Creative Writing

Reddin mugged for the lens and the door slid away.

He had only been seated a moment when the stunning mink monzer giving him the eye from the secretary station approached, bowed, and purred in his ear.

“The General will see you now.”

The wall dissolved and Reddin snapped a salute. “Inquisitor General Stevens! Rank One Reddin reporting for duty.” Behind a massive desk, a high-back chair revolved, revealing the man Reddin had read stories about in history class.

“Enter, Rank One.” The general’s skin was healthy and his spine erect, but something around his eyes made him look ancient. In his hands was a mana-reactive slate displaying a red-texted emergency dispatch labeled HIGHEST PRIORITY ∘ IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED ∘ DO NOT SHARE.

Reddin took a few steps and then slowed to a stop as he gazed across the room. “That… is quite a view.”

Beyond the desk and through the massive concave transparent rokani wall was a glorious panorama of color and motion, from the riot of flora and fauna in the Imperial Botanical Gardens fifty floors below to the whitecaps on the crimson, wind-swept Wyrmblood Bay beyond. Across the bay, the sports complex stretched out before the palace, and all was bathed in the light of the red local sun that was just starting its fade into the coming evening.

“Sit in the same chair for thirty years, you’ll get used to anything.” He motioned towards a mountain of white fur standing behind the well-appointed bar just inside the door. “Grab a drink and take a seat.”

Reddin said “Thank you,” and then added, “uh... lord?”

Stevens corrected him while reviewing the brief. “Military personnel are ‘sirs’ no matter the organization to which they have been dispatched, Rank One.”

“Right. Sorry. Sir.”

He looked toward what he assumed was the monzer’s head and asked if it knew how to make a blue dream. Two deft appendages emerged from the fur to fill a shaker with ice. Soda water was poured in and then out again into a tumbler.

Reddin watched and tried to guess where its eyes were.

Next came a scoop of blueberry snaps that hissed at the carbonation. A drim of straight mana was added from a glowing decanter and the stopper was replaced. The fur gave a slight bow and flourish as it handed over the concoction.

Reddin didn’t want to be a boor, but he liked his with a cherry and said so.

After a beat, a hand went towards its belly and slowly pulled back the fur to reveal its eyes.

Oh, that’s where.

It did this solely to display its displeasure at not having been given the full order in the first place. It stabbed a maraschino testily and plopped it into the glass with a raised eyebrow.

Reddin nodded his satisfaction and the monzer turned its attention back its linz, which was currently holo-vising the Manalance finals.

“All set?” The General had a thousand other things to be doing. Ploymark had really screwed up his schedule with this sudden ‘request’.

Reddin took the drink and strode to the desk. The overstuffed drakebelly was firm as he sat.

“Hit me.”

“Eightteen hours ago, the The Kingdom of Caspia was attacked by agents of the Underdawn. They succeeded in breaching the state treasury and teleporting out with all of Caspia’s carma to an unknown location.”

Reddin had heard nothing of this and said so.

“Caspian officials have requested that we keep it secret as long as possible for diplomatic and security reasons.”

“Understandable. How can I help?”

“The Caspian Princess, uh,” he glanced down, “Eh-loo, has agreed to a wedding with The Dread White Lord of the Writhe in exchange for replacement carma for her nation.”

Reddin was in the middle of his first drink and nearly spit it out. “She’s gonna marry the Lich King!?”

“Correct. The Empire is using this union to establish a client state relationship with his nation in furtherance of our strategy of indirect confrontation vis a vis the Kaesh Dominion.”

“And? How do the Kaesh feel about that?”

“They don’t know. It would cause a major international incident if they found out.”

“But they’re not going to.” The potion was already beginning to loosen him, and he flashed a smile.

“Not if you do your job, Rank One.”

“So, my job… is what exactly?”

“Escort the princess to her wedding.”

He hmm’d. “Sounds like an easy mission. Why do you need an inquisitor?” He took another drink.

Wow, this Inquiry mana is the real thing.

“Well, it’s your first assignment, so we’d like to make it as straightforward as possible. However, it would be understandable if she got cold feet somewhere along the way.”

Yeah, no kidding…

“You will ensure that she arrives in The Writhe and marries the Dread White Lord. When you return, your performance will be evaluated and we’ll see what’s next.”

“Fair enough.”

“Any questions?”

“No, I think I'm goo-“ Reddin suddenly remembered. “Oh, wait.”

He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. “So, do y’all do direct deposit, or…?”

“HR didn’t go over that with you?”

“No. Believe it or not, I still haven’t seen anyone from HR.”

“Well, I’m sure someone’ll be in touch.”

“Yeah, I hope so…” Things seemed to work differently in this organization.

“Report to Magister Sigmodian on underlevel seven to be outfitted. You halo in twenty.”

Reddin polished off the drink and rose to salute. “Yes, sir.”

Just before he turned to go, the general added, “Oh, and Reddin?”

“Yes, general?”

“He likes to be called Siggy.”

“Oh, uh… thank you. Sir.”

Reddin dropped the glass off at the bar, nodded to the fur’s middle, and walked through the wall.

The mink slipped her number into his pocket as he passed.

The heavy rokani security door flitted up just as a ball of fire erupted at the far end of the cavernous metallic space. Several waist-high monzers in white lab coats dove for cover, leaving a blackened colleague’s remains still holding a shattered, smoldering beaker.

Reddin made it a habit never to look at explosions.

He strode up to the only full-sized creature around and said, “Yo - you Siggy?”

The tall, red-skinned humanoid looked up from his standing desk. Two muted beams of light shone from his head like horns, and the whole of his eyes were pure white. “You will address me properly as your superior, Rank One.”

Reddin gave a sharp salute that managed to be both entirely respectful and clearly sarcastic at the same time. “Magister Sigmodian! Rank One Reddin reporting in for kickass gear.”

The light horns swirled testily as he sighed through the massive nostrils in his neck.

“This way.”

He pivoted on his hooves and walked a few steps to a display wall hung with hundreds of items. Glowing wands, floating vials, exotic tools, and pulsing rods were arranged haphazardly among non-descript belts, hats, shoes, satchels, and more.

Reddin had a feeling the mundane-looking items were the more interesting of the bunch.

Sigmodian checked his slate. “Underdark escort mission to the Writhe?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

The creature mmm-hmm’d and ticked something off on his papyr. He looked up at Reddin oddly for a moment and then back at the papyr. He gave a short hum and ticked again.

Finally, he began. “Mark five compact pulse sidearm, of course.” He handed it over along with a belt and holster.

“Nice!” Reddin hefted it, and although it had the mass inertia of dense rokani, it was made of ivory and seemed to float slightly with its own anti-gravity effect. “GEA’s still rockin’ the mark threes.” He sighted along its barrel at the wall and whispered.

Pew pew.

“Standard issue vision-enhancing contact lenses, parachute pants, shield amulet –”

“—parachute pants?”

“Fall more than ten feet, they activate to slow you down.”

Reddin stared at the gaudy red fabric. “You don’t have a blue pair lyin’ around by chance, do you Sig?”

“They’re a life saving device, Rank One, not a fashion statement.”

He threaded a foot into a leg. “Never hurts to ask.”

“Beyond your specialized gear, any basic thing you need – knife, bottle of water, or the like - will be accessible via this demiplanar rucksack.”

Sigmodian lifted a plain-looking brown square of supple drakebelly from a peg.

“Looks and fits just like a cloak. Fix it at your collar and let it fall over your back.”

Reddin obliged.

“Now simply reach under it behind you, concentrate, and whatever you’re thinking of should jump right into your hand.”

Reddin adjusted his holster belt latch. “Should?”

“Well, of course it depends on how focused you are, but it works nine times out of ten.”

He reached back, imagined a bowl of his gramma’s famous manafruit salad, and pulled out a hunk of bread.

Close enough.

He took a bite.

"Hey, not bad."

“You’ll be off the grid down there, so…” Sigmodian reached a small red orb around to the base of Reddin’s skull where the speck of crystalized mana known as his carmic soul resided. The orb strobed for two seconds and then beeped.

“We can restore this image if you don’t make it back alive. But any memories you form between now and then will be lost, so watch yourself. Resurrection costs carma.” He clarified after a moment, “Yours, not ours.”

“Well, if you recommend against dyin’, Sig-man, I -” He flashed a smile that felt cooler than it looked. “- I guess I’ll try to avoid that.”

Sigmodian looked down at him for a moment.

“They appreciated your sense of humor over at the Agency, did they?”

Reddin had an uncomfortable moment of self-reflection. “I mean…”

The time glow-pulsed in Sigmodian’s monocle. “You have three minutes to halo. Any further questions?”

“Yeah, so… Do I get, like, a per diem, or…?”

The horn beams flickered.

“If there’s nothing further - this is your portage authorization packet. Sign here.”

Reddin scrawled his first and last names and added his personal flourish.

Chief Requisitions Officer Magister Sigmodian tore a thick stack of papyr along its perforated upper edge. “Local operator gets the top two copies. Save the rest for your arrival.”

Reddin sucked in a power breath and punched out for a shake. He was nervous. No orientation. No training missions. He felt up to it, but it still seemed odd…

“Been a real pleasure, Siggy-my-man. We should do it again.”

“I’m sure we will, Rank One.” He showed some teeth the way ven liked to do and gripped the proffered appendage. “Best of luck in your mission.”

“Right. Thanks.” He was already crossing the chamber toward the gate on the far side that yawned wide under a golden circle circumscribing the word ‘Teleportal’.

Nearby, a lab monzer in a mecha-chinery exo-suit was busy carving up some poor gelatinous test subjects in a mock battlescape. Reddin found it poignant how hyuvens had so elevated themselves in the march of progress that they now employed monzers when researching ways to kill monzers.

He was still thinking about it when the halo dropped.