"Sonic the Hedgehog" and all related IP are the property of Sega.

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This is a work of fanfiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

The crawl from one intersection to the next had seemed so short the last time Tails had made it. To be fair, he'd been carried along by a squad of people twice his size, so it hadn't actually been a crawl. Even so, he had to have been at least halfway there when the tunnel had caved in behind him, and somehow he was still dragging his weeping tail past cell after cell with no sign of the exit.

He hadn't only been limping along, though, he reminded himself as scrabbling sounds echoed from behind some freshly-fallen stone on his left. As soon as his ears had stopped ringing he'd hurled himself at the first blocked cell door he'd seen. The fox had never experienced a cave-in in person but Knuckles had shared plenty of echidna stories, and he found it all too easy to imagine each of the components to that kind of death. Freezing cold at first, then stifling warmth, breath that didn't fill his lungs, the breaking pain of rocks against his joints – that one was particularly fresh in his mind – and of course the ever-growing hunger and thirst and desperation as hope shriveled and died. He'd gone through each piece individually at some point or another and those memories had driven him to pull every muscle in his upper arms trying to stop whoever was behind that wall of rubble from feeling them all at once. But the debris had been too heavy – no, I was just too weak. Knuckles wouldn't even have noticed those rocks and Sonic could have drilled right through. If anyone's going to get out they're going to do better without me getting underfoot.

But somehow that still felt like he was lying to himself. Like he was letting himself run away. And that sneaking suspicion prodded another corner of his brain into action. Of course you're trying to get away, Tails. Half of one tail is gone, your hands and feet are scratched beyond recognition, you don't even know what happened to your back, and now your arms aren't working either! The argument didn't quell the shame churning just below his growling stomach, in fact if anything it worsened it, but it also got him moving again. He gave a last pitying glance at the newest fallen wall and pressed on.

The battered kit was down on three limbs, arching his fileted tail over his head and holding it taut by the bedraggled tuft of fur left on the tip with his free hand. Ironically enough his namesakes were still living up to their most basic purpose; his tripodal stance would have been horrendously unstable on the shifting floor if he hadn't been able to shift both tails around to hold his balance. The pain had quieted now, at least, though the fox had no idea why. He'd dragged the skinned strip that spiraled along that one tail through the dirt and stone at least twice now, after all. Still, even though he could still move, it was a long slog along a path he still never quite had the night vision to see. At least that meant that some of the shields were still up, and hopefully by the time the warden dug his way out of the debris the alert would be off and he'd stop shooting people.

That thought pumped a little energy back into him. Yeah, it was a stupid hero stunt, I guess. But I learned from the best. Although Sonic would probably have taken them all out before they even saw him. Still...no, no matter what Wedge said about the other prisoners in here I'm not going to let people stroll through and hurt them like that. He felt what was left of his fur bristling and his lips drew back into a thin snarl. Chaos knows I've had enough of that treatment myself. And then his brain started talking back again.

Okay, yeah, so you were a weakling back in Emerald Hill too. Don't you dare compare that to getting shot through a locked door!

"Will you two shut up?" he muttered under his breath. It was cathartic no matter how crazy he sounded. At least he was the only one who could hear. And it brought the burgeoning argument to a halt before his thoughts could run away with him again.

Tails' eyes were on the ground, both in the forlorn hope that he might eventually see what was in front of him before it cut into his feet or stabbed his palm and because he simply lacked the stamina to keep his head off the floor for much longer. Still, when he crabwalked over a particularly jagged shard he dragged himself up a little in surprise. How'd I see that...ah.

Apparently the cell doors weren't the only shields still working. The entire three-way grid between him and his old cave – and more importantly the mine access tunnel where they'd dragged that Talz – was glowing close enough he was almost amazed his whiskers weren't smoldering. Not that the barriers gave off any heat, but they looked so much like they should he felt almost offended. Better than feeling ashamed of himself or crazed with pain though, so he'd take it. Okay, come on. How do I open this? He was going to need both hands for this so he draped his mauled tail around his neck like a pus-seeping winter scarf and used the generator housing to hoist himself back to his feet. Let's see – controls are up top but since I've got time I want to figure out what these things really do.

Besides, while he could probably just press buttons randomly and hope for the best the symbols on the access pad weren't what he was used to. They seemed tantalizingly familiar, like numbers on a digital clock, but if he made a wrong assumption and overloaded the circuits or something...not like I won't do that easier by poking around inside it, right? The thought brought a wry grin to the surface, something much softer than the rictus his wounds had locked him into at first, and the simple action left him feeling like he'd had a nice hot drink for the first time in months. Now that's a sensation I'm never going to forget. Hot chocolate with whipped cream and peppermint leaves from that restaurant Sonic stopped at the late autumn he met me. More of it got on my whiskers and cheek fur than actually went in my mouth. He shook himself, little clouds of dust wafting down from his ears. Those memories would have to wait – he might have been able to take apart and reassemble the Tornado in his sleep but he'd never worked with Imperial technology before and he needed to be focused for this part. Man do I wish I still had Sonic's screwdriver though!

Unlike the blaster's housing the generator had a little lever pushed all the way to the bottom of its maintenance panel. It moved easily at first, then caught about halfway up. The fox took a deep breath and then let it go, grabbing for the rounded panels and easing them apart. The first centimeter passed smoothly before they jammed against their internal lock and Tails sighed again. Don't be nervous, he reminded himself, it's just a piece of tech like any other. He pressed the clamshell panels back together until they clicked home and tried the lever again. This time, as soon as it caught he threw his scrawny shoulders into the effort, his already damaged muscles flooding his brain with resignation letters, until the lock slid away and the two halves of the cylinder flexed open. He just sat there staring at the machine for a moment, tongue wedging his teeth open as he panted. This is going to be a long project, I can already tell.

Still, it wasn't like he had anything else to do, and even if he managed to cook himself on a live wire at least he'd probably bring the shield down anyway when he woke up. He'd done much stupider things on the Typhoon and lived, after all. And at least the Empire's electricians seemed to be neater than he or Eggman had ever been, although amid the plain circuit boards and impossibly untangled cable runs he noticed the distinct lack of any emergency breakers. Why does that no longer surprise me? But even though he sighed most of the nerves had gone flooding out now that he was back in his element. Now if I just had an electrode of my own. Something to convince that output cable that it'd gotten the right signal. I don't think the computer's going to give it the go-ahead unless I enter the right code and I've got no real...wait.

It was a risky idea considering that the shield was still switched on, but if he'd had his gloves Tails wouldn't have even thought twice. He gently tugged at the output cable that wrapped around the circuit board under the keypad until it came free, exposed metal dully reflecting the shield's blue and grey. "He's made it through the first step with no electrocutions," he said in the closest thing to an Earth sports announcer voice he could manage, though he'd never heard any announcer sound so fatigued. "Can he keep it going?" He slid the covered part of the cable forward between his middle and index fingers, keeping the rest of his hand as far from the surprisingly heavy-gauge wire as he could feasibly get, and eased the whole thing closer to the keypad.

And that was when the nerves in his wounded tail finally got bored of holding back the pain. The fox's whole body jolted as the wet skin burned colder than the wind outside. The wire slipped from his suddenly flaccid hand and struck something clearly important. He lurched away from the spark, whimpering and flinching at the miniature thunderclap and dense puff of smoke that followed, and fresh pain rocketed through him as the wrist he caught himself with twisted and gave. His back and both tails hammered the ground repeatedly until finally his nervous system couldn't hold any more and deadened the pain again. For a few minutes he just lay there, eyes open but unseeing, chest ratcheting in and out as his heart and lungs gradually realized he hadn't just sprinted a marathon.

Then the maroon spots and blue-violet waves stopped dancing and fell out from in front of him, and in their place was an open hallway. The other two barricades were still up, but as long as his body obeyed this time he knew what to do, and from there he could find his way back to the infirmary and out. Wedge had to be gone by now, and the other rebel pilots with him, but as long as Tails could touch the sky one more time he could accept whatever else happened.

Ever since the second shield had collapsed Tails' nose had been assaulted with an odor he couldn't wait to forget. I get the feeling I'm going to be way too familiar with burning person by the time I get out of this. Not even wrinkling his nose, breathing shallowly through his mouth, and holding the tip of his filleted tail in front of both could keep it out; the history of blaster fire had worn itself into the walls of this place. And I'm stumbling down deeper into it trying to stay alive. Something seems kind of backwards here. But he'd volunteered to loop around through the medical room anyway, and even with his litany of injuries it still sounded like a good plan.

Then he stumbled over something much softer and warmer than the rock, and that assumption promptly died. Smell's really strong here. Whoever this poor guy was they must have shot him during the breakout. But then he realized where the body was laid. No, wait, he was trying to get back into the cell blocks. What kind of place is this that that's a good idea?

Well, if he wanted to get out of it he'd end up learning sooner or later, so the little fox squared his shoulders as best he could while down on all threes and stepped gingerly over the corpse. There was a faint ripple of white light against the rock in a surprisingly round tunnel to his left and he moved towards it as quickly as he could manage.

The stink of burned flesh and ozone tang of energy fire was concentrated enough to immediately bowl Tails over, and after the darkness of the tunnels seeing such bright light sent even more tears to his eyes as he tried to ward off the crippling overstimulation. He wasn't able to shut out the stench anywhere near enough, though, and his retch echoed loudly down the side corridor. Almost instantly a hailstorm of eye-searing crimson bolts hammered the opposite wall into shrapnel and Tails ducked into the smallest ball he could manage, skinned tail sticking straight up with its white tuft forming a flag of surrender. After a few seconds of silence he surreptitiously uncurled and checked his fur for fresh debris. Finding none he crouched as hard as his back and legs could stand in Sonic's signature sudden-start stance. He stared at the little pool of light between him and safety, swallowing hard, and then cannoned forward and sailed across it. Another blaster volley followed eventually, presumably once the gunners figured out what they'd just seen, and Tails silently thanked them. They'd shown him his ticket out.

Now that he knew what to look for he could make out a tall box that managed to be even darker than the rest of the room. It was probably just his overloaded brain toying with him by now, but if it helped him out anyway then he'd take whatever he could get. He inched closer to it, letting his night vision reset yet again, and finally smacked his chapped nose squarely into a heavy metal rim. He pinged off of it, managing to catch himself with both hands and his safe tail before he broke anything else. As he massaged his nose ruefully he used his free hand to examine the object he'd just collided with. It was big, no doubts there, and now that he was actually checking it out in detail he felt little tank treads underneath it. Lucky I hit it where I did – a few centimeters either way and I'd have pinched my muzzle in the treads. That hurts.

For the first time since he'd been locked up on the Emerald-forsaken rock Tails' eyes were genuinely adapting to the darkness around him, and a pressure he'd grown so used to he'd forgotten was there leaked out of his forehead as he stopped straining for sight. It felt like he'd let out a weeks-old breath and his whole body sagged in relief as his brain finally adapted. Good, there's a door. A door, he thought giddily – maybe that bit about letting out a breath wasn't just a metaphor, and indeed he was breathing ever more rapidly despite his relaxation. And that sent his heart into overdrive, and then the pressure all came flooding back.

Shaking his head, Tails hopped up on the tread, careful not to get his feet stuck somewhere he might not get them back, and jostled the latch until the door swung open. He was left dangling from that latch by one hand as his weight carried the door outwards, but it was just as fun an experience as his euphoria of seconds before that he didn't care. In fact, he rocked himself forward and back, a kit on a swingset, and the hinges stayed tolerantly silent all the while.

Then he got a look at the cabin and promptly let go, landing heavily on his skinned tail. At least the sudden tidal surge of fresh pain knocked him out of his shock, letting him devote what little coherent thought remained to scrambling away and trying to process what he'd just seen. No smell. No char or blaster burns or anything. And he looked almost...skeletal, but if Wedge was right they had to use this thing just a few hours ago to burn through the wall! He can't have decayed – plus I bet I'd smell that too, wouldn't I? What's going on down here? His thoughts came just as thick and fast as moments before, but panic had swelled up to replace euphoria and he could hear the pitch of his mental voice rising sharply.

He was breathing fast enough to shame the birds he so often flew past, but even though he couldn't get his lungs under control his brain eventually wrested command back from his spinal reflexes. "Right," he said a little more loudly than he'd meant to. "I don't have a light or a weapon or any energy left, so the only way out is through. The only way out is through." The little reminder steadied him another fraction more and he finally caught his breath, slowing down from hyperventilation. Then he pulled himself up, his pus-coated skin sticking to the dirt as his tail popped out after him, and tugged the dead man out of the open seat. The corpse clattered more than it squished, but by now Tails couldn't even tell if it had sent a shiver down his spine or set his fur on end. Besides, all the noise really did was confirm that the man really was as skeletal as he'd looked. How he'd gotten that way, though, was still an open question and one the fox hoped never had to be answered.

There was only a tiny layer of dust on the machine's controls, and that did more to spook Tails than anything about the corpse itself had. Whatever happened, it's only been a few hours at most considering all the debris down here. I've got to get out of here now before my heart pops! And to that end he needed to get the machine switched back on. His eyes skittered off of the unfamiliar alphabet so instead he guessed at the controls simply by position and size. Big red button. That's probably a good thing since it's not under some kind of cover. The big knobbed stick between his legs – he had to snicker at that, I'm ten, I'm entitled to a little immaturity from time to time – was obviously the control, and considering that there was a much smaller joystick on the raised panel it was presumably in charge of the drive while the little one governed the drill. At least, assuming this is the vehicle that drilled that shaft in the first place.

Well, he might as well find out. There didn't seem to be any ignition or on switch, although even now that he could see things at all most of the cabin was still pitch-black so it wouldn't be too hard to miss. Rather than waste more time in this creepy hole looking at the panels, though, he wrapped stiff-jointed fingers around the upper joystick and angled it upward. To his almost delirious joy servomotors ground around him and pitched a big cylinder he'd completely failed to see before up a few degrees per second. Another snicker broke the surface. Who was that human psychologist? I guess he really was on to something universal. If the machine had been lit and well-maintained he assumed he'd have had some way to tell where the hole was going to end up, but in the absence of any sights the best way to find out was to simply pull the trigger.

Except he couldn't. His finger tensed, taut against the plastic frame, but it refused to go any further than that. Oh, come on! It's not like I'm shooting anyone with this. But clearly his memories had a stronger hold over him than that. In frustration he let go of the stick and slammed his hand on the console. Something clicked under his hand, something cold and smooth, and he only realized he'd touched the button by mistake when a blast of light and sound hammered the polarized glass canopy. The dangling door tore free in the backblast and Tails felt his fur freeze to his left leg in the sudden wind, but at least he'd been shielded well enough that he could still see and hear. Whatever the "drill" had fired, there was nothing left but a steaming circle directly in front of him. No rockfall, no shrapnel. No starlight either, though, but that wasn't anything a few more blasts wouldn't fix. Except – the fox's eyes narrowed. Was something moving through those vapor clouds? I bet whatever killed the other driver did it right after he fired the drill. The realization tore through him but before he'd even consciously processed the thought he had tackled the other door open and taken off running.

The nearest cover he could make out was a sharp bend in the corridor in front of him, but that was a double-edged sword. He couldn't see around it either, and if there was something coming from that side there was no way he could fight it off. His ears were at full extension, twisting like satellite receivers as they strained for any sounds that might be coming to kill him. That skittering noise – is that rockfall or is something moving? And then, blind with his panic, he put his foot squarely down on the jaw of another skeletal corpse. Screaming in fear and yet another source of pain, the kit coiled up and sprang back the way he'd came, body and mind finally in complete agreement. Except now it seemed like the scrabbling sound was closer, like it was all around him, and despite the thin air his lungs and heart slowed to a standstill as he pressed himself into the soft soil between the digger's treads.

He had no idea how long he stayed down there. Every heartbeat seemed to flash past and yet wait seconds to arrive, and the sounds around him were stretched and attenuated to match. Eventually, though, they faded away into the throbs of his own body, vanishing so completely Tails had to wonder if he'd heard them at all. And on the heels of fear came embarrassment and humiliation, and with cheeks burning so hot he felt they ought to light the cavern the fox eased himself out of his safe little burrow and swung back around into the machine, hissing as his back and tail scraped against the grime-encrusted metal. Even when that pain subsided into the general background roar there was still a void-cold patch on his tail, and he knew what that meant from an old experience he'd hoped never to repeat. Looks like I have a time limit now, he thought more calmly than he'd given himself credit for. Not that the Imperials will be generous with the disinfectant, but maybe I can find an independent who'll help me. A lot of people mentioned smugglers – if I can find one of them then maybe I'll make it.

All right, Tails, focus. The barrel looked like it was in the same place, so all he had to do was hit the button again. But if it wasn't enough...If it doesn't break through I am not going through that routine again! His hands tried to curl into fists but his joints were so arthritic after the day's chaos that he couldn't quite pull it off. So how can I guarantee...no, can't rewire it, not in this darkness. But I don't have anything else to amp up the blasts either, and besides I don't want to drop the cave on my head. But what else is there?

He must have been sitting in the barely padded chair for five minutes kneading his forehead before the answer hit him, and as soon as it did he hit himself for not seeing it sooner. He oozed back out of the machine, taking great care to keep his injuries safe this time, and rustled around below him for a nice solid rock. Just finding a rock down here in a mineshaft wasn't the hard part; no, the hard part was finding a rock flat and yet coarse enough he could just perch it on the firing stud and leave it there while he ran for shelter. His search led him back to the fringes of the illuminated killzone, and even though he didn't spark another volley the glow murdered his night vision just fine on its own. He felt his forehead knot with the fresh strain and felt an urgent need to scream at the universe's unfairness. He settled for a long groan followed by a yelp of shock when the sentries heard him after all and chewed another meter out of the far wall.

Still, the kit found his stone and placed it proudly on the big red button. He realized just how exposed he was when the backblast hurled him into a corner and the rolling shockwave battered each limb against the stone independently. He dragged himself lurching and groaning back under the treads, only one of each set of limbs responsive enough to get him where he needed to be. No sooner had he tucked himself under the hulking machine than the second blast arrived, kicking the soft dirt into a miniature sandstorm that clogged his nose and mouth in seconds. Defeated, Tails curled up on his side and tucked his face into his fur to wheeze out the worst of it and endure the rest. The cold burn of wound infection vanished into the hot wind as the uninjured parts of his tail were polished smooth by the sand. He had no words to describe what happened to the wounded strip.

Between the tread wheels he could see the lights start to shake, or maybe those were just the tears in his eyes. His whole face was rigid with the pain and fear, his eyes locked as wide as they could be. Shadows speared across the charred wall as plastic-plated feet clattered across the stone. Eventually they came into view, three pairs of filth-caked white boots. Flashlights strobed as they passed over Tails' hiding place and he held his breath, shivering, as a trooper darted to the machine and knocked the stone out with a ping before the drill could fire a sixth time. But nobody had seen him, not yet at least. He kept one eye open to stare out at the troopers and the other screwed shut. Please let me get out of here soon. Please please please please please!

Then the boots all froze in place. "Load with ion. They're trying to lure the spiders!" A few clicks and clatters later everything went mad. Tails was shaking so hard now the machine was probably vibrating with him, but his nervous energy had nothing on the troopers' insane dance. Their spotlights painted senseless patterns across the driller machine as their bearers swung around to track something, blinding white glare accented by crackling blue lightning as they fired at something the fox was grateful he couldn't see. Lightning outside the windows. Tails hadn't realized he could tremble even faster than he was already going and he could feel his body tapping the last of its reserves for simple nervous energy.

A rifle clattered to the ground and one of the troopers started shaking his hips violently as he tried to claw something off of his upper body. The same tooth-twisting whine from the warden's sword filled the cavern and something screeched in a timbre no humanoid throat could produce. Then whatever had made it thudded to the ground in front of Tails, its multitude of segmented limbs jittering and crunching as it bounced. At least two of them ended in long daggers that scratched at the kit's ears even as he pressed himself hard against the opposite tread, heedless of his back injury.

And just as suddenly it was gone as a trooper Tails hadn't seen move hammered the fire button one more time and the drill's discharge swept it away. If not for the clayish dirt that had been whipped into his skull by all of the other blasts he figured the backblast from that one would have carried him away with it, just like it had taken his sight and hearing. Again.

As his senses returned, though, he realized that not all the light in the room came from the soldiers anymore. There was a soft circular spotlight on the ground just in front of the driller, light so distant and natural the fox's instincts screamed for him to crawl out and wallow in it. But first he waited while the troopers withdrew into their own tunnel with satisfied if mildly shell-shocked mutters and strained his ringing ears for any sign of the monsters that had attacked them. Maybe that was the only one, he thought without much hope, but he couldn't hear anything and so cautiously eased his way out of the sand berm around him. His heart leapt into his throat as a single articulated leg twitched in front of him and he scurried backwards, leaving claw trails in the sand. But as it continued twitching – and nothing else – he realized it had simply been pinned there when the blast carried its owner away. I hope.

Mustering his courage, Tails pulled himself all the way out from under the machine in one giant lunge that carried him well into the pool of light. He looked up at the night sky, so close now after the claustrophobic darkness of the tunnels, and bloodshot blue eyes relaxed open wide. Then he gathered himself for one last leap and landed on the glassy smooth surface of the new shaft.

It may have been as slick as a well-kept window, but it had a much more important trait – it was still warm. Heedless of his injuries Tails nuzzled the stone, worming all the heat he could capture into his fur while he still could. He spent perhaps five minutes there, just luxuriating in the closest thing to comfort he'd had in at least two weeks, before digging his sand-scoured pads into the walls and dragging himself up. At least his dulled limbs were responding again now, but it was still going to be rough going even with the traction his vestigial paw-pads offered. But he was a creature of the sky and stars, and no playground slide was going to keep him from reaching them one more time!

The escape shaft might not have stopped him from reaching the open air again, Tails reflected as he flopped out over the lip at last and lay panting on his back in the sand, but it had certainly slowed him down. What had been mere starlight when he started climbing had long since given way to what passed for day on balmy Kessel, the harsh red glare of desert canyons tearing at his eyes without offering a hint of warmth in return. But the razor-sharp winds of his ride in were nowhere to be found, and although his eyes were still overloaded from the Chaos-blessed sunlight he'd never trade it for the tunnels he'd left behind.

He let his head loll to glare back down the shaft. The only reprieve he'd gotten from dragging himself along by his sticky damp pads had been when he met one of the cross-tunnels that evidently honeycombed the mines, craggy natural things that either absorbed the light from above or else somehow emitted their own. They'd come from all directions, some even threatening to swallow him up from below, and he hadn't been able to convince himself to touch their rims at all. Something could have lashed out and dragged him in screaming, or sensed his vibrations and chased him up the walls, or – he stamped those thoughts down. I got out and I'm in the sunlight now. It's over.

But it wasn't over, of course. Unless some Imperial patrol ship spotted him he'd have to get off this plateau by himself, and waiting for rescue would just seal him away in the caves again – assuming he didn't simply get blasted for his escape attempt. With a weary sigh he rocked himself upright and staggered to his feet. No point in crawling, I guess. Not unless I have to.

Fortunately it didn't seem like that was the case anymore. The open air, thin and frigid as it was, had pumped a little life back into him and he was able to keep his balance even with one tail sticking stiffly out behind him. Helps that I'm limping with both legs, I guess. There were a few spectacular crags around him, spirelike peaks in the distance sculpted by centuries or more of erosion and asteroid strikes, but for the most part the kit kept his eyes on the ground in front of him. His head was too heavy to lift anymore.

At least looking at his feet gave him something to think about too. Man, I'm filthy. Knuckles would totally dunk me in the nearest pool he could find. And probably have a heart attack when he realized I wasn't complaining. For all that he loved swimming Tails had done his best to avoid actual grooming when he could talk his friends out of it, a childhood tradition owing more to some sense of honor than anything rational. Either way, his fur was a mix of silver and thick clotted red where it was left at all, and where he'd been worn down by his ordeal the skin was caked just as thick with the same colors. Maybe a trained eye could find something artistic in the patterns, or a geological history lesson in the layers, but Tails would gladly clog every pipe in his workshop to get his natural fluff back.

Still, perhaps it was the matted filth that was keeping him so warm, however relative a term that was right then. The smooth rocks beneath him curved down into the canyon he'd rode through the first time, sloping gently at first and then suddenly vanishing into a polished cliff. Getting down would usually have been trivial for Tails, but with one of his namesakes immobilized it would take some much more creative maneuvering he wasn't sure he had the energy – or the grip – to pull off anymore. Look on the bright side, Tails. If you slip you'll get down there that much faster. Shaking his head at his weak attempt at humor the weary fox felt his way towards the cliffside and began looking for purchase.

He found something much better than purchase. Whether through the erosion of a soft vein of rock or the artifice of some work team there was a rough-hewn path down through the edge of the cliff. Even more fortuitous, it truly was inside the cliff edge, with a swooping spine shielding him from view. It wouldn't have hidden a human very well, but Tails was more than small enough to fit under the rim and between the sides. Incredibly soft sandstone dust poured downhill at his touch and Tails just dug his heels in and rode the wave as best he could. There were a few hard jumps to make, true, and a few sharp corners and sharper rock shards, but now that he was out in the light those were practically thrills. Guess Sonic really did rub off on me!

Tails stumbled towards the hangar entrance with a grin swallowing his face whenever it wasn't disrupted by hard coughing. Then he rounded a hairpin turn in the pass and his happiness rushed away like the loose sand. The noise had been muffled by the mesa in the way; even now it was fainter than he remembered from the tunnels. But the lights were unmistakable. Below him, green and red blaster bolts hurtled out across the steel landing pad to smoke against the shields of one of the folding-wing shuttles or into the canyon walls. Tails couldn't be completely sure from this blind angle, but it was obvious that the Rebel troops who'd come to rescue Wedge were still there. And that thought terrified him.

It's been hours since we split up. How have they not found him yet? It was easy for the fox to come up with reasons. Booby traps. Soldiers. Loose monsters from the mines. More rockfalls. The images, and a few twinges of remembered pain, flashed through him. "No. Not going to think like that." Liar. "He's going to be fine. His," the fox's already raspy voice clogged his aching throat, "his friends are here for him." I really made a mistake, didn't I?

This is a bad time to worry about that now, though, Tails. He could feel another layer to his headache bubbling up through his brain as the argument started. Where's your ship, for one? And even if you could get there, where's home?

And I know whose fault all of that is. It's sure not the Empire's decision.

"That's enough out of you two!" Tails snarled aloud, totally unconcerned with the way the words tore chunks out of his dry and dusty mouth. "We –" whoops, "I can deal with that all later. Right now, there's a...a friend here who still needs help. You coming?" he asked his recalcitrant brain with all the irritation Sonic and Knuckes had ever taught him to express.

Then he vaulted over the crumbly stone wall and down towards the platform without waiting for a reply.

It took Tails about a fifth of a second to realize the reasons why that had been a stupid move. First and most urgently, the only reason his tail wasn't still weeping fluids was because it was completely caked in grime. He hardly had enough muscle control left to wag it, let alone fly with it! For all the lift he could get by spinning his namesakes, Tails wasn't the least bit aerodynamic even back when he'd been getting daily runs in with Sonic – or dashing away from robot armies, more often than not. Gliding was purely a fantasy.

Second, the platform was directly beneath him, true, but it was also the center of a massive firefight. Even if he could slow his velocity to something less terminal, Tails doubted he'd have any sort of choice in his landing site. And with his leg and tail so injured, even making a safe landing wasn't nearly the certainty it had always been. Not something I've had to think about in six years now. Since Sonic came along and stopped me needing to wrestle coconut palms.

And third, the air was every bit as thin and frigid as he'd nearly forgotten from his tram ride across. He was already hyperventilating just to keep his brain working – though maybe that's not as worthwhile as normal, is it you two? Adding panic to the mix, either from the perfectly terrifying situation he'd put himself in or the slowly dawning realization that he'd breached the pressurized caverns and exposed all of the slave workers trapped down there to the barely breathable surface air, would just mean he suffocated in open air long before crashing. Which, again, might be a good thing.

As it happened, though, one of those problems seemed ready to solve the other two for him. The razor wind hadn't been purely a product of the high-speed tram; instead, it seemed tied more to the canyon itself. Or maybe the shuttle and the pocket-sized ground war were stirring it up. Either way, spastic updrafts hoisted the little fox higher into the air as they passed, long tentacles of pressure flailing up from the smooth-worn valley floor to grope blindly for the sky before crashing down over the lip. Tails spun almost in place, flier's instincts helping him shift his weight to stay centered over the platform as he made his gradual descent. Even his bloody ribbon of a tail pulled its weight, spinning far slower than it should have but still fast enough to let him do more than drift with the eddying air currents.

He was still dizzy though.

The platform had been much, much farther away than he'd thought when he'd jumped, but after an agonizing minute he was finally drawing close. Close enough to clearly make out individual soldiers, white plastic – plastoid, rather, he reminded himself with that strange part of his mind still able to hold onto information like that – clumped behind barricades in the cave mouth while people in bizarre black and white teardrop helmets huddled into whatever cover they could find out close to the shuttle. Many weren't in cover at all, just blazing away at the Empire's troops in a frantic effort to avoid getting shot. Tails nodded a little, remembering that "technique" from all of his times fighting Eggman's bots in the Tornado, or from battling the...the... Think it, Tails. It's okay to remember the name.

He took that thought under advisement, but refocused entirely on about the only people on the platform who weren't in constant motion. A man in a ruffled concrete-grey suit crouched behind the shuttle's boarding ramp, safely armored from the raging battle. At least, Tails assumed he was a man; in any case, he had much the same physique as Wedge had, only far less emaciated. And he was practically spitting into a walkie-talkie – no, they're called coms in this part of the universe, remember? Two others in the regular outfits flanked him, peeking out from behind the ramp to contribute a little more firepower, and that one sees me! Great!

Except it isn't. The man brought his blaster up, a long rugged rifle that looked like it had been duct-taped together from two or three Earth guns, and leisurely lined up a shot on the falling fox. Tails sucked in a big breath to shout that he was friendly, but the air was so thin here, and his throat hurt so much just breathing now. His whole world narrowed to the man's trigger finger.

Without warning even himself, Tails juked hard to the left. His bloodied tail somehow still stayed loyal, flying him smoothly towards the deck as a sustained barrage of blaster fire clawed through the sky around him. His vision blurred, no longer focused on the one guard yet unable to find purchase anywhere else, but from the flashes at the corners of his eyes he was able to realize the man he'd watched wasn't the one who'd just shot him. He had no idea how he'd managed to avoid all that fire from his blind spot, but he had neither the time nor energy to complain.

And no pain tolerance either. He slammed into the metal deck shoulder-first, bouncing hard and feeling both tails bruise as they continued to whip against it. The fresh damage he'd inflicted on himself and the platform's ice burn were an incandescent orange against his eyelids, but like lightning the flash dimmed to nothing more than a footnote. My brain's not working too well to begin with, but it's not doing any worse now.

That was a very relative claim though. As Tails staggered to his feet, tails and left shoulder limp and useless, it dawned on him once again how tired he was. Weakness spiraled through his head, pooling in his neck where it choked his thoughts and motions to a clumsy trickle. He wasn't even sure he was standing up, not without focusing all his attention on that and not the war going on around him. At least it seemed like both sides had written him off as a threat, which suited the faltering fox just fine.

He was finally upright now; his eyes and ears scanned the platform blankly. Everything he saw and heard reached his brain preprocessed, chunked up into little packets that jerked around in his head like an antique TV monitor. Little ruby blaster bolts stuttered back and forth, nobody bothering with stunners or ion guns or sonics... Sonic. Sonic would have bothered. He could have stopped this without anyone else getting...well, killed. There'd be lots of headaches to go around after though! The slideshow in Tails' eyes smoothed out, a soft green filter sliding over everything, replacing Kessel's sullen overcast with the colors of home. Not quite the sparkling emerald of his big bro's eyes, though. More like...Cosmo. The fox relaxed, almost hypnotized as memories of warmth and friendship pumped through his entire body. I promise I'll do better this time.

Then his eyes shot open wide as a blaster bolt caught his already crippled shoulder, pitching him onto his back and, inevitably, onto his raw tailflesh. Through the sudden pain he saw the diamond of light continue streaking off into the canyon – a near miss then – but all of the pleasure he'd just felt gushed out through the cauterized gouge it had burned into him. Maybe it's floating out in the air there, so the soldiers can catch a little? The little fox giggled as he struggled through the pain, knowing that the laugh was delirious.

Though his body was brutalized, it still knew far better than his mind that he still had a duty on the battlefield. He was little more than a passenger inside himself now, thoughts lagging seconds behind what was going on around him. Which was probably for the best; there was no way he'd have ever consented to turret up on his abused tails and spring-launch himself into the middle of the firefight.

No way either that he'd have been able to decide where to launch to. As his brain caught up with the action he wondered what clue had carried him towards that particular trooper, a tabby-patterned felinoid with tapered ears poking out through slits at the back of his helmet. Maybe there was something about his posture, or his angle or something one of the stormtroopers was doing in the distance. Chaos, maybe I just picked him because he looks like me! It was all academic anyway; Tails was already in motion, touching down from his initial leap and skidding through the jagged silt. He continued his charge in a frantic zigzag he'd never have been able to plan out ahead of time. It was guided purely by instinct, instincts honed by years of bullies and battlebots, and he blessed Sonic for helping him survive long enough to learn that.

Something changed again. It teased around the edge of his senses, some flash or noise or jostle or charge in the air, something he probably never would be able to identify. Whatever it was launched him into a graceless plop over the rebels between him and the cat-man, landing on his helmet with all six limbs. They hit the ground with matching yowls.

Tails felt the blasters pointing at him, felt claws coming out underneath him, but his ears were filled with the chirp of one Imperial rifle in particular. Though his face was buried in the man he'd tackled and blaster bolts gave off almost no waste heat, he knew there was a stream of red light filling the air right above them. And that even despite his lunge the beams were coming closer anyway, with nothing in the way to shield him.

And then they stopped. The blaster fire in his ears went quiet so abruptly he had to swallow to pop them. The little fox resolutely refused to think of the most likely reason why the gunner had stopped. He...he just got distracted. Yeah. That makes sense. Why couldn't people settle their differences through fistfights like civilized Mobians?

Without waiting for a "thank you" or a "damn you," Tails unwound himself from the shocked rebel and sprang back into the madness. He was full of objections, his shredded calves and cramping lungs leading the rebellion against the rest of him, but their selfishness melted away when he saw where he'd taken himself this time. The woman was twice his size and weighted down with an armored jacket, which from the way she writhed and gasped on the ground had been the best decision she'd ever made. But the weight was immaterial to his surging energy. Tails stooped down low and hoisted her onto his less damaged shoulder, good tail bracing the parts of her his arms couldn't grip.

And then the pain caught up with him. He froze as all of the sensations of the last minutes? Hours? Seconds? caught up with him. Froze in the middle of the battlefield, with every gun on both sides undoubtedly swinging towards the strange interloper, or so he knew he'd see if his eyes saw anything but black. His terrified brain delegated once again, giving his body full control since it seemed to at least know what it was doing.

Tails had no recollection of crossing the meters-kilometers-millimeters to the shuttle, only a dim realization that there was a thinner, warmer metal with much less sand under his pawpads now, and that his charge was still safely writhing. A figure stepped out of the soft white light inside the shuttle, wearing the same grey fatigues as the rebels the fox had been rescuing, and stretched out his arms for the wounded woman.

They said something to him, something his ears were too overloaded to process, and stepped in close to take the weight off his back. It was only when they pulled away that Tails even registered the burning prick in his thigh.

The last thing he saw was a blue-capped needle in the medic's hand, and then a comforting mint ocean filled his eyes.