The Siege Against Tolkeen

"Jeez, what happened to this guy?" asked the ape-like D-Bee. He had a high forehead, lots of bristly black hair, and a mouthful of blunt, shockingly white teeth. The being wore a full doctor's suit, including a white doctor's suit, face mask (which hung around his neck), and even a utility belt with dozens of pockets. Each pouch held medical gear, of many varying kinds.

The D-Bee's high-tech medical gear contrasted sharply with his office. The three stood in the living room of a dingy apartment, with no furnishings save a chipped sink, and a large table covered in sterile plastic. The shades were down, so the dim illumination of the room came from a bare light bulb hanging from a chain on the ceiling.

"He got caught in a plane crash, and then got in a fight before he could completely recover," said Tucson, as he hoisted the unconscious Perrin onto the table. "He's been passing in and out of consciousness for about three days."

As if on cue, the human began to moan, and tried, in vain, to sit up.

"Ah, good," said the doctor eagerly, taking out a small penlight but not turning it on. Holding it between his hairy, misshapen thumb and forefinger, he began to move it back and forth. "Please follow the penlight with your eyes, sir."

Perrin tried to oblige. However, his senses were blurry and distorted. He could barely even see the penlight, as a speck of blue against a lump of black. His eyes didn't move well, causing pain when he tried to look from side to side. However, even in his wounded state, the pilot could easily tell that the doctor was not human, and tried to hold down his instinctive rage and panic.

"Hm," said the doctor, suddenly grasping Perrin's head and shining the light into one of his eyes. "Are you having problems focusing your vision?"

"Yeah," Perrin muttered. Full speech was beyond him in his dazed and incoherent state.

The doctor began looking at the bruises on Perrin's forehead. "Looks like he's got a concussion," he said to Tucson. "I can give him something for the pain and to keep him awake, but don't really have the equipment to mend him up proper. I'll do a quick X-Ray to make sure there aren't any skull fractures and put his head in a brace of some sort, to prevent further injuries. It'll cost you around 200 creds for the medication, and another 225 for my medical services."

"Fine," muttered Tucson, feeling around in his pockets. His fist closed on a thick roll of coins, his life savings. Most of it would be spent helping this bigot get better, and much of the rest would be spent feeding the man. "Sure hope you're worth it, buddy," said Tucson, under his breath.

The D-Bee proceeded to take several pictures of Perrin's head, with a small device that looked like a camera. Some small photos, barely bigger than wallet-sized pictures, printed out of the side, showing the pilot's skull. The doctor looked Perrin over for a moment, and then pronounced him free of skull fractures. He then handed Tucson two small bottles full of pills, and gave him detailed instructions as to their use.

"By the way, how's that cyber-leg treating you?" the doctor asked, lines of concern furrowing his large brow. "It looks sort of rickety."

"Ah, it's doing fine," said Tucson quickly, not wanting the body fixer to take a closer look at the fake prosthetic. "I'll see you later, doc."

"Fine," said the doctor cheerfully, helping Perrin off of the table. "I'll be sure to get the word out to you if I have to change offices." The doctor pulled a window shade out of the way, and looked out over the sprawl of New Alamar, the skyline dominated by the High Council's pyramid and its unnatural satellites. Military aircraft and dragons swooped and soared in the skies.

"With the damn war going on, I'm surprised how well they persecute unlicensed doctors," said the D-Bee bitterly, shutting the window. "But they do. About every three or four weeks, some bastard I patched up turns me in for the reward, and I have to g et out of yet another home."

"He's in there," said a fat, reeking creature of the same race as the doctor. He stood just outside the door to the body fixer's office, along with two red-garbed inquisitors, in full combat armor. The D-Bee was dressed in a stained, sweaty undershirt and a pair of torn dress pants, puffing on a cheap, soggy cigar. "A half-dead human and an elf went in a few minutes ago. His latest patients, no doubt."

"You've been very helpful, sir," said one of the inquisitors, the man's voice obscured into a harsh rasp by the gas mask he wore. "You'll get your payment in the mail." The D-Bee, seemingly content, waddled off into a nearby room.

The body fixer had just finished the dressing for Perrin's head when the inquisitors broke the door down. The two policemen strode into the room, telekinetic machineguns at the ready. 'Surrender now!" yelled one of them. "This is an illegal clinic!"

"Crap!" yelped the doctor, trying to run through a window. He held his forearms out in front of his head, and smashed out through a window. There was a shower of glass, as the body fixer leapt out onto a fire escape.

But before he could scramble down the rusted metal ladder to freedom, one of the inquisitors was already on him, pulling him back through the shattered window by his collar. The body fixer was rudely thrown down into the floor and handcuffed.

Tucson knew the hell which would await him, but still preferred it to instant death at the hands of the inquisitors. Angrily, he held his hands up, in surrender. Perrin did the same, hoping that the tortures of the Tolkeen military were not quite as bad as the Coalition propaganda said.

The three men were handcuffed, and led out of the building at gunpoint. They were then quietly shuffled into a paddy wagon, chained to the sides, and driven away.

I really wish that they'd heat these rooms a little room, thought the interrogator as he walked into the dungeon. The cool concrete walls were splotched with blood in many colors from many species, and the smooth surface was broken by iron manacles and restraints protruding from metal sockets. Securely chained against one wall was a severely beaten, half-dead human, who looked up at his tormentor with a gaze of pure venom.

This one might prove to be a challenge if he was in full health, thought the interrogator. But in his weakened state, he's no more than a little morsel to be picked apart at my will. Might be entertaining, though.

"Well, Mr. Perrin," he said, staring directly into his bound victim's eyes. "Oh, yes, we know your name," he said, noticing the captive's look of surprise. "We know your name, and we know your sins." Then, with a minute gathering of will, the interrogator began to probe the pilot's mind, savoring memories of guilt, fear, and intimidation like a child picking out the best chocolates in a box of candy.

"Oh, and I do wish to extend my condolences about your wife," said the interrogator, grinning widely, his words dripping sarcasm.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Perrin growled. "My wife has nothing to do with this."

"Oh, no, she has everything to do with this. She's the reason that you're here. To get revenge for her. Well, I must say, if that's your reason to come here and kill good people, then you're a misguided fellow indeed. If you really wanted to avenge her, you'd commit suicide. It's your fault that she died."

"Let me out of these chains and say that, you stinking coward."

"Well, I'm only saying it because it's true. I mean, you were the one who pressured her into a life in the army. You were the one who didn't herd the elemental correctly. If you had helped Kerner get it right in their field of fire, that monster would have been destroyed. But it came in from the side, and tore the tanks to shreds." The interrogator had no idea if that was true or not, however. He was merely playing on Jack's fears and insecurities. And judging by Perrin's reaction, he had done well.

"I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!" screamed Perrin, feebly trying to break free of the restraints. "I'm going to rip your eyes out of your head and shove 'em down your throat!"

"Well, now you know what it's like for the thousands of innocent people you and your Coalition have slaughtered. The deaths of loved ones, senseless brutality, fear and paranoia, now you know the horrors that have been inflicted on so many non-humans."

"Non-humans are the enemy."

"No," said the interrogator. "This is the enemy." And with that, he projected into Perrin's mind a series of images and emotions he had programmed into dozens of other captive CS troops and personnel. It was pictures and sounds of D-Bee villages being destroyed by mammoth war machines, and of alien children dying by laser fire, and of magic-using healers and doctors being tortured and slain. It was the emotions of a parent mourning a slaughtered baby, and the fear of a refugee caught beneath the feet of an enormous robot. Perrin suddenly found himself helpless before the onslaught of emotion and trauma. He began sobbing wordlessly, unable to cope.

"You helped bring this about," said the interrogator sadly. "And we cant tolerate things like this. You wouldn't tolerate it, either, if you were in our place. So, we don't really have any choice but to execute you. That's the typical punishment for murderers."

"Get out...of...my...head, you...fucking....mind-raper."

"I just want to hear you admit one thing," said the interrogator, as he pulled out a long, bone-handled knife. "I want to hear you confess that you realize why you are being killed. Say that you know why you're being executed."

"Just...kill me."

"Still need more proof of your depravity, eh?" asked the interrogator. He then projected his favorite image, that of a small, adorable D-Bee child clutching a teddy bear, being ripped apart by the jaws and knives of a slavering Dog Pack. Perrin began convulsing with rage and terror.

"Ready to admit it?" asked the interrogator, placing the blade of the knife directly at Perrin's throat.

"I realize why you want to kill me."

"Thank you," said the interrogator politely, and then began to make his incision.

Suddenly, the door to the dungeon swung open. The interrogator turned, to see a rag-tag squad of terrorists running into the room, guns smoking. He tried to create a shield of telekinetic force to protect him, but it was too late. By the time that he had even realized the extent of the threat, a Crazy had neatly impaled him on a type of vibro-polearm.

"Geez, Rick, this guy doesn't look like much of a hero," muttered a lockpicker, as he struggled to free the half-conscious Perrin.

"Oh, but he well," said Rick Freedom, sliding the dead psychic from the end of his spear. "When he's leading us into battle, I promise you that he'll look like Earth's greatest hero."

Next Chapter

By David Haendler.

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

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