Author's Note: My first exposure to Japanese raccoon dogs in popular culture was Super Mario Bros 3 and the 'Tanooki' Suit; it could turn Mario into a stone statue, making him invincible. Cool stuff!
But maybe there'd be problems with that kinda thing in real life, do you think?
And those problems shouldn't be taken for granite, either...
...I'll show myself out...
.
.
"Base Crazies"
I.
The thing they brought back to medical was a lumpy, bloody mess.
But it was a living mess.
Barely.
By the time they got him on the table in the middle of the tent Katchy must've lost at least three-quarters of all the blood in his body. His face was wrapped up with a desperate mesh of rags and bandages, concentrated mostly around his left eye.
Well, what used to be his left eye.
Asher and Brady left the convulsing raccoon dog in the care of his sister. 'Care' might be a strong word; Catchie desperately held one of her brother's hands tight, her breaths almost as ragged and labored as his. She was on the verge of tears, and Asher could tell she didn't want to shed them in front of anyone else, so he took Brady with him to fetch Spindletop.
Might as well leave her alone, he thought, given the nature of the wound her brother suffered.
He'd be dead in a matter of minutes, anyway.
They had to drag the cheetah from her tent, hustling her up the hill to the medical tent, and once there they threw her to it, ordering her to try her best to use Tails' custom-kit medical devices to treat the raccoon dog.
Asher blinked as he watched the frazzled cheetah fumbling around with the devices.
"Custom-kit," he mumbled to himself, his face stone-cold and empty. "That's funny..."
Brady looked at Asher.
"What?"
The cottontail shook his head.
"Nothing. I'm... uh, kind of 'out of the office', at the moment..."
Spindletop threw down one of the various medical devices in frustration after spending a minute trying to affix it to Katchy's hemorrhaging face. The smell of copper quickly overtook the tent, and the ground beneath the raccoon dog's cot quickly filled up with a moat of blood.
"I— I can't use this stuff!" Spindletop moaned, motioning to all the strange medical gizmos.
"Listen: I know you're not trained for this," Asher quietly explained, "but Tails is missing, and none of us has the expertise to even know what these things do, let alone how to use them—"
Spindletop shook her head, stepping back from her gruesome patient.
"N— no, I can't do it. You want me to fix these things?" She held up another miscellaneous instrument. "Yeah: that I could do. Probably. B— but using them? N— no!"
Catchie gripped Spindletop by the shoulders, forcing the cheetah to look her in the eyes.
"Spindletop: please. My brother needs help. Really, really badly..."
Brady crossed his arms.
"It can't be that tricky, getting these instruments humming, can it?" He mumbled.
The cheetah's oversized fangs peeked out from her lips; her nose twitched erratically as the blood in the air started to get to her. She snarled and pushed Catchie aside, pointing to the raccoon dog's rifle propped up against a tent pole.
"You want me to fix that rifle? Fine." She pointed at Asher's sawn-off shotgun, dangling on its cord just inside his vest pocket. "You want me to fix that shotgun? Fine." The cheetah stormed up to Brady and held two of her fingers about an inch apart, right in front of his face. "But you want me to take 'em out on the range and hit a bullseye from a quarter-mile away? Not fine. Can't do it. I can't do it. Same device; different skills..."
Catchie slowly lowered her head; she got on her knees, wobbly, and kept her head bowed as she spoke:
"Spindletop... please. I'm begging you to try, now. Just try. Please."
The cheetah stepped back from the prostrate raccoon dog; in her nervous scuttle she bumped against the table behind her.
"What does he have to lose?" Catchie asked. "My brother is going to die, anyway—"
"Is he?"
Everyone turned to find Thadesch on the opposite side of the medical tent. The toad looked at Katchy, lying on the table under his bandages, and then he looked down at his sister.
"That was a serious question, my dear—"
"Since he's just been shot in the face, you idiot," Asher snarled, "I'd say that's a pretty good bet."
Spindletop scurried past the kneeling raccoon dog and stood before Thadesch; she scratched at her arms and bobbed up and down, bending and unbending her knees in a little dance, like a small child in need of a bathroom break.
"Thadesch!" She whispered with a quivering voice. "Wh— where's Fionnghal? I really, really need..."
The cheetah's scratching grew more desperate, as if she were trying to tear the fur from her skin.
"Fionnghal is missing, along with Tails and Kakkari," Brady explained. "We're working under the assumption that Kakk came here to kidnap Tails, and for some reason he took Fionnghal, too."
Thadesch gently pushed the shivering cheetah out of the way and again looked to Catchie.
"My dear, I'd like to repeat my question: is your brother going to die, do you think?"
Catchie looked up at Thadesch, her big brown eyes trembling and uncertain; she shook her head.
"I... I really don't know," she whispered.
"Then, perhaps," Thadesch slowly whispered, "instead of focusing on the 'software' of your brother's body, well, maybe we should have our friend Spindletop focus her efforts on the 'hardware'?"
The raccoon dog sat up; panicked alarm rose in her face, mixing equally with her anguished worry. She tried to speak a few times, but only her lips moved.
"I can't guarantee both of you your safety," Thadesch said, spreading his arms between her and her brother. "But the alternative here looks rather bleak, doesn't it?"
Catchie looked up at her brother on the table; the male raccoon dog was now retching bile under his bandages. Thick blood still ran on the table beneath his head. When she looked back at the toad she nodded with resignation.
Asher squinted, looking back and forth between the pair.
"What the hell are you two talking about? What 'hardware'?"
Thadesch looked at Spindletop, motioning to his own chest as he spoke to the cheetah.
"You'll find a strange device sunken deep down inside a cavity near Katchy's heart, just beneath it and towards the breastbone. What it is exactly is unimportant right now, but it runs on a system of very small, interlocking QEDs— eight of them— and they have to work together expertly in order to function."
"Wait: he's got QEDs inside his body?" Brady furrowed his brow.
"That's what I just said," Thadesch rolled his eyes. "Pay attention."
"What, exactly, is their 'function'? Asher demanded.
"They're bodyguards," Thadesch explained. "Literal ones, at that. All you need to know is that Katchy here has a chance of surviving his wound if his device can do its job, and he has almost no chance to survive if it doesn't." He looked at Spindletop. "I assume you have instruments on hand that can stimulate the activity of QEDs from a distance, right? At least a few inches away, maybe?"
Catchy's eyes lit up.
"Y— yes! She wouldn't need to cut him open for that, would she?"
Spindletop stammered, again scratching at her fur, and her eyes flitted about uncertainly, looking at the blood-soaked mess that was Katchy, his sister, and then the toad. She looked down, eyes squinted, and shook her head, as if she were a nervous student in class called upon to answer a question she didn't know.
"L— listen: I need..." she looked up at the toad, gripping his lapels. "Thadesch, I need some, now..."
"For the sake of the gods, girl," the toad looked away evasively, coughing.
Asher tilted his head, brow furrowed, and he stepped forward. He gripped Spindletop's wrist and pulled her away from Thadesch, forcing her to face him.
"Look at me," Asher demanded.
When she tried turning her head Asher repeated his command, this time with a gruff and angry bark; it was so loud it even made Catchy's body reflexively spasm on the table.
Spindletop slowly met the rabbit's gaze, and he bored into her with his sharp eyes, glaring at her with unwavering attention like a falcon readying an aerial strike against unsuspecting prey. Spindletop, for her part, merely stared back at him with terror in her eyes; those eyes twitched with a strange and uneven mix of saccades.
He recognized the pattern almost immediately.
"You... you're high right now, aren't you?" He growled.
"What?" Catchie looked at the cheetah, incredulity on her face. "No. No, she could be. She... she wouldn't be!"
Asher gripped Spindletop's chin when she tried backing away from him.
"G'nepettah!" Asher snarled. "You're using g'nepettah?"
The cheetah managed to pull away from him and back up a few feet. She crouched down into a protective hunch, briefly looking up at Catchie with shamed eyes.
"I... I can't... can't..."
The raccoon dog blinked, a puzzled look on her face.
"It's true?" Catchie's face creased-up with a supremely wounded expression. Under other circumstance it would've been adorable. "You're high on drugs, right now? When my brother... when he needs help..."
"I'm sorry," Spindletop whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. "I am sorry..."
Catchie only stared down at the cheetah, her face expressionless.
Asher knew what was about to happen the second he saw her fist tremble, but he wasn't quick enough to stop her. The raccoon dog clocked Spindletop on the forehead and then crashed down on her with all the weight of her rotund body, trying to rain down more blows in her rage.
"You stupid idiot! Moron! Idiot, m— moron junkie!"
Brady and Asher managed to restrain the raccoon dog before she could do much damage. They roughly tossed Catchie across the tent, and when she got to her feet, teeth bared and eyes streaming tears Thadesch was there to stand between her and Spindletop; he gently shook his head as he blocked her path.
Brady made sure Spindletop wasn't any the worse for wear while Asher stood up, a dazed look on his face. He looked at Katchy, still gurgling bloody breaths on the table. Thadesch leaned over and whispered in Asher's ear.
"Spindletop can still help him. She just needs—"
"I know what she 'needs'," Asher growled. "I suppose you have it, then?"
Thadesch didn't answer.
That was as good as an answer, anyway.
"Get it," Asher demanded. "Give it to her— steady her nerves up— and then have her do what she can for Katchy's... 'thing'."
Asher stormed off for the tent flap; Brady stood up with hesitation and then followed behind him.
"And then, Thadesch," Asher barked. "I want you to see me in my tent."
"For what?" The toad asked.
"So I can shoot you in your idiot face; that's 'for what'!"
II.
Asher nearly barreled right into Quinn and Myrtle when he stormed away from the tent; the pair quickly made a space for him and he continued walking unimpeded, Brady in his wake. He ignored the sugar glider and the boy.
Quinn wasn't having any of that.
"What's going on," he demanded, running to catch up with the cottontail. "How's Katchy? Is he gonna be okay?"
"Don't know," Asher grumbled.
"What happened to Miss Fionnghal and Tails? There's no way that chameleon could've overpowered her—"
"Don't know."
"And why were you yelling back there in the tent; what's wrong with Spin—"
"I don't know!" Asher stopped walking; he let his scream echo in the twilight forest around them for a moment, and then he finally looked back at a very startled Quinn.
"Please, Quinn: lay off all the questions right now, alright?"
Asher continued on, Brady at his heels, and Quinn stayed behind, looking like he'd just touched a 10,000 volt fence.
Myrtle soon caught up to him.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said. "Don't blame Asher for his outburst; this is a stressful time for him, I'm sure."
The boy shook his head.
"It's not the yelling," he said. "He called me 'Quinn'."
Myrtle cocked her head.
"So? That's your name, isn't it?"
He nodded.
"As far as I know. But Mister Asher never calls me that. It's always 'juvie' or 'little human'." The boy scowled. "Or 'pet'. He must really be worried..."
The boy ambled over to a nearby log and sat down, chin in his hand.
"You look pretty worried, yourself," Myrtle noted. She came to his side and then rooted around in a small knapsack on her waist; she produced a small chunk of brittle blue crystal, something like ocean glass, and handed it to him.
Quinn examined it with curiosity. He felt it with his fingers, then he smelled it, and finally licked it. The sweet kick of raw sugar electrified his tongue.
"Rock candy?" He mumbled.
"It'll improve your mood," she explained. "If nothing else it'll give you one heck of a sugar rush; that's almost as good, isn't it?"
Quinn furrowed his brow and shook his head.
"I can't stand this! I feel helpless. Worthless. Fionnghal may be in trouble and no one can do anything about it!" He looked up at Myrtle. "Aren't you worried, too?"
Myrtle sat down beside Quinn; she nodded gently, but then held up one finger.
"Yes," she said, "but only because I worry too much, sometimes. If you're going to be 'worried' about anyone on this planet, well, Mistress Fionnghal's one of most unlikely animals to worry about. She may be the strongest person I've ever met, Quinn, and certainly one of the toughest." Myrtle gave the boy a reassuring smile, and when that didn't seem to instill confidence she gave him a pat on the back.
It was insultingly condescending of her, really.
But it also felt kinda good.
Maybe he could just let it slide this time, he thought.
"Do you know how the Mistress and I met?" She asked.
"Did you know her, Sonic and Asher back in Sulumac'dun?"
Myrtle's gentle smile widened; she chuckled.
"Not exactly. I'm not quite that old, you see..."
Quinn's lips twisted; he nervously returned the chuckle.
"Uh, sorry."
"I didn't live in Sulumac'dun," she explained, "but many members of my species tried to live there when the city was in its prime. My people come from a place called the Dagroian Wild; it's an area on the far west continent, south of Sulumac'dun and a turbulent body of water called the Saráje Sandborn, or the 'Sea of Rage'. The land out in Dagroian is, well, it's a bit..."
"'Wild'?"
Myrtle smiled.
"Life isn't very easy there, and there weren't as many opportunities as there were in the great city, so lots of animals tried to migrate into Sulumac'dun for a chance at a better life. The road was treacherous, though, and it was very hard to actually get into the city."
"Why?"
Myrtle shrugged.
"The inhabitants didn't want a bunch of refugees clogging up the works, I think. There was a stigma associated with Dagroian refugees— they were called freeloaders looking for an 'easy' life, or they were slandered as violent and thieving savages who were cast out from their old lives and sent off to burden the great city." Myrtle shook her head. "Like I said: I think most of them just wanted a better life for themselves and their families, but then I'm not qualified to say. I've heard that the refugees trying to get into the city were sometimes even threatened with violence, though. Like I say: it was a treacherous road."
"Your family didn't try migrating, then?" Quinn asked.
"I don't know, for certain; I never knew my parents. I was raised in a settlement on the far northwest, in the sandy expanses beyond where Gamma Tribe resides today. I grew up in an orphanage there, and the staff would never answer any questions about my parents. But it was a fine enough place to grow up; there was less of a stigma in that place— being a sugar glider didn't matter quite as much to anyone— so I always assumed that my parents moved north from the Dagroian and decided against trying for Sulumac'dun, choosing to go northwest instead. But then that raised more questions for me later, when I finally came of age for higher schooling."
"Questions?" Quinn worked his words around the chunk of rock candy he was busy devouring.
Myrtle nodded.
"Once I turned 18 the head of the orphanage summoned me. She told me I had a trust in the local bank that was set up on the day I arrived at their doorstep. It was a very sizeable amount, and it had been accruing interest for all those 18 years, minus the orphanage's expenses in raising me. There were instructions to disburse the balance to me on my 18th birthday— for educational expenses only— and by then it was enough money that I'd be free to pursue whatever field of study I wanted, wherever I wanted."
Quinn narrowed his eyes.
"But... they had to tell you something about the people that squirreled away all that money for you, didn't they?"
Myrtle shook her head.
"They couldn't tell me anything. There were no records of the people who set the trust up, and no contact information on file. It had to be my parents, obviously, and it got me thinking: if they had that much money at the time, why couldn't they have used it to secure passage into Sulumac'dun?" Myrtle shrugged. "I don't know, and I guess I'll never know, but that's not the point of my story.
"I used the funds in my trust to study botany; it was always a passion for me. The settlement I lived in was mostly a desert and I'd always been fascinated by any plants or trees I got to see up-close. Eventually I was assigned to an expedition on a remote site near the western mountains, and during the trip our caravan was attacked by bandits. They... they turned out to not be interested in our equipment and goods; instead they captured all the females of the group, and they took us to their stronghold..."
"Slavers?" Quinn asked.
"Something like that," Myrtle shivered. "I still remember it so clearly: they kept us all chained up in this room with an iron floor and walls. They beat the ones of us who even dared to flash a dirty look, and they bragged about the coin we'd... 'fetch'. Once the heat was off they planned to move us to 'market'..." Myrtle drew a long breath. "I was there nearly two weeks, and it felt like a year. After that long I was sure I'd die there, or... worse. Until that last day..."
Myrtle trailed off, and Quinn quickly tapped her knee, impatient.
"Well? What happened then?"
"There was a knock on that iron door— a special coded knock that the bandits used— and so one of the bandits got up to answer it. He threw open the door and..." Myrtle licked her lips. "And there she was: bathed in the sunlight, fur blinding the room, like a ball of burning electricity."
Quinn smirked.
"Fionnghal? 'Blinding' fur? I dunno: her coat's pretty dark and dull, isn't it?"
Myrtle blinked, as if pulled back into the moment. She looked down at Quinn and nodded, her small smile returning.
"Yeah, that's right, isn't it? Never mind."
"So Fionnghal came to rescue you all?"
"Not exactly," Myrtle said. "She was 'in the area', as she says, and when she heard of the bandit stronghold she decided to 'unwind' and..." Myrtle sighed. "...and have a little 'fun'. The guard who answered the door didn't know what hit him; his head landed in a girl's lap on the other side of the room, and her scream was just awful. The next bandit tried shooting Fionnghal, but she put up that shimmering screen with Curtainrod, then she lunged at him from around the barrier; took him apart like a boned fish.
"By the end there was blood everywhere; Fionnghal got the last bandit up against a wall, her sword to his throat, and he dropped his weapon. He was a shivering wreck. He begged her: 'Please, just let me go. Just let me live'." Myrtle crossed her arms and stared down at the ground, eyes trembling. "Fionnghal said... she leaned in close to his ear and she whispered the word 'no'..." Myrtle again shivered. "...and when she was done with him she cut all the girls' chains."
"Nice of her," Quinn said, "helping you all out like that."
Myrtle nodded, her smile returning.
"Well, it didn't exactly end up being free. When she cut the other girls' chains they all scattered in a blind panic but she didn't get to my chain until the end. She cut it, but before I could run off she grabbed me and held me up against the wall. She sniffed me, then she asked me what my name was, and it's a miracle I could even say that much, given what we'd all just witnessed, but I managed to tell her. When she let go of me she said that I owed her my life, now, and that I should repay her. When I told her that I didn't have anything of value, just my skills as a botanist, she gave me this wicked little smile and said that a botanist at least knows what's good eating, and what isn't, so maybe I could work as a chef."
"You agreed?"
"Didn't think I had much of a choice at the time. The Mistress terrified me, back then. I wouldn't have said 'no' to her, that's for certain."
"She doesn't terrify you anymore?" Quinn smirked.
"I'm only terrified," Myrtle said, "for anyone who goes against her. Fionnghal is the most cunning, resourceful warrior I know, and I've met a few in my time with Filigree. If she's in trouble right now, Quinn, then you should be worried for the person who's causing that trouble, because they're most likely going to end up regretting it."
The boy stared down at his half-eaten piece of rock candy; his face was still skeptical, but eventually he looked up at Myrtle and nodded.
"You're right," he mumbled.
Myrtle smiled.
"About the rock candy, I mean." Quinn held up the glassy treat. When the sugar glider blinked in confusion he explained. "The sugar rush: that is something, at least..."
Myrtle sighed and stared at the ground.
"I'll... have to get Fionnghal to try it," Quinn whispered. "Y'know: when she's back here, safe, with us..."
The sugar glider looked over at Quinn, giving him a tiny nod before again patting him on the back.
It must've made her feel better to do that, he thought.
So yeah: he could let her get away with it, again.
III.
Asher stood in the far corner of his tent, staring at one of the posts. When Brady lumbered in behind him the cottontail suddenly hauled off and decked the wooden post as hard as he could with a bare fist, growling as his knuckle connected. The whole tent quivered for a moment, and for that brief moment it was quiet.
Brady had to go and ruin it.
"That looks like it hurt..."
Asher turned around, his eyes burning.
"What is this, exactly? What the hell is going on? Turns out our mechanic is a drug addict, our raccoon dog is some kinda... freak, and..." Asher sighed, stomping the ground with one boot.
"And we let two of our people get captured right out from under our noses," Brady quietly finished.
"When did our camp become this insane, anyway?" The cottontail spread his paws. "It's more like a lunatic asylum than a camp!"
The tent flap parted and Catchie lumbered into the tent. She had her paws clasped contritely against her body and she approached Asher cautiously.
"Respectfully," she whispered, "I can explain what happened back there."
Asher scoffed.
"Oh, I'm glad someone can," he sneered. "And I'll get right on not believing a word you say, either, girl-dog. Why the hell should I, anyway?"
Brady looked at the raccoon dog with skeptical eyes.
"It's a canine trait, you know. Deception, I mean. Can't blame her for being true to her roots—"
"We weren't trying to deceive anyone!" Catchie said. "You must listen to me, please—"
"Wouldn't be surprised if that tech in the boy-dog has Eggman's stamp on it," Brady said. "What if, all this time, the two of them were actually spies working for—"
Suddenly Catchie retrieved a long, narrow knife from her vest and brandished it in one paw. Brady instinctively stood between her and Asher, and both he and the cottontail prepared to draw their weapons.
Catchie managed to strike before they could draw, however.
The raccoon dog set her free paw on the tabletop, then she drove the knife into it as hard as she could, spearing clean through her palm and pinning her paw to the tabletop. Asher and Brady looked down at her paw with a priceless expression on both their faces. Again, for a brief moment, there was silence in the tent.
Brady was the one to ruin it.
Again.
"That... looks like it hurt..."
Catchie grit her teeth, eyes scrunched, and she pulled the blade out of her paw. She cradled the wound as she spoke.
"We're not spies," she growled. "The tech in my brother's body doesn't have Eggman's stamp on it," she mumbled. "Neither does the tech in my body."
Asher finally got the wherewithal to speak, again.
"Alright," he mumbled. "That psychotic little display there just earned you a few minutes to talk: who, exactly, is responsible for your 'hardware'?"
"It's ProwerTech."
Asher and Brady exchanged glances.
"James Prower's labs?" Asher said.
Catchie sighed and wiped the blood off her knife as she spoke.
"You had to wonder, right, about my brother and myself? How we're both clean of the SICR virus, even though it's supposed to infect most canine species?"
"I always figured raccoon dogs were just too genetically distinct from wolves and the like," Asher said. "You're saying that you're not?"
Catchie shook her head.
"My brother and I came down with symptoms not long after the virus appeared. We sought out a treatment, and we managed to find Dr. Prower's hidden laboratory, the one he founded after he was forced to flee Omega Tribe, along with everyone else. He implanted these QED devices in us— the 'Octet System', he called it— as an experiment to cure our symptoms..."
Catchie slowly held up her speared paw. She used her other paw to part fur away from her skin to show Asher and Brady her wound.
Or, rather, her lack of wound.
Brady blinked in surprise.
"It— it's gotta be a trick!" He muttered.
Catchie shook her head.
"The SICR virus can't be cured," she said. "It can only be managed, like the wolves 'manage' their condition. Dr. Prower experimented on the two of us, though, using QED-powered technology to give our bodies the ability to make constant adaptations to the virus inside us, aggressively fighting it and preventing it from causing any symptoms. There were... there were some side effects..."
"That's not a 'side-effect'," Asher said. "That's a superpower."
Catchie smiled somberly. She nodded.
"It's got its advantages," she admitted. "But it's also got its price."
The raccoon dog pulled down the left shoulder strap on her shirt, baring her upper chest area. She poked an area near her clavicle, then invited Asher and Brady to do the same. Only Asher took her up on the offer, and when he did his face contorted with puzzlement. He poked her a few more times.
"It's as hard as a slab of marble," he whispered.
He poked a spot a little further out from that area, and he felt the normal squishiness of her flesh.
"We get these spots, sometimes," Catchie explained. "Pieces of our flesh and organs that turn as hard as stone on us. They appear out of nowhere, at random, and the only thing for it is to cut them out of us, then let the normal flesh grow back into the void."
Brady leaned against a tent post, paw to his stomach.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," he grumbled.
"They've been getting more frequent, though, ever since our operation."
"Have you been to a doctor?" Asher asked.
Catchie nodded.
"They're no help. They just call it 'calamitous calcification': cause unknown. Nobody can treat us without an intimate understanding of the devices inside our bodies.
Asher drew a slow breath; he nodded gently.
"And no one but Dr. James Prower, or someone on his level of expertise, can possibly understand them, is that right?" Asher asked.
Brady blinked.
"Wait: you're saying that the only reason you hooked up with Filigree in the first place was to get close to Prower's son, on the off-chance that Tails could treat you?"
"That was a happy accident," Catchie said. "We were already staying with Filigree as civvies when Fionnghal brought Tails in and set him up as the medic. But we were afraid to try approaching him, given..."
Catchie briefly looked at Brady before looking away.
"...given the 'attitude' so many of you have about canines."
Brady scoffed.
"What, you think we'd end up strapping you to tables and vivisecting you to find out your secrets?" He chuckled.
When Catchie didn't respond Brady's chuckle died down.
"Oh," he mumbled. "You... you actually thought we'd end up strapping you to tables and vivisecting you to find out—"
"I'd have been afraid of the same thing," Asher admitted. "These devices inside the two of you are incredible."
"And dangerous," Catchie retorted. "They're killing us, Prince Asher, one chunk of calcified flesh at a time. We need to know what's wrong with the devices inside us before we're turned to stone, entirely, and since we can't find James Prower now, well, we figured that if we got you all to trust us, maybe you'd eventually understand our problem and let Tails try to treat us."
At these words Brady looked at the ground, his face slack. He faced away from Catchie, his ungainly arms crossed.
Asher, however, had more to say.
"Catchie, if you're telling me that James Prower is the one who tried to cure your SICR virus, well, you'll understand if I say that that's one of the most unlikely and ironic things you could tell me, right?"
"It was a challenge for him," Catchie whispered, shrugging. "He seemed like the type of person to relish a good challenge."
"But still," Asher shook his head, "for him to just up and try treating you both, for free? No strings attached?"
Catchie coughed politely, looking away from Asher.
"There was a price for the treatment. A very small price, anyway."
"What was it?"
"A control," Catchie said. "Dr. Prower took me aside and told me he needed a control for his experiment: one of us would have to have a fake surgery and then not get the device implanted, so he could test the device's efficiency against a baseline." Catchie stared down at the ground, absently rubbing her arm. "If... if my brother survives please don't tell him; I secretly agreed to be the control for the test, as long as my brother got the actual Octet System."
"But you both have working devices in you, don't you?"
Catchie nodded, again shrugging.
"When we woke up after surgery there was something going on in the labs: an emergency of some kind. The locks on all the doors were open, and we had a free pass outside, so we both decided it'd be better to cut and run while the running was good. I don't know why Prower gave us both devices, and my curiosity wasn't enough to compel me to stick around to find out. There's something about Doctor Prower... he gave me a really bad feeling, just being around him..."
Asher considered this, head cocked. He shrugged, pacing back and forth.
"Do you think you're brother's going to survive? What's the worst injuries you two have overcome because of these 'devices'?"
"Nothing as bad as this," Catchie admitted. "I really don't know what's going to happen..."
Asher kept pacing, not speaking for some time as he walked about in a trance-like state. Finally he got his head collected and stopped pacing. He motioned to the tent flap.
"Just... just go be with him, then, alright. No hitting Spindletop anymore, though, okay?"
Catchie bowed respectfully and then meekly shuffled out of the tent. She paused at the flap though, a venomous look in her eyes at the mention of the cheetah.
"It's a funny world, you know," she whispered, "when a junkie cheetah has more credibility with her superiors than another animal, just because they're a canine..."
"What was that?" Asher demanded.
"You heard me, Prince Shope," Catchie said. She bowed again. "Respectfully..."
Asher sighed as Catchie disappeared out of the tent, nearly bumping into Thadesch on the way out. The toad approached Asher, and Asher's face went from melancholic emptiness to burning anger in a second, flat.
"You!" He snarled.
"Shoot me in my 'idiot face' some other time, Asher. After you've heard this broadcast. It was sent out on all the general bands about a half hour ago."
The toad set a small radio on the table and flicked it on; static seared the air, and then a certain deep, mellifluous voice filled the tent.
"Greetings, Mobius. This is the Eggman of Delta Tribe, formerly the last human of Mobius until recent events displaced me from that title. I have a message for a specific Mobian, today: an individual who once called himself 'Doctor James Prower', though I can't imagine that name is in use, anymore. Wherever you are, James, can you hear me? I certainly hope you can, because Delta Tribe is in possession of something that belongs to you: a certain two-tailed specimen of curious upbringing.
"I don't have to tell you how unique this specimen is though, do I? I'll be broadcasting his genetic sequence and retinal mapping over the airwaves in due time, to prove my claim, but in the meantime you must be wondering: what could Eggman possibly want with my young son?
"The answer is simple, and forgive me for being so direct, James: I want you. You will travel to the western ash-fields beyond Delta Tribe's territory, to the ruins of a place called Sin Pohmpe'olus, and there you will surrender yourself to Delta Tribe personnel. Do so and your kit will live; don't and... well, no point considering such unpleasantness until it comes to pass, eh?
"To all others hearing this message: do not approach within 100 miles of the Sin Pohmpe'olus ruins, on penalty of a most violent interception by Delta Tribe forces. Thank you all most graciously for your cooperation. And James... we'll all be seeing you soon..."
The radio cut back to static and Thadesch switched it off.
"Sin Poh— Pohm... pe...olus..." Brady muttered, scratching his chin.
"Old hedgehog ruins," Asher said. "Very old. It was a thriving city back in the time of the ancients— almost like the Sulumac'dun of its day— right up until the Dolamiram erupted about 1000 years ago, destroying the city and creating the ash-fields."
"Bleak place to make the exchange, isn't it?" Brady said.
"It's a bleak business, isn't it?" Asher sighed. He looked back at Thadesch, again bearing an angry scowl. "How's the cheetah?"
"Spindletop is, well, 'sated', for now," Thadesch said. "She's working on amplifying the device inside Katchy's body, and for the moment he is still alive."
"Why... the hell... are you supplying her with drugs?"
Thadesch crossed his arms.
"Respectfully, Asher: I won't answer that question, not until the mistress is back home, at least."
"You mean..."
Asher shook his head and sat down in his chair. He rested his elbows on the table, sighing.
"Fionnghal knew about this, didn't she? She allowed it?"
Thadesch said nothing, although Asher could read the look on his face.
"She organized it..." Asher rubbed his face. "Oh, the world's gone mad!"
"For the record," Thadesch said, "Spindletop is usually very efficient and effective in her work, high or not. This is unfamiliar territory for her: you do realize that you just asked a mechanic to be a doctor, you know—"
"All I ask," Asher growled, "is that my people don't get blitzed on narcotics! Is that too much to ask?"
"In her case?" Thadesch nodded. "Yes. Again, we'll wait for the mistress's return to talk about this further, but in the meantime you might want to consider that the world is not as rosy-pink as you might like it to be, Asher, and that sometimes a leader has to make certain... 'compromises'. Fionnghal happens to be expertly good at that sort of thing, and if you don't show the same flexibility, well..."
Asher looked like he was ready to stand and deck the toad, so Brady got in between them.
"Uh, uh, look: speaking of 'the mistress's return': do you think that James Prower will actually show up to these 'Sandopolis' ruins?"
"Sin Pohmpe'olus." Asher corrected him.
"Whatever. And, even if he does: will Eggman really release Tails from captivity? And, even if Eggman does that, will he release Fionnghal, too, if he's got her? He very well might end up throwing her to the wolves, you know."
"I don't know, but it doesn't really matter."
"Why not?" Brady asked.
Asher's brown eyes burned under the tent's floodlight. He sneered.
"Because we're mounting a rescue operation: we're gonna recover both Miles and Fionnghal from Eggman's clutches, and we're gonna do it before Delta Tribe even knows what him 'em!"
