Chapter 23

Was there ever any honor in war? Were the legends of Scipio Africanus, Cyrus, and Joan of Arc extrapolated flourishes tacked on to cover the stench of death and bloodshed? Was there a time when songs and poems heralded a battle that was more than a senseless slaughter of the young, when monuments were truly glorious tributes to courage and noble sacrifice? When did the tunes change? When did they become discordant noise raised to a fever pitch to drown out the sound of tears?

Had they all been fooled? Were the times before the same as they were now only shrouded by the mist of propaganda and misguided remembrances? Or was there a turning point? Had humanity collectively stumbled and fallen together into the depths? When had the masses opened their eyes to thirst for the possessions and sovereignty of those above them? When had the loner been awakened to the truth of violence?

At what point did the armies meet upon the field of battle and give up all hope of valor and recognition? When did they realize that all the horrors of the world were made by the same hands that nurtured them; that all lies came from the same mouths that kissed them? And when did the hope of breaking that chain fade away?

President Alexander leaned against his desk and watched the sun set past his window. His thoughts were dark, intrusive, and disconnected. He tried to silence them with concentration but his mind could not hold onto a single idea. Instead he was bombarded by vague concepts in a stream of free association.

He could vividly remember the night following his first election when he had come to this room to soak in his victory. Though the desk and the chairs and the paintings were all antiques and priceless beyond worth, Alexander had been most captivated by the window. He had never realized how good a view it gave him of the presidential grounds. As the sun set, the lawns turned into panes of fire and the fountain shot forth sparks of liquid of color. After years of frenetic activity and scheming, Alexander was shocked to find such a welcoming sight of peace at the end of his journey.

Now he wondered when the view had lost its appeal. For the first few months, Alexander had brought the stresses of his position to his window and the simple peace and beauty of the scene would calm him down. Though at some point the comfort it gave him started to wane and now Alexander hardly noted how the colors shifted as the sun continued to set or how harsh the shadows became. A painter in his youth, Alexander once had an eye for such detail. It was his keen eye in fact that had first pushed him into politics. He had seen his fellow citizens run over by the political machine far too many times.

If only the driver had an eye for the everyday person. That was the promise of the premise that Alexander whispered into everyone's ear. Soon it was not just him whispering, but his campaign aids. In his initial foray into local government, Alexander was heralded as the painter politician. He held forums in the local city centers and taught children what to look for in a painting.

His opponents derided his strategy as churlish and off topic, but Alexander always made sure to bring his observations about painting back around to the issues facing their city. It came as a slight shock to him when his initial dip into politics suddenly led into a full slide. Within five years, Alexander was serving as a senator. He traveled to the capital of the U.F as a wide eyed innocent hoping to spark a positive change in the politics of the nation.

What he found when he got there was a cut throat maze. Suddenly, his artsy background painted him as dorky, unsophisticated and immature. To Alexander's surprise, shedding his skin and changing his image was not nearly as difficult as he would have thought, and even more surprising, he did not resist his metamorphosis. Ten years later and he hardly recognized himself. No one thought of him as a painter politician anymore, and Alexander himself had not touched a brush in ages.

The president sighed and looked down at the folder on his desk. Bile was in his throat as he flipped the folder open to reveal three pictures. The faces were smiling and labeled with red ink. Charmy Bee, Vector the Crocodile, and Espio the Chameleon. Small-time detectives who ran an agency called Chaotix. On the national stage they were complete nobodys. Now, on Alexander's orders, they were all dead.

How had he changed this much? He had started his accession by imploring the virtue of classical art to children, and now he was ordering the deaths of his own citizens. Alexander felt his insides twist like a knot. He would not be able to eat that night. Appetite was something the president struggled to maintain. Between the overwhelming pressure of his position and the horrible choices that were constantly set before him, the taste of food had started to dim.

In many ways, Alexander felt his story mirrored that of his country. Their youth was firmly behind them now and they had not aged gracefully. The U.F had risen to national prominence behind the sparkling virtue and singular ingenuity of a handful of unique individuals. Yet their prominence referred more to the promise of the nation and not its standing in regards to global power. It would take a few more centuries, more alliances and even more wars for the U.F to rise to the seat of global superpower that it enjoyed today.

However, accession did not come without a cost. As the plant rose, its roots were more closely examined and what had appeared like sparkling virtue turned out to be infested with unseen rot. Eventually, the sins of the past and the sloth of the present came home to roost and the crown of global leader weighed heavily on those that bore it.

Obsession with the past and disdain for current reality led the nation to curl up like a wounded animal and lash out violently against the smallest transgression. It was this flagging national confidence and the rise of new nations that led to the formation of GUN. Heralded as the next step in intergovernmental partnership, GUN's true purpose was to prevent rival powers from exceeding the military output of the U.F.

But for those who had eyes to see, GUN was only a band aid covering an open wound. The time in the sun had come and gone. Alexander knew the metrics well and he knew better how the publics of other nations felt about the world's de facto overlords. Though only possessing a fraction of the world's population, the U.F controlled nearly fifty percent of the world's military output and more alarmingly consumed a fourth of its energy.

In the midst of this decline and self protecting quest of armament, Alexander had stepped onto the stage. He was given the controller but the game was nearly over, he had only one life, and none of the buttons worked. The earth bled from the wounds of industry, his people failed beneath the weight of extreme taxes, and the nations watched with hungry, vengeful eyes, waiting for the U.F to fail so they could leap upon its carcass.

Alexander had hoped to make a positive change, to leave the state of the nation at least slightly better than when he had entered office. Then, only four months into office, the screens of the country were interrupted by a message of doom. A single madman had taken over a failed military experiment and threatened to use the damned technology to blow up portions of the earth.

A bewildered and utterly shocked Alexander was forced to hear the madman ramble about the obliteration of the U.F unless he surrendered the country to the Eggman Empire. In a single moment, one man had completely negated years of military effort and strenuous taxing. What was the point of a national defense budget if one insane scientist could destroy entire planets?

To add to his incredulity, he had not even been able to answer Eggman's threats. Instead his limo had been invaded by a blue hedgehog and a flying fox. Alexander, the president of the U.F and the most powerful man in the world had been forced to watch as Sonic laughed Eggman's threats aside while his friend easily triangulated the source of the transmission (something Alexander's team of specialists had been unable to do.)

Seconds later they were gone. Alexander had to return to his post, attempting to deal with the stunning fallout of the Eggman's threat, all the while feeling completely empty. What did it really matter? What was the point of all this posturing if the true power of the world resided in the hands of freaks and monsters?

GUN attempted to rally forces for an assault on the Space Colony Ark but they were too late. In the end, the hope of everyone on earth had to be placed upon a single blue hedgehog. To Alexander, that was the point of no return. People's faith in their governments had been flagging for decades, but now it was completely destroyed.

The very concept of something like GUN seemed like a complete joke when the nation's real defenders were a fox, a hedgehog and an echidna. These heroes did not require billions of dollars in budget and best of all they were not controlled by any one flag. The illusion of what GUN really was shattered and the lies were laid bare. GUN existed to drain resources, to prevent emerging nations from becoming too powerful, and to preserve the existing ruling party.

Alexander had been told this without even a hint of concealment. All his top generals and advisors were ready to face the music. It was going to be the end of GUN, the end of public trust in their government, and perhaps the end of the U.F. Commander Smith likened it to the civil wars of the late Roman Republic. The illusion of democracy and public willingness to believe in its institutions kept Roman officials and statesmen safe for centuries, but once the illusion broke there was no putting it back together. Might would rule Rome from then on.

The president was warned that the U.F stood at that edge now. Unless. Unless the current ruling party made such a demonstration of strength that the public was forced to believe in it once again. Alexander could still remember how his body shook as his generals placed the offers before him. On one hand, he could do nothing and wait for his term to end and face a surefire loss in the upcoming election. His defeat would come to a rival party that very much rivaled his own, but they would never set foot in office. The third party candidate, a revolutionary, would not accept the results. Fights would break out and even once order was restored there would be no return. The U.F would slide into an unbreakable chain of mini revolutions and political violence.

And that would only be on the domestic sphere. Internationally, all dread of the U.F would fade away and its rivals would see the blood in the water. To prevent this descent into chaos, Alexander would have to take bold actions to secure his reelection and the international strength of the nation. The events of the Ark had firmly established that the balance of power in the world had shifted. Single individuals possessed the strength of armies and, in that respect GUN, was severely outclassed.

The solution to all of Alexander's woes came in the form of a single conspiracy. He would make a public show of sending GUN to destroy what remained of the Eclipse Cannon, the boogeyman of the public consciousness. In reality, his agents would take the Cannon and bring it home.

Commander Smith swore that his scientist could find a way to make it operational again. With the Eclipse Cannon the army could have a weapon equal in scope to a nuclear bomb but one that could be fired from space and be indifferent to distance. On the global stage it was a checkmate to all international aggression.

Alexander had succeeded on all fronts. He had won his reelection, secured GUNs public image and captured an ultimate weapon, but there had been a cost. Four innocents; the Chaotix and Howard Lincoln were dead. Alexander sat down at his desk and massaged his temples.

His thoughts continued to swirl like a drop of paint placed into a cup of water. They would remain solid for just a moment before diluting into the liquid maelstrom of confusion. Tangential thinking brought him to his grandfather. Alexander could almost smell the wood and paint of the attic studio. His grandfather's face was lined and gnarled like an old tree root. It was difficult to picture it exactly but Alexander could vividly recall his grandfather's eyes. They were large, amber and so full of life. Even into his old age their power of sight never dimmed.

It was his grandfather who had taught Alexander how to see. The two of them would venture out into the countryside and spend hours just looking at a tree. Alexander would marvel at all the detail his grandfather could exume just from watching silently and lovingly. When they would return to the house, his grandfather would spend the entire night in his studio. By the next morning would have his painting finished and Alexander would be shocked by the sheer level of detail and depth that his grandfather's work illustrated. His paintings were like a window into his mind and the display of all the little things that his grandfather noted during his long silent reflections.

Alexander trembled and felt something heavy settle in his gut. He realized why it had been so long since he had painted. Art revealed the inner being and Alexander dreaded that discovery. He had convinced himself that he was the good guy and that he was doing what was best for the most number of people. Yet he dared not test his theory against the canvas. The president folded his hands together but made no attempt to pray. Hope had left him, abandoning him to shame and disgust over the person he had become.

FLASH! A white light blinded the president and he was forced to cover his face. Seconds later the light faded and as Alexander blinked a shadowy figure slowly came into focus. A fox with black fur and a long gray cloak stepped towards the desk. Panicked, Alexander reached below his desk and took hold of the pistol.

"There will be no need for that." The fox raised his hand. Some kind of gadget was strapped around his palm. An orb in the center glowed red and the pistol soared from beneath the desk and into the fox's hand. He tossed it aside with contempt.

Alexander went for the panic button next. "Don't bother. They will not hear you." Sure enough when Alexander pressed the button it did not light up. The president took a steadying breath and tried to appear calm and collected.

"Who are you?"

The fox bowed low and when he did he revealed a bushy snow white tail. "I am Mesto the Sly."

"What do you want? How did you get in here?"

The fox raised its head and lowered its hood. Its snout was long and dark and it had thin white whiskers. Mesto had long cunning, and deep amber eyes with a red scar that traced from below his left eye down to the corners of his mouth. His voice was smooth and suave and he spoke with a strange accent. "I will answer in reverse order. My land has many technologies that you may consider magical. As to why I am here, I am here as an emissary from the Eternal Emperor."

Alexander raised an eyebrow. "The Eternal Emperor? Am I supposed to know who that is?"

Mesto chuckled. "Of course not. He rules from a planet that is far away from here."

"And what does he want from me?"

"To give you a gift." Mesto reached into his cloak and drew out a pink gem. It sparkled in the dim light of the office and reflected in the fox's hungry eyes. "This is a Sol Stone. It possesses near unlimited power, almost comparable to the Chaos Emeralds found here on earth."

Alexander's eyes lit up. Desire drove him forward, but caution kept him sitting. "And why would he want to give me something so valuable?"

"Valuable? Did I say that it was? On your planet perhaps, but on mine they are trifles. The Sol Stones are the key to our empire and our prosperity. Like earth we once faced destruction from our own incompetence. However, we broke through and discovered power sources that are ineffable. Using them we transformed our planet into an…Eden of sorts. The Sol Stones can be used to power everything you need, and, best of all, when they are used up they create zero waste."

Mesto stepped forward and placed the gem on the president's desk. "We have thousands more where that came from," The fox assured him.

Alexander reached forward to hold the stone. The gem felt warm to the touch and he could feel an inner movement inside it almost like a heartbeat. "That is not all," Mesto continued. He drew out a set of flash drives and placed them on the desk as well.

"What are these?"

"Suggestions. My gracious emperor has labored long and hard over the riddle that is the earth. Yet he thinks he has managed to create a plan that can be your salvation. Follow his lead and the emperor believes that the earth can transition to clean, renewable energy using Sol Stone's within the next twenty years." Mesto placed a long nail on one of the drives and flashed a set of sharp white teeth. "I pray you will heed his words. The earth will not receive a better opportunity to save itself." With that, Mesto turned around and started walking towards the door.

"WAIT!" Alexander shouted as he leapt to his feet. "Is that it?"

Mesto turned back. "I will return to hear your answer. Test the Sol Stone, my words mean nothing unless you are assured of its utility."

"What about the rest of the world? Is your emperor giving these stones to everyone?"

The corners of Mesto's smile twitched. "Have no fear on that account my friend. My emperor is wise. He understands the way of earthlings. If he were to give the stones out liberally all he would do is start a war with all powerful tools. This transaction must be handled with care and tact."

"Transaction? You mean your emperor expects something in return?"

Mesto shrugged. "He expects the earth to improve. The emperor demands that it survive."

"Why? What is the earth to him? Why should he care?"

"Because he is an earthling as well, of course."

Alexander stammered. He did not understand. "Who? Who is your emperor, what is his name?"

Mesto crossed one arm over his shoulder and knelt. "The Eternal Emperor, the Sun Monarch, the King of Cosmos, Lord Robotnik!" White light enveloped the fox and a second later he was gone.

The silence that followed was so profound, Alexander wondered if the entire exchange had been a hallucination. However, the Sol Stone was still in his hand. Alexander held it up and stared deep into its pink depths and wondered.

AN: Happy Holy Week, next chapter should be out on Holy Thursday