Shades of Grey by Pundit | Part Five : Turncoat
<clostridia@bigfoot.com>

I acknowledge that there are characters in this story which are the property of either Sega or Archie Comics. The story itself, however, is copyrighted to me, and while it may be distributed in any form, must not be altered under any circumstances. You may not derive any profit from this story. Should you wish to contact me, the above email address will suffice. I accept, and welcome comment, criticism, or flames, should you see the need. Thank you.
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In the descending gloom of twilight, a shadowy figure flitted through the trees, dodging obstacles, and making no sound. Behind him, his sensitive ears picked out the unmistakeable whine of a turbine, and he stopped, flattening himself against a nearby trunk. With practiced ease, he slowly faded from sight, merging as one into the dusky shadows. The hovercraft passed over his, the sound reaching a climax. Silently, he observed it, trying to trace its path with his eyes.

As it receded from view, he began running towards it. His stride was long and loping, an efficient stroke designed to cover long distances with the minimum of effort. The surroundings around him blurred, as he focused his attention on the craft.

Ahead of him, the craft stopped with a whir, hovering over an indistinct patch of ground. 'Where is that base?', he thought, exasperated. He'd been looking for it for over half an hour now, and turned up nothing, even with the closest scrutiny of the area.

And he gasped, as the ground under the aircraft suddenly opened up, the four quarters of a circle set in the ground opening up like the petals of a flower, raised to the sky, as powerful hydrualic pistons created a perceptible rumble in the ground. A circular platform was hoisted up from the ground, coming to a halt at ground level, as the craft slowly dropped towards it, slowly as a falling leaf.

Now or never, he decided. Tensing, he broke into a run, heading towards the entrance, his lithe form obscured by the huge metal petal. It took but a moment's concentration and a mental command for his body to respond, cells all over his skin changing in hue to match that of the petal. A chamaleon of unparelleled skill. Moving with grace, he slowly and fluidly maneuvered between the gap in the lip, flattening himself against the side of the craft, giving his skin enough time to alter his appearance to suit his surroundings.

So far so good, he thought. It wasn't likely the people in the craft would notice a nearly invisible figure plastered to the wall. He was absolutely familiar with what he and his body could accomplish, and was smart enough to work within those limits. With a mechanical whir, the platform began to descend at a steady rate, as overhead, the petals closed out all natural light, obliterating the sky. Powerful strobe lights activated at the bidding of a solenoid, blanketing the dim shaft in white light. For about half a minute, the descent continued in stifling silence, except for the steady noise of the platform.

And then, unexpectedly, they were descending into a room. He nearly forgot himself, barely stifling a cry of surprise before it escaped his mouth. Calling this a 'room' would be a grossly inaccurate description, he realised. It was a cavernous hanger, carved into the soil and supported by tremendous metal pillars stretching from the floor to the ceiling, which he observed, was at least fifteen metres above the ground. The floor of the hanger was a bustling hive of activity, crammed with technicians and workers buzzing around their jobs.

He could see about six more shafts similar to the one he was riding on, except for the fact that three of them were at least twice the diameter. Against one wall of the cavern were parked dozens more hovercraft similar to the one he was next to, and the roof was a tangled, chaotic mess of piping. Ventilation shafts were everywhere, he saw with a grin, spying a particularly choice example not a meter away from the bottom of the platform.

The platform landed with a hiss, and he wasted no time darting towards the ventilation shaft entrance, which lacked a grating, dodging the bundle of technicians rushing over to attend to the latest arrival.

This is almost too easy.

***

He strode into the tastefully minimalist conference room, cloak theatrically billowing out behind him. Behind him, his two new subordinates followed protectively, one at each side. The others, he saw, were already there, standing up with faces turned towards the head of the table. He was late.

One of them turned to face him.

'Ahh...... the great Kragok finally decides to favor us with his prescence,' he said mockingly.

Kragok shot him an icy glare, and took his seat, two places away from the head of the table, where his great grand uncle was presiding. Two guards closed the heavy metal doors, which, as they shut, rang with a metallic finality. Around the table, everyone raised their right hands.

'Hail Dimitri, may his great vision be fulfilled!'

The combined voices of the twelve people possessed a certain volume and conviction that might have suggested a larger number. It was the fervor, Kragok decided. The intensity in which they identified with his cause - how didn't matter; it was irrelevent whether they wanted to right wrongs, or were simply after power. He'd always shouted it with conviction, and certainty. Now, it made him sick

Did I? How could I have been so blind?

His eyes flicked over to an empty chair opposite him. Her chair, he thought, turning away before the tears returned, hoping no one would observe his discomfiture.

No one did; they were all intently focused on the figure at the head of the table. Dimitri, otherwise known as Enerjak, completely encased in the extravagant, brightly polished armor he favored. It kept him alive, this four hundred year old madman who had, so far, lived out more than twice the maximum lifespan of his species, and had absolutely no intention of dying, thank you very much. The madman with the vision, the support, and the power. He had charisma, Kragok decided. There was absolutely no doubting that.

'Komissar will not be with us today; she was killed by the EST two days ago. She was a valuable strategist. However, while we mourn this loss, we must push on, unceasingly, to retake what is ours by right! Never rest until our enemies are defeated!'

It was a resonant voice, the voice of someone who had seen many things, and who was possessed of great wisdom. Assured and confident, it inspired both faith and a desire to follow. The reason why it was coupled to an addled, corrupted brain was something Kragok found himself pondering. It didn't agree with the madnes underneath.

Perhaps appearance is just half the story.

It was a marvel, he thought bitterly, how a statement of regret regarding the death of his sister, even a trite, token one like that, could be turned around in the same breath, and used to further Dimitri's cause, and inspire his followers.

Oh, how he has used me.

'And now, I believe Moritori has come up with a new strategy we can use to achieve the defeat of those who would oppose us.' He nodded curtly to someone seated at the other end of the table.

The person at the end of the table stood up. He sported a visor over his eyes, which formed an impenetrable, inscrutable red slit, facing the outside world. Unlike almost everyone else seated around the table, he did not wear the usual dark clothing, preferring a loose olive green tunic. There were lines on his forehead, and wrinkles on his face - the face of an old man determined never to be subordinate to his physical condition.

'Thank you, master', he said, bowing deeply, his voice obsequious and obedient. He deferred only to Dimitri.

Stop sucking up, grandpa.

With a snap of his fingers, the lights dimmed, leaving the room in a cool semidarkness. A holographic projector mounted on the center of the table came to life, glowing dark blue for a few seconds as it warmed up. Gradually, a miniature three dimensional redering of a city formed in the air above the table, alongside a squat metal and glass monolith.

'Echidnaopolis and Haven, the two places we must strike at.'

He was pacing now, getting into his element.

'In the past, we have tried, unsucessfully, to take over these two places, failing on many occasions. However, I believe that success lies in using a different method. You see, all our efforts in the past have resulted in full scale, climatic battles, with one side going against the other side in a uniform line, with the defense in a contiguous perimeter. It is ineffective to continue to do so, as we always are on the offensive - in such a situation, with an entrenched defense, breaking through will, and has, proven impossible. It simply does not suit our position.'

His speech was in full flow now; he was enjoying himself, punctuating each point with chopping motions in the air.

'Therefore, the next assault must rely on speed, stealth, and efficiency, and should be much less openly confrontational. Now, I have identified several key areas which are strategically important to us.'

On the holographic map, several city buildings and locations were outlined in glowing red.

'When the assault begins, we must quickly pour out and attack, taking over these areas in as rapid a fashion as possible. The enemy should be given no chance to regroup, or collect its wits; we should aim to keep it off balance for as long as possible.'

At this, he paused for effect.

'At the culmination of the attack, we should be in control, and have little difficulty proclaiming the new, rightful governance of the great Dimitri.'

There was applause from the other end of the table, which gradually thickened in volume as the rest of the members started applauding. To Kragok, it sounded like the pattering of several gunshots.

Like a pro, Moritori waited for the applause to die down.

'As for Haven, our scientists are perfecting a device which will cut it totally adrift from the rest of the floating island, trapping it in its own zone permanantly. However, this will require six devices placed around the Haven complex, which will generate the required energy to accomplish this, self destructing after accomplishing their purpose. This is admittedly the most difficult part of the plan. '

'Finally, there is a modification to our standard blaster, which is in the beginnings of mass production. It will generate microwave energy - simply point one at an enemy, and watch him cook from the inside out.'

Inside, Kragok shuddered, even as Dimitri nodded his approval.

How barbaric, how base!

'Detailed copies of the plan will soon be delivered to your respective electronic message boxes.'

And suddenly, the lights were back on, everyone was standing, talking, walking out. Dimitri approached the door, not even noticing the two guards, who bowed deeply and flung the doors open. The plan had obviously excited the various leaders, who were discussing it among themselves in their little cliques clumped around the room like bacteria.

Numbly, he ran out at a gallop, head bowed, his two followers surprised, but keeping up.

Above, hidden behind the fine mesh of a ventilation duct, two eyes watched him go.

***

Those meetings, he thought, revolted. Is that all they live for? Plotting and scheming like that. Against their own species, because of a controversy four hundred years old!

This is the sixteenth year of my life! I will not be bound! I will not be used! I will not be a part of this!

He burst through the doorway of his office, and agonizedly slumped on his couch.

'Come in, you two, and lock the door.'

They complied, standing in front of it.

'Sit down.'

Mildly surprised at the request, they settled into the two armchairs, waiting, and attentive.

Listening.

***

He moved silently through the rather dusty duct, shivering a little at the cold air flowing through it.

Where was the way out? After meandering through so many turns and crossing interminable junctions, all the while being extra careful not to step on any grate lest he fall through, he had to admit that he was very, very lost.

Sighing audibly, he rolled his eyes in frustration. Delay!

What he had heard in the conference room back there had chilled him inside out - Haven had to be notified at once. And here he was, stuck in the mazelike ventilation system of the secret underground base, slowly freezing solid.

Well, he thought. There was nothing for it but to keep moving.

***

'After my sister died, I came to the conclusion that this is not worth it. This fight is not worth it. All this killing and plotting is totally unnecessary. I want to get on with the rest of my life; I have done with being trapped in this existence. I see that violence is not the way - it will only feed this feud, keeping this senseless slaughter going as the generations go by!'

He was letting it all flow out.

'Therefore, I have decided not to participate in this mad scheme to rule over my species. Perhaps, when we rejoin society, we can give peace a chance.'

'I oppose Dimitri. Will you help me?'

He closed his eyes.

Did I just say that?

Yes I did. I am free. I have decided.

Xenin looked grim for a very long, uncomfortable moment. Then he smiled, displaying the first humor he had felt in a very long time.

'I always did let your sister do the thinking,' he said.

The other one grinned.

'All yours,' he said.

***

'Another dead end', he thought, exasperated. He was beginning to despair of ever making it out. He stopped to rest for a moment, placing a tired hand on the floor of the tunnel. His knees ached, throbbing painfully with the strain of crawling through the ducts. Wearily, he put out an arm to the side to steady himself, leaning against it.

Bad move.

***

Above them, the grate slammed open with a squeak of metal, a purplish shape tumbling out of the hole in the roof. Instantly, the three reacted, drawing their weapons with practiced motions. Three blasters hummed smoothly as three capacitors charged, ready to release the energy into whatever their masters decided on. They were pointed at a groaning, writhing shape on the floor.

The cyborg tightened his grip on the trigger, about to pump a blast into the defenceless spy before them.

'No!' Kragok roared, sweeping his left arm across, bumping Xenin's blaster and throwing his aim wildly off. The shot flew high in the air in perfect silence, creating a black, smouldering scorch mark on the wall directly over his desk.

'Do you remember what you just said? This is a member of the Chaotix! Don't harm him!'

'Sorry, sir. It was instinct.' Came the rather sheepish reply.

Muttering, he stretched out a hand to the startled chamaleon on the floor, who had seen the whole thing, and was currently in possession of a highly surprised statement.

'That's a perfectly understandable emotion. Get up.'

The chamaleon got to his feet, brushing himself off warily. Three deadly enemies in one room, all of which were acting strangely. Uncomfortably friendly, in fact. Was he dreaming?

Kragok picked up a sheet of plastic on his desk, which looked for all the world like a perfectly ordinary, uniform grey plastic sheet. Closer inspection, however, revealed a very intricate pattern of raised and lowered boxes delicately etched into the surface of the plastic sheet.

'I want you to pass this to the Brotherhood. It contains a message. The closest exit out of here is through the outside vents along the south side. Here's a map.' He said, in a businesslike voice, shoving the two items into the arms of the bewildered spy.

'Wait a minute. Why are you doing this?' the chamaleon asked unsteadily. He was much more familiar with the old blaster in the back, followed by a visit to the cells, followed by a triumphant and satisfying escape. This, on the other hand, felt unnatural.

'Thank my sister,' Kragok said shortly. 'Now, please go. The next patrol will approach the external duct entrance in about twenty minutes.'

Espio nodded in acknowledgement, with half-baked comprehension.

He took a short hop forward, leaping towards the wall, arms thrust forward. At the last moment, he snapped them wide, letting them absorb the shock of landing on the wall. With cat-like grace, he was up the wall and into the duct in no time, carefully shutting the grate.

'And now, we plan.'

***

Moritori was at his desk, sipping from a steaming cup of coffee. He was thinking about the meeting, mentally playing it back and forth through his mind, reviewing it with photographic clarity. Something just refused to click.

'Kragok', he thought. Why had he run out of the meeting room like that? He usually loved to talk about the latest schemes and plans with his colleagues, was vocally outspoken, and cuttingly critical of what he considered to be bad ideas. Why the silence, then? His sister's death? Perhaps, he admitted.

And yet, there was also the perfunctory way in which he shouted the customary greeting to Dimitri, the uncomfortable statementhe had regarding the plan, both of which simply did not gel with his image. Kragok, the firebrand, deliverer of stirring speeches, one of the most stalwart among Dimitri's supporters.

He shrugged. Insufficient data to draw an accurate conclusion.

He would keep a close watch on this one.