"It never rains," sighed Sally Acorn, looking out her hut window at the stormy weather.

"But it shore pours, Sally-girl," said Bunnie from behind the princess, finishing the phrase.

"Well, are we gonna stand around all day and mope or are we gonna have a meeting?" asked Sonic, tapping his foot as he stood by the table where a big map of Robotropolis was laid out like a tablecloth, red pencil markings all over the multicolored paper at strategic points. Uncle Chuck's letter lay in the middle of the map, with the computerized brain of the deceased Supervisor SWATbot lying on top of the note as a paperweight.

"Sorry, Sonic," said Sally, turning with a grin, "I was just thinking about how awful the acid rain in Robotropolis must be at times like these."

"Well, Sal, that's why we never go on a raid in a rainstorm," replied Sonic, rolling his eyes with his ever-present smirk firmly planted on his face. "Now what's this you were saying about these new SWATbots?"

Sally smiled at her blue friend and then stepped into her usual spot near the far wall, turning to address her assembled friends and fellow Freedom Fighters. She placed NICOLE, her pocket Artificial Intelligence, on the table nearby the Supervisor's brain, and Rotor busied himself with hooking a wire between the small computer and the somewhat abused microchip and electrocrystal-lined brain.

"Rotor and NICOLE have been tapping into some of the information inside this robot's Central Processing Unit, and from what they tell me they found some interesting stuff. Uncle Chuck also mentioned some things that I think we need to go over, but before we do let's see what we can dredge out of this tin can's mind. NICOLE, Rotor, are you ready?"

"Ready and set, Princess Sally," replied the trusty palmtop.

"We've got all the connections we need, Sally," said Rotor.

"Then show them what's happening in Robotropolis."

NICOLE's screen blinked for a moment or two, and then the computer sent up an inverted pyramid of light and color which soon settled itself into identifiable shapes accompanied by voices, which became much more visible when Sally dimmed the lamp on her reading table. The assembled Mobians stared up at the workings of a great machine, one of the SWATbot producing presses that turned out the hated metal foes of the Freedom Fighters, the grinding of its gears and levers muffled by NICOLE so as not to hurt the ears of her fleshy friends. They could see Robotnik staring up at the great machine, laughing with each slam of the press as another dozen or so SWATbot shells was formed from raw materials. And then the scene shifted, much as a camera will shift its angle in home movies to take in a nearby view, and it became obvious that they were looking through the eyes of the Supervisor, replaying one of its old visual and audio memories. The new scene showed three much smaller machines, each of them only sending out one robot shell with each slam of their presses. But these robots were much different from the usual SWATbot. These new robots had strange and new features, some of them shaped like centaurs, and others like spiders, and still others like normal SWATbots, but with a more human-like head, just like that of the Supervisor before they had discarded it, each press turning out a robot of one of the new types. As the scene continued to pan across the great machinery the Freedom Fighters saw still other great machines, making other, smaller devices whose purposes they could only guess at, and the parts to much larger robots that they had never seen before.

The scene faded out, and then came back into focus on a different view. This time the eyes of the Mobians looked out of the Supervisor's eyes on a great building with metal walls. And all around this building stood row after row of SWATbots and hoverbots and stealthbots inside of cylindrical metal compartments, long three-fingered claws extending from the ceiling of their containers to clamp onto the robots' heads, electricity crackling as the connection was made. Another scene came into view, this time one that sent a gasp through the Freedom Fighters. It was the same kind of setup, but this time the robots in the cylinders were roboticized Mobians, their eyes glowing brightly as energy flowed from the metal claws into their cybernetic brains. And then a final scene came into view, this time of a much smaller room, with the same rows of metal cylinders. In each of these cylinders stood the new sorts of robots they had seen being made earlier, along with several others they didn't recognize. One cylinder was taken up by a large metal robot brain rather than the entire robot, and in another Sonic recognized its occupant.

"Hey, that's the cat-bot that I let win that race a while back."

The images faded away into a blur, and the hologram was drawn back into NICOLE's screen. When Sally turned the lamp up again Rotor detached the wires connecting the little AI to the Supervisor's brain and then stepped back to let Sally talk.

"From what Rotor and NICOLE tell me, what we first saw was one of the larger robot manufacturing plants, one that has some special projects going on inside of it," began Sally. "That's what those other robots and machine parts you saw were. The other rooms, with those cylinders, are the robot storage facilities in the Roboticizing Center, where Robotnik programs his SWATbots and further brainwashes our friends. That last room we saw was where he's been keeping some of the 'surprises' he's waiting to spring on us, updating them and making them even more deadly. It's that last room that we're going to focus on."

"So we're gonna blow it up, huh Sal?" said Sonic with a grin. "Sounds like a fun way to spend one of my evenings."

Sally shook her head.

"We don't dare. The roboticized Mobians we saw are only a very short distance from the room we want to put out of commission. If we blow it up, or cut the power, or something else along those lines we could very easily kill them all."

Sonic frowned. This was something he hadn't thought of, and he didn't like the sound of it, either.

"Then what're we gonna do?" he asked. "If we can't blow the joint there's not a whole lot that we can do to that many robots, unless," he grinned, "you want me to pour on the juice."

"That's exactly what I want you to do, Sonic," said Sally, smiling. "If we're going to take that place down, we've got to get in and then smash as many of the robots there as we can. But if we're discovered I can only imagine what sort of reception we'll have, considering how many robots are in that place. All Robotnik would have to do is turn them on and tell them to start shooting. So, until we reach the inner room, we need to keep things as quiet as possible and stay out of sight. And Antoine tells me he knows a way into this place."

All eyes rested on the young fox, who stammered for a moment before collecting his wits and realizing that he was now a contributing member of the group. Puffing up a little with the pride of that thought, Antoine began to share his information.

"Oui, my princess, I do know a way in. That building used to be a war-hoose where my father stored the old uniforms of our ancestors when it was not allowed to show off any more of the em-blooms of old wars."

The Freedom Fighters remembered some of what Aunt Rosie had told them about that, about how people in the city got sick of anything that reminded them of fighting after the Great War had been raging for nearly three years straight, and any nonessential pageantry of war and the uniforms or weapons thereof were put away in museums or in old warehouses, out of the sight of the general public.

"Anyway," continued Antoine, "My father showed me these uniforms a few times, but he did not like having to go through all the papers required just to get a quick look at a bunch of old clothes. So he took me through a big water pipe that had been used to supply the engines of a fire department that once parked in the war-hoose several years before. That is how I got so good at getting through pipes, my princess."

Antoine having finished, he threw his chest out a little farther to show his mastery of the moment. Bunnie got a sly smile on her face, and then reached over with one metal finger and pushed against Antoine's back. Since he was already off-balance from sticking his chest out this was more than enough to send the startled fox careening helplessly into Sonic and Rotor, sending all three of them down in a tangled heap of arms and legs. While the toppled threesome picked themselves up, Sonic looking daggers at Antoine while Rotor maintained his usual dreamy smile, Bunnie stared up at the ceiling, her arms behind her back and an angelic expression on her face, obviously having had nothing to do with the entire matter.

When the chaos had subsided once more, Sally looked over her team.

"Now that we're back to normal, are you with me?"

"Let's do it to it," said Sonic.

The others nodded their agreement.

* * *

"I still think it was a stupid idea to have anything to do with those surface-dwellers," said Growler, folding his thickly-muscled black ursine arms in front of him. "Who knows what kind of revenge that metal hop-toad, Robotnik, will send down to tear us up. He's not altogether ignorant of where we are, you know. He'd just have to look a little harder to find this big city of ours, you know. And if you don't know, you should!"

"Please, Growler, calm yourself," soothed Griff, touching the bear on the shoulder. "You know Oracle as well as I do. When has she ever let us down? And besides, she took most of the risk in both of these ventures we've been through. Her and those Freedom Fighter horses."

"It's because I know her as well as you that I'm worried," replied Growler, "because you know, you don't know her that well at all. She just showed up a few months ago when those Robo Rats were getting out of hand again and helped us steal some of that nice holographic technology that the Death Egg has. Well, now we're hidden from Robo Rats, but she still knows where we are. And if she keeps bringing folks down here like she did those two foals the other day you know it's only a matter of time before somebody notices. That's even if we can trust her, another thing of which I'm not so sure about. And now she wants the Tombs. The Tombs, for crying out loud! What's she want with a bunch of royal stiffs, anyway? It makes me nervous when you start talking dead people, you know."

"You did get them there all right, though," said Griff with a disarming smile, "right past all the security systems."

"Yeah, and Miss Toliver got 'em in, quick an' smooth as greased lightning," agreed Growler with a smirk as he remembered his recent display of ability. "You know, that was a fun little outing, I must admit." Then his face hardened once more. "There you go distractin' me again. How you do that is beyond me."

"That's how I keep doing it," said Griff with a grin, one which Growler returned with a chuckle. "By the way, how're you doing with Miss Toliver? Last I heard the turtle lady and you were becoming an item."

"Er . . ." Growler blushed. "We's just friends, you know."

"I'm sure," chuckled Griff. "Now, I've got some things I need to do, so I'll see you later. Hopefully in a tuxedo and with a little added weight from the gold that will be on your left hand. Until then." Griff bowed and walked away, vanishing into the crowds of the city as he left the black bear's home.

"Gold on my left hand?" mused Growler. "I wonder what meant by . . . oh well, that's not important. I still don't trust that owl-lady, though, you know. So what'll I do?" He sat down in a comfortably lived-in easy chair and thought. "Ah, I've got it. I'll just get Miss Toliver and myself out and we can do a little bit of upgrade on the perimeter defense. Throw in a few cameras, you know, and stuff like that. Nobody'll get past us then, owl, robot, Mobian, or beast. Now you know that was something odd for Griff to say, wasn't it? Gold on my left hand? And a tuxedo? Now what could that possibly . . . Oh, gawsh."

Growler covered his face with his paws to conceal the blush that engulfed him, showing even through his thick fur.

"Well, maybe it'd do me some good to be around Miss Toliver anyway. After all, we could both use a little time to ourselves."

With a mix of emotions and motives, Growler decided to do just as he had planned. After all, Miss Toliver was good at security systems. And the bear didn't mind admitting that he liked being around her for a few other reasons as well. These and other thoughts jumbling the ursine's head, he started through the crowd outside his door in search of his female turtle friend.

* * *

Sir Charles watched the central square of Robotropolis from the topmost window of an abandoned building. The old noble could remember a time when the pavement had been a carefully tended parade ground, with finely-manicured grass and decorative flower beds highlighting the edges, making a grand place for bands to play and for the marches of the military when they felt the need to show off. But now all the grass was long dead, and the flowers were but memories of a time that seemed more distant than the stars, which were hidden from view behind the veil of smog covering the city. Charles realized that he hadn't seen stars in months, not since his last very brief visit to Knothole. Dismissing that melancholy thought, the mustached metal hedgehog turned his attention back to the scene before him. Gathered in neat rows on the hard asphalt that now served as a parade and assembly ground for Robotnik's creations were a hundred SWATbots, their green visors glowing dimly in the eternal twilight of the city. The robots were arranged in groups of twenty, and between each group sat a Robo-rat, the foursome's metal whiskers twitching in anticipation as they stared with unblinking red eyes towards the head of the parade ground. Standing there, flanked by five of the very human-like Supervisor SWATbots, was Snively, addressing the small army with his usual nasal tone.

"Robotnik thought that a mere three squads would suffice in dealing with the Tombs," whined the pint-sized pontiff. "Well, he hasn't got a clue as to what's going on down there. Your job is to find those rebel scum that eluded us earlier and to wipe them out. Capture them! Roboticize them! Kill them if they resist! Leave no living creature left down below, not even the bugs in the sewers. Your commanders have their orders, as do you. Don't let me down."

And with that, Snively's bald-headed figure turned his pointed nose towards the Death Egg's main entrance and stalked off, leaving the Supervisors to their duties.

"Company, forward march," barked the lead robots in unison, and they each began to walk towards the center of the parade ground. When all of the assembled robots were gathered together, the Supervisor's called a halt, and then ordered their troops to make a large circle around them. When this was finished, the Supervisors barked out one last order: "Prepare for descent."

Sir Charles' jaw nearly dropped as he saw the entire center part of the parade grounds sink into the earth, leaving a neat round hole in its place.

"They'll massacre the Underground!" gasped Charles. "There's no way to stop that many SWATbots all at once. I don't even think my nephew could do it without some help."

Running down the stairs of the building, Charles quickly reached the street and ran towards the gaping maw that had opened in the middle of what had once been a grassy field so many long years ago. With a quick inspection, the metal hedgehog found grooves in the sides of the tunnel, grooves that had allowed the platform the SWATbots were on to lower. Putting his hand into the grooves, Charles discovered that he could find some purchase for climbing down.

"Somebody's got to warn them down there," muttered Charles to himself. "I guess it'll have to be me."

With that the roboticized old knight swung himself over the side of the hole and began his downward climb.

I'm getting too old for this, were his last thoughts before his mind focused solely on finding the next foot- or handhold, on the details of the walls as he descended, and most especially on not looking down. It was a long drop.

* * *

Equinus stood, looking down at his hands. They were the same hands he had always had, without the slightest variation. Shaking his head he looked at Oracle, finding that he was the same height as before when he compared himself to her. His brow wrinkling in confusion, the young colt took the shield from his friend's hands and carried it over to the bier that had once held the dead Paladin. Setting the heavy piece of metal on the cold marble, Equinus picked up the sword with its sheath, and found to his great surprise that he had to use both hands just to lift the long blade, let alone pull it out of the scabbard.

"What is this?" he said in concern. "Something's wrong. Aren't I supposed to be the Paladin?" He looked up at Oracle, who watched him with inscrutable eyes. "If I'm the Paladin why can't I even draw his sword?"

"You haven't made the change completely," answered the owl.

Equinus' brow wrinkled again.

"What do you mean?"

"You've seen your reflection, Equinus," said Oracle with a deep and tired sigh. "All that either you or I can see is the horn growing out of the middle of your forehead. That's the only change that's been made so far."

"So far? You mean there's more to it than nearly getting myself torn apart?" said Equinus in frustration, dropping the sword angrily back on the bier. He sat down, leaning back against the stone, and shut his eyes. "I've done everything you said, Oracle, been through every danger you wanted me to face, and followed you like some faithful puppy. But now I'm getting upset. After everything I've been through there's still no Paladin. There's just me. And I'm nowhere near the hero that I've heard about in stories. The planet's in the same predicament it was in before we started this stupid adventure, and I don't see any chance of improvement, Oracle, unless you can pull some miracle out of those new blue robes of yours."

Equinus looked up at the owl, who stood as still as stone while she stared back at him. His eyes weren't angry, just tired and frustrated from long effort without any tangible results. Her eyes, in turn, met his with a look of determination and patience, though he could see the faintest traces of disappointment in those deep blue pools.

"I said so far, Equinus, and that is exactly what I meant," said Oracle with a commanding tone. "You see, you weren't ready to make the full change all at once. Some people can take on the mantle of the Last Legion in an instant, but I've known few people like that, and they keep getting fewer in number as the years go on. Most only take in what power they are able to bear at first, and gradually they adapt to the new powers and abilities that are readily available if they can but open their heart and mind to accept them."

"So you're saying that I was only ready for the horn?" snorted Equinus. "It makes sense I couldn't take it all at once."

"But you will take it in, as time goes on," replied Oracle, her voice soothing as she walked over to the seated equine. "Gradually your fur will turn white, the pure and metallic silver of the Paladin, as you grow more ready for the burdens of leading the Last Legion. Your strength will grow, as will your speed and skill. All this will come in time, with the proper motivation."

"Proper motivation?"

"Yes," said Oracle, nodding. "You must want the powers and the responsibilities, and you must accept them fully. The Last Legion members of times past have told me that they can hear the voices of those who held their office in the past. I believe them. You see, you are not a single person yet, but rather are made up of many disjointed parts, all unicorns of times past. As you grow in power and accept the mantle of your calling these disjointed parts will merge with you, and eventually you shall be made into a new whole with all the power, knowledge, skill, and experience of those who came before you." The wise old owl smiled. "You see, we have made ample provision for the return of the Last Legion. It is up to you to make use of them."

Equinus sighed tiredly and then stood, his face determined.

"I'll do my best."

At first Oracle thought her eyes might be playing a trick on her, but she quickly saw that it was a reality she faced. The horse had grown almost an inch taller before than before, making her eyes about level with his, though she was still a little taller. Looking up she could see that a tiny star of silver fur had begun to form around the base of the shining horn protruding from the stallion's forehead.

"That, I think, may be enough," said Oracle, smiling enigmatically.