The Siege Against Tolkeen

"It's the same guy," said Fransisco nervously, gazing at a sheaf of grainy crime scene photographs. "Everything tells me that it's the same guy. Same weapon, same angle of attack, same depth of wound."

Lucius glanced at the photos. They were all pictures of Melenee's shredded corpse and the parking lot where it had been found. On the top of each photo was written, "Classified document," in several languages. "Pete, how did you get these?" asked the Wolfen.

"My instincts told me that it was the same guy, as soon as I heard that Melenee had been killed," replied his partner. "I requisitioned these, and I guess that the filing clerks were in a very good mood."

"You really think that it's the same guy?"

"Fits the profile. We've agreed that the killer is a human supremacist."

"So?"

"Well, there's few targets more tempting to a human supremacist than a powerful D-Bee wizard who governs a kingdom of magic."

The Wolfen thought about this for a moment. "I think you may be right," he finally said. "The forensic details and pattern all fit. I'll tell the inquisitors about the lead. Maybe they'll want to take over this miserable case."

Fransisco looked up from the crime scene photos. "What's with the pessimism, Luke?" he asked. "You ain't burning out on me, are you?"

"No," said Lucius, with a touch of regret in his voice. "I just hate tracking down the friggin' head cases. Regular criminals, that isn't so bad. But the crazy ones, oy."

"Perhaps they'll transfer us to that armed robbery, then," laughed Fransisco. "You know, that one where the gang of headhunters killed 3 guards and injured 4, and got away with something like 5 mil in gold? That way, we can track down sane and rational criminals."

Lucius raised one furry eyebrow. Then he shrugged, and sighed, "Crazy spell-tossers."

"Are you calling me a spell-tosser?" Fransisco said jokingly, as the Wolfen began to walk away. "I'll have you know, I have a bachelor's degree in thaumaturgical philosophy from the University of Lazlo! They don't train spell-tossers there, they train mystics!"

Herbet Possman sat nestled between a couple of large metal crates in the cargo hold of a big rig hovertruck, hurtling its way through the Tolkeen wilderness at 200 mph, swerving wildly to avoid trees and large rocks. Possman wore a synth-leather over coat with discreet hardened ceramic plates sewn into the lining, as well as his customary clothing, which consisted of an ancient Metallica T-Shirt, fading work pants, and combat boots. He had an old-style laser pistol concealed in an inner pocket of the overcoat, and some survival and communications gear in his backpack.

The truck that he was in was the property of 'American Freight', a nation-wide smuggling syndicate. The Tolkeen branch was firmly in the pocket of the Coalition, which is how he was able to book passage. Still, the crew members didn't seem happy to have him onboard, and Possman got the feeling that they'd greatly enjoy abandoning him in the wilderness.

"Just my friggin' luck," he muttered to himself. "I'm one of the Coalition's best rangers, I know the Tolkeen wilderness like the back of my hand, so I get sent on a spy mission. Maybe I oughta just kill all these smugglers, take control of the truck , and defect to someplace like the Pecos Empire with all of this precious cargo."

He almost broke out laughing at the very thought. The smugglers were vastly better armed than he (their Gladiator armor could take 7 times the beating of his measly overcoat), he didn't have a clue how to drive hovertrucks, he'd never be able to get out of the CS's blockade in such a big honkin' truck, and the precious cargo consisted of organic fertilizer. "A perfectly logical Possman plan," he chuckled.

Suddenly, there was a crashing sound, and the hovertruck stopped abruptly. Possman was thrown forward, and nearly brained himself against a nearby crate. "Did you idiots hit something?!" he screamed, very cranky about his near-accident.

He was answered by the sound of metal ripping, a hysterical scream, and the sound of laser fire. The back door was pulled off, causing light to stream into the dark cargo compartment. Two skelebots stood there, their armor skin shining malevolently. Their vibro-blades flipped up into their hands as they advanced into the area. "Surrender of be destroyed," one of them growled, in a voice designed to sound like that of some rift-spawned demon.

"This is friggin' unbelievable," muttered Possman, as he raised his hands in surrender. "Arrested by the damn Skelebots."

They led him out, into the cold twilight forest. The truck had been practically surrounded by Skelebots. The front compartment had practically been torn to shreds by the zealous robots, and the drivers were being hacked to bits. A man in Smiling Jack armor flew out of the canopy, and landed in front of Possman.

"Looks like a smuggler finally had the good sense to surrender," he laughed, his voice made cold and mechanical by the audio filters in his helmet. "Most of the time, they think they can slip past us or shoot us up, and they can't."

"You...fucking...idiot," growled Possman. "I'm an undercover CS operative. Those guys that your damn robots are cutting into fish bait were in the Coalition's payroll. If you don't believe me, call up regional command and ask about Herbert Possman."

The power armor trooper looked at Possman for a moment, and then flipped a switch on the side of his head, turning on his internal radio and turning off his speakers. For about a minute he seemed to be lost in a conversation which nobody but he could hear. Then, he turned the switches back to their original spots.

"Sorry, sir," he said sheepishly. "We were supposed to get here at 9 PM to defend against smugglers, but finished up our last mission early, and thought that we might as well get here early. I thought that the last guard had just left early or something."

"Well this is a fine mess," muttered Possman, trudging off towards Tolkeen. "Oh, well."

"I'm really sorry, sir!" said the power armor trooper.

"Yeah, yeah," said the ranger. The one time anyone in the army shows initiative, he thought, My ride gets destroyed when I'm deep in enemy territory. Ain't war grand?

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

Copyright © 1996, 1997, 1998 David Haendler. All Rights Reserved.