Greetings all. Late entry, and still working on more. Unfortenatly, but fortenatly, other projects have detoured my energy from this, but don't fret, I have a chapter in the works and more to follow. Plus additional entries to keep everyone, including me, satisfied. Must thank Sara once more for your gracious review. Also must thank the followers I have of this long epic.

I start with Aleutian's journal entry, something we haven't seen in awhile, and try to get him started off with his "retraining." He is about to find out, it's not all that easy as it feels.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the original characters of the arc, nor do I stand to gain any profit.

Enjoy.

The Path to Warmth

By: Mauser

Dear Journal...

One couldn't balm him. Being back in the place were he found the treasure of love, seeking it again with his father, and just for his father, writers' block was bound to happen.

Aleutian sat with his jacket laying on his lap, his blue journal covering theFreelanders banner along with the charging griffon on the back, dabbling at a blank spot on the clean paper with his pen. There was so much he wanted to write about: meeting his father while Mathias' house burned, seeing Elias again, and who he couldn't wait to see again, the fight with Shadow, and most of all, his brother.

He took a drink from the hydropack inside his backpack, wishing the water was actually tea. He missed the bitter, sweet taste of his drink of choice. Even through his depression he found comfort with his tastebuds and a chilled glass of sweet-tea. If he had honey, he'd warm the glass or mug up, pour it in and stir. It made for a great cough suppressant if and when he caught any funk from the slums he and Emi-La had gone through.

And the thought of her felt uplifting, such as the rising sun he was facing, shining down on him through the waving trees. Yes, he still felt the pain of her being absent of body. But he felt her somehow, breathing within as he breathed. He was keeping her alive, just by him staying alive. That was something he could've wrote down.

But for some reason he didn't. Her meaning, her wants would forever remain in him and him alone. For he wasn't...he felt it. And with this he felt the block leave him with a widening smile, placing his pen on the sheet of paper and staining it with black ink.

I'm free...Aleutian.

Closing the book, he put it away in his pack along with the trash of his morning meal, then he stood and began tensing his shoulders, pacing in the small opening of trees. Then he lifted his legs, pulling them up behind his back one at a time, holding them each for what he guessed was five maybe six seconds. And lastly his arms, wrapping one behind the other and tugging them back across his chest. The looseness he was wanting, however, didn't feel right. His back felt stiffer than a decayed board, along with the rest of his muscles some of which he never before used, told him he was really out of shape.

Or maybe it was him still feeling the fight with Shadow from two days ago?

"Either way, bub, you gotta a long way back."

A lasting sigh drained his procrastination and with it, he took in a deep breath through his nose and exhaled it out his mouth as a blow from his lips, lowering his stance at the knees as he did. His back was the source of his discomfort during the first few seconds of his basic stance. He groaned when he wanted to laugh, rising up to arch his back some to loosen the muscles a bit more. The laugh was of his teacher's voice. "Straight and level. How thou needs to be...thou needs to crawl straight when you are born. Aleutian...thy has been born."

"I have been born," the Guardian repeated, closing his eyes and lowering himself once more. The smile vanished from anything meaning of seriousness. "Thou hast been reborn."

But it hurt, Aleutian concluding that he had bit off more than he could chew with Shadow. His demeanor was there, willing to retrain, willing to beat himself up so he could pound away at others for the sake of righteousness. But it hurt. And this time it was very frustrating, not knowing what hurt the worst: old wounds in his heart, or those of a physical nature. He knew which was the most damaging, realizing it now as he stood up again and punched the air with his knuckled gloves, but he wondered if the fresh pain of his stiffness would unleash his will to give up.

"You never did with him...course he never let you either."

"What you need is someone to push you, son."

Aleutian turned around to the south to see his father standing with Archimedes perched on his shoulder. "It's going to take more than just that this time," he conceded, though he knew Locke already felt the same conclusion.

"I doubt it," Locke put in. He watched Aleutian get thrown off by the nature of the tilt of his head.

"I don't. I know what those old pains feel like, and reliving them isn't boding with me too well."

"We all have to crawl," Locke pointed out.

"I'm trying," grunted Aleutian, lowering himself at his knees again and balancing his body weight on the balls of his feet.

"You're running, not crawling, lad," Archy suggested, all four of his arms crossed. "Think back to when you met Lopper."

"Actually, he met me..."

Archimedes closed his eyes and retried his sentencing again. "Think back to when you met Lopper. How many patrols on the Plunger did you undertake for that time, lad?"

Aleutian let a moment of reflection pass, feeling his upper lip with his teeth. "Um...four I think."

"And knowing Mathias the few times I met him, he had you working on everything, correct?"

"Yes," Aleutian replied, not liking what the Fire Ant was trying to point out.

Locke pushed it home. "More active in your life. Did you continue practicing the training I gave you before you left?"

Aleutian swallowed hard, releasing his combative stance to address his father. "I did," he replied dryly.

"Then let's crawl–give me your hands."

Aleutian held them out as instructed, his father dropping his bag and stepping towards him. First he felt his hands, squeezing Aleutian's palms with his thumbs, then flipping them over and feeling between the spikes at the tendons. "Your hands are still loose, but..." –he squeezed again– "...fragile. Is this from your shooting?"

"Perhaps...haven't trained much with that either."

Locke nodded. "Calcium for you when we get back to civilization." Feeling at his wrist, Locke squeezed up his son's right arm. The bulges of his biceps lacked mass, and for someone Aleutian's age, it was sad sight to see his body gone to waste. He needed to have the complexion and build of his brother. As to the difference between the two, and even Locke himself, Aleutian was shockingly thin, finding his left side far worse than his right. Edging behind him, Locke felt along his back, almost giving Aleutian a massage as he gave firm pinches to his lower back muscles–

"Hey...ow!"

Locke stopped fast and pushed his face over Aleutian's shoulder. His lower left back was tender. "What did I do?"

A musing face was his first reply for a short moment. "It's not your fault dad. You didn't know," Aleutian said in a dismissal, apologetic tone.

"Know what?"

Aleutian could see himself on the wind of his father's question: Emi-La's dying face holding his, feeling the fresh wound at his back opening up in blood, him screaming as he awoke from his dream on the Plunger before Quack injecting him with a heavy dose of anaesthesia, only awaking once more to find the SWAT Bot's shrapnel pieces had been replaced with a skilled dressing. There were no scars; just the inflamed tissue that was still trying to repair itself.

"Don't worry about it, dad," Aleutian breathed.

Emotionless, Locke nodded and went back to what he was doing.

Aleutian's shoulder blades were very pronounced, almost leaving the middle of his back like a valley. When he completed going around his son, Locke's disappointed face showed what Aleutian had known all along about himself, his expression almost matching his father's. He hadn't been taking care of himself. He hadn't had the inner strength to do so.

Clasping at his son's arms once more, Locke turned them over and pressed down. "Keep me from pushing your arms down, Aleutian," he requested.

He did his best to lift his arms up and close them together, however his father's strength showed no mercy towards the lack of his. Locke was strong, almost crushing him to the ground.

"You're not a total loss, son," Locke commented after easing Aleutian back on his feet.

"Thanks, dad. At least I know who to come to for moral support."

"I'm being serious, son. It's a good thing. You have your residual strength–which is fantastic–but it's your muscle mass that we need to work on. The power we have is a gift we are born with. But a gift is nothing if we don't work at it." Locke studied Aleutian once more with his eyes, watching his son study him all the same. "Okay, let's check your speed."

Locke cocked his right hand back in fist, and hovered his left at his chest. "Block only, Aleutian...got me?"

"Yea," he confirmed quickly, staring at his father's chest and springing down into his defensive stance again..

Locke's first punch went freely at his chest, striking Aleutian hard and sending him to the ground. Needless to say, he was stunned.

And so was Locke. "You're supposed to block, Aleutian, not take it."

"I know," he said, scrambling to his feet and resetting himself, fidgety.

Again he looked to his father's chest, and again came the swing. He blocked it this time around, but Locke's spiked knuckles still dug into his chest. He didn't fall the ground this time, but the blow still took him off balance. Flustered, frustrated, and now sore, Aleutian stomped his anger at the ground and pulled away from his father.

"Don't quit, lad," said Archimedes, leaping off of Locke's shoulder and teleporting onto Aleutian's hand. "You are just getting started," he continued, looking up at the younger Guardian's blue eyes.

"It's hard, Archy. Not getting started but restarting," Aleutian reasoned.

"Then think back to your training," Locke offered, walking up beside his son. "Think back to when you and I were training. Think back to your friend Lopper. Think back to all your lessons, Aleutian." Placing his hand on his son's shoulder, Locke inched his muzzle to Aleutian's ear. "Just think of today as us picking up where we left off."

Aleutian shut his eyes at the strange feeling his father's words brought to him. "I'm trying to remember where we were."

"Son," Locke began, coming around to view Aleutian's scarred face, finding his fingers tracing the long deep gash across his muzzle. His smile was warm, comforting. "I know exactly where we left off. Not of the day you left, but of the day you stopped speaking to me. Do you remember?" Aleutian shook his head. "I do. 'Why your mother wants you to clean your room."'

Aleutian's laugh was heartfelt and joyful, sparking Locke to join with him. "So what was the purpose of my room being clean?" Aleutian said after his laughed died to a chuckle.

"That cleanliness is wellness."

There was no humor in the way Locke said it, and Aleutian breathed himself back into seriousness. His eyes faltered to the ground, reflectively. "What other lessons have I missed," he asked in a dull whisper.

"Many," Locke replied, slapping his son's shoulder. "But I still remember them."

Aleutian picked up his face. "And the important one I missed?"

Locke's smile was caring, almost strengthened by the twinkle in his eyes. "Family. Something I should have taught you long ago."

The urge to sit fell upon him, letting gravity take him to the dead leaves of the clustered woods they were wading in. "I'm listening, dad."

Aleutian's posture was a gift to Locke's somber mind. Sixteen years ago, perhaps longer, the same boy, much younger, much smaller, sat the same way before him, legs folded under him, gazing intently. When Knuckles would do the same, it almost tore Locke to pieces for it reminded him of Aleutian. The times he wanted to relinquish his pain filled heart in front of Knuckles was uncountable. But the strength to hold it in was strong, however weakening his spirt, he realized. And with Aleutian sitting down, waiting to hear his words, he felt there was an injustice about it. And with that feeling, he sat down beside him.

"Stand, Aleutian," he said evenly.

"What...why?"

"Just..." he held his hand out, "stand."

Climbing to his feet, Aleutian brushed himself off and paced in front of his father, his hands swaying at his side in question. "Okay, what?"

To go for it was the hardest question Locke had to consider. But the avenue was already laid out. And honestly, he felt he needed the lesson more than Aleutian.

"Tell me about Emi-La," Locke said under a quiet voice, his eyes gazing with compassion.

The question bewildered him visibly. Even stammering a reply during his moment of lapse was far removed. To answer all together seemed ever further in the void in his blank mind. Her face came to him, her scarf draping down her right side and adding to the beauty he so missed. But tears never came this round, just a longing sigh. Then a glance to the ground.

"You would have adored her as much as I had."

"You still do, Aleutian, as I your mother. Wyn may have her, and I cherish his fortune. But...she still is in my heart, just as Emi-La beats in yours." Locke returned to his caring smile. "But go on, how did she brighten your life."

"She didn't, she wore me out."

"Aleutian?"

"No, I..." Aleutian found his hand nervously scratching the back his head between his dreads. "I didn't mean it like that. She...uh...she could cook, dad. I mean she could've cooked for Elias and put his servants to shame, if he has any."

Locke's next question came as a mirth chuckle. "How did you keep the weight off?"

He felt the smile stretch his long scar. "That's where she wore me out. Last thing she wanted to see was a gut on her equal. On our time off with each other, we'd climb the stairs down to the beach, or she'd jump on my back and we glided down. We kept up with our training." A glancing nod to Locke under a wink. "We'd clean the house–which was always a blast, or I'd be down in my basement making something to improve our lives."

Locke blinked his fondness of Aleutian's cherished memories. "I would have loved to have met her, son."

His smile was still there, but fading. "It got real close, dad...real close." Turning his whole torso to Locke, Aleutian cocked his head slightly and brought his stare to his father's. "Tell me about the Brotherhood?"

Shaking his head under his drifting eyes. "Missing," he said irritable. "They are your grandfathers, several generations removed, and few have tried to keep tabs on you after Anthair said you were alive and well. You realize you are a hard person to track."

"You knew where you could have found me," Aleutian reiterated, his tone deepening.

"I did, son, but I also viewed your privacy as your domain. Wish I could have said the same for Knuckles. But he we had to watch along with the whole Island. It wasn't until Haven was blown up by the Dark Legion that we haven't been able to keep our collective eye on things."

Aleutian watched his dad painfully pinch his lips at something. "I was tortured myself, Aleutian," Locke said. Almost whispered it. "The old adage that 'everyone breaks.'" Aleutian nodded, remember well that he broke under a weary mind and truth cerium. "I'm here to say it's not all true."

"Was it the Legion, father?"

"No, it was the Dingos. As you know they are under Robotnick's biddable thumb, now."

Aleutian crossed his arms and relaxed his stance. "So I've heard."

"And as you know the Legion is fighting with us."

"And they have their own civil war," Aleutian added, pushing.

With a squinting nod, Locke was seeing Aleutian's mood change for the better. His warrior spirit was coming to bear. "You will come back home, right?"

"I plan to father, just want to do my part in Knothole for a week or more."

Locke shook his head. "A week we can't even afford."

"Dad, I'm only one echidna. What can I possibly do to make this better and in a hurry?"

"Well," Locke began, standing. "You have your ability to use the chaos powers from the Emerald."

Aleutian thought of shaking his head, but he sighed. "I don't know."

Locke surrounded Aleutian's shoulders with his comforting hands. "Son...I have faith in you, as your mother has had for all these years. Our people are looking for it, help them find it by finding yours and compounding ours."

Like that of a surging tide, his father's words sunk in. They always have. "Strength and honor, courage and will;" Locke had once told him that phrase and for all the years, Aleutian remembered. He stuck to it. And to his great happiness when she was alive, she helped him try to keep to his father's lesson.

"Strength and honor, courage and will," he chorused to himself. "Resolve is thy's weapon. Courage is thy's knowledge to use it." echoed Lopper's accent-less voice.

His thoughts reflected on Locke's smirking face.

As his own lit. Charged!

"Let's get to work, father."

Safety was key. Drilled and drilled and drilled even further by, of all armies, the Dark Legion, Julie-Su practiced safety with a passion when her weapon was drawn. Looking down the long trench of the sight between the two barrels of her double-blaster, she zeroed in on the head of a slain Eggbot–thanks to Sonic sometime ago–and gently pressed the trigger. Yellow bolts of electric fire pounded out the twin barrels and pierced the round hulk of the Eggbot, melting it at first before erupting in molten steal and parts. The kick of her weapon was always a slam. She kept both hands firm on the grip constantly, accepting the kick as an expression of fun than a fault of her choice weapon.

Holstering it on her right hip in a special rig she and Bunnie had made for it, she stepped back some on the grassy range, shifted her shoulders to loosen the tightness she felt after the full charge shot she had just let fly, and pushed her earplugs further into her ear canals. Ready and posed, right foot back, knee slightly bent, she prepared her inner voice for a commanding scream as she rose her hands up and out above her chest.

"THREAT!"

The half second it took for her right hand to fall on the handle, the pull of her weapon from the holster, her left hand slapping over her right for support, her eyes gauging the three targets in front of her, and her blaster coming up to meet them; she was a blur of pink and metallic silver. Julie's thumb slammed the select fire switch to single, punching the trigger twice on the lying bot to the far left. A shift in direction! Two more pulls followed by two light shunts in her hand. And the last pivot...followed fiercely by the last two shots.

Smoke bellowed from the masses; ozone licked at her nostrils and she sported a smile upon her lips from the molten carnage she made. It was keeping her mind away from Knuckles and worrying about where he is.

Breathing shallowly, she heard something of a whine coming from somewhere. Her blaster did make such a pitch, but not this loud, nor intermittent. Pulling the barrels down, she released the batteries from inside and checked them. They were giving off a light smoke, but the whine from what she thought was the capacitors charging didn't die. Flustered, she slammed the weapon on two empty chambers, holstered it while placing the cells in her belt, and turned around.

Her eyes were met by Mighty, sheltering his ears with his hands and shouting.

"What?" she hollered, not understanding him.

His lips moved–something about stand-by.

"Oh, yea." Rolling her eyes, she removed the plugs from her ears and looked to him with a grin.

"You're on stand-by with us!" Mighty repeated for the fifth time.

"Is this about Knuckles?"

"And the Prowers. They haven't returned either, and Sally and Geoff are worried that it involves this Chameleon deal."

Julie-Su marched forward, massaging her hands from the residual slams from her weapon as she passed Mighty. "Are they calling a meeting about this wild-goose chase they put Knuckles on?"

"An hour," Mighty replied, still shouting. The ringing in his ears wasn't stopping.

"Why that long? We need to go and find them!"

"My thoughts exactly, but St. John said he doesn't want to be premature and busting something wide open when it still needs to be closed." He eyed Julie-Su's frowning, angered face. "Don't worry, Bunnie an't to happy either with 'Twan missing."

A snort as she quickened her pace. "I don't blame her one bit."

Sally stared a while longer at the screen, searching for something she knew wasn't on the map in front of her–Sonic. "I don't like this, St. John," she seethed emphatically, unfolding her arms and casting a demeaning look at the commander.

"We are getting contingencies ready, 'luv," St. John explained flatly, finding no prudence to calm Sally down. He was just about as downtrodden with the situation as she was.

Moving his eyes from the screen to his right, he saw that Bunnie wasn't enthused either.

"You can get 'ah move on with it, right, St. John?" she snipped, her natural and robotic hands planted on her hips. "Ah swear if anything happened to Antoine–"

"Don't take it out on me, Miss Rabbot," St. John kindly cut her off.

"Ah'm not, sugah, it's Eggman."

"Bunnie," Sally sighed. "Cool your feet, dear."

"Ha, me? If you can sweat over Sonic, then I can too for 'mah Antoine."

Bunnie's spunk enlightened St. John's blank face briefly before his smile was interrupted by the door sliding open. Julie-Su stepped through it, Mighty close behind.

"What's going on?" she asked cooly. Out of the three strong-willed female fighters who resided in Knothole, Julie-Su kept her emboldened estrogen at bay for the most part. St. John saw it as something to be commendable, except the wrong answer could ignite the fury she was known for when it came to either Knuckles, or anyone else she cared about. Considering how she looked: mechanical, robotic replacements from her former calling, her double barrel blaster riding on her hip at the ready, and her glowering eyes of resilience, one would expect her to be indurated on the inside just by how she appeared on the outside. Thank Aurora she found love. Thank Aurora Knuckles found her too. They seemed to calm each other from their egos, and St. John viewed it as a blessing, more so for Knuckles' sake than hers.

"You're on stand-by, 'luv," St. John answered finally.

"I've heard," replied Julie, her tone never flinching. "But what about Knuckles and the rest?"

Sally answered this round. "I'm sorry, Julie, but we've heard nothing."

Julie stepped up beside the princess, watching Sally's face grow pensive, matching her own. Sonic came to the pink echidna's mind; any other time she wouldn't be worrying this much about him. "Good for you, Sally!" she wanted to saw aloud, but to expose Sally's coming feelings felt too premature. "What do you want me to do?"

"Easy, soldier," Sally punned, "just sit and worry like the rest of us." Her arms relaxed from her words, still holding their chest but not as tight and determined, her head sinking towards the floor with a sigh. "I want to be back out there. I can't stand just sending people out anymore and waiting for their return...then sending them out again."

Lifting her head up, she brought her eyes to Julie's. "I used to join in on the attacks. Lead the fight during the battle, Julie..."

"Yeah. Should've seen her back in the days, Julie," Bunnie commemorated from the times of better glory, better circumstances. "Ah miss rubbing shoulders in the dirt with 'ya, Sally-girl."

Julie's charitable touch totally relaxed Sally, finding Julie's three finger gloved hand resting upon her shoulder. "I know what you mean, Princess. It's even hard for me as a soldier to sit on the sidelines and wait. But I do...something Knuckles has taught me, and something I had to practice to get used to."

"But I want back in the fight, Julie."

"I understand, Sally," Julie reenforced over a squeeze. "I'm confident you'll get your chance."

Resuming their cumulative stare, both girls returned to the screen.

"But what are our plans, anyhow?" Julie asked.

"Force," Mighty responded from behind everyone else. "Send in the works, and clean house."

"Easier said than done," Geoffrey countered, killing the armadillo's enthusiasm. "We have Tails and Amadeus to look for as well. They haven't returned our messages and this Chameleon bit has me on edge about the whole lot of things."

"Well," Bunnie spoke up, "anything new Chuck and Rotor found about the messages?"

A shake of St. John's head. "Ask them when they get in. So far nothing, but the two have been working late into the morning."

"Nicole," prompted Sally. The screen flashed with Nicole's lynx, mobian face. "Please tell me you have something with the ciphers."

"I'm getting closer, Sally, but nothing I can give at this time to be of real help," came the straight female voice through the speakers.

"And thus, we still wait," echoed St. John. "We can get the ships prepped, but for right now that is the best we can do without blowing something wide open."

Sally's face light up with her temper. "Either way, Geoffrey, I want us doing something more than stand around. Make something happen in two hours!"

A curt bow of the head. "Yes...to all of you."

Yanar's hand was firm this time, his hand shake pumping with his smile reflected his exaltation. Stenson felt the same on Yanar's behalf, showing the same smile as the Ambassador which seemed to add light to the drawn blackness of the night and mist. The change in Yanar's strength was rewarding to Stenson. Lar-Na's returning strength to be beside him was energizing.

"Thank-you for all you've done, Mr Yanar."

"Stenson, for the second time I can say the pleasure was all mine. The first goes to Knuckles and his friend Sonic. But," he said, bringing his mouth close to Stenson's ear while still firmly holding his hand, "I was scared stiff last night."

"It happens to the best of us, Mr. Yanar," the Field Marshal returned just as eager. Just as honest.

"You can drop the formalities, Stenson. I see us as friends, you and I. Unlike the Council. I still have my reservations about what they think of you...which is good, right?"

Stenson gave one more assuring shake and released his hand from the Ambassador's. "Yes, Yanar. I'd rather them fear than be bold about this."

"You're kidding," Yanar protested, looking on at Stenson as if he was talking skulduggery to him.

Ell-Tee had heard Stenson's reply as he walked towards the gangway, noticing Lar-Na showing the signs of trying to smile. "Some fear is good, Mr Yanar. It keeps things real."

"And it keeps your head straight in the game," Lar-Na added, holding her breath some to keep from coughing. The thick humid air of the ocean port was doing a number on her lungs.

"Well," Yanar tittered, "see you in a week or more?"

"At the very latest, Yanar," Stenson confirmed. "Depends on how fast we can load more up and get back underway."

"And will you be staying with us next come around?" Yanar pressed emphatically.

Ell-Tee filled in the line. "It's looking that way, plus a good platoon of Legionnaires for support."

Yanar's expression lowered in suspicion. "What about keeping us a secret from your..."

"It's an idea, Yanar," Stenson eased, turning his head to Ell-Tee with a shrugging look penciled on his face. "We can do what is needed, just by our knowledge and experience, but a good backbone of troops from our end could help. It's up to you, now, if you want that to happen. Nothing is yet set in stone."

Yanar considered Stenson's option for more than a moment, seeking Lar-Na then Ell-Tee's waiting looks for advice. It came with a thoughtful nod. "From what you told me of this, Lien-Da, and from your unscrupulous ultimatums, I will pass on the high numbers and trust in you all." His eyes wandered to the cloudy, dark skies of the night and over the mast of the Hawking the three were awaiting to board. "Trust in this world is becoming shorthanded."

Stepping forward at his statement, Lar-Na kissed Yanar on the cheek and took his hand with a feminine, but strong grasp. Her smile was pleasing, asking herself whether his eyes were projecting the truth. "That was the most honest, and bravest thing I have heard you say since seeing you, Yanar. Please tell me there is more of that in you?"

"There is, milady. I just hate to reflect how I have to grow the courage to become it. My time with the tribe saw a great many horrors and despair. When I was but a mere pup, the tribe was attacked by Robotnick's bots."

"I remember you telling us of this," Stenson remembered.

"Yes...some of us were robotosized. Others were killed in the resistence." His sigh was warming, but saddened. "Athair lost his equal to become enslaved as a machine, and I heard of whole families were that slain when I grew older. But we did fight back."

"As you are now," Ell-Tee managed to say diplomatically. "We will do our best, friend."

"Speaking of which," Stenson put in, finding Ell-Tee's last word sparking to mind a certain aqua hedgehog and his wife and escort. "Did Rob-O make it alright?"

"It was new ground for Craig, Oscar, and Jann-Et, but from what I heard, they made it alright," answered Ell-Tee humorously.

Stenson's muzzle broaden into a smile. "I hope they like the gift I gave them. It's more so for Wesson, but I know he will share." Stenson sighed away his discomfort. "Please look after him while we're gone."

"How is he, by the way?" Lar-Na pressed, her eyes lightened with compassion.

Yanar took in a deep, nodding breath. "Nata-Le is awake with him. From what they told me before coming here, he is still out, watching him for shock. He's a trooper I give him that. I don't think I could've done that to myself."

"It's Wesson, Yanar," Stenson pointed out somberly. "I'm afraid for him as he's about to undertake a radical change in his life."

The Ambassador's nod was filled with promise. "We'll see that his transition isn't filled with hardships. Amuse is a great gentle-echidna and he is willing to have Wesson as a family member. Car-Le on the other hand..." Yanar shrugged his cheeks with the vacancy of his thoughts.

Ell-Tee's smile was devious. "She's going to have her hands full with him."

Stenson thought of laughing, but he passed on the notion. Instead he took Yanar's hand one last time. "Sir, it's been an honor," he said with pride, "we must be on our way."

"Oh, Stenson...please. Like I said, the pleasure is all mine." Yanar pressed one last time to Stenson. "And if you happen to see the Guardian, Knuckles, tell him all is forgiven with me, and tell him I do wish to see him again. The times will be better."

"I'll pass it on, but I can't guarantee I will see him–"

"And the one with the scars," Yanar reminded. "When you come back, please, do have some inquires about the Guardian with the scars."

"I shall...I intend to."

Releasing Stenson's hand for the final time, Yanar took Lar-Na's and kissed it. "Milady, please get better. Your beauty adds to your husband's determination in life."

She found the will to embrace him. "Yanar, you are an honorable Echidnian. Don't let these pacifist tear that from you."

"Not with Wesson around I won't," he returned in kind.

Ell-Tee stood erect, awaiting Yanar's hand, which he took in force.

"At ease, man," chorused the Ambassador.

"Sir, just showing the respect of the few people I have around here."

"Thank-you, Ell-Tee, and I shall tell Oscar and Craig the same," Yanar finished. "By way, where's Vickers? I liked that young man. Gave me a few words of advice, he did."

"He's on board already, Yanar," Lar-Na replied. "He's getting things squared away."

"Well, tell him I shall look forward to seeing him again. And I'm sure Jessi-Ca is too."

Stenson numbly shook his head. "I'm not losing another one to you?"

"I'm afraid so when he comes back. She's a bit clingy to him...so I've heard."

"I've hope you've heard wrong," Stenson grumbled.

It was here that the three Legionnaires took their leave, giving Yanar their last smiles and nods before setting to the gangway. Stenson followed the dancing tail of his wife while Ell-Tee watched his footing so as not to step on his Field Marshal's cloak. Reaching the top, a brown echidna crewman–the same one who pulled Yanar aboard from the previous day–was standing by the controls to lift the gangway from the concrete dock. He nodded to Ell-Tee when the long dread locked Legionnaire climbed the last of the metal steps and gave him a thumbs-up to raise it. Lar-Na took Stenson's side by the railing, placing her left hand at his back and the other over her mouth when she gave a weakened cough. It triggered Stenson to look away and up from Yanar. His eyes were fixed to hers, ignoring the glimmering wet deck of the ship, and Ell-Tee's presence.

"Why don't you go into our cabin, dear?" he offered steadily.

"I'll be fine, Stenson."

Her defiance didn't last with him. "Lar-Na...please. Do as I ask of you this time."

Ell-Tee watched Lar-Na's kind expression, disappear into an aghast reluctance, which he has rarely seen. The wait was uneasy to him. He wasn't sure if she was going to throw a fit, or smack Stenson. Her face said that much with what she was telling Stenson.

A gust of wing passed the tension when she obeyed, throwing Stenson the dreaded look as she stepped away from the moist railing and ducked inside the port hole. Something told the re-promoted Captain Stenson that it wouldn't last. Briefly he didn't feel good about it, but because of her health, he was worried about her stubbornness. It was for her stubbornness that he proposed to her...to see if she would challenge his hand.

She took it without a fight to his bewilderment, and to his disappointment.

"Ell-Tee, to the bridge and let's get out of here."

"South sir, or are we–"

"We are, Ell-Tee," Stenson affirmed, interrupting with a stern voice as he found the flight of stairs. "North to the port and then South to catch the Island."

Ell-Tee never thought he was going to do this, but a reason formed deep within his soldiered-self and his question came out faster than he could will himself to stop.

"Sir, Field Marshal?" Stenson stopped half-way up the stairs. His hunched back told Ell-Tee to continue on if he must; his voice said that much about his concerns. "Sir, I wish you'd reconsider this, operation, just for the ship and the refugees' sake."

Stenson fired a disapproving look across his shoulder. "Lieutenant, I have, and we are." He stepped around to address Ell-Tee, receding his commanding look back to kindness for the sake of the friendship he and Ell-Tee shared from time to time. "You saw what that thing tried to do to us. You saw what those things are capable of. Need I remind you what the Guardian Knuckles said it did--killed a whole family of Overlanders." Ell-Tee's unreasonable expression was unmoved. "Listen, our ship is now one of war."

"Our ship, sir, is meant to float and carry souls aboard and I'd like to see it stay that way," Ell-Tee countered, taking a step for emphases.

"Ell-Tee," Stenson pushed, but still candidly, "would you rather fight one of those again while it's submerged, or forgo the stress and sink them while their laying around."

"I'd rather stay covert than overt, sir."

Stenson sighed in his consideration. "I do to, friend." He turned back to the stairs, hesitated before he continued on, still talking, "I do to, but we don't have guardian angles this round." Easing into the bridge he turned and waited for Ell-Tee to follow him through. When he did, he continued, doing his best to ignore the echidna's questioning face that resembled nothing of expressionless. "We have the resources to do this at a safe distance. Our guns can reach five miles in, our radar can pinpoint the port, and we're going to need it for the soup we're sailing in." Stenson grabbed his best comforting smile he could find within himself and pressed it to Ell-Tee, along with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "The weather is in our favor–"

"And luck?" Ell-Tee wanted to bark, but didn't; keeping his voice leveled.

Stenson showed his consideration with an affirming nod. "It's never on our side. The odds, I agree, we can never assume are on our side, Ell-Tee."

"Then, please sir, reconsider."

The gathered crew in the bridge watched on. If it were the Legion, Ell-Tee and Stenson would have had their conversation outside just for the Field Marshal to keep his face, much less save it. Stenson felt he needed the persuasion, and for others to hear it. "I am, Ell-Tee. But I worry about our return with those things this close. We could either get sunk on our way back with little repercussion of loss of life, or vice versa. I don't like either option and I do wish I had one to forgo all of this, but it isn't what's in the cards, and I'd rather play the wildcard now and not get shafted with it."

Stenson shifted his stance to Petty Officer Trent, who was awaiting his first commands by the helm with the helmsmen. "Cast off all lines," Stenson ordered.

"And Lar-Na?" Ell-Tee questioned dryly as Trent repeated the orders over a sound-powered telephone anchored at his peacoat.

Seeing a few of the crewmen on the deck scurrying to the lines through the corner of his eye, Stenson snapped around to Ell-Tee and shoved his mouth past his ear. "Don't you speak of her like that!"

"Speak of what?" Ell-Tee shot back, keeping his voice disciplined to a whisper.

Stenson couldn't respond. The combative tone he gave Ell-Tee instead echoed back to him as an answer. Disgust. Not only did he hear it, but he felt it. He wanted there and now to take back his venom outburst. He wanted to apologize to Ell-Tee for the acid he delivered into his ear in front of all others to see. But he knew it wasn't going to mend the fresh wound he had just opened to his dear friend, and not without at least a justifiable reason for his vitriolic warning.

He eased his head back from Ell-Tee's, the Lieutenant's face timid with perplexity.

"Lines secure?" Stenson asked, still keeping his attention to his long dread locked friend.

"Yes, Captain!" Trent returned.

"Port engine ahead slow, port strafing thrusters at max."

Ell-Tee stood completely emotionless, watching his Field Marshal and friend from over the years order him just by his posture, to stay put. He could feel the engines powering up. He could see the pier after a moment of lapsed time become gradually distant by a void of swirling water in his peripheral vision. He could feel the sensation of movement; the tussle of physics between objects in motion and those wanting to be at rest. Such as him. Such as his Field Marshal. From his pensive standpoint, as the pier vanished from his fixed sight, Ell-Tee's strongest feeling wasn't of the moving ship or the ebbing waters that were taking them out to sea, but of being hurt somehow. It didn't come from Stenson's harsh words that seemed out of place for him.

"Disengage strafe–all engines to ahead standard."

"Sir?" Ell-Tee wanted to press. But he couldn't will himself to. The tone Stenson had taken, his speech and body language, told him thatStenson had become out of place. Was it their stay in Albion? Was it losing Wesson to love? Ell-Tee wished for his own blessing as the now former young sergeant was, he hoped, going to enjoy; but, now he was prying for any reason as to why Stenson had snapped so unpredictably to him about Lar-Na. He always accepted Ell-Tee's inquires about her with thanks. Even when his inquiries were to put her in the forefront of an operation instead of victory, Stenson always received it with kindness and gratitude. Not with a temperament Ell-Tee could not match at this evolution in time.

His long dreads lifted from the floor as he sunk his head to his chest, never caring to see the blue outline of the shield eclipse into a half-moon ring. The Hawking passed through it, leaving nothing but moderate open ocean in front of it. And still Ell-Tee cared not to look back. Charged he felt. Now he wanted to express his own fever of discontent with Stenson's hurtful words...

"Ell-Tee, take the bridge," Stenson calmly commanded.

It took him by surprise. He felt his confronting anger leave him to be replaced by a cold, undefined chill.

"Set course to zero-two-five, and ahead full. Give us distance from Mercia with sonar and radar on full alert."

Ell-Tee's rallying reply hurt to be spoken. "Aye, sir!"

He tried to step away from the passageway as Stenson stepped towards it. He tried to let him slip by, but Stenson stopped him, halting him by clasping his gentle hand over his shoulder as he peered out the bridge and aft towards the stern.

"Stubborn," Stenson coed with a cherished voice deep within his head. Lar-Na's blue tail lay slumped, her hair and dreads dancing in the cool breeze as she leaned over the stern railing and watched the shield collapse into the ocean, hiding the majestic city of Albion from all sight.

"I'm sorry, Ell-Tee, for my outburst," he whispered, squeezing Ell-Tee's shoulder to halt any reply of anger or acceptance from ever being born. Stenson powered through the unbearable pain within his heart to say the reason. "She has cancer, my friend...She's leaving us."

The moment Stenson's hand left his shoulder, Ell-Tee's face dropped into utter sorrow, giving his all to the fleeing back of his Field Marshal.

"May I join you..." –Lar-Na left her searching stare of the churning wake and brought it over her shoulder to see Stenson strolling up to her– "...my mistress?"

His hidden smile soon became hers. "I want to be left alone, Stenson."

"I'm sorry," he quipped dryly, taking the needed paces to meet the railing, "but for one to lead, one must lead by example first. Disobeying orders, well...I'm following your example."

Lar-Na's smug was light, her attention swaying back to the churning waters. "Alright, what do you want, lover-boy?"

Deep, needing eyes graced her calm body. "I already have it, my love." He waited, watching, loving every minute of her gazing quest for thought and peace. He soon found himself staring out towards the nothingness that seemed to be their own vacant void of space. Over a week ago, he reflected, a Guardian stood here with a duck who had performed greatly to keep the living, living. Stenson only saw their conversation from afar before he, himself, had turned in from his first day of command–which was almost a disaster if it hadn't been for said Guardians. Lar-Na seemed to resemble the depression the elder Guardian had dispensed with in the same open waters. But she wasn't riddled with it, taking in the scenery as the joy of being alive, and not as a curse.

"You know," he said, kicking himself for breaking the silence. But he wanted to hear her voice; "I think our vacation was a relief from the stress of work. Might I suggest we take more?"

She laughed; he smiled as he took in the reward. "How about next week?" she said, mockingly.

Stenson exaggerated a shrug from his shoulders. "I think that could be arranged. I don't know how long it will last?...But yea, I think we can shoot for it."

Her smiled died, with it his enthusiasm. "We're going North?" she asked almost critically.

"We must. In order for us to have a peaceful cruise on our return, we must."

Time passed with silence between them. Lar-Na called her head to lean upon Stenson's shoulder, finding the longing comfort in it she now relished to have. He stroked her hair, rubbing her natural locks over her lone replacement while keeping his eyes on the water.

"I want to go back Stenson," she said under a quiet voice.

"We will, dear. We have to," he affirmed with another stroke of a lock, leaning his head against hers.

"I want to go back Stenson when it's time. I don't want to die peaceably in a war zone. I want to die inpeace."

Her soft whimper leaped to his heart, feeling his throat close as he felt the urge to cry. "As you wish, my love," he answered warmly. "As you wish."

The response released her sight from the ocean, searching out his lips and pressing hers to them. Stenson held on to hers, only releasing when she did, passing with a minute of solitude. And before he could cast his eyes towards the frothy wake, she nestled at his chest, his love caressing her face with each pounding beat of his heart.

Time passed once more with silence until Lar-Na had to lapse away from their love and focus on another couple's.

"Wesson...how are you going to explain Wesson?"

Stenson rubbed her head at his chest. "He's dead. Died in the heat of battle on Mobius prime to save our people."

She scratched at his chest while still looking away from him. "Is the Centurions' gift involved with it." She felt Stenson smile. "I thought you said those things were made of unobtainium?"

"They are," Stenson reflected with a smile. "But what the Field Marshal wants, the Field Marshal gets."

It was here she brought a heavy stare to his face. "And themanual?..."

Craig sat beside himself in the main supply room of the Centurion Headquarters. The walls were white, hardly lined with anything logistical for show and readiness, packed away against the dust. He breathed, his eyes glazed over from not blinking over the three minutes he stared at that large, black polymer case. His lap weighed heavy with his hands. No, it was the book he was holding, forgetting it was there as he rolled the question in his head he kept asking himself over and over again. "Will the best vanish in the bright light of the room, or will eyes pop open at me and try to suck my blood?"

The door to his right slid open, waltzing in with a gliding swagger, a pink echidna dressed in the blue of Albion's finest. "You gonna gawk at that thing forever, Craig?"

He could not free his eyes from the metal clamps of the case, studying them further. "Jann-Et, if you don't mind..."

"Is that the manual," she asked, stepping behind him and looking at the thick black book with a tilted head.

Craig said nothing. Her inquiry however ordered him to stray his eyes from the coffin the beast was lying in and fall upon the book in his lap. It was as if haunted spirits had told him to open it to the cover page:

"Enhanced Service Rifle Series 71004: The Diplomat."

At one point I thought about putting a lasting scene of Wesson and Nata-Le in here, but somewhere I thought better of it. Jann-Et was our speedboat operator from "Albion" Chapter many moons ago. I had to put a name for her so most of you wouldn't get her confussed with Nata-Le being her.