Greetings and welcome. I know some of you all must be thinking that I am some doom and gloom guy who's got depressing issues to work out. Actually no! Yes the story is mostly sad and brings thoughts out that makes people wonder about my pschye. But so far, it's only been my OC's who I've either killed off or place the real emotional burden on.
This chapter changes that, and I can honestly that I really love this chapter and the follow-up after the next. I get to bring my true-self out in this and show my crazyness. But yet, as this one was fun to write, it was also nerve raking at the same time. Jokes and comedy are a pain in the tail to put into a story. You have this wonderful joke or line that you want to use but you have to work a scene out to use it. It can be like pulling nose hairs.
I also use suggestive material in this so BE WARNED! This chapter and the one I JUST wrote has put the rating to mature for this book. I hope this doesn't kill the readers from viewing it.
So anywho...this was a crazy idea that I had and puts the question out: "What would happen if the Dark Legion found Albion." Well, here's my take...and we get to see a character come back from the first book...and he has friends. Yanar and Gala-Na also make their apperences and Rob-O will be mentioned, plus seen in the follow-up. But you have to get through the next one to see it. And I'm not funny in the next one.
Disclamer: I observe the rights of the original fandom character's creators and stand to gain no profit from their work.
Enjoy.
Albion
by: Mauser
From his vantage point, the sea was as smooth as glass. The thick, cumulus clouds hampered the mid-morning sun just enough to lessen the thermals from the sea; in which he wanted to ease the strain on his feathered wings. But nevertheless, he pressured on; searching for his white beacon to bring forth what he had clutched in his talons. He soared a bit further before he felt himself about to stall to the water. Flapping his wings several times, he pushed onwards, sweeping his head from side to side, pivoting it as he searched the open sea. After a long moment of flight, he saw it. A ship with a single stack that trickled out white smoke, sailing towards him and disturbing the calm, morning waters. When he was barely over it, he swept his wings back and pointed his black beak towards the bow of the ship, diving down towards it as if it was prey.
Battle hardened was an understatement in describing him. He hardly had any skin left on his snout, except the last patch that ran down the left side of his upper and lower jaw. The rest was metal: silver plates that were conjoined as if a drunken engineer/surgeon tried to put a jigsaw puzzle together with black lines tracing the square and rectangle patterned plates that seemed to overlap each other. Even half of his black nose wasn't his.
As the Hawking barreled forward across the East Ocean, the assaulting wind kicked up his five biological dreads, leaving the three metal replacement hanging still in the breeze. The half cybernetic –and partially by choice– red furred echidna turned and faced the bow of the ship, nodding as a few refuges passed by him partaking liberty of the fresh free air. His left eye was a machined replacement, fighting diligently to adjust to the bright daylight while still scanning the clouds for his feathered partner-in-war. He closed his right so as not to induce vertigo over his senses as he zoomed the artificial irus of his left. When the sunlight became too bright --for he was practically staring right at it– he darkened the image with just a few wavelengths from his brainwaves. With the glare dissipating, he saw his Osprey fast approaching him from the air. The echidna held out his left arm, exposing his brown, three inch thick leather glove to the elements, its sleeve almost touching his elbow that was covered by a black, canvas skinned jacket.
He watched as the osprey flapped its wings hard to slow his decent from the fast dive. When the bird-of-prey drew closer, he opened his tail feathers and glided his landing onto his master's arm.
"Land, Master," the bird said in a triumphant, but low voice, "but not safe," he added. He folded his wings behind his back and snatched the wired strands from his talons with his beak and offered it to his master. The echidna took it with his cybernetic right black gloved hand and studied it. The sensor that was programed into his ocular brought up data that identified copper the strands from the stripped bundle of wires. "The Guardian has lead us to danger, Master. I picked that bundle from a dead Eggbot!" the bird quickly said.
"Was this on an island?" the echidna asked in deep, raspy voice that was his own; and also not by choice.
"No, Master."
"What we are looking for is a small island, Seminole," the echidna redirected, still keeping his voice low from the desperate people that were no more than an earshot away. Last he wanted was a panic because of assumptions.
"I saw none, Master. I went about twelve clicks into the mainland and only saw more land." The black and white osprey paused for a brief span before he revealed the horrors that his ears picked out. "I heard screaming, Master! It was beyond my sight, but I heard screaming from both male and female alike. The Guardian has sent us on a course to fail Kommissar, Master. "
"That will be all, Seminole!" the echidna ordered deeply, his voice growling as a harsh whisper. "Remember, it was a Guardian who asked us to help defend them. I'm sure the younger one thinks the same way in looking after his people."
The Dark Legionnaire looked at the wire strands once more before he placed them in his jacket pocket, exchanging them for a clump of mincemeat that he feed to his Osprey. Seminole took it and began to carefully balance himself atop his Master's arm while holding his reward for his morning errand. He took two hard looks around him and the sky before he unfolded his wings and drew them inwards to shield himself from other would-be predators from robbing him of his meal. The echidna smiled, knowing it was instinct for Seminole rather than fear itself.
He slowly turned and faced the rear of the ship, seeing more of the desperate refugees huddled around each other by the railings. He held his arm out and looked over his bird-of-prey, showing his satisfaction with his friend. His lifeline from the air.
But he still kept their relationship professional in the long run.
"I need to talk to Field Marshal Stenson about your findings. While I do so, you can dine on a stowaway rat I found for you."
"Is it fresh, Master?" Seminole asked in a murderous voice.
The echidna let out a devious smile. "It's still alive for you to kill, my feathered comrade."
If he stared any harder, he could've broken the mirror. Stenson hated mornings, and his face beamed his discomfort right back at him. Stiffening his interlaced hands in front of his two narrow slits of metal for a chest, he sighed.
"Last one, darling," his mistress cooed from behind him. She wasn't really that, but the name made things more interesting for the two in their aging relationship. Twenty years of marriage tended to get boring for some...but not for them. Their bond was strong and being in the Dark Legion actually strengthened it.
"Any rust this time?" he grumbled, never looking away from himself.
Lar-Na held his last metal dread up to her deep emerald eyes and looked it once over. "No... I think our treatment is working." Then she leaned over to his ear that was nothing more than a triangle shaped hole on the side of his head. "And it's giving me some ideas," she cooed with a lustful whisper.
"Don't let your imagination ran away from you, dear," Stenson commented sternly, still staring hard into the wooden framed mirror. At this point, he even hated the oval shape of it.
With a crooked smirk, she took the bottle of three-in-one oil and squirted a large amount into her blue furred hands. After rolling the amber oil around in her palms, she reached up and grabbed Stenson's last metal dread that was on the right side of his head. She gave him a hard playful tug as she began to lather the metal lock with the oil. The saltwater was making his and some of the other Dark Legionnaires' metal substitute for locks rust, along with some of their other replaced anatomy, form spots of rust.. The oil treatment was a very crude method to cease the progression of the orange iron-oxide.
But their lives somewhat depended on it.
"Do you always have to be such a grouch in the morning?" Lar-Na asked him as she gave Stenson another hard tug to break his grumpy cycle.
"Precisely, my love; it's the morning," spat back Stenson through the mirror. A long moment of silence filled the air before Stenson asked his next line of thoughts, his voice indifferent again; "Anything happened last night while you were on watch?"
"Nothing in the way of action...but we had two pass away in the infirmary last night. Health complications, plus the strain of the journey."
"Which, I hope ends today for their sake," Stenson added with a sigh. "Did I hear a hint of sincerity in your voice from last night's loss?" he asked quickly as he looked up at his wife through the mirror.
"Remember darling, we both listened to Luger's teachings before his change of command," she said as she snugly traced the tip of his metal lock into place with finesse.
"Yes, I remember; including his demotion," Stenson almost snapped back. "Funny how we make our leaders step down; either asking them passively or by violence."
"Hmm, such is the way of the Dark Legion," Lar-Na cooed again. She then started rubbing Stenson's chest in a broad circular motion, tracing his bare fur over the few metal components that littered his front and back as deep slashes. "Why do you let me get bored on the night watch? You have all the fun during the day."
"Because I need to be out and show my face to the desperate. Their lives depend on their motivation to carry-on."
Lar-Na leaned forward and grasped her arms around him. "Is that Luger's teachings, darling?"
Stenson mused at her question, his face deadpan across the mirror. "No...mine."
He stood up from the backless stool as he gave a loving squeeze to his equal. She returned it before she knelt down and grabbed the last half of Stenson's black cotton jumpsuit, helping him get his arms through the sleeves and adjusting his collar and cloak. After Stenson snapped his choke collar across his muscular neck, he and his wife glimmered at his reflection in the mirror.
"Now there's my Field Marshall...my warrior," she said with a playful voice, stroking his back with a soft touch.
"Captain...captain," he reminded her with small whiff of agitation; he hated that name as well. "Damn demotions!"
"Only at sea my love," she said in a smug voice.
He turned away from the mirror and looked at his blue echidna wife. She still wore her black blouse that traced over every curve of her body, arousing him along with a smile. He placed his hands around her arms and drew her close to him, kissing her with the most gentlest touch of the lips. She returned it, but harder and with more blinding passion, rubbing her hand along his natural dreads. Stenson soon did the same as they held onto their now passionate kiss, tracing her locks that ran down to the small of her back, including her lone cybernetic replacement. Giving him no chance to think, she snatched his left hand from around her back and forced it on her right breast, letting him grope it as she moved her passionate kisses down his neck.
Their moment was shattered by a knock on their wooden cabin door.
"Oh...must be my errand boy and his feathered friend," Lar-Na partly grumbled out in the ear of Stenson, releasing his hand from her chest.
"What does he want?" Stenson said, showing his agitation from the intruding knock breaking their moment.
"Probably to report," she snidely said. "Come."
The brass and nickle door handle snapped as it was opened, exposing the short stature of Sergeant Wesson. Coming in, he saw instantly his two superiors holding each others hands and looking at him crossly.
"I'm not intruding, am I?" he asked sincerely in his raspy voice.
"What is it, soldier!?" snapped Lar-Na.
Wesson gave a curt bow. "Seminole has returned, mistress. He brings evidence of land." Then he produced the wire strands from his jacket pocket. "But it's not safe."
"Bring it here, Wesson," Stenson ordered, "I don't have that eye like you do."
Wesson bowed halfway as he walked over, still cowering his head as he gave Stenson his Osprey's findings. Stenson studied it hard as he handed the braided strands of wire over to his wife.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Innards from a dead bot..."
"...I knew you shouldn't have trusted the Guardian!" Lar-Na snapped to her equal, her jade eyes turning to crimson. "He wants us to fail Kommissar."
Stenson briskly shot his hand up to calm his wife. "Silence!" He then turned back to Wesson. "Was there any indications of land before the shoreline?"
"My bird said nothing of such island. If I may say so, Field Marshal..."
"...Don't!" Stenson barked, knowing that the young sergeant was about to agree with his wife. "What's the distance?"
Wesson took a deep breath and sighed with a hint of protest. "He was gone for two hours. I venture to guess we're possibly an hour out or less from our current position. We are close."
Stenson mused over Wesson's low, raspy voice and nodded. "Very well, you are free to go, Sergeant."
Wesson bowed his head and took his leave --with great satisfaction for once.
When the door closed, Lar-Na looked right at her husband and bared her fiery eyes at him. "Don't EVER silence me in front of the men again!"
"They're mine, remember!? You're just along for the trip!"
"Is that all I am to you–baggage?" she scoffed, her eyes eating him with anger.
Stenson looked over her finely trimmed body that she managed to keep up for over forty years, halfway winking his right eye as he traced her black silk cotton blouse again:
"And very nice baggage at that."
She moved her trim body across the small void that separated them and placed her hand on Stenson's cheek, looking up at him from the three inches that separated their height. "You got that right, sport." She mused at his face for awhile longer before she voiced her next round of thoughts. "So...what of this land that we seek? The Guardian doesn't seem to be putting his people in his best interest."
Stenson took her hand in his. "Guardians, my love. There were two onboard with us."
"Really!?" Lar-Na said with surprise. "I don't remember the Guardian Locke coming with us."
"No, wasn't him. This one was young, but older than this Knuckles that we kept hearing about."
"Who you finally got to meet."
"Yes...I can see why Lien-Da hates him, fears him, and yet, respects him. Probably why she relied on some of my operational plans to try and kill him," he said with a hint of agitation but still managed to smile. "But this other one...he bore scars on his face and chest."
"What did he say about them?" Lar-Na asked intrigued.
"Nothing...I never once got a chance even to talk to him. He skulked away from me and the rest of us the whole time he was here. He's running from something, that much is evident."
Lar-Na shrugged her shoulders at the comment. "So this place?" she asked again.
Stenson nodded his head to his wife. "Albion. From what the Guardian told me, they will accept our refuges and take good care of them."
"But there is no sign of this...Albion?" she festered
"I know, dear. Knuckles did say it was hidden."
Lar-Na crossed her arms along with her face, giving her husband the dreaded "look" that coward all married men. "So... we're just going to waste our time and resources just to look for this place...near occupied land!?" she shrilled. "Where is your sense of tactics...dear!?"
"In faith this time, my mistress," Stenson replied, looking down on the cheap brown carpet of their cabin.
It hit home to Lar-Na at that instant. When the Hawking had sailed right into the patrol zone of the Dreadbot, she was down below the whole time, trying to do everything she could to help the refugees from panicking after the Plunger had saved them from Eggman's torpedo. The explosion rattled everyone except for her and Stenson's accompanied Dark Legionnaires, and she knew her place was to keep everyone calm so her husband could win the fight without distractions. She knew fell well that a distracted solider was a dead one.
"You really trust this Guardian?" she asked softly, more as a statement.
Stenson placed his hands around hers and held them up waist high. "History shows that we should. They wouldn't jeopardize their own people for cheap political points against us. It's not like them. On top of that, they saved us three times in the span of an hour." Stenson squeezed his wife's hand for assurance. "We trust them this time."
Lar-Na smiled and shook her head. "Of all people I had to get conned into getting married, it had to be you. I'm still surprised that the Legion has kept you around after that little stunt with me."
"Us dear...us," Stenson reminded his lovely wife of their "little" operation "I couldn't have done it without you."
Lar-Na nuzzled her head up to the love of her life and wiped away all traces of his agitation with a gentle kiss. "And I would do it again. No matter what out traditions a..."
She felt it coming; a tightness in her chest; a different pattern in her breathing. Before long she coughed. At first, they started as pants, but she soon was enveloped with the torture of trying to breathe over the hard, forceful coughs. Stenson did as a good loving husband was supposed to do, or at least that was what he had read; he held her, rubbing her arms and shoulders as she suffered through her ordeal. For awhile, her coughs lightened up for her, but only to come back with a vengeance when she thought she had won. The second wave made Stenson realize that she was getting worse...with what, he didn't know.
Her last cough was almost a gagging choke. She almost collapsed to the ground if it wasn't for Stenson holding her against his chest. Soon, her breathing progressed to something of normalcy, but not without the tremors of small airway spasms reverberating in her tender lungs.
"I think you've been up way too long," Stenson softly said to his now weakened wife.
"I'm...fine," she replied, trying hard to catch her breath.
"No you're not --you've been getting worse."
Lar-Na shook her head, musing for another excuse that would calm her husband; "It's the humidity, darling..."
"...Now that's a load of dog squeeze!" Stenson sternly remarked snidely, "You started this six weeks ago, and yet, you still haven't done what I've asked. You need to go see a proper physician, dear."
Lar-Na looked up at her caring husband, her eyes asking for forgiveness for something that she had no control over. "I'm fine, Stenson. Could just be the summer air."
Stenson just held her, squeezing her head into his so she would stop making hollow excuses to him. "Stop denying this...for me."
The mess hall, in Wesson's eyes, looked like what it was named–a mess. If it wasn't for the sea of desperate refugees in the large hall, one of the largest compartments on the Hawking, it would much resemble a convening hall for high ranking Generals or dignitaries. But instead, the white dining hall was overshadowed by the gloom from the faces of its occupants. Mothers tried their best to feed their children, either by mouth or telling them to eat their grits. Old echidnas only wishing that their mothers were still around to help feed them. The room could have burst from the overabundance of sound that blossomed throughout it. It wasn't mostly conversations, but of screaming kids and crying elders. Wesson couldn't help but feel guilty as he searched the room, trying to find a place to sit among the desperate faces. Pride was rigidly anchored in him as he stood at a relaxed attention, his shoulders back, and his face deadpan to the four winds.
And that was what made him feel guilty. He stood with pride amongst those who had lost it.
As Wesson stood there holding his tray, he could tell that the cooks were either losing motivation as well as the people they feed, or they were running out of things to make. The night before saw the prelude of that: little meat and more greens –something that his stomach somehow despised. This morning was showing the next chapter: runny grits and a pair of pancakes that seemed to be petrified. He almost made himself gag when he concluded that he was going to experience what it was like to eat a sponge. The only thing that looked enticing to the young Dark Legionnaire sergeant was the two apples he snagged from a basket.
He was three months shy of being eighteen, but his experiences made him feel that much older. Some of his cybernetic parts were mostly vital replacements of his anatomy that he lost in the ever growing conflict between Eggman, the Dingos, and the Frost Legion. Wesson was actually grateful that he was chosen to be one of the three troopers to aid the Field Marshal and his "wife." He needed to recharge with a little tranquility in his life from the wars, and he knew he could find it with the Field Marshal.
Wesson had fond respect for Stenson, unlike his superiors.
The Field Marshal was too much of a romantic in the eyes of the other Dark Legionnaires. He did unnatural things in his life and on the battlefield that seemed so alien to the cause of Technocracy. One of the reasons was the teachings of Luger before the Grand Marshal went missing. Stenson applied his lessons to such a substantial degree that he did what Luger did. He got married. It was something that the Dark Legion looked down upon when Kragok took over in his father's stead. But the tactics Stenson used worked just as well as his marriage. And that was how he climbed the ladder in a society that would rather kill than fall in love.
"Sergeant Wesson!" came a voice filled with military command.
Wesson turned to his left and faced a row of tables to see a cybernetic arm waving at him. He noticed the three fingers right off as his Lieutenant. He nodded with an even face and marched his way over to him. As he drew closer, he could see that the Lieutenant wasn't alone.
"Hello, Ell–Tee," he greeted with a curt nod as he stood in front of him. "Corporal Vickers," he nodded again to the red Dark Legion trooper that sat to the left of the Lieutenant.
"Have a seat, trooper," said Ell-Tee. His left arm gleamed in the overhead lighting as it was polished with great attention to detail on the Lieutenant's part. "News from Seminole?"
Wesson took his seat on the cold bench and looked around him. There were too many ears. "Not here, sir."
The Lieutenant nodded his head in understanding, pulling his heavy, thick locks off the floor. Wesson wondered how Ell–Tee could not strain his neck with all the metal that laced around his red locks. With a inward smile, a thought came to him, wondering if Ell-Tee would change his name even "when" he got promoted. He was well past his prime to just be a menial officer.
But like Stenson, they were considered almost like black sheep aside from Vickers. He was fresh and unspoiled from Mobianility
"Don't eat the grits, sir," said the corporal unevenly, his head uncovered from the hood of the robe he wore, "you might drown."
"Thanks for the warning, Vickers. How's the leg?"
"Not as sore as yesterday, sir, but I spent an hour this morning cleaning the rust off the ribs of the flex joints. This is getting aggravating, Wesson."
"I've noticed the Field Marshal is using oil," commented Ell-Tee from his tray. "Might want to try it, trooper."
"And walk around with that mess sticking to my uniform...if that's what you call this," Vickers said, studying his black robe for a moment.
"You might get tetanus if the iron oxide gets into your blood stream, Corporal!" Wesson snidely pointed out as he picked up one of his apples. "But, I do like the idea of lock jaw in your case," he grinned, placing his apple in his metal jaw that stopped at the fur line of his face.
Vickers was about to tell Wesson what he could do to himself in his free time when he noticed Lar-Na coming up behind the sergeant with two trays in her hands.
"Good morning, Mistress," said Vickers, "may I assist you in..."
"...Don't suck up to me, Corporal! I'm not in your chain of command." Lar-Na hissed out. "Ell-Tee, you about finished?"
"Yes, ma'am!"
"Good, take this up to Stenson on the bridge. He needs to have a talk with you."
Without a word or a nod, Ell-Tee sprang up from his seat and took the tray from Lar-Na's hand and left the mess hall. Afterwards, the overbearing woman sat down beside Wesson and seemed to have relaxed as she did. "What's to drink around here?" she asked calmly.
"Water. The milk is being rationed to the women and children," replied Wesson in his low, raspy voice.
"I take it we are running low?" Lar-Na asked with a grumble. Wesson only nodded with his eyes as he took a bite from his apple. She pursed her lips before she carefully stating her thoughts while holding back what she knew was going to be another round of coughing:
"I hope we find this place."
"Captain on the Bridge!"
Stenson took a long look around the room as he felt his sense of duty coming back to him as the Petty Officer announced his presence. His crew was ever watchful from their stations, waiting for their next orders while scanning the horizon for land.
"Report," he finally said as he moved towards the compass.
"We think we've spotted land, sir," reported the petty officer from behind Stenson. "The horizon is becoming rigid."
"Estimated distance?" Stenson asked next.
"Roughly ten miles, sir."
"Very well. Engines to standard running order. Weather?"
A well dressed echidna stepped forward with a clip-board in his hands; "All clear from our scopes."
"Radar and Sonar?"
"No contacts, sir," said the Petty Officer. "Looks to be another fine, boring day."
"Don't count your blessings, yet. We might be sailing into occupied land," Stenson retorted flatly, studying their corse heading.
"But what of this Albion. Surely the Guardian wouldn't lie to us?" stated the Petty Officer.
"I don't believe that either, but our scout has reported that we are sailing towards danger."
Stenson remained silent after that, watching one of the crewmen operate the telegraphs that signaled the engine room to slow the ship. He thought hard of what to make of his new situation: there was no island, no white city; just the sea and the threat of hostile land beyond that. He honestly didn't want to fathom that the Guardian would want to send his own suffering people to a land that would bring more. It wasn't their way.
"I need a second opinion about this," he said to himself. He got it when he heard the heavy footsteps of the Lieutenant coming up to the bridge. Stenson turned and watched the Legionnaire enter with a morning meal in his robotic hand.
"Morning, Captain," greeted Ell-Tee. He much preferred Field Marshal over the latter. "Chow for you, sir."
"Set it on the table, Ell-Tee. We need to talk," said Stenson as he looked back out to the open ocean, now seeing the outline of the cliffs in the distance.
The bulky echidna did as he was told, striding the room with his natural legs as his thick dreads trailed down by his calves, almost looking as if they were a cloak. He wasn't nearly as tall as Stenson, who was about three inches taller than the average echidna, but Ell-Tee's muscle and biometric size made up for it. Patches of red fur lightly littered his body that was covered mostly with technology that his kind had embraced. The only thing that was practically untouched was his long tail.
"Stupid question, Ell-Tee," mumbled Stenson under his breath, "how would you hide a large city on an island?"
Ell-Tee didn't take long to reply. He was actually surprised that the Field Marshal didn't have the answer himself. "Easily, you cloak it."
"That's easy for us, but what about the people who don't embrace Technocracy like we do?" countered Stenson.
Ell-Tee cocked his head to the side with that thought. A moment later without a conclusion occurring to him, he crossed his arms while looking around the bridge. He found it flattering that he had more technology on his body than what the ship had as a whole, and it eased his tension from the long and boring voyage. He lived for combat, not mobianility. As he cast his eyes around the bridge once more, something came to him as the crew stood by their "simple"machines:
"Maybe we are assuming that they don't. Maybe they are more civilized compared to those that we are surrounded by."
Stenson saw the faces of the crew look in Ell-Tee's direction. Their expressions weren't too friendly. "Watch what you say," Stenson cautioned under his breath.
"I can take 'em, Field Marshal –I could use a little action around here. After all, that bot wasn't a problem," snorted Ell-Tee.
"If I remember right, it was Wesson who aimed those shots..."
"...And it was my orders that he acted on," retorted Ell-Tee with a hint of a smile. "Where did you get him anyway?"
Stenson shook his head at the thought. "He needed a little time off from the front and the wars. Hard to believe that he has survived for so long being a point-man, but I gather that bird of his has to be the main reason of his prolonged existence."
"He is worth his weight in microchips, sir. His actions here and back on the Island speak it." Ell-Tee commended. "So, back to our little problem at hand, how are we going to contact people that we know exist, but don't know where they are?"
"I'm working on it," Stenson muttered, looking behind him at the Petty Officer, who was just standing in the corner.
"Well, radio is out of the question," Ell-Tee pointed out as he looked hard across the water.
"Shut-up!," Stenson quickly shot back, "I'm working on it." He hated being disturbed over trivial things.
A moment passed with silence until Stenson turned back towards the Petty Officer. "Get Signals on this. Be ready to write a message."
"Ready, sir!" shouted an echidna from the other side of the bridge.
"Send this: 'We are Echidnas seeking sanctuary from Angel Island. Break. We hold starving women and children along with the ill and wounded. Break. Please help. Break.' That is all."
Ell-Tee watched the crewman pass the information on to a runner who soon disappeared off the bridge. He then looked back over to Stenson. "You're not worried that the enemy might see the light from the shutter?"
"We are a white ship on the open ocean, Ell-Tee," Stenson said with a uneven look. "That makes us a nice bomb-magnet. The way I see it, this could be our only chance to get these people to safety. From the looks of my runny breakfast, we can't turn back anyhow."
"Yes, sir," Ell-Tee fought to say over his agitation.
"But," Stenson added, sensing the change in the Lieutenants voice, "it doesn't mean we have to chances sitting down. Get the main weapons online, plus all able bodies with small arms. Make it quiet so we don't arouse fear on the ship."
"Yes, Captain!" Ell-Tee decried.
Stenson shook his again as he stood. "Don't worry, it'll be back as Field Marshal when we're done."
It didn't take long for Stenson's orders to be carried out. He tried to feel upbeat about it, but with every passing mile without any response, a sinking feeling started to come over him. He was beginning to fear that he should have stuck with the original plan. He traversed the sea with his eyes, every now and then glancing at Wesson, who was perched at the controls of the five inch gun on the forward deck, to keep his eyes entertained.
Then something caught his left eye. He stared hard at it at first before he picked up his binoculars to see what the black smudge was on the horizon.
"BOAT OFF THE PORT-BOW!" shouted someone from outside the bridge.
The only glimpse that Stenson could get before he lowered his glasses and walked outside onto the landing was a small speedboat that was racing towards them. He couldn't see the occupants from their distance, but he knew who could.
"Wesson, friend or foe!?" he hollered from the side of the bridge.
The sergeant closed his right eye and zoomed in on the racing speedboat with his left. At first, he could only make out the outline of the sleek hull, but with another passing brainwave to his cybernetic eye, he saw a glimmer of hope that fluttered in the wind.
"Echidnas, Field Marshall!" Wesson shouted back with his raspy voice.
"That's Captain, Sergeant!" Stenson quickly reminded Wesson. "Are they armed?"
"Yes, sir; small arms only!"
"Okay, stand-by at you station, Wesson," Stenson ordered, looking down on the main deck for his subordinate. "ELL-TEE!"
"Yes, Sir!" shouted up the Lieutenant.
"Get some people on the gangway and keep your weapons low. We don't need to spook these guys."
"Understood, Captain!" Ell-Tee confirmed with a hard nod.
Stenson turned back into the bridge. "Engines to slow. Petty Officer, get down to the gangway and give our guests a welcome reception. I'll be down as soon as I can."
"Yes, Captain!" said the brown echidna. He adjusted his blue peacoat to were it was pressed firmly against his chest before exiting the bridge. He hurried down the steps without a moments thought, dodging onlookers who were now seeing the speeding boat coming towards the Hawking.
When he touched down on the main deck, Lar-Na came out of a hatchway in front of him. "What's going on?" she asked.
"There is a boat coming, Milady. Echidnas!" he breathed out.
"Really!?" she shrilled with surprise.
"Yes, Milady. Stenson's on the bridge getting the ship ready for them to board."
Lar-Na smiled and nodded at the Petty Officer. "Okay, carry-on," she said. "Be nice!" she quickly added before the Petty Officer turned away.
"Ha...you telling me to be nice? I'm not the one who replaces body parts for the fun of it!" he sniggered as he turned away from her.
Lar-Na watched the brown echidna bolt to the gangway as she grabbed the railing to climb up the stairs to her equal. She only took one step before casting a long stare up to her destination. The sight haunted her as she felt her chest slowly tighten, urging her to cough again. She gave out a shallow one before she decided that her journey up to her husband could be the death of her.
And at that moment, she felt ashamed of her denial to Stenson.
The Field Marshal, smiled as he watched the speedboat trace a long, wide sweeping turn that brought it alongside the Hawking. Gauging at how the operator brought the boat up to the gangway, which was very precise and uniformed, he knew the Echidnas that were about to step aboard demanded great respect. Especially living so close to occupied lands.
"Steady. No sudden jerks, helmsmen," he calmly ordered.
"Aye, sir," replied the young echidna.
--
Yanar had never attempted this before, but the driver said it was a piece of cake. It was all the more reason that he wanted a life jacket. As the large white ship drew closer, he felt the butterflies in his stomach multiply as he saw the gangway start to lower down.
"You sure about this," he asked skittishly at the female driver.
"Yea' I'm sure, Ambassador. All you have to do is grab the handle of the gangway and swing on. C'mon, where's your sense of adventure?
Yanar just stared towards his next great leap in diplomacy. "Retired when I found Journey's End," he murmured aloud. "And there isn't any Guardian to save you if you fall this time."
He began to make out the figures on the railings plus a few on the gangway. He shifted himself around to the four guards he had with him, their slim plasma rifles pointed skywards. "Okay, no aggressiveness. Only two come with me, the rest of you just stand-by till I give you the word to speed back home. From their signals, this could be cut and dry."
"Get ready, Mr. Ambassador. We're coming alongside," came the driver.
"Okay, keep your weapons shouldered...and be nice!"
Yanar leaned himself against the edge of the boat. He tried to gain his courage for a bit, but it all went away when the boat sunk down when the girl let off the throttle. With that, he turned to his nearest Centurion Officer with a worried look plastered on his face.
Yanar didn't have to ask.
"I'll go first, Ambassador. Show you it can be done," the blue helmeted echidna said, his face smiling under the thick goggles.
Yanar let out a small sigh, "Thanks, officer."
When it came time, the blue clad echidna jumped onto the gangway with the help of one of the crewman. It looked easy enough for Yanar but the flowing water underneath him said otherwise. He watched as the crewman on the ship wrapped his left arm around the railing support, and leaned out over the water with his right arm extended for Yanar. Saying his last prayer to Aurora, he grabbed the echidna's hand and pushed off from the boat.
A large sigh expelled from his lungs when both feet landed firmly on the metal pedestal. With a couple more deep breaths, he let a out a smile with his accomplishment.
"Welcome aboard!" greeted the echidna that helped him on.
"Thanks!" said Yanar joyfully, "can you please help my last officer on?"
"No problem."
Yanar followed up his first officer, holding on for dear life at the railing as he climbed the cumbersome gangway. When they reached the top, they were greeted by a brown echidna with a blue peacoat on.
"Hello, I'm Ambassador Yanar from Albion," he greeted with a smile and a stiff hand shake, looking around him at the gathered onlookers who were mostly women and children. "I understand you seek refuge from Angel Island!?"
To his utter surprise, the whole crowd erupted in a loud cheer. Soon, he felt his yellow robe, that mostly resembled a short sleeve rain coat without the buttons, being tugged on by children that strayed from their mothers to touch the new celebrity. As he greeted them in his best playful tone, he watched one of his blue, battle dressed officers give out a smile and a wave that looked like he was squeezing a ball. It all seemed surreal compared to what was being brutally transpiring on the mainland side in Deer Wood Forest. He shook the troubling thoughts away as he eyed the ship with a gaping smile.
"I'm Petty Officer Trent. The Captain is most anxious to see you."
"So am I, sir! Tell me, how has your journey been? Without peril I hope?" asked Yanar.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Ambassador," Trent replied with a dead monotone. "I'll take you to him."
Yanar waved down to the speedboat before he made his way across the sea of people before him, leaving both his officers to keep the people entertained. As he heard the driver give throttle to the engines, he slowly followed the Petty Officer to the stairs. Before climbing up, he stopped and gazed at Lar-Na in all her beauty. It was one of the few times he had seen a blue echidna, and she was a fine example at that.
"Yes, I know...my wife is beautiful! Now get your tail up here so you can tell me where I can park my ship."
Stenson couldn't help but smile and worry at the same time. He loved when any man would stop and gaze at his wife...his wife, but he had other things on his tactical mind that was driving him insane.
"Engines to full, keep her steady!" he ordered through the door.
When Stenson peered back out, he saw the Petty Officer escorting the brown echidna in the yellow robe up to him. But then his sight went back to his wife. She was coughing hard again, almost being sent her to her knees this time.
"Wesson!"
"Yes, Captain!" decried the familiar raspy voice from behind him.
Stenson lowered his voice with sincere worry mixed with his order. "Help my wife to our cabin, please."
Wesson left his post without a word; running as quickly as he could to attend his duty to Lar-Na. Shaking his head, Stenson marched back inside the bridge and gazed out the windows. The land was treading closer and all he could think of was:
"Wait till this guy gets a load of me!"
"Captain, Stenson," announced Petty Officer Trent at the door. "I present to you, Mr Ambassador Yanar of Albion!"
Stenson stood erect, facing the door when Yanar entered. It had been a long while since he had seen a true smile on someone's face. To his disappointment, it vanished when Yanar laid eyes on him. "Ambassador Yanar," he began with a stern but even voice, "I am Field Marshall Stenson; Captain of the Hawking, and I welcome you onboard."
Yanar just stood there, looking over the tall Dark Legionnaire with surprise as he tried to find his diplomatic-self again. He only heard rumors of them, but never once had he seen one. Gossip this time didn't spread enough lies to paint the true image of what lay before him. He had yet to see Ell-Tee.
"My–My apologies for gawking, Field Marshall," he finally said after a moments hesitation.
"Understandable, Mr. Ambassador. And you can call me Stenson, since you are not in my army, nor part of my crew."
Yanar bowed to him in respect. "That is very gracious of you, Mr Stenson."
"Great, I am turning my mission over to a bunch of pacifists," Stenson voiced to himself upon seeing Yanar bow to him. To the Field Marshall, it was a sign of weakness; not diplomacy.
"Where is this city?" he asked next.
"Just follow the speed boat towards Journey's End and it will be your pilot. Tell me, how have you come to find out about us?"
Stenson turned and faced the windows again, gathering his thoughts of the long voyage. "A Guardian told us about Albion. He said that we could come to you for safety until the Island was free from its enemies."
"Does that mean that they are not here to live in harmony with us in Albion?" Yanar asked with disappointment present in his voice.
"I said nothing about harmonizing in my message!" Stenson quickly pointed out. "I only said that we seek sanctuary from Angel Island, and that we have women and children onboard along with the ill. So my question is: can you care for them?"
Yanar raised his hands chest leve, pleading as it were to calm Stenson down. "Yes we can, sir. We were just hoping that the Brotherhood had listened to our calls to bring all Echidnas back to Albion."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ambassador. That is not my mission. I am ordered to bring these people to safety and return back to the Island to retrieve more that don't belong in the fight. When the time comes, these refugees can choose to return back to Angel Island or stay with you. But for right now, I need your help for their sake."
"So which Guardian sent you?" asked Yanar after a moments thought.
"This Knuckles, who I had the pleasure to meet. He is unlike his father."
"Knuckles? After what we did to him, I am surprised that he even sent you our way."
Stenson nodded with a slight smirk. "He did say something to that tune, but he was hoping to let the past be forgotten for the innocent's sake."
"I've already looked beyond it, Captain. Did he say anything else?"
"No," he lied, "and not even the second Guardian that we rescued."
"What second Guardian? What rescue?"
Stenson gave a brief summary of the first day's voyage and the sinking of the Dreadbot, then the Plunger. After it was all said and done, Yanar was taken aback:
"This second Guardian, was he of the Brotherhood?"
Stenson shook his head, "I'm afraid the Brotherhood is missing. Been that way for sometime now. The only one we have right now is the Guardian Locke, and he and his son are at odds."
"Oh..." Yanar replied with a note of dissatisfaction. "So if this second Guardian isn't of the Brotherhood then, who is he?"
"I don't know," replied Stenson, "for a second, I thought he was one of us...minus the hardware. Never even got the boy's name. And he was just a boy."
"What made you think he was one of you?"
Stenson pursed his lips while keeping an eye on the speedboat. "He had deep scars on his face and chest, plus a stubbed lock that we would've replaced with a cybernetic one as soon as we could. He was young too, but a little older than Knuckles."
"Brother!?" Yanar quickly asked, bewildered to say the least.
"Only way I can see it, unless he came through a different zone."
"Hmm, something to look into," commented Yanar.
"Good luck, Mr. Ambassador. That Guardian has some major issues with him." Yanar turned his gaze to Stenson with inquiry in his eyes during the short pause. "Why I said I thought he was one of us," Stenson said with a cold voice.
Yanar stood in silence, still studying the Dark Legionnaire with a cautious awe. He didn't know how the High Council was going to take Stenson for who he was, or even how he looked. Yanar felt that he was standing beside a giant who could go from gentle to enraged just with a change in the wind. But along with the idea to fear him, came the thought to respect him just the same which wasn't for diplomatic reasons in Yanar's puzzled eyes. It was the way Stenson carried himself, standing rigidly erect with immense pride as he gave orders to the crew, that had an aura that demanded respect from anyone. In essence, Stenson was a true leader, no matter what his motivations.
"Mr. Stenson," observed Yanar after seeing the distance to the mainland beginning to decrease a little too fast for him, " we might want to slow down a bit. Our destination is rapidly approaching."
"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. Engines ahead standard!"
Yanar watched a red echidna move over to something that looked something to the effect of a baby rattler that was upside down. The echidna grabbed both handles and pulled them back, placing the arrows on the requested running order.
Stenson kept his binoculars trained on the back of the speedboat, judging the distance from the mainland to be about five miles. All of a sudden, the boat disappeared, leaving only its wake visible on the calm ocean.
"Mr. Ambassador...?"
"...It's perfectly alright, Mr. Stenson. Just keep straight and you will find Journey's End. You will find that we embrace technology as well as you."
Stenson cocked his head towards Yanar while leaving his binoculars pointed straight. "So where is your robotic parts?" he asked with a cold, crooked smile.
Yanar swallowed hard before he replied, "We don't go to extremes, Mr. Stenson."
The Field Marshal smiled again as he looked back through his glasses. "Radar?"
"Scopes are clear, sir!" shouted one of the crewmen.
"Very well. Petty Officer, have all able hands ready at mooring stations. Secure weapons."
"Aye, sir!"
Yanar watched Trent give out the commands on a radio that was beside him, all the while still looking back over his shoulder at the approaching coast. "Might want to slow us down a bit more, Mr Stenson," he said.
"Very well. Engines one-third!" Stenson shifted his stance back to Yanar, "anything else?"
"Just keep your eyes open. You are going to like this part," Yanar smiled, hoping to calm Stenson. "Wow...they get agitated quick!" he observed to his frightened self.
Stenson did just that, only peering through his binoculars every so often, looking mostly for threats on the beach and the cliffs. But with a passing quarter mile, he saw something that he didn't believe as first. A blue outline of a semi-circle started to rise out from the water, steadily increasing in diameter and size as the Hawking churned closer to it. Stenson turned to Yanar, who was just smiling the whole time.
"Hold everything steady!" Stenson ordered as he marched behind Yanar and out of the bridge. He grabbed hold of the wooden railing and looked down at his passengers. Some of them were on their knees, worshiping the azure ring, while others waited with excitement to pass through it.
He felt the same way.
The bow was now under it. Stenson held his breath as he waited for his turn to pass under the power shield. He could see white buildings in the distance but only the bottom levels. And before that was a large port calling the Hawking home. When the bridge passed under the ring, finally, Stenson exhaled his built up tension when his eyes gazed upon the City of Albion.
"Its beautiful...its beautiful beyond words!" he decried.
The city was majestic in a futuristic way. Buildings towered towards the sky with shapes that looked as if an engineer had let their children draft them out. Roman arch bridges connected buildings to buildings with hover cars flying around the structures, looking like dots against the white contours. For Stenson, it seemed like a dream that he remembered Luger telling him once before. A dream when the Dark Legion would find peace and build Echidnaolopis the way it was supposed to be.
The sight of Albion made him question his own beliefs in Technocracy.
Yanar stepped out from the bridge and glided beside the stunned Field Marshal. "That was my first thought as well, Mr. Stenson. Even today, I still can't describe the feeling of seeing this city." He then clasped his left hand on top of Stenson's shoulder and smiled once more; "Let me welcome you to Albion. What we call Journey's End."
Stenson stood by the door a while longer than he figured he was supposed to. But he didn't care. She was sleeping peaceably in the silk sheeted bed.
Two hours had passed since they made port and all he was really concerned about was his wife. He saw the sorrow being lifted from the starving and sickened people that he helped bring to this place, and he was glad to see it. But Lar-Na's coughing had shown its ugly head again when he went to get her. Nevertheless, she was stunned all the same as Stenson and the rest of the Legionnaires when they were transported through the city. There was something about Albion, Stenson noted as he gazed upon his wife during the ride over, that made her change. It was sudden and evident in Stenson's eyes. Lar-Na didn't resemble Kommissar in her own unique way. Instead, she looked as humble as he felt.
But for now, Stenson thought, it was time for a rest. He had asked Yanar to make accommodations for all of his crew, which the Ambassador proudly said he'd do, before they departed. As Stenson left the Hawking with his wife and his three soldiers, he was met by an entourage of refugees. They showered them with thanks and prayers of their deeds, which unlike the scarred Guardian that had been given the same honor before them, they accepted with their thanks.
And now Stenson was leaning up against the door frame, staring at his sleeping wife. He almost felt sorry for the rest of the Echidnas back on Angel Island. They didn't have it this good. The room was more like a suite, he thought. It was huge: table stands and dressers could have held a whole shopping mall, plus the bed was large enough that it could give a quarreling couple their space if they needed it.
Stenson stepped back and grabbed the handles to the double doors, sealing his wife inside as he gently closed them. He then walked into the living room that had a couch, a chair, and a large flat screen TV that hung up on the wall away from the elegant room. There, he took off his black cloak and dropped his heavy jumpsuit down to his waist, tying the sleeves around him. The fresh air from the AC felt like ecstacy on his furred skin that he did his best to keep. The metal parts that he had on his chest were more for necessity than showing his affection to Technocracy. He didn't remember how he got his skin ripped open, but he did remember waking up and feeling the crippling pain. It still registered in his nerves when he had flashbacks from that dark time in his life. All he could figure out was that someone didn't like him very well in the Legion and they tried to resolve their hatred with brute force but just shy of the ignorance needed to kill him. To say the least it didn't work. Stenson hated to think it, but his ordeal helped strengthen his status amongst the Legion as they saw him as one who was strong and could take just about anything.
His tranquil mood was lifted by a light knock from the door. "Now what?" he muttered to himself. He stepped passed the couch, in which he laid his cloak on, and lightly trudged to the door, making sure he didn't wake Lar-Na. When he got to the double doors to the large suite, which had knobs to his surprise, he opened the right side and stood at attention in the entrance way.
He was greeted my Yanar, smiling as best he could from seeing the Field Marshal's metal slits on his bare chest. "Good afternoon, Mr. Stenson. May we come in?" he finally managed to say.
"We?" asked Stenson, his head cocked side ways.
"Oh," Yanar festered, "my apologizes, Field Marshal. I give you Councilwoman Gala-Na," he proclaimed, extending his right arm out to his side, "and her aids."
Stenson stood back from the entrance, letting Yanar in, but only to be met by a purple echidna soon afterwards. She stood proud in her yellow dress like a soldier, but she bowed and smiled gracefully like a politician as she made her way in. The most interesting thing that fascinated Stenson about her was her silk purple hair that ran down below her tail, almost touching her sandaled feet. He'd never seen someone grow their hair that long, and he wondered if Lar-Na would be inclined to do the same for him.
When the two female aids came in, Stenson closed the door gently. He then turned to face his new guests while remaining silent.
"I would like to start first by saying," began Gala-Na, "that the rumors precedes you kind, Field Marshal Stenson..."
"...It's just Stenson, Madam Councilmen." Stenson turned his head to the corner bedroom doors, making sure that they hadn't disturbed Lar-Na. "May we talk someplace else, please?" he asked as he turned back to his guest. "My wife needs her sleep."
Gala-Na bowed her head with her hands clasped in front of her. "It's a lovely day, Mr. Stenson. I'm sure we can appreciate it more on the balcony."
"Lead the way," Stenson returned with a brisk nod.
He followed them from the living room to a set of sliding glass doors, their curtains tan in color and seemed to liven the suite up just a little. Stenson hated white walls. It reminded him of his military schooling days when he sat for long hours in a windowless classroom with pure white walls with whole idea being so student's wouldn't deviate their attention from their studies. Daydreams might have ceased for Stenson, but the tears from boredom didn't.
The day was still fresh when they walked outside. Sea breezes kicked up the robes of the diplomats as they gracefully walked to the edge of the rounded balcony. Gala-Na's aids went to the left corner and kept an ear out while they chatted up their own conversation.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Madam Councilwomen. It is most gracious of you," politely said Stenson, his voice even but deep. It was all he could do to hopefully bring a better picture of what they perceived him as.
"It's what we do here in Albion. Especially to those who bring our own home." She held up her hand to stop Stenson from what she knew he was going to say. She saw him exhale his thoughts out in silence. "Some will go back if they please, that I understand, but many will stay."
"Don't force them, ma'am. They left oppression to find sanctuary..."
"...I understand that, Field Marshal Stenson," Gala-Na said calmly, "it will be of their own accord. But as you can see, we are without conflict here and we believe the peace and sanctity here in Albion, will win their hearts over. If they wish to return back to the Island when it is free, we will help them get back."
Stenson breathed a sigh of relief in his mind as he took the needed steps to look over the balcony wall. He crossed his strong muscular forearms as he rested upon them, gazing down the twenty story egg-shaped building. The streets were bustling with traffic and people, but the winds carried the sounds away from him. Stenson could only imagine it.
"The Guardian Knuckles asked me to deliver a message to you. Hopefully I can remember it," he said finally.
"Was he the one who sent you and the refugees from Angel Island?" Gala-Na asked.
"No, but he did save us," Stenson added. "He asked that this be a token to forget the past and that all is forgiven. He said that you would understand."
For a moment, she was silent, taking in the apology with much thought. "And I do, Mr. Stenson," Gala-Na said with a slight bow. "So tell me, since your kind was charged to bring them here, does that mean the Echidnas are united?"
Stenson shook his head as he continued to stare down at the streets, "I'm afraid not, Madam Councilwomen. My comrades are engaged in our own Civil War while the rest of the Echidnas are battling the Dingos and Eggman's forces. And afterwards, I don't know if we are going to continue with peaceful accords with the Guardians and the rest of Echidnas. Many of us still hold to our extreme ideology of Technocracy, while others still want to be simple."
Stenson then turned his full attention and beamed a cold stare at Gala-Na and Yanar: "Be glad that I am in your presence and not one of my superiors."
Gala-Na nodded her head with a muffled smile. "I take it you are the lighter side of this Legion."
"Hardly...I'm just the only one left who has the capacity to switch over."
Gala-Na left it at that, only fathoming what deeds he had done in her thoughts. "Either way, Mr. Stenson, we are grateful of the fact that you are here. Your mission was of virtue and that is something to be proud of."
"And it still is, Milady. I have to ask you if you can resupply me and my crew so we can make the trip back to bring more. I haven't seen the latest track of the Island but I am sure it will be crossing over land pretty soon."
Yanar stepped forward; "We are working on that for you right now, sir. I'll have someone check the current plot of the Island as well, but I urge you and your crew to rest..."
"...Yes," Gala-Na agreed, "stay here for as long as you need to regain your strength. If the Island is too far out for you to make it back, you can stay until you think you can safely make it back to bring more refugees. The faces of those poor souls has me stricken with sadness."
"And the dead?" questioned Stenson solemnly.
"They are being treated with respect, Mr. Stenson," replied Yanar.
Stenson paused before he spoke again; "We started out with a hundred and fifty. The last count I had was twelve dead and about ninteen sick and injured. My medical staff did all they could for the most of them..."
"...It's quite alright, Mr. Stenson," said Gala-Na, "everything is being cared for. You are safe and so is your precious cargo. You can relax now."
Stenson let out a long sigh mixed with a troubled smile. "Madam Councilwomen, I'm afraid relaxing isn't part of my General Orders."
Yanar thought he heard a knock come from the door. He looked over through the glass door, which brought Stenson's and Gala-Na's attention to it. "I think someone is wanting in."
"Now what?" grumbled Stenson.
Gala-Na smiled and said; "It's alright, Mr. Stenson. One of my aids can get the door for you." She then looked beside the tall Dark Legionnaire. "Oh Jessie-Ca, could you be so kind and see who it is at the door."
"Yes, Milady," the girl said, gracefully bowing to Gala-Na and the rest. Stenson followed the red girl as she seemed to glide across the floor with her dress that looked more like a robe.
"There is one more thing I need to ask of you," Stenson said, switching the subject from seeing Jessie-Ca.
"Anything, Mr. Stenson," graciously replied Gala-Na.
"My wife needs to see a proper physician. She keeps coughing and it has me worried."
"Is it getting worse?" inquired Yanar out of concern.
"Yes," Stenson sighed. "I saw her this morning turn down a flight of stairs to come and see me, along with greeting you, Mr. Ambassador. She doesn't turn those things down lightly."
"We can try to arrange that, Mr. Stenson," said Gala-Na.
Stenson nodded his head as he heard heavy footsteps approaching the balcony. When he turned to look, his stare went cold: not at Wesson or Ell-Tee, but the black hooded robe of Vickers following them. The sight of the black uniform switched Stenson from his diplomatic hospitality to Field Marshal in a heartbeat.
"Take–that–hood–off now, Corporal!" he ordered sharply, keeping his voice low to not disturb the wrath that could come if Lar-Na was awoken. Vickers did as he was told, almost slapping himself upside the head as he grabbed the hood. It made Jessie-Ca giggled from behind him, seeing that the Legionnaires were echidna after all. "We are not here to frighten these people! Is that understood?"
"YES, CAPTAIN!" they all said in unison, almost making Stenson throw another tantrum from the loudness of their response.
Stenson eased his sharp stare as he looked back at Gala-Na and Yanar. "I'm sorry for my soldiers' manners..."
"...Maybe cause we lack em," snickered Corporal Vickers.
Stenson squared his shoulders along with his face. "Sergeant Wesson, if he says anything else, promote the Corporal here to flight status."
Wesson turned to Vickers, who had his head sunk lower from verbal beating, and gave out a murderous smile from under his metal snout. "It isn't the fall that kills you...it's the sudden stop!"
"Shut-up! All of you!" Stenson demanded, watching his men spring to a relaxed attention. "Better! And Corporal, you do not wear that uniform while we are here!"
"But Field Marshall; this is all I have..."
"...Then liberate some cloths if you have to. It can be an old woman's night gown for all I care, just don't wear our uniform while we're here as guests."
Vickers just sunk his head even lower like a child after been given a scolding. "Yes, sir."
Yanar was baffled at what had transpired, along with the sight of the replaced hardware that littered Wesson and Ell-Tee. He almost wanted to step back from the image, but he held true to his ground.
"Ambassador; Madam Councilwoman," Stenson began, pointing at each individual trooper as he went around for introductions, "this is Ell-Tee, fire support leader when he is needed. Sergeant Wesson, recon-scout –and with the replacement parts to prove it," Stenson added with slight exaggeration in his voice, "and you've met Corporal Vickers. We don't know what he is, yet, but he is still trying to prove his worth."
Gala-Na held her posture, only shifting her opinion instead about the soldiers in front of her. "Are all of your kind this way?"
Stenson took note in her slight change of voice. "No...we can be much worse. Like I said, be glad it is me that's here instead of my superiors. If I was half the Legionnaire that I am suppose to be, you would have seen the Corporal, here, attempt his first and only flying lesson by now."
Yanar spoke next, his mind troubled now from what stood before him; "Does anyone else of your kind know about Albion?" his voice fixed with worry.
"It's possible, but not likely," replied Stenson, seeing where the questions were going.
Gala-Na looked at Yanar, her light blue eyes narrowing at him. He just nodded at what she was thinking.
"Our city has been tranquil for many years..."
Stenson cut off Gala-Na with a wave of his hand, "I will not tell my superiors of Albion. I'm not blinded by faith and ideology like some I know who would want to conquer this place. Actually, I think some of the Legion would actually come here to retire after their tours."
"Unlikely, Field Marshal. It is safe to call you that, now?" asked Ell-Tee.
"Just give me five hours before we start that again," Stenson starkly pleaded, "I would like to be Stenson, myself, for at least awhile."
Ell-Tee chuckled before he continued; "You're becoming humbled, old man."
"You're not going soft on us, are you, Field Marshal?" came Wesson in his raspy voice.
"What did I just say...give me five hours, please," Stenson pleaded again.
Ell-Tee chuckled again, enjoying the entertainment that somehow he longed for and missed. Tracing the figure of one of the aids to Gala-Na only made him feel more secure about himself and the Field Marshal. He too was like Stenson in an odd way. He actually tolerated non-technologians to a certain degree, but it was far leaner than some of his compatriots. While he looked over the black furred echidna one last time, he saw that Jessie-Ca was eyeing Vickers almost in the same light. It brought a smile to Ell-Tee's face once more, but only to be swiped away when he saw Wesson move closer to the railing.
The Lieutenant could almost read the Sergeant's thoughts for they were scribbled on his face. "What is it, Sergeant?"
Stenson looked over his broad shoulder at the young Legionnaire, who perched his arms on the railing. Wesson leaned with his right ear out, listening intently at something that Stenson nor the Lieutenant could hear over the wind, or the cars down below and above them.
"Seminole?" asked Ell-Tee.
"No. He's resting downstairs. It's something else," replied Wesson in a eerily straight voice.
"Your new ears?" asked Stenson, knowing the Sergeant was picking out something with his latest "upgrades."
Wesson turned his head away for a moment, then tried again. There he heard the faint noise again.
"I hear screams coming from the woods on the mainland side," he finally answered.
Stenson quickly shifted himself towards the two diplomats. "Do you have a team out!?" he quickly asked out of concern, "cause if you do, it's going bad right now!"
"No!" came Yanar, "we don't venture out from the shield to do military incursions."
"You what!?" proclaimed Ell-Tee, his eyes becoming squarely attuned at what he now perceived the echidnas in Albion to be.
"It is not our way," replied Gala-Na. "We only train our Centurion Officers to be reactionary and that is how we keep ourselves at peace."
"While others die around you!?" shot back Wesson. "Those screams I'm hearing are coming from a woman..." Wesson turned his head back around, only to return his gaze to Gala-Na with a look filled with resolve; "or I should say, did hear." His growl was colder than it sounded.
"Wesson..."warned Ell-Tee, seeing the Sergeant becoming agitated.
"Oh no, Ell-Tee. I'm not letting these pacifists wiggle out of this one. They're just going to sit idly by as people around them get slaughtered wholesale. I've seen too much of that the past year and there is no excuse for them to just ignore it."
"There is too much risk for us to go to war, Mr. Wesson," calmly replied Gala-Na.
"Oh yes," said Wesson, exaggerating his voice more to drive his point across, "your fancy cars and your high-rise city is at risk. How can you live with yourself when others are fighting a losing war just outside of your boarders."
"That will be all, Sergeant Wesson!" snapped Stenson with his arms stretched across his chest. "They don't see the honor in battle like we do."
Wesson snuffed at Stenson's comment. "It's not about that, Field Marshal, and you know it!"
Stenson closed his eyes briefly, trying to shun his new headache away with it. His efforts were fruitless.
"Madam Councilmen, could you please leave me with my men, please?" he requested calmly.
Gala-Na bowed her head at the four. "As you wish. Come Ambassador..."
"No," came Stenson abruptly, "Mr. Ambassador stays with us."
Gala-Na rolled her eyes as she bowed again. "As you wish."
Ell-Tee watched her leave along with her aids, smiling as he saw Vickers eyeing on Jessie-Ca. When the Corporal turned his attention back to his superiors, he felt ashamed when he saw the look on Ell-Tee's face.
"Well don't just stand there, Corporal!" snapped Ell-Tee, "go after her!"
"Yes, sir!" decried Vickers as he saluted and ran off towards the door.
Stenson only chuckled as he stood erect. "The young these days."
"Blind as a bat," added Ell-Tee.
"Speaking of which," Wesson said bluntly, looking towards Yanar. He could see the Ambassador gulping when his robotic irus centered on him.
Stenson kept his arms crossed as he shifted his stance to directly face Yanar. "What's beyond the cliffs, Mr. Ambassador?" he almost seethed out.
Yanar stood still; silent, not knowing what to say. He was appointed to his position only months before, elected by the council since he was part of the Lost Tribe and somewhat the leader when they found Journey's End. They gathered his experience of the outside world would be most helpful when other "beings" came calling to Albion. But they never trained him on the ways of the Dark Legion. Probably because they didn't know how, or much less knew who they were.
Yanar soon gained courage when the three took a few steps closer to him, making him fell as if he was getting backed into a corner.
"We haven't heard from our Sentry for quite sometime. He protects the entrance to Albion from the mainland side, and since the war has found the Kingdom of Merica, we haven't heard from him or his group since."
"Have you tried to make contact with him?" asked Ell-Tee.
"No. We don't venture out of the shield unless we have too."
"OH, WOW! So that's how you repay the people who keep the bad guys out," snorted Wesson. "Touching!"
"It's not my idea, it's the councils'," said Yanar, his voice asking for understanding.
"This council wouldn't be related to the one back home?" Ell-Tee asked Stenson, who let out a crooked smile briefly and folded his arms back across his chest.
"Sure sounds like it to me. I wonder if they'll let three-hundred and fifty suffer as well?" bolstered Wesson, he too crossing his arms.
"Say what?" festered Yanar.
Stenson shook his head before he told the truth about their original plan. "We were suppose to bring five-hundred with us, but our council thought that it was too risky, so, they cut us back to a hundred and fifty. Plus, they didn't have enough supplies to spare for the voyage, so we got the short end of the stick...twice."
"And like yours, I am tied to mine," pointed out Yanar. "There is nothing we can do to help those over on the mainland."
"Bravo-Sierra, Mr. Who-ever-you-are!" Wesson shot back, using the metaphor of bull squeeze in phonics to try to at least be polite about it. "The technology that I see flying around here demonstrates that you can do your duty to help those who've helped you."
"Look, I'm sorry, but I can't do a thing! Besides, this isn't the first time we did this."
"What do you mean?" asked Stenson, his voice growing stern.
Yanar shook his head in frustration before he replied. "Before I came here, during the first reign of Robotnick, the Echidnas here let his minions robotoize the people beyond our boarders. We tried to take action later about it, but at the time, the war was over."
Wesson frowned again, "So that's when you only come out of your hole..."
"...It's different here from what I was used to, Mr. Wesson! I was part of the lost tribe that helped found this place along with the Guardian Knuckles. When I was young, I watched my tribesmen fight Robotnick's Swat-Bots, trying to protect me from them. Many were robotozied, but many others were also killed!"
Stenson stood silent for a moment, gathering his tactical thoughts as he went over Yanar's story. "Do you still remember the lay of the land?" he asked.
"Yes. It's called Deer Wood Forest."
"Good! Can you get about four of your best men?"
Yanar's eyes went wide when Stenson asked him that. "What...you're not going across to..."
"...I need four of your best, Mr. Ambassador. Fully equipped," said Stenson, ignoring Yanar's pessimism and turning to Ell-Tee. "Go back to the Hawking and grab our weapons and gear."
"Do you want the Diplomat?" the half cybernetic echidna asked.
Stenson gave out a murderous smile. "Yes. Slammers, and armored piercing." He then turned to the Ambassador. "I suggest you get into some dark cloths, Mr. Yanar."
"What...why me?"
"Cause you are going to be our guide. I want to see what these screams are all about and to see if maybe we can possibly do something..."
"...Like maybe getting your people to see that it's okay to fight," added Wesson.
Stenson brushed off the comment as quickly as it came, "And I need you to show us the way around the Forest."
Yanar backed away and sighed. He looked at the Dark Legionnaires and realize that he couldn't back down from this. He was afraid that they might kill him if he had said no.
"Okay, I'll see what I can do, but I have no guarantees," he practically whispered out.
"That's good enough, Mr. Ambassador," nodded Stenson.
Yanar soon left the three Legionnaires to themselves on the balcony. They stood in silence for awhile, letting what they had left for dreads flutter in the wind. Stenson did worry about setting out to the other side and attracting the enemy to this peaceful sanctuary, but his duty was still to the refugees. He didn't want to come back and see his hard, righteous work, be slaughtered because of the inactions on the part of a bunch of pacifists!
"Carry out the orders and get some sleep," he said, his voice low and cold, "We're going hunting tonight."
Alright...please tell me of what you think. This came in as a whopping 12,000 word chapter and possibly the longest I've written. Next chapter like I said at the top changes. So far, possibly the saddest sections I have written.