driven grip. Oh gods, the thought ran unbidden through Sally's mind, bringing a wracking sob with it. This is going to hurt like Hell. She closed her eyes so tightly that colored spots began to float before her sight, and gritted her teeth against the impending agony. Would it be as simple as a single, resounding "crack," she found herself wondering absurdly, or a multilateral series of crunching sounds as the bone splintered into fragments? Either way, as time seemed to slow to a standstill while she waited, she wished for it to simply happen and be done with. The waiting, it seemed, scared her more than the thought of what she was waiting for.

There was then an explosive crunch, and Sally unleashed a bestial shriek of agony that was less a person's scream and more the valkyrie wail of an animal being gutted alive. So loud was her scream that she, perhaps mercifully, barely heard the snapping sounds that followed. A fractional second later, she felt the SWATbot's grip release and she fell, face up this time, landing as more a battered, used-up pile of Mobian flesh than anything else. The nerves must have severed with the bone, she tormented herself with an imagined play-by-play of what was being done to her. It must have, because I don't even feel any pain anymore. Gods, it sounded like metal. It sounded like someone twisting sheet metal until it breaks. Prophetic I guess.

For a time she could not measure, there was silence. Then Sally felt her shoulders and head being lifted up. Surprisingly gentle, given that they're carrying me off to the Roboticizer. She heard as if through a fog, a voice, and guessed it to be one of her SWATbot captors giving further instructions, though to her or one of its fellows she could not be sure. It was several moments before she was able to make out the words.

"-gotta talk to me. Sal, say somtehin'."

It's Sonic, Sally realized with a gasp that wasn't from the pain. She forced her eyes to open, and waited for the prismatic spots to fade from the lens of her vision. Where there had, moments before, been only the hellfire-red optics of a SWATbot patrol, there was now only a single pair of eyes. Organic eyes. Natural eyes, as green and bright as the lush canopy of leaves over Knothole during the Red Sun's summer. And probably twice as beautiful, she thought with an exhausted smile. From somewhere nearby there was a whining bzzt sound from the remains of a SWATbot's positronic net. The SWATbots, Sally felt herself jarred momentarily back to mental focus. The effect lasted mere milliseconds, just long enough for her eyes to register the utterly devastated scraps of a four-unit SWAtbot patrol lying in pieces, and those scattered about with seemingly vicious abandon. Somewhere, in a waiting room in the back of her mind where thoughts appear that will not be fully registered until later, the truth began to form. The reason she couldn't feel the pain from her broken legs was that they weren't broken. Those horrifying sounds, which she had thought reminiscent of metal being bent and shattered, were just that. Somehow, at the moment when the SWATbot was about to leave her an invalid for the rest of her short life as a living being instead of an automaton, Sonic had come to her rescue, falling upon her tormentors like the wrath of Hell itself. Or of Heaven itself. I've seen a miracle today, and the name of that miracle is… "S… sonic…" she moaned.

"Shh. Don't try to talk, Sal," Sonic interrupted, sounding like a man who hides desperation under a paper-thin skin of semi-calm. "Save your strength. Everything's gonna be cool. You hear me? Just save your strength."

A minute ago, it was 'Sal, say something,' and when I do he shushes me. Whether it was at the seemingly contradictory nature of Sonic's gestures of concern, or the absurdity of noticing such a thing at a time like this, Sally giggled uncontrollably. And the giggling did not stop until she fainted.

As Sally's eyes glazed over and she went limp, Sonic's first thought was that he was going to bring the city crumbling to the ground, ancestral home or not, captured family or not, to make Robotnik pay for taking her from him. His second, which came immediately on the heels of that one, kicking it aside like an unwanted beggar, was that he was being foolish and should check for vital signs. He was not occupied long in this. Conscious or not, Sally was still breathing in long, heavy breaths which were easily seen. Alright, she's alive. Now what do I do about keeping her that way?

He nearly missed the approach of heavy metallic feet. Not until they were mere meters away did he take notice of the sound, spin around to face his new attacker…

…and nearly take Bunnie's head off.

"Whoa, there, sugah-hog," Bunnie panted spastically. "It's me, it's me."

"Yeah, it's you," came Sonic's babbling reply. "Sorry. I… I, well it's-" He was about to say 'it's Sally' when Bunnie noticed the squirrel's unconscious body, lying behind where Sonic stood.

"Oh my stars," Bunnie was at her princess's side in an instant, pushing Sonic aside as though he were a rag doll. "What happened?"

"I was gonna ask you the same thing," Sonic said, still having the presence of mind to wince a little at the accusatory tone in his own voice. "I barely got here in time to stop a 'bot patrol from…" he found he couldn't bring himself to finish. "Bunnie, what the blue Hell was she doin' alone?"

"We got ambushed," Bunnie explained. "Some kind of… think it's safe to move her?"

"Sure ain't safe not to. Ambushed by what?"

"Not sure," Bunnie went on, lifting Sally up with her mechanical arm about her waist and draping Sally's limp arm across her own shoulders. "They weren't SWATbots though. Least not all of 'em. Might o' been these 'badniks' you and Tails have-" frozen solid at the self-driven reminder, she looked around. "Where's Tails?"

Sonic mentally kicked himself for not realizing the fox cub's absence sooner. He was so unaccustomed to Tails only accompanying him on unauthorized missions that his absence from the regular combat unit escaped Sonic's notice.

"He, he was," Bunnie sputtered, trying to force herself to think where the child could have been. "He was right above us when we got ambushed. That was in sector… but come to think of it, the last we'd heard from him was…" Her eyes, in their erratic dash about her surroundings in search of Tails, finally fell on Sonic's eyes. There was a look in them that chilled her, a kind of flinty blend of broken resignation and determination, as though his optic nerves had formed an alloy of steel and posterboard. That look stopped her incoherent speech short.

Sonic, meanwhile, had taken quick stock of the situation. In truth, Tails was the factor that worried him the least. After all, he and Tails had gotten separated during their various romps through Robotnik-controlled territory before, even here in Robotropolis on a one occasion, and the fox knew how to look after himself well enough until Sonic could find him again… he hoped. In the meantime, Sally was unconscious, and Bunnie could fight or carry her, but Sonic doubted she could do both. There was only one option, and from the look on Bunnie's face, she had begun to suspect what it was.

"Sonic," Bunnie spoke apprehensively. "With Sally… out of it, you're in charge, but we're not abortin' the mission are we?"

"No." Sonic answered calmly.

"Okay."

"We aren't. You are."

"What?!"

Sonic's voice grew more intense as he explained. "Tails is missing, Sally's down, and Botnik's all over us. The mission's a failure, Bunnie. Now you take Sally and beat feet back to Knothole. I'll find Tails, and then we'll be right behind you."

"But the Ancient Ones-"

"There's nothing for it, Bunnie. We'll have to find another way. We can't do a snatch-and-grab with Task Force E.G.G. all home for the holidays. Go!"

Bunnie stood still, staring at Sonic as though trying to find a whole in his argument. In the end, there was none. "Watch yer caboose, Sugah-hog," she ventured, and shifted Sally's weight a bit more securely onto her shoulders. That was when something fell out of Sally's vest pocket and rolled toward Sonic's feet. It was something Sally had brought for the mission on a hunch, and forgotten about. She had not even realized that it's weight, swinging around in her subsequently-uneven vest, had struck her left kneecap during her flight from the SWATbot patrol, causing the injury she had believed to be an abrasion with the concrete.

It was a fragmentation grenade.

For a sharp second Bunnie and Sonic's breath each caught in their throat, convinced that after all the close calls and daring raids, this sheer accident was the end for them. By sheer fortune, though, the grenade rolled with the pin facing toward Sonic's eyes, and he was able to see that it had not been pulled, nor had the clip on the spoon-handle been thumbed. The monster, it seemed, was asleep.

"That's my girl, Sal," Sonic whispered affectionately to the unconscious squirrel as he picked up the grenade and deposited it in his backpack.

"Sonic," bunnie cautioned, "that thing's been hit, and it could go off any time."

"Well," Sonic said with a shrug, "that's a risk I'll have to take. Now get movin' Bunnie. This place is about to get as ugly as Eggbot's mother-in-law at two in the morning." Bunnie nodded once and was off, in the direction of the sewers and the safest passage outside the city walls. Sonic watched long enough to see that the girls had made it underground, and turned back toward the Command Center. "Tails knows that's where we're headed. So whether he's trying to finish the mission or just looking to link back up with the gang, that's where he'd head, so that's where I'll go. Well then," He stretched his legs briefly to prepare for the dash that was ahead. "Jelly 'n' Jam time!"

Isaac had a habit of pacing.

That was one thing he remembered his family telling him all those years ago, when the Ketsuna Race still lived in relative peace, before the coming of the Second Dark Lord, Solaur. But for just over a decade now, he'd been unable to pace. After all, when you're a bird, too much walking is really hard on your legs. That was obviously why evolution had seen fit to give them wings. But now, in a shadowy and deserted corner of Robotropolis, as he grew accustomed to his natural fox-ish form again, he had already lapsed into his former habit. And pace he did, in circles around Merlin Prower to the point where even the Elder's considerable patience had practically run out. "Isaac, calm yourself."

"I'm trying, Elder," Isaac whined.

"Yes, you're very trying," Merlin quipped. "And that infernal pacing is half the reason why. Now stop."

Isaac stopped pacing and sighed. "Forgive me, Elder. I just still don't see why we're not doing something more than we're doing. We're right here in the city where Orana and Solyurus are being held, another of our race has walked into the city unwittingly and he's in danger as well, and we're doing nothing? Why don't we storm the command Center ourselves?"

"You know my ruling about interference in the affairs of the Younger Races," Merlin insisted. "You've already complicated matters a bit, young one, by revealing yourself to the Doctor."

Isaac winced at the reminder of his near defeat at the hands of an army of Human constructs. "I know, Elder," he said sourly, but then his face brightened. "But you're stronger than I am."

"And, more importantly, wiser, and my word will stand."

Faced with this, the final word on the matter, Isaac could say no more. As much as he would have liked to charge, side-by-side with his elder, into the Machine City and unleash the same fury that imprisoned the Chae-Dan, Merlin Prower was the oldest surviving Ketsuna, and the only one old enough to have seen the Chae-Dan war. With nothing more to offer, he decided to change the subject. "Why do you think the Doctor wants to go to Chae-Dan anyway?"

"Urth, according to the Human tongue," Merlin corrected. "And the reason is simple. He's going after Excalibur."

Isaac's eyebrows wrinkled at that. "Going after who?"

Merlin proceeded. "Or rather, as it was pronounced by its first bearer on the world where it was forged, Eshca-Leboor."

That pronunciation was one Isaac recognized, and it prompted a hearty belly-laugh. "Oh, that's rich! Robotnik?! He thinks he can wield Escha-Leboor? It'll never accept him."

"Quite the contrary. He's one of the few on Mobius that it would accept."

That brought Isaac's laughter to a screeching halt. "What? But… that blade only accepts-"

"Robotnik is descended from Mordred, who we thought to have died in Camelot on Urth," Merlin explained.

Isaac only shook his head in confusion. "Elder, I'll grant you that I'm shocked, but I still don't-"

"Put it together, Isaac. Think about Mordred's bloodline."

Isaac pondered. "Well he was the son of Arthur, son of Uther, who was descended from Pendragon," his eyes began to grow wider as he went on, "who was the elder son of Ambrosius, the Hero who came to Chae-Dan! Elder, this means…"

"Nicely done, Isaac," Merlin replied calmly. "Although in all truth, you should have realized your error as soon as you considered that Mordred was the son of Arthur. And yes, it means what you fear. Though he's not the most direct descendant, Ivo Robotnik is a legitimate heir to the sword of Link Ambrosius."

"All the more reason why we should stop him!" Isaac interjected. "Elder, he cannot be allowed to complete this gateway on Angel Island! If he does-"

"He must be allowed to complete it," Merlin interrupted, "for reasons far greater than you realize."

"I don't understand, Elder."

I'm beginning to see if that weren't such a reliable constant in the universe, you'd have my job," Merlin retorted, sighed, and started more quietly. "His gateway will reach Urth… I'm sorry. Earth," he said, pronouncing the vowel a bit more widely. "I can assure you of that. And it will target the right century as well," he turned toward Isaac, "unless someone takes steps to ensure otherwise."

Now Isaac began to glimpse what Merlin had in mind, but only a glimmer of it. "You have a specific year in mind that you want Robotnik to appear on…" he struggled with the vowel pronunciation, "Earth, don't you?"

"More importantly, I have a specific event in mind I want him to arrive in time for."

Somewhere in a crowded auditorium in the back of Isaac's mind where countless possible explanations were assembled quietly, one in the back began to jump up and down and shout 'Pick me! Pick me!' "What kind of event?" he asked, realizing as he said it how dense he sounded.

"Knowing what you now do of Robotnik's ancestry, take a guess," Merlin answered cryptically.

Isaac sighed. Everything with Elder Prower was this way. He never gave answers. He just dropped hints, and you had to piece together the answers for yourself. "Well, something only a descendant of Ambrosius can handle, but…

(Pick me! Pick Me!)

"But Elder, you've always claimed that the bloodline of Ambrosius has only one purpose."

Merlin cocked an eyebrow in Isaac's direction. "And…?"

"And that purpose was the fight against the vessels of Bao-"

"Don't speak his name, Isaac."

"Of course, Elder. The vessels of the so-called 'shadow King,' then. Ambrosius' bloodline exists for the purpose of seeing those vessels destroyed."

"Not just the vessels, Isaac. The Shadow King himself."

The answer in the back of Isaac's mental auditorium began to frantically swing from the chandeliers, begging for his attention. "But that would mean…" (The chair recognizes the maniac in the back row! But please, sir, restrain yourself!) Suddenly, it became clear to Isaac. "The Vanguard War!"

Merlin nodded. "Bingo, as they say."

Pieces began to fling themselves together in Isaac's mind as though a jigsaw puzzle had developed performance anxiety. "But sending Robotnik there? I mean, with his bloodline and all, and his power is obvious, but… well, won't he betray the Vanguard? I mean, you see that he can't be trusted."

"He'll betray anyone he feels he can advance himself by betraying," Merlin said after a long silence. "but whatever comes, I think Robotnik is to be a key factor in the War's outcome. Also, it's imperative that Sonic, and probably the Guardian too, now that I think about it, go through as well."

"Counterweight," Isaac commented. "Then you think Robotnik is indeed going to be one of the Five."

Merlin Prower narrowed his eyes as he looked off toward the Command Center. "I'm counting on it, Isaac."

It only took a moment for Isaac to understand what his Elder had in mind. "But what if you're wrong, Elder?"

Merlin's eyes went dark for an instant. "War against the universe's original evil is a risky affair, Isaac," he said callously.

All Isaac could think of to say in response was a muttered, "I'll bet it is."