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Chaos Rising	By : TerminusEst Category: +S through Z > Sonic Views: 1284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Sonic The Hedgehog game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter
Nine: The Fall of 61 Cygni Part I
"So
look for him vainly

He,
the incarnation of evil

And
by arrangements of magickal nature

He
turns unrecognizable even to the experienced eye"
--Arcturus
- Master of Disguise
The
men of the 17th Green Dragons turned their heads as their temporary
substitute squadron leader, Lieutenant Commander Gedalio Anastasio,
walked into the room, his eyes boring into each of the pilots as he
passed them. Rex was wearing the insignia of a lieutenant, taking a
brevet demotion for the day so as to not look strange in front of the
surrogate leader--a commander and subordinate of the same rank would
be strange indeed. Not that the scene wasn't already strange. The
Mobian navy composed squadrons to be as homogenous in species as
possible, so all the men of the Green Dragons were hedgehogs, and for
them to be saluting a fox was very odd.
"So
these are the men that Commander Calavera leaves in my command. I
hope your ability to fight is better than your ability to stand in a
line. Lieutenant Wishmaster! Stop slouching!" He backhanded
Deathwish lightly in the stomach. The fox then stepped back, taking
in the entire squadron with his piercing gray eyes. "Is it that
you cannot form in a line properly or do you just have no respect for
me? Unlike Commander Calavera, I am not your friend. I am not your
father. I will not tolerate the kind of nonsense he puts up with and
even seems to welcome. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes,
sir!" the twenty-nine hedgehogs replied instantly.
"Brevet
lieutenant Christensen! Is it true that you are the leader's wingman
in this squadron?"
"Yes,
sir. Ript--I mean Commander Calavera appointed me himself."
"Is
it also true that you were recently disciplined for being intoxicated
on duty?"
"Yes,
sir. However, the commander still places his full confidence in me.
It will not happen again, sir."
"I
hope it won't. At least Commander Calavera had enough sense to make
sure you were appropriately punished."
Rex
tried to hide his nervousness. Lt. Commnder Anastasio seemed to be
gleefully tearing him apart. Probably to impress his own commander,
he thought. Often candidates for squadron leader were assigned as
surrogates for other squadrons. To this fox, Rex was not only a
temporary subordinate, but also a potential threat to his authority,
as he was of the same rank and position. Rex was relieved as the
fox's gray eyes flicked away from his own.
"Now
that I have stripped you lot of your vanity, we will go to the
briefing room to prepare for battle. Left-face, march!"
The
17th Green Dragons followed their leader into the briefing room, none
of them making a sound aside from the clashing of their boots against
the steel floor.
--
Kryche
took a gulp from his glass of water as he surveyed his fleet. Years
of heavy drinking in his youth meant that the mere two drinks he had
consumed the previous day had barely affected him. Scouts had
detected hundreds of Earth ships massing for a final assault on Titus
II. Wolf 359 was being evacuated as the loss of 61 Cygni would cut it
off from the rest of the Mobian Federation. Refugee ships streamed by
in the distance, heading for Vega and ultimately 61 Virginis and
Mobius. Kryche doubted that the system would be evacuated in time.
More than 500 million people lived on Orososh, Wolf 359's only
habitable planet, plus millions more in colony stations. So far only
one tenth of them had made it to Vega so far.
His
entire fleet had by now assumed defensive positions around Titus II.
The president had instructed him to hold the Earthers off as long as
possible before surrendering the planet. Even if the Mobians somehow
won the battle, the casualties would be disastrous. The Mobian navy
had so far lost three ships for every Earth ship destroyed. Kryche
didn't expect that trend to change, and the estimated number of Earth
ships spotted by the scouts was only slightly fewer than the number
of ships in his own fleet.
The
urge to smoke a cigarette had been nagging at his mind for hours. Was
it all happening again? he thought. Could he have really become
addicted again that quickly? Oh, what the hell, he thought as he
pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his hip pocket. I'm probably
going to die soon anyway.
Just
as he raised the lighter, he heard a klaxon go off. Its frantic
blaring could only mean one thing. He looked up through the window
and saw hundreds of pinpoints of light--Earth ships. He dashed out of
his quarters towards the bridge just as both sides opened fire.
--
Riptos
followed the radiologist into the MRI examination room. Before the
exam he had had to remove all his clothing and even the wedding band
on his finger and the stud in his left ear, and put on one of those
abominable hospital gowns that were open in the rear, leaving his ass
hanging out for all to see. Even worse, the idiots who designed it
had it tie up at the back, so the radiologist had to fasten it for
him. It seemed like the whole environment had been created purposely
to destroy any sort of dignity.
The
medicine Bookshire had given him was only marginally effective,
making his back cramps merely awful instead of excruciating. The pain
never completely went away, and when the painkillers wore off, the
agony was as strong as ever.
The
MRI machine dominated the room, a monstrous tubular machine encased
in beige plastic with a control panel on one side. "Lie down on
the bed inside," said the radiologist. Riptos tried to remember
her name. Stella Ertelmeyer or something like that. Her voice had
a sugary sweet quality that made him want to punch her. "You
don't need to be completely in the barrel of the MRI--you can keep
your head outside. I can give you some medication if you feel
claustrophobic." She scratched him behind the ears in that
infuriatingly condescending manner typical of medical personnel. He
fought down the urge to raise his spines and give her a piece of his
mind. He could tolerate Bookshire treating him like a child, but not
some airhead med student half his age. He wondered if she liked being
able to talk down to high-ranking officers with impunity.
Knowing
that it was pointless to do anything but swallow his pride and let
her go on her doctor power trip, he lay down inside the machine. He
wished that the gown could be longer, as it was too short for him to
bunch it between his legs and cover his nakedness. It wouldn't have
been quite so bad if the radiologist weren't a woman and didn't have
that unsettling smile on her face whenever she looked at him.
He
felt a magnetic coil close around his torso. The radiologist handed
him a pair of headphones. "Put these on your head," she
said. "It will protect your ears against the noise."
Riptos
put the headphones on his head. They were a different shape from
those used by humans, and secured with a chin strap since Riptos'
ears were on top of his head instead of on the sides.
"Now
hold still. This will be the first of five scans. It will take about
ten minutes. Would you like an injection to help you relax?"
Riptos
couldn't control his nervouness. He certainly couldn't lie completely
still for ten minutes. "Yes, please."
The
radiologist approached Riptos, holding a syringe filled with a clear
liquid. She stuck the needle into his neck, injecting a mild sedative
into him. She placed a hand on his forehead. "Why are you so
tense?" she said.
Riptos
sighed. "First of all, I don't like hospitals. Second, I don't
like being effectively naked in front of strange women. Third, I
don't like the way you look at me and touch me. It makes me nervous."
"Don't
worry. I'm a doctor. This is nothing new to me. Just trust me."
Riptos
relaxed involuntarily as the sedative took effect. He felt drowsy and
seemingly disconnected from his body, as if he were an observer of
his own existence. His brain seemed to work in slow motion. He had
experienced sedation before, after being wounded in combat a few
years ago, and he still couldn't decide whether he liked it. It was
relaxing and strangely pleasant, but it was also disempowering. He
never liked being taken care of. He had good reason to dislike it.
He
had spent years in the hands of others when he had been sent to the
monastery on Orososh after his parents were murdered. Those years
were the worst of his life, ultimately culminated in being flogged
until he was near death after being caught sleeping with the high
priest's daughter, and then escaping with her. Now she was his wife,
and the scars of being whipped were now invisible unless the fur
around them was parted. But the memories of agony and humiliation and
high priest Sarko bellowing prayers and invocations while watching
the monks carry out their torture on his perennial problem child
remained, often haunting his dreams and making him wake up at night,
panting and looking around the room to make sure he wasn't in the
monastery again.
He
closed his eyes, trying to call to mind pleasant ideas and memories,
as the droning click-clack of the MRI machine boomed in his ears.
--
Rex
looked over to the left as a particle beam from an Earth cruiser
sliced a Mobian starship in half. The Mobian defenses were faltering
as waves of Earth warships pounded at them. The Green Dragons were
accompanying a group of ships sent to dislodge the Earth flotilla
that had been destroying the military escorts of the refugee ships
from Wolf 359 and boarding the refugee ships to search for weapons
and arrest the security guards before letting the ships pass. He saw
a salvo of particle beams from the lead Mobian destroyer slam into an
Earth ship's shields as the Mobian ships entered firing range.
"Maintain
escort formation, but at a greater distance," said Lt. Commander
Anastasio. "Do not let any bombers through."
Rex
watched bombers pour out of the hulking carrier ship at the center of
the Earth flotilla, smaller fighters surrounding them like worker
bees around a queen. The sheer number of them was horrifying. He
looked at the targeting monitor on the heads-up display. The bombers
were twelve seconds to engagement range. Earth and Mobian capital
ships were already trading fire.
Eight
seconds.
Five
seconds. Rex felt his entire body tense as the Earth attackers closed
in.
Three
seconds.
Two...one...
Rex
fired guns and missiles simultaneously as the targeting reticle
turned red. Enemy ships began disappearing in eruptions of fire and
light. The Earthers soon responded in kind, tearing space asunder
with searing blue particle beams and wispy white missile trails.
He
circled around the ship he was assigned to protect, taking potshots
at Earth ships as they whizzed by. There were too many to count, and
they greatly outnumbered the Mobian fighters. He knew it would be
impossible to stop them, but until he was told to retreat, it was do
or die.
He
smiled grimly as a quick burst of fire tore apart an Earth bomber and
detonated its freshly launched bombs. His ship shook as the shockwave
hit, but the shields held. That was his fifth kill of the war. He
could expect an Ace pin when he returned to base--if he returned at
all.
He
hit his burners as another Earth ship flew by, gritting his teeth as
he tried to match speed with it. But this time his foe was ready. The
enemy ship began to spin around. Rex activated his side thrusters to
try to get out of its line of fire, but he reached the side throttle
just as the enemy fired.
Oh
shit.
Rex's
fighter shuddered violently, the bang caused by the impact of enemy
gunfire almost deafening him. He could still maneuver, but he was
leaking fuel and his shield generator was destroyed. He would surely
die if he stayed out here. "Command, this is Christensen! I'm
hit! I've lost shields, my targeting computer's out, and there's a
fuel leak."
"Affirmative.
Can you maneuver?"
"Yes,
but two of my RCS thrusters are out. I'm going to be a sitting duck
out here. I need immediate extraction."
"Get
your ass as far away from that firefight as possible. We're sending a
recovery craft now."
Rex
hit his burners again, trying to escape the Earth ships with his
remaining fuel. He saw two fighters break away to pursue him. If he
still believed in God, he would've started praying. A low-fuel alarm
was blasting in his helmet. He wasn't going to make it.
Rex
felt the force pressing him into his seat cease as his fighter's
engines consumed the last of their fuel supply. There was only one
thing to do. He pulled the eject lever, realizing that he hadn't been
quick enough as the mother of all loud noises nearly blew his
eardrums out.
--
"Well,
Riptos," said Bookshire, "We took a look at the results
from your exams and I think we've found what's been causing your back
pain. Nerves in your back are firing inappropriately, causing muscle
spasms."
"So
what can be done about this?"
"Your
condition can be managed with a topical muscle relaxant."
Bookshire took out a tube full of some sort of medicated cream.
"Apply this to the painful spots on your back every night. If
your symptoms do not improve within three days, tell me. The
worst-case scenario would require surgery, which would require you to
resign. I know you're very reluctant to give up your job, but that
may eventually be necessary."
"I
hope this works then."
"The
MRI scan also revealed that you have a condition called spinal
stenosis. The inside walls of three of the vertebrae of your spine
are slowly contracting around your spinal cord. You will have about
five years until symptoms set in, so you'll reach mandatory
retirement age before having to worry about this, but it will
eventually require surgical correction."
"Sounds
absolutely wonderful. I'm so thrilled I could take a bullet
through the head." Riptos sighed as the realization of his own
deteriorating health set in. How would he support his family if his
back gave out? Would he suffer spinal cord damage? He ran through a
list of horrible things that such damage could cause in his
mind--weakness, paralysis, incontinence, impotence, the list went on
and on. "I'm going to be disabled by the time I'm 47. So much
for aging gracefully."
"Don't
worry. With prompt treatment, someone suffering spinal stenosis can
avoid any spinal cord injury."
"Prompt
treatment means I get my back cut open and spend months in bed."
"Please,
whatever you do, don't try to put surgery off until you can't stand
or walk anymore. I know how much you dread surgery or other
incapacitating medical treatment, but the alternative is worse. You
can't run away from your own health. It will catch up to you sooner
or later. Besides, since you joined the military, you don't have to
pay for it."
"I'll
think about this. I've always feared losing control of my life.
People have always come to me for help and leadership. I provide for
my family. I take care of the men in my squadron. I don't want to lie
helpless in a bed while my friends and family pity me. I don't know
if it's a nurturing instinct or plain old pride or what, but being a
liability to other people is the only thing that truly terrifies me."
"We
all have to face our fears someday. Just remember--no one's
invincible. Sometimes you just have to swallow your pride and let go.
You try to be everyone's friend and guardian angel because you didn't
have one when you were young. It's a doctor's job to take care of
people in need. When you're ready to have your spine fixed, I'll be
there for you. Just don't wait too long."
Riptos
sighed again. "I'll try, Bookshire."
"That's
a start. If you can bring yourself to accept massage therapy, I can
schedule the sessions to not interfere with your work. Is three times
a week acceptable? I think it will help you psychologically as well
as physically. I could also give you some minor physiotherapy,
because your recent physicals indicate your flexibility and endurance
aren't nearly as good as they used to be."
"Fine.
Those pills don't work worth a damn anyway. Two years before I have
to retire come hell or high water, five years before I have to have
major surgery to avoid becoming a cripple. What am I if not a soldier
and a provider?"
"You
will have to decide that yourself. And I'm sure that if you try,
you'll be able to do that much more easily than you think. You've had
the strength to raise a family, become a military officer, get your
own command, and lead your men in combat against people who would
very much like to kill you. If you can do that, I don't see much that
you can't do."
"I
guess you're right. When's the first therapy session?"
"How
does tomorrow at nine PM sound?"
"2100
hours? Sure, that's fine. I guess I have nothing better to do at that
time anyway. I might even be glad to get away from that stupid
industrial bullshit Rex likes to listen to. I like music with actual
melody. The only thing worse is my son's favorite music. It's
basically one guitar riff over and over while a human hits drums as
fast as possible and another human makes these horrible
throat-scraping growls and shrieks."
"We're
actually treating someone who sings for one of those ensembles, if
'singing' is the word. His growling and screaming damaged his vocal
cords. We had to perform surgery on his larynx and we're giving him
paralytic drugs to keep him from using his voice until his vocal
cords have healed. Maybe communicating by typing on a keyboard will
teach him to find a more sensible style. He can count himself lucky
if his voice doesn't change. By the way, I think you should look up
those bands he likes to listen to. Some of those people sing about
truly appalling, nihilistic things. On the other hand, many of them
don't. It's best to be informed."
"I'll
talk to Elena about it. Ryudo's always been a nice kid, and I want to
make sure he stays that way, but I also don't want to arbitrarily say
that he can't do or listen to something, because that's not fair.
Sometimes you have to understand before you act."
"Spoken
like a true parent. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Bye."
Riptos walked out of Bookshire's office, not sure what to think or
feel. He hadn't been so confused and directionless since before he
joined the navy. A terrible sense of foreboding hung over him as he
went back to his quarters to think about what to do with his life.
--
Every
war involved the black arts of espionage, deception, and
assassination to some degree. Covert operations were as old as
warfare itself, and Fizetta Inverno was literally born for the job.
She
and her retinue were the products of decades of genetic technology,
natural born killers genetically tailored for war. Some, like
Fizetta, were telepaths, able to enter and control people's minds, or
even kill them without lifting a finger. Some had built-in weapons or
other offensive tools. Still more could interface with all manner of
devices as if they were extensions of themselves, perform feats of
strength that far surpassed any normal Mobian or human, see things
invisible to anyone else, or anything that geneticists desired.
She
had been sent by Mobian intelligence to find answers no one else
could find. Fizetta had always been good at sniffing out intrigue,
and the war reeked of it. It was no mere coincidence that groups of
Mobian and Earth fighters attacked targets within each other's
territory. The timing and the symmetry of the attacks was too
perfect. Encrypted transmissions had been intercepted during both
attacks that conformed to no known official protocols. Fiz doubted
the war was a war at all. It was a puppet show. And she now had to
find the puppeteers.
Her
ship, the Maleficent, was small and stealthy, a far cry from
the lumbering warships that pounded each other in the massive
set-piece fleet battles in 61 Cygni. And now, far away from the
battle lines, she was going to find what was beneath the facade.
Mobian intelligence officers had finally pinpointed the source of the
encrypted transmissions. Her ship was streaking through jumpspace
alone. She didn't need anyone else besides her and her two most
trusted apprentices. With assassins, less was more. She and her
retinue could do more damage sneaking around through obscure jump
points than a whole fleet of ships.
She
licked her lips at the thought of plying her deadly trade once again.
She was born to kill, she lived to kill, and she would die killing.
Just like Takeo Sekaro. After all, she would know. She was the one
who killed him.
- 9
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- 11
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Chaos Rising