A/N: Because I'm a complete ditz, I forgot to mention this before: the previous instalment was based on a piece of artwork by the absolutely amazing fanartist Bleedman, and was posted with his full consent. The fanart itself can be found at h t t p : w w w (dot) deviantart (dot) com/deviation/6905118/
5. I Should've Just Stayed Home
It was entering the thirty-seventh hour and Bunnie still hadn't slept. She was keeping going through a combination of adrenaline, amphetamines and sheer, bloody-mindedness.
The number of blackouts was improving. The last one lasted long enough for her to get out of her chair, fumble her way to the door and open it on a cloud of strange, astringent chemicals.
"Vector, you'd better have good news for me."
The lights hummed back to life. Vector's board rolled out from under the generator. "That good enough for ya?"
"It'll do." She leaned on the doorframe. "Two things: one, how long until we're fully operational again? Two: what the hoo-ha is that smell?"
"Answer to one: a couple of hours, maybe. With some luck, spit and elbow grease. Answer to two: the hell should I know? You may not have noticed, doll-face, but I've had my head under this bunch of wires for the better part of, ooh, forever."
Bunnie sighed and scrubbed her face with her palms. "No need to snark."
"There's plenty need for me to 'snark'."
Vector was a fairly relaxed soul, but even he had his limits. His red-rimmed eyes said he'd had about as much sleep as her. That worried Bunnie. She was allowed to push herself further because she was in charge. It was expected for her to fall asleep across her maps, or flop onto her bunk with her Kevlar still on. But after that last hit… rest was a luxury few could afford, and tempers were beginning to fray.
"Maybe Espio ate something that didn't agree with him. I dunno. You and he are the only people I've laid eyeball on all day."
"Have you had anythin' to eat?" Bunnie asked.
Vector gestured at a discarded nutrition pack. It was empty, and had been so long enough for the edges to crust.
"I'll fetch you sumthin'."
He nodded, a few creases above his eyes smoothing out. "Hey – Bunster?"
"Yeah?"
"Just…" He paused and visibly changed his mind. "Just none of that banana-beef garbage, y'dig? I'd rather scarf motor oil."
She nodded and left.
Her eyes ached to close, as she took the stairs in case the power gave out again. The elevator had an emergency lockdown that meant it wouldn't go plummeting to the bottom of the shaft, but all the same, she didn't like her chances. There was no sense in tempting fate if it was so intent in vomiting into her kettle anyway.
If she denied herself sleep, then she couldn't begrudge herself the need for it. It had been a stressful thirty-seven hours, and she had spent most of it in a state of semi-permanent anxiety. It seemed that one disaster had followed another, had followed another, had followed another. These blackouts were just the icing on a very rotten cake.
She and Mighty had taken it in turns to man the remote canons, until putting off Robotnik's entourage demanded they both stay at their posts. In all, they'd lost one large canon and several dozen demi-mines – small explosives made from engine fuel and old saucepans – none of which could be replaced until Vector got the generators working again. It hadn't been bad enough that the first wave of SWATbots took out their main power, the second wave had to go and damage their auxiliary supply, too…
Bunnie paused at the head of the staircase. It was just wide enough for two creatures to pass each other if they breathed in, and while it had been carved right out of the rock, the sides were worn smooth by a combination of narrowness and use. She touched one wall and resisted the urge to just sit on the top step. She didn't want to cry, or rest, or even go to sleep there – she just wanted to sit and look at the simple necessity her ancestors had made with their bare hands.
But there was no time. There was never any time.
As she approached the entrance to the cafeteria, however, a small door opened on her left and a figure emerged. Bettina wore droopy denim pants under her protective vest, tied up with a belt on its last notch, and a loose red kerchief around her neck. It occurred to Bunnie that they both looked like they were wearing someone else's clothes. Bettina's hair was shorter than it used to be, swept back off her face into a bristly topknot. Though, as always, her expression revealed nothing of her inner emotions, there was a melancholy in her eyes that gave Bunnie pause.
Bettina sniffed the air and glanced up sharply. "Bunnie," she said, as if it were hello.
"Bettina."
They shifted uncomfortably for a moment. Bettina had never really surrendered her resentment at Bunnie taking command, though she was rational enough to see her youngest sister had both the shrewd mind and imagination to be an effective leader. Bettina was not the oldest, but a lifetime of 'eldest first' still left its marks in her. Bunnie's style of leadership was humble. She was not afraid to admit when she was wrong, or when a situation needed more than her limited expertise. She often called on others for advice in her role, but Bettina… was called on less than anyone else.
Finally, Bunnie broke the silence. "I was just gettin' some food for Vector."
"He got the generators at full capacity yet?"
She shook her head. "But he's gettin' there. I don't know what we'd do without him."
Bettina sniffed, but not to scent the air.
"Y'all hungry?"
"Not really. Bryony cooked up some grits if you want 'em, though."
Bunnie tried to remember Vector's reaction the first time they served grits to the survivors of the 'plane crash. She couldn't recall beyond Mighty's surprise that 'grits' meant boiled hominy in gravy, not baked pieces of rock.
They hadn't had grits in a while. Mealtimes had devolved from everyone but the lookout at the table, to everyone grabbing nutrition packets at different times. The packets had been salvaged from the 'plane wreck, along with bits of workable equipment. So few creatures had survived the crash there were more than enough to sustain them for a few months yet.
Before Robotnik's talons reached this far south, the Rabbot clan had lived and farmed underground through a series of vents and specially constructed Greenery Bays. Their ancestors survived a civil war by taking everything they needed and moderating it to work below the earth, and tradition dictated everyone learned how to tend the machines in case they were driven underground again. Which they had been. They were quite self-sufficient – enough to form a stronghold against the forces that had taken their friends and nearest aboveground neighbours.
The forces that had captured their parents months before, when Mr. And Mrs. Rabbot went to the Court of King Acorn in Mobotropolis.
The Rabbot children had held out in the hopes their parents would return. Finally, when an aircraft of escapers from the area surrounding Mobotropolis was shot down near their home, the stories of what had happened there convinced them they were on their own – at least for now. Even if creatures had avoided the roboticisor, there was no way to get away from Mobotropolis without crossing the desert. Vehicles showed up on Robotnik's radar like a single cloud in a clear sky, and he was dogged in his pursuit of them. The other direction held only ocean. Without fins or a boat with sonar-jammers, anyone trying to cross that was a sitting duck. It was a miracle the stolen aircraft carrying Vector and his crew had made it this far before their pursuers brought them down.
Bunnie had never seen a Robian. She didn't know what a roboticised creature would look like, and she had trouble picturing how the Mobotroplis she'd seen in pictures could possibly be the same place Vector and his crew described. She'd so wanted to go with her father when he was called to court for business – something to do with the 'old wars' and medals he didn't like to talk about. But he'd chosen to take his wife instead, reasoning that not destroying their home – or each other – while their parents were away would be a good test of responsibility for their girls.
Mr. And Mrs. Rabbot never came home.
A lot of parents never came home.
And now…
Now Robotnik was trying to absorb this whole duchy into his empire. And his troops were as ruthless as they were tireless. Vector and his crew called them 'SWATbots'. Bunnie called them a pain in her tail.
This rural backwater had been ignored for a long time – several years, in fact. It simply wasn't big enough, or technologically advanced enough (at least aboveground) to merit much interest. Tracking the fugitives' aircraft was probably what had led Robotnik's more aggressive forces there, and rescuing the survivors from the wreck had led the Rabbots into an indefatigable conflict that had lasted the better part of two years.
Charmy and Mello, younger even than Bunnie, had dubbed their ragbag group the Chaotix. It may have been due to Charmy's speech impediment, or the fact that nobody had ever taught Mello to spell properly, but it seemed fitting, since everything was going to hell in a hand basket.
"I might just get some of those grits for m'self, an' all," Bunnie said quietly.
Bettina shrugged. It was a practised gesture.
"How's Belinda?"
"Bizarrely enough, her arm's still broke."
"Aw, leave it out, Bet."
Bettina narrowed her eyes. "Y'all ain't slept." It was said accusingly.
Bunnie didn't answer.
"Y'all should take better care of yourself, y'know. Lotta folk depend on you to be tip-top. Ain't no sense in runnin' yo'self into the ground an' makin' yo'self sick."
Again, she didn't answer. She'd expect that kind of talk from Bryony, eldest and most motherly of the Rabbot sisters; or maybe even from Branna, who had taken their mother's unfinished knitting and made it her task to put every scrap of wool she could find into it. Charmy was always chasing everyone up about not getting enough rest; but Bettina was prickly as a cactus and preferred to keep folk at arm's length. To hear her voice concern or advice for Bunnie's well-being was as extraordinary as having the moon talk to her.
"I'll keep that in mind," was all she could think to reply.
Bettina snorted and pushed through the curtain of beads strung across the dining hall.
The dining hall had been hollowed out when more branches of the Rabbot family lived there. Back then, just after the civil war, anything up to a hundred bodies had to fit in at mealtimes – and that wasn't including any guests they may have also accommodated. Nowadays the place seated fifteen on a good day – the ten Rabbot sisters and their six more-than-visitors, minus whoever was on lookout duty.
Bunnie adjusted her vest and went in.
Bryony's grits were like heaven after days of nutrition packets. Bunnie wasn't selfish enough to eat her portion before taking Vector his, but her sister promised to keep some back for when Bunnie could grab a moment to herself. There were also slices of boiled turnip and collards, which Bryony heaped into a large clay bowl and sprinkled with rosemary. She clamped a lid on top so Bunnie wouldn't spill any while walking, and filled a container with fresh water from a bucket. They got their water from an underground reservoir; so deep below the surface it was cold as melted ice. It still had to be brought up in buckets, however – a throwback to the days when their ancestors first found it.
Bunnie took the same route back to Vector as she had away from him.
Just as she was nearing the generator chamber, a loud explosion split the air. Thick plumes of black smoke crept along the passage.
She ran the rest of the way.
"Vector!"
"Damn, blasted, stupid, retarded, crappy … machine!" Vector emerged from the smoke, snout blackened and eyes watering. He coughed, wisps seeping from his nostrils. He looked like a storybook dragon – the kind who breathed fire and ate fair damsels for elevenses.
Bunnie breathed a sigh of relief. True, he was in an even fouler mood than before, and the smoke probably wasn't a good sign, but he was alive and healthy enough to stand and curse and kick one of the conduits on the floor.
Her brows pulled together. "Hey, less of that. We need those."
"We need this thing like I need a hole in the head," Vector snapped, kicking it again. Immediately, his face scrunched in pain and he grabbed his foot. "Ow!"
"Here," Bunnie said, yanking a cord that would open a flue into the complex array of vents that kept the air in the burrows from getting stale and unbreathable. Then she pulled him out into the corridor and across into the cannon control room.
The place was makeshift as they come, having been fashioned from the last very last salvage of the 'plane – plus some judiciously pilfered things from the abandoned homes of old neighbours. A curtain of ratty blanket kept most of the smoke out. Bunnie pushed Vector into one of two chairs and set the bowl of food in his lap.
He picked it back up to keep the clay from burning him, glanced under the lid, then back up at her. "Bryony?"
"Y'all think I got time to be fixin' good, homemade grits since I saw you last?"
"Point." He took the spork she'd brought and tucked in without further comment.
Instead of clearing off to get her own meal, Bunnie stayed and watched him eat. She slid into the other chair, resting her arms on the back, and her chin on her arms. Moments passed. Her head tipped sideways, and her cheek fur fluffed against her wrist.
After a while, Vector looked up at her. "Something bogus, Bunster?"
"Apart from the obvious?"
"Touché." He ate another few mouthfuls. Then he sighed and jammed the spork upright in the bowl. It stayed there. "Okay. Let's have it."
"Huh?"
"I feel like someone scooped out my stomach and rubbed what's left with asbestos, but I can't enjoy this grub with ya moping like that. So out with it: what's eating ya?"
Bunnie stared at her fingertips. She stared at the floor. She stared at the ceiling. Finally, she stared at Vector. "Ever get the feelin' you'd like to just bury your head in the sand? An' suffocate?"
"This about the raids?"
"No. Yeah. I don't know. It's kinda about the raids. But… it's kinda not, too."
"Real precise, Bunster."
Bunnie ran a hand through her hair and sat up. She opened her mouth, closed it, raised her hand as if to speak, then let it drop again. A frustrated noise sounded in the back of her throat. "I'm s'posed to be leader, right?"
"Right."
"An' a leader is all wise an' insightful an' junk, right?"
"I guess. Depends what kind of leader ya gotta be."
"But that's just it. I don't know."
Vector raised an eyebrow. "Not following that boulevard of thought, dudeling."
"I just… ngh! What 'zactly are we doin' here, Vec? What's stayin' holed up like this actually achievin'?"
"We're staying alive." Vector looked thoughtfully at his thumbs. "Last I checked, that seemed pretty high priority."
"It was. It is. But lately … I just got the feelin' we should be doin' more n' just tryin' to wait out this thing with Robotnik. I mean, what if'n he don't go away? What if'n he's, like, a permanent fixture? What then? We just gonna wait here 'til we up an' die of old age or boredom?"
"There are worse ways to go," was the quiet reply.
"True enough. But this ain't no way to live." She gestured at the room and meant something far bigger. Her wrist hung limp, her fingers flaccid. "Not really."
"Suits me okay." Vector shrugged. "Sure, it could use a few more bogs. Some swampweed. Maybe a river to swim in. But hey, I'm happy to wet my scales any way I can."
Bunnie looked at the three-day-old crust around his joints. "Sure y'are."
"Don't go knocking the Vec-man, doll-face."
"Wouldn't dream of it." She got up and stretched. A few vertebrae cracked noisily back into place.
Vector winced. "Yee-owch."
"Oh, please. Like you don't make me feel sick when you scrub off half your tail?"
"Dead scales, Bunster. S'called exfoliation. Exfoliate and rehydrate – that's what us crocs do to look so damn fine." He preened hair that wasn't there.
"No wonder you an' Belle get on so well. Y'all even speak the same weird lingo."
Vector grinned, but it was short-lived. He pulled out his spork and tapped it against the side of his bowl. "But seriously, Bunster, yer doing a great job. We're all still alive and kickin', ain't we?"
"Yeah. Sure. I'm a terrific leader. That's why Belinda's got herself a broke arm an' Valdez only got half a horn."
"Hate to break it, sweet-cheeks, but we're in a war. Not everyone gets away scot-free – y'dig?"
She snorted. "Some war. What're we, the ones who survive to write the history books an' change the stories about how much we got involved?"
That made Vector narrow his eyes. "Ya thinking about leaving?"
"No." She shook her head. Then she nodded. Then she made a frustrated noise and scoured the bases of her ears with her fingertips. "Yes? I don't know! I just … I know I shouldn't say it, but don't think I know what I'm doin' anymore, Vec. It's like … like a stalemate in my head. I'm all in a box canyon. I can't see any way out of our problems, so I was kinda hopin' if I just kept doin' what I was doin' they'd go away. But these raids… the black-outs - "
"Hey, I can fix those. No prob for the Vec-man."
"Oh yeah? An' what about next time? An' the next? An' the next? What happens if an' when y'all can't fix it? We just supposed to sit around an' wait for the air to run out? Climb out an' face them SWATbots in some blaze of glory that'll get us killed quicker 'n squid on a skillet? They hurt us, Vector. It proves they can do it, an' I'd bet my own cute l'il fluffy tail that now they know it, they'll keep chippin' away at the same spot 'til we break."
"So we put up better defences. Reinforce the place they got us this time so it's stronger than the rest of the joint."
"I was speakin' figuratively, Vec."
Vector jabbed a finger at her, but no words came out of his mouth. He frowned. "Ya really know how to take the wind outta a guy's sails, doll-face."
Bunnie gave him an entirely humourless smirk. "Take your victories where y'can, right? Let's face it. Unless we figure out sumthin' more practical, it's gonna take a blind miracle to fix this … well, this fix."
His reply was precluded by the arrival of two bodies in the chamber. They didn't so much as ruffle the blanket-curtain, but emerged from the shadows like paint leaking from brightly coloured tubes. One appeared headfirst, unfinished neck floating a good few feet above the floor. The other chose for his tail and feet to step forward without the rest of him.
Vector nearly dropped his bowl in surprise. "Crap on a raft, guys! Do ya gotta do that every time?"
Considering she hadn't known them as long as Vector had, Bunnie was a lot calmer at the pair's arrival. A part of her wondered just how much of the conversation they'd heard. Another part didn't care. "Espio. Valdez. Ain't one of y'all s'posed to be on radio duty?"
Radio duty was something of a joke in the burrows. The equipment they'd salvaged from the plane wreck was barely workable, and the gear already in place was old and barely used. If you needed something this far south, a neighbour was just a short walk away. Mr. Rabbot was also a firm believer in the power of written letters, so he'd let the radio apparatus go to seed. Vector had cobbled what he could by welding old and not-quite-broken things together, but the quality was poor, and the range limited without a strong transmitter on the other end. Mostly, radio watch was a habit more than a necessity – or a way to keep the bee-boys occupied and make them feel valuable.
The expressions of the two chameleons were a combination of breathless excitement, apprehension, and the same matter-of-factness with which their kind faced every day of their lives.
"We have contact," Espio said simply.
"What?" At first, Bunnie barely registered the words. "Contact?" she repeated. "As in, someone out there? Can hear us? On the radio?"
"Yes."
Her eyes widened, the implications of that ratcheting around in her brain. They came to a pinging stop, like a fruit machine behind her eyes. "Then why the hoo-ha are y'all in here? Get back to that there radio, pronto!" She was already starting for the exit as she spoke.
"Charmy's manning the post," Valdez informed her as they tore through the tunnels. "It's because of him we got anything at all. He and Mello were zipping around, acting the fool like they always do, when he crashed into the equipment. Espio was all ready to chew him out when he heard the voice coming through."
"Little buzzball did something to the frequency. We told him not to move in case his antennae were affecting the radio antennae."
"His…?" Bunnie pushed aside the curtain of blue and yellow beads and looked into the radio room. "Oh."
Charmy was sprawled in a position that couldn't possibly have been comfortable. He was still flight-size, loops of different coloured wires twined in and out of his curiously contorted limbs. Metal that had obviously been part of the transmitter was wrapped around both of his feelers, and there was no way for him to so much as twitch his wings without shredding them.
"Help?" he said in a small voice.
"In a minute, dawg," said Vector, hunkering down in front of the viewscreen. It was tilted to one side, full of grainy black and white static, but there was the merest hint of an outline amongst all the haze. "Hey, dudes – where's the mike?"
"Here." Mello had been almost totally invisible behind the mess, despite being full-size. It was impossible to tell his expression behind his goggles, but he handed over a battered old microphone like it was a newborn. "Did we do good?"
"That remains to be seen," Espio replied.
Vector examined the mike for a second, then pulled off the head and poked at the exposed wires. "Think I can…" he muttered, taking off his headphones and deck. They were his most treasured possessions, and all jaws in the room dropped when he yanked off the back of the deck and pulled out a fistful of components with neither grace nor carefulness.
"Vector - " Bunnie started.
"Hang on." He attached bits to bobs and 'a' to 'b' faster than any of them could register. Something bleeped. Something else blooped. After a moment he twisted the mutated mike's head back on and sighed. "Best I can do. Here." He passed it to Bunnie.
She just looked at it.
"Babycakes, ya gotta talk into it."
"Oh. Uh. Right." She brought it close to her mouth. "Hello?"
A screechy feedback loop made everyone grind his or her teeth. Vector grabbed, unscrewed a node on the side, and gave it back.
"Hello?" Bunnie tried again.
The static was intense, but not so much that it completely masked the answering, "Hello?"
A sigh of relief went up. Bunnie realised her eyes were closed.
"Hello? Is anyone out there? Do you read me?" she said loudly. She didn't know whom they'd managed to make contact with. For all she knew, it was some of Robotnik's forces, but… it was totally irrational, but the breathy alto on the other end didn't sound like it belonged in a despot's army. Of course, Bunnie wasn't exactly experienced in the ways of warlords, but the voice sounded… too kind. Kind and … and delighted, like little kit who'd got exactly what it wanted for its birthday, only with bells on. "Hello? Do you read me?"
"We read you." More static. It came in waves. The image on the viewscreen fluttered, like the person hiding in there was moving around. "Are … still there?"
"We're here. Who is this?"
"… eedom Fighters of …"
It was only half heard, but there were enough syllables to make Bunnie's eyes nearly bulge out of her head.
"Freedom Fighters?" Those were the creatures Vector and his crew had talked about – the tiny groups scattered around Mobius who resisted Robotnik's intrusion, sometimes with active force.
"…es. Who is…"
Vector, tinkering behind the scenes, unscrambled the viewscreen enough for a single image of a young female with hair piled on top of her hair. Her species was difficult to tell, her age indeterminate, but she peered out at them with such intensity that it made Bunnie want to take a step backwards.
She took a breath. She looked around at the gathered faces. If this was a trap – if Robotnik was trying to fool them … she wasn't just playing with her own life. She was risking so much more. For them all. Had there been time, she would have gathered everyone together and taken a vote on it. But there was no time. The signal was weak, and there was no telling how long it would hold out.
Espio raised one eyebrow and nodded. Valdez just tipped his beret to one side, while Charmy and Mello seemed frozen in place.
Vector spread his hands wide. Bits of old scales flaked off his wrists. "Y'asked for a miracle, Bunster."
Bunnie's jaw set. She licked her lower lip. It was dry and cracked. She didn't feel at all like a leader, but she drew herself up and acted like she was one anyway. Part of her wondered if all in-charge types got like that sometimes. It was an equal parts frightening and comforting idea.
"This is Bunnie Rabbot of the Chaotix. We read y'all, Freedom Fighters. We read y'all loud an' clear."
FINIS.
The Rabbot Sisters
(In descending order by age, with name meanings included)
Bryony – 'A twining vine'
Belle – 'Beautiful woman'
Bettina – 'Bright and shining'
Belinda – 'Wise and immortal beauty'
Branna – 'Strength with virtue'
Babs – 'From the gateway'
Billie – 'The protectoress'
Beryl – 'Precious jewel'
Beatrice – 'She who brings joy'
Bunnie – 'Herald of victory'
And for the last time, here are some Review Replies!
Hey there, Anthony Bault. You write anti-canon, too? Chapter 3 Bunnie is a little tetched in the head – a result of the severe trauma of roboticisation. This also made her almost bipolar and sometimes-violent as a result. That clearer?
You must be psychic, UKHoneyB. Or I left that thought where you could find it. I mislaid it when I posted that last chapter, y'see, but I've rectified it (hopefully) with the A/N of this one. I tried to work in the sister angle, but it just wasn't working logistically. They actually do reshow it if you live in the UK (though, sadly, not in the USA, Canada or Australia). It's a children's channel called 'POP', around 5pm every day. They also show reruns of The Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog. SatAM (the show this fic is based on) is called simply 'Sonic the Hedgehog'.
I hear you, Orin. I came at the comics having heard people malign Geoffrey, but I really didn't think he was that bad. Sonic X Cream annoyed me, but I think that was a combination of her overbearing sweetness and her voice actor. You could get cavities from that lil' rabbit. xx
She Bunnie is nice and pretty and absentminded and screwed up and likes Sally. A lot. … very much a lot?
Maaaaybe. If you want to interpret it that way, then be my guest. ;) Le sigh. I wish I could write for a living. Dream job or what? But, sadly, I must made do with the more mundane world of teacher. I just worry I'm going to end up pinned to a blackboard with a compass on my first day. Aww, thank you for the compliments. I'm also very picky about my characterisation – for any fandom – so it's nice to hear I'm getting it right. And ooh! Bunnie/Knuckles fanart? You do realise you've got my little cholesterol-filled-heart beating like the clappers now, don't you? I would love you for ever n' ever n' ever if that came to pass. I'd even give you the Big Soulful Puppy-Dog Eyes if it wouldn't cause me to spontaneously combust.
You hate me, LeDiz? Well … poop.
What are you doing to us readers, exactly, Madame Scrib?
I'm secretly feeding you all manner of drugs that make you open to suggestion, so I can build my own zealous personal army and TAKE OVER THE WORLD. But you didn't hear that from me.
I think Cream is going to join the Archieverse soon, Dazzling Lenny Geek. Ken Penders, or someone else important, was mooting the idea before Christmas, so maybe the Fourth Alternate (I like that name) is less alternate than it started out as, eh?
Well, that about wraps things up. If you liked these ficlets, then check out my other Sonic fics (plugplugplugplug). Oh, yeah, and remember – water your Scribbler and feed her reviews twice a day, and she shall never droop, nor her leaves turn brown and drop off.
