From hk512@cleveland.Freenet.EduThu Feb 15 12:58:45 1996
Date: Sat, 3 Feb 1996 18:37:51 -0500
From: Joseph Delacroix <hk512@cleveland.Freenet.Edu>
To: rotor@primenet.com
Subject: Memories [1/1]

David:

Here's the next story.  Do whatever needs to be done with it.

See you on SPR!  ;)

Joe.

*** *** ***

Memories
 
by -- Joseph DeLaCroix
 
This story is based on characters created by Service and Games (SEGA), and
on characters created by Archie Comic Publications, Inc.  Any resemblance 
to actual characters are not coincidental.  ;)
 
Joseph, Bahb, and all other independent creations of Joseph DeLaCroix are
the copyrighted property of JoCo Inc.  Commander Packbell, Bookshire
Draftwood, and Sandra Nightweaver are the copyrighted property of David
Pistone.  All rights reserved.  Etc.
 
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"A problem?"
 
Joseph looked at Sandra blankly.  "Yes, we have a problem."
 
Sandra frowned a little.  "What's wrong?"
 
Joseph sighed.  "The damned deroboticizer is going to be delayed at least
one more year.  Apparently, the roboticizer software occasionally upgrades 
itself so become more efficient."  He scowled.  "And Bahb will have to 
decompile the roboticizer software I gave to it in order to hit every 
possible evolution pattern of the sotware, crosscheck it, and find a way to
reverse it."
 
Sandra smiled weakly.  "But it's not a total reversal," she noted softly,
trying to return Joseph to his former good cheer.  "It's just a minor 
setback...right?"
 
Joseph blew some air out of his nose.  "A year is a long time.  Anything
could happen between now and Solstice-time next year...that is, if no 
unexpected setbacks interfere with the progress of the deroboticizer."
 
Sandra gave her mate a soft hug.  "You'll get it right one day.  Just look
how far you've come so far...you've done more in a year than some have done
since the beginning of this accursed war."
 
Joseph hugged her back.  "You're right, of course.  I just want this to end
so badly..."
 
Sandra kissed his muzzle gently, and embraced him firmly.  "We all want it
to end, Joe.  And it will end...I know it.  I have faith in you, my love, 
and I know you'll have sucess in time.  You just have to keep going."
 
Joseph grinned and held her close.  "Of course.  Honestly, I let the
littlest things bother me sometimes--"
 
Sandra put her right index finger against Joseph's lips, quieting him. 
After he had stopped attempting to verbalize anything, she took her finger 
away, and rested her head against his chest.  "Let's worry about the 
world tomorrow, Joe."
 
Joseph stroked her headfur.  "Good idea."
 
The lights clicked out.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
That next morning, the people of Knothole groggily awoke from their
nocturnal slumber, and attempted to shake off the effects of last night's
festivities.  They stumbled about their homes, bathed themselves to the 
best of their ability, brewed up something hot to drink, and sleepily tried
to return their homes back to normal. 

However, most of the populace had a few days off from whatever work they
did around the village, and thus had time to recouperate.  The adults stayed
inside and gossiped about the doings of several people at the communal party
that occurred the previous night.  The older youths hung around with their
various companions, and a few made snowpeople.  The younger kits had a
snowball fight near the center of town, enjoying some time off from school.
Occasionally, a passerby would get nailed by a stray shot, and get 
momentarily dragged into the ever-esclating mock war.
 
The core Freedom Fighters, however, were busy planning another assault on
Robotropolis, with the goal of getting another legion of roboticized
citizens out of the clutches of Packbell.  Theirs was a job with few 
holidays and even fewer sick days.  The responcibility of a war was one 
that would be normally too great for such a young group of people...but war
makes men out of boys, and women out of girls; and heroes out of hedgehogs.
 
They stood around the holographic map of Robotropolis, and designated their
paths of entry and escape.  It would be a dangerous mission, one probably
that would be the model for future assaults.  Sonic would start a diversion
by sabotaging one of the main refinaries, and try to annhilate as much
equipment as possible.  When some of the SWATBot forces were distracted, a
second squad would move in and attempt to take a minor group of roboticized
citizens out of the city.  After more forces were dispatched to deal with
that problem, a third group would go after their target group of citizens, 
and get them out as quickly as physically possible.
 
It was a solid plan, which had a fair chance of success...at least once. 
All of them realized who they were fighting now, and they knew that
casualities were going to become inevitable.  They'd escaped rather well in
their previous missions; a few nicks, a wound or two, or perhaps a few 
broken bones.  Only rarely had they had a death on a mission...
 
But they knew that Packbell was not Robotnik.  Robotnik had the weaknesses
of the flesh working against him; emotion, rage, greed, and simple bad
luck.  Packbell was a designed killer.  He would start to detect patterns in
their attack strategies--if he hadn't already!--and find ways of defeating 
them...and the legends about POWs that Packbell had acquired made 
roboticization look like pure esctasy.
 
Naturally, they were frightened--they weren't immune to fear.  But they
knew they were the only thing standing between Packbell and total world 
domination.  Their fear only showed itself at the quiet moments between 
the times their eyes closed at night and sleep...the fleeting time when 
their mind fully comprehended the sheer level of danger they were in on 
a daily basis, and how easily they could expire.  This was, however, a 
temporary feeling.  When the spectre of doubt crossed their paths, the 
look in the eyes of a child or the painful glance of a roboticized victim
would fill themselves with determination, and chase the ghost of dread far
from view.  Their missions were for the safety of the world, and for the 
honor of their lost King.
 
After Sally had completed assigning troop details and strike plans, she
dismissed them all to the day's beauty, allowing them to view the wonder of
winter: for some, it might be the last time they would ever see the glory 
of the sun, or feel the gentle embrace of snow around their feet.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
While Bahb began the long and arduous process of decompiling the
roboticizer program, Joseph and Sandra shared a quiet moment within 
a upper level of the Dome.
 
They sat in the "living room" of the Dome, sitting on a couch in front of a
roaring fire.  Bahb occasionally projected live video of the outside world 
in front of the fire, at the request of either party involved.  It seemed 
to keep them occupied long enough to start a few conversations, which Bahb 
paid little attention to.
 
"Tell me more about your people," the vixen muttered, resting quietly on
Joseph's shoulder.
 
"Very well," Joseph spoke, "what would you like to know?"
 
"Did you ever have...a girlfriend...back on your world?"
 
Joseph sat there for a moment, his expression becoming rather morose.
"Yes," he whispered, "I had one...once."
 
Sandra detected a hint of sadness in Joseph's voice.  "Did it end badly?"
 
"You could say that..."
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
"It was so long ago....I was simply 16 megacycles old at the time..."
 
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Technopolis.  The great capital city of the western continent, and the last
remaining domed gigalopolis on Ur'thae.  The majority of the west was now a
smoking ruin from several 100 megaton antimatter bombs launched from the 
anti-android terrorist organizations of the east.  But Technopolis, since 
it guarded the Head Vixen of the Imperial Ur'thaen Federation of Worlds,
was very well protected by the loyal Ur'thaen Imperial Space Navy.  Not 
even the most zealous terrorist would dare attack it...the punishment 
for attempted terrorism was a slow trip into the molecular deresolution 
chamber. 
 
Inside the city, it appeared to be a Utopia.  Plants and atriums were
everywhere for the satiation of the populace's desire for "Nature" in 
their lives.  Happy people did their work without complaint, and even 
the lowly Greys were mostly pleased with the way their lives were.
 
Within these curved walls, nearing the center of the busy civilization,
many Ur'thaens were in the middle of hard training.  To be specific, the 
Dark Foxes, ultra-augmented Reds that were the personal guard of the 
Violets, trained in a nearby dojo; along with a solitary Orange teenager 
who did a similar set of martial arts training.  They paid him little heed, 
tho, being all-consumed with the desire to become the biggest, hardest,
most perfect predator that they possibly could.
 
The slim, quiet Orange did his exercises with vigor.  His father, the
Supreme Scientist of the Empire, had always taught him to do everything 
he put his mind to with the same amount of effort he would put into 
serving the Head Vixen, no matter how rote or dull the task might be.
 
However, his martial artistry was something that Orange, designated by the
Moebian tongue as "Joseph", enjoyed.  It gave him an opportunity to get in
touch with his...spiritual side?  No, he thought, not spiritual.  More 
likely his carnal, wild side.  It gave him an opportunity to force his 
body to do acts of great physical strength and control, which made 
him feel like more than a simple member of the Scientist caste.
 
He completed his usual training exercises, and calmly collected his things.
He usually carried little on him when he walked the streets of 
Technopolis...despite the reassurances made by the Greens and Yellows in 
charge of the city's security, he knew perfectly well that there were 
always Eastern spies within the city limits, just waiting for a hostage
like himself to come shuffling their way...sons of Supreme Scientists are
hard to come by, after all.
 
He put his things in his sack, and went into the locker room to change back
to his usual outfit.  While he felt his training suit was comfortable, it 
was socally unacceptable to even make a short trip outside in it.  After 
all, this was Technopolis, seat of the Empire!  It wasn't like his 
old home...
 
Joseph sighed as he thought of his old home in Vixen's Valley...the place
of his birth, with the waving green grass and the trees that reached 
beyond the clouds.  It was where his father was allowed to grow him in 
the executive biotubes; quite an honor for a simple Orange kit!
 
He remembered the smooth hand of his father as he began the implantation of
his neural implants all those megacycles ago.  The great leap into coherency
temporarily had phased him, but his mind quickly adjusted to his added 
intelligence.  His attempts to speak were foiled by his still-immature 
vocal cords, and his gestures did little to communicate anything but 
disorientation.
 
The smile of his father had calmed him, and his gentle grip had lifted him
from the guerney from where he laid to a datajack.  A cord extended from 
the cool steel box, and softly attached to a silver spike that had 
automatically extended from his wrist.  
 
With that, his education began.
 
The megacycles slid by faster than his mind would have liked.  He began his
training in the martial arts, and gradually began to understand the 
wonderous world around him more clearly.  He played in the lush fields of 
Vixen's Valley, worked in the small macrodome that made up the city 
itself, and found his niche in the world with little strain.
 
Then, one day, it had all changed.  The eternal war grew closer to the
peaceful settlement, unbeknownst to the majority of the inhabitants of the
isolated city.  He and his father were whisked away one night from the 
city, their work quickly assimilated by the large-minded neural carriers.  
 
The next day, a antimatter blast annhilated the entire settlement in one
awful flash of light.
 
They ended up in Technopolis, where the High Command had barricaded
themselves in under a powerful series of forcefields and reenforced 
structural modifications to the large dome that covered the city.  
They were given quarters and guards to watch them and to protect them 
from attempted terrorist attacks.  Given labs and equipment, they resumed
their work with shaken psyches.
 
Since then, the last 6 megacycles had been dedicated to his life's work and
the arduous process of rebuilding some sort of peer group.  And, for the 
most part, he had succeeded.  Many young Oranges existed near his quarters,
and they often hung around the popular hangouts of the city...and, as 
teenagers are wont to do, get into minor spots of mischief.
 
However,  the particular Orange we speak of kept out of trouble for the
most part, partly because he was too smart to be caught, and partly 
because he desired his father's approval more than anything in the world.  
It was his goal in life to one day ascend to the great scientific height 
his father had achieved with the Neural Transfer Device, and his 
grandfather had achieved with the mighty Techno-Organic Replacement/Repair 
Unit; to create an invention that so increased the quality of life of all
Ur'thaens that it gave the entire Empire an edge over the rest of the 
Universe...and to recieve the title of Supreme Scientist after the 
present one either retired or expired.
 
This goal gave him a great deal of incentive to put tremendous amounts of
work into everything he did, so that he could one day find an inspiration 
for his Great Deed.  However, he was finding that it was much harder to 
achieve than he had first envisioned.  There was very little left to 
perfect on Ur'thae, so his achievement would have to be that of pure 
science.  And even then, it was heavily competitive.
 
He finished putting his training clothes away, and entered the cleaning
chamber.  As the liquid raced through him, pulling away the grease and 
grime that had collected on his fur, he allowed his mind to idle down 
slightly.  His sleep period was coming up soon, so he'd have to put off 
purchasing the upgrade CPU for his experimental AI later.  Ah well.  He
could probably get away with getting it sent to him during the work period
tomorrow.  

Ceasing the rinse cycle, he stepped onto the dryer pad and demoisturized. 
Bahb was coming along nicely.  He'd gotten all of the knowledge of the 
Empire into its memory, as well as some biographies of some famous people 
in, just for fun.  He'd written a few simplistic games for it, and taught 
it how to write poetry.  However, it was still a difficult task to get it 
to develop alternative solutions to troublesome scenerios.  He felt it was a 
issue of processor speed, so he'd jack it up to the highest level they had
available and see how that helped.  If nothing occurred, he'd rehash the 
code a bit more, and throw in a hip new algorhythm he'd seen submitted to 
the mathematics database.
 
After a through drying, Joseph went back to his locker and put back on his
clothing.  He hoped that Bahb would be capable of generating a novella one
day that would be equal to that of at least a second-rate writer.  Indeed, 
such an achievement could quite possibly net him the "Scientist of the Cycle"
award.  He smiled.  He'd like to win that one day, he thought, because it 
would let him actually speak with his mother, the Head Vixen, for a whole 
minicycle.
 
Joseph had never actually met the egg donor that had given him life.
She was a reculsive individual, and mostly focused on command decisions and
the occasional public appearance.  Otherwise, the only way the people knew
what she looked like was from the several murals of her that often appeared
on walls.

Yet, she seemed like the kind of person who the Orange could have a
conversation with, at least on a superficial level.  Certainly she knew his
father, so that would be an interesting topic.  Perhaps a discussion on 
the NTD might eat some time up...
 
He put on his ceremonial grey trenchcoat and walked out of the dojo.  He'd
probably let her do most of the talking, if the opportunity arose.  After
all, he was just a humble scientist with a famous father, not some big-shot
war hero.  Her words were weighted with authority, anyway, and could 
probably enlighten even his dumb ears.
 
His entourage of guards soon surrounded him, and escorted him back to his
quarters on the Orange level.  They were discreet, well-trained bodyguards,
who'd recieved the same sort of training the Black Foxes did when entering 
initiation.  They would die for whoever was in their charge as easily as 
they could tell you the time.  Needless to say, they were very expensive.
 
Entering his quarters, he had his guards search it before dismissing them
to watch the door.  His eight-hour sleep period began in 5 minutes, so he 
had little need for their direct influence at the time.  With little regard
for his personal appearance, he flopped over on the nearest soft surface 
and passed out.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
Sandra yawned.  "Fascinating."
 
Joseph rubbed her neck a bit.  "Yes, I know this is reallly exciting, but
it's important that you understand the circumstances I was in before I get 
to the rising action of this tale."  He snuggled her a bit closer.  "So 
don't fall asleep until I'm done." 

She giggled.  "Sorry, Joe."
 
He kissed her gently.  "Trust me, this gets interesting in a minute."
 
She smiled.  "Then continue on."
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
He woke up eight hours later, shook out his headfur, and walked back out
the door to his work area, tailed closely by the drousy guards.
 
Entering his area, he fired up his workstation and began scanning lines of
AI code.  This was the great majority of his present job; going through 
page upon page of code and optimizing it into a further-compressed lump of 
programming perfection.  It was a mind-numbing job at times, and was the 
main cause of burnout among those Oranges with weak mental stamina.  Most 
people liked to think it wasn't the job that killed your brain and made it 
the consistency of syrup, but the mind that pondered it.  Of course,
you don't have time to ponder that when a few hundred pages of code go
racing by, demanding such level of optimization by such time.
 
Joseph had little problem with working the coder line.  His nimble mental
gymnastics kept pace with the screaming bursts of code that raced by, and
enabled him to always meet his quotas early.  But still, it wasn't a fun 
job.  It took too long.  It was boring, and occupied too much of his mind. 
On the other paw, *someone* had to do it.
 
Thankfully, a few hours later, his time on the coder line ceased.  Bounding
out of his seat for the next ragged Orange to occupy, he gleefully went to 
his personal workshop to continue his AI project.  
 
The computer was about the size of a desk in its current prototype state. 
It was hooked into a small display unit, which described its vital 
statistics.  They were impressive even in its present, semi-akimbo form...
it had the mental maturity of a 14-megacycle old kit, which was something 
quite impressive for a project that had started as an activity began
on a rainy day...
 
He smiled as he began his tests.  Bahb and himself had nearly grown up
together.  It was nearly a sibling of his in several ways, but a creation 
of his own in others.  Both had the influence of his father in them, for 
example; Dhavid had named both of them after the pair of nearly mythical 
Ur'thaen warrior-scientists who not only defeated a massive plague
that once swept the world ultracycles ago, but were able to unite the
planet under the present colors of the Empire.  It was quite an honor to 
be able to designate yourself under that name, and his father had worked 
hard through both official channels and semi-legitimate to allow the usage 
of those names on his son, and his son's creation. 

He tinkered with some internal circuitry, and looped some code around to
optimize testing even further.  He had personally designed the neural 
network that was the core of his creation's mind.  It was something that 
had taken him months upon months of off-the-clock research to accomplish, 
but Bahb's mind was a superior model to all previous psudocreations
of the Ur'thaen Oranges.  It had an intelligence quotient of astronomical
proportions, and could do very challenging problems in minutes.  It did, 
however, have some bugs in it.
 
<< "Greetings, Jhosesophae." >>
 
The fox smiled.  << "Hello, Bahb.  Are you self-aware today?" >>
 
<< "Affirmative, sir.  I was able to realign my 54A-X neural simulation
    disk into a more logical setting, thus returning my sense of self 
    from its previously malfunctioning state. >>
 
Joseph took note of the computer's reply.  << "Excellent.  Have you created
an answer to the question I asked you about the other day?" >>
 
The computer hummed.  << "Yes." >>
 
Joseph took a breath.  << "Very well, Bahb.  I shall repeat it for the
benefit of my records." >>
 
<< "Affirmative." >>
 
<< "If a tree falls in the woods, and nobody is around to hear it, does it
    make a sound?" >>
 
<< "Negative.  Sound is a name for a series of stimulations that your
    tympanic membranes create that cause you to believe that you 'hear' 
    something.  Without a mind to comprehend this stimulus, and without 
    any equipment around to replicate the stimulii, the stimulii does 
    not 'exist' to anyone." >>
 
The computer paused for effect.  << "Therefore, I conclude that a tree that
falls in a wooded area with no witnesses not only makes no sound upon 
impact, but it also does not actually 'fall'; sight is another name for a 
series of stimulations that your optic nerves recieve when varying levels 
of photons strike them.  It will be in a different position if you were to 
be there before and after it occured, but the tree never actually
'fell'; it simply went from one position to the next.  Or perhaps it was
always like it would be after it 'fell', but your mind simply came to the 
conclusion that it somehow 'fell'." >>
 
Joseph raised a brow.  << "Your observations are curious, Bahb." >>
 
<< "Am I incorrect?" >>
 
<< "There are no incorrect answers to that question, Bahb...simply
different ways of approaching a situation." >>
 
<< "Explain." >>
 
<< "Truth is a perception of several factors; accepted knowledge, personal
    knowledge, and the sentinent's personal view on the previous two 
    catagories.  Something that is 'true' to one person may be 'false' to 
    another." >>
 
<< "Is this why people have conflicts?" >>
 
<< "Very perceptive, Bahb.  People often disagree over differing
    interpetations of 'truth' as opposed to 'lies', and will sometimes 
    violently disagree about the two.  This is why a utopian climate 
    cannot survive without a strong, supreme central ruler; involving 
    more than a few people in the operation of a settlement fouls the
    governmental water with too many differing perceptions of 'truth'." >>
 
<< "But what if the ruler's view of truth is too different from the
    majority's?" >>
 
<< "Then it is the ruler's responcibility to make her view of 'truth' the
    majority's." >>
 
<< "What if she cannot?" >>
 
<< "Then she will be replaced by someone who will.  It is a natural law;
    only the strongest survive.  This goes for memes, opinions, and 
    machines, too...only the most superior are permitted to continue to 
    exist, while the weaker fade out into nothingness.  The evolution of 
    thoughts are key to the survival of any ruler." >>
 
<< "This is acceptable.  I will record this in my memory." >>
 
<< "So noted." >>
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
"That is how you perfected Bahb?  By having philosophical discussions?"
 
Joseph smiled, entering lecture-mode.  "Yes, Sandra.  The best way to 
evolve a mind is to stimulate it with discussion, not just feed it facts 
until it has grown fat on data.  A well-exercised mind that had pondered 
the unponderable is a far better one than that which can repeat every word 
of a speech or every battle of a war."
 
"Fascinating...please, continue."
 
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After speaking with Bahb a bit more, and installing a new core processor,
he allowed it to have some quiet time to itself to think things over.  
While Bahb was occupied with pondering the problems of Ur'thae, Joseph 
worked on a new weapon system for a new series of fighter the Ur'thaen 
Space Navy was developing for search-and-destroy missions.
 
It was dry work for Joseph to sharpen up disruptor cannons.  Sure, it was
challenging work, but it was so...the term escaped him for a moment.  
Unpleasant?  Dull?  Rote?  Ah, he knew...uninspiring.  It was a job which 
he could disearn very few lessons to help him develop Bahb to its full 
capacity.  All it was was tweaking circuitry and code.  It gave him very 
little perspective on mental development or vital qualities for a spry mind.
 
However, Joseph was one of the better weapon experts around.  He could make
the power of a cannon 35%-50% more powerful than it would be usually, not 
to mention sharpen the target systems to pinpoint accuracy.  His work on 
the "Enforcer" series had already won him some minor awards from the 
military, and had cut Ur'thaen losses in several campaigns considerably.
 
It was simply a day job for Joseph to do his work on military systems.  He
had little interest in the Reddish way.  After all, he was a scientist, 
not a warrior.  Yes, he knew martial arts, and he was a master of stealth 
and tactical planning, but that was just the basics he'd picked up from 
living in Technopolis for so long.  You *wanted* to be as powerful as possible
in this city; it was how you kept people from pestering you when you wanted
to hang out at the Red bars to look cool.  Kill or be killed.
 
He finally surrendered to the engineering constraints of the "Noctrurne"
series of fighters, and went back to check up on the progress on one of 
his secondary projects...a new and improved design for a plasma cannon 
he'd recently been toying with.
 
It was a device about the length of a average Ur'thaen's forearm and half
of her bicep, and about the thickness of a paw.  It was light, and had a 
internal power source he had personally improved from previous models.  The
handle was designed to be something a soldier would want to hold on to; 
like a security blanket or a mother's hand, it made one feel safe.  The 
device had an optional lazer sight for possible sniper operations, as well as
a range-finder.  Sturdy and well-made, it would definitely become a tool of
future victories over the inferior species that populated the galaxy...the 
Mark 25-Omega series of plasma cannons, year of 7796.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
Joseph's narrative gradually creaked to a halt.  He began to think about
the weapon he had acquired in Robotropolis, and considered the 
possibility that...
 
Sandra nuzzled against him.  "Something wrong, Joseph?"
 
Joseph snapped out of his thoughts.  "Oh, sorry.  Was distracted."
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
He ran a few scans on the weapon, and noted that a CPU on it needed to be
replaced.  This happened often when weapons were in R&D, because such
vigorous testing of them occured.  They would often be called upon to 
fufill tests that pushed them far beyond the call of their future duties, 
so often their computers simply overloaded from the strain.
 
After attempting to patch the CPU back manually, he came to the conclusion
that the unit simply had to be replaced.  Frugality was his nature, but 
he wasn't willing to rewire the whole damn thing for the sake of a 
miniscule bit of silicon and gold.
 
He typed in an order for a CPU on the comm console in the corner of the
room, and waited a few moments for the components to be replicated on the 
enmat unit.  While he waited, he mused over streamlining the design
further, or perhaps adding a bit more girth to the weapon while adding a 
higher calibre of power to it.
 
The chip popped into existance on the enmat pad.  As he went over to
investigate it, he noticed that the chip was not the newest model.  This 
annoyed him.  Obviously, the typical bureocratic restrictions had slowed 
the introduction of the chip design into the Science Sector's systems.  
(Testing, approval, bribes, et al.)
 
He sighed, and flicked the chip into a nearby rubbish disposal tube.  He'd
have to go to the Fringe to pick up a proper specimen to continue his 
testing with.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
"The Fringe?"
 
Joseph paused.  "Oh, yes.  I haven't ever talked to you about the Fringe
before, have I?"
 
Sandra shook her head in the negative.
 
"The Fringe," he stated, "was the general Ur'thaen black market that
existed on the very edge of Technopolis' domed wall.  It carried all of 
the contraband, illegal narcotics, weapons, and mercenary services that 
were occasionally required by our society to tie up the 'loose ends' 
that arose with...complex situations."
 
"I see.  Go on."
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
He skulked out of his lab, awoke his guards, and walked to the lift.  He
told it to descend to ground level, where the only access to the wall was. 
His guards calmly armed their weapons, toggled their cloaking devices, and
mentally prepared themselves to endure the Goddess-forsaken world that 
was Level 0.
 
Joseph allowed his guards to create a protective wall of influence around
him when the lift came to a halt.  They emerged first, and secured the 
area for safe travel.  Neither guard nor master wished to remain long 
down here.
 
Level 0 was the Grey level, the cursed place where the casteless were
forced to exist.  It was a dark and dreary place, stuffy from the lack of 
natural light and ventilation.  The surfaces there were streaked with filth
and mold, and anything that gave off any sort of heat was colonized by 
the various organisms that competed for food, mates, and shelter
there.  Shallow puddles of acid and wastewater burbled in every direction,
evaporating into the redolent stench that permeated every cubic inch of 
L0's area.
 
The slums and scraphouses that laid against the sides of the great towers
of Technopolis reminded Joseph of vines crawling up a tree, he thought 
idly to himself as his guards cleared a path to the scrap-sellers.  Always 
yearning to see the sun, but never quite penetrating through the canopy; 
eternally destined to lick at the crumbs and flickers the top lets dribble 
down to the ground.  The way it was, is, and should always be, the fox groused.
 
After a short journey through Hell, they arrived at the outer Fringe, where
the parts and old military scrap was sold.  The scientist knew this place 
well, having been forced to visit it many times before.  The various 
technological thieves, spies, and pirates waved or otherwise sent their 
salutations to him as he strode over to his usual connection's small structure.
 
The hut was about the size of concession stand.  It was constructed out of
the leftover plastic, steel, and the occasional piece of crystal that was 
often found laying in the scrap heaps that accumulated beneath the large 
tower-structures that existed under the domed city's limits.  It had a 
vaguely triangular shape, a small, hacked-out portal that served as a 
door, and had grafetti all over it in various languages.
 
Joseph approached the structure, banged on the side of the structure to
announce his presence, and walked inside of it.
 
The inside of the structure was almost as ugly as the outside, but at least
it was darker.  Disguarded crate pieces lined the walls as a sort of 
post-modernist wallpaper, with only a single lightglobe breaking the 
pattern at the tip of the structure's psudogable.  The floor was a 
concretish-dirt mixture, with the occasional black streak across it from 
weapon "misfires".  The sounds of water dripping into a bucket were 
also one of the more obvious sounds; besides the usual screams and phaser 
fire that were the soundtrack for the Fringe itself.  In the center of 
the area, tables were set in a square.  In the center of the square, a 
fox in a ratty chair sat, reading a illegal papryus pornographic magazine,
waiting for another customer to connive out of a few minicredits.
 
Joseph walked deeper into this area, looking about for what he wanted. 
There were the usual "impulse buys" of handphasers, plasma grenades, 
cortex bomb kits, and portable hoverunits; but this store mostly carried 
items for the scientific clientele; illegal programs, chips, deadly
computer viruses, keytraps, spy programs, and so on.  The fox that worked
here made a good living off of supplying these items, but by being a Grey, 
he had no chance of ever asending into any of Technopolis' towers of 
glass and steel.
 
Joseph looked around with a great deal of precision, trying to find what he
needed.  Finally, after being unsuccessful, he approached the owner of 
the hovel.
 
<< "Yo, Dhamien." >>
 
The fox smiled at his favorite customer.  << "Hey, Jhosesophae!  What's
new, fox?" >>
 
<< "Oh, not much.  How are the kits?" >>
 
<< "Just fine, hoopy one.  I'm teaching them how to read now.  A real pain,
    considerin' that all they ever want to do is run around and pick
    pockets." >>
 
Joseph laughed.  << "Kits!" >>
 
The fox grinned.  << "Ah, I'm sure they'll grow out of it
eventually...after someone catches 'em, that is.  But they've gotten pretty
good; I think they've been gettin' lessons off of whatshisname in 
Sector 8-D." >>
 
<< "Hey, it's a craft." >>
 
<< "Yeah, I guess so.  But I'd rather they take up something respectable,
    like murderin' or at least a higher form of theft.  They'll never 
    support a family on pickpocketin'." >>
 
Joseph smiled, and shrugged.  << "Well, there's always the family
business." >>
 
<< "Yeah...I think my eldest will choose to go into my line of work.  It
    makes decent money.  But my other two seem to be into more in-your-face
    sort of jobs.  Ah well.  They'll learn after the first Red gets pissed 
    at 'em and blows off their ears." >>
 
Joseph tsked.  << "What a way to learn." >>
 
<< "Experience is a cruel teacher, but it gets the point across." >>
 
Joseph took a breath.  << "Well, to get down to official business, d'you
carry GTA-34b4.3 CPU chips?" >>
 
Dhamien growled unpleasantly.  << "No, but I sure as fox wish I did." >>
 
<< "What happened, D?" >>
 
He snarled, and spat into a nearby bucket.  << "Ah, some tu'lath down in
Sector 5 cornered the black market on those damned things last minicycle.  
The bitch lockedout every other sector from the bloody things, so nobody 
but her has any." >>
 
<< "That certainly isn't fair." >>
 
Dhamien started to get irritated.  << "Damn straight it's not!  It's a plot
by the friggin' Reds to try to take over the Fringe!  Everyone knows that 
she's one of their little simps.  Makes me foxing SICK!" >>
 
Joseph shook his head.  << "That really blows, friend." >>
 
<< "It blows harder than a yiffy Green in a Violet's party." >>
 
Joseph nodded in agreement.  << "Well, Dhamien, I really need to get one of
those chips.  I'm sorry I couldn't give you any of my business." >>
 
Dhamien regained his usual demeanor.  << "It's okay, kid.  You do what you
have to.  Just be sure to always come here first, and ol' D won't hold it 
again' ya." >> 

Joseph waved.  << "I will.  You've got my father's honor on that!" >>  
With that, he signaled for the guards to leave, and then followed them out 
into the inky blackness of the Fringe.
 
As they started walking toward Sector 5's technosector, Joseph began to
notice newer faces in the swirling mass of foxality that he usually
encountered on his trips into the Fringe's darker levels.  Perhaps more 
refugees from Necron?  He mused over that issue as the trip gradually came 
to an end outside the main technomarket of Sector 5, where two armed Greys 
stood, guarding the area from thieves.
 
Joseph waved his guards back outside the structure, and entered it alone. 
After all, there was an unwritten rule about bothering anyone while they 
were inside a shop; sort of a sanctuary was declared while one was buying 
things, which forced most of the fiendish activities that would occur 
while in the Fringe to happen immediately outside most stores.
 
But Joseph doubted that this store had much of a problem with that.  Armed
Greys surrounded most tables, all the exits, and 3 were protecting the 
shopkeeper herself.  This was obviously one of the higher-security areas, 
where the really illegal stuff was kept.
 
Joseph approached the shopkeeper cautiously, trying not to make any sudden
moves.  With a great deal of politeness in his tone, he asked, << "Do you
carry GTA-34b4.3 CPU chips?" >>
 
Everyone in the store stared at him for a minute, and then went back to
what they were doing before.  
 
The shopkeeper looked back at him silently, smirked, and led him into a
backroom.  She took a shiny box off a shelf, opened it, and showed the
chip to him.  << "500,000 megacreds." >>
 
Joseph took out a credstick, as the shopkeeper took out hers.  He punched
in the appropriate amount, hit <transmit>, and transferred the appropriate 
funds to the female.  She put her stick away, closed the box, wrapped it 
in brownish industrial paper, and tied it shut.  Handing the box to him, 
she quietly led him out of the store, only saying << "Have a nice cycle." >> 
to him before leaving.
 
As Joseph walked out into the lit sphere of light that surrounded the
store, he noticed his guards were mysteriously absent.  He snapped his 
fingers for them, and shouted their names.  Nothing.  Only the sounds 
of distant plasma cannon discharges and dripping water met his ears in 
return; not even his own voice echoed back.
 
This bothered Joseph considerably.  If someone had killed his guards; well,
it'd be a real grey to explain how the hell they got out to Sector 5 
when they were supposed to be guarding him...who was supposed to be on 
Level 50-A in the central tower!  That, and it was expensive as all hell 
to get well-trained, efficient guards working for you after one has lost 
a few.  
 
And, of course, he was an expensive hostage in one of the most crime-ridden
sectors in the Fringe, carrying a package worth 500,000 megacreds.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
"Sounds like you got yourself into a bit of trouble, Joe."
 
"Well...you'll see in a minute."
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
Joseph signalled for his guards again, but to no avail.  He thought about
using his comm-device to call for a pickup, but that would be like sending 
up a signal flare to all the spies that watched over the millions of 
transmissions that went in and out of Technopolis, who would report his
whereabouts to his superiors.  Teleporting out was a big no-no.  At this
level of Technopolis, a scrambling field was active to keep terrorists 
from teleporting inside the domed city and destroying it.  Troop 
transports never came out this far into the Fringe unless they were
putting down a riot, and even then they'd probably report him out of spite.
  
His only available choice, he mused, was to walk back to the first tower he
saw, and ride above the scrambling field.
 
He examined his tactical potential.  He lacked any sort of body armor, for
starters.  One good shot from a phaser, and he'd be history.  He had no 
other useful cybernetics besides his datajack in his left arm.  That meant 
he'd have to take the lighted routes out of the Fringe to remain safe, 
which often were the most meandering ones.  He was packing one of his 
experimental plasma cannons, but it was only at half-power.  If necessary, 
he could blast his way out, but that would be almost as bad as sending a 
hail out through his comm-device.  His most useful ability in this
situation would be his hand-to-hand combat skills, but if he was ever 
surrounded--
 
<< "Hey there, lads.  Look what we've got here." >>
 
Joseph didn't even bother to speak.  Instantly, he spun about to face his
attackers, ready to fight to the death.  
 
There were 3 of the Greys, all obviously doped up on high-powered agression
drugs.  They were about his size, but a bit more bulky due to the steroid 
effect of the chemical.  One had a club of some sort, another had a 
phaser, and the lead one was armed only with long, metallic claws.
 
The one with the club rushed at him first, attempting to bash his muzzle
in.  Joseph, anticipating the attack, punched him in the face as his 
assailant rushed into his fist, knocking the stupid fox out cold.  The 
bat flipped out of his hands, allowing Joseph to acquire it.  However, he 
had to drop his package to do so.  Before anyone could act, he kicked the 
package into the lit doorway, effectively putting it out-of-bounds. 

After that (allowing little time for Joseph to regain his concentration)
the one with the phaser started to blast at him.  Joseph dodged the 
first volley by diving behind a few piles of garbage.  But this didn't 
last long enough for him to plan an attack...the phaser blasts wore down the
piles low enough to force him to change position on the playing field.  The
shots from the phaser grazed his back as he tried to rush away from them, 
occasionally setting his back temporarily ablaze.  In anger, Joseph rolled 
into a somersault, (losing his cannon from the compression of his form, and
causing it to roll against the side of a pile of disguarded food canisters)
jumped in the air, and threw  the bat as hard as he could at his assailant.
The bat met its mark; it cracked open the skull of the phaser-wielding fox,
killing him instantly. 

Joseph landed upon the ground, exhausted and wounded.  He quickly tried to
regain his former fighting posture, but was out of breath from running.  
This gave his final assailant, the leader, an opportunity to strike.  
Seeing his compatriots taken out of commission, the final fox attacked 
Joseph, bum-rushing him into a wall.  This knocked the wind out of 
Joseph, and left him vulnerable to the attacks of the fox's sharp, steel
claws... 

But Joseph was not so easily beaten.  Gaining a second wind, he quickly
rolled off the side of the wall, allowing the attack of the fox to strike 
against the hard wall.  The resounding ringing of his claws caused him 
great discomfort, and drove him to rush at Joseph again; steel claws 
extended in anticipation of slashing against the scientist's jugular.  
But Joseph was prepared this time, and began to backflip out of harm's way.  
 
This worked for a bit, and wore down the steel clawed fox's endurance.  But
the drug kicked in harder, and gave his slashing claws the extra reach to 
tatter the bottom of Joseph's trenchcoat.  Anticipating the eventual 
success of the fox's arttack, Joseph converted his movement into a 
cartwheel...spinning behind the weakening fox, he planted a kick into the
grey's back, knocking him on his face and into a nearby pile of garbage.
 
Joseph again flipped, but this time backwards into a crouch.  His took his
plasma cannon from the ground, armed it, and leveled it at the subdued 
steel-clawed simpleton--but was suddenly knocked off balance from the 
impact of a bat on his back.  Reeling from the blow, he stumbled onto the 
ground, limbs akimbo.  The phaser-wielding fox stood above him, bat
in hand, and pulled his arm back into a deathstrike.
 
^L
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
Sandra clung involuntarily closer to Joseph, shivering slightly.
 
"It's alright, darling," Joseph said quietly, holding his frightened mate
closer, "I'm still here."
 
"But what happened to you sounds so awful..."
 
"Let me finish, honey."
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
The fox held the bat above his head, looking for the best possible spot to
slam the bat's blunt surface into.  The head, the chest, or the groin?  
Which would be most mentally satisfying, the psychotic thought gleefully...
 
A noise behind the fox caused him to turn around, distracting him from his
original task.  He scanned into the darkness, only seeing the unconcerned 
guards standing outside the lit doorway, piles of rotting garbage, and 
the bodies of his fallen compatriots.  Assuming that whatever made the 
noise had gone away, he turned back around.
 
His target had somehow gotten away.  That disturbed the chemically
off-kilter fox, and his wild glances around to spot him failed in its 
intent to seek him out.  He slammed the bat into the ground in a rage, 
and spun about a few times.  He needed to kill that fox!  Needed to!!  
He didn't know why, and didn't care.  The chemical ruled the Grey's mind,
and gave little attention to such minor details as reason or logic. 
Turning his back to his fallen leader, he looked toward the lit opening--
 
With no warning whatsoever, a loud, wet crack resounded through the area as
Joseph's fist slammed into the fox's spinal column, instantly killing him.
 
As the fox fell lifelessly to the ground, Joseph picked his plasma cannon
off the ground for the second time, dusted it off, and blasted the 
silver-clawed fox right in the back, just to be sure he didn't try to 
pursue him in the future.  The discharge of the cannon lit the area with
an eerie light, and seemed to quiet the entire area down.  Even the sounds
of far-off cannon fire seemed to grow softer in the aftermath of the battle.
 
Then, a voice broke the silence.  A female voice.
 
<< "You fight well, for a Orange." >>
 
Joseph turned around, cannon armed.  << "Who goes there?" >>
 
A figure stepped out of a inky pool of shadow.  << "Just an observer," >>
the voice said, << "I was in the neighborhood, and thought I'd see what 
the AggroHeads were up to." >>
 
The new fox, a Red female, looked about at the remains of Joseph's
attackers.  << "Looks like they picked the wrong fox to yiff around 
with." >>  she noted, and picked the slightly-dented box up from the 
ground.  << "Catch." >>  She tossed the box gently to the fox,
who caught it easily.  << "Hope your stuff isn't too foxed up." >>  
 
Joseph strained his eyes to try to get a look at the female.  
<< "Thanks," >> said he, eyes straining for a look.  << "Who are you?" >>
 
<< "Dhiana D'xaeae'xaeon-sol,  45645674th Squadron, Ur'thaen Space Navy. 
Yourself?" >>
 
<< "Jhosesophae dae--">> He paused, realizing now was not a good time to
state his full title.  << "Just Jhosesophae, thank you." >>
 
<< "Your mother must have had a hell of a time getting that name for 
you." >> 

<< "You could say that." >>
 
<< "I did." >>
 
A pause.
 
<< "Have you seen some large Reds about here?  My guards have gone
missing." >>
 
<< "I have," >> Dhiana noted, running her finger over her neck slowly.  
<< "Better put an ad out for some new ones." >>
 
Joseph groaned.  << "Great." >>
 
<< "They looked like good security people," >> she stated, << "just that
it's a pain to fight those psychotic AggroHeads unless you can 
outsmart them." >>  
 
She smiled in the darkness.  << "And you certainly did.  You must have
experience with the 'arts." >> 
 
<< "Some." >>
 
A pause.
 
<< "Well, need a lift to a tower?  I'm heading that way to get 
my orders." >> 

<< "I'd like that." >>
 
She stepped out of the shadows, and gave Joseph an opportunity to look her
over.  She was clad in the usual uniform of the USN: a black jumpsuit with 
several pockets, the Ur'thaen symbol embroidered over the chest; a standard
issue plasma cannon; a standard issue pair of diamondium-titanium knuckles;
thick black jackboots, shineless; and a pair of black wraparound sunglasses.
She was an abnormal specimen of a female, inasmuch as she was especially 
curved in all the right spots, her fur wasn't the usual bristling mess that
most Reds were cursed with, and her tail seemed much longer than regulation.
 
Instinctively, Joseph tried to withhold his attraction to the Red female. 
It was improper to desire a member of a lower caste, no matter how sexy 
one might be.  (A similar process was running through her head, keeping 
her from giving off improper body language toward a member of a superior 
caste.)  
 
Joseph coughed quietly, took a silent breath, and smiled.  << "I'd like
that a lot." >>
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
Sandra rose a brow.  "Honestly...you just met, for Goddess' sake, and
you're already fumbling with sexual restraint.  Is this normal behavior 
for your people's males?" 

Joseph blushed.  "Well, try to see it from my side.  I had been trained
from birth to choose for a date only one who would make a genetically 
superior mate."  With a great amount of psychological effort, he forced 
himself to crack a joke.  "And man, did she ever look like a canidate for 
PlayFox of the Year.  Yow."  Then, for reasons known only to him, his 
teeth locked together.  She had looks that could kill, he thought, but 
she wasn't any angel.
 
Sandra grimaced.
 
Joseph went back to smiling, and held Sandra close.  "You're more
attractive, tho."
 
Sandra held back her smile, and decided to really make Joseph work to
regain her favor.  "Hmph!"
 
Joseph's face took on a concerned expression.  "I mean it."
 
Sandra started the silent treatment, internally laughing her tail off.
 
"C'mon, would I lie?"
 
Silence.
 
Joseph kissed her ears.  "Hey."
 
Sandra allowed the seed of a smirk to creep its way across her muzzle, but
still remained quiet.
 
"You are the most beautiful creature in the entire universe."
 
Sandra broke her silence.  "Creature?!" she yelped, faux-irritatedly.
 
"Merely calling you the most beautiful fox would be an insult to one of
such universal and cosmic beauty," he stated, "because yours is a 
beauty that transcends species."
 
Sandra blushed beneath her fur, but kept the ruse going.  "I bet you say
that to all the vixens."
 
He stroked along her backfur, smiling softly at Sandra's tenacity.  "My
standards are too high for all vixens.  I would only say that to a vixen 
of your calibre."
 
Sandra allowed a smile to weave its way across her face.  "There are others
as good as me?"
 
"No."
 
She kissed him on the nose.  "Good answer."
 
They laughed softly at their verbal gymnastics.
 
Joseph smiled only externally.  "Well, do you want to hear more about it?"
 
"Yes...this is interesting."
 
"Alright.  For the sake of time, I'll abridge the 6 months in which we got
to know each other, learned about each other's familes, and dated in 
secret.  I will simply cut to the end of the relationship, which occurred 
when--"
 
<< "Joseph, activity in Knothole." >>
 
Joseph stopped talking.  "I'll tell you about that later.  Right now, there
is something going on in the village...it would be advisable that we view it."
 
Sandra shrugged, and got up.  "Alright.  To the control room, then?"
 
Joseph smiled.  "Of course."
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
Dusk was beginning to fall outside, which gave a strange tint to the
Princess' eyes; as if the setting sun was merely a reflection of her big, 
sparkling blue ones.  The time had come to do the final preparations for 
the night's mission, one which she anticipated casualties from in 
unpleasant number.  The last few times they had trod into Robotropolis
had been blessed with a precious few damaged people, and yet no deaths. 

Yet. 

Sally knew Packbell was studying their attack patterns, and gradually
adjusting the SWATBot details to compensate.  Every mission had led them 
closer into the web the Commander set up to catch them...and the flies 
were tredding on the center.
 
Eventually, it would become far too risky to attempt any further rescue
missions without either more people or bigger guns; both, she hoped, could 
eventually be provided by the Keld'yrians or Joseph.  She knew Joseph 
could help...the only thing was that he had been acting...strangely?  No, 
trying to define Joseph's actions as "strange" would be as ridiculous
as trying to define Antoine's Mobian as "improving".  But he certainly had
adjusted his attitude somewhat...like he knew something the other's 
didn't.  Something bad.
 
Sally chose to let her mind slip away from that topic, seeing that she had
little evidence that anything "bad" was going to happen...aside from 
Packbell probably decimating them, of course.  Perhaps his concern for 
their welfare was what ate at him.  Or, perhaps not.  She had no real
way to tell, after all.  The only people with any insight to how Joseph's
mind worked were a Keldy'rian simply named "Doc", Tails' brother David, 
and Sandra Nightweaver... 

Her train of thought was derailed by Sonic's arrival.  He was in his usual
let's-go-kick-someSWATBot-tail mood, which bode well for the mission that
laid before them.  It would require their full devotion to the task at 
hand to be able to come out of this mission with light casualties.
 
"Hello, Sonic."
 
"Yo, Sal!  We ready to go?"
 
"Not yet.  The others are still preparing.  Have you got your power ring
yet?" 

He took it out of his packback and twirled it playfully.  "Yup."
 
Sally allowed herself a smile.  "Good.  You know your part, right?"
 
"Yeah.  Go to the 5th refinary, bust in through a wall, and trash the
place." 

"Good."
 
Bunnie and Rotor walked out of a hut, carrying neural reactivator cannons. 
"Ready to go, Sally?" asked Bunnie.
 
"Just waiting for Dulcy now."
 
"Ah," Rotor said, and checked his cannon.
 
Dulcy glided down from the skies above, and made a better landing than
usual.  "All set."
 
Sally nodded, hopped on Dulcy, and beckoned for the others to follow.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
Joseph scanned through the monitors, observing Dulcy's departure from the
Great Forest.  "Well, looks like I've missed out on another mission."
 
"They probably aren't doing anything vital, anyway."
 
"Perhaps," Joseph said, "but they're packing neural reactivator cannons. 
That means it's a rescue mission...there will be casualties."
 
"Why do you say that?"
 
"Because Packbell is learning."
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
The android sat in his chair, scanning through the slowly-healing wreckage
of Robotropolis.  He knew that the Freedom Fighters were coming...he just 
didn't know when, or where.  But he *suspected* that they were going to 
go after his cache of slave labor which he had placed in the center of 
the city, repairing the city's computer systems from the inside out.
Recent attacks had corrupted certain sectors of it, so it was necessary to
dedicate labor to the tedious realignment of the optical memory centers.
 
The SWATBots were in place.  Cameras were activated and focused.  The tapes
were recording.  His bait in position, the line lax enough to feign aloof 
(if any) protection, and his forces ready to strike...   
 
The hedgehog blasted into his 5th refinary, while the small clique of
veteran FFs began to return the free will of his slaves.  The SWATBots
crashed down from above, lazers blazing.  The FFs feinted
back, moved some of the now-sentinent slaves behind them, and prepared to
fight. 

The dance began again.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
Joseph observed through the multiple eyes of Packbell the attacks of the
Freedom Fighters, the counters of the SWATBots, and their eventual retreat 
to the outskirts of the city.  They fought well, the foxes noted, but they 
were outclassed and outgunned by the wily Packbell for the moment.  They 
got about 30 more people out of Robotropolis, thanks to the ultimate 
sacrifice of about 8 roboticized citizens and the various minor to major 
hits taken by the lead FFs.  Overall, a "successful" campaign.
 
They returned to Knothole in tolorable condition.  Dulcy had a wing mended,
Bunnie had gotten clipped in the leg, Rotor took a nasty knock to the head,
and Sonic had beaten up his right hand awfully badly.  Luckily, medical 
care was effective and quick, and everyone got put back to a state of 
relative normalcy in about 3 hours.
 
Joseph and Sandra stayed below ground, and out of the minds of the
returning FFs.  They had seen all that they had wanted to of war for now, 
and much preferred each other's company over the eternal duel for Mobius.
 
"So," Sandra inquired, "are you going to finish that story now?"
 
"Eh?"
 
"About you and Diana.  What happened?"
 
"Ah.  That.  Well, I'll skip over the 6 minicycles of courting, dating, et
al.  I'm sure that doesn't matter to you, right?"  Allowing no time to her 
to reply, he continued, frost forming on his voice.  "About 6 minicycles 
after we'd met, I'd finally gotten up enough courage to introduce her to 
my father.  I knew he certainly wouldn't approve of me dating a Red, but 
I felt that I should tell him, anyway...my conscience at the time simply 
couldn't take the constant lying any longer..." 

Joseph stopped for a moment.
 
"If this is too painful, love..."
 
"No, I need to let this out."
 
"Alright."
 
"So, I chose a time that we could all meet...psudo-accidentally, as it
were.  I picked a small diner I liked on L34 in Tower 7S...a nice, quiet 
restaurant...a place where you'd never expect for the fabric of your life 
to unravel."
 
A pause.  "So I had her sit at a nearby booth while my father and I would
sit at a table near the center of the restaurant.  After we had talked 
for a bit, and I'd gotten him properly relaxed, I would signal for her to 
walk over, and introduce herself."
 
Sandra smiled.  "Cute."
 
Joseph's voice took on the temperature qualities of a meat locker.  
"Yeah, sure."
 
"Anyway," continued he, "my father and I had talked for a brief time, and I
signalled her as planned.  She took a seat, introductions were exchanged, 
and all seemed to go well.  My father was more receptive than anticipated 
to our being together, and gave a sort of lukewarm approval of it."
 
"Sounds like it went well."
 
^L
 
Joseph's voice took on the properties of ice.  "That's when she chose to
pull out a plasma cannon--the one I had designed for her personally--and
attempted to exterminate him."
 
^L
 
Sandra's expression simply locked into sheer mortification.
 
He continued unabated.  "My reflexes were the better of my mind's dismay,
however, and I was able to take the shot for my father.  She tried to run
out of the restaurant, but she looked back to see if I was dead..."
 
Glaciers moved from Joseph's lips.  "That's when I pulled out my own
cannon, and blew that bitch's head clean off."
 
An aeons-long silence.
 
"Later," he snarled with a coldness often found in tax collection agencies
in extreme Northern areas on Mobius, "after they finished picking her 
teeth out of the wall, I discovered that she was a member of a Eastern 
terrorist group who had been plotting to kill my father for years.  They 
had arranged the monopoly of the chip, the attack of the Greys, our 
entire *relationship*, and the assassination attempt."
 
"I had been played like a S'llth mandolin.  The only reason it didn't
succeed was because I had jumped in front of him, and I was clad in my
light armor that night."
 
Joseph turned away.  "I wish not to speak of this again."
 
She put her head on his shoulder.  "Joseph..."
 
"It is a long time finished.  There is no need to mourn for the blackened
part of my heart now..."  He paused, forcing a reassuring smile.  "You are 
the only occupant of it now, anyway."
 
She held him close, silently allowing the pain to fade again.  Nothing was
said between them for the rest of the night; they simply remained 
together...sitting inside the darkened control room, they let the glowing 
light from Robotropolis' fires light them as they drifted off to a 
dreamless sleep.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
The ship flew invisibly above the surface of the planet, quietly looking it
over for any significant damages to its precious natural resources.
 
The leader of the vessel sat quietly in his quarters, pondering over what
had conspired so far on his mission.  A supposedly conquered planet had 
suddenly had an uprising which had nearly decimated the seat of power of 
the conqueror, and had allegedly killed him...several small coups raged 
in the ruined city, and now a simplistic artifical lifeform named "Packbell"
operated it.  It would be no great problem to fool this....tinkertoy....
into doing their bidding.  One rickety ship with some automated fighters 
would probably suffice as a bribe for ownership of the (to him, the fool) 
relatively useless planet.
 
After the AI had left, they would have him killed somewhere out of the
juristiction of the busybodies that protected Mobius in interplanetary
affairs, and keep him from cutting in on their particular
action; as was their usual custom toward their "sellers".  Then, whatever
pathetic rebellion that had opposed the idiotic machine would be quickly 
crushed by flooding the entire world by melting its polar icecaps; also 
freeing the remainder of the valuable water the world was blessed with 
to boot.  He allowed himself a powerful laugh.  This would be so easy.
 
It would just take time.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
The next morning, the black vixen groggily awoke in the control room with
the activation of the several subcycles that heralded morning inside the 
Dome.  She pulled herself from Joseph's lap, dusted herself off, and 
headed over to the shower area outside the small, dark room.
 
She entered the bathroom, hit the light toggle, and headed over to the
stall.  A forcefield wrapped around the opening to the shower, serving as 
an efficient curtain for the small area.  She activated the shower itself 
by muttering one of the few Ur'thaen words she had picked up from Joseph 
to operate some of the lesser systems.  After a moment, the warm, 
familiar stream of water rushed over her fur, returning her mental
faculties to their usual sharpness.
 
As she began to lather herself up, her mind wandered back to the events of
the previous evening.  Her glance into Joseph's past had been something 
she rather would have not seen.  Despite his relative facade about his 
happiness on his homeworld all those centuries ago, to her it
appeared to be only a more subtle version of what Rotoropolis was now;
ruthless leaders lorded over their docile slaves--which could go from 
sheep to lions at a moments notice for their "Head Vixen".  A cold, 
unhappy, miserable world, that died the way it lived.  She shuddered 
involentarily, and turned up the heat of the water to compensate for her
psychological chill.
 
She skipped back in the evening to the period when they were watching Sonic
and the others battling SWATBots and rescuing people in Robotropolis.  
While it certainly wasn't a fun thing to observe (Joseph made the 
occasional mild crack about pay-per-view showings of their missions in 
some corner of the galaxy just to muddle about with her head, she 
smirkingly noted, but a few soft whaps to the nose had stopped him from
raving further.), it seemed a great deal sunnier than Joseph's story.  At 
least Packbell's rule is transparently evil; Joseph didn't realize how bad 
off he really was.  But that was unimportant as she and her lover watched 
the events unfold from the night before...when she watched the mission from
the control room, it began to seem to her as if she was watching some sort 
of fanciful fictional video transmission.  The war and Mobius were 
beginning to seem more...unreal to her, as if the complex and Joseph were 
the only things real to her anymore.
 
She scrubbed her fur more vigorously.  Was Mobius, her home, the place her
and all of her ancestors were born, beginning to lack any hold over her? 
Was this war between Sonic and Packbell her fight any more?
 
Sandra mulled this over in her mind.  Well, it was partially Joseph's
war...but in a sort of noncombatant way.  Sure, he'd blown up some SWATBots
in his time, but almost everyone had in Knothole.  He was no uberwarrior 
fox with a big ol' gun to back up his ego; he was a gentle scientist who'd 
been dragged into this conflict by a muddied honor and the noble
vulpine morals to do what was right with the powers he had available.  He
fought only to further the deroboticizer or to bail out a friend.  
Offensive strikes, while he was fully capable of pulling off a successful 
one, was not his forte'.  But Joseph planned to try to meld invisibly into 
Mobian society after the war ended, from his various inferences and commentary
about the ridiculousness of politics.  He could afford to live quietly
after it was all over; who would dare hound the inventor of the 
deroboticizer, a device that would probably single-handedly defeat 
Packbell's scheme for world domination?  That, and the fact legends were 
beginning to circulate about the area of forest the Dome was located in...
weird noises, bad feelings, evil karma.  She chuckled mentally.  All the 
products of strategically placed transmitters with warped SFX programming.
 
But the war was not truely his.  He stayed out of Knothole most of the
time.  Bahb sometimes had to remind Joseph what season it was after he'd 
worked on the deroboticizer for a few consecutive weeks with varying amount
of sleep and her...personal brand of female companionship breaking up his 
work periods into tolorable chunks.  He didn't give a damn about the 
restoration of the monarchy or the original government of Mobius aside 
from the two factors that got him and Doc (one of his Keld'yrian friends) 
thinking about reversing the effects of "dimentional displacement"; the 
fact that Sally, someone who he respected greatly and cared for as a 
close friend, would like to see her father (a concern which he could
completely identify with), and the sheer joy of "pure science".  After he'd
done his bit for this world, as she remembered from before, he just wanted 
people to let him be.  Being a celebrity was something he wasn't prepared 
for, or even wanted.
 
This was one of Joseph's few shortcomings, she thought: his eternal shyness
when it came to any group larger than 4 or 5 people he didn't know.  He 
could talk face to face with Sally, herself, Sonic, Rotor, Doc, practically
anyone at all...but stick him in a room with a audience and tell him to 
read something, he'd freak out.  It was comical sometimes to see him talk to
a group of people 3 feet shorter and 100 pounds lighter than he, and have
him hold back looking as nervous as a debtor being audited.  Her 
recollection of a recent episode of this behavior forced a quite wicked 
smirk across her face as she began to cease shampooing.
 
She started to rinse herself off.  Perhaps this is what love really is, she
thought to herself...love was caring enough about someone else that nothing
else mattered; weirdness, heritage, homeworld, race...all other things 
became irrevelant.  There was little else really wrong with Joseph's 
personality.  He was humble, despite his great technological, mental, and 
physical prowess; he had a sense of humor (albeit a dark one); he was 
friendly and affable with kits after a fashion; he actually knew how to 
dress himself, unlike other foxes she'd known who'd worn less elaborate
outfits than he; he'd have little problem providing anything for anyone...
and, naturally, Joseph could protect her against Packbell.  

It would take a higher power than that "mere rainy-day creation" to ever 
breach the defenses of the Dome, by her observations of it...and he'd 
fight to the death to keep anything from ever harming her...ever.  She 
knew that much; Joseph would blow up the entire complex, decimate the 
entire planet, and tacnuke it from orbit to keep one ounce of pain from 
ever brushing against her.  Losing her, she thought, mildly awed, would 
be something that would probably break his mind, as well as his heart.  
That, and he'd probably annhilate most of the planet and a few ones 
around it, if left to his own devices.
 
She kept rinsing herself off, luxurating in the warm flow of liquid.  Yes,
he was a good and honorable fox, who'd been used and beaten around by life 
throughout his 300 plus years of existance.  She was probably the first 
person he'd trusted in some time, the irony of which was not lost on her.  
The amount of power she could wield over him (and this world) was nothing 
short of frightening.  Yet, for some reason...she *couldn't* use him.  She 
had tried to force herself back into her usual sly criminal mentality, but 
it just didn't work for her any longer.  She wanted for nothing, was kept 
warm and safe by a gentle, handsome, wonderful fox, and had the knowledge 
of the universe at her fingertips.  Her mind told her the same thing her 
heart did: Don't screw this up.
 
She finished rinsing, lowered the field, and stepped onto the dryer pad. 
As the air rushed through her fur, she again pondered her feelings for 
Joseph.  Was she just a parasite, feeding off of his technology and love...
or was it more?  Did she really, truly, love him back? 

She finished drying herself, stepped off the pad, and groomed herself back
to a state of relative normalcy.  She smiled as she combed down her headfur.  
She'd never thought she'd be having this conversation with herself.  She 
laughed softly.  Hell, she'd never thought she was going to live past the 
first few months of this insane war.  But she'd survived...with help, but 
she'd survived.
 
She looked into the mirror, searched her soul for an answer, but received
only nebulous half-replies bouncing off her pupils.  Perhaps later she'd 
know.  It would just take time.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
Back in Robotropolis:
 
The morning broke over Robotropolis, at least allegedly.  The sun's rays,
however, rarely breached the black, stinking, choking plumes of engine 
discharge and oil fumes that surrounded Mobius' City of Eternal Darkness, 
and only in a fleeting way when they did.  
 
But sunshine and blue sky were not one of the high priorities of Packbell,
who actually preferred the ugly brown-black haze surrounding the city over 
the natural, chaotic, and "messy" forests and jungles that otherwise 
populated Mobius.  It was not logical to allow such valuable resources
to go untapped in his mind, and if it wasn't such a bargaining chip in the
sale of this world...
 
But he still had some personal goals to accomplish before he closed up shop
and left this nasty place for someplace more technologically oriented.  
One was the total annhilation of Knothole.  That place was constantly on 
his mind...he wanted to CRUSH that place beneath his heel, and lay waste 
to the place out of sheer spite.  Another was the capture, torture, and 
ultimate termination of the ringleaders: Sonic, Sally, Tails--the kit they 
had seemingly adopted, the rabbit Bunnie, the walrus called Rotor...and, 
a person he especially wanted to destroy, Sandra Nightweaver.  Packbell 
refused to allow any meat-thing to outwit and outmanuver him...especially 
not some mere *fox*.
 
His final goal, he evilly pondered, was the capture of one of the planet's
more useful resources (and one that he doubted the Buyers knew of), 
the Chaos Emeralds.
 
He grinned with a psychotic glee as he overlooked the repairs to the
complex.  Those emeralds would catch a fine price somewhere in the 
universe...at least enough to buy a small planetoid somewhere, and set 
up a mining operation.  And naturally enough to keep him in diodes and
spare parts for a good millenium or two.
 
And he would have them.  He would not sell this world before he had gotten
all he had needed out of it.  He had infinity to work with, after all...
 
It would just take time.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
 
She stepped out into the bedroom, where she passed Joseph walking in.  He
simply reguarded her with a grunt, patted her between the ears, and 
headed into the bedroom.  She smirked at his behavior, and flopped down 
on the comfortable bed for a moment.  Joseph was not a morning person.  
She learned that rather rapidly after her first few days living in the 
Dome, sometime after he set down the "house rules".
 
Joseph really had only three major house rules.  Don't mess with his lab,
don't take anything without telling him or Bahb first, and absolutely no
visitors below level 1.  It was just common sense, of course, but Joseph 
made sure he left little room for error in everything he did.  It
wasn't meant as a knock against her, but more as a way of clarifying for
himself what the rules were.
 
Sandra paid it little heed.  His lab was far beyond her comprehension,
despite his attempts to explain the various devices it had in it; she 
had little need to take anything outside at the moment; and she didn't 
have many friends Joseph didn't let in, anyway.  The rules, as she noted
earlier, was just Joseph stating the obvious for his own benefit.
 
She got off the bed, and primped herself in the mirror for a moment. 
Behind her, she heard the sounds of Joseph "knocking the dust" off of 
himself, which were rapidly coming to an end.  She wondered what they 
would do today.  Perhaps they'd stop by Knothole to wring information
out of Sonic as to the success of the mission.  Or, maybe Joe'd go off to
Haven and hang around with Doc for a couple hours.  Of course, there was 
the ever-popular option of staying home and--
 
Home.  Sandra was beginning to think of this place as "home".  She smiled. 
It was a nice place, alright...but even if they just lived in a cave, it 
seemed to her that any place that Joseph was could be "home" now.  It was 
almost...no, it *was* impossible for her to imagine living anywhere without
him.  She'd just become used to his quiet snoring, the faint (thanks
to the clean room's delousing function outside his lab) smell of well-made
cigar smoke that occasionally was detectable when she brushed against his 
coat, the slow, deliberate steps he took when he walked across a room...
the perfect thump-thumping of his heartbeat when he slept...all of it was 
so familiar to her, Sandra could not imagine living without it.
 
Anyway, they could just stay home today and view video transmissions from
the far-reaches of the universe.  They'd done that a few times lately, 
and she was always fascinated by different species and what they liked to 
watch.  It became especially enjoyable after Joseph had installed a 
translator chip in her ear, so she could understand all the different 
languages (and even speak them, if she wanted) that she heard after a 
few moments of spoken dialogue.  She definitely thought that network 
executives from the now-defunct MBN should watch some of this stuff one 
day, if they were still alive.  For example, Gh'blarr hyperpolo was one
of the most fun spectator sports she'd ever seen.  It was like a cross of
yachting, dodgeball, light piracy, and a senior trip rolled into one 
chaotic, highly entertaining sport with no real rules.  That, and some 
strange Terran program called "Mystery Science Theater 3000"...
 
Joseph finally emerged from the bathroom in a presentable form.  He smiled,
bounded over to her, and hugged her firmly hello in the usual manner.  
"Hi, Sandra," said he, disengaging from the hug and walking over to the 
replicator to fetch breakfast.  "Sleep well?" 

"In a manner of speaking.  Still a little tired...probably should have
slept in later."
 
Joseph grinned, pulled some food-laden plates and a glass or two out the
replicator, and put them down on a table.  "Well," he said, "you can sleep 
through the day now.  I'm not going to have anything to do for a good 
while...not until all the first versions of the deroboticizer have been 
compiled in about a month, anyway.  Then, I'm just going to start repping 
off portable units, loading them with the right software, and letting Sally
handle the whole mess from there.  For the time being, however, I can 
finally relax, and work on other things."
 
Sandra slinked over to the table, and allowed Joseph to pull a seat out for
her.  Thanking him appropriately, she slid into place and waited for him 
to sit.  "That's good to hear.  You've been looking pretty ragged lately.  
You need a vacation."
 
Joseph sat down, and slugged back a shot of orange juice before speaking. 
"Yeah...I'mgoing to delegate the acquisition of the King back to Doc for a
while.  I'm feeling rather burnt out...yes, it is time for a week off, 
alright.  Maybe two."
 
"Why not a month?  Joseph, you've worked non-stop on this deroboticizer
almost since you arrived here nearly two years ago.  I've never seen anyone
work like you do on it...you're defoxifying yourself for the sake of the 
deroboticizer.  We've *got* time.  Take it easy for a bit."
 
He smiled, conceding to her with a half-mouthful of scrambled eggs.  After
chewing the appropriate number of times, he swollowed it and followed it up
with an OJ chaser.  "Okay, okay," the hapless Joseph replied, "I'll chill 
out for a while." 

Sandra smiled, and attacked her toast for a moment before replying. 
"That's good to hear."
 
Joseph sat back, beaming mischiveously at his mate while consuming some
tomato-pasted "home fries".  "I'm glad you approve!"
 
Sandra smirked.  "What, am I turning into an old nag already?  That's not
supposed to happen until after you've met my parents, I've met yours, 
we've dated for a year, I get a ring out of you, we endure some ceremony 
put together by our family and friends, and some guy down in a records 
building officially recognizes us as mated." 

She paused for a moment, and laughed.  "Of course, you know my feelings 
on `law and order' pretty well by now, don't you?"
 
Joseph grinned.  "Ah, you've got the same idea I have about that
foolishness.  Too many variables in a simple equation, provided you've 
got the right starting ingredients, anyway.  Two people meet, fall in love,
and spend the rest of their lives together.  Forget that dating
period and ceremonies and the rest of that hullaballoo.  Love is the only
true bond, not paper."
 
Sandra smiled a little.  "But it's pretty."
 
"I suppose."
 
"Would you ever, if you found the right person?"
 
"If so requested.  The groom's side would be pretty empty, tho."
 
Sandra allowed herself only a snicker.  "You could borrow Sonic's fan
club." 

"Then I'd have to clean out the bride's side, or get a cathedral.  I 
haven't seen any around here, though."
 
"But you would, wouldn't you?"
 
"Yes."
 
Sandra looked at Joseph with an odd glint in her eye, and smiled.  "But not
for a while, of course."
 
"A good, long time," said he.
 
"Same here."
 
They finished breakfast wordlessly, thinking similar thoughts about that
identical topic.
 
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

--
  | Joseph deLaCroix: hk512@po.cwru.edu | See: http://rat.org/bookshire |	
  / MiSTie, orange fox, writer, MUCKer, builder, hacker, cynic, wiseass \
  He slices!  He dices!  He crushes!  He bashes!  He liquifies and chops!
  Information wants to be sold for exorbitant fees, then totally devalued