New Experiences

Knothole was a disquieting place at night. During the day, Buzz bombers flitted endlessly through the canopy of the Great Forest, scouring for any pockets of resistance. Never far behind, were the dreaded Hover Swat patrols. Always ready to disgorge a platoon of the dreaded SWATbots at a moment's notice. Many a Mobian had met the business-end of a stun blast before being dragged off as unwilling captives.

No open fire or exposed electrical light was safe. Doubly so at night, when any flicker of light would stick out like a sore thumb against the darkness of the Great Forest. Consequently, every attempt was made to avoid giving away the settlement to aerial observation. Hot food was only prepared at the communal mess hall and each hut was provided with heavy curtains to mask indoor lighting. Consequently, the mostly diurnal Freedom Fighters slept safe and secure within their beds, getting ready to meet the challenges that greeted them at dawn. The few nocturnal residents of Knothole usually choose to remain securely within their homes.

Lack of a nightlife also meant a distinct lack of hot food to be had anywhere. Except Sally knew that Rotor often had to skip meals owing to his workshop duties. If anyone, could put together an electric cooker it would be the handy Walrus. Rotor's usual food would be a problem though. His diet was usually rather often off-putting to most of Knothole's residents. I didn't care. All I cared about was some actual hot food. Hobbling over to Rotor's workshop, I had to be careful not to alert the night patrols. With any luck, I would avoid any pointed questioning which would surely delay my epic quest.

Eventually, I arrived without incident at Rotor's workshop. The frosted windows were dimly lit and the faint beat of music could be heard leaking from a crack in the door where the walrus was surely still hard at work. Gently, I opened the door. Loud music instantly assaulted my sensitive ears. A raucous country ditty filled with fiddles and banjos came from a battered jukebox. It reminded me of similar music at a western-themed birthday party. Just how old had Sally been when cowboy classics from Downunda were in fashion? Five or Six?

Bright yellow light spilt forth and I blinked bleary-eyed, allowing my eyes time to adjust. Obviously, Sally had been in Rotor's realm, his workshop. But to me, even with the benefit of her memories. It was a sight to behold. Plastered all over the walls were photographs of Rotor's family from Artika, posters from Mobotropolis from before the coup and awards attesting to the walrus's mechanical talent. Such was the density of decorations that there were virtually no places where the original wood of the workshop could be seen.

Taking a sniff, I could pick up the tang of sweat, smoke, engine grease and oil. The floor, machines, and tools were all saturated in it. I took a deep breath, tasting the air and soaking in the surprisingly earthly atmosphere of the place. All around were shelves upon shelves of various odds and ends salvaged from various landfills. While scattered haphazardly amid the walrus's workshop were tools of all shapes and sizes including screwdrivers, lathes, milling machines and spanners. If such a set-up had been established during the days of King Acorn, it would almost certainly have been shut down for dozens of safety violations. Unfortunately, Knothole simply didn't have such a luxury as Rotor was the sole supplier for 'new' and refurbished parts.

Buried amid the mosaic arrangement of junk, my eyes fall upon something that sent a shiver up my spine. The prototype De-Roboticizer complete with a Plexiglas restraint large and strong enough to contain an unwilling, thrashing robian. The very same used to contain Sir Charles roboticized form as he pounded futilely on his glass prison. However, without working knowledge of the original Roboticizer Rotor's invention was only capable of reversing the effects temporarily and Sir Charles quickly reverted to his former robotic self. An affair which had nearly resulted in the capture of Antoine and Tails when his original programming briefly took hold.

As I limped my way through Rotor's workshop, avoiding getting any loose bits of fur or clothing getting caught on the exposed machinery. I came across the walrus himself, who was hard at work as usual. He hunched over his work table, a thick welding mask haphazardly strapped to his face while he handled a welding torch with a surprising level of dexterity for his awkwardly shaped hands, dissecting the remains of a SWATbot's head with his impeccable skills. "Sally," Rotor said, shaking me out of my reverie.

Rotor lifted the welding mask from his face to reveal his usual easy-going expression "Is something wrong? Why are you up so late?" Rotor asked, concerned about my unannounced arrival.

I shook my head profusely. "I'm hungry. Any leftovers?" I asked.

"Err well, nothing that would really interest a princess" he began, but I interrupted.

"Surprise me"

Rotor obliged, reaching into what resembled a waffle-iron before bringing out a still steaming plate of fish. Briefly, I noted how Rotor was preparing my meal after wiping his hands slick with grease over his equally filthy fur. I ought to feel repulsed given how obsessive Sally was over cleanliness. "Just hand me some ketchup" I added as Rotor moved to prepare my meal.

"I feel sorry to bring it up, but I heard what happened to Tails," Rotor mentioned, shooting me a sympathetic look. "Think he'll be okay?"

"He'll be fine" I interrupted, it was an automatic response. The same I had given to every one of my scores of sympathetic busybody visitors.

''Yeah heard about that" Rotor said, before presenting me with a steaming pile of fish. I noted that in spite of a generous slathering of ketchup, my meal was still staring back with cold glassy eyes. He must have noticed my unease, as he attempted to retrieve it before I stopped him and started eating with my bare hands, trying hard not to think about the taste as I gulped down my slimy meal.

Sally was normally a very dainty eater. If Rotor had noticed my strange behaviour he made no mention of it. Instead, he pulled up a stool and sat next to me. "What happened back there?" Rotor asked.

"I wished I knew" I mumbled, trying hard not to make eye contact with the sympathetic walrus.

"Look," Rotor intervened "I can see you're in real need of liquid comfort. I know you don't really like to drink, but with a day like that, I take it you really need it".

He was right. Sally normally found the taste of alcohol repulsive. I wondered if I myself would enjoy it. We shared the same body so logically our tastes should remain the same. But how would I know unless I explored? Not being Sally and when presented with the opportunity to get plastered on her behalf, I took it. "I'm not interested in talking, just recommend me something that will wipe away my trouble

Yes, I was trying to get drunk Sally had gotten herself drunk once, but not me. I wanted to experience it for myself. I admit there was a divide between us but I had decided to explore how deep it ran. Would these differences include alcohol tolerance? I wouldn't know till I tried.

While waiting, I devoured the remainder of my meal. Finishing just in time for Rotor to return with a chipped mug. Sloshing about was a thick viscous liquid which smelled vaguely like turpentine. The walrus's expression seemed uncertain, perhaps reconsidering his earlier offer. I wasn't interested in continuing the conversation with him however and seized the drink, taking my first mouthful.

I nearly gagged.

It felt like drinking congealed motor oil. It was strong. Strong and disgusting, cold to the tongue, but burning all my way to my stomach. The aftertaste coated my mouth, lingering well after a more conscientious flavour would have politely faded away. Instead of guiding me, it tried instead to bludgeon me into inebriation. It hurt to drink. Almost immediately, I recognized a familiar warmth hitting my belly and spreading at a prodigious rate. I wasn't exactly drunk yet, a couple of sips ought not to get me even to the warm glowing stage of inebriation, even with next to nothing in my belly. Which is why I gulped down the entire cup of moonshine and asked for more.

Now, there are certain advantages to getting drunk on my first night alive. Alcohol peels away inhibitions, blending together reason, logic, emotions, and desires. Until eventually, the most absurd notions will make perfect sense. After two mugs of whatever Rotor had brought me I was willing to indulge in social interaction once again.

If I were to go through this day all over again I would gladly have done this with Rotor, except I would aim the table away from Tails of course but then I would go drinking. I took a snip from a different batch. This time tasting more like cherry cough syrup with nowhere near the kick of the first two. I suspected Rotor had watered down this down but could still taste the alcohol. So, Rotor wasn't willing to totally cut me off.

"You might want to lay off Sally, you shouldn't be drinking all this much, especially since you're not used to it" Rotor cautioned, confirming my earlier theory.

I beamed at him. "Well, a friend once told me that's future me problem".

I found out a lot about myself. I found myself lacking Sally's usual anxieties and I don't deny that some of my newfound self-confidence was the moonshine speaking through me. But I feel a lot more than Sally does generally. Both the good and the bad. Sally's visible emotional range was far more limited. She thought of herself as a leader with a strong sense of justice first and foremost, tempered by a warm heart. Her own fun-loving and playful personality was subordinate to this fact.

Our reactions to stimuli too were different, Sally was much more controlled. It took a lot to shake her out of her default strong-minded and logical state. I, on the other hand, was much more uninhibited, feeling and expressing the full range of emotions which Sally regularly repressed.

The rest of the night blurred together. I vaguely recalled mentioning NICOLE to Rotor in my inebriated state. Which he had promised to look at in the morning, no questions asked. When I woke up the next day I was back in my own bed. The day was dedicated to resting in bed and performing research.

I collected together some of Sally's old textbooks and even managed to procure some of Doctor Quack's medical journals. The Doctor, in particular, was difficult. He didn't seem to hold a grudge from before which made me uncomfortable. Sometimes, he even seemed to know me better than I knew myself. But I was adamant in my attempts to procure some of his extensive collection.

Finally, free of all distractions, I set about reviewing the sizeable collection littering the floor; several dozen thick textbooks in medical science, advanced mathematics and psychology littered. I found myself sharing Sally's penchant for books. Savouring their sweet lingering musk, I pried them open to study the contents within. Thankfully, I had managed to inherit Sally's natural intelligence and knowledge. While my studies proved to be enlightening, it had succeeded in raising as many questions as were answered.

As it turns out, the Mobian mind was a complex thing with numerous potential mental conditions. The most likely of these being an undiagnosed personality disorder. One that came to the forefront and took control. While this theory had merit, there was a lot of contradictions between this theory and reality.

I am relieved in that sense because I genuinely did not want to believe I had gone mad because of some pathetic reason like being unable to handle life. Unable to handle the soul-crushing possibility that someday Knothole, like everywhere else on Mobius would be crushed under an endless sea of SWATbots. Knowing there was an appointment number with my name on it on the Roboticizer. It's still a remote possibility I admit, Sally and I share many things. But I'm still not convinced we're the same Mobian deep down.

The second more disturbing possibility was that I was some sort of robotic infiltrator. I knew Robotnik had tried this before in the form of his 'Auto Automaton' robot infiltrators. But his attempted duplication of the princess along with other renowned members of the Freedom Fighters was crude and easily identifiable. I know I'm not a robot. Besides if I were such a thing surely Knothole would already be compromised, and the memories? Robotnik was good, but not good enough to entirely copy or recreate the memories of a living breathing being. But I admit it, this idea does frighten me. The idea that a doppelganger could somehow absorb your entire life experiences.

The third possibility? I was the result of something done to Sally. An exotic toxin perhaps? There existed in the Great Forest plants capable of producing toxins and poisons which when ingested caused disassociation and radical personality shifts. Although just what maverick motive someone would have for such an endeavour was beyond my grasp of logic.

It could well be a spell. However, the last magician of the Order of Ixis, Ixis Naugus had disappeared long before the coup when Sally was just a child. Furthermore, magic was highly noticeable, especially since they tended to degrade without constant maintenance.

I don't think there was some sort of supernatural explanation for much the same reasons. Overly mundane causes are … problematic to say the least.

Diving further into what esoteric sources were available, there were certainly more exotic possibilities. Near the bottom of the list of likely causes was inter-dimensional soul exchange. There was just something infatuating about multi-universal theories and it's the one I wanted most. However, that explanation is a non-application. It could be there are no reasons for all this, no rationale as to why I popped into existence one day and Sally winked out for greener pastures.

Now, this theory has some advantages. It has the advantage of being irreversible. It means I am here to stay, permanently. It means I don't want to have to worry about my fellows deciding they wanted the real Sally Acorn back. Of course, this might mean my existence was predicated on the murder of another. Do you think I want this? No, I don't. But if my continued existence depends upon her demise? I would always choose me first. I know this.

As I said I don't have an answer, perhaps it's all pointless conjecture. A pathetic attempt to justify something that may not be true. But as much as I wanted to explore other possibilities, sequester myself away for a few days for studies. I couldn't. Not only because Knothole couldn't afford the luxury of giving their strategist and leader time-off. But also, because I was about to face a whole host of problems with Sally's friends. They needed answers and I don't have all of them