The warrior was a bloody mess.
"Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu..." Kabbal rattled the bones in his palm. As they rubbed together, he interpreted the tiny sounds they made, as well as the motions in his hand. Forecasting through Invocation and Bones was as old an art as the land itself, and well respected by high and low born alike. "Abammu Abrahammu Lithammu Mortaeammu..."
The chanted Words focused the Power.
But what they actually meant, no one knew.
Opening his palm, Kabbal watched as the bones of his Old Master fell into a bronze dish. He quietly read the pattern, stirred the dish with his index finger, and read that one too. Sighing, he shook his head.
"I am sorry. He is not long for this world," Kabbal said, somberly, and scooped up the bones, placing them in the ritual pouch that hung from his neck. "There was no mistaking the signs."
The female next to him wailed at the news, and cried to the Spirits for a miracle.
Nearby, on a straw mat sticky with blood, a Panther Warrior no more than fourteen years of age lay in an almost motionless state. He still clung to his spear. A wound like nothing Kabbal had ever seen lay, like a curse, in the young mobian's lower torso. The flesh was ragged and torn, but dressed with the village's finest herbs and salves. The Medicine Man had done as good as job as Kabbal could have hoped, but even without the use of the bones, he doubted the young Panther would see another moon.
It had not been a wound like that caused by even one of the hairless foreigner's firearms. Those could be removed by a skilled Medicine Man, and could heal over. Whatever sort of magics had hit this young warrior had been merciless. On a bloody tray nearby were shards of metal, taken from the wound. There was no sign of the bullet itself, which must have been huge to have done the damage it did. Worse, this young warrior was not the only one to suffer such a blow.
A fair number of the Panther Tribe's warriors suffered similarly.
Most would surely not survive, and of those that did, they would lose an arm or a leg. Still, Commander Badru had claimed a great victory, and made much boasting as he sent a runner to the Temple of Ysbaddaden in the village's Inner Court. The Commander had yet to speak with the God, however, and Kabbal was beginning to suspect that something was awry. Four of Ysbaddaden's magically animated armored guards blocked all entrance to the Temple Reliquary.
Kabbal's thoughts were interrupted by someone calling his name.
Turning slightly, he saw a Panther Warrior in a headdress of sub commander (an intermediate rank) open the beaded curtain that covered the entrance to the hut. He looked from the body, to the female, to Kabbal. "Shaman! Commander Badru requests your presence immediately."
"Very well," Kabbal said, and stood up. He gave the dying Panther one last look, and then took his leave. The female, the boy's mother, was crying over her son's body. She was but one of many, the Shaman knew.
The sub-commander lead him silently to the part of town where Badru had set up his camp. There, warriors were drilling and practicing, talking and eating. Entering the largest hut, Kabbal saw the Commander himself, bedecked in his most ornate headdress, and carrying his ceremonial shield. Flanking him were four other sub commanders, all sitting cross-legged. The Commander, a rather pale haired Panther of mixed black and gray, motioned for Kabbal to sit and drink.
The Shaman did so.
Holding a saucer to his mouth, he drank the juice that had been poured by one of the Commander's servants. The lower ranked creatures, most of them slaves captured in border skirmishes with the hated Phyllostomid Tribe, buzzed like flies as they did what was commanded of them. The juice itself was very sweet, taken from distant mountain fruits not in Panther territory. After the drink, Kabbal lowered his head to the floor.
"How may I serve you, Commander?"
"I wish you to serve an intermediary," the Commander said, simply. He had no need for outstand niceties, and no inclination towards them. He clapped his hands. "Bring them in!"
Three mobians entered the room. The first, to Kabbal's surprise, was one of the Panther God's concubines: Ere-La. He instantly realized why he was present, and what the Commander meant by 'intermediary.' It was forbidden for most Panthers, even ones of Badru's rank, to speak to one of the God's women. A Shaman, however, as a religious man who already communed with Spirits, was allowed.
The echidna woman wore the dress of a high ranked Panther female, though it hung from her small frame. Her body was a vivid red, and her eyes a shade of violet. These were colors no female of the Panther Tribe had. She had been a great trophy for the male who had taken her from her city far to the east, and he must have enjoyed her as well... at least until the Great Lord of Eyes returned, and demanded her for his Harem. Kabbal would not have liked to give up any of his trophy females, much less such an exotic one, but who was any mere mortal to argue with a God?
Her violet eyes, however, looked haunted and shrunken.
'No doubt she has seen terrible things,' Kabbal thought, again wondering why the God of Panthers had such penchant for brutality. Vengeful, yes – all the scholars agreed on that one – but Ysbaddaden was also a loyal and aloof god. Not for the first time, Kabbal questioned, briefly, whether they had been cursed with some pretender god. What if the god who resided in the Temple was not Ysbaddaden, Lord of Eyes, but Mulciber, the Trickster God?
No: such a thing was impossible, and blasphemy besides.
Following Ere-La was a mobian Kabbal had never seen before. She was female. Though her clothes were strange and foreign and would normally have covered her feminine parts completely, they were ripped over her upper torso, exposing some sort of thinner undershirt, which concealed far less. Kabbal remembered that the hairless foreigners from the north had also worn white shirts under their protective clothes: 'jackets' they had called the outer garments. Ones that could stop even a bullet from penetrating.
Gender and clothing aside, Kabbal had never seen a mobian of her breed before. She was as large, physically, as a full-grown Panther, and by the heavy coils tied around her hands and boots she must have put up an impressive struggle. The muscle on her arms and legs confirmed that conclusion. Her fur was brownish, as were her eyes. Her muzzle was longer than that of a Panther or echidna, her black nose was slightly wider as well. Lastly, her tail was unlike any other mobian Kabbal knew – it was bushy, with long fur.
The third mobian was a rather muscular warrior charged with keeping the female from escaping. He herded her forward none-too-gently before forcing her (with some struggling) to her knees. Ere-La sat without any need for prompting, also on her knees.
"This strange creature," The Commander said and motioned to the new female. "Does not speak our language, nor the language of our allies, but I believe the god's favored consort may be able to ask her several questions on my behalf. As a male who has communed with the Spirits, you will ask the female Ere-La what I ask of you."
"Of course. I am happy to be of assistance." Kabbal felt a bit uneasy, but didn't say so.
Commander Badru smiled in anticipation. "What I wish to know first is her name."
"What is this female's name?" Kabbal asked Ere-La. The echidna female sighed, and faced the other female. She spoke in a strange language Kabbal had never heard before. The other female seemed to understand it well enough, as well as the situation, because she responded promptly. Ere-La then spoke again, displeased by the answer she got, but the other female said the same thing.
Finally, the echidna captive spoke in a normal and proper language: that of the Panther Tribe. "Her name is Suzanne Grant."
"Zuzan Gran-Ta?" Kabbal asked, ruining the pronunciation at first.
"Suzanne Grant," Ere-La said again.
"Zuzan Grant." Kabbal said, and seemed satisfied that he got it close enough. "Is that all she said?"
Ere-La shrugged. "No. She said more, but you..." She seemed to reconsider telling any of the males present that they wouldn't understand what had been said. "She said, in full: Grant, Suzanne. 'Private Second Class' – meaning her rank - sixty second 'Infantry Regiment' – it means her war party – on loan – it means in service to – the MilesTeach 'Security Office' – it means the group she is currently fighting for. Then, she stated her 'Identification Number.'"
Commander Badru cleared his throat to get their attention. "I now wish to know if she is what could be called a... ah... a 'vixen.' A female vox. No: Fox. A female fox."
"Is this female, Zuzan, a female fox? Is she what is called a vixen?"
To her credit, Ere-La didn't laugh. She just shook her head. "What you have here is a dingo. She is not a fox, but she is female."
"Dingho?" Kabbal looked at the other female.
"Din Go," Ere-La corrected. "Dingo."
At this, Commander Badru frowned deeply. Several of his sub-commanders murmured amongst themselves. A few looked very nervous for some reason. One kept shaking his head.
"When we captured her, she was using a firearm. It was not like one of ours, but it was indisputably a firearm. We do not believe she was a mate or slave to any of the males we killed." Commander Badru grunted at this. "Why was she here? Why was she carrying a weapon?"
Kabbal asked the question.
Ere-La again had no need to ask anything of the female named Zuzan. She said, "The Dingo are a warlike people. They are more warlike than even the Panther Tribe."
"What!" Badru snarled. "You speak lies!"
Ere-La pretended not to hear him. After all, he was no allowed to speak to her, so he may as well have not spoken. Instead, she continued, "They do not always fight, as the Panther Tribe do, this is true. But their entire society is built around the potential, and in their eyes eventual, conflict they will have with others. When the dingo fight, they devote all their energies to the task, and to the total subjugation of their enemies. They call this doctrine 'Total War' because it can only end when one group has been completely defeated by another. To this end, all members of their society are a part of their 'military' – their warrior caste."
"Again: lies!" Badru hissed, angrily. "How can they all be warriors?"
"They all know how to fight," Ere-La answered. "They can all be called to fight as warriors as their leaders see fit. Not all do, but all can. Even their females."
Badru grumbled, but didn't say anything more.
The dingo female took that opportunity to speak up. Ere-La translated, "She demands to be let go. She claims you have defiled the bodies of her dead comrades by skinning them, and says that there will be a horrible vengeance paid for it. She says that the dingo will soon rule all of this land – and by this land, she means lands to the north, west, east and south, from one ocean to another – what is in our language called a 'continent.' She also says that if you try and force yourself on her, she will twist off your manhood and choke you with it."
Kabbal saw Ere-La smile as she said that last part.
From where she kneeled, the dingo female grinned, showing large sharp teeth. She was a fiery female, that Kabbal could see easily. Even if he were a decade younger, he'd be hesitant to try and tame such a creature. It would be an effort taking many, many months, and even then Kabbal feared for the long-term safety of whatever male made the attempt. Still, many hot-blooded males liked a challenge. Who had managed to capture this female, anyway, and why was he not present?
Commander Badru sneered at the female's translated comments. "We will see how she fares under our Great Lord's tender ministrations. Ysbaddaden has ordered all females captured in the raid brought to him. When he spoke to me, he seemed quite eager. This female may not be a 'vixen' but perhaps it will not matter. No: I don't think it will."
He waved dismissively, and the guard dragged the dingo female away.
Ere-La slowly got up, and walked out on her own.
Kabbal watched them go with curiosity. 'What is the Lord of Eyes planning? First the search through the jungles for a body of some sort, and now: this? That first search was for a male body, too. Now he is looking for a female?'
The Shaman sighed sadly.
The problem in dealing with gods was that they were always so damn inscrutable.
The cave offered little shelter.
Rouge hated it.
'Ironic, considering my breed,' the she bat mused, and ducked her head to avoid bumping into a low hanging stalactite. Omega wouldn't have even fit in the cave, so he was off causing a distraction several miles away. It was dark outside, and it had been even darker in the cave, devoid as it was of moonlight. Heinrich, however, had carried a few flares, and broke one open to provide some illumination. He had left several minutes ago to investigate a noise, but Rouge suspected that he hated their little hiding place as much as she did, and just wanted some fresh air.
Then again, Heinrich was the type of dingo who would sleep on a bed of tacks if his superior officer ordered it. Rouge had never had a bodyguard (she had never really needed one before), but she felt a sudden and sharp pang of gratefulness to General von Stryker, who had offered her the services of one of his finest commandos. Of course, Rouge suspected that the General was also using Heinrich to spy on her, but she didn't have a problem with that. She had no plans to break her arrangements with the dingo, and if she did, the first thing she'd do was to purge her security force of them.
Heinrich's departure left her alone with only two other souls.
And Rouge meant 'souls' in the loosest sense of the word.
Fiona was nearby, her eyes closed. She stood up and didn't move – she didn't even inhale, unless she wanted to. Nearby, lying on the floor, was Private Cramer. Rouge had not known it at first, but she had remembered his name on the way to their cavernous hideout. He had been the young dingo who had ogled Fiona on the plane. Rouge would've recognized him by his face, except...
Except a plasma blast had removed half his face.
Now he was semi-conscious on the floor, his face and left leg heavily bandaged. His breathing was regular, except for the occasional shudder. Watching him, Rouge felt terrible – she had given the order to come to this place. She was responsible for the deaths of seven of her people. How did Stryker and the others deal with it? Did they cry when no one was looking, or was she the only one?
How could they live with themselves?
Walking over to the dying mobian, Rouge touched his arm, but didn't feel a response. He was still breathing, though. Looking at him more closely, Rouge tried to picture the look on his face from before. He had reminded her, at least a little, of Miles. Even if he had seemed more attracted to a heartless, soulless doll than a flesh and blood female.
"Fiona," Rouge spoke to the object of her ire. She'd hardly said a word to the sentient AI in hours, but silence wasn't really helping things. And besides, even if Fiona could survive without speaking a word, it didn't mean Rouge could. No: she wanted to talk, even if it was with a fake Fiona.
The AI's eyes opened, and eyes moved in Rouge's direction.
"What is it?" She then smiled. "Dear Rouge?"
Rouge frowned a little at the annoying nickname.
"Come here," Rouge motioned with her hand, and Fiona approached. "We have to talk."
Fiona nodded. "I imagined you would."
Rouge looked down at the wounded soldier. "Do you have emotions, Fiona?"
"I do... in a manner of speaking," Fiona answered, somewhat obliquely. She looked down at the dingo on the floor. "But he is dying. Fussing over him won't change that."
"He's not a machine, Fiona," Rouge's voice was surprisingly reserved. "He doesn't want to die."
Fiona raised her eyebrow again, a sure sign that she found something amusing or foolish. "You don't know that. He will not survive. He would suffer less if you broke his neck."
Rouge felt a flash of anger come and go. She looked up, briefly, at the Fiona Doll. "I can see why Miles didn't stay with you, Fiona. He cared for those who followed him. He cared. I don't think you can."
Fiona's eyes narrowed a little. It was as vexed as Rouge had yet seen her. Lowing to her knees, she inched closer to the wounded dingo, and tentatively reached out. For a second, Rouge wondered if she was going to follow through with what she thought was right, and kill the wounded soldier. But Fiona's hand rested softly on his temple, and slowly ran through his hair.
"Empathy," Fiona said the word, after a few quiet seconds. "Is a concept I struggle with. It was considered dangerous to my original mission, you see."
Rouge could understand that. 'Your original mission was to seduce and betray. I can see how empathy, more than anything else, could lead you to compromise your programming.'
She probably should have said the words, and not just spoken them. But by then something unexpected happened. The soldier opened his eyes. For a second, they were wild and wide with adrenaline, but then they closely closed and he let out a low groan. Raising his head slightly, Fiona placed it on her lap, and kept stroking his hair – somewhat by rote.
'Or perhaps by imitation,' Rouge thought.
"I had hoped this wouldn't happen," The Doll added, cutting off anything else Rouge was about to say.
"Hoped this wouldn't happen?" Rouge snapped, but kept her voice low. "So you knew...!"
"There was always the chance that my contact would betray me." Fiona admitted. "But something else happened. Something different than simple treachery. The creature that was present at the meeting place was not the Tails Doll I spoke with. I don't think it was a Tails Doll at all."
"Enough have died already for your secrets, damn you!" Rouge's voice was undoubtedly angry, even if her tone wasn't very loud. "What the hell were you planning? Tell me the truth! The whole bloody truth!"
"The truth?" Fiona smiled. "Very well. It can't hurt at this point. As I told you, some time ago I came in contact with a Tails Doll. He was escaping from the Kingdom of Acorn, and believed himself to be the last member of the Doll Network and the Eggman Empire. While in the area, he detected a spike in Chaos Energy, and when he compared it to the files it had on hand, it matched up. With Darling Miles."
"So there was never a body?" Rouge asked.
"No. No body. At least not one that the Doll found. Just a Chaos Signature. A strong one. That, in and of itself is unusual, because it indicated that Miles had been in the area recently, and had been manifesting his powers to a large degree. It was possible, as the Doll deduced, that the Signature was a remnant of the massive blast of energy released near Knothole, which also corresponded to that of Darling Miles. That does seem the reasonable and logical explanation, but it is not the only one."
"So you did think he was here, somewhere?"
"I did." Fiona nodded and sighed. "In my conversations with him, the Tails Doll expressed a desire to live outstripping his obligations to a defeated regime. Essentially, he wanted to defect. He hoped that I would be able to help him find Sanctuary, and that he could surrender to one of Mobius' governments in exchange for his continued existence."
"I was unsure what to believe, at first. His communications became more and more desperate. He had never been removed from the Network for more than a few minutes, and his programming was not suited for lone operations. Tails Dolls typically operate in separate groups of three, seven or nine. Never one. I eventually came to believe what he was saying, and found myself in a similar position. I, too, want to live. I do not want to be destroyed, as the Kingdom of Acorn would no doubt do when they find me."
"However, I did not entirely trust him. So: I arranged for the base to be found by you, by sending an anonymous fax at one of Miles' bases that you controlled. Through it, your people were able to locate Gold Seven, which was Miles' most guarded base of operations. I knew you would bring soldiers to defend yourself and your operation when you came to Gold Seven. I knew these soldiers could be used in case the Tails Doll turned against me, or planned some other deceit."
"So this whole thing... was just so you could hide behind us if things turned wrong?" Rouge sounded both angry and impressed. More the former than the latter, however.
"Yes. Exactly," Fiona said, without emotion. "It worked, too. If not for these precautions, I would have been captured by whatever was masquerading as that Tails Doll."
"How do you know it wasn't the Doll?" Rouge asked. "You said it was acting strangely, disconnected from its little friends."
"It was definitely not a Tails Doll. When I asked it where the body was – and it never told me there was a body – it did not point out my error. Instead, it confirmed it. Furthermore, when it took damage, it briefly bled. Tails Dolls do not bleed red blood. Additionally, though it had no apparent injury, it did not float. It held itself upright using its tendrils."
Fiona then paused. "It was able to control its Combots, however. I have a theory about that, but it is only speculation. Miles experimented with the concept of using cybernetics to usurp control of lower level Eggman robots, including Combots, but it was not effective. These are files you will be able to access, via myself, and the Computer Core stored in another of your planes. There are incomplete records with the Freedom Fighter named Rotor, as well, as he cooperated in the early stages of the project."
"There was another reason Miles abandoned the project, wasn't there?" Rouge made a quick guess. "The information could travel both ways, couldn't it?"
"Very perceptive," Fiona seemed genuinely impressed. "Yes. The chip design came from robians that had been destroyed in the field and from Eggman robots that used Organic Cores. There was no way to prevent orders flowing back into a user's mind from the Computer Network that controlled the robots. Meaning that only a creature with incredible willpower would be able to successfully usurp command of enemy forces."
Rouge thought about that. There was a lot of money to be made in the use of technology like that. But the potential costs... And the moral issues... Rouge was hardly a paragon of virtue (something Miles had remarked on occasionally, with amusement), but even she saw the inherent problems presented by such an advance. In the wrong hands, it was dangerous indeed.
"Something similar to that may account for how this creature was able to control the nearby Combots." Fiona returned to the original topic. "What was also unexpected, was the involvement of the Panther Tribe. They were obviously cooperating with the entity pretending to be the Tails Doll I communicated with."
"Wait," Rouge interrupted again. "How do you know there was ever really a Tails Doll?"
"A fair question," Fiona admitted. "Tails Dolls communicate on a level far above and beyond that of an organic brain. They can have millions of lines of conversations in mere seconds. No mobian brain could keep pace. He and I communicated on that level. No organic could have replicated that feat."
Rouge frowned. "I see..."
"From what I have gathered from this situation, the entity controlling the Combots is also directing the efforts of the Panther Tribe. I have recorded, translated, and gone over what words in their language that I heard, but it does not reveal any real clue as to how they are being manipulated." Fiona sounded exasperated. "Their target, however, is likely me. They have no reason to pursue us, but they do, even though we are plainly beaten. They sent parties of warriors out to find us: why? Either to find me, or you, and with all due respect, I am the likely target if you assume that the Panther Tribe and the fake Tails Doll are working together, and not independently."
Rouge nodded. "That makes sense. But why? Why do they want you so badly?"
Fiona tapped the side of her head. "I have sensitive information. I assume they are after that. But what, exactly, they want... I do not know."
Rouge looked down at the dingo who lay between them. "This shouldn't have happened."
"Dear Rouge," Fiona spoke again. "Listen to me. Even as we speak, Geoffrey St. John is likely setting up a base of operations in the area. When he does, it will provoke an immediate response from the Panther Tribe and the entity controlling them. St. John will either destroy me, or he will capture me for his King. Neither of these options are what this entity wants. When he attacks St. John, it will provide us an opportunity."
"You don't seriously want to..." Rouge couldn't even say it.
"I want to find the Tails Doll that I communicated with. He was telling the truth: there was a Chaos Signature in the area, and it was Miles.' He is alive, somewhere, and we have to find him. To a very small margin of error, I believe both the Tails Doll and perhaps Miles himself to be held in captivity at the Panther Tribe's nearest village. Overlander documents indicate that the Tribe maintains a warrior caste, and that their entire compliment of warriors will sortie to fight a large enemy like St. John. If we can evade those patrols that are looking for us here, we can get in and out relatively easily."
"That's..." Rouge was about to say it was 'totally insane' when approaching footsteps compelled her to clam up. She relaxed, however, when Heinrich von Elbe rounded the corner instead of a Panther warrior. He sat down nearby, and placed several ammunitions clips on the floor of the cave.
"Boss. A couple of Panthers were roaming around near the entrance to the cave," He patted the clips on the ground. "I took them out very quietly. Saved as much ammunition as I could."
"Can we use their guns?" Rouge asked. She didn't see any.
"You wouldn't want to. They're overlander guns, and they kick like an angry woman. But your big robot friend will like them, though. They look like they'll feed right into his chaingun, though I'll have to load them one by one." He then reached behind him, and pulled out four spears and two small brown balls. "These are weighted for throwing. They're not exactly grenades, but they're better than nothing, all things considered. These little balls here – are powder grenades. You throw them at somebody's face, and the powder blinds them. Looks like the Panther use some sort of pepper in the powder, too. Very nasty."
Leaving those niceties on the floor, the former commando took out his combat knife, a rather wicked looking thing, and started cleaning it with a rag. A rag with more than a few rusted blood stains. He seemed to be totally in his element behind enemy lines, and half out of ammo. He did pause, momentarily, in his duty to look at the wounded mobian in front of his Boss.
"How is he?" Heinrich asked, cautiously.
"He's still hanging on," Rouge answered with an even face. The other dingo shook his head, and went back to his own business.
"I think..." Fiona began to suggest.
"I know!" Rouge cut her short. "I know."
"They won't be expecting an attack so soon." Fiona pressed the matter. "The other options are to hand ourselves over to St. John, or to try and make a run for Mercia. We could do that, but we'd lose any chance of finding Darling Miles. We could be abandoning him."
Rouge looked up at the dark ceiling, and then leaned back, using her wings to cushion herself. She felt dirty and tired and miserable. What she really wanted, more than anything, was a hot shower and a soak in a hot tub. That, however, was out of her reach. Other things, though, were not.
"I'll... think about it." She said, finally. Closing her eyes, she fell into an unusually restful sleep. Considering the circumstances, she was grateful her body and mind worked together to produce a good night's rest, for once. There were no dreams, but when she woke up, she did feel a lot better.
Or at least she did, until she saw Fiona holding Private Cramer's body. He had died sometime that night. The look on what was left of his face was peaceful... slack. Rouge still remembered his face from before, on the plane, and she didn't bother hiding her tears. Sergeant von Elbe had already taken the youth's dogtags and left to check out the area outside the cave. And Fiona...
She just watched, her face impassive.
It was then that Rouge made her decision.
Ere-La watched as the young panther female fell at her feet.
"You are being most uncooperative," She informed her newest guest. The dingo female just snarled. Ms. Grant had been stripped of her clothes by the warriors of the Panther Tribe an hour or so before they handed her over to the robots that, for some reason, served the monster called Ysbaddaden. Now, she was inside the Reliquary itself, and making a pain of herself. She had not been violated (such was the fear their God placed in his warriors), and still harbored foolish notions of escape and vengeance.
"Damn straight I'm being uncooperative!" Suzanne yelled, knowing that Ere-La was the only one in the village who could understand her words anyway. "'It is the responsibility of every prisoner of war to attempt to affect an escape or rescue.' I doubt I'm gonna be rescued, so you better believe I'm gonna try and escape!"
Ere-La shook her head sadly. "That is impossible. There is no escape."
"Bullshit!" Grant slammed a fist against one of the stone walls. Two other Panther girls, who had been trying to get her to wear the 'proper' clothes befitting a concubine of their deranged 'god,' cowered and backed away. The few that had tried to physically subdue their latest associate had quickly learned what constituted dingo basic hand to hand training.
Like they didn't get beaten up enough, already.
"You're a bloody echidna! You must know how to ... to... fix up fancy electronics!" The dingo woman reasoned, somewhat poorly. "We can work together. Get out of here! I've heard that it's possible to build a radio out of all sorts of junk."
"Just because I am an echidna, does not mean I am an electronic engineer," Ere-La snorted derisively. "I was studying law in West Albion University when I was captured in my sleep. I wanted to become a scribe."
"Great!" Suzanne rolled her eyes, and then re-thought what she had heard. "Wait. Albion? You're from Albion? You must have been one of those taken in that raid back in March!"
"Yes." Ere-La was surprised that the dingo woman knew about that. She was acutely aware that the secrecy that had for so long protected Albion had recently been lost, but she had still never thought it could be raided by savage felines from nearby Cat Country. Even after it became public knowledge that the outside world knew about Albion, the city was still well hidden. It had never happened before, so why would it happen now, or to her of all mobians?
But it had.
The Lost Echidna City of Albion had survived for thousands of years in splendid isolation from outsiders. Protected by its technology, it was able to sit back, immune, as all manner of catastrophe and calamity ravaged the world. Even as increasingly problematic glitches and maintenance problems led to troubles, things were idyllic. Then, just over three years ago, a wandering tribe of echidna who had forsaken life on the Floating Island created in 2814 finally made their way to Albion, and were accepted by the Hidden City (who had been watching their progress and planning for their arrival for centuries).
That had all gone according to plan. What had not, was when the city's location was discovered by assorted other parties: Freedom Fighters from Mobius Major, The Guardian of Angel Island, and even several local Mercians. Soon enough, everyone knew! And then came the by now infamous March Raid, in which she had been a gloomy participant. Never having needed defenses in the past, the Felines found little opposition in their attack, except by a few hardened echidna who had traveled to the city instead of being born there.
"I... I just never thought anyone could attack our city," Ere-La summed it all up in one sad, pitiful sentence. "No one did."
"These felines are fools," Suzanne said, off hand. "They should have amassed an army and taken the entire city. A raid only served to alert your people to the problem. They are not such an easy target anymore."
Ere-La wasn't sure if the dingo female had meant it that way, but she found her statement to be joyful news. She had always wondered, and worried, how many others would be taken. Sometimes, she wondered if glorious Albion was still even there, far beyond the horizon.
"Albion prevails," She said, hopefully. "Albion prevails."
"Maybe. But it doesn't help me, or you. We can only help ourselves." Private Grant kept searching the room for some sort of weapon, or weakness in the walls. Finally convinced that there was nothing to find, she walked out towards another room in the Temple Interior. Ere-La followed, curious.
At the end of a short hall, they literally ran into a wall of steel.
Two Combots stood, motionless, guarding the last rear room in the Temple.
Tough as Ms. Grant was, she wasn't about to jump two armed Combots in the close confines presented. She instead turned to Ere-La, and asked, "What's back there? Weapons? Drugs for this joker you called their 'god?' Maybe a stash of Ginger or Ginseng?"
Ere-La knew those two drugs only by rumor. She shook her head. "I do not think so. No one is allowed into that room. I have never even seen Lord Ysbaddaden go back there."
"Listen to yourself! 'Lord Ysbaddaden!' He's just some Panther with delusions of grandeur! I bet if you got all the girls together, we could jump him, and..." Private Grant cut her sentence short at the look in Ere-La's eyes. "What? What is it?"
"He... he..." the echidna girl's eyes watered. "You don't know... can't imagine..."
Suzanne Grant just frowned.
Then, she heard a distant thump. And another. And another. It was then that she realized what they were: footsteps. Curiosity overpowering fear, she went back down the way she came, heading for the main chamber. Ere-La followed hesitantly behind. As they came closer, they heard voices. Some, spoken in more hushed tones, were quite normal, but then Suzanne Grant heard a voice that sent chills down her spine.
"YES. I WILL RECEIVE YOU NOW, COMMANDER. COME FORWARD."
"Great and Mighty Lord of Eyes!" Both females heard Commander Badru's voice. "I am gladdened and honored to once more be given entrance into your Temple Reliquary. I serve you unto death, my Lord! I... I was wondering, Lord Ysbaddaden, if you bid me wait because you were angered or displeased in some way?"
"IT DID NOT COMMANDER. I WAS INDISPOSED, COMMUNING WITH MY FELLOW GODS. WE HAVE GREAT PLANS FOR THIS LAND, AND OUR CHOSEN PEOPLE. NOW, COMMANDER, BRING FORTH WHAT I BID YOU BRING TO ME."
"Yes, oh Lord!" The Commander yelled more loudly at one of his sub commanders. "Find the brown one, and bring her here! NOW!"
He needn't have bothered. Grant and Ere-La were practically in the main room's antechamber. When the sub commander pushed aside the bead curtain, Suzanne grabbed his arm, pulled him forward, and flipped him onto his back. Kicking him viciously in the face, she quickly grabbed the Panther's weapon – an overlander make submachine gun – and burst into the main room. No doubt, she planned to take the Panther leader and self proscribed 'god' as hostage.
She sight of Ysbaddaden, however, gave her immediate pause.
Ere-La watched, fascinated, at what was about to happen.
The massive hulk that was the Panther God turned slightly in its throne. At the sight of Private Grant, and her loaded weapon, two of the monster's five eyes narrowed dangerously. All glowed a horrible blood red. A low guttural noise escaped from a mouth lined with shark's teeth.
"WHO IS THIS DINGO? WHERE IS THE VIXEN I COMMANDED YOU TO CAPTURE?" Ysbaddaden's words sent Commander Badru to the floor, kowtowing as if his life depended on it (probably because it did).
"We are still combing the jungles, Great Lord! But we captured for you, at the cost of many lives, this strange and exotic beauty! A fine addition to your Harem! Soon, we shall also have the creature of which you seek! I swear it!"
"Freeze! No body move!" Suzanne finally found her voice, but winced when she remembered that no one would understand here. She saw Ere-La out of the corner of her eye, and had an idea. "Tell them to back off, right now! Or I pump their so-called god full of RED HOT LEAD! Tell them I'm not shitting around! I'll do it! I'll do it!"
Ere-La was about to do just that, when Ysbaddaden laughed. It was a dark horrible sound. Slowly, he stood up from his throne, his long tail growing a snake's head that snapped ands hissed. He faced the angry dingo soldier.
"DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN KILL ME WITH THAT?" Ysbaddaden spoke in Mobian standard, and not the language of the Panther Tribe. "DO YOU THINK THAT THESE PRIMITIVES WOULD WORSHIP ME, IF I WAS SO EASILY STRUCK DOWN? GO AHEAD. SHOOT."
As he took another thunderous step towards the cornered dingo female, Suzanne set her feet, and squeezed the trigger. Bullet after bullet left the gun, flashing and screaming through the air. In front of her, Ysbaddaden winced with every blow, bits and chunks of flesh flying from his face and chest. In seconds, the thirty round clip was completely spent, and the God of Panthers was within reach.
Fast as lightning, he grabbed Grant by her throat, and lifted her off her feet.
Flexing his neck, Ysbaddaden hissed as the wounds on his face and torso closed and healed. Ere-La gasped, and fell back against one of the Temple's hard walls. In mere seconds, the Lord of Eyes was fully restored. Suzanne Grant's eyes were wide as well, in fear and shock. The submachine gun fell from her hands, and she claws at Ysbaddaden's wrist, gasping for air.
"I WON'T KILL YOU, LITTLE DINGO. NOT JUST YET. I GET VERY LITTLE PLEASURE FROM THE DEAD." Opening his massive hand, he let go of the female's neck. She fell to the ground in a heap, coughing and holding her throat.
"Incredible! Lord Ysbaddaden is incredible! Invincible! All praise and hail the Lord of Eyes!" Commander Badru was still bowing his head profusely. When his headdress slipped, he quickly fixed it, and kept bowing. The other sub commanders were acting similarly.
"COMMANDER BADRU!" Ysbaddaden returned to the Panther tongue. "YOU HAVE FAILED TO BRING THE VIXEN NAMED FIONA. THIS DISPLEASES YOUR GOD. HOWEVER... YOU WILL HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY TO REDEEM YOURSELF."
"Anything, oh Lord of Eyes!" the Panther Commander cried. "Unto death, I serve my immortal master and god!"
"AS YOU ALREADY KNOW, FOREIGNERS DEFILE OUR LANDS. MY LANDS. THEY SEARCH THE JUNGLE THICK, AND IF THEY FIND WHAT I SEEK, THEY WILL STEAL IT. THE QUICKEST ESCAPE FROM THE JUNGLE FOR THE VIXEN FOX IS THE INVADERS FROM THE FAR EAST, AND THEIR FLYING SHIPS."
Ysbaddaden smiled, all the vicious teeth at his disposal on vivid display.
"YOU WILL TAKE EVERY WARRIOR NOT ALREADY SEARCHING FOR THE VIXEN, YOU WILL TAKE EVERY HEAVY WEAPON AT YOUR DISPOSAL, AND YOU WILL BE ESCORTED BY MY PERSONAL GUARD. YOU WILL KILL THESE HERETICS WHO OFFEND YOUR GOD! YOU WILL DESTROY THEIR SHIPS! AND IF YOU FAIL, COMMANDER, YOU AND ALL YOUR KIN WILL FACE MY WRATH. IS THIS UNDERSTOOD? I DO NOT FORGIVE FAILURE TWICE."
"We will do as you command, All-Knowing and Great Lord! It will be done as you say!" Badru looked up, a little shyly. "However, it will not be easy. My scouts report many foreigners, and all are armed. They are setting up defenses and base camps."
"GUILE AND CUNNING, COMMANDER, WILL AID BRUTE FORCE IN THIS ENDEAVOR." Ysbaddaden turned around, and reached behind his throne. Sliding back a heavy stone panel he took out a single piece of paper, which had been amid several other shadowed items. Taking out a pen, he began to write. When he was done, a minute later, he handed it to his kowtowing general.
"THE UNBELEIVERS WILL ATTEMPT TO PARLAY WITH YOU. GIVE THEM THIS FROM YOUR ALMIGHTY GOD. IT WILL SCATTER AND WEAKEN THEM. COME NEXT SUNSET, YOU WILL STRIKE THEM DOWN. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT TO DO, COMMANDER BADRU?"
"I DO, my Lord! I will see it done!" Badru backed out of the chamber with his sub commanders, bowing his head repeatedly. Ysbaddaden's upper lip curled at the sight, before he turned to Ere-La and the still shell shocked Suzanne Grant. The look in his eyes promised pain and death, in that order.
With a whimper, Ere-La's feet fell out from under her.
Would it be her body, the next morning, which the servants cleared away?
As he reached for her, she closed her eyes and prayed.
Geoffrey St. John paced the perimeter that had been set up two days before. The MAF officers and conscripts didn't salute him, as Hershey did, but they did show respect by following his orders. They didn't have the fuel to loiter craft over the area and search that way, so what had to be done would be done on foot. The few all terrain vehicles that he had brought were all but useless in the thick jungle, but his people were well equipped, and well supplied.
In that, at least, they had Rouge beat.
If she were still alive, Rouge surely would be short on supplies. She would slow down, and become weak. His people, on the other hand, still had plenty of supplies in their Transports. They would be able to search the jungle mess for well over a week, before fresh water supplies got low. And if Rouge was headed for civilization, she was in for a rude surprise.
Soon after landing, St. John had ordered all the available ATVs moved onto another Transport, and had it flown out to where the jungle dwindled, many miles to the east. By that time, she would likely be half dead, and it would be child's play for the ATVs to run her down and bring her in. What he had to do, what he had to make sure he did, was keep her from staying in the jungle, and making some sort of distress signal.
He chuckled at the trap he'd set.
In a few days, he would have the Sword of Acorns tapping his left shoulder, and the King would present him with his Knighthood and his Titled Lands. It wasn't as good as a marriage with Princess Sally, but it would suffice. The thought of Sally, however, made St. John grumble. If not for Robotnick, and his damn coup, Elias would be King (a weak King, but still a King), and St. John would be married into the royal family. There had always potentially been the D'Coolettes to content with, but Antoine was weaker than his father and could have been intimidated out of the competition. Elias would be (had been) easy to manipulate, and the House of St. John would finally have received the power it so rightly deserved!
Oh, if only it had been so!
Instead, Maximilian was still King, having survived this long because he spent so much time in the Void, courtesy of Robotnick. That in and of itself was not a bad thing, but his son and chosen successor had renounced his right of royal succession, and so would not be around to manipulate. And Princess Sally, who was NEVER supposed to actually rule anything (except to preside over some lucky Duke's table), was now in line to take the throne itself. And who would then become King (or, just as bad: Royal Consort and Regent)? A blue hedgehog commoner whose only redeeming trait was his ability to run very quickly!
An injustice!
Had Sonic and his poorly recorded family served the Crown for the last half millennium? Had they fought for King and Country during the Civil War? The House of St. John had rallied to defend the realm of Marius II Acorn, and had helped crush the armies of the Pretender and False King. Did Sonic's ancestors fight against the hordes of Merlion the All Khan of Downunda? Did they fight for the Great King Melchoir, who restored the Kingdom of Acorn to greatness?
Hardly!
In all likelihood, Sonic's ancestors were in Mercia, and fought against Melchoir Acorn in 3111 and 3112. He had no right to sit on the Golden Throne! He had no right to be wed into the Royal House! The Princess was a weak minded and idealistic dreamer, who hardly had the stomach to rule a proper Kingdom. And her husband was destined to be an ignorant peon with good legs and fancy shoes.
Still, the House of St. John served the Crown of Acorns.
Elias had renounced the Crown, but if his (commoner) wife's child was truly his (and it almost certainly was), then she could one day take the Throne. There was still hope, then, for a future uncorrupted by the sicker elements in the Royal Family. Like a house infested by termites, part of it could be wrecked, saving the rest.
But all that was in the future.
Geoffrey St. John was convinced that it would be a glorious future, even if it had to be shaped roughly and with a hard hand. All along the perimeter, soldiers of the Mobian Armed Forces dutifully guarded the hasty camp that had been set up. The Transport planes were all under tarmacs, and St. John even managed to set up a large tent for himself and Hershey – though the female feline seemed rather cold, of late.
Perhaps, he wondered, he had been too hard on her the last few days?
It was a distinct possibility.
Hershey was dedicated and hard working, not to mention physically beautiful, but she was not from his upbringing. She was not, in many ways, used to setting duty before personal preference. She would learn, however. St. John was sure that, someday soon, she would be his wife. If they had children (and a doctor had checked and told them they could), then those children would be brought up as part of a Great and Noble House. Hershey would become a Lady of that house.
It was a great step up for her.
"Hershey to St. John. Geoffrey, do you copy?"
He took his radio (Sonic had the gall to call it a 'walkie talkie') out of the small pocket attached to the front of his combat vest. Normally, he preferred a suit (the new standard attire of the Secret Service), but it was hot and wet in the jungle, and a combat vest provided real tangible protection in a firefight.
"This is St. John." He spoke into the radio. "I read you. Do you have good news for me, Hersh?"
"Yes, sir. Good news. ... Maybe. I think you should come and check it out for yourself. I'll be at the western approach to Base Two in thirty minutes. Hershey out."
He wondered what the news, was, and went to take care of a few other issues, before heading to the western approach. He had set up three base camps, each of them a roughly identical rectangle. He was currently in Base Two, which was a little larger and more heavily staffed than One or Three. Base One was a few miles to the north, and base three was twice that distance to the east.
Hershey showed up with the five mobian half-squad she had left with.
She waved as she came into the clearing, but when he got closer to her, she stiffened up and saluted (she did that a lot, recently, he mused). He waved dismissingly.
"So: What's this news you brought?" He asked, and watched as she pulled out a folded letter, and handed it to him. It was written, amazingly enough, in clear and perfect Standard. The Handwriting was beautiful, actually.
'Better than mine,' St. John thought, bitterly. 'And I have excellent penmanship.'
It read:
Visitors from the Far East,
Servants of the King of Acorns and the Golden Throne,
I, Commander Badru, leader of the Panther Tribe, welcome you to our lands. Forgive me for not speaking to you in person, but I am weak and bedridden. Many years ago, I was badly wounded when overlanders from the north attacked our village. If you wish to speak to me, however, I would be most honored to be your host. It is three days walk, one days run, from where my scouts saw you land.
I can only assume you have come here in pursuit of those foreigners who arrived before you. Know that we attacked them because they attempted to steal several ancient and holy artifacts from our local Temple. We responded with what we believe to be justified force. I dearly hope this does not offend the Great King of the East. Several of the criminals escaped us, however, including the group's leader, and have fled into the nearby jungle. You may pursue them as you wish, so long as you will punish them.
I know your King to be both Just and Wise.
Yours sincerely,
Commander Badru, Chieftain of the Panther Tribe
"This is perfect!" St. John snickered as he re-read the letter. "Perfect! Not only is Rouge still alive, and probably in the area, but we have the cooperation of the local Chieftain as well."
Hershey seemed less convinced. "Sir..."
"How did you come by this?" Geoffrey interrupted.
"The letter was given to us by a Panther male making a strange fashion statement. I tried to talk to him, but he didn't understand me. He was with two others, all three had spears." Hershey coughed. "Sir. Doesn't all this seem a little too convenient? I think we should still keep most of our forces on close perimeter patrols, and..."
"Nonsense!" St. John slapped the letter with the back of his hand. "The power of the Kingdom of Acorn has not been forgotten, even this far from civilization! The King will be overjoyed when I show him this letter. And, Hershey, if we keep most of our men at Base, who will search for Rouge and the rest of her ilk? You and me?"
He had spoken that last part derisively, and Hershey frowned. "That is a problem, yes. But I still think..."
"Your thoughts are duly noted, Agent." Geoffrey was in no mood to argue, and Hershey sighed in defeat. "If you have a problem, file a formal complaint. The paperwork is in the Transport."
"Sir, I just think we should be more careful. Maybe wait a day or two before sending more search parties out..."
"Hershey," St. John looked at her stonily. His tone was a warning.
"Yes... sir..." She saluted sadly.
Geoffrey laughed, and placed a playful hand on hr right shoulder. He turned her around, so she stood next to him, and then his hand went down to her waist. Pulling her closer to him, he made a fist with his other hand, and gestured dramatically.
"Trust me, Hersh! Everything is going according to plan!"
She didn't feel reassured.
She just felt uncomfortable.
