A beam of sunlight caught Sabrina flush in the face, jerking her awake just before the mysterious stranger had turned around. Why did that always seem to happen? Just as a general rule, one always was roused an instant before discovering the pivotal key that would assumedly reveal the solution to their dreams' mysteries. In this case, Sabrina had somehow known that whoever was under that dark cloak was not only an enemy, but also one whom she had believed to be an ally. She had advanced upon the conspirator, who had remained completely oblivious, occupied with something that would now forever remain unknown. Having heard Sabrina's footsteps a moment before she would have reached him—or her, she had reminded herself, even in her sleep remembering not to be chauvinistic—the shrouded traitor had been beginning to turn when the ray had jolted her into consciousness. She opened her eyes, and immediately blinked several times, covering her face with her arms to shield the blinding brightness. The light wasn't natural—rather, it came from the numerous florescent lamps that illuminated Knothole, and were slowly brought to full power at dawn and evening to best simulate a sunrise—but apparently it made no difference when shined in one's face when they were trying to sleep.
"Morning, princess," Yvonne said, tying up the curtain. She had dyed her quills platinum blond, a vicious contrast with her jet-black body. The porcupine had a small obsession with consistently changing colors; though her fur was currently its normal hue, it could range from hot pink to navy blue to a vivid tie-dye. Royal families of the past would have been shocked, but Sabrina knew her parents—especially her father—were radicals who believed that keeping the township stable was more important than enforcing a dress code. Unfortunately, that leniency didn't apparently go as far as allowing her, Sabrina, to get a metallic stud through her ear.
She yawned and looked at the digital clock on the table by her bed, then glared at Yvonne. "What the heck are you doing, waking me up at this hour?" she asked sourly. "In case you haven't happened to check the calendar, it's Saturday." Considering her vicious schedule during the majority of the week, Sabrina generally deigned to start her day slightly before noon on weekends. That fact combined with Sonic's tendency to hold to a similar schedule thoroughly exasperated Sally morning after morning. Thinking about her parents suddenly shot a pang of longing through Sabrina's heart, which she forced back before she began crying. That was to be saved for nights, alone.
Yvonne knew nothing of the depths of Sabrina's pain, as the princess covered it with an impenetrable mask and tried to appear as if life had been no different for her over the last week—was it only a week? It seemed like millennia… "Apparently," the maid said, "you've got some sort of special lesson this morning. I'm supposed to tell you to haul your butt down to the hangar and bring a notebook. Beyond that, I'm clueless." She inspected a spot of scratched paint on one wall, probably filing it amongst her duties for the day. "Anything in particular that I can get you for breakfast?"
"Eggs sound fine," Sabrina replied.
"Scrambled, poached, soft-boiled, sunny-side up, omelet?"
"Scrambled. With cheese."
"Fruit? We've got oranges, apples, bananas, pears…"
"Whatever's ripe," Sabrina responded, walking into the bathroom. She raised an eyebrow upon seeing her own image in the mirror; her fur had undergone significant mussing over the course of the night. Must have really tossed, she thought as she gave the shower nozzle a three-quarters turn, waited about fifteen seconds, and then stepped under the steaming water. For a little while, she could forget about the hell that she was living, and rejoice in the sheer bliss of warmth running over every inch of her body. After about a minute of soaking, she squirted a liberal measure of shampoo into her palm, rubbed her hands together, and massaged the foamy lather throughout her auburn pelt. Rinse thoroughly, repeat with conditioner, rinse again.
She stepped out of the stall, dripping wet, and quickly toweled off before entering the dryer. Jets in the wall of the small cubicle sprayed hot air across her, and within a few moments no droplets still clung to her fur. Finally, standing in front of a large mirror, she brushed herself, carefully grooming every hair into place. Quickly returning to her room, she snatched her blue vest and boots, almost perfect copies of the ones her mother had worn in youth.
To say that Sabrina resembled the queen was about as huge of an understatement as calling the king fast. Had she somehow been able to travel through time and meet Sally, two decades ago, nobody would have been able to tell them apart—at least, by merely looking at them. Nevertheless, inconspicuous as they may have been, there were more than a few differences, for better or for worse. Sabrina lacked her mother's calm, calculating mindset (though not her intellect), instead inheriting her father's recklessness and inability to see beneath an issue. That was offset, however, by the remarkable physical abilities that Sonic's chromosomes had donated, including his legendary blistering speed and powerful destructive spinning capabilities. Sabrina didn't have spines to act as miniature blades while performing such an attack, but her hurtling body provided enough force by itself. She had demonstrated this fact on more than one occasion, generally at the expense of a punching bag or two.
Opening her door and dashing out into the hall, she nearly collided with an official looking vulpine who had chosen the wrong moment to walk by her room. Stammering a hurried apology to the fox, who looked just as flustered, she took the stairs two at a time and made a rather loud crash when her shoes struck the marble floor. A door on the other side of the main hall opened and a bespectacled hare poked her head out to investigate. Sabrina grinned sheepishly. The hare rolled her eyes and returned to her prior business.
As it had been for eight days now, the table was set for only one. To avoid having to eat alone, Sabrina had attempted to ask Yvonne to join her, but the maid had forcefully declined the privilege. Honestly, Sabrina thought, some people are so self-degrading. She supposed that Yvonne didn't want to accept any license that was not granted to all her peers. Either she feared their resentment or she simply was so satisfied with her lot that she refused to seek even a representation of higher status. Whatever the cause, Sabrina would once again lack for breakfast conversation. Instead, she found her small knapsack—the same cerulean shade as her other attire—and pulled out a biology textbook for some brief studying. After a second thought, she returned it and drew instead a novel that she had been assigned to read within the next week. It had occurred to her that reading about fungi spores might put off her appetite somewhat; especially with the full-color close-up pictures of bread mold that the primer provided.
She had just begun the next chapter, in which the protagonist and the valiant crew of his ship was apparently going to battle a vicious hurricane, when another kitchen worker appeared with a good-sized platter of scrambled eggs, a quartered pear, and a tall glass of orange juice. "Anything else that I can get you?" she asked through a thick accent that suggested origin on the far northeast of Mobius. That she was ursine coincided well with such a hypothesis.
"No thanks, Kostya," Sabrina replied. Then, out of curiosity, "Where's Yvonne?"
"Nicked herself with a carving knive," Kostya replied, "but she'll be fine. Unfortunately, she was preparing a batch of cornbread at the time, and some blood got into the mix. Too bad; it's such a waste to have to throw out that much."
Something didn't seem quite right about that. Sabrina figured it out: "Why was she using a knife above a bowl of batter?" Generally preparing such a mixture would involve cornmeal and assorted liquids, no process that would require anything sharp.
Kostya shrugged, set the food down on the table and stood back up. "Maybe she did it beforehand, and didn't notice until later. In any case, enjoy your meal; I've got other business to attend to." Most likely that would be helping to serve the rest of those who were to dine in the castle that morning. The popular image of a royal family involved dozens of servants pampering to the wishes of a few individuals alone, but this rather medieval image couldn't be farther from the truth. Actually, only about six or seven women tended to cleaning and cooking duties, while the regal building boasted over thirty other permanent residents, not including those who might be invited to a feast or banquet. The bear trotted back to the kitchen as Sabrina drove a fork into her eggs.
She tried to eat as quickly as possible; though Yvonne had not given her a precise time to be at the hangar, someone was obviously waiting for her. Having finished, she slammed her book closed and deserted her lonely place at the table. Some neatnik had relocated her bag from the random corner where she had left it to a hook set into the wall. Whatever, Sabrina thought, trading the nautical adventure story for a note pad and rummaging through her various items for a writing implement. Her fishing procured two pens; a quick scrawl test on the front page of the pad indicated that one worked. She tossed the dry ballpoint onto the rug. The neatnik can pick it up, she thought to herself, smiling.
She wished that there could have been words to describe smells as she stepped out into the lukewarm moist air that filled Knothole Village. There was no other way to say it: it smelled like spring. Strangely, Sabrina didn't much mind the humidity, though everyone around her always seemed to complain about it. Yeah, sure, it did some rather strange things to her fur at times, but it also gave a pleasantly mild sensation of being wrapped in a warm blanket of vapor. At a fast walk's pace, she crossed to the far end of the town. Around her, folk were beginning their days; laborers and white-collar workers alike bustled about, en route to their separate occupations.
Many gave Sabrina a greeting in passing, but none fell upon their knees or threw their coats upon the ground so she could walk without dirtying her feet. She had always been taught to reject such outdated customs, and to remember that being a princess did in no case necessarily make her better or smarter than her neighbor. That had been drilled into her from when she was five, since the day that, upon losing to Adeline in a small game, she had thrown a fit, claiming that her status prevented her from a fair defeat. Oddly enough, it wasn't the queen who had delivered the first lecture on the topic; Sonic, being the only parent nearby, had been unexpectedly thrust into the undesirable position of first placating the young Sabrina, then proceeding to explain that particular rule of life without undoing the first step. He had done better than one might have expected, and that plus subsequent sermons that seemed to come on a monthly agenda had eventually driven the point home.
Hangar #2 was, like any other of its type in Knothole, built into an earthen wall; this was necessary due to the rather unique method by which planes entered and left the village. As she approached it, she spotted an avian figure standing outside of it. Coming closer, she identified the shape. "Chantel!" she cried gladly; lessons with her were always quite interesting. Chantel was the essence of the benevolent grandmotherly sort, the type of person who probably had a few hard candies hidden under one wing for some lucky pupil. The kestrel's beak lacked the vicious, foreboding scowl that graced the countenances of most raptors, and her eyes too betrayed the general hard look often associated with her sort. The only major fault that Sabrina could find with an otherwise flawless tutor was her choice of a husband: Laertes. The cold hatred that Sabrina held in her heart for the falcon had nothing to do with his personality, nor that he currently occupied the position held by her parents under normal circumstances—by all means, he was clever, polite, and functioning well in a position that he had not sought or wished to ascend to. No, her reasoning was simpler still: had Laertes once not been denied his way, she would not exist. In her mind, he might as well have tried to kill her.
"Hello, Princess," Chantel said, smiling.
"Sabrina," Sabrina groaned. She had a name, and honestly would prefer to be addressed by it rather than be reminded of her cumbersome title throughout the course of every single day. "What's the deal, anyhow? I, like, never have lessons on weekends. What's going on?" Her language and tone probably betrayed what most expected of her, but, again, she really just wished that people would take off the metaphorical leash that prevented her from behaving like a normal young teenager. Was her fur any more special than the next guy's? Wasn't she just an adolescent like any other?
Chantel beam flickered; yes, she disapproved of the informal jargon. "I suppose you haven't heard of the decision that was arrived at last evening."
"'Fraid not. What's up?"
"My husband—the acting king, I should say—and his advisors have concluded that we as citizens of the planet Mobius cannot ignore the situation in Downunda, even if acting upon it causes some inconvenience to ourselves. You must always remember, my dear, that there are some who would have us adopt a strict laissez-faire military foreign policy, and such simply does not work. We cannot turn a deaf eye and a blind ear—excuse me, a deaf ear and a blind eye—to the troubles of the rest of the world."
"I see," Sabrina said. She really couldn't have cared less, and she hoped that Chantel wouldn't choose to turn this particular lecture into a political jeremiad. "What does this "lazy fair" have to do with my not still being asleep right now?"
Now Chantel looked truly dismayed. "Sabrina! That was on your vocabulary list two months ago!" She appeared more troubled by her pupil's inability to recall the meaning of an obscure foreign term than her flagrant insolence. Typical, Sabrina thought. I can be a complete bitch, every teacher's nightmare, and all that she'll pick up is that I didn't study my stupid vocabulary.
She sighed. "Alright, I'll bite. What does it mean?"
Chantel looked down her beak at the princess; no easy feat considering the latter topped her by a good three inches. "I'll tell you on the way. Come on, let's go." She turned and walked into the hangar, which currently boasted only two planes. One was Prower's famous Tornado, gleaming where the few rays of sunlight that illuminated the large dim shed struck its freshly waxed nose. Its owner was not conducting his surveying duties at the moment, obviously due to the day. Sabrina, not so blessed, focused her attention on the second aircraft: Chantel's Monsoon. Corny, corny, corny, the princess had decided long ago. Storms, ooh. Perfectly respectable to name one plane after weather phenomena, but other hangars at other corners of town held the Tempest, the Gale, the Blizzard, and many others. Whatever happened to originality?
The dilapidated Monsoon had once been Laertes' fighter plane that he used against Robotnik's steel minions; Chantel, a self-admitted minor kleptomaniac, couldn't bear to turn the craft into scrap, and took on the challenge herself of preserving its ability to fly. In the end, a few of the numerous mechanically minded citizens of the town had done most of the needed repair work while Chantel gave the body her best effort. The result of this was that the Monsoon flew well enough, and its many layers of added purple paint made the dings and scratches somewhat inconspicuous—at least, at a distance.
Unlike the open-cockpit one-seat Tornado, the Monsoon had two thick transparent shields over each compartment that popped open to allow Sabrina and Chantel to seat themselves inside upon the tough, torn, and slightly lumpy leather that Sabrina guessed had been one of the things not replaced in the last fifteen years. Two helmets awaited them, complete with goggles; Sabrina's pair had a long scratch running down the right eye, which probably would have become an issue were she behind the controls. As things were, she wouldn't have great need of perfect vision on this jaunt. Annoyingly, she still didn't have a clue what the entire excursion was all about. Setting her notebook and pen down by her feet, she poked at the "on" button of the small radio transmitter set in the front of her small space. That, along with a parachute, was the only items furnished unto her for the duration of the trip. A speaker began to crackle in Chantel's voice, "… read me? Sabrina, do you read me? Sabrina, do you—"
"Loud and clear," Sabrina said back. In the forward cockpit, Chantel turned and gave a thumbs-up. Like most Mobians of an avian race, she bore anthropomorphic fingers with talons upon the dorsal surface of the hand. While these could serve as extremely nasty weapons for one of a more pugnacious demeanor, it was nigh impossible to imagine the kestrel resorting to such means to solve any conflict. Now she reached forward and pushed a succession of three buttons, then pulled a switch off to her right. Sabrina tilted her head upwards to watch the receding hatch in the ceiling. She smiled in anticipation; this was always extremely cool.
"Here we go," she whispered to herself as Chantel twisted a knob three hundred and sixty degrees clockwise. A motor, the sound of which was only barely audible through the thick glass, began to hum as a large rectangular panel of the floor, containing the Monsoon, began to rise. From Sabrina's perspective, it was more as if the rest of the room had dropped out from under her and the ceiling were closing down on the small ship. Instead of crushing them, however, the panel slipped neatly into the space previously occupied by the hatch door and the Monsoon emerged on the other side, still resting atop what was previously the floor. Now above the hangar, Sabrina was staring down a long lighted tunnel.
This was the reason for the building being built into the side of a cliff: Knothole was a subterranean dwelling. While this was ideal for secrecy, it was generally rather tough on planes, both inbound and outbound. Not only that, but its location in the center of an enormous wood also presented difficulties. The special design of the hanger allowed for a craft to be raised through the ceiling and into a hollow alcove above. From there, the planes would taxi down an underground runway for four miles, and open up at the edge of the Great Forest, the entrance being covered by a camouflaged hatch. There were five such exits, each with plenty of ways by which to prevent someone who happened to stumble across the opening from following the tunnel all the way back to the hidden town. Some of these were more lethal than others—it was a mandate: as a tyrant could rise again, Knothole's location must remain undisclosed.
The Monsoon was now zooming through this paved chute, and as it would be at least a minute before they emerged, now seemed like an ideal time for Sabrina to inquire as to the two outstanding ambiguities: that of the term's definition, and that of their intended destination. The former seeming to require a less lengthy answer, she leaned forward and spoke to her microphone, "So, um, what exactly does that word mean now?" She hoped that Chantel would be able to simultaneously answer and maintain the plane's straight course down the runway.
The eternal static came through over the reply. "Laissez-faire, or 'leave alone' can mean, in a strictly governmental sense, a type of economically isolationist foreign policy that attempts to pretend that the rest of the world does not exist—a more impartial definition would call it an doctrine prohibiting governmental interference in commercial affairs. Used more loosely, the term can simply refer to any form of noninterference, such as military indifference." After sorting through the doublespeak, Sabrina had a pretty good idea of what was meant. It sounded fastidiously radical; anarchic, even… yes, she decided, that didn't seem very practical.
"Alright, I've got it, thanks," she replied. Just then, the slope of the corridor began to steepen and a modicum of natural light began to seep into view as the hatch at the end of the tunnel began to open. The Monsoon began to accelerate, and Sabrina squinted as the full force of the bright sunlight shone directly into her eyes. Again, she thought. Then the brightness was on all sides, and, after blinking several times and waiting for her sight to regain its normal contrast, she could see the ground dropping away from her as the plane mounted into the bright sky. Behind her, the entrance to the tunnel sealed itself and, to the naked eye, completely disappeared into the surrounding foliage.
In front of her, Chantel pushed the controller stick about thirty degrees to the right, and the Monsoon complied, turning to set its course on the ocean shoreline about twenty-five miles to the south. Her voice came in over the transmitter: "Is everything all right back there?"
"Couldn't be better," Sabrina replied, then, on an afterthought, "unless you finally deigned it appropriate to inform me of where we're headed."
Chantel's laugh floated over the radio. "Yes, of course. You could call it a field trip of sorts, I suppose. A small fleet is being deployed this morning from Red Sands Harbor to aid the people of Downunda in their struggle; your other tutors and I have decided that it would be fitting for you to survey the vessels and their crew. Should you someday rise to the same position as your mother has, you may yourself someday have to make decisions concerning transport and—although I hope not—war."
It made sense now. "When are they leaving?" Sabrina asked.
"If all goes smoothly, you will have just about an hour. We'll have a free rein, so we can explore every part of the ships, and you'll be able to interview members of the crew—hopefully, if he isn't otherwise occupied, I can arrange a short chat with Captain Levine. He should be most informative."
Hmm, Sabrina thought, this could turn out to be almost worth the loss of sleep…
"You will, of course, be required to take extensive notes on everything you see, and a three page handwritten report will be due upon your next lesson with me… which will, I believe, be Wednesday."
Crap.
They sat in silence for a little while, Sabrina going over in her head everything that she knew about modern naval craft and things pertaining to it, which was precious little. The book that she had been reading was set six hundred years in the past, and most of her studies of war had involved airplanes and their innumerable uses in the lovely art of slaughter. For that matter, she wondered why the counter-invasion required ships in the first place… wouldn't an aerial approach have been just as effective? It occurred to her that if she were to have an audience with the captain, she would probably want to have a few questions prepared in advance. Flipping open her notebook, Sabrina jotted down that which she had just been pondering, as well as a few other inquiries that she felt would contribute nicely to her report. When she had exhausted her mind of that, she thought about what else would be interesting to see. It had to be armed, as they were going to be going straight through an enormous blockade. Definitely the hold: she could fill up a good amount of paper with mundane lists of the various types of cargo. Sleeping quarters and the like… kitchen, engines…
"Attention, ladies, gentlemen, and princesses," Chantel said, her voice a fair parody of an airline pilot's, "we are beginning our gradual descent into Red Sands Harbor's only runway, which was, last time that I checked, in rather ramshackle condition. You may wish," she added, "to double-check your seat belt. Chances are that this landing will be less than enjoyable." Chantel was living proof that a teacher could be serious about her lessons, but still make them fun with quips and witty banter. It was what made her so enjoyable—she realized that learning didn't necessarily mandate banality. Indeed, too, the plane was beginning to lose altitude. Far below her, Sabrina could see the large artificial harbor created by the breakwater that jutted out from the land like a thin curling tentacle. The bulwark was crested with a thin white layer, caused by the incessant crashing of waves upon its rocky surface.
The Monsoon descended rapidly until its wheels touched the surface of the lone asphalt strip and bumpily coasted to a halt. Sabrina's hatch popped open and she gingerly eased herself out, using the small handholds on the side of the plane to slowly slide to the ground. Stretching to relieve the stiffness that the brief ride had produced, she caught sight of a volitant Mobian disengage himself from his task—which had been hovering in midair, passing directions to a group of bulky badgers that were dragging heavy boxes around—and fly over towards them.
"Greeting, princess," he said, landing and bowing slightly. Then, to Chantel, "Morning, mom."
"Good morning, Alexander," Chantel replied pleasantly. "How are things?"
"They're coming along," Alexander said, swiveling his head momentarily to check on the progress behind him. He was in his early twenties, and has physical characteristics that were a perfect blend of those of his parents. Like Laertes, the spots on his chest were abundant, but his beak was shorter and his eyes kinder. "We're finishing up the freight loading, and doing routine things, such as getting the latest weather forecasts and checking our fuel. Just the final stages before embarking."
Chantel glanced at Sabrina, who caught the meaning, grabbed her notebook, and flipped furiously to find an empty page. "Lesse," she muttered, scribbling, "freight loading… weather forecasts… fuel… What sorts of cargo are you bringing?" she asked, recalling her earlier thought.
"Food, of course," Alexander responded, "and although the ship is equipped with desalinization technology, we have fresh water as well in case it breaks down. Weaponry… explosives, firearms and ammunition, more primitive weapons…"
"Firearms?" Sabrina broke in. Such armaments were banned by ancient Mobian law that had never quite been removed from the books, although in the last year of the Robotnik war, a few decrees had been passed to allow for minimum controlled usage. Most soldiers still preferred more archaic types, from crossbows to swords to even hand to hand combat were they physically skilled enough. Sabrina would have been less surprised by the decision had it not been announced by someone from a family that tended to cling to time-honored traditions.
"Yeah, guns. Weasels use them; I'm betting the dingoes will be, too. You may, however, want to gloss over that particular point in your report." Sabrina nodded. "There's also medical supplies, and general travel gear such as backpacks and sleeping bags. After we bust through the blockade—hopefully—we'll need to advance further on land. That's about as much as I can tell you; the rest of our plans are confidential." Reacting to what must have been an outraged expression from Sabrina, he quickly added, "I don't make the rules, you know. I just honor them"
"Are you yourself going?" Sabrina asked, continuing to write. Somehow it seemed like the sort of thing that she should already know, but it hadn't been made clear to her yet.
Alexander shook his head. "No, I'm only organizing. I'm not the warrior my father was."
Sabrina kept her own opinions on Alexander's father to herself. There was something else that she had had in mind to ask, but it had only recently occurred to her and so was not written down. Now having forgotten it, she instead turned her attention towards the wharfs, where three iron ships of medium size were being fitted. Some of the loading was done mechanically, the rest by manual labor. Along with Chantel and Alexander, she had just begun walking towards the cruisers when she remembered what she was previously going to ask. "How long will you be sailing for?" she asked without breaking stride. "Sailing" wasn't really the right word, as the vessels bore neither mast nor rigging, but it would suffice to communicate her general meaning.
"If the good weather holds up, as we believe it will, two to two and a half days maximum. That's just the sea voyage; after that we may have to fight our way to land and, as I mentioned, continue on foot."
"If you're going to fight on the ground, shouldn't you have tanks and stuff?" Sabrina asked. They were now standing ten feet from the prow of the largest of the three ships, the A.K.S. Mobotropolis. There was some general movement on board; the deck gun was being polished, some of the crew were boarding and loading their few personal items, and the unremitting loading continued. It did seem like an awful lot for a two day voyage, but Sabrina supposed that they had their reasons. She mentally stored it as another question to ask of someone.
"No tanks," Alexander said shortly. "Guerillas don't do particularly well with enormous vehicles. They would sort of be like a neon sign saying 'hi, we're over here', wouldn't they?" Sabrina had little time to feel stupid before a loud roar echoed across the docks, numbing her ears for a moment. She spun around to see a second plane touch down on the runway and coast to a stop precisely where the Monsoon had been before a crew had parked it in a safer spot.
Chantel was the first to identify the aircraft. "That's your friend Tails' Duststorm," she remarked. "I wonder why he's here… or why he's lent his plane to anyone."
Indeed it was Tails, with siblings Adeline and Randall, who had been forced to share a single seat on the Duststorm. Sabrina jogged out a short ways to meet her three buddies. A thin ray of sunlight reflecting off of Randall's metallic legs found a course directly into her eyes and blinded her momentarily. She shook her head incredulously—light was not being friendly to her today at all. "Hey guys!" she said upon recovering. "What are you doing here?"
"In a word, we were bored," Randall replied, grinning.
"That's three words," Adeline supplied needlessly.
"The key word was 'bored'," Tails said. "Honestly, I never thought that I could find so little to do. We contemplated getting lost in the woods again for fun, but it fell through."
"Who knows what you might have come across this time," Sabrina teased.
They spend a minute throwing out random suggestions as to what Adeline and Tails might have encountered during a second visit to the forest and laughing about them. Then Sabrina sobered for a moment. "Someone does know that you're here, right?" She suspected that this was the case, owing to Randall's supreme regard for the rulebook, but it would be safer to check. She didn't want to be held responsible for a hypothetical problem she wanted nothing to do with.
"Oh, yeah," said Adeline, "they were happy to be rid of us. Randall's our…" she coughed in a mock disparaging manner, "… babysitter." It made more sense now; Tails was a skilled enough pilot that Antoine and Bunnie would certainly trust their children in a plane with him, and Randall was mature and competent enough that neither Miles nor Fiona would be unlikely to have a problem with leaving their son in his care. Plus, these days adults were happier with fewer kids underfoot as they struggled to regain a semblance of normalcy in their lives.
The three newcomers were introduced to Alexander, who knew of each of them but had not met them in person. "Would it be alright if they walked around with me?" Sabrina asked. It would make the entire episode far more enjoyable if she had her friends exploring with her.
Chantel nodded. "As long as they don't interfere with your research."
The kids exchanged a round of high-fives. Suddenly, a sequence of beeps began coming from Chantel's waist, where her pager was strapped to a brown belt that she wore. Surprised, she reached down and plucked the small device from its sheath. "They wouldn't have rung unless it was highest priority," she muttered, looking at the screen. "And apparently it is. That's rather strange; I've just been told that I'm needed in Knothole immediately. What on Mobius could be more important that this certainly escapes me, but we had better return right away."
"What about… y'know, the ships?" Sabrina asked. "Are we not…"
Chantel growled, an uncommon sound to hear from her. "I suppose not. This had better be vital, to be getting in the way of your lesson, or there's going to be… a hot place… to pay." Shaking her head, she began walking back towards the runway when Alexander stopped her.
"Hang on, mom," he said, "there might still be a way. I'm scheduled to be here until noon." He looked at Sabrina. "If you wouldn't mind hanging around the seaport for a couple of extra hours, you could still get your project done and then catch a ride back with myself or anyone else."
It was a logical suggestion, although Sabrina didn't relish a few more hours of her Saturday being eaten away. But Tails and Adeline didn't seem to mind, and Randall produced a deck of cards that they could use to burn the excess time. So, Sabrina agreed, with one last question. "Who's going to be our guide, if you have to return?" she inquired of Chantel. Surely they wouldn't be allowed to wander the boats themselves; who could say what that might produce? Probably nothing, Sabrina thought, but adults are always so paranoid. Then she halfway took that back, remembering that the other kids had been allowed to fly here by themselves. Alright, maybe they're reasonable sometimes.
Alexander grimaced. "I can probably get off for an hour to show you around; I'm sure there's somebody who'd love the opportunity to boss people about for a bit and would be more than happy to fill in for me." He glanced at a watch on his left wrist. "We'd better get a move on," and to Chantel, "See you later, mom."
"Have fun; take care!" she called to the five of them as they walked briskly towards the waterfront. Three long piers jutted out into the harbor, each boasting their own ship. The Mobotropolis was flanked by its sisters, the A.K.S. Great Forest and the A.K.S. Flaxton, named after a settlement to the southwest of Knothole. All three were ironclads; their shiny hulls freshly scrubbed clean. Two satellite dishes graced the front part of the body, a single one in the back. Two brown bears lumbered by, headed for the Flaxton. A tenrec was standing at the bow, watching the commotion below. An enormous gaur with only one eye sat on the ground, polishing a sword that matched him proportionately. Hanging from the deck by a rope tied to a harness, a female marmot with a bottle of cleaner and a rag was washing the porthole windows.
"This way," Alexander said. The children followed him, weaving through the moderately dense crowd to a walkway connecting the Mobotropolis to its corresponding dock. A wide-eyed tarsier, apparently in some type of hurry, came flying down the extension and Randall had to move quickly to avoid him. Bemused, he followed the other four up the ramp and onto the ship.
The deck was just as teeming as the docks below—Sabrina estimated at least a hundred folk who looked to be suiting up for the expedition, and perhaps twenty or twenty-five more merely assisting in the preparation. Alexander seemed to know where he was going, though, so Sabrina kept right on his sneaker-clad heels. "We'll see Captain Levine first," he said without breaking stride, "and then check out whatever else you want to see."
"Alright," Sabrina said. The others voiced no dissent.
A thick steel door sheltered the interior cavity of the vessel from its exterior. A second level was indicated by a steep stairway, which they took. The upstairs floor was small, and boasted only the captain's quarters and, across from them and facing the front of the ship, the steering area. The hall between the two was no more than a fifteen-foot square with a picture of the ship hanging on the side. The wall of the cockpit facing them was transparent, so they could see the helm and countless other navigational equipment. Although it was hazy through two panels of glass, they could also see back towards the piers, and Sabrina could just make out at a distance a bright red splotch that she supposed was the Tornado.
Alexander walked forward to knock on the door of Levine's quarters, but before he could rap the door opened and he had to quickly step back to avoid being clonked in the beak. A young ferret girl in a brown dress—perhaps six or seven—came out and looked fairly surprised to see five people occupying the rather small space outside the cabin. "Um… hi," she said shyly, and then, alarmed, looked at the falcon, recovering from his slight start. "Oh, no! Did I hurt you?"
"I'm fine, Dinah," Alexander said with a smile. "Is your father in there?"
"Yeah, he is," she said, rocking from side to side, "but he's kinda sorta busy right now—and not too happy, either. He didn't want to come play with me," she added, most likely feeling that to deny her such a privilege would be a cardinal sin except under the most dire of circumstances.
"What's he doing?"
"Talkin' to some boring guy." Dinah scrunched up her face. "I think he made an error on somethin'." She giggled. "Bet Mom'd be angry with him if she was here."
"We don't want to disturb anything," Sabrina whispered to Alexander. "We can come back in a little bit."
"Alright," Alexander replied. "Where are you going now, Din?"
The girl looked shifty. "I… I guess I should go find Tyler." Without an explanation of who Tyler was, she shimmied down the near-vertical steps and was gone.
"Aww," Adeline said, "cute." She gave a squirming Tails a noogie, and put on a false baby-talk voice. "I wemembah when you was just like dat."
"Glass houses, Ade, glass houses," Randall smirked.
"Let's get a move on," Alexander said firmly, but he was smiling too. "If we can't talk to the captain right now, we can go see the galley, the cabins, and the holds. Rihwin, the cook, is a good friend of mine; I could probably procure a small snack if you wanted."
"We just ate," said all four kids, nearly in unison.
They descended back down to the dining area, which was filled with tables. A couple of cheetahs sat playing cards; the obvious and overused pun on their species name nevertheless gave Sabrina some brief inner amusement. They paid no attention to the passer-bys, who went through a blue swinging door into the kitchen. An antelope was testing the dishwasher in a corner while an elderly turtle wiped off a counter. "'Morning, Rihwin," Alexander said to the turtle.
The turtle turned to see his guests. "Ah, excellent to see you, Alex," he replied. "And… Princess Sabrina, an honor." He tilted his head slightly forward. Sabrina's request to simply be addressed by her first name collided with Alexander's protest against the colloquial nickname so that it was likely Rihwin heard neither clearly. "What can I do for you today?"
They went through a brief and mostly monotonous interview, Sabrina taking notes and trying to keep her subject from drifting off onto random tangents. Having, she felt, gotten the necessary information for this section of her report, they bid Rihwin a fair voyage and went down into the bowels of the ship. Two cabins were set apart for male and female crew—Sabrina made sure to remember to mention that the former was rather larger in her paper. A quick look at the rows of cots (in the females room, of course) gave her all of the information that she needed about that.
"What next?" she asked. "The holds?" Alexander agreed. Adeline, Tails, and Randall seemed quite happy enough to trail her and make small talk; they put up no suggestions for an alternate destination.
Cargo was still being loaded into the holds, which were in the deepest part of the Mobotropolis. A small hatch in the side of the vessel opened up to a wide conveyer belt Crates were brought to the belt by workers outside the ship and carted to their appropriate destinations. There were two separate compartments; Sabrina was told that one held supplies that would be necessary during the passage such as food and certain weaponry. The smaller back hold held more things that would only become necessary upon reaching Downunda, such as packs, camouflage clothing, and other essentials. The loaders paid little to no attention to their observers, concentrating instead on the task at hand. Seeing that she would get no useful commentary from them, Sabrina decided to explore the second section, which had fewer workers to get in the way of.
As usual, the others followed her in. "Wow," she heard Tails say to Adeline, "check out how thick these walls are," Sabrina backtracked and looked. Indeed, they were about half a foot thick, of pure solid metal. "Why do you think that is?"
"Dangerous stuff down here," Alexander responded. "All of the explosives. If this ship is engaged, it may be fired upon. In such a case, it would be essential that no fire or blast reaches this stuff, or else…" He let the words hang, and Sabrina could well picture the ensuing pyrotechnics that would result from such a calamity.
Randall read the label off of one box: "High Quality Polyvinyl/Polyester Rain Gear". He looked up. "Does it rain often in Downunda?"
Alexander shrugged. "Now you're talking to the wrong guy."
Near the back of the hold, which was actually nearing the middle of the ship as its entrance faced the stern, the dark room opened up in a T-shape with boxes still lining each wall. A couple of olive green boxes down on one end of the extra area piqued Sabrina's curiosity, and she walked over towards them. The others came to investigate as well. "Warning," she read. "Biochemical Weapon". She looked up, wide-eyed and startled.
"What!" Alexander cried, pushing through to see. "I don't believe it! The nerve of them; there's absolutely no way my father could have ordered this!" He glanced at the other boxes as well. "All chemical weapons… this is ridiculous! Do they plan to decimate innocent civilians to repel this threat? Once this stuff is released, there's no controlling it! It could turn Downunda itself into a toxic wasteland!"
They had been so preoccupied with the discovery that they had failed to notice two more workers bringing in yet another crate. From their vantage point, they couldn't see them, but they heard the voices. "This the lot?" one asked.
"Yeah," the other replied. "C'mon, lets get out of here."
The implication of those words took about fifteen seconds to sink in. Then Sabrina suddenly raced back to the intersection of the two semi-compartments just in time to see the last slimmer of light vanish as the heavy steel door closed shut with a phenomenal boom and the world disappeared into darkness.
Her scream was no more than wasted breath. They were trapped.