The Tranquil Sea was a vast expanse of endless waves, without a ship in sight. Years ago, before the rise of Robotnick, the planet's largest ocean had hosted great fleets of ships that plied its long waterways. Mobian and Human merchant ships had conducted business, and the fleets of the Terran Federation and Kingdom of Acorn had watched each other warily down the barrels of massive turreted cannons. When war had come (and it always did, between mobians and humans), the King's Fleets had always seemed to succumb to their human counterparts. In the last Great War, half the Royal Navy had been destroyed in port, because it was too timid to confront the Humans on the open seas.
Mobians had never been a nautical people.
Rising above the great seas, hundreds and then thousands of feet, past cloud cover, a flight of aircraft rumbled forward. At the center of the formation were seven large craft with long wings over laden with eight turbojet engines. They had been recently repainted in parts, and the single large tail sported the proud emblem of the Kingdom of Acorn. Escorting them were twelve smaller craft, sleek and deadly looking. They seemed to fall in step with the larger transports only reluctantly, anxiously holding back their true power for the right moment.
Leading the formation of larger ships was a transport with a few extra amenities. Most notable was the large radar dome attached to its spine. Inside that craft, a vast array of electronic equipment hummed and worked, monitored by dedicated technical personnel. This was the control center for Operation Rattrap. And pacing down the middle of the ship, pausing only to look anxiously at different displays, was its operational head. A mobian skunk of well over twenty years, with apparently unremarkable coloring, he boasted the uniform of the Royal Secret Service, such as it was – a simple black business suit, coat and tie. His sunglasses were nestled in his left breast pocket, leaving his blue eyes to scour the room for any signs of incompetence.
Footsteps from behind him drew more ire than attention.
"Hershey..." He pivoted slightly, looking at her over his left shoulder. She was dressed the same as him, except with a black skirt instead of pants. Hershey was a feline, a black cat with a sordid history. Duped into committing treason, she had been put under probation, and he, Geoffrey St. John, had taken a chance with her. She hadn't disappointed him yet, though her part played in the Battle of Knothole came close. She was supposed to have kept Princess Sally out of danger (and under strict observation). Hershey had failed plainly on the second count, and only succeeded in the first through no actions of her own.
"Geoff," Hershey replied, softly. "Is something wrong?"
"Wrong?" He asked, and looked away.
"You're tense... all wound up..."
"Of course I am!" St. John frowned, and clenched a fist. "Who wouldn't be? I have to pull this mission off perfectly! Perfectly, do you hear? We've suspected... no: we've known for some time that Rouge had been smuggling and stealing high security electronics and devices out of Knothole, but it was deemed necessary to wait and let things play out. The King himself ordered it. She just wasn't worth the trouble it would take to arrest her. But now... Now everything is different! The War is over, and..."
Hershey sighed, but let him continue. She had heard all this before.
"Now she has MilesTech. Ever since Stryker recognized her claim to the company, and handed over all the brat's dingo holdings to her, she's presented us with a golden opportunity! We know her loyalty to the Golden Throne is fleeting at best, questionable at worst, but with her damn lawyers... and with the destruction of her old hide out near Knothole, we don't have enough evidence to confiscate MilesTech. We need to wring a confession out of her, and we need to catch her Red Handed violating the Law. This... Operation Rattrap... is our last chance to get her, to really GET her, Hersh!"
"And when I hand the King her confession, and a chance to take over all of MilesTech..." St. John smiled viciously. "I will finally be Knighted! And the House of St. John will finally have its place in the High Court! After four hundred years of loyal service, St. John will take its rightful place at the right hand of the Royal Family itself! Father... Father had always hoped I would be the one to find my way into the Royal Company, but as that is an impossibility now, I will have to settle for a Knighting and a nice Duchy somewhere."
"I'm sorry you'll only end up with second best," Hershey said in monotone, holding back her anger. She hated when he talked like this. Didn't he realize how demeaning it was, not only to himself, but to her as well?
He gave her a sidelong glance, and smirked. "Don't be so... catty, Hershey. For a Noble House such as St. John, it is only natural to dream of the Crown first, and the Plowshare second."
"Pearls before Swine?" She quipped.
He didn't answer, instead preferring to change the subject. "Do not concern yourself about my anxiousness. I'm just eager... eager to get the drop on this cursed bat female. Seeing the look on her face when I slap irons around her wrists, it will be priceless! Simply priceless! From what I've read, it will take a little longer to get her to confess to her crimes, but if she doesn't on the way back home, a trip to the Ministry of Justice should change her mind."
"What about the Humans?" Hershey asked. St. John didn't like that question, and Hershey knew it. "What about the Dingo? They both support MilesTech's new CEO."
"The Dingo... and the humans," Geoffrey spat that last word in undisguised disgust. "Will learn to hold their tongues. Those hairless freaks just want her to sell them weapons... Even I didn't think Rouge would stoop low enough to comply with their offers, but then I get a message from Intel confirming that she agreed to supply them with Cyclone War Machines built to accommodate human sized pilots! If those factories were only on OUR land..."
Hershey sighed at the hatred in St. John's voice. Humans had killed his father, the illustrious Ian St. John, during the Great War. Geoffrey idolized his father with a religious furor, and he tended to blame humans for anything and everything. Because of her relatively easy association with them, Rouge had thus fallen into the category of human sympathizer – two words synonymous with traitor, in the mind of Geoffrey St. John.
Sometimes...
Sometimes Hershey wondered if her boss (and boyfriend) had been a part of Kodos' infamous 'Black Hands' organization during the Great War. The 'Black Hands' had been a fairly widespread group of Mobians, most of them young and impressionable, who had pledged to 'exterminate the overlander taint' on Mobius. They had formed special commando units during the War, and had targeted civilians, particularly women and children, in an effort to demoralize the human war effort. They had only officially been disbanded when Julian Kintobor took over in 3230.
Geoffrey would have been just turning twenty, then.
Had he been one of Kodos' 'Black Hands?'
The part of her that had been trained and cultivated to find clues and to investigate crimes confirmed that it was certainly possible. Geoffrey had never been keen to explain where he had gotten his commando training, even to her. Still, the part of her that was female cried out 'NO!' with every fiber of her being. She had spent hours just staring into his eyes, and she loved him! She loved him! How could she love a murderer – a child killer?!
'You loved Drago,' a voice snickered. 'You thought he was just misunderstood.'
'Shut up!' Hershey mentally hissed.
'How many times, after he yiffed your brains out, did he whisper kind things in your ear, and make promises he had no intention of keeping? You were at his trial, Hershey! You know he'd killed mobians! With those same hands that held you, he killed!!'
'SHUT UP!' She mentally cried. 'Just shut up!'
"Hersh?" She heard Geoffrey say, his voice a mixture of concern and annoyance. He was facing her fully now, one hand on her right shoulder. "Hersh, are you ok? Are you listening?"
"S...sorry," she winced slightly, partly from embarrassment, and partly from his hand on her shoulder. "I was just thinking about something..."
"Anyway: I said the Dingo will fall in line. They need us more than we need them." His hand fell away from her shoulder, to her unspoken relief. Geoffrey St. John then turned to one of the nearby monitors. It showed their position over the Tranquil Sea, and their approach to the continent of Overland.
Against her better judgment, Hershey seized an opportunity that probably wouldn't come again so casually. Coughing to get his attention, she pretended to look at the map very closely. Three powerful radio stations, one in the far south of Mobian territory another in the north and another in east, determined the position of the air fleet. The point where their signals intercepted provided the measurements necessary to calculate and confirm position, air speed, and other necessary data. Hershey was only abstractly aware of how the technology worked, but it did, and she didn't question it.
She instead pointed at their eventual destination.
"Overland. You know: before I read the reports on this mission, I didn't even know Overland had jungles." She looked at Geoffrey, as if expecting him to hide something from her.
"Overland has all the same climates and zones that Mobius Major does. Plains, Prairies, Mountains – two different mountain ranges, actually – forests, jungles, swamps... you name it." St. John crossed his arms and nodded to himself. "They're the same, but also different. Alien in a way. It's hard to describe, but you'll find out soon enough, I suppose."
"Have you ever been...?" She had to be sure, but at the same time she was afraid to get a definitive answer. "To this Mystic Ruins Base?"
"You mean the old one?" he shook his head. "No. The brat never invited me, and I never cared to visit him or his friends."
"What about... before that?" Hershey bravely queried.
For a second, she saw his blue eyes darken. 'What was he thinking in that instant?' she wondered. Was he pondering her motives, or was he remembering? Was he remembering months holed up in a submarine under the waves, avoiding Human patrol ships, never knowing when a depth charge would smash the hull and implode his lungs? Was he remembering scrambling up a deserted beach with a group of teammates, leaving behind an empty midget submarine, half submerged in the water? Was he remembering stalking through the underbrush, approaching some random human household – the doors unlocked and unguarded, the people complacent because of their far off offensives into Mobius Major?
Was he remembering... the unthinkable?
He blinked, and looked away from her, focusing on the map.
"No," he finally said, simply.
Too simply.
Hershey was tempted to try and find out more, despite her growing horror, but Geoffrey cut her off with a raised hand. Taking a few steps towards the communications station, he leaned over the mobian working there (a brown field mouse), and tapped his shoulder. The other mobian took his headset off one large ear, and waited for his orders.
"Tell the fighters to deploy their booster rockets," St. John said. "It's time to spring this trap."
"Yes, sir." The operator spoke into the microphone just below his lower lip. In a few seconds, on one of the large radar screens, twelve blips accelerated out of formation.
"I can't say I like using repainted, modified, Eggman contraptions..." Geoffrey said, his tone obviously more pleasant than before. "But if they, and their pilots, get the job done then I won't complain."
'Isn't it too late, now?' Hershey wondered, but kept it to herself.
"Publicly," St. John amended, as if sensing the contradiction in his last sentence.
"Do you think Rouge has any fighter craft of her own?" She asked.
"It is possible... Hell, it's probable." St. John shrugged. "But I doubt she's managed to jury rig more than a few. Our boys will cut her to pieces if she tries anything."
"And if she has Cyclones defending her?"
"We can handle a few stray Cyclones," Geoffrey answered, dismissingly. Seeing her doubtful look, he shook his head. Cyclone War Machines had developed an aura of invincibility after the Battle of Knothole. "Hersh, most Cyclones are built for Ground Attack, not Air Superiority. Why do you think the brat... Miles... why do you think he wanted to capture the Egg Carrier? He needed the Drone Fighters and the flying fortress itself for Air Support. Besides, I highly doubt Rouge has any Cyclones in Overland. They're too short ranged for a mission like this."
He made sense. Hershey acquiesced. "If you say so."
"I don't just say so," Geoffrey smirked again, confident in himself and his plans. "I know so! Mark my words: in two days time, we'll be eating dinner with the King, and toasting our victory!"
Hershey smiled in reply.
Geoffrey would lead them to victory.
Everything would work out, in the end.
-----
THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER
CHAPTER TWO:
The Waiting Jaws of a Nightmare
-----
"This is it..." One of the techs took a step closer to the center of the room, and before he could say another word, a light shone down on him from above. Frozen in mid step, the shocked mobian gasped, and shielded his eyes.
"Intruders Detected." A voice, a female voice, spoke to them over a concealed speaker. For a few moments, the group tensed in preparation for some sort of attack, but none was forthcoming. Finally, after a few seconds, the voice continued. "Detected, but not unexpected. Welcome, all of you, to the Inner Sanctum of Miles Prower. In particular, I welcome you: Rouge the Bat. I was hoping you'd come and see me personally."
"Me?" Rouge took a daring step forward, her eyes scanning the room. "Why me? And who are you?"
"I am the Core of this facility," the voice said, cheerfully. "Darling Miles called me... Fiona."
"Fiona?" Rouge instantly recognized the name. Fiona was one of the mercenaries Miles had hired to go with her when she infiltrated the Egg Carrier. She traveled with Nack's sister, Nic. "As in Fiona Fox?"
"He used to call me that, too." The voice answered, obliquely. "There is no reason to be afraid, Rouge the Bat. I have no intention of activating any of this facility's defenses, or else I would have already done so."
"Then why were the doors locked?" One of the demo team asked, daringly.
"The doors were hardwired to lock themselves, and even I could not prevent it, I'm afraid." The voice answered. "Perhaps it would put you more at ease to see me as Miles did..."
No sooner had it been said, than the large assembly in the back of the room parted down the middle with a hiss. As it folded back and away, opening like a flower, it revealed complicated machinery and electronics, cables and wires, attached to what the light quickly revealed to be a body. An upper torso to be exact, with two arms, and a head – a face, even - the face of a vixen fox, with dark black hair broken by a vivid dark blue highlights, blue eyes, and black tipped fox ears. As the rest of her emerged, Rouge saw a body that seemed almost flawless, well proportioned, with a short coat of brick colored fur, interrupted by jagged splashes of orange.
"Fiona." Rouge shook her head in disbelief. "You look like her... but..."
'Improved,' she mouthed but didn't say the word.
"By the Source, did Miles..." She instead said, "Did he build you?"
Fiona's mouth moved, but the actual words came from the concealed speakers in the walls of the room. "Darling Miles did not build me; he rebuilt me. I was the first of many Dolls modeled after the ...original Fiona Fox. A 'prototype infiltrator of exceptional design and programming,' is how Darling Miles described me. I was built by Julian Kintobor to seduce the sidekick of Sonic the Hedgehog, extract any relevant information, especially the location of Knothole, and then capture him for roboticization. Should that prove difficult, I was to terminate him. I was to succeed where my predecessor, the Sally Doll, failed."
"However, my greatest flaw was that, in making my body realistic to touch, it became vulnerable. Specifically: to saltwater." The Doll paused a second, as if wondering whether to explain in detail why it was allowed to enter field operations with such a glaring fault in design. It opted not to. "I was forced to pursue Darling Miles, but in the end became frozen in place on the same beach where we had spent so many happy hours. There I remained for what seemed an eternity, even for an automaton. I could think, and feel, but I could not move or act."
"Then, finally, my Darling Miles returned to me. He rescued me, salvaged me, and brought me here. He bypassed the parts of my programming that were subservient to Robotnick. Once I was informed of his death and replacement, a simple logical proof allowed me to regain my free will."
'Death and replacement?' Rouge wondered, listening to the story. This ... thing was a Doll. Like those Tails Dolls that had tortured her, and cost her use of her natural hearing. Narrowing her eyes at the fake Fiona, and the tone it used when it mentioned its "Darling Miles" filled her with a growing annoyance and disgust.
And jealousy.
"Eventually, he even fixed my body so that I could move again. I could walk with him through jungles and ruins. I could hold his hand, and feel it, just as I had been able to do years ago. However, my body was still delicate, and he wished me to remain safe within the base. By integrating me into the Computer Core, he allowed me to explore the world through it, and its many functions and facilities. After Miles destroyed the Doll production plant, and all of my copies, I became the last of the Fiona-model Dolls."
"Pity." Rouge lied.
"No. It isn't." The Doll's bright blue eyes swiveled to fall on Rouge. "The other Dolls were loyal to the Eggman. They would have killed Darling Miles, if given the chance."
"But you wouldn't?" Rouge asked, not intimidated in the least by the freakish creature before her.
"I love Darling Miles," it said, plain as day.
Rouge sneered, more than disgusted now. "You don't know what love is!"
"I was programmed to love him." It responded, simply. "In a way, I never had a choice. Nonetheless, I do love him. He is my Darling Miles. Of course, once he learned what I am, his love for me became something else... a fascination and attachment. Yet even I knew it was not the intensity of what I felt or him. When he saved me, he was no longer the sweet young fox I knew. He had become older, and less naive. My love for him, however, never diminished, even as his for me did."
"Enough of this." Rouge interrupted, not wanting to hear anymore. Turning to her hired hands, and the tech crew in particular, she continued. "Start packing this place up. We're almost out of time."
"You have less than you know, Rouge the Bat." The Fiona Doll said, a little more loudly than before. "St. John and his associates will be here in little more than an hour."
"What?" Rouge asked, looking at the Doll again. "How can that be?"
"Half his force is equipped with disposable afterburners. They will fire them shortly, and will prevent your craft from taking off unless you leave in the next thirty minutes. You may expect a transmission from him when he does this. He will believe himself quite cunning in catching you by surprise. 'Red handed' is the phrase, I believe."
"How do you know this?" Rouge asked, suspiciously. "And what do you want? It is obvious you're after something."
"I know what he will do because of the sensors and communications equipment still attached to this base. Most of it your people did not have the time or interest to remove or disable." The Fiona Doll managed a smile. "You are quite correct in that I want something from you, Rouge the Bat. I want you to release me from this Computer Core, and take me somewhere."
"Take you somewhere?" Rouge huffed. "What do I look like, a chauffeur?"
"If you wish access to Darling Miles' coded databases, you will cooperate with me," the Doll replied. "My request is not unreasonable. In fact, you may find it very profitable."
Rouge frowned, but didn't reject the idea outright. "What do you want?"
"Shortly after the battle that occurred over the city of Knothole, I lost contact with Darling Miles. I waited for days, eagerly anticipating a communication from him. Sadly, I received none. Shortly afterward, I noticed the military operations conducted by the Kingdom of Acorn against the surviving robotic forces that once served the Eggman. Seventy-one days ago, I intercepted a burst transmission on a signal used only by 'sub-bosses' within the Eggman Empire. Normally, these transmissions are coded beyond my ability to properly interpret, but this one was very simple."
"Not to say that anyone else on the planet seemed to notice it." The Doll said, with a trace of pride. "After all, I am only able to intercept Eggman transmissions because I was originally one of Robotnick's designs. I was able to decode it easily. It was a call for help from a surviving Doll."
"A Tails Doll?" Rouge asked, her level voice belying her anger. Beyond any other thing on the planet, living or dead, she hated Tails Dolls. They were pitiless, emotionless, personality-less demons. What they had done to her, and to countless others, was inexcusable.
"Yes. He wished to know if any other Eggman sub bosses, or Tails Dolls, existed anywhere else on Mobius. He had apparently fled from a base that had fallen to the Kingdom of Acorn, and was desperate to get in contact with any other survivors. I found the communication fascinating, and stored it for future reference. Three days later, he sent out another burst signal, more desperate this time. He feared that he was malfunctioning, due to his disconnection from the Tails Doll Network. He was beginning to experience emotions, among them panic. The next day, he sent another signal, expressing despair."
Rouge shook her head. "You didn't..."
"It was after that... that I decided to reply." Fiona confirmed Rouge's fears. "He seemed elated to be in contact with another Doll, even if it was an estranged and antiquated model like myself, built for infiltration and not command and control. We have had many conversations since that time. What I want from you, Rouge the Bat, is to take me to him."
"You have to be insane." Rouge answered, calmly. "To even think that I..."
"Darling Miles is alive."
"What?!" Rouge's eyes widened, before narrowing again. "What did you just say?"
"Darling Miles is alive," the Doll repeated. "A week ago, one of the other Doll's robot minions found his comatose body. I was able to convince him to let Darling Miles live. He is wary of fleshlings, and does not trust them. Take me where I wish to go, if not for your own material and financial gain, than for Darling Miles."
"You know...?" Rouge started to ask.
"Of course I do." The Doll's voice sounded almost cocky. "Darling Miles sent me regular updates from his workshop in Knothole. I know all about his affair with you, as well as his brief relationship with that Freedom Fighter – Amanda Rabbit."
'Miles... alive? I had hoped as much, but I never expected...' Rouge bit her lower lip, imagining her former lover in the hands of a ruthless Tails Doll.
"Damn you, Miles... I'll never forgive you if you die..." She had said to him, her last parting words to him, before he left the Nor'easter to face down the Helios Flying City. "Because I expect to see you again. Even if no one else does."
"Unplug that... thing from the computer core," Rouge finally said, after a few seconds of thought. "We'll do as it asks, for now."
"You have my thanks, Rouge the Bat," it replied, though Rouge made a point of ignoring it. As the technicians moved forward, examining the Computer Core and the connections made between it and the Fiona Doll, Rouge closely apprised the rest of the room. Some of the drawings on display were of Knothole (mostly schematics and infrastructure plans), and were obviously made by hand. There were a few sketches, too, of other (non technical) things. They were of fairly poor quality. In a strange way, it was good to see that Miles was genuinely bad at something, at least.
Other pictures were old photographs, most of them at least four years old. The first Tornado plane, Sonic standing over some broken robot, Princess Sally and Bunnie, Rotor holding up some small pocket computer... mundane things, really. There were books, too, and Rouge immediately ordered the demolitions staff to help her put them in cardboard boxes. Books were extremely valuable, as most had been lost during the war years. Almost all were technical in nature, and many were obviously overlander or human in origin by their size.
Seeing that in the process of being done, Rouge turned next to one of the two strange looking cylinders built partially into the right side of the room. She would have overlooked their smooth metal surfaces entirely, dismissing them as power relays or something similar, if not for the strange writing on the larger one. It looked like an 'O,' but with the bottom cut off, and with two lines splaying out. Searching, with her eyes and hands, for some sort of hidden switch, she finally found one near the back, where the metal met the wall.
Squeezing it, she took a quick step back as the metal face moved forward a fraction of an inch, and swiftly slid down into the floor. Behind it had been a more technical storage chamber, with a large T section of see through glass, and assorted monitoring equipment. Noticing what she had found, one of the techs ran over to inspect it while she watched. Behind the glass was some sort of robot. Of a model and design she hadn't seen before.
"That..." The fake Fiona spoke up, her voice coming not from the walls but from where she stood, disconnected but still near the main computer. "Is another one of Darling Miles' salvage projects. He called it 'Omega.'"
"Omega?" Rouge fixed the Doll a quick glare, and then went back to the mysterious robot. "It looks like a combat model. Why didn't he bring it to Knothole to fight?"
"I do not know." The Fiona Doll walked forward somewhat unsteadily, and Rouge took a step away from it when it came close. "My knowledge concerning Omega is limited. Darling Miles recovered him from one of the Eggman's bases five months ago. As far as I know, he is fully operational."
"Diagnostic readouts confirm that." The tech spoke up, closely examining the readouts on the containment cylinder. "It seems to be fully operational, though none of the weapons have any ordinance. Quite a package though. Much more than even an F-Series Combot or Shadowbot 'Plus' Type Refit. The schematic shows chain guns in both arms, modular short-range flame projectors, unloaded missile hard points, and some sort of experimental beam weapon..."
"Can you remove the stasis tube?" Rouge interrupted the mobian.
"It'd take a day at least, I'd think." The tech wiped his brow, and shook his head. "Nope. This thing is really set in place. There's no way we could do the job in less than ...ah... four hours. And even then we'd be cutting corners."
Rouge sighed. "Ok. You said its weapons weren't loaded, right?"
"Right." The tech looked from his employer, to the 'sleeping' robot in the tube. "But we don't know what its programming is, we can't risk..."
"Omega was being built as a bodyguard." The Fiona Doll added, cutting off the technician.
"A bodyguard?" Rouge huffed, dismissively. "That doesn't sound like the Miles I knew."
"I would be inclined to agree," the faux Fiona nodded her head, and in that moment looked exceptionally lifelike. "Likely, it was made for one of his close associates. Perhaps the Princess, or that Amy Rose female. I do know that he remotely altered some of Omega's programming priorities the day before the Battle of Knothole. It is possible he intended to give it to you. Or that other female: Amanda. It is even possible he intended it to serve me, in his stead."
"Not likely." Rouge snapped, but quickly collected herself. Looking at the static robot inside the cylinder, Rouge did wonder who it was for, if the Doll's information was accurate. Miles "Tails" Prower had a somewhat strange way of showing affection. All the females he had loved, to some degree of another, he had left or betrayed. Rouge was not blind; she knew how his relationships ended.
Sally, who had been like an older sister or even mother to him, he had betrayed. Bunnie, who had held a similar role in his life, was now more robot than mobian, because of his persuasion. Amy Rose was dead, taken by Shadow according to eyewitnesses Rotor and Bunnie. Obviously her presence as a hostage had not deterred Miles from destroying the formerly Flying City known as Helios. His first love, the fake Fiona (who he had mentioned to Rouge several times in passing), had ended up plugged into a computer. His second real crush, someone named Barbie Koala, had died at the hands of Shadow, buying him time to escape with a Chaos Emerald. He had left Amanda in what she had heard was a particularly cruel fashion. And, in the end, he lad left her to go and 'find himself' though some sort of self-sacrifice.
If he did leave this robot as a bodyguard, who was it programmed to protect?
She had to know.
She had to!
"We're almost out of time," Rouge finally said. "Just activate the thing. If we're lucky, and it doesn't kill us all, then it can help cart this stuff out of here. St. John and his jolly band of state sponsored pirates will be here soon, and I want an empty base filled with explosives left to greet him."
"Ah, yes, ma'am." The tech seemed nervous about what he had been ordered to do, but went to work regardless. Seeing him start, the Fiona Doll placed a dainty hand on the mobian's shoulder, causing him to almost jump out of his skin.
"Please. Allow me," 'she' said, with a demure smile. "Darling Miles' activation codes are often quite intricate."
The tech gulped, and anxiously smiled. "Ah, sure. If that's ok with you, boss?"
Rouge didn't want to give the damn Doll permission to do anything, but they didn't have time to waste sitting around playing with keys and panels.
"Fine," the she-bat acquiesced. "Do it."
Without another word, the Fiona Doll took one look at the controls, and placed her palms over them. What happened next was a blur of motion, as the fingers grew slightly longer, and rapidly entered a sequence of numbers and letters. The words "Reanimation Cycle" flashed on one of the diagnostic screens, soon to be followed by "Complete" and "Final Diagnostic Underway." When that, too was "Complete," the screen displayed the phrase "Omega Protocol Confirmed."
"It should only be a moment more," the Fiona Doll said, stepping carefully away from the stasis tube. Rouge looked warily between the Doll and the Robot, and tensed, prepared for a potential deception. She had taken out robots before, and she was wearing her steel-toed boots under her cargo pants. A good swift blow should be enough to stun it, at least.
With a familiar mechanical hiss of compressed air, the rest of the cylinder descended into the floor, revealing the imposing Omega Robot in full. It was a bulky thing, patterned in metallic red and gold. Top heavy, its massive arms gave it an ungainly appearance, but Rouge could see the tips of booster rockets attached to the lower back, and doubted it had anything but exceptional maneuverability. The head was built low into the stout torso, with one bright red round sensor optic (and a supporting thin rectangular one) showing out from beneath an armored metal hood. The strange, probably human, 'omega' symbol adorned its left shoulder.
"E One Twenty Three B series model, codename: Omega, is now active," it said, in a deep, obviously mechanical voice. The eyes moved imperceptibly. "No belligerent hostiles detected. Presence of Priority Idents confirmed: Fiona Doll 2.0, Rouge the Bat. All other organics considered expendable."
Holding up its hands, the robot looked somewhat saddened. "I am without ordinance for my primary systems..."
Then it faced Rouge and Fiona. "However, I will fulfill my Functions. Where is The Eggman? Standing Orders are to find and eliminate that organic target, and all associated devices and defenses."
'Some bodyguard,' Rouge mentally grumbled. 'More like an assassin!'
"Eggman is dead." Rouge quickly said. Next to her, the Fiona Doll nodded.
"Target silenced?" Omega's eyes flashed. "I had been hoping to eliminate him myself. Where... where is Miles "Tails" Prower?"
"Darling Miles is unable to give orders to you at this time, Omega." The fake Fiona walked up to the robot, and ran a delicate hand down its metal forearm. "I'm sorry. May I ask what your Secondary Orders are?"
Omega looked down at her, and then at Rouge. "Escort duty. Last Orders transmitted include the protection of subject: Rouge the Bat, for an indeterminate period of time."
Rouge's expression softened slightly. "So you are a bodyguard...?"
"That is one of my Functions, following the death of the Eggman. It was agreed that I would allow my programming to be built upon, so long as my primary Function, my revenge, was not tampered with. Rouge – what are your orders?" Omega seemed to perk up a little. "Do you wish anyone killed?"
"What??" Rouge gasped, shocked by the bluntness of the question.
"Do you wish any targets to be eliminated? Silenced? Terminated? Disposed of? Dealt with?" Omega asked, with a relatively pleasant tone. "It would be my pleasure."
Rouge's eyebrows lowered. "I thought you were supposed to protect me! Not kill off people."
"I do not see the contradiction." Omega shrugged his massive mechanical shoulders. Rouge was about to respond, when her communications radio buzzed. Picking it out from one of her cargo pants pockets, she activated it and held it up to her mouth.
"Rouge here."
"Ms. Rouge! We have nearly finished loading up the Transports. We will be ready to leave in fifteen to twenty minutes."
Rouge bared a small fang at the intrusion, but soon returned to normal. "You have five minutes. Then I want you to start sending off Transports. We have a lot less time that we originally planned."
"Ma'am?"
"That bastard St. John is hot on our heels," Rouge said with obvious venom. "I repeat: I want this place empty in TEN minutes. Ten!"
"Yes, ma'am!" The radio operator responded. Rouge put the radio pack in place.
"Rouge. Shall I stay behind and destroy this nuisance?" Omega suggested, helpfully. "I will make sure there aren't any witnesses."
"I... would prefer not to kill the King's right hand man, Omega." Rouge pointed to the Computer Core, which had been partially disconnected. "But I would like you to help those fellas take that upstairs for me."
Omega looked at her, and for a second Rouge thought he looked either surprised or insulted. Then, he asked, "Will I get ammunition later?"
"We'll see." The she-bat answered. "Now, will you help?"
Omega nodded, though really only his optics moved up and down. "I will."
"And what should I do?" The Fiona Doll asked, watching Omega go off to help the frightened technicians. Rouge fixed 'her' with a glare, and headed for the blasted door she entered through.
"You can follow me," Rouge said as she walked, and then added, looking over her shoulder contemptuously. "And you can stop calling Miles 'Darling.'"
"Oh? I didn't know it offended you." The Fiona Doll covered her mouth with her hand innocently. "But you have no reason to be jealous. Even though I am functional, ... Dear Miles never used me that way."
"Good to hear." Rouge continued walking, her arms crossed. "I guess I won't have to kick him in the balls next time I see him, then. Now, where can I find Miles and this damn Tails Doll boyfriend of yours?"
Behind Rouge's back, the Fiona Doll smiled slyly. "Not far from here. In the lands bordering that of Mercia and Cat Country..."
-----
Kabbal didn't think of his beloved homeland as a stinking jungle, even if that was what it really was. Walking across thick wooden beams lashed together with woven vines, he saved his feet the indignity of becoming muddied by the morning's rain. It was still drizzling, and the occasional pitter-patter of large drops falling from the leaves and branches high above mixed with the bellows of the occasional tree frog. It was their mating season, and the males were busy courting females... at the risk of their lives. The louder a frog croaked, the more likely it was to attract a mate. But it was equally as likely to attract a predator.
And the jungles of Mobius Minor certainly didn't lack predators.
As he walked through the inner court of the village, he saw warriors marching in step. They were all black in color, only natural as fellow members of the Panther Tribe, but the leader adorned himself with a high headdress of bird feathers, and assorted skins collected from fallen enemies, Feline or otherwise. He chanted a warrior song as they practiced marching, jumping, and thrusting with spears. Along among his troupe, he openly displayed a foreign weapon – a 'firearm.'
Such things were not unusual.
Many, many years ago, the tall hairless mobians of the North had visited the Land of the Panther, and given them the weapons in exchange for aid in their foreign wars. They had not complained when the Panther turned their new weapons against their old enemies, either. The Hated Jaguar were now only a memory – their temples had been raided, their godheads smashed, their villages burned, and their warriors skinned. While some had fled, most had been either killed or taken.
Kabbal had been a young and eager warrior, back then.
He had several skins to wear, should he ever again take up the spear and the gun, and several wives as well. During the war, he had not been at the front lines, but had instead served in the second wave – the killing wave, or the 'spear.' As such, he had not had the chance to carry away easy trophy wives, as some of his comrades had. They had taken most of the ripe Jaguar females, and at the time, Kabbal had thought them fortunate. Now, he was laughing.
Their females were now growing old, weary and bitter.
His were still relatively young and fresh.
Now, his sons had taken up the spear and the gun in his name, and he was an old man. If he did end up in battle, it would be as part of the fourth or fifth wave, the so-called 'tail' of the attack. But that was unlikely. The Tribe had plenty of able-bodied young warriors, and most commanders didn't even bother thinking about resorting to a fourth or fifth wave anymore. The times had changed, and Kabbal had changed with them.
Rattling the old worn bones cupped in his right hand, he chanted an old invocation ritual to one of the Forgotten Old Gods. "Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu... Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu..."
The old bones ground together, and he tried to interpret the sounds.
He had been reading the bones for years now, and had been an apprentice to Nabbal, one of the village's most respected Shamans. Nabbal had, in his last years, chanted about the coming of one of the Old Gods, but Kabbal had always been secretly skeptical. Now he knew better. Now he knew the Old Gods Walked once more.
Walked, and Trod upon those who opposed them.
"Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu..."
In his rough palm, one of the bones chipped and broke, sending a sliver into Kabbal's flesh. He winced in pain, and watched, stunned, as a trickle of blood curved and wound a path down his palm to his wrist. His eyes were wide at the sight of it.
"An ill omen of things to come..." he whispered, and slipped the bones into a small pouch tied to a string that hung from around his neck. He then removed the sliver, and started at the blood stained bit of bone. He put that in an empty pouch that hung from his leather belt.
With less haste than before, he continued walking.
Up ahead was the Temple of Ysbaddaden, God of Panthers, Lord of Eyes. Like only a few other buildings in the village, it was made of stone, and unlike those few, this stone was hewn in the Days of Gods. The Temple was very wide at its base, but not particularly high. At the top lay the entrance to the Reliquary, where the ancient Godhead had once been. That ages old artifact was now broken, but in its place sat something far greater. A god not in stone, but in flesh.
Kabbal slowly climbed the steps to the top.
Behind him, he left the village and its comforting sounds: the sounds of footsteps, the sounds of laughter, the sounds of bartering and haggling. Now he could hear screams and laughter. Monstrous laughter. The Laughter of a God. Kabbal fought the urge to consult the old bones again. They had already given him an answer, and just as well, he knew his duty.
The entrance to the Reliquary was stained with blood.
Stepping through the archway, and pushing aside the beaded curtain, Kabbal was instantly struck by the smell of blood and offal. It was early morning, and the servants had not yet approached to clean the mess made the night before. Inside the Temple was dark, and braziers lay unlit on the floor. Still, he walked on. He had long since memorized the layout of the Temple in the years before their Lord's appearance. In the next chamber, Kabbal saw two of Ysbaddaden's Personal Guard.
They were suits of armor, animated through Divine Power.
At his humble approach, the two beings' glowing red 'eyes 'seemed to follow him. Their armored bodies were painted in greens and browns, like those of the forest, but were too dark to work properly in the jungle, and they wielded weapons similar to those the hairless foreigners had brought as gifts for the Panther Tribe. They never spoke, at least as far as Kabbal knew, but they let him pass, and enter the next chamber.
Here, there was blood on the walls, in smears and streaks. Kabbal had steeled himself, however, and continued on. The ancient stories had made mention that the Lord of Eyes was callous, aloof, and vengeful... none had spoken of this, however. Still, the old tales were only as accurate as those that remembered them. Ysbaddaden, besides, had a right to be displeased with his Chosen People. When all was set right again, he would bestow his mercy and graces on a grateful people.
Kabbal was sure of it.
In the largest, but not final, chamber within the Temple interior stood a small stone throne. It was, at least, still immaculately clean. Here and there, jungle flowers bloomed, their sweet scent mixing with other, less pleasant, odors. The Panther God was on his throne, looking calm and contented. Four more of his Personal Guard stood in unmoving, unblinking attendance. At his feet, looking far worse for wear than the night before, were several females: Panther and Jaguar. The rest of the Harem was likely cloistered in adjacent antechambers. Kabbal had secretly hoped that he would have caught a glimpse of Ere-La on his visit. The echidna female was the only of that breed he had ever seen, and she was the jewel of the God's Concubines.
"AH! THE PRIEST HAS ARRIVED AT LAST." The god's voice was a rumble that shook the walls, and hearing it made Kabbal tremble. "WHAT NEWS DO YOU BRING ME?"
Kabbal gulped. "The news, Oh Lord of Eyes, may be seen as either good... or bad..."
Ysbaddaden grew visibly upset. He was a massive creature, half again as tall as the most imposing Panther warrior. His midnight black fur rippled eerily, and never seemed to stop moving, as if shaken by some unseen wind. His claws were as long as most mobian's fingers, and his mouth was like that of a shark. His tail was longer than any other felines, and whipped and cracked like a writhing snake. Worse than his hulking frame, however, were his five piercing eyes: two where they should be, one in his forehead, and two in the back of his head. All glowed a terrible red, and had pupils of pearl white.
At his feet, Kabbal noticed that one of the Panther girls wasn't moving. Looking more closely, he saw dried blood around her neck and lips, her unblinking eyes staring forward in mute terror. From the angle, it looked like her tail and left lag had been broken, along with her neck. Kabbal kept his composure, however, and didn't let his eyes fall on the corpse for more than a few seconds.
"Great Ysbaddaden," he continued, bravely. "The Chieftain of the Tiger Tribe begs me to relay to you that he has found no body matching the description you provided me. Nor have they found any tracks indicating the presence of a foreigner, of any mobian breed."
One of the Panther God's great hands clenched, his claws scraping against the stone armrest of his throne. Two of his eyes blinked, but the other kept staring at Kabbal. The Shaman shuffled nervously where he stood. A few moments of terrible silence pervaded the room. Several of the God's concubines whimpered from where they stood.
"HE LIES," the Lord of Eyes finally said.
Kabbal bowed his head and closed his eyes. He had great respect for the Tiger Chieftain, and the Tiger People. They were long time allies of the Panther Tribe, and had always been trustworthy and respectable neighbors. They, too, had allied with the Humans in the years past, and had grown strong since crushing their more hated enemies to the west. Their leader was well loved, and he had treated Kabbal with utmost respect and hospitality.
The shaman doubted that the Chieftain was lying.
But who was he to argue with a God?
"HE... LIES!!" This time Ysbaddaden roared, and Kabbal fell to his knees, and touched his head to the floor. He felt something wet and sticky on his forehead, and distantly realized it was blood. But not his own. Not yet.
Not yet.
"THE VILE REPROBATE HAS FED YOU LIES, AND LIKE A BASE ANIMAL YOU HUNGRILY LAPPED UP HIS VOMIT!! MARK MY WORDS, PRIEST, THE TIME WILL SOON COME FOR A RECKONING WITH..."
And then, amazingly, the God of Panthers paused.
Kabbal looked up, his whole body shaking like a leaf.
For a few seconds, Ysbaddaden seemed transfixed, and then he spoke, far more calmly, "THE PROFLIGATES WILL HAVE TO WAIT. LEAVE HERE AND SUMMON TO ME THOSE WHO COMMAND MY WARRIORS. I WISH TO PREPARE A WARM RECEPTION FOR SOME... GUESTS."
"Of... of course, Oh exalted Lord of Eyes!" Kabbal quickly stood, and ran from the Reliquary. Wiping blood from his forehead, he clutched the small leather pouch that hung from his neck. He was alive! Unscathed, even! The Old Bones had predicted some calamity...
Perhaps it lay in the future.
For the moment, at least, Kabbal was just happy to still be breathing.
-----
"PURSUE THEM!"
"Sir..."
"Captain, I gave you your orders! Pursue those craft! SHOOT THEM DOWN!!"
"But sir..."
Hershey crossed her arms and looked away while St. John yelled into the communications headset. Things had not turned out as planned. On their approach to Overland, the advance squadron of fighter craft had reported that there were airborne vectors headed out of the local airspace. They were, quite obviously, the air flotilla that Geoffrey had hoped to catch by surprise. By the distances involved, they had taken off just in time to escape the fighter craft.
"How much fuel do you have, Captain?" Geoffrey shouted into the microphone. "Well USE IT! Chase them as far as the Mercian border. If you get a shot, even an unlikely one, take it! Do you hear me? TAKE IT!"
Hershey watched the control screen, and could see the small flight of dots heading towards the eastern part of Mobius Minor called Mercia. It didn't take a genius to figure what they were doing and why. Mercia was independent of the Kingdom of Acorn and steadfastly refused to allow military over flight of their territory. Worse, the one time Duchy of Mercia was a land of near chaos, the authority of the Grand Duke questionable beyond the borders of the capitol. Dingo colonists openly operated independent military garrisons inside Mercian borders. Without a doubt, the MilesTech air fleet was headed to one (or several) safe landing zones controlled by the Dingo. Any relevant Mercian authorities would either be bribed or cowed into submission.
Needless to say, St. John was furious.
"Rouge! Rouge! I know you're there! This is Geoffrey St. John, of His Majesty's Secret Service! You are to remand any and all technology, equipment, and documents, digital or otherwise, to the rightful ownership of the Crown, as per Royal Decree! The Peacetime Security Act of 3237 empowers me to confiscate any objects that potentially endanger the national security of the Golden Throne and the House of Acorn. By obstructing this, you risk serving a minimum of fifty years in prison! Is that what you want?! Answer me, damnit! You've gotten away with this before, I know you have, but I won't allow it this time! Turn yourself in now, or I swear by the Source that I'll see you hang!!"
Slamming the headset against the nearest monitor in frustration, the head of the King's Secret Service massaged his forehead. "This is a disaster. A total disaster..."
"We have the Mystic Ruins Base, at least," Hershey offered, hoping to boost his spirits. "They left in a hurry, so..."
"So they were tipped off!" Geoffrey interrupted with a snarl. "They knew when we left Mobian airspace, and they KNEW that I had those fighters modified with booster rockets! They KNEW! Someone betrayed me, betrayed the Crown, so his wallet could feel a little heavier! We have a traitor in our midst!!"
"Please, Geoffrey!" Hershey held up her hands and spoke softly, trying to placate him. "What's done is done. We need to try and salvage the situation, right? What about the Base?"
"The Base..." Geoffrey repeated. "Yes... we have that. Maybe... maybe we'll find some sort of evidence there. Something I can use...!"
"Exactly!" Hershey picked up the headset Geoffrey had thrown. Adjusting the frequency, she ordered the pilot of one of the commando loaded transports to make an approach at the base. Once they landed, and made an entry, things would look up. Rouge and her team had been chased off before they could finish their work. Hershey was sure of it. Her haste would make her sloppy.
Still, the thought of a traitor lingered.
A large number of mobians could have tipped Rouge off about when they took off. Even though Geoffrey had taken great pains and gone to great lengths to keep the time and occurrence of their take off a secret, it was impossible to keep everyone in the dark. That leak could have come from anywhere. The ground crew, perhaps. Or just an observant civilian keeping an eye on the airbase they took off from.
What was more troubling was that Rouge obviously knew about the fighter modifications, and made plans to escape that factored them in. Those had been top secret, specifically because Geoffrey knew that their actual take off couldn't be properly concealed. Thus, even if Rouge knew when they left, the rocket boosted fighters would be on her before she suspected they would.
But she knew.
She knew!
Had it been one of the fighter pilots? Maybe one of the Tech-heads that did the job? Who knew? But she knew St. John wouldn't rest until he found out. Still, all that was for later. There was still a chance to salvage the situation, and that chance lay in the hidden base just a few miles ahead, and a half mile below, their current position.
Miles had done well to hide the base, even from his own friends and associates. Several of his other bunkers had been found, both by MilesTech and by the Kingdom, but those had all been on Mobius Major, and hadn't been particularly well hidden. Some were little more than radio outposts, used to conceal vital communications coming into and out of Knothole. One of the more important sites had been Gold III, a hardened rocket hanger and bunker facility that made up the Kingdom's only satellite launch system.
It had been used only a few times, and the site had been bombed numerous times by Robotnick near the close of the war. Eventually, units of the MAF (the Mobian Armed Forces) had been stationed to guard the Gold III facility. Several low intensity attacks had been repulsed, and the base itself slightly damaged, but for the most part it was still operable and intact. In the months following the war, the King had ordered the base expanded with airfields, additional bunkers, and enlarged rocket hangers.
That, at least, had been a coup for the Kingdom.
But many of Miles' old bases, usually ones he rarely used anymore and instead handed down to other scientifically minded mobians he trusted, had quickly handed themselves over to MilesTech. The corporation had been quick to whisk away anything of real value, so that when the King's Men inspected the facilities they found only conventional research being done. All the radical work had been packed away.
It was frustrating.
Didn't they know that the Kingdom would compensate them for their hard work? Didn't they understand that critical areas of research belonged in the hands of the government, and not some money hungry corporation? That was how overlanders and humans worked, not mobians! The whole point of winning the war and defeating Robotnick was to rebuild the Kingdom of Acorn, wasn't it?
Wasn't it?
Hershey shook her head and cleared her thoughts. That sort of thing was for politicians and noblemen to mull over, not her. She was a soldier, and she was happy being one. It was a hell of a lot better than being a vagabond. Living life on the edge, roaming from town to town, always on the lookout for an easy buck, or an easy mark... it wasn't her dream, and it wasn't Drago's. It had just been all that they had. Now, she had her dream, and Drago...
He was in prison.
Thinking of Drago filled Hershey will mixed anger and regret, but there was no time to think about it. The present situation came crashing to the forefront of her mind with a vengeance. A warning alarm went off nearby, startling her, and a nearby screen flashed and turned to static for a second. Then, just like that, it was over.
"What the Hell was that?" Geoffrey said exactly what she had been thinking, and ran up to one of the mobians monitoring the situation. They were in an Airborne Control Center, coordinating the Operation, but there were no windows. The only views of the outside came via cameras.
"Sir!" One of the crew, Hershey didn't know his name, spoke up. He pointed to a picture on his monitor. "Sir, it looks like an explosion... several explosions, actually, in sequence, coming from inside the Base, sir."
"A self destruct?" Hershey asked.
"Don't be a fool!" Geoffrey snapped, his clenched fists shaking. "SHE did this! Rigged the whole thing to implode when we got close!"
To that, Hershey had no answer.
Left eye twitching, Geoffrey ran to another station, one displaying the blips headed out of the area and towards Mercia. They were still being chased by the fighter craft, but it was obvious they'd make their escape. He stared long and hard at the display, searching desperately. Hershey walked up to him slowly, and was about to speak when his eyes lit up, and he pointed at the screen.
"There! One of them is veering off! It's headed south..." He ran to another station, picked up a map, and held it up to the side of the monitor, comparing the two. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to make sense of the difference in scaling involved. "Where? Where is she headed? The course is too southerly..."
Hershey spoke, then, but not what she had originally intended to say. "What're you thinking, Geoff?"
"I think, Hersh, that our little flying rat has another roost in mind. She isn't going with the rest of her flight to Mercia. She's headed south, and then west."
Hershey didn't need to look at the map to know what that meant.
"Cat Country," she said, softly.
"Cat Country!" Geoffrey said, triumphantly. "She must think there's another base there. Or maybe she had some sort of rendezvous. Either way, its important enough to draw her away from a scot-free escape."
"How do you know its her?" Hershey asked, quickly. "I mean, that could be anyone. Maybe a rogue pilot or something."
"A rogue pilot headed for Cat Country? Doubtful. And there's no need for a diversion, either. She had her escape. All she had to do, all any of them had to do, was to keep going into Mercia. But this one... this one is turning south. It has to be her! I'd stake my reputation on it!"
It occurred to Hershey that he was staking his reputation on it, if he did what she thought he was going to do. Much to her trepidation, she found that assumption to be accurate.
"This is Geoffrey St. John to all pilots!" The skunk had already reclaimed his headset. "We have a change of course. This mission is not over, understood? Now, you will all do exactly as I say..."
Hershey looked at the map, now half folded against a keyboard.
"Cat Country," she whispered. "Why did it have to be Cat Country?"
