Saturday, June 26, 2010

Something in the air.

Prangap sat in the little safehouse, and waited for everyone to leave. He'd be there a little longer still, making sure that everyone got out alright, without any tails. He smirked, thinking about that mercenary Basal had sent.

They're all alike. So arrogant. Coming here, thinking they know what's what, and then they blame us "armchair revolutionaries" when their plans go to hell. I'm a mechanic, not an assassin, it's not my job to infiltrate the palace. It's my job to make sure that the city revolts once the emir's dead.

He made a mental list. Once the emir's death was confirmed, all the resistance cells would get their coded signal, the arms caches would be tapped, and then the dirty job of fighting in the canals and streets of Okavango would fall to him, and his fellow "armchair revolutionaries." The sajhalin would rise up, and offer the city to its rightful heir: Emir Raphael Bhravo.

Prangap slowly locked the door behind him, and made his way quickly to the dock, where his jet-ski was waiting. There was no sound: Prangap was very quiet, and the creaking and groaning of the pontoons helped him mask his slipper-clad feet as he slipped down to the little jet ski. The entire city was blanketed by a heavy mist, the jungle's stench particularly heavy. It had stopped raining for a few hours. Prangap knew it would start again momentarily. He eased the half-submerged jet-ski under the dock and listened for any tails.

Nothing. But just to be sure, let's take the long way.

Prangap looked behind him, at a maze of stilts and pontoons, and turned the jet-ski until it faced the obstacle course. He eased the throttle open gently, and disappeared under the city. He had a lot of work to do, for an armchair revolutionary.


"Report," the voice at the other end of the secure sat-link line was terse.

"Nothing thus far, sir."

"Excuse me? You're just not looking hard enough!"

"Sir, my team is watching for any moves on the Emir. We have secured the subterranean access, and we've worked with the palace guard, and tightened up security. No one's getting in like the last time."

"And there's been no activity?"

"None we've detected sir. There was a meeting, but we haven't had any report in from the field."

"You are 'the field.' Do your job. Report back in thirty-six hours."

"Yes sir."

The sat-link went dead.


Hermes 72 - Heavy Gear RPG - Most artwork Copyright 2002 Dream Pod 9, Inc.