The Siege Against Tolkeen

"There is no glory in this," thought the psychopath, as he trudged down the busy city streets. "This is a cowardly method of combat. But it must be done. This is a necessary task." The murderer looked down again at the package which he clutched to his chest, and shuddered. Then he looked up at the sign on the theater gates, and he shuddered again. He stared at the name of the band that was playing tonight, and he resisted the urge to throw up. His eyes feasted on the words written up there in gaudy neon letters, so that all of the nausea could be expelled from him now. He had to make himself numb to the atrocities inside there if his mission were to be completed. The psychopath felt the bundle of paper and twine in his hands, and felt a little bit safer and saner. He walked up to the admissions booth, up to the young woman who was painted exactly like a whore, and he handed her the ticket. The murderer then walked into the den of iniquity, knowing that what he was better than the scum inside.

"So," asked Sonja, her cheerfulness grating the wounded, weary Perrin. "How did it go? Did you get the APC?"

"Yup," growled Perrin, throwing open the refrigerator at the HFA headquarters and pulling out a beer. "I got the personnel carrier to the Naruni garage safely. That hacker kid got Larsen's passcode into the city just right. They thought that I was just one of his goons."

"But?" asked Sonja. "What else happened? You don't look so good."

"There is a fucking traitor among us," said Perrin. "When I was flying into the mercenary camp, a small bomb exploded in my hoverbike. Nearly dropped me right into the electrified cut-wire. I'd be dead right now if I hadn't jumped off."

"Are you absolutely sure that it was a bomb? Maybe one of the mercenaries tagged your bike. Or maybe it was an engine failure."

"All of the mercenaries were covered in rhino-buffalo piss and puking their guts out when the blast hit. And the bike's sensors would have told me about an engine failure like that a full fifteen or twenty minutes before an explosion happened. We've got a rat in the house."

"This is terrible! I never would've thought that anyone in the HFA would do something like that..."

"No!" said Perrin sarcastically. "Who ever would have thought that a band of cutthroats and muggers could ever do something dishonest? It boggles my fucking mind!"

"You're upset," replied Sonja coolly. "Have a couple of beers, maybe catch a movie or something to calm down. When you're collected enough to think straight, then come back, and we can go over who might have done this together."

"I guess you're right," muttered Perrin angrily, collapsing onto a nearby chair and nearly spilling his beer. "Any good movies out tonight?" Sonja grabbed a nearby newspaper and tossed it to the pilot. Her chemically-enhanced strength caused the rolled-up paper to fly at a speed comparable to that of a bullet. Perrin fell backwards, dropping his half-full can, as the paper hit him squarely in the forehead.

"Oh, no!" yelped the Juicer, running over to help her leader. "I'm sorry, Jack! I guess that I just don't know my own strength sometimes!"

"Jesus," growled the pilot, picking himself up off of the ground. "Seems like everyone's trying to kill me today. Wonder if the usher at the movies is gonna slip arsenic into my popcorn. He angrily thumbed through the Living-Arts section of the Tolkeen Review, until he finally settled upon the movie section.

"Good reviews on the new McBain movie," he said. "I guess I'll go see that. See you in a couple of hours."

Perrin walked out of the beer hall, running a comb through his disheveled hair and hoping that he didn't look too much like the wounded terrorist leader that he was. He had barely gotten out of the door, however, when he let out a loud cry of shock and surprise. Sonja, thinking that her leader had been ambushed, sprinted through the door after him, and was caught off guard just as Perrin had been.

Hubert Possman was on the doorstep, half-unconscious, and bearing the signs of torture and abuse all over his body. He was clad in bloody robes a few sizes too big for him, and seemed to be in shock. Perrin quickly grabbed the ranger, and pulled him inside the door. "I thought you were dead, man!" the pilot exclaimed.

"So did I," muttered Possman grimly. "So did I."

Shaard looked into the computer screen, doing his best to project an image of sympathy and concern. He was telecommunicating with Larsen, the mercenary leader, who was in a foul mood and venting his frustrations. The ice dragon thought that for the amount of money that the one-eyed headhunter was being paid he could afford to be civil, but managed to keep from actually saying it. Larsen's Brigade had been serving an important purpose during the war, and Shaard didn't want to lose them over a matter of etiquette.

"That APC cost me 23 million credits!" stormed Larsen. "And that's not including the extra armor plating, the new paint job, or all of the extra weapons systems installed on it! I want it back and I want it back now! Otherwise, you can kiss your deposit good-bye!"

"Really, Vincent, you know that we will do our very best to find it for you. I've got the composite sketch which your boys sent to me, and it's running through my computers now. If your mysterious thief has ever been convicted of a crime or suspected of a crime, then he'll be in the databases, and we can catch him."

Larsen looked a bit placated by this, but still felt irritated. "See that you do," he said. "Oh, and I just thought that I'd inform you, we are moving the victimized camp a couple of kilometers to the south."

"Why? You'd said to me a couple of times that that base placement was ideal."

"It was. We just can't get the smell out. I swear, when I catch that son of a bitch...you know, I practically wish that he had killed one of my men, so I'd have an excuse to send bounty hunters after him. As it is, I don't want to have to justify that expense to my accountant."

Shaard smiled gently. "Don't worry, when I catch him, I'll send him over to you for his punishment. I'll talk to you again soon." The dragon then clicked the connection off. He briefly chuckled at the idea of a mercenary camp held at the mercy of a freak with some stink bombs and a hovercycle, but couldn't find much humor in it. He really didn't like the idea that an enemy of Tolkeen's would be able to do that, and was even less amused by the thought that now said enemy had a heavily armed combat vehicle.

Suddenly, the words, "DATABASE MATCH FOUND," began flashing on the top of the screen. Shaard opened up the file which appeared before him, the file of Coalition RPA Ace Pilot and former prisoner of war Jack Perrin. The dragon snarled in frustration as he read the personal history section. This Perrin fellow had been a superb pilot, and had an impressive kill listing. He had managed to penetrate Tolkeen's air defenses a while back, had been captured, and then broken out of prison by several scumbags suspected to be from the Human Freedom Association. Perrin was currently believed to be in a high-level position amongst the HFA. This would be trouble. The dragon could feel it in his bones.

"But what's this," he mused, noting the "Known Relatives," partition of the screen. "Wife, Elizabeth Perrin, deceased." The dragon switched to the selection of the database devoted to known Coalition aces, and sure enough found a section on the terrorist's wife. Killed in action against an elemental several months ago. "I can use this," Shaard said slyly. "As a matter of fact, I've got a very good idea of what to do about Mr. Perrin here..."

The psychopath covered his ears, to block out the demonic shit which was considered music. It was worse than he had thought, so much worse. The screamed, demonic lyrics, mixed with the worst kind of profanity and blasphemy. The psychopath looked up on-stage, and tears began to roll down his cheeks as he saw the "musicians" (both human and non-human) dressed in bondage gear, playing musical instruments covered with fake blood and occasionally fondling a holy statue on stage. The filth was so horrible, so horrible...the psychopath knew that he could stand no more. He had planned to quietly walk out, leaving the package on his chair, but that was no longer an option. The murderer knew that he could not sleep at night if he let this atrocity perish in a quick blast of smoke and flame. He dropped the package under his chair, and began to wade through the mob of screaming, cheering teenagers in bizarre clothing with the band's name upon them.

The psychopath began to climb up onto the stage, but was caught from behind by a seven-foot tall monster with rippling muscles and a pair of huge, awkward tusks emerging from its lips. The thing wore a partial suit of body armor, with the word, "SECURITY" painted in black letters on the chestplate. "Where do you think you're going, asshole?!" the D-Bee grunted.

The psychopath reached back with a quick elbow strike to the neck, which nearly caved in the monster's windpipe. The security guard fell down upon his hands and knees gagging, where he was punished with a second strike, a kick to the face which shattered his nose and left him lying on the ground, bleeding like a stuck pig.

The other security guards saw this and attacked, many of them wielding neural maces and clubs. The psychopath pulled his vibro-blades out from beneath his coat, and proceeded to do battle with the enemies of heaven. The ignorant crowd laughed and cheered him on, thinking that the decapitations and the disembowelments were simply special effects, a skit organized by the band. When a vibro-blade sailed through the neck of a father of three, they applauded. When a powerful kick caved in the chest of a man simply doing his job, they laughed. It was only when the psychopath leapt onto the stage and began to slaughter the band that they realized perhaps something was going wrong. And when the band had been murdered, and the psychopath had fled through an open window, then the crowd definitely knew something to be amiss. Unfortunately for them, it was already too late.

As the psychopath walked through the streets of downtown Tolkeen, his swords concealed beneath his coat, the theater burst into flames. Unlike the thousands of shocked and terrified people around him, he did not look back. Instead, he laughed. Justice had been served, at least in the view of his maniacal thoughts.

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

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