The Siege Against Tolkeen

"I dunno, sir," said Donald Hartman anxiously as he and Perrin drove through the streets of Tolkeen at midnight. "Isn't this unbelievably illegal? I mean, even associating with Naruni Enterprises makes you a criminal! Letting them get their hands on power armor technology's even worse."

"First off," said Perrin, lighting up a cigarette. "Do you see any police around here? You, me, and that Possman guy are probably the only representatives of the Coalition in town. I'm not going to report you, Possman isn't going to report you, and you aren't going to report yourself."

The pilot paused for a moment to dodge a huge chunk of rubble in the road. It would be weeks before all the damage from the CS bombing could be cleaned up, and repairs would take months. Some alleys and side streets still had unclaimed corpses lying around.

"Second," said Perrin. "We've gotta get your SAMAS repaired. I don't feel like going to the registered repair shops in town, because they'll turn our asses in. These Naruni guys are the only people in town who'll repair your rig and won't report it. At least, they're the only ones I know of. And you'll forgive me for not wanting to spend weeks tracking down a good black market robotic chop shop."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"And last, we need your SAMAS in working order if we're ever going to take that pyramid apart. We succeed in this, and we'll be heroes. They aren't going to pester heroes about unauthorized mech parts. And if we fail, we'll be dead, so it doesn't matter what the Coalition high brass thinks."

The road ahead was fairly free of rubble, so Perrin took his eyes off the road for a moment to look over his new recruit. Hartman was a black man, with the typical athletic build and short haircut of a Coalition pilot. There was a datajack on his left temple, his eyes looked like they might be artificial, and his left arm seemed to be a slightly different shade from the rest of his body, making Perrin wonder whether or not it was a bio-replacement limb. Hartman still wore his uniform pants and boots, although they were spattered with motor oil. The white T-Shirt which he'd borrowed from one of the HFA punks bore the proud logo, "Xiticix suck." Above the words was a cartoonish, badly drawn picture of a decapitated insectoid.

"Not too many blacks in the CS air force," Perrin remarked, trying to make small talk. "Ever had anyone be a prick to you because of it?"

"Nope," replied Hartman. "You'd be amazed how little the color of your skin counts when your skin's sheathed in power armor."

"Can't argue with that," said Perrin. "Here's our stop." With that, he eased their hovertruck into the open door of a large, unmarked garage. Inside, all manner of electronics and robotics equipment lay scattered about. Several robots, in various stages of repair, sat stoically, supported by mechanical harnesses. There was a calendar featuring a nude, blue, mouthless D-Bee woman hung up on a wall.

Perrin and Hartman stepped out of their truck, just as a greasy workman of the same race as the lady in the picture stepped out of his office. "Well, Mr. Perrin," the creature said, in a nasal voice, glands on the side of his neck opening and closing as he spoke. Drool dripped down from the openings, further dirtying the oil-stained floor. "The local sales rep told me that you'd be stopping by for an estimate. What can I do for you today?" The mechanic seemed inordinately cheerful. It annoyed Perrin.

The sky cycle pilot opened the back of the hovertruck, exposing the prone, broken Super SAMAS. "We need this fixed up," Perrin said. "Mr. Hartman here can tell you exactly what he wants done. And tell me how much it'll cost before you start work. I don't want to be saddled with a bill I can't possibly afford. I've heard how Naruni Enterprises works."

"Mr. Perrin, you wound me!" said the D-Bee excitedly, feeling up the damaged power armor as if it were a lover. He had wanted to get his hands on something like this for ages. People in Tolkeen didn't want technology. They wanted wizardry. The most h e ever got was damaged labor robots and the occasional security drone. It would be a pleasure to work on a sophisticated combat machine for once.

"So how much will it cost?" asked Perrin critically, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'll have to do a diagnostic," the D-Bee said. "Lemme go get the loader." He walked into a side room. A few moments later, he returned, clad in a framework of whirring, clanking armor. With the enhanced strength that the suit provided, he easily pulled the Super SAMAS out of the truck and into a harness.

"It'll take a few moments to load up," the mechanic said, furiously pressing buttons on a small computer terminal. "This is one of the more elaborate machines we've had in here for months. The nanites in the terminal have to get used to this thing. While we're waiting, you wanna tell me what kind of improvements you want made?"

Hartman uneasily thought things over for a moment, then stepped up to the D-Bee. God, it's uncomfortable being near one of these things, he thought. "I want the head of be reconfigured to look like a dog's head instead of a skull," he finally forced out. "My last squad was called the Black Dog Squadron. It's sort of a memorial to them."

"What kinda dog?" the D-Bee said casually, taking down notes on a hand-held computer. "Like a rottweiler or something?"

"That would be fine. Also, I really need the flight pack to be working again. Flying is a big part of my combat style."

"That's a problem. We don't have many flight pack parts here, at least not high quality ones. I could order them, but it would have to be imported from another dimension. That'd take at least three months, and would cost a hell of a lot. The other solution would be for me to use the parts we have here. That would cost less, but would make a LOT of noise when you turn it on. Don't go for stealth."

"That's okay, I guess. But in that case, I'll need powerful speakers. I like to play music during battle. Sort of a tradition."

"You're in luck. I stock the best speakers that you can get in North America." There was suddenly a loud beeping noise. The D-Bee turned to his diagnostic computers. "Hmm, pretty bad," he said, stroking his angular blue chin. "The armor plating is useless. I'll have to add completely new stuff. Lots of electronic damage too. No major systems are down, though, so that's good."

"Tell you what," the D-Bee said, suddenly even more energetic. "There's some experimental parts lying around that I've been wanting to test. Let me install 'em, and the entire repair is free. You just have to do some paperwork after the suit's been in a few brawls."

"What are the parts?"

"Nothing too unusual. Brand new, laser resistant armor plating. Some more efficient electronics systems. And a pair of giant-sized plasma cartridge revolvers."

"Deal!" said Hartman, shaking the mechanic's hand.

The two humans got back in their hovertruck, and began to pull out of the garage. The D-Bee mechanic waved to them. Perrin reflected on how the man would most likely be dead if their mission succeeded, and smiled softly.

"See you later!" said the mechanic happily. "My children will be thrilled to know that the Coalition's local branch has appointed me their top mechanic!"

Suddenly, at the mention of the D-Bee's children, Perrin felt a sharp pain in his chest, like a flaming dagger of magic probing his heart. A moment later, he realized that he was feeling guilt, an emotion which was usually alien to him. Self-pity and loathing were the scars which he bore, not guilt. At least, that was what he had always thought.

The psychopath was having a bad day. Everything seemed to be going wrong. He walked through the rubble-strewn streets sadly, like he was attending a midnight funeral. If only it was a funeral! A funeral for the entire city of blasphemy. The psychopath looked up at the defiant, evil pyramid, and spat. His mouth tasted of bile.

A group of about twenty beings suddenly turned the alley, and began walking in his direction. They were demons, no doubt about it. Their horns, their tusks, their scales, their robes, confirmed it. Even those who looked outwardly human or even appealing, stank of evil. Skeletons, the walking dead, followed their inhuman masters.

The psychopath began to tremble slightly.

"Renounce life and live forever!" chanted the group, as one. "Embrace death, and forever live! Renounce death, and forever die!"

The psychopath's left cheek began twitching wildly.

Their leader, a witch no doubt, festooned in the vestments of evil and insanity, cried out, "Those who wish to survive such the Coalition's invasion, believe in us. For only by forsaking such mortal concepts as the continuation of life can expect to rejoice when their deaths come! Only those who are prepared may bask in the glories of the next world!"

Bitter tears began to run down the psychopath's cheeks. He could not restrain himself. To do combat with such powerful demons would mean certain destruction. Yet, if he did not challenge them, was he a worthy servant of good?

One of the demons, a lizard dressed in the clothes of a man, walked up to the killer. "Would you like some literature on the Church of the Skull and the Pentagram?" it asked, in a soft, appealing voice. The voice of the devil. "We believe that..."

The voice of the D-Bee was cut off by the harsh squeal of twin vibro-blades activating. The maniac withdrew the swords from underneath his baggy overcoat, and then the devil was in two pieces. Strength filled the psychopath's limbs, and he leapt into the crowd of monsters, his blades leading the way.

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

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

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