The Siege Against Tolkeen

A tall, gorgeous woman strolled into Pete Fransisco's office. Her hair was long and bright red, her eyes gold, her lips full and pouting. Her figure was perfect, and the tight white jumpsuit (adorned with a few techno-wizard artifacts) she wore only helped.

"Hello, hello!" Fransisco said eagerly, rising up from his chair. "What can I do for you, miss?"

She looked into his eyes, and at that moment the mystic knew something was wrong with her. "Are you Peter Fransisco of the Grand Alamar Police Force?" she asked, in a cold and inhuman voice which rumbled like thunder.

"Yes I am," he said warily, suddenly wary of the woman. His senses were going wild, screaming warnings which he could not ignore. The fact that the woman practically stank of magic didn't help. Suddenly, he became intensely aware that his gun was still in his desk.

"You need not be afraid," she said, pulling out an Inquisitor's badge, a shimmering golden eye lined with runes. "My name is Uzieth, and I am an agent of Tolkeen's Inquisitor Division."

"Lemme guess," Pete said, suddenly relaxing. "You're not human."

"That is correct. I am a seraph." With that, two white, feathery wings spread out from her back, and her eyes began to glow with a bright, golden light. "I have been sent to help you catch the murderer of Tral Melenee."

"Great!" Pete said. "We could use a little extra..."

Uzieth glared at him, her eyes glowing even brighter. Then, she began to stare at the file cabinets behind his desk. "I will require a detailed report of all clues and evidence which you have uncovered up to this point. Are your records stored in those file cabinets?"

"Uh, yes," he said meekly as Uzieth walked up to the drawers. "Lemme find my key."

"That won't be necessary," she said, inserting a tiny silver key into a slot. The drawer popped open. "As an Inquisitor, I have the master key." She then began to flip through the files.

"Need any help?" he volunteered.

"No, you may leave," said Uzieth, pulling out some crime scene photographs.

Pete began to walk out of his office, and then asked himself why he was so cowed by the spirit. Summoning up all of his courage, he stopped in his tracks, and asked, "Say, would you like to have dinner with me tonight? We can discuss the case over some Rhino-Buffalo steaks."

The seraph looked at him strangely, then back at the files. "Seraphs do not engage in pleasures of the flesh," she then said.

Fransisco cursed under his breath, then left his office. Just my friggin' luck, he thought bitterly. A hot chick finally walks into my office, and she turns out to be some frigid spirit. Oh, the gods are laughing at me today.

Lucius walked up to him, with a cup of coffee in hand. Some of the other detectives stood nearby, trying to watch inconspicuously. To a mystic, however, their attention was all too obvious. "Hey, Pete," said Lucius, trying to restrain his big puppy-dog smile. "I hope you don't mind, but we've got a little betting pool going here."

"Yeah?" asked Fransisco wearily. "Sorry, but I don't have any ones on me."

"No, that's not it," said Lucius. "We need to know...did you ask Uzieth for sex, a date, or did you act professionally for once?"

"A date!" snapped Pete. A couple of the detectives began cheering, while a few others began cursing their luck. "Are you happy now?!"

"Yes!" said one of the winners merrily.

"Vultures," muttered Pete, walking off towards the water cooler.

Jack Perrin stood in the empty parking lot, looking down at his watch. It wasn't too late, just about 7 or 8 PM. Still, it was a good time for a covert meeting. The city's diurnal residents were winding down and going home, and the nocturnal ones were just waking up and weren't on their way to work yet.

Suddenly, a hovertruck pulled up to the corner. It stopped there, and sank to the ground. One of the front doors opened, and a little blue D-Bee came out. He had an ovular head, with large black eyes and no mouth, and wore a suit of highly advanced combat armor sans the helmet.

"How are you doing?" the thing asked cordially, large pores in its neck opening, closing, and salivating as it talked. "Do you have the money?"

"Sure do," said Perrin, handing the creature a briefcase. "That's 10 million credits of gold in your hot little hands."

The creature opened the briefcase, took a look at the shining bars of wealth, and then shut it again. It then handed Perrin a piece of paper and the keys to the hovertruck. "And for you," it said in its odd and melodious voice. "There's 25 NE-50 Particle Beam Rifles, 30 suits of NE-C20 Camouflage Armor, a box of 100 plasma grenades, and an NE-020 Combat Drone with full weaponry. The truck is yours gratis."

"Pleasure doing business with you," said Perrin, taking the keys and the receipt. "And remember, I'm taking inventory when I get this thing to a secure location. If it's not all there in brand-new condition, you're in deep trouble."

"Don't threaten me," the thing said, although it did not seem threatened or hostile. "Naruni enterprises doesn't take kindly to people who threaten its sales reps." There was suddenly the sound of several guns cocking. Looking around, Perrin could see almost half a dozen people in the same armor as the D-Bee, all of them carrying plasma rifles.

"Looks like we've got a bit of a standoff," Perrin said calmly, as 6 laser-targeting dots lit up the D-Bee's unprotected forehead. Human snipers in Urban Warrior and Huntsman armor suddenly crawled out of their shadows, making their presence known. "I say that you go your way, and I'll go mine, and we'll avoid all this bloody conflict."

"Sounds good," said the D-Bee, sounding a bit scared now. Perrin climbed into the truck, and sped off into the night. The HFA snipers ran back into their shadows, and sprinted away.

"Should we begin pursuit?" one of the Naruni Enterprises mercs asked, his voice made very mechanical by the suit's microphones and speakers.

"No," said the D-Bee, shaking his head. "A sale's a sale, whether we like the client or not. If he acts against us, or reneges on payment for his next shipment, then we send in a Repo-bot. Otherwise, we'll let Mr. Perrin and his goons be."

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

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