Capellan
Explorer
2: New Blood
Beverly Hills-Hilton, heiress to a fortune and WCX summer intern, breezed into Gate Room 4 in a swirl of miniskirt and a snapping of gum.
"I got a delivery." She displayed the Zippo lighter she was carrying in her best wannabe-supermodel style.
The Technician glanced up from his work. It took a very long time for his gaze to rise as far as her ultra-short miniskirt, and it never did quite reach her eyes.
"What's the mission number?" he managed, at last.
"Uh ..." Beverly frowned, then brightened as she remembered the slip of paper in her other hand, "Yeah, it's like WCX-1982-SC01."
"Put the object in the gate area." By rights, the Technician should have done this himself, but every time the girl moved, her skirt bounced up just that little bit higher ... and well, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Okay." Beverly did as he asked, then flounced out in a haze of flowery perfume. Just as the door closed behind her, however, she snapped her fingers and dashed back inside, "Shih Tzu puppies! You have to sign this form before you can send -"
FZAT.
Suddenly, Beverly Hills-Hilton, heiress and intern, found herself standing in a smelly old stone room, with three dirty, blood-spattered men pointing guns at her pretty little head.
* * *
"Jacobsen, who is that girl and what is she doing in this mission?"
"She's ..." Jacobsen paused and swallowed nervously, "She's one of our interns, sir. Gate Room 4 report she came in to make a delivery to the team, left, then suddenly ran back in just as they were sending the item. It's Miss Hills-Hilton, sir."
"The heiress?"
"Yes, General. Gate Room 4 is making immediate calculations to bring her back, sir."
"Hell, boy. Don't do that." Patton's corpse-cold fingers drummed on the metal surface of his desk, "She'll go running straight to her father's lawyers."
"Surely we can't just leave her there, sir? What if she's hurt?"
"Stall for a few hours." Patton's eyes narrowed, "Tell them we have no record of her on the mission logs, and therefore she's not our responsibility to return. Then, contact Documents and tell them to find Ms Hills-Hilton's WCX Performer's Contract."
"But she doesn't have -"
"Tell them to find it, Jacobsen." The General's voice grew sharp. "No matter what they have to do."
"Ah ..." light dawned, "I'll get right on it, sir."
* * *
Internal Memorandum
From: Head Office
To: WCX Payroll
Subject: WCX-1982-SC01: Personnel
Additional personnel assigned to this operation are listed below.
Beverly Hills-Hilton
Payroll Scale: SOR1
Payroll Status: active
Mission Status: active
* * *
"I do not care for this young woman. Her attire and language are most indecent."
"I ain't exactly her greatest fan, either." Floyd consoled Smith, "But we're stuck with her, and Fabio don't seem too displeased. We'll leave him to baby-sit her."
"I have big muscles." Fabio announced. Floyd rolled his eyes,
"With luck, they'll get themselves both killed."
* * *
After a brief discussion, the small group took an exit from the room that doubled-back in the same direction as the one through which they had entered.
"This way there won't be no-one sneakin' up behind to make us squeal like piggies." Floyd reasoned.
Beverly went first, Smith insisting that she stay where he could watch for signs of her no-doubt imminent sinfulness. They passed along a corridor and through an empty room, to a second chamber with a large, dried-up fountain.
"There's some writing here." Smith scraped the scum away from the base of the bowl, "Some kind of infernal tongue. I can't read it."
"Camera." Floyd indicated the plaque, "Photograph that and print us a copy, thankyaverramuch." As they waited for the little machine to chatter out a dot matrix representation of the text, he explained, "Maybe we all will find someone in this place as can read it for us."
* * *
They pushed on, coming to a junction. Seeing at least half a dozen-doors straight ahead, they turned left, into another chamber, with only two further doors to choose from.
"This one's got more of that funky writin' on it." Floyd observed. Smith inspected it suspiciously,
"Probably the best way to go then. Try opening it."
As soon as Floyd touched the door, a gleaming scythe swung out, narrowly missing his kiss-curl of hair.
"Seems they're a might unfriendly." He pulled a crowbar out of his blue suede backpack, "This ought to get her open."
The scythe scythed again, as scythes are wont to do. The crowbar spun across the room, and Floyd nursed stinging fingers.
"Let's try the other way." He said, at last.
* * *
Grishtag and Frokzok lounged against the barricade, swapping dirty stories and laughing about the puny kobolds.
"They's nothin' without that Dragon." Grishtag prophesied, "We'll kills 'em all, now. Da Boss will see to it."
"Yeah." Frokzok said, agreeably.
Suddenly, the door at the opposite end of the caltrop-strewn corridor burst open, revealing a tall, armour-clad form.
"Yah!" Grishtag ducked behind the barricade, snatched up a javelin, and hurled it in a wobbly arc toward the figure. "Stinky human! Come get us if you dare! We kill you and put you in pot!"
"Yeah."
The human threw something - an egg? - at the goblins. Grishtag ducked, but he need not have bothered. The throw was poor, and the egg bounced back off the barricade and detonated in a spray of white fire. The barricade held, though patches began to burn.
"Dey got wizards! You get de others, quick!"
"Yeah."
As Frokzok ran to warn the rest of the guards, Grishtag ducked again as the humans started using their strange wands to attack him. They made lots of noise, and several splinters burst off the barricade.
"Human magic is puny!"
"Yeah."
Frokzok was back with the others, and the goblins now took turns hurling their stock of javelins at the intruders. The female human, too tall and pasty for goblin beauty, gave a shriek as one of the javelins gouged her arm. The first human disappeared, running away from the fight.
"We gots 'em now, boys!"
"Yeah."
* * *
Snatching up the crowbar, Smith leapt to the door by which they'd entered, wrenching it from its hinges. Then he quickly manhandled it over to the caltrop-strewn doorway.
Holding one end in the air, he dropped the other to the ground, and charged forward, pushing the door as he went. Caltrops bounced off the hard wood, or dug in their spikes, but either way, the impromptu ram swept them aside, clearing a path to the barricade.
The door shuddered twice as javelins struck it, but Smith ignored them, pounding on until he was just a few feet from the barricade. Then, he heaved upwards, pushing the door through an arc that slammed the end he had been holding onto the top of the wall.
Floyd ran straight up this impromptu ramp, firing his heavy pistol as he came, but without effect.
"Get down!" Smith yelled, and gently lobbed one of his phosphorous grenades over the barricade.
Beverly Hills-Hilton, heiress to a fortune and WCX summer intern, breezed into Gate Room 4 in a swirl of miniskirt and a snapping of gum.
"I got a delivery." She displayed the Zippo lighter she was carrying in her best wannabe-supermodel style.
The Technician glanced up from his work. It took a very long time for his gaze to rise as far as her ultra-short miniskirt, and it never did quite reach her eyes.
"What's the mission number?" he managed, at last.
"Uh ..." Beverly frowned, then brightened as she remembered the slip of paper in her other hand, "Yeah, it's like WCX-1982-SC01."
"Put the object in the gate area." By rights, the Technician should have done this himself, but every time the girl moved, her skirt bounced up just that little bit higher ... and well, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Okay." Beverly did as he asked, then flounced out in a haze of flowery perfume. Just as the door closed behind her, however, she snapped her fingers and dashed back inside, "Shih Tzu puppies! You have to sign this form before you can send -"
FZAT.
Suddenly, Beverly Hills-Hilton, heiress and intern, found herself standing in a smelly old stone room, with three dirty, blood-spattered men pointing guns at her pretty little head.
* * *
"Jacobsen, who is that girl and what is she doing in this mission?"
"She's ..." Jacobsen paused and swallowed nervously, "She's one of our interns, sir. Gate Room 4 report she came in to make a delivery to the team, left, then suddenly ran back in just as they were sending the item. It's Miss Hills-Hilton, sir."
"The heiress?"
"Yes, General. Gate Room 4 is making immediate calculations to bring her back, sir."
"Hell, boy. Don't do that." Patton's corpse-cold fingers drummed on the metal surface of his desk, "She'll go running straight to her father's lawyers."
"Surely we can't just leave her there, sir? What if she's hurt?"
"Stall for a few hours." Patton's eyes narrowed, "Tell them we have no record of her on the mission logs, and therefore she's not our responsibility to return. Then, contact Documents and tell them to find Ms Hills-Hilton's WCX Performer's Contract."
"But she doesn't have -"
"Tell them to find it, Jacobsen." The General's voice grew sharp. "No matter what they have to do."
"Ah ..." light dawned, "I'll get right on it, sir."
* * *
Internal Memorandum
From: Head Office
To: WCX Payroll
Subject: WCX-1982-SC01: Personnel
Additional personnel assigned to this operation are listed below.
Beverly Hills-Hilton
Payroll Scale: SOR1
Payroll Status: active
Mission Status: active
* * *
"I do not care for this young woman. Her attire and language are most indecent."
"I ain't exactly her greatest fan, either." Floyd consoled Smith, "But we're stuck with her, and Fabio don't seem too displeased. We'll leave him to baby-sit her."
"I have big muscles." Fabio announced. Floyd rolled his eyes,
"With luck, they'll get themselves both killed."
* * *
After a brief discussion, the small group took an exit from the room that doubled-back in the same direction as the one through which they had entered.
"This way there won't be no-one sneakin' up behind to make us squeal like piggies." Floyd reasoned.
Beverly went first, Smith insisting that she stay where he could watch for signs of her no-doubt imminent sinfulness. They passed along a corridor and through an empty room, to a second chamber with a large, dried-up fountain.
"There's some writing here." Smith scraped the scum away from the base of the bowl, "Some kind of infernal tongue. I can't read it."
"Camera." Floyd indicated the plaque, "Photograph that and print us a copy, thankyaverramuch." As they waited for the little machine to chatter out a dot matrix representation of the text, he explained, "Maybe we all will find someone in this place as can read it for us."
* * *
They pushed on, coming to a junction. Seeing at least half a dozen-doors straight ahead, they turned left, into another chamber, with only two further doors to choose from.
"This one's got more of that funky writin' on it." Floyd observed. Smith inspected it suspiciously,
"Probably the best way to go then. Try opening it."
As soon as Floyd touched the door, a gleaming scythe swung out, narrowly missing his kiss-curl of hair.
"Seems they're a might unfriendly." He pulled a crowbar out of his blue suede backpack, "This ought to get her open."
The scythe scythed again, as scythes are wont to do. The crowbar spun across the room, and Floyd nursed stinging fingers.
"Let's try the other way." He said, at last.
* * *
Grishtag and Frokzok lounged against the barricade, swapping dirty stories and laughing about the puny kobolds.
"They's nothin' without that Dragon." Grishtag prophesied, "We'll kills 'em all, now. Da Boss will see to it."
"Yeah." Frokzok said, agreeably.
Suddenly, the door at the opposite end of the caltrop-strewn corridor burst open, revealing a tall, armour-clad form.
"Yah!" Grishtag ducked behind the barricade, snatched up a javelin, and hurled it in a wobbly arc toward the figure. "Stinky human! Come get us if you dare! We kill you and put you in pot!"
"Yeah."
The human threw something - an egg? - at the goblins. Grishtag ducked, but he need not have bothered. The throw was poor, and the egg bounced back off the barricade and detonated in a spray of white fire. The barricade held, though patches began to burn.
"Dey got wizards! You get de others, quick!"
"Yeah."
As Frokzok ran to warn the rest of the guards, Grishtag ducked again as the humans started using their strange wands to attack him. They made lots of noise, and several splinters burst off the barricade.
"Human magic is puny!"
"Yeah."
Frokzok was back with the others, and the goblins now took turns hurling their stock of javelins at the intruders. The female human, too tall and pasty for goblin beauty, gave a shriek as one of the javelins gouged her arm. The first human disappeared, running away from the fight.
"We gots 'em now, boys!"
"Yeah."
* * *
Snatching up the crowbar, Smith leapt to the door by which they'd entered, wrenching it from its hinges. Then he quickly manhandled it over to the caltrop-strewn doorway.
Holding one end in the air, he dropped the other to the ground, and charged forward, pushing the door as he went. Caltrops bounced off the hard wood, or dug in their spikes, but either way, the impromptu ram swept them aside, clearing a path to the barricade.
The door shuddered twice as javelins struck it, but Smith ignored them, pounding on until he was just a few feet from the barricade. Then, he heaved upwards, pushing the door through an arc that slammed the end he had been holding onto the top of the wall.
Floyd ran straight up this impromptu ramp, firing his heavy pistol as he came, but without effect.
"Get down!" Smith yelled, and gently lobbed one of his phosphorous grenades over the barricade.