NationStates Jolt Archive

"Yeah baby, take that silly uniform off", says Vorpalis, putting her hands behind her head, reaching the concealed daggers inside her hairsticks, she untressed her hair, letting it fall on her shoulders, then quickly throws her daggers to Sven's throat.

With a look of shock in his eyes, Sven reaches his left hand up to his throat, holding the wound around the daggers in vain. Blood oozes between his fingers from his massive neck. Sven tries to speak, but only a gurgling noise can be heard. He drops to his knees, and falls forward, catching himself with his right hand. He crawls across the floor to Vorpalis, and reaches up to her with his blood covered hand, trying to pull himself up on her. The huge Swede's strength fails him, however, and he drops to the floor, dead, smearing his blood all down the front of Vorpalis' kimono.

"A shame. You were a good lover after all. Sorry, darling, but duty first". She puts her left hand on Sven's hair, placing a kiss on his forehead, quickly retrieving her daggers from the fallen guard's throat with her right.

"Let's see. I didn't brought my gloves, so this is a mess, let's clean this thing up and search for those negatives". She takes off her kimono, now useless, pulling from beneath it her Ellösar cloak and the traditional black napalm grenade, now with a timing device. "Naked, dressed just with the cloak, wonderful", she says, starting to search for the negatives in the bed, the drawers and the rest of the room.

Vorpalis can find the photos of elven maidens she gave Sven, and another copy of the set of photos of Theodora and her anonymous army officer, but nowhere are the negatives to be found.

"Damn, What now?. Well I will take this and torch the room. I should asked him about the negatives first, but maybe that would put him under suspicions, and he was a strong fellow, thanks to Isha that I found him unaware", she takes her cloak and the photos and put it on, setting the grenade to explode in 1 minute. "Let's get out of here", she says, pushing aside the chair and opening the door.

An off-duty Varangian notices the door to Sven's room fling open, and the sound of light feet running on the hard floor. He furrows his brow in confusion, and strolls over to Sven's room. Glancing inside he sees Sven face down in a puddle of blood.

"Oh shi..." he starts, but is interrupted by the napalm grenade exploding and reducing him and the rest of the room to a pile of ash.

Vorpalis left the area "Damn. I couldn't find those negatives. Cyanna will be very mad, but the probabilities that the problem is solved are high, anyway".

"Now let's find that drow assassin, he will be using an invisibility cloak too, so I should go to the embassy and look for the rest of my equipment, including my thermal lenses. That guy is going to be a tough nut to crack"

Inspectors Vern and Girraud arrive in front of the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator, along with two uniformed police officers in another car.

The front of the Cathedral is crawling with police as the council goes on inside uninterrupted.

"My name is Vern, this is Inspector Girraud, we're in charge of the investigation." says Inspector Vern to the uniformed sergeant on the scene as he shows him his badge.

"Yes Inspector! My men have found some witnesses who saw it happen from various vantage points across the street." says the sergeant.

"Excellent." says Vern. Girraud indicates he'll go speak to them, and does so. "Now, where are the Excalbians?"

"Over here, Inspector." says the sergeant, leading Vern to the Excalbians.

"Which one of you is Cardinal Walsh, or has His Eminence returned to the council already?" asks Inspector Vern.

A young looking cardinal steps forward. “Inspector, I am John Cardinal Friesz, Archbishop of Citadel Excalbia. Cardinal Walsh has already returned to the Council. I arrived just after the attack, but I think I saw the attacker earlier this evening.” Friesz takes a deep breath and fights off a shudder. “I was on my way to the airport, when my car – actually it was the car assigned to Cardinal Walsh – swerved and I looked up to see some kind of apparition. Something like a phantom. I couldn’t see it well, but somehow I had the impression that it was a woman. In any case, my window passed right by her and I had the sense that she was looking for someone, but not for me. That’s when I called Cardinal Walsh, but he rejected the call because he was in the middle of a vote.”

A tall, priest wearing what seemed to be sunglasses stepped forward. “I am Father Ekembi, Chief Inquisitor assigned to Cardinal Walsh. I was responsible for his security. I can fill you in on what happened here, Inspector. After the vote, Cardinal Walsh came out to call Cardinal Friesz and walked towards the street to get a better signal. At the corner, two of my inquisitors, Fathers Davis and Kim, detected something in the shadows in the infrared spectrum.” Father Ekembi touches his sunglasses and smiled. “A gift from the Protestants in Excalbia.” Ekembi’s face turned somber again. “Neither man had a clear enough image or enough time to target the assailant, so Father Davis jumped in front of the Cardinal while Father Kim knocked him to the ground and covered him. Unfortunately, Father Davis did not survive. As soon as Father Marx and I rounded the corner, the figure vanished. The assailant was a slight figure, probably female, and appeared as little more than a shadow.”

A third figure approaches Inspector Vern. He is bearded, with glasses and is wearing a navy blue uniform cut in the style of a tuxedo. “Monsieur, I am Rev. Donnelly, Excalbia’s ambassador to Pantocratoria. I was informed of this terrible attack on my way to the theatre for the Mikado. I have been in touch with my government, and His Imperial Majesty’s Government is sending one of our top agents, Kirk Steward, to assist in your investigation. With you permission of course. Now, more urgently, we would like to request additional security for Cardinal Walsh, and for Cardinal Friesz while they are in Pantocratoria. I would also suggest that you consider assigning additional security to all the cardinals before someone else is attacked.” Donnelly glances at his watch. “I’m afraid I must be off, Inspector. Here is my mobile number,” Donnelly hands Vern a card, “in case you need to contact me. If you will excuse me.”

"It shouldn't. Not a penitent. And it will not pass outside of these walls. Has anyone mentioned anything connected to the murder of Duras to you?"


"Nobody has." says Father Guillot, as he resumes his preparations.

Simon turned to go, but then suddenly whirled around and grabbed Guillot's neck. "By the way... What do you know of Theodora? It seemed odd that she shouldn't be permitted to sit with the royal family. And, of course, as an Inquisitor, I feel it my duty to be told these thing."

Father Guillot firmly removes Simon's hands from his neck.

"And as a priest, I feel it is my duty to protect the confidentiality of my penitents. Ask the Princess if you like, but I shan't ever commit heresy by breaking the confessional seal." says Guillot. "GUARDS!"

Two Varangians enter the chapel.

"Arrest this man for assault and sacrilege!" Father Guillot says, indicating to Simon. "He attacked me in this consecrated chapel!"

"Yes, Father." says one of the Varangians, drawing his weapon and pointing it at Simon. "Come with us."

"Security will be tightened around this conference." says Vern. "We'll station officers all around the Cathedral. The whole city will be crawling with them."

Vern turns to Friesz.

"So, Your Eminence, your description of this phantom you saw from your car is consistent with Father Ekembi's description of the assassin." says Vern. "I'll get you both to speak to a sketch artist... so we can identify this aparition when we see her!"

Vern looks down at Marx's body.

"What sort of weapon did the assailant have, Father Ekembi?" he asks, examining the wound. "Could you identify it, or will we have to leave it to our labs?"

Father Guillot firmly removes Simon's hands from his neck.

"And as a priest, I feel it is my duty to protect the confidentiality of my penitents. Ask the Princess if you like, but I shan't ever commit heresy by breaking the confessional seal." says Guillot. "GUARDS!"

Two Varangians enter the chapel.

"Arrest this man for assault and sacrilege!" Father Guillot says, indicating to Simon. "He attacked me in this consecrated chapel!"

"Yes, Father." says one of the Varangians, drawing his weapon and pointing it at Simon. "Come with us."

"Really?" Simon asks, playing for time. "Tell me, is it sacrilege? You seem to be very close to the Princeess Irene. Tell me. Are you, say, breaking one of your oaths?"

He backed away.

The Varangians grab Simon. One of them leans forward and says in a Swedish accent which makes it seem even more absurd... "Here, you're nicked mate!"

"Sigh. If you want to go about this charade..." Simon raised his hands. "I'll go quietly."

He rubbed his ring and a green dart slammed into the Varangian's neck, distributing sleeping poison.

"Security will be tightened around this conference." says Vern. "We'll station officers all around the Cathedral. The whole city will be crawling with them."

Vern turns to Friesz.

"So, Your Eminence, your description of this phantom you saw from your car is consistent with Father Ekembi's description of the assassin." says Vern. "I'll get you both to speak to a sketch artist... so we can identify this aparition when we see her!"

Vern looks down at Marx's body.

"What sort of weapon did the assailant have, Father Ekembi?" he asks, examining the wound. "Could you identify it, or will we have to leave it to our labs?"

"There's not much to sketch, I'm afraid," Cardinal Friesz suddenly seems to be nervous, as if the shock is starting to wear off and the reality of the evening's events are sinking in. "All I can describe is a dark shape, like a woman wearing a cape and a cowl, with piercing eyes..."

"Well," Father Ekembi rubs the stubble on the top of his shaved head, "I can try to offer more details to your artist. As for the weapon, it was somekind of pistol, but like nothing we've ever seen. I'd hate to speculate about it. I appreciate your assigning additional security. May my two remaining inquisitors remain here as well to work with your security people?"

"Sigh. If you want to go about this charade..." Simon raised his hands. "I'll go quietly."

He rubbed his ring and a green dart slammed into the Varangian's neck, distributing sleeping poison.

As the first Varangian collapses to the ground, the other Varangian punches Simon in the face, knocking him to the floor, and points his M-16 at the Inquisitor.

"Don't make me shoot you in a house of God!" he shouts.

Father Guillot looks alarmed.

"I must say I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to resist, Inquisitor." he observes.

"Father, take my radio, call for back-up." says the remaining Varangian. Without moving his rifle or his aim from Simon Darquis, he allows Father Guillot to retrive the walkie-talkie and call for back-up.

"Inquisitor Darquis, you're under arrest for two counts of assault and one count of sacrilege, put your hands on your head!" says the Varangian menacingly.

"Absolutely." says Vern to Ekembi. Girraud approaches.

"Nothing we didn't already know." he says to Vern.

"Fathers, Your Eminence, this is my partner Inspector Girraud. He and I will be leading the investigation." says Vern before turning to Girraud. "The inquisitors will be helping us with the inves..."

A uniformed police officer interrupts Vern.

"Inspector, you know how you asked to be informed if the Roanian Inquisitor Darquis got up to any more mischief?" the officer asks.

"Yes..." says Vern.

"I just heard on the radio that the palace guard has arrested him, something about assault and sacrilege, and it sounds like he's putting up a fight too." says the officer, bemusedly.

"Ha!" Vern snickers. "Well, tell the station house to prepare another worthy cell, I'm sure the good Inquisitor will enjoy the hospitality."

"Yes, Inspector." says the officer before returning to his car.

"Gentlemen, shall we go to our station 'ouse?" Girraud asks the inquisitors, indicating to his car.

OOC: I'm wondering if I can RP the evil dark elf merciless cold blooded assassin.

IC:

Vorpalis entered the roof of the embassy quickly going to the cellars where her base of operations were. She quickly take off her cloak and go for a shower. The blood of Sven was staining her face, a painful reminder of how duty will be always in the way of her happiness. "At least I didn't love him, it was just a diversion". Her thoughts went to the task assigned to her, finding and disposing of the elven assassin that attacked the Excalbian Cardinal and possibly killed Cardinal Duras. She had never faced another elven assassin, that will be an interesting challenge.

At the same time, Cyanna left the Aelosian Embassy, calling to the Pantocratorian jail. She was going to visit Bastianel one more time.

OOC: I don't see why you shouldn't be able to unless Excalbia has any objections?

IC: Guillame Richemont is getting some much needed sleep at his apartment in southern New Rome when his phone rings. He reaches a tired arm out for the receiver, and holds it to his ear.

"Bonjour?" he says, pulling himself up in bed. He listens for a few seconds. "Ce n'est pas vrai!.... Alors, je viens."

He hangs up the phone and gets out of bed, walking to his bathroom to get a quick shower before heading into the office.

The Dark elven figure was stalking through the window. The human walked to the bathroom, in a hurry. The Ellösar invisibility cloak was covering her silouette, and it was rainy night. Only the eyes of a dwarf could see her in the window right now.

Richemont was her next target, the stupid Aelosian Cyanna was talking with this man yesterday, and argued with him. A few well pulled cables and Aelosia will be charged of this attack too.

She opened the window, slowly, pulling out her twisted dagger. The sound of the shower covering the tiny noises of the frame of the window as she came in, quietly approaching the door of the bathroom.

Guillame Richemont let out a sigh as he relieved himself. He flushed the toilet, and started the shower. He gave the water a few seconds to heat up, and turned around. The shower curtain moved slightly as he looked into the mirror.

That's odd... Richemont thought to himself. He glanced out the bathroom door and noticed the open window. A slight breeze must have pushed the shower curtain. It's just the open windo... THE OPEN WINDOW?

Richemont slams his bathroom door shut. He grabs his little towel rack and wedges it beneath the door handle, to try keep the door from being opened too easily. He looked up to the ceiling at the light fitting above him. It was where he hid his gun. He stood up on his toes and fumbled about the fixture, finally producing his British Military revolver, which he kept pointed at the door.

These assassins are invisible. Not a single witness in a crowded street saw whoever killed those Cultural Development thugs before their car slammed into that wall. The witnesses in front of the Cathedral saw a shimmer at best. If that door moves... I'm shooting. he thinks to himself, as he backs towards the small window leading onto the fire-escape.

Why did I do something so stupid as to put a security grill on the window leading onto my fire-escape??? he thinks to himself as he fumbles around with the security screen on the little window behind his back. He keeps facing the door, with his revolver levelled.

Richemont can't budge the security screen's rusted release handles.

Who the hell am I kidding? Richemont thinks to himself. He turns to his window, and fires a shot into the release handle on either side of the screen, before kicking it off. He steps through the window and onto the fire-escape, turning around to look into the bathroom one more time.

If this turns out to be nothing... I'm going to feel so bloody stupid! he thinks to himself as he starts down the fire-escape in his pyjamas, which creeks and groans and makes a lot of noise.

The assassin reaches the door, her dagger on his hand. Stupid humans, he just closed the door. I'm going to give him a surprise. Die naked in his own bathroom, what a pitiful death. Prince Ma'El was right, this race should be erased from the face of the universe. They're even weaker than elves.

Her hand grasp the lob of the door, trying to open the door. Suddenly she hear the gunshot. "Damn, he's escaping, and he's armed". She pulls out her silenced ShadowBolt handgun and fire against the lock, forcing the door open.

OOC: With a bit of force, the door would open fairly effortlessly - a towel rack does not an assassin block!

IC: In the rain, rushing down the fire-escape, Richemont trips, nearly dropping his revolver. He glances up a few levels at his bathroom window. Nothing yet. He pulls himself up and rubs his lower back for a second before resuming his descent.

The bathroom was empty, the small window opened. "You're not going to escape that easy, human", she shouts in her flawed french, jumping out the window, the gun held in her hand, pursuing Richemont to the fire-escape.

Richemont hears her shout in French. He points his gun in the direction of the window and fires two shots.

That's four chambers in a six chamber revolver... he thinks to himself. He resumes his rush down the fire escape.

A few levels below, a middle-aged woman sticks her head out the window and starts shouting at Richemont.

"Téléphonez les gendarmes!" Richemont shouts at her. "Je suis le prosecuteur-couronne, elle veut pour me tuer! Téléphonez, vite!"

The woman's head disappears.

God let her be calling the police! Richemont prays to himself as he keeps half-running, half-falling down the fire-escape.

Inspectors Girraud and Vern were driving back to the station with the Excalbian inquisitors as the call came in.

"Mon dieu, est-ce que vous pensez..." Girraud starts.

"It's Richemont, I know he lives on the southside." Vern nods, switching the car's siren on and speeding for Richemont's apartment complex. "We'll be there in no time."

"I 'ope you 'ave that infrared thingy..." says Girraud, indicating to Ekembi's equipment. "Ze caller said zat ze crown prosecutor's assailant is invisble!"

"Let's hope your gear can actually pick up this phantom of the good Cardinal's this time..." mutters Vern.

The assassin covers behind the metal veranda, the bullets bouncing near her. then she aims to the floor beneath her feet and fires her weapon. Just two shots, then the weapon jams. "Durdôl!", she curses, pulling out her dagger and pursuing Richemont downstairs.

Inspectors Girraud and Vern were driving back to the station with the Excalbian inquisitors as the call came in.

"Mon dieu, est-ce que vous pensez..." Girraud starts.

"It's Richemont, I know he lives on the southside." Vern nods, switching the car's siren on and speeding for Richemont's apartment complex. "We'll be there in no time."

"I 'ope you 'ave that infrared thingy..." says Girraud, indicating to Ekembi's equipment. "Ze caller said zat ze crown prosecutor's assailant is invisble!"

"Let's hope your gear can actually pick up this phantom of the good Cardinal's this time..." mutters Vern.

Father Ekembi smiles grimly. "They will give us only a few seconds advance warning at best," Ekembi says as he hands two pairs of sunglasses to Vern and Girraud. "A few spares. Consider them gifts of the Excalbians. May we draw our own weapons, Inspector?"

"Absolument!" exclaims Girraud as he fumbles with the sunglasses. Vern keeps his in his lap as he hits another corner at breakneck speeds.

"Richemont knows how to look after himself. He used to be a cop, my partner in fact, while he was saving money for law school." says Vern, swerving to dodge a slow-moving car in his path.

"Regardez la rue!" shouts Girraud as Vern turns casually towards him. Vern looks back to the road for his partner's comfort.

"But he doesn't have anything like these..." says Vern, meaning the sunglasses. "...I don't know how much chance he stands against your phantom, Father..."

Vern says a silent prayer to himself for his old friend.

"Not too much further now..."

Richemont swings around the turning fire-escape, as a bullet richochets off the metal railing next to him.

"Merde!" he shouts as he keeps running down the stairs.

The ground's only a few more levels... but where do I go from there? worries Richemont to himself.

The assassin jumps, dropping from above, grabbing Richemont as she falls, trying to stab him with her dagger, but she fails, hitting the metal stair with the curved blade. The hood of her cloak falls due to the impact, showing her dark features, her white, gleaming hair and her amethyst eyes, a grin of hatred and fear in her eyes. She was beautiful as any elf maiden, but more sinister, as the beauty found in temptation and dark desires.

She grabs Richemont pyjamas, trying to bring him down, raising her dagger again.

Richemont kicks the dagger from her hands and fires his pistol at the assassin as he pulls himself free of her grasping.

The dagger falls all the way down to the floor. She dodges the first shot from Richemont's revolver, grinning her teeth as the second one pierced her shoulder, loosing her grip on Richemont's outfit.

"You wretched human!. You dare to defy me!. I will come back, and I have never failed my target twice!", says the Dark Elf, leeting her fall from the stairs.

Richemont leans over the fire exits and squeezes the trigger again, but has already fired his last shot. The adrenaline leaving his body, he leans against the railings of the fire escape, tired, and slowly recommences his descent as he hears distant sirens.

The police car swings around the corner of the building and comes to a stop in the alley. Inspector Vern puts on his Excalbian sunglasses and gets out of the car, his revolver in his hands.

"Clear!" he says, and Girraud follows after him.

"I'm glad to see you, Jean!" Richemont says, quite a sight in his soaking wet pyjamas holding his revolver.

"What was it, Guillame?" asks Vern.

"Elven assassin." Richemont says as he accepts Girraud's offered overcoat. "Dark features... white hair... erm... orange, maybe red eyes. That was underneath some sort of coat which made her invisible. I only actually saw her when she hit her head on the stairs and the cloak fell back. I could describe her to a sketch artist in a second."

"Well, let's get you into protective custody..." says Vern. "That elf might be back. We'll go up with you to your apartment, get whatever you need, and then we'll head down to the stationhouse, alright?"

Richemont nods.

"And after zat, I think you and I need to speak to ze Aelosian embassy!" says Girraud to Vern. Vern nods.

After Richemont gathered a few changes of clothes, some files, and some other personal effects from his apartment, he and the police returned to the stationhouse. There the car dropped him off before speeding towards the Aelosian embassy.

After describing the assassin to the station's sketch artists, Richemont has his long awaited shower and changes into some fresh clothes. He then sits at a desk for guest officers, and calls his office.

"This is Guillame. I'm at the station house... Listen, make sure you stay in protective custody until this Duras case is closed, understood? I can't explain right now... Now, you said when you called me before that the DNA sample gathered from the palace matched the sample found at the scene... So how the hell did it also match Bastianel Dephil's?... Father - son eh... That's a pretty large margin for error... But the lab's certain that the father is a closer match?... So we've got an innocent man in prison?" Richemont speaks to his secretary, twirling the telephone cable. "The lab has confirmed its results, right?... Very well, I'll fax over an official dismissal notice, get my assistant to take it to the Imperial Courts of Justice... I'll handle this end of things."

He hangs up the phone, and pulls out a form from his briefcase. He starts filling it in, and faxes it to his office. He dials Inspector Vern.

"Jean, its Guillame. Listen, the DNA evidence at the scene more closely matches Count Kyrosal than it does his son... Yes, I know what it means. I've filed to dismiss... Believe me, I think the labs know they screwed up. We're as certain as we can be now. We have to let him go, Jean... Well, maybe he does know something, but he wasn't the killer... We've no evidence of a conspiracy, Jean! Listen, inform the Aelosians when you arrive, alright?... Good. I'll have Bastianel Dephil released." he says, before hanging up the phone.

Richemont stands up, and walks over to the fax machine. In a few moments, an official order of release comes through. He snatches it from the machine and heads down to the cell-block.

The police on guard stand to attention as they see the executive assistant Crown Prosecutor walk towards the door they're guarding. He holds the order of release out to them, and they nod, and open the door.

"Monsieur Dephil..." Richemont says. "We have uncovered new evidence, monsieur. This evidence has exonerated you of the assassination of Cardinal Duras. You're free to go, monsieur."

He holds the court order to Bastianel as proof.

Cyanna had just entered the jail, when she sees Richemont standing in front of Bastianel's cell. "Are you going to interrogate him again?. I thought that you'd already realized that he has nothing else to tell you", says the Aelosian representative.

Meanwhile, Bastianel hears Richemont's words with abandon. "Looks like you finally realized your mistake. Too late, anyway. My father is already dead, and I have lost all my reputation", he raises from the bed, his face a pale and depressed reflection of his former self.

"Madamoiselle Paelisi, I apologise, it was improper of me to act without consulting you." says Richemont, handing the paper to her. "But I thought this couldn't wait. I apologise for not waiting for you to arrive. Your client has been released. The police no longer believe he is responsible for the murder of Cardinal Duras."

Cyanna looks at the order, surprised. She opens her mouth, quickly covering it with her hand. "Finally. I made it. He's free!", she runs into Bastianel, hugging him and crying on his shoulder "you're free, my love, finally we made it. You don't have to be afraid anymore. We're going home finally!", she says, her joy falling down her cheeks in the form of tears.

Bastianel just stands there, his arms resting in his sides. His face didn't change its desolated expression, he didn't say a word, just staring at Cyanna.

Richemont lets a small grin cross his face, but quickly suppresses it.

"Someone in the Imperial Palace ordered that Count Kyrosal's room be searched for DNA samples. When those samples where checked, it was found they were a far closer match than your client's. I apologise on behalf of the lab for the sloppy false positive the first time. I'm afraid no amount of compensation can attone for this failure. I take full responsibility." Richemont says gravely. "If it wasn't for whoever in the palace who ordered that search, we may never have corrected this... this traversty."

Bastianel expression changes suddenly into a mask of wrath. He pushes Cyanna aside and stands in front of Richemont, his mouth a pair of inches from Richemont's face "Are you saying that my father killed the Cardinal, Is that your conclusion?", he says, his voice trembling in anger, the words barely coming out of his mouth.

Cyanna grabs Bastianel, trying to pull him away from Richemont "That wasn't what Monsieur Richemont meant with those words. I'm sure that's just a mistake. I can solve that situation, Bastianel, please, come with me...", she says, with a soft and calmed voice, her eyes pledging support on the Prosecutor's gaze.

"I'm afraid the case isn't closed, Monsieur." says Richemont. "All I said was that your father's DNA matched the sample more closely than yours. This eliminates you as the killer. The investigation is not yet over."

Although I think I'd be in a lot less danger if it was... he thinks to himself.

"Madamoiselle, while the officers here go through the release checklist with your client, perhaps I could have a word with you?" asks Richemont, rubbing his sore lower back, which he had landed on badly as he half fell down the fire-escape a few hours earlier.

"Yes, of course", says Cyanna to Richemont. She put her hand on Bastianel cheek and says "Please go with the policemen, I need to talk with this man. Don't worry, I will fix everything, you will be in home soon".

Once she's alone with Richemont, she says "Tell me. I'm sorry about Bastianel, he's still sensitive about his father, Could you please hide the fact that his father is now charged of the crime?. I will take him back to Aelosia as soon as I can. What do you want to talk with me?".

"I understand." says Richemont. "I shan't harp on it. About this other matter, madamoiselle, a few hours ago I was very nearly assassinated by an elf woman with some sort of invisibility cloak. Dark features, I've described her to the sketch artists at the station... but would the Aelosian embassy have any knowledge of individuals with this sort of equipment? Anything you could give us about these people would be of assistance. I'd imagine it is somehow connected to this case, but I'm not entirely sure how. I'll show you one of the sketches, you just tell me if the embassy knows anything about her..."

"Sigh. If you want to go about this charade..." Simon raised his hands. "I'll go quietly."

He rubbed his ring and a green dart slammed into the Varangian's neck, distributing sleeping poison.

As the first Varangian collapses to the ground, the other Varangian punches Simon in the face, knocking him to the floor, and points his M-16 at the Inquisitor.

"Don't make me shoot you in a house of God!" he shouts.

Father Guillot looks alarmed.

"I must say I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to resist, Inquisitor." he observes.

"Father, take my radio, call for back-up." says the remaining Varangian. Without moving his rifle or his aim from Simon Darquis, he allows Father Guillot to retrive the walkie-talkie and call for back-up.

"Inquisitor Darquis, you're under arrest for two counts of assault and one count of sacrilege, put your hands on your head!" says the Varangian menacingly.

"Yes." Simon stands up, woozily. "I must say, I didn't think that you'd be dumb enough to resist." Simon opens his wallet. "See this card?" He drew out a card with the Inquisitorial symbol on it. "You know what this means? It means if you shoot me, you damn yourself to being hunted down by brethren."

He walks calmly forward. "Go ahead. Kill me. Spread innocent blood in this house of God." Simon leaned forward. "For, I am innocent. I act with the authority of his Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu, and the Conservative Cardinals. As such, I thing that rather means that I am innocent. Where is your proof that I commited a crime?"

Simon carefully navigated to the altar. He looked heavenwards. "As I see it, the good father was alarmed at the fact that I suggested to him that he and the good Chanchellor had a closer relationship than is proper." Simon shook his head. "As for your friend, well, think about it. What will you say? 'He rubbed his finger and a green dart flew from it and knocked him out?'" He looked pointedly at the fallen Varangian. The dart was gone, crumbled to dust. "I think that he just walked into the roof. There is no evidence of any wrongdoing."

Then the Inquisitor turned to the priest. "AND YOU DARE TO ACCUSE AN INQUISITOR OF THE LORD OF SACRILEGE?" His voice boomed through the chapel. "YOU STAND THERE, IN YOUR SILK ROBES, AND CLAIM THAT I AM COMMITING SACRILEGE?"

"By laying your hands on a priest in a chapel, yes, Inquisitor, that's called sacrilege. Kings have been excommunicated for it. And if you're too bloody stupid to know it, you've no business walking around in that ridiculous get-up. And speaking of business, how dare you carry around injecting your absurd nose into everybody else's?" rants Father Guillot. "You pull out that silly little business card of yours which says you're a man of God, when in fact you're a man of Simon Darquis, no more, no less. Your Cardinal Richelieu has absolutely no authority in an Imperial Chapel in Pantocratoria, and here in the Holy Empire, your precious Inquisition's only role is to supervise elections. You're an irrelevancy, Darquis! And you're about to find out exactly how irrelevant you are!"

Half a dozen more Varangians rush into the chapel, having been called in by the second of their fallen comrades not too long ago. The six guards level their M-16As at the Inquisitor.

"Careful, chaps, he has a ring which shoots poison darts." warns the priest.

"HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD, KEEP YOUR FINGERS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!" shouts one of the Varangians.

"ONE WRONG MOVE AND WE'LL FIRE!" says the one next to him.

"You're under arrest. You have three seconds to comply!" warns another Varangian.

"I understand." says Richemont. "I shan't harp on it. About this other matter, madamoiselle, a few hours ago I was very nearly assassinated by an elf woman with some sort of invisibility cloak. Dark features, I've described her to the sketch artists at the station... but would the Aelosian embassy have any knowledge of individuals with this sort of equipment? Anything you could give us about these people would be of assistance. I'd imagine it is somehow connected to this case, but I'm not entirely sure how. I'll show you one of the sketches, you just tell me if the embassy knows anything about her..."

Vorpalis. Why she would attack Richemont?. Or maybe it was just another deed of that drow assassin. But why him?, he's irrelevant in this case, killing Richemont is going to frame noone...except me of course. I see now, I have argued publicy with this man, I will be accused of his death if he's killed by an elf. I need to be careful, that assassin could target Bastianel too. And the witness, that woman, Genevieve. Maybe even the Princess Theodora, or even Princess Irene, Cyanna says to herself.

"Monsieur Richemont. Have Pantocratoria ever engaged in war with an elven country, or killed elves some time in your history?. It looks like many elves despise your people. To answer your question, almost all elven countries use that kind of devices. Invisibility cloaks, Ellösar cloaks, we call them. If someone uses it, it has to be a spy or a member of some kind of elite forces, possessing one of those cloaks is a rare honor even for elves".

"Take care, Monsieur Richemont, elven assassins are very skilled indeed. And you should put double guard on that Genevieve woman and alert the Varangian guards of the castle. Whoever did that, is going to attack again. And he, or she, is going to fix her mistake about you too".

Perfect. Of course the Drow will try to kill Richemont again. I will make Vorpalis follow this man. He will be the bait to hunt that assassin and clean the Aelosia's name once and for all. However, we should keep an eye on that Genevieve woman.

"I understand." says Richemont grimly. Next time he might not be so lucky as to catch a shower curtain flittering in the breeze.

"As I recall, Pantocratoria has never gone to war with any elven nation. In fact, until the reign of the present Emperor, Pantocratoria had almost no contact at all with elves of any sort." says Richemont, shrugging. "And now New Rome seems to be crawling with elven assassins... amazing."

"Maybe it should remained that way. Our races are not meant to be together. It's sad, but true. I have seen good things in humanity, but hedious acts too. The same things can be told of us, the elves. After all these years we haven't learned how to treat those who are different to us", Cyanna says with a sad voice, pausing for a moment.

"And maybe it's just one assassin, after all. An elven assassin is skillful enough to strike many targets almost simultaneously. I would like to say that Aelosia is not involved, but I can only speak in behalf of the goverment. The ShadowPrince is encouraging the culture exchange between elves and the other races, but in my nation many factions are still conservative, fearing the destruction of our culture. They hate humans, and could do anything to saboutage any attempts to open the country to foreigners. Maybe an Aelosian elf is involved, but it's just a possibility".

Richemont nods.

"I would never suspect any legitimate government to be involved in this sort of thing. The actions of private citizens, if these people are your citizens, do not represent your nation as a whole, I understand." he says. "I am not sure I'd give up on elf-human relations just yet. When Pantocratoria was founded, the Greek and Italian settlers couldn't stand each other. When we founded the Exarchate of New Jerusalem, the aboriginal population were treated like fauna of the island. When Louis XVII of France became the Emperor, old-fashioned Greek Pantocratorians rioted in the streets. And today... there is virtually no such thing as racism against other humans here in Pantocratoria. Today may be a rough time in the relations between our people, but who knows what twenty years, or a hundred, or more may bring?"

"But I'm boring you." Richemont concludes. "My inspectors are en route to your embassy to find out more information about this sort of equipment. Have a pleasant trip back to Aelosia, and once again, I cannot apologise enough for all this."

"I will live enough to see those changes, then", says Cyanna. "You have shown me that you're an honorable man. I will say that when I come back to my country, that's there still some honor left in humankind. You say sorry, but I say thank you. You helped me, and listened to me, when anyone believed me. If Bastianel doesn't accept my love, maybe I will come back here, to the embassy".

She nods and says "About that equipment, I know of someone that could help you with that. Call to this phone, you will find the perfect person", she gives a little card to Richemont, with a phone number written on it.

She kisses Richemont in the cheek, "Namárië, that means thank you, in elvish". She approaches Bastianel and the other officers. "Please, just make him sign, I can take care of the rest of the paperwork later".

The officers nod and finish up the process of checking Bastianel out. Richemont looks at the card and puts it in his pocket.

"Namárië..." he says to Cyanna as the two elves leave.

"By laying your hands on a priest in a chapel, yes, Inquisitor, that's called sacrilege. Kings have been excommunicated for it. And if you're too bloody stupid to know it, you've no business walking around in that ridiculous get-up. And speaking of business, how dare you carry around injecting your absurd nose into everybody else's?" rants Father Guillot. "You pull out that silly little business card of yours which says you're a man of God, when in fact you're a man of Simon Darquis, no more, no less. Your Cardinal Richelieu has absolutely no authority in an Imperial Chapel in Pantocratoria, and here in the Holy Empire, your precious Inquisition's only role is to supervise elections. You're an irrelevancy, Darquis! And you're about to find out exactly how irrelevant you are!"

Half a dozen more Varangians rush into the chapel, having been called in by the second of their fallen comrades not too long ago. The six guards level their M-16As at the Inquisitor.

"Careful, chaps, he has a ring which shoots poison darts." warns the priest.

"HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD, KEEP YOUR FINGERS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!" shouts one of the Varangians.

"ONE WRONG MOVE AND WE'LL FIRE!" says the one next to him.

"You're under arrest. You have three seconds to comply!" warns another Varangian.

"Very well." Simon shakes his hand. "I thought that would sway you. I'll go."

He sticks out his hand for the handcuffs. "However, I advise you that placing me under arrest would be... shall we say, an act of war?" Simon smiles and spins. His Inquisitorial robes fade away, replaced with a silken business suit. "A war you can't call upon allies for? Especially since you have no evidence of any sort. A ring that shoots poison darts? What an imagination you men have."

Simon rubs his ring. There is a distinct lack of green poison darts shooting. "Touch a priest?" Simon raises his eyes heavenward. "My dear fellow. I was straightening your collar. It's so starched that I have no wonder you thought I was choking you." He shook his head. "Now, please arrest me, and I'll inform the ambassador of this action." He leaned forward. "Especially if you consider one small detail. The Aelosians don't obliterate entire cultures when they are slighted. We... well, have you ever heard of the Freemantians? Or the New Sparthans? Outside of a history book, I mean?"

OOC: You can't arrest him. Well, you can, but it would be a large mistake. One of the worst your Varangians have ever made.

And God knows what would happen if you sent him back to Roania in disgrace...

"You idiot, you think those two Varangians just dropped unconscious on the spot? You don't think we're very bright, do you?" says one of the Varangians, rolling his eyes as he slams on the handcuffs.

"Get him out of my chapel, I've a Mass to prepare." says Father Guillot as the Varangians pull Simon out of the chapel.

"We'll have to get the videotape of the incident from the rectory, father." says one of the Varangians.

"Fine, fine." says Father Guillot, straightening his robes and going back to arranging the altar.

The Varangian who asked the question enters the rectory and returns with a video cassette after Simon Darquis is escorted back to the Headquarters of the Varangian Guard.

OOC: Are those Varangians unconscious or are they dead? What was in those poison darts.

OOC: Just unconcious. That was a big mistake, though. Arresting him. By the way, I'm not too sure on this, but a camera in the chapel seems a bit... even if it is a Royal Chapel.

OOC: Just unconcious. That was a big mistake, though. Arresting him. By the way, I'm not too sure on this, but a camera in the chapel seems a bit... even if it is a Royal Chapel.

OOC: Palace security is tight. Every room has video cameras except for the inner chambers of the apartments (so not in the bathrooms, bedrooms, or changing rooms of the guests or residents). Confessional booths obviously also don't have video cameras.

As the two unconscious Varangians are dragged out of the chapel and taken to the Varangian HQ's infirmary, courtiers start arriving for evensong Mass. They look, understandably, somewhat alarmed, but Father Guillot continues to go about his business as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

OOC: We need to sort this problem out. If Simon goes on trial, Leopold will hire assasins to put an end to the Judge. And the Emperor. And Father Guillot.

Or, Prince Alexander might decide Pantocratoria's crown would look good on his head.

Also, Cardinal Conomos might find embarrasing information made public, like the fact he bought a Cardinal's robe by agreeing to vote for Walsh... ((A lie, but one that can be made to sound true)).

IC: Simon coughed. "I'm sorry. But I demand a duel to prove my innocence. How do I know that those cameras haven't been... 'fixed'?"

"Shut up." says the Varangian as he slams the cell door closed. "Your embassy will be contacted to send a legal representative."

The Varangian walks over to the opposite wall, and leans against it. He looks down the hall to the other guard on duty in the HQ's cell-block.

A Varangian officer enters the hall, and the two guards snap to attention.

"Report." the lieutenant demands.

"Sir, Simon Darquis has been arrested on three counts of sacrilege and three counts of assault. Father Michél Guillot alledges he attacked him in the Chapel of Saint Constantine, whereupon such time he called in the two guards stationed outside the chapel. The prisoner incapacitated these guards with some sort of dart-firing ring. Six other guards arrived on the scene and apprehended him. He was taken here in silence, where he demanded a duel, and then you walked in, sir." says the Varangian, nearly all in one breath.

The lieutenant nods. He turns to Simon.

"Since the alledged crime occured in a chapel, this case is under the jurisdiction of canon law. Noblemen can only claim duels to prove their innocence in cases under the jurisdiction of Imperial law." explains the lieutenant. "The proper authorities have been notified, so sit tight."

The lieutenant walks to the other cell, out of Simon's view, and speaks to the prisoner there in French for some time. Finally, the phone rings. The lieutenant walks over to it and picks it up.

"Oui?" he answers. He listens in silence for a few seconds. "Le Bureau du Chancelier?... Et mon Père Guillot?... Oui!"

He hangs up the phone and turns to Guillot. He gestures to the nearest Varangian, who steps forward and unlocks the cell.

"You have friends in high places, sir. The Office of the Chancellor has obtained your immediate release, and Father Guillot has dropped the charges against you. The only proviso is that you do not enter the Chapel of Saint Constantine the Great again, and that you remain at all times at least 50 metres away from Father Guillot, unless you are unable to help it. Under no circumstances are you to have any communication whatsoever with Father Guillot or with the two soldiers involved." says the lieutenant as he opens the unlocked cell. "You are free to go."

Simon smiles. "Thank you."

He stood up and passed a few Roanian bank notes to the officer. "This is my bail money." He said with a wink. The officer looked angry at the bribery attempt and tried to put the money back. Simon shook his head. "No, good sir, the wedding is soon, an innocent is free to walk the streets, and you deserve a drink. And..." Simon feels around in his pockets.

"I feel I owe your soldiers an apology, so give this to them. The boys in the back room might find its mechanism very interesting..." Simon passed the man a red ring. "Those M-16s must make it very difficult to go on a covert mission." He remembered something else.

"Can I use your phone for a second? I have just had a wonderful thought..." Simon walked to the phone booth. I have just figured out how to keep Irene in control of this country...

"Perhaps you would find the phone in my office offers more privacy?" offers the lieutenant, opening the cell block door and indicating to a nearby office, after gesturing to the two enlisted soldiers in the hall.

"Of course." Simon moved down to the officer's quarters. He rung the Princess. "Thanks, your highness, for getting me out of that. Now, here's what we'll do."

"The people don't like you because you are too strict. So, embrace that. Say you are working to make Pantocratoria safer for all of them. Also, claim that your opponent is weak on crime. Claim that he would hand the country over to the criminals, open the prisons."

"That will make him less popular, but won't help you. That's when... I don't know, you reveal the human side of you. Marry, or something. Just a suggestion. Go kiss babies, make it seem you care."

"Also, it might be a good idea to make yourself the good guy. Say that should you win, he would be given a post in your government. You don't need to be telling the truth, that promise could be easily kept if you make him a minor office boy in the ministry of art."

"Finally, paint a picture of him as too innocent. Mr. Clean, and all that. Remind everyone he threw a tantrum when you made that little demonstration in court. Ask the people if they really want him in control."

A man in a blue suit wearing dark sunglasses enters the police station. He looks around carefully, then approaches the officer at the front desk. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Inspector Vern. I understand he is heading the investigation into the attempted assassination of Cardinal Walsh." The man carefully removes a wallet and flips it open revealing an ID card. "I'm Special Agent Kirk Steward of the Excalbian Imperial Intelligence Agency."

"Of course." Simon moved down to the officer's quarters. He rung the Princess. "Thanks, your highness, for getting me out of that. Now, here's what we'll do."

"The people don't like you because you are too strict. So, embrace that. Say you are working to make Pantocratoria safer for all of them. Also, claim that your opponent is weak on crime. Claim that he would hand the country over to the criminals, open the prisons."

"That will make him less popular, but won't help you. That's when... I don't know, you reveal the human side of you. Marry, or something. Just a suggestion. Go kiss babies, make it seem you care."

"Also, it might be a good idea to make yourself the good guy. Say that should you win, he would be given a post in your government. You don't need to be telling the truth, that promise could be easily kept if you make him a minor office boy in the ministry of art."

"Finally, paint a picture of him as too innocent. Mr. Clean, and all that. Remind everyone he threw a tantrum when you made that little demonstration in court. Ask the people if they really want him in control."

"Inquisitor, my brother Basil was the chancellor who abolished elections not so long ago. People are hardly going to think that he's too innocent. And I... my fath... I'm too old to marry." replies Irene. "I appreciate your advice and concern, but I feel I have things well in hand... we'll see on Sunday, in any case."

Cyanna and Bastianel were taking the Aelosian vessel who was going to take them back to their homeland. The minstrel looked back once, a lonely tear in his eyes "I curse the day when I came to this country".

Cyanna hears the harsh words "I curse it too, Bastianel, but you're a young man, and you will forget all of this. Aelosia is waiting for you, and we have a lot to do when we arrive to our nation. Starting with recovering your properties and titles. Everything will be ok, you will see".

A shadow was watching them, near the airport's entrance. Vorpalis was staying, her job wasn't finished yet. "To follow that Richemont guy, until the assassin tries to kill him again, Cyanna said. Looks like a good plan".

A man in a blue suit wearing dark sunglasses enters the police station. He looks around carefully, then approaches the officer at the front desk. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Inspector Vern. I understand he is heading the investigation into the attempted assassination of Cardinal Walsh." The man carefully removes a wallet and flips it open revealing an ID card. "I'm Special Agent Kirk Steward of the Excalbian Imperial Intelligence Agency."

The officer checks the ID card and types a code into her computer.

"Special Agent Steward, Inspector Vern is en route to the Aelosian embassy. Perhaps you could meet him there? You're welcome to wait here for him if you'd prefer." says the officer.

"Of course." Simon moved down to the officer's quarters. He rung the Princess. "Thanks, your highness, for getting me out of that. Now, here's what we'll do."

"The people don't like you because you are too strict. So, embrace that. Say you are working to make Pantocratoria safer for all of them. Also, claim that your opponent is weak on crime. Claim that he would hand the country over to the criminals, open the prisons."

"That will make him less popular, but won't help you. That's when... I don't know, you reveal the human side of you. Marry, or something. Just a suggestion. Go kiss babies, make it seem you care."

"Also, it might be a good idea to make yourself the good guy. Say that should you win, he would be given a post in your government. You don't need to be telling the truth, that promise could be easily kept if you make him a minor office boy in the ministry of art."

"Finally, paint a picture of him as too innocent. Mr. Clean, and all that. Remind everyone he threw a tantrum when you made that little demonstration in court. Ask the people if they really want him in control."

"Inquisitor, my brother Basil was the chancellor who abolished elections not so long ago. People are hardly going to think that he's too innocent. And I... my fath... I'm too old to marry." replies Irene. "I appreciate your advice and concern, but I feel I have things well in hand... we'll see on Sunday, in any case."

"Very well. Best of luck, m'lady." Simon checked his watch. "If I'm right, I could get to the embassy to change..."

The officer checks the ID card and types a code into her computer.

"Special Agent Steward, Inspector Vern is en route to the Aelosian embassy. Perhaps you could meet him there? You're welcome to wait here for him if you'd prefer." says the officer.

"Thank you," Steward smiles and nods at the officer. "I think I'll try to catch the Inspector at the Embassy. Could you let him know that I'm on my way?"

* * *

Sometime later, Steward arrives at the Aelosian Embassy. He takes a careful look around the area, tapping the frames of sunglasses several times. Seemingly satisfied about something, he walks to the gate and presses the buzzer.

"Oui?. This is the Embassy of the Empire of Aelosia. How can we serve you?", says a female voice from the other side of the communicator, her french flawed by a strong elvish accent.

"Oui?. This is the Embassy of the Empire of Aelosia. How can we serve you?", says a female voice from the other side of the communicator, her french flawed by a strong elvish accent.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, vous parlez anglais?” Agent Steward asks in halting French. “I am Special Agent Steward from the Government of Excalbia. I am investigating the attempted assassination of Cardinal Walsh and I am looking for Inspector Vern of the Pantocratorian police. I was told that I should meet him here at your Embassy. Is he here by chance?”

Inspector Vern, Inspector Girraud and Father Ekembi finally make their way out of the embassy car park.

"We get here in 15 minutes, then you've got to leave your gun in the car, and we spend 30 minutes going back and forth about the place looking for it." Vern mutters to Girraud.

"It was nothing like 30 minutes!" protests Girraud.

"You made us look like right idiots in front of the Excalbian priest here..." says Vern.

The three men walk into the embassy and see Special Agent Steward talking to the receptionist.

Steward watches the three men walk up. He turns to the two Pantocratorian cops. "Would one of you gentlemen be Inspector Vern?" Steward asks. Then, turning to Father Ekembi, he continues. "And you, Father, must be one of Cardinal Walsh's inquisitors."

"Yes," Father Ekembi nods. "I am Father Ekembi, assigned by the Vatican to protect Cardinal Walsh. And you are, sir?"

"I am Special Agent Steward of the Excalbian Imperial Intelligence Agency. I hope you won't mind if I join your investigation."

Vern shakes Steward's hand.

"Special Agent Steward, I'm Inspector Jean Vern, this is my partner Inspector Girraud. I received notification over my car radio that you'd be joining our investigation." says Vern. "We're here to see if the Aelosians can tell us anything about this elf assassin who made an attempt on the life of Guillame Richemont, the senior Crown Prosecutor assigned to the Duras case, who is presumably the same phantom Father Ekembi here witnessed attacking Cardinal Walsh."

Girraud in the meantime walks up to the receptionist.

"Madamoiselle," he says, holding up his badge. "I am Inspector Girraud of the New Rome Imperial Police Department. We 'ave some questions for your law enforcement liaison officer."

"Excuse me..." Vern turns from Steward to pull on Girraud's arm. "The Aelosians may not have a law enforcement liaison officer..."

"And if you do not 'ave a liaison officer for law enforcement..." says Girraud. "Appoint someone as a liaison officer, and we will talk to 'im. Or 'er. And quickly, eh?"

"Let me fill you in Special Agent..." says Vern, turning back to Steward, and he tells Steward under his breath what has transpired so far in his investigation.

"I will call the captain of the Corps Guard, he's the nearest thing we have to a law liaison officer", says the receptionist, frightened. She push a button and says several words in elvish. "If you're so kind of waiting here, please, he will arrive in a minute".

Girraud nods at the receptionist with a look as if waiting is some great hardship. He turns back to Vern and raises his eyebrows for a brief while expressively. Vern pulls his notebook out of his jacket pocket. Girraud rubs his nose for a moment, then looks at his watch. He pulls an angry face as he turns back to the receptionist.

"We 'ave not all day!" he protests, tapping his watch. He strums his fingers on the counter, and turns back around to Vern. The threatening look is replaced with a smirk.

Vern allows himself a brief grin before turning to the two Excalbians and muttering beneath his breath.

"Of course, I wouldn't ask that you stand there mute while we speak to this elven officer, but I would ask that you follow our lead." Vern says. "The Aelosians may need some cajouling before they'll provide us with the information we need after that whole thing, what with arresting that moronic musician of theirs and such."

"I'm wondering if you were talking about Bastianel, monsieur. First, please don't refer to him as moronic, at least not in my presence, and second, I would like to see how are you going to cajoule us. I'm wondering if your police sent the right men", says a calm, male voice behind Vern, the voice coming from a tall, blonde elf, dressed with the grey uniform of the Aelosian Corps Guard, in his shoulder and chest the golden badge of captain.

"Can I be of any help?", asks the officer.

Oh right, the ears... Vern thinks to himself. They can even hear me when I'm whispering...

Girraud rubs his temples as he curls his face up, shaking his head.

"Well, I...." Inspector Vern starts.

"Yes, you can indeed be of 'elp to us, monsieur." says Inspector Girraud. "Tell me, in the last 24 'ours there 'ave been two attempted assassinations conducted by one of your kind, that is to say, an elf. First, in front of the Cathedral de Christ Pantocrator, an assassin witnesses described as a phantom, with some sort of invisibility device, fired some sort of pistol at Cardinal Walsh, Archveque de Citadel Excalbie, 'itting his bodyguard. This assassin then escaped..."

"...then an assailant with a similar description made an attempt on the life on the Crown Prosecutor assigned to the case against the mo... Bastianel Dephil, Guillame Richemont." says Vern.

"Monsieur Richemont escaped down 'is fire exit, and managed to disarm zis assassin. He got a better look at 'is assailant, who is, we presume, the same person as Cardinal Walsh's assailant, when zis invisibility device was somehow disactivated. Monsieur Richemont described zis assassin as an elf woman with dark features..." Girraud says.

Vern reaches into his jacket and produces the sketch artist's rendition of the assailant, and hands it to the captain.

"...unfortunately she eluded Monsieur Richemont's apprehension." concludes Girraud.

"We suspect you are familiar with this sort of equipment, perhaps even with this very assassin. We'd appreciate it if you could tell us whatever you know." says Vern, standing by to write down anything the officer says.

The elf reach for his thigh holster, pulling out his ShadowBolt handgun and leaving it over the table. "That's the regular weapon of Aelosia police and armed officers, me and my two men are armed only with that gun, you can examine it if you want to. And about that invisibility device, first, talking about it is classified, because it's military equipment. As far as I know, no elf in Pantocratoria is equipped with one of those devices, and they're seldom used, with the exception of military operations in hostile countries".

"I'm wondering if you classify all phantoms as elves...And about this sketch, it shows a drow woman, a dark elf. Noone of them had entered this country, according to our intelligence. As a matter of fact, the last elf that appears in our entry registers is Bastianel Dephil", he pauses for a moment, closing his eyes as to recall something "I'm not familiar with invisibility cloaks, or heavy ShadowBolt rifles. I'm a policeman, not a military operative, and about those Drow assassins, the only thing that I have familiar with them is this...", he opens three buttons of his jacket to show a large scar in his chest "A drow escapee, equipped with one of those cloaks stabbed me with a knife when I tried to arrest him, I was a field police agent back in those days, twenty years ago".

“Hmmm,” Steward glanced at Inspector Vern, then back at the Aelosian captain. “Captain, some of your past police experience might be helpful to us. How familiar are you with Drow habits? Their modus operendi, if you will? If there is a Drow assassin in Pantocratoria, what might be their next step?”

"Try to kill the victims that escaped her first attacks. To fail in killing their targets is a great dishonor to them, and they try to fix their mistakes as soon as they can. Your Cardinal is still in danger. And about the drow habits, they use to live underground, maybe the assassin is hiding in some place dark, deep and damp, like the sewers perhaps?"

Lo escribí dos veces.

"That's helpful..." says Vern, making a note about it. "We'll do that."

"Merci for your 'elp, monsieur..." starts Girraud. "...but about zis invisibility cloak, I am afraid zat we need more information about it, classified or not. Anyzing you tell us could save countless lives, captain... You 'ave been so 'elpful, I do not like to say it, but if needs be we will obtain a court order compelling you to disclose all information about zis cloak. Perhaps you can save us ze trouble, and tell us as much as you can now? Zis way, you could be selective about what is disclosed about zis technology... less confidential information would be uncovered, eh?"

"I think what my partner is asking.." says Vern. "..is whether you could provide us with as much as you know about this device? We are going to need to know more about it if we're going to stop this killer, and we would be forced to get a court order to compel you to tell us everything unless you volunteer some more information. If you volunteer information on the other hand, you could still keep somethings secret if you don't think we need to know... is that clearer?"

"Can you 'elp us some more with zis, monsieur?" asks Girraud.

The captain nods, speaking again "An Ellösar cloak is a light reflecting device. I don't know the technical, scientific details, but it's reflection-based. As the cloak reflects the light, his wearer is a shadow, visually speaking. I haven't used one of those, because as I said before, I'm not a military officer. The only thing I know is that the wearer of an Ellösar cloak can be spotted with a thermal sight, like the thermal sunglasses or even a nightvision device. You can find a court order if you want you, maybe you could even torture me, but that's all I know about it", he takes his gun again, securing it in his holster, smiling at Girraud.

"Zat shouldn't be necessary..." says Girraud in response to the captain's last remark.

"We would like to take one of those pistols..." says Vern, indicating the pistol the captain just picked up. "I'd like our ballastics laboratory to determine whether it is the same type of pistol as was used in the two attacks. If it is, we'll be back."

"But in ze meantime, you 'ave been very 'elpful." says Girraud. "Do you 'ave any questions, Steward? Father?"

Steward shakes his head. "No, I think this information will be very useful. Thank you, Captain."

Father Ekembi merely nods his head in thanks as he continues to study the room.

"Take mine, in that case. The ShadowBolt ammunition is special. This kind of gun don't fire shells, or bullets. It fires Golvarn needles using an electrical impulse. If the assassin used one of this weapons, you shouldn't have problems in identifying the ammo. If you need anything, just call me. Helping you in catching that Drow scum will be a pleasure", says the captain, leaving his gun over the table again.

Girraud pulls on a latex glove, and places the gun in an evidence bag.

"Merci, monsieur, you 'ave been most 'elpful." says Girraud, before turning to leave. Vern and the others follow him. As the men get into their car, Girraud speaks again.

"Somezing is bothering me, Jean..." says Girraud as he gets behind the driver's seat. "Do we presume zat zis assassin is working for ze people who 'ad Duras killed? Surely zese cannot be unrelated."

"I think we have to presume that." confirms Vern. "Richemont's only case involving a foreign national is the Duras murder. The attempt on his life must have something to do with that case. And the two Cultural Development officers who were killed in their car, they were assassinated by another one of these invisible phantom assassins, presumably the same one. An attempted assassination on another Cardinal, apparently by the same assassin, seems to be part of a continuing campaign against prominent churchmen."

"Someone doesn't want zis Church Council going ahead. Zey also are trying to stop our investigation." says Girraud. "But... we had Bastianel Dephil in prison... if 'e was innocent, zen why try to kill ze man who was going to prosecute 'im?"

"The DNA evidence found by the palace proved that Bastianel Dephil's skin wasn't on that necklace in the Vortex Corporation... it proved that his father was, though." says Vern. "Maybe his father's accomplices acted to try to protect their accomplice's son..."

"I don't know... I zink it was stupid of your friend Richemont to let zat elf pig go so quickly... 'e still seems involved! His father's DNA, ze assassins trying to kill 'is prosecutor... surely 'e cannot 'ave been uninvolved!" says Girraud.

"I doubt Aelosia is going to extradite him now. We'll have to settle for getting his father's accomplices and this assassin operating here in New Rome." says Vern. "That captain of the guard didn't seem to have a reason to mislead us - after all, that moron Bastianel is out of our reach, and it is unlikely the embassy staff or the Aelosian government itself is at all involved in this... just those Dephil bastards."

Girraud nods.

"So then, let's start with a search of the cities sewers. The police will need thermal googles..." Vern says, picking up the car radio mouthpiece to give the order as Girraud pulled out of the carpark.

"You know that they could go after me, captain. Those humans are stupid enough to mistake me for a drow. And you gave them the hint of the thermal googles, now my Ellösar camouflage is useless against those policemen", says Vorpalis to the captain of the guard, her tone full of anger.

"Well, they would bring a court order if I didn't talk. And, I think it's more easy to let them handle the assassin, you should return to Aelosia as the rest of the staff. Bastianel is already free, so who cares about what this drow can do to these humans?", answer the captain, shaking his head in a negative way.

Vorpalis turns and says "Cyanna cares, she thinks that Aelosia's reputation could be involved, and my orders are to hunt down that assassin and get rid of him as fast as I can. They will be searching in the sewers while I try to follow Richemont, at least you mislead them enough...I will use the human disguise again, what a pain".

The New Rome police department deploys every spare man to trawl through the city's sewers with thermal googles, searching for the assassin.

Special Agent Steward and Father Ekembi confer briefly, then approach Inspector Vern.

"Inspector," Steward begins as Ekembi watches with arms folded, "while searching the sewers seem to be a good tip, and I'm glad to see you following up on it so aggressively, I hope this won't distract from other leads. For example, the Captain said that the drow assasin would certainly try to complete her 'job' and kill your prosecutor and Cardinal Walsh. I'm sure you've increased the guard on both men, but it might be prudent to watch them very closely. With your permission, I would like to accompany the units watching the prosecutor, while Father Ekembi would like to return to the units watching Cardinal Walsh."

"Absolutely, although I doubt the assassin will be able to even get near the prosecutor again... Guillame Richemont works in the Crown Prosecutor's Office - it is crawling with police. And he has been relocated to one of the secure apartments beneath the Office of the Crown Prosecutor, where the prosecutor keeps witnesses who are at risk." says Vern. "But your plan is certainly a good one. We just need to wait for this elf to show her face again..."

"That's right", says a woman, appearing suddenly behind Vern, dressed in a executive suit and wearing a complicate hat in her head "Greetings, you should be the local authorities. My name is Sister Paula Torquemada, I work for the Saint Office of the Inquisition of Iesus Christi. We heard that you were hunting elves, so I'm here to help, I'm an expert in the hunting and elimination of elven threats, those pointy ears deserve the harshest punishment for all they have done here in Pantocratoria".

In one hand she was holding her identification, the other extended to Vern. This disguise s perfect!. This is my best idea in centuries, says Vorpalis to herself.

Vern furrows his brow as he accepts the card and looks at it.

"Iesus Christi... didn't you guys get blown back into the stone age by Menel..." Vern wonders outloud, before Girraud elbows him.

"Silence!" mutters Girraud to his partner. "Peut-être elle peut nous aide!"

Vern looks up from the card and graciously accepts "Paula"'s extended hand.

"Sister," says Vern, handing her back the card. "We'd be delighted. Tell us, those Aelosians told us that we should search the sewers for this elven assassin. Tell me, are they misleading us or not? We've been searching through every pipe and main in New Rome now for the past 3 days, and nothing!"

"I'm just wondering. What kind of elf are you looking for?. There's several sub species of that scum out there. The "monkeys", called wood elves by themselves, can be found in heavy forested areas. The "whores", high elves, usually live in mansions and huge manors. The only one that you can find in a sewer is a "pig", a drow. However, they prefer more dry underground sites, but they're masters of disguise and concealment" says Vorpalis, looking at Vern with an angry face "And you, don't dare to name the Lady Bitch country in front of me, we will get our revenge some day. The Saint Office is the last Iesus Christi organization".

Vern nods.

"Well, to be honest, they all look alike to me..." he says apologetically, looking to Girraud.

"Erm, I zink zat ze Aelosian classified zis one as a drow." says Girraud, turning to the table to pick up the sketch artist's rendition. He shows it to "Paula".

"So if this is a... whatcha call it?" Vern starts.

"Drow." says Girraud.

"Yes. If this elf is a drow, then we'd be expecting to find her in a dry underground site, not a sewer... which is quite damp..." Vern ventures. "Am I correct, Sister?"

"They hate sunlight, any place underground is a possible den for this beast. The sewers could be a good place to hide, but those stupid elves hate nasty odors", says "Paula".

"Has New Rome an underground site more decent?, like catacombs?"

Vern looks at Girraud solemnly, who looks solemnly back.

"Yes, there are catacombs, but they've been sealed since 1753..." says Vern.

"...when ze Chivalric Order of ze Pantocrator rebelled..." says Girraud.

The two men each cross themselves.

"The Knights of the Order of the Pantocrator whose bodies could be brough to New Rome were buried in them from the earliest days of our nation. Men who fought alongside Constantine XI as the Turks swept through the streets of Constantinople. Men who died crusading to reclaim that city. They were all buried there, until 1753 when the Emperor crushed a rebellion by the knights, buried the traitors, and sealed the catacombs forever." Vern says quietly.

"Buried alive with zeir predecessors..." adds Girraud, shaking his head.

"They're haunted, and they're a sacred place. They've been sealed for centuries, surely this elf hasn't broken the seal and found her way inside!" says Vern.

"It would explain why we cannot find 'er in ze sewers, Jean." says Girraud.

"You're right... well... maybe you are..." says Vern. "Surely there are other alternatives? This assassin was hired by Kyrosal Dephil, you see sister, perhaps she is being shielded by the Aelosians?"

"You know she isn't zere..." says Girraud. "You just don't want to go into ze Catacombs."

"A perfect place for a drow, and elves are not hampered by any religious beliefs, except their satanic adoration of pagane idols. The assassin is in those catacombs. We should go there and locate him. Maybe the Aelosian are shielding him, but I bet that the Menelmacari are the true instigators of this scheme, they hate us, the christians. I'll go with you, to be sure that this assassin don't escape again."

((BUMP))

OOC: Oh dear, I've been somewhat distracted of late, haven't I?

IC: Inspectors Vern and Girraud step out of their black police car and turn on their flashlights. The two men approach the ancient sealed door of the catacombs of New Rome, trembling, as other police cars pull up behind them and uniformed officers get out.

Vern swallows hard and turns to "Sister Paula".

"Ladies first, sister..." he says, gesturing to the door as Girraud produces five ancient looking silver keys, and starts unlocking the 250 year old seal.

"Zis seal 'as not been broken, zat's for sure..." says Girraud. "Ze keys barely turn in ze locks!"

"I bet there's another entrance. Maybe from the sewers. This is a catacomb, I hope that there's no dead walking, facing a drow is more than enough", says "Paula".

"Can some of you give me a gun?. I don't have any weapons", she asks to Vern.

Girraud looks at Vern suspiciously, and then glances at "Paula".

"What do you need a gun for?" he asks. He gestures to the dozens of armed police officers around. "I am sure we will be able to protect you!"

"Right... googles on..." says Vern, and the police pull on their thermal googles.

He and Girraud turn back to the door, and lift the unlocked ancient seal off and set it down gently.

"Time to move!" Girraud says, pushing open the door. Vern draws his revolver, and the uniformed officers behind him do the same.

"You told me to enter first, I didn't want to encounter the assasin without a weapon in my hands", said the strange woman, putting a mask over her face, something looking like a gasmask from WWII, and entering the catacombs.

Vern crosses himself as he steps into the catacombs.

"Fan out..." says Girraud. "Ze tunnel separates about 20 metres ahead, into another 5 tunnels. Four men to each tunnel. Allons-y!"

The search party splits into 5 groups, and each heads down a separate tunnel. Vern, Girraud, Paula and another officer are in one group together.

OOC: The Drow's hideout is somewhere inside the catacombs, you just point where.

"I'm tracking the assassin, I think we should follow to the North of this place. Some of you have a compass?. I can't intuit the direction down here", said Paula, looking at Vern and Girraud.

Girraud looks at Vern.

"You can intuit ze direction anywhere?" he asks.

Vern looks down at his compass watch. He points down the tunnel.

"Directly north..." says Vern. "What a strange coincidence..."

"What coincidence?", asked Paula to Vern. "Where are we heading?, What is to the North of here?".

"The coincidence, sister, is simply that out of the five tunnels to choose from, we happened to pick the one leading directly north..." says Vern.

"Sister, how is it that you can intuit ze direction, but not in ze catacombs?" asks Girraud.

"The sky and the stars, my friend, you can intuit the direction by looking at the North Star, but underground it's kind of difficult. Even the little kids know that", says Paula, thinking. Better to keep my mouth shut. These men are more smart than I thought.

Vern seems satisfied with the explanation, and continues to nervously shine his torch on every shadow as the group progresses.

Lying in niches in the walls are skeletons in rusted armour. Faded bronze name plates record the names of the knights. Greek icons of saints cover the ceilings, particularly depicting Christ as Pantocrator. There isn't a French word to be seen - the catacombs are like another time, frozen forever in history. A time where New Rome was much like Byzantine Constantinople, and its people still spoke "the old language", Greek. The light from Vern's flashlight flicks over the remains and the icons, as he continues on.

"If looking for ze North Star is what you call intuiting a direction, sister, zhen why would you even bring it up underground? Of course you cannot see ze sky from here." says Girraud as he turns his gaze forward again. He rubs his googles carefully.

"Jean, pourquoi est-ce que nous avons cette femme avec nous, eh?" Girraud mutters in French to his partner. "Elle est nulle!"

"Je ne sais pais..." Vern murmurs back. "Mais je voudrais partir ces catacombs comme..."

Vern trips on an uneven tile in the floor, and falls, cursing loudly. As he hits the floor, the lowest niche in the part of the wall he was next to shakes, and a helmetted skull rolls out off the shelf and onto Vern. Vern muffles a yell of shock as he scrambles to his feet, letting the skull drop to the floor.

"Mon Dieu!" he exclaims.

Girraud picks up the skull and irreverently starts moving the jaw.

"Alors, je peux trouver la direction... la la la la." Girraud says in a high voice, imitating "Paula's". He sets the skull back in its grave. Vern manages a smile.

"You good now?" Girraud asks. Vern nods, and the group continues moving north.

Suddenly Paula stopped and looked to the room. "What's that, up there?, looks like some kind of blueprint", said the woman, pointing at a strange inscription on the wall, very recent, judging by the markings. "And that's a cup of coffe, Do your dead knights take coffe?", she said, pointing at a mug on the floor.

Girraud shines his torch over the scratched blueprint, and then at the coffee.

"Do elves?" Girraud asks, pointing his gun at "Paula". "Your eyesight is très bon in the dark, sister."

Vern inspects the mug, sniffing the contents.

"Definitely coff... what are you doing?" he says as he turns back to Girraud. The uniformed officer looks equally confused.

"Jean, is it not suspicious 'ow zis woman comes to us from Iesus Christi out of ze bleu and knows exactly where to look for ze assassin?" Girraud starts, keeping his revolver pointed at Vorpalis. "Is it not suspicious 'ow she does not use a flashlight, and yet can see better zhan us? Is it not suspicious 'ow she knew to go directly north? Is it not suspicious zat she makes flippant remarks about intuiting ze direction? Is it not suspicious 'ow she knows zat is coffee before inspecting it closely? Is it not suspicious 'ow she is so shapely for a nun? And..."

Girraud adjusts his thermal googles.

"...is it not also suspicious zat 'er body temperature is significantly different from zat of a normal 'uman?" he concludes. "You 'ave lured us 'ere. Zis is some kind of a trap. Take off zat mask, and pull back your 'air. I want see zose ears!"

"If you're wrong..." starts Vern as the uniformed officer starts radioing the other search parties.

"Nous avons trouvé une tasse du café, et une carte, ou chelque'chose ici. Je crois que c'est le camp elven..." he starts into the radio softly.

"I'm not wrong Jean. Show me your ears!" Girraud says again, gesturing with his gun threateningly.

"But why would she lead us..." Vern starts.

"To trap us! Once we find zese things, she wants for us to follow 'er into a trap. What better way to stop ze investigation!" Girraud quips to Vern. "Now, I will count to five! Show me your ears!"

"One!"

"Put that gun away from me!, you...you have no right to do that", answers Vorpalis, knowing that her plan was foiled already, starting to take off her mask.

A shadow was surveying all the scene from a little niche near the ceiling. That was funny, maybe she could escape this catacombs after all, menawhile her hunters were fighting each other. Just a little smoke, mixed with the proper agent. She threw the gas bomb just in front of the figures arguing, jumping down to try to escape her pursuers..

Girraud growls, and pulls the trigger on his gun, which was pointing in Vorpalis' direction before the smoke bomb went off.

"Gas!" shouts Vern, pulling out his hankerchief and holding it to his mouth.

"You won't get away!" Girraud shouts as he rushes straight forward and tackles "Paula" to the ground.

"Inspector!" shouts the uniformed officer, spying another figure through the smoke with his thermal googles. He opens fire at it, whilst trying to hold his breath. In the distance the footsteps of over a dozen officers can be heard running down the tunnel.

"Gas! Go back! Get masks!" shouts Vern before covering his mouth with his hankerchief again. He adjusts his thermal googles again, seeing the new figure. He joins the uniformed officer in shooting at the assassin.

The assasin jumps to the officer firing her automatic rifle towards them with a maniacal laughter. Vorpalis fell to the floor, hit in the shoulder by a bullet and tackled by Girraud. She takes out her mask and gives it to Girraud. "This is Doldûr gas, put this on or die", she says, pushing the man back, "let me handle the maniac, after that you can do whatever you want with me".

Girraud looks confused, but coughing, pulls the mask on, and spins around. He sees Vern staggering around, his revolver drawn, holding his hankerchief to his mouth. Girraud turns to the uniformed officer in time to see him fall to the ground, after being shot by the new figure in the smoke.

Vern and Girraud both point their pistols at the new figure and start firing into it, emptying chamber after chamber into the figure.

The figure side stepped several of the shots, but a pair of bullets found their mark on the Drow's belly. The elven woman just started to laugh louder, reloading faster than lightning his rifle, sliding a new magazine inside the weapon, this time black blood pouring from her mouth and the pair of holes in her belly.

She rose her rifle again, aiming at Girraud, squeezing the trigger. However, a throwing knife cut deep into the shoulder of the assassin, making her lose her aim.

"La tête!" shouts Girraud, and he and Vern both aim their pistols at the drow's head.

"Let's see you shrug this off!" Vern shouts through his hankerchief, and the two men start firing. The sounds of the shots and struggle drown out the sounds of the heels off the officers from the other tunnels slamming aginst the floor as they run towards the fight, having grabbed their gas masks.

The drow fired and fired until a flower of blood gloomed in her forehead, finally a bullet of the agents bringing her down. Soon the mist of the gas began to fade out, the fallen body of the assassin between the Pantocratorian agents.

The reinforcements finally arrive, as Vern drops to his knees, spluttering, the hankerchief he was holding to his mouth covered in little speckles of blood. One of the uniformed officers with a red cross arm band produces an oxygen mask attached to an oxygen canister, and puts it on Vern's face. The Inspector struggles to breathe as the medic calls for an ambulance.

Girraud looks at his spluttering partner, and back to "Paula". He produces a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

"You're under arrest, whoever you are." he snarls, slamming the cuffs on the elf's wrists. He grabs her by the shoulder where his bullet hit, and pulls her to her feet.

"Take 'er! She's an elf, one of zis one's co-conspirateurs, no doubt!" Girraud pronounces as he shoves Vorpalis to two uniformed officers.

He turns back to his partner.

"Jean..." he starts in concern.

"He will be fine, Inspector, we just need to get him to the hospital." says the medic.

Girraud nods, and Vern winks to him silently. Girraud turns to the downed drow.

"Bag zis animal." says Girraud spitefully, and two of the uniformed officers unzip a bodybag.

***

Some hours later, Vorpalis awakens in a black barren room. She doesn't remember anything after the officers took her from Girraud... actually... she recalls a slight prick in her arm, and then nothing. She is tied to a plain metal chair, naked, the only thing covering any part of her other than her restraints being the bandage over her injured shoulder.

A bright light comes on extremely close to Vorpalis' face, and a voice booms throughout the room, as if over an intercom.

"I understand elven vision can adapt to pitch black fairly effortlessly, but that extremely bright lights are just as blinding to an elf's eyes as they are to a human's." says the voice, dispassionately. "I wouldn't recommend looking into the light, even with your eyes closed, it is bright enough to cause permanent damage to your cornea. I suggest you keep your head lowered."

The click of a door can be heard, and then a set of footsteps.

"I appreciate ze Ministry's assistance in zis matter, Monsieur Broillard." says Girraud's familiar voice.

"Think nothing of it, Inspector. The Ministry of Cultural Development appreciates the cooperation of the police department. Without it, we would never have found out about the numerous assaults committed on Pantocratorian culture by this elfling and her darkie accomplice." replies a new voice, presumably this man named Broillard.

"For now I shall call you Paula," says Girraud, this time addressing Vorpalis, "since your real name has not yet quite been identified. Before we begin the interrogation, I am obliged by the policy of 'is Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty's Justice to inform you of your rights. You 'ave none. Zis investigation is now a joint investigation between ze Ministry of Cultural Development and ze New Rome Police Department. Since it is now under ze partial jurisdiction of ze Ministry of Cultural Development, we are authorised to employ any means we deem necessary to obtain from you a full and complete statement. I take it you understand ze implication?"

"First, Paula," says Broillard. "You will tell us your real name. You will tell us who you are working for."

"Your full compliance is expected and required. You will answer all questions promptly." says the dispassionate voice over the intercom.

"My name is Vorpalis of the House of Hyral, Captain of the Aelosian Navy, number 2425", she said, raising her voice and closing her eyes, trying to remember her interrogation and torture resistance training.

She whispered in a very low voice to Girraud. "I don't know why I saved you from that drow, I should let you die like a pig".

"Saved me from zat drow? You led us into a trap! An officer died! My partner nearly joined 'im!" shouts Girraud. Broillard puts his hand on Girraud's shoulder to calm him.

"Inspector, perhaps you would like to get a coffee? You've had a long night, apprehending this criminal." says Broillard.

"Oui... oui, c'est une bonne idée..." Girraud nods. He glances at Vorpalis. "Salope!"

Girraud leaves the room.

"The subject didn't explicitly say for whom she was working." chimes in the emotionless voice over the intercom.

"May we assume, Captain Vorpalis of the House of Hyral, number 2425, that you are working for the Aelosian Navy?" asks Broillard. "If not.. then who?"

"My name is Vorpalis of the House of Hyral, Captain of the Aelosian Navy, number 2425", she repeated. "Currently on a protection mission. Actual status: Captured by an unknown party", she says, smiling, with her eyes still closed.

"The subject did not comply." says the dispassionate voice over the intercom.

Broillard grabs Vorpalis' injured shoulder, his thumb digging into the wound, through the bandage.

"I asked you who you worked for, not what your mission status was." says Broillard, twisting his hand around cruelly.

He starts to chuckle, and then suddenly yanks Vorpalis' head up by the hair, the blinding light shining over her face.

"What are you smiling about, elf?" he snarls. "I'll wipe that grin right off your subhuman face!"

Broillard releases Vorpalis shoulder and punches her in the jaw. If she wasn't bound to the chair, it would've been hard enough to knock her out of it, and if the chair wasn't affixed to the floor, it would've been knocked clear over. He lets go of the elf's hair so that her head drops back down.

"This is your last chance to answer my question before I stop playing nice." says Broillard, calmly, as if none of what just transpired ever happened. "Tell me, elf, who are you working for?"

Hearing that the assassin has been killed and another elf captured, Agent Steward and Father Ekembi arrive at police headquarters seeking to join the interrogation of the suspect. Agent Steward presents a letter from the Excalbian Ambassador asking that he be allowed to represent the Holy Empire's interests in the investigation and Ekembi presents a similar letter from the Papal Nuncio.

A young inspector approaches the Excalbians.

"Father Ekembi, Agent Steward," he starts. "The assassins were apprehended in the catacombs. Entry into the catacombs without special dispensation from the Order of the Pantocrator is an offence under the Cultural Protection Act. As a result of this violation of the CPA, this investigation is now a joint investigation between the Ministry of Cultural Development and the New Rome Police Department, and the interrogation of the suspect we have in custody is taking place at the Ministry of Cultural Development's New Rome Office. Inspector Girraud is there with the suspect and an investigator from the Ministry of Cultural Development. Inspector Vern is in hospital recovering from injuries sustained in the pursuit of the assassins."

"Well, then, Inspector," Agent Steward says, "I suppose we should be on our way to the Ministry of Cultural Development."

Steward and Ekembi turn and depart. Some minutes later, both arrive at the Ministry and present the same letters.

The clerk at the investigations office of the Ministry of Cultural Development glances at the letters with suspicion. He picks up his phone.

"Deux excalbiens ici, Mon Père Ekembi et Monsieur Steward." he mutters.

A few minutes later, Inspector Girraud steps into the reception area of the investigations office.

"Ah, Father Ekembi, Agent Steward," he says, a little nervously. "It is good to see you 'ere... at ze Ministry of Culturelle Development... erm... please, come."

He holds the door open for the Excalbians and leads them into Broillard's office, which is otherwise abandoned.

"Zis is ze office of Monsieur Broillard, ze investigator for ze Ministry of Cultural Development on zis case. Please, sit down. So, 'ave you discovered anyzing new? Is zhere anything you wish for to discuss?" asks Girraud.

"My name is Vorpalis of the House of Hyral, Captain of the Aelosian Navy, number 2425", she repeated. "Currently on a protection mission. Actual status: Captured by an unknown party", said the woman again, without a flinch, then she turned to see Broillard "you can't inflict pain on me, I had better torturers than you".

"Well, Inspector," Agent Steward began with a smile, "as you can see in the letter, in the interests of furthering our own investigation into the attempted assasination of a leading citizen of Excalbia, I would like the opportunity to speak with suspect. I've already overheard some rumors at police headquarters that the suspect is an Aelosian agent. If she was involved in the attempted assasination, then this becomes a very serious international incident. However, we've also heard rumors that she actually aided in the discovery of the assasin and helped save you and your partner's lives."

Steward continued to smile patiently. "Certainly, we do not condone having 'secret agents' operate clandestinely within friendly states and we find it completely understandable that your government would be -- disturbed -- by the idea of an Aelosian agent operating undercover in this investigation. However, this is certainly a tricky international situation and one that, unfortunately, does involve Excalbia. So, my government would very much appreciate my having the opportunity to speak with suspect."

Steward looked at Father Ekembi, who silently nods in return. "And, I believe, Father Ekembi is similarly interested in interrogating the suspect in order to protect the Vatican's interests."

Father Ekembi steps forward and speaks in clear, baritone voice, with a slight hint of an African accent. "After all, Cardinal Walsh is the head of the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. He is a friend and close advisor of His Holiness, the Pope. The Holy Father, through the Nuncio, has personally asked that I continue to look into this matter."

"My name is Vorpalis of the House of Hyral, Captain of the Aelosian Navy, number 2425", she repeated. "Currently on a protection mission. Actual status: Captured by an unknown party", said the woman again, without a flinch, then she turned to see Broillard "you can't inflict pain on me, I had better torturers than you".

"I haven't yet begun to... interrogate you vigourously yet elf." says Broillard. "I can see from that scar across your face that you are no stranger to... hands on, shall we say, conventional methods. Very well."

"A neural stimulator has been requested." says the voice over the intercom.

"It would be much easier for you to just cooperate, elf." Broillard says as he waits. "You just need to tell us who you're working for, and what your mission is."

"Prepare the subject!" says the emotionless voice. A door opens, and two men dressed as orderlies enter the room. A bar is automatically lowered from the ceiling.

Each orderly takes a handcuff attached to the bar, and pulls down on it, each handcuff being attached to a steel cable which rolls out as the orderlies pull on the cuffs. They bring them down to Vorpalis' bound arms on the chair, and cuff them to her wrists. They next reach down to two ankle cuffs attached to the floor by similar cable. The cable goes taut, and the orderlies remove the bindings which keep Vorpalis stuck in the chair. As they remove the last one, which holds her to the chair itself, they shout "CLEAR". A whirring noise can be heard, and the steel cables retract suddenly, pulling Vorpalis out of the chair and into the air, as taut as possible. Her arms and legs feel like they're about to be ripped off, as she is left in the shape of an X in mid-air. The blinding light is pulled back and shut off, but the ambient light in the room is still very bright from the ceiling and wall lights. The torture chamber looks very high tech, and vern clean indeed.

Broillard stands before Vorpalis, his face coming up to her chest, suspended in the air as she is. The orderlies leave the room, the retracting door closing behind them, with no obvious knob or control to open it. The outline of the door is barely visible against the white wall.

Broillard walks behind Vorpalis. He part pats, part slaps her around the waist.

"I think we'll start here, and move on as appropriate, eh?" he says.

The orderlies return carrying a blanket made out of a strange fibre.

"Now, before we begin the vigorous interrogation, tell me elf, does that black little heart of yours have any problems we should know about? Any heart conditions? Respitory problems?" Broillard asks, his voice sincere but void of anything even vaguely resembling pity.

OOC: The neural stimulator was obtained here: http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=84264

"Well, Inspector," Agent Steward began with a smile, "as you can see in the letter, in the interests of furthering our own investigation into the attempted assasination of a leading citizen of Excalbia, I would like the opportunity to speak with suspect. I've already overheard some rumors at police headquarters that the suspect is an Aelosian agent. If she was involved in the attempted assasination, then this becomes a very serious international incident. However, we've also heard rumors that she actually aided in the discovery of the assasin and helped save you and your partner's lives."

Steward continued to smile patiently. "Certainly, we do not condone having 'secret agents' operate clandestinely within friendly states and we find it completely understandable that your government would be -- disturbed -- by the idea of an Aelosian agent operating undercover in this investigation. However, this is certainly a tricky international situation and one that, unfortunately, does involve Excalbia. So, my government would very much appreciate my having the opportunity to speak with suspect."

Steward looked at Father Ekembi, who silently nods in return. "And, I believe, Father Ekembi is similarly interested in interrogating the suspect in order to protect the Vatican's interests."

Father Ekembi steps forward and speaks in clear, baritone voice, with a slight hint of an African accent. "After all, Cardinal Walsh is the head of the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. He is a friend and close advisor of His Holiness, the Pope. The Holy Father, through the Nuncio, has personally asked that I continue to look into this matter."

"Of course gentlemen, I can see ze Excalbien and church interest in zis investigation, most certainly. You were both vital to ze apprehension of zis criminal." says Girraud.

"Let me clear up one zing - you say zere are rumours zat zis assassin helped us? Zat is laughable. She disguised herself as a nun, and lead us right into a trap. One officer was killed by her accomplice. My partner barely survived it. Zis one, she released or signalled for some sort of poison gas when I had worked out who she was. I apprehended her, and she gave me her mask, perhaps in hope zat I would let her go for ze favour. But zat means she knew she was immune to ze effects of ze gas, and she even told me what type of gas it was. She knew about ze trap. She made sure she was with us, leading us into it, not any of the other officers. She wanted to make sure she got ze chief investigators." explains Girraud. "Zis is a woman who was intimately involved in setting ze trap. At the very least, she was ze bait. She is also ze only member of zis conspiracy we have in custody."

"Now... let me explain something else..." Girraud says. "I am more than 'appy to let you participate in ze interrogation, I am sure you would be very helpful... but... zis is a Ministry of Cultural Development investigation, you see... erm... it is what we call a vigorous interrogation. Do you understand?"

"So...I see you have been playing with nice toys lately. Nice toy...indeed", said Vorpalis coughing, still overwhelmed by the waves of sharp pain in her limbs. "But...I...already said I'd been in the hands of better torturers. See the scars in my back?, rusted knives of orcs. See the burnings in the palm of my hands?, acid...courtesy of our friends the drow, they even did irreversible damage to my reproductive organs. Can you do something better than that?, I don't think so. I can torture myself better than you, even with this toy", she said, cold sweat running down her forehead.

"And about your questions, I think you have the answer. My name is Vorpalis of the House of Hyral, Captain of the Aelosian Navy, number 2425", she repeated. "Currently on a protection mission. Actual status: Captured by a stupid torturer and his bunch of retarded friends".

"I guess that's a no to the question about cardiovascular problems." Broillard says, gesturing to the orderlies, who wrap the blanket around Vorpalis' midsection.

"What is your mission?" asks the voice over the intercom.

When Vorpalis doesn't reply, the neural stimulator is activated. Her midsection feels like it is wrapped in molten lead.

As he watches the expression on Vorpalis' face, Broillard allows himself a brief smile.

"This is the lowest setting, elf. It is useless to resist. So, tell me... what is your mission?" Broillard asks calmly.

"Oh, I suppose that if you put this funny thing in a stronger level I'll just black out. Maybe I could even die from a neural-anaphilactic shock. But you still wouldn't have your answer. So, I will repeat it again. My name is Vorpalis of the House of Hyral, Captain of the Aelosian Navy, number 2425, I'm on a protection mission. Is it clear now?", says Vorpalis, blood pouring from her lisps as she bites hard her tongue.

"A protection mission? Who are you protecting by trying to off Cardinals, prosecutors and policemen?" asks Broillard. "Give me full answers, and I'll have this thing turned off. We don't need to do things the hard way, you know."

My mission was to protect the reputation of elves in this country, that's all I can say. If you want more information, then you will have to use your toy again", said Vorpalis, a flash of defiance in her eyes.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you actually enjoy the lowest setting, elf." says Broillard. "This isn't a game. Being uncooperative won't get you anywhere... except perhaps the infirmary."

"Proceeding to next level of neural stimulation." says the voice over the intercom.

On top of the sensation of her midsection being trapped in molten lead, Vorpalis feels a continual violent pounding on every part of her body covered by the blanket, as if she was being crushed with dozens of sledgehammers.

"How does the murder of Cardinal Duras protect the reputation of elves in Pantocratoria?" demands Broillard.

"How does the attempted murder of Cardinal Walsh protect the reputation of elves in Pantocratoria?" demands the dispassionate controller over the intercom.

"How does the attempted murder of the executive assistant Crown Prosecutor Guillame Richemont protect the reputation of elves in Pantocratoria?" Broillard says, grabbing Vorpalis by the chin and pulling her gaze into his.

"How does the murder of Officer Jacques Drakos of the New Rome Police Department protect the reputation of elves in Pantocratora?" demands the voice over the intercom.

"How does the attempted murder of Inspector Jean Vern of the New Rome Police Department protect the reputation of elves in Pantocratoria?" demands Broillard.

"The subject will answer!" commands the voice over the intercom.

"In no way", answered Vorpalis in a cracked, trembling voice. "If that is what you want to know, in no way. Those facts destroyed the reputation of elvenkind in Pantocratoria. I was sent to fix that, to hunt down the person that was behind those murders. All those assassinations, or attempts, were the responsability of an elven assassin, probably some kind of serial killer. My goverment sent me to erase him and make sure that the Pantocratorian goverment realize that those facts were the work of a renegade, and a criminal to even the elves".

"In no way", answered Vorpalis in a cracked, trembling voice. "If that is what you want to know, in no way. Those facts destroyed the reputation of elvenkind in Pantocratoria. I was sent to fix that, to hunt down the person that was behind those murders. All those assassinations, or attempts, were the responsability of an elven assassin, probably some kind of serial killer. My goverment sent me to erase him and make sure that the Pantocratorian goverment realize that those facts were the work of a renegade, and a criminal to even the elves".

"Cover story. Improbable." observes the voice over the intercom.

"Don't feed me your lies, elf. You were apprehended red-handed. You're part of this conspiracy. Now, the truth!" Broillard demands, menacingly. "How do all of these crimes fit into your employer's wicked plan? And who commissioned you to commit them? The Aelosian Navy? Count Kyrosal? Bastianel Dephil? SPEAK!"

"You wanted the truth and I've said it. I hadn't any involvement with House Dephil, I barely knew Count Kyrosal and his foolish son. About my motives to execute my actions, ask my superiors. My orders were issued by the High Command of the Second Fleet and signed by Duke Admiral D'nan himself", she said, whispering thanks to the pain.

"And you are accusing me with association with a Drow. It's easy to know, except for the ignorant like you, that I'm a legendary enemy of the Dark Elves, and that I have hunted them well before your grandparents met each other. Please do some research after talking nonsense, to me that is an insult equal to accuse a Pantocratorian Cardinal of associating with protestants", she continued, stopping to regain the scarce breath.

"Proceeding to the next level." says the voice over the intercom.

On top of the sensation of her midsection being bathed molten lead and crushed with sledge hammers, the neural stimulator creates the sensation of being pricked with long, sharp needles, all over the covered flesh.

"Why do you persist in protesting your innocence, elf?" Broillard asks incredulously. "And don't try to confuse us with your double talk about drow and dark elves. An elf is an elf. A bordercollie doesn't have any problems associating with a labrador. A tabby doesn't have any problems associating with a siamese. Neither would you have any problems associating with a drow. We have one more question for you, and then you can recover."

"Why did Duke Admiral D'nan employ you to commit these crimes?" demands Broillard. "What does he hope to gain? What is his motivation?"

"Well, Inspector," Agent Steward began with a smile, "as you can see in the letter, in the interests of furthering our own investigation into the attempted assasination of a leading citizen of Excalbia, I would like the opportunity to speak with suspect. I've already overheard some rumors at police headquarters that the suspect is an Aelosian agent. If she was involved in the attempted assasination, then this becomes a very serious international incident. However, we've also heard rumors that she actually aided in the discovery of the assasin and helped save you and your partner's lives."

Steward continued to smile patiently. "Certainly, we do not condone having 'secret agents' operate clandestinely within friendly states and we find it completely understandable that your government would be -- disturbed -- by the idea of an Aelosian agent operating undercover in this investigation. However, this is certainly a tricky international situation and one that, unfortunately, does involve Excalbia. So, my government would very much appreciate my having the opportunity to speak with suspect."

Steward looked at Father Ekembi, who silently nods in return. "And, I believe, Father Ekembi is similarly interested in interrogating the suspect in order to protect the Vatican's interests."

Father Ekembi steps forward and speaks in clear, baritone voice, with a slight hint of an African accent. "After all, Cardinal Walsh is the head of the Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. He is a friend and close advisor of His Holiness, the Pope. The Holy Father, through the Nuncio, has personally asked that I continue to look into this matter."

"Of course gentlemen, I can see ze Excalbien and church interest in zis investigation, most certainly. You were both vital to ze apprehension of zis criminal." says Girraud.

"Let me clear up one zing - you say zere are rumours zat zis assassin helped us? Zat is laughable. She disguised herself as a nun, and lead us right into a trap. One officer was killed by her accomplice. My partner barely survived it. Zis one, she released or signalled for some sort of poison gas when I had worked out who she was. I apprehended her, and she gave me her mask, perhaps in hope zat I would let her go for ze favour. But zat means she knew she was immune to ze effects of ze gas, and she even told me what type of gas it was. She knew about ze trap. She made sure she was with us, leading us into it, not any of the other officers. She wanted to make sure she got ze chief investigators." explains Girraud. "Zis is a woman who was intimately involved in setting ze trap. At the very least, she was ze bait. She is also ze only member of zis conspiracy we have in custody."

"Now... let me explain something else..." Girraud says. "I am more than 'appy to let you participate in ze interrogation, I am sure you would be very helpful... but... zis is a Ministry of Cultural Development investigation, you see... erm... it is what we call a vigorous interrogation. Do you understand?"

“If you mean torture,” Father Ekembi stepped towards Girraud, “surely you know that the Vatican condemns torture.” Ekembi turns and eyes Steward.

“The Excalbian constitution bans torture and our laws prohibit our agents from taking any part in an interrogation that involves torture, even outside Excalbia.” Steward’s eyes dart between Ekembi and Girraud. “Perhaps we could have a few moments to speak with the suspect ourselves?”

Steward’s glance catches Ekembi’s hands reaching for his phone. No doubt calling Cardinal Walsh wanting to make a formal protest through the Vatican. But now is not the time. Steward catches Ekembi’s eye and he quickly shakes his head. The priest moves his hand away from the phone.

“So, Inspector, might your interrogators be able to take a – pause – and allow us to ask a few questions?”


(OOC: Just catching up.)

"For Isha, you're more ignorant than I thought. So you don't know what a Dark Elf is, please, then I'm wasting my energy trying to explain something to you", said Vorpalis, her sweat falling off her chin.

"Please find a more decent interrogator than this stupid wretch!", she shouted to the mysterious voice from the other side of the intercom.

"And if you want to know why the Admiral used me, that's because I'm the best secret agent in all the Khaine damn fleet. And he sent me to hunt that assassin and kill him outright, that was the motivation, that was what we wanted to gain, even the ShadowPrince will was behind this matter. Now, if you can't understand that the Drow in the catacombs was a traitor to my goverment then I have nothing else to explain to you".

Girraud tries to cover up his embarrassment.

"I zink perhaps you 'ave, erm... misunderstood... but say, 'ypothetically, if zere was torture involved in a vigorous interrogation.... which I do not concede... erm... hmm... well, ze subject would not be human, but an elf. Is OK, eh? Elves don't 'ave human rights. Are elves covered by zis constitution thing of yours, Steward? If not, is good. Erm... 'ypothetically..." Girraud ventures.

"If you've nothing worthwhile to say, elf, then you needn't say it at all." says Broillard. One of the attendants pulls Vorpalis' head back by the hair, and another seizes her jaw and keeps her mouth open. Broillard pulls a stool out from next to the wall, and stands on it, so that he can comfortably reach Vorpalis' mouth in her suspended state. He shoves a rubber-ball gag into Vorpalis' mouth and buckles the strap behind her head, leaving her completely unable to speak. Broillard steps down and the attendants let go of her. One of them reaches for the neural stimulator blanket.

"No, leave it on her. Let her think about how wise a course of action it is to dangle here and lie to us for a little while." says Broillard. "Besides, I'd like some lunch."

Broillard and the attendants leave, taking the stool with them, leaving Vorpalis alone in the bright white room. Suddenly the sensations from the stimulator double in intensity.

"A demonstration that this device has many more levels of intensity, expanding exponentially." says the dispassionate voice over the intercom. "It is also worth pointing out that there is still plenty of exposed flesh on the subject's body, to which additional neural stimulators could be applied."

The voice then falls silent as Vorpalis is left to come to terms with her predicament in silence.

***

Broillard enters his office, holding a sandwich and a can of Comnenus Cola.

"Inspector Girraud, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were using this room as a meeting room with these gentlemen..." Broillard apologises, and turns to leave.

"Non, Monsieur Broillard, assayez-vous, mangez! Je vous presente, Mon Père Ekembi et Monsieur Steward, d'Excalbie..." Girraud says hurriedly. Broillard turns back around, smiles, and sits down in his chair behind the desk.

"Father, Mr Steward," he says politely, offering to shake each man's hand.

"Monsieur Broillard is ze chief Cultural Development investigator on ze case." explains Girraud. He turns to Broillard. "'Ow did ze... vigorous interrogation go?"

"Comme-si, comme-ça." Broillard replies with a shrug of his shoulders as he opens the sandwich packet. "I hope you gentlemen don't mind terribly if I eat in front of you, this is my lunch, and I'm famished. So, how can I be of assistance?"

Girraud seems content to let Broillard steer the conversation, and he picks up a framed photograph from Broillard's desk of an attractive woman in her thirties and two young children. Broillard sees him.

"My family." he explains.

"Ahh. Bien..." Girraud nods approvingly, handing it back to Broillard, who carefully sets the photo back on the desk.

OOC: Conmenus Cola, that was a good one... :D . I suppose Vorpalis just passes out from the intense pain.

OOC: Conmenus Cola, that was a good one... :D . I suppose Vorpalis just passes out from the intense pain.

OOC: :D For a thirst that could slaughter a thousand Bulgars!

Unless she wants to take the opportunity for an inner monologue while the investigators pander to the Excalbians (I'll try to keep that quick!).

*BUMP* for Excalbia and Aelosia (although I know Aelosia is kind of... tied up right now.... :lol: oh dear...)

((Oh, Vorpalis will just rest for a while, torture always helps to have a good and nice sleep))...

*BUMP* for Excalbia - the thread really needs to you to reply in order to progress. :?

Broillard enters his office, holding a sandwich and a can of Comnenus Cola.

"Inspector Girraud, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were using this room as a meeting room with these gentlemen..." Broillard apologises, and turns to leave.

"Non, Monsieur Broillard, assayez-vous, mangez! Je vous presente, Mon Père Ekembi et Monsieur Steward, d'Excalbie..." Girraud says hurriedly. Broillard turns back around, smiles, and sits down in his chair behind the desk.

"Father, Mr Steward," he says politely, offering to shake each man's hand.

"Monsieur Broillard is ze chief Cultural Development investigator on ze case." explains Girraud. He turns to Broillard. "'Ow did ze... vigorous interrogation go?"

"Comme-si, comme-ça." Broillard replies with a shrug of his shoulders as he opens the sandwich packet. "I hope you gentlemen don't mind terribly if I eat in front of you, this is my lunch, and I'm famished. So, how can I be of assistance?"

Girraud seems content to let Broillard steer the conversation, and he picks up a framed photograph from Broillard's desk of an attractive woman in her thirties and two young children. Broillard sees him.

"My family." he explains.

"Ahh. Bien..." Girraud nods approvingly, handing it back to Broillard, who carefully sets the photo back on the desk.

Steward waits until Broillard has a mouth full of his sandwich. "Torture does work up an appetite. Or so I understand. We have laws against that in Excalbia. And frankly I'm a little surprised to find it here. But, be that is it may, Father Ekembi and I would like to borrow a few minutes of your prisoner's time. Both the Holy Empire and the Vatican are very interested in this case and have charged us with following up on it. To protect our respective interests, you understand. Tell me, Monsieur Broillard, have you learned anything of interest from the prisoner? We've have reason to believe she is an Aelosian agent. Have you confirmed that?"

Ekembi silently crosses his arms and waits for an answer.

(OOC: Sorry, really busy week at work! :oops: )

Broillard puts down his sandwich, chews his mouthfull, and swallows it, as Girraud's eyes slowly dart back and forth between Broillard and the Excalbians.

"We have laws against it here too, Agent Steward." says Broillard, as he switches on his PC. "Only the Ministry of Cultural Development may employ it. One of the many reforms from which MCD so greatly benefitted while Princess Irene was the Minister for Cultural Development, and now, while she is Chancellor. Let us all hope she wins this election on Sunday eh? The day after the big wedding between your prince and our princess..."

A peacock and a penguin appear on the screen, holding a log-in box, with the text "PEACOCK LINUX 2.4" along the top. Broillard types in his username and password to log onto the PC. He opens an interrogation report form letter and starts typing with one hand and eating his sandwich with the other.

"Father, Agent Steward, we're all on the same side here. You can forgoe the indignant facade, let's talk shop." Broillard says, between bites. "You're more than welcome to participate in my interrogation, as are you Inspector Girraud."

Broillard finishes off his sandwich, and focuses his attention on typing his interrogation report. While he does so, he speaks again.

"The subject is a female elf calling herself Vorpalis, a captain of the Aelosian Navy. She says Duke Admiral D'nan of the Aelosian Navy assigned her to this mission. She came up with a weak cover story about only being here to kill her accomplice, who she said was a traitor to Aelosia." Broillard says as he types. "Before you suggest that the cover story might be accurate, don't even bother. Though I've not yet tipped my hand to the subject, we've significant forensic evidence which suggests she was behind the murder of two Ministry of Cultural Development officials outside the Office of the Crown Prosecutor. For now though, I want her to think we don't know that."

Broillard finishes typing his report, and then devotes his full attentions to the Excalbians.

"Shells from an Aelosian gun like the one you obtained from the Aelosian embassy were found in the charred corpses of two MCD officials who were driving back here from the Office of the Crown Prosecutor not more than a week ago. Civilian witnesses across the road in a café saw a shimmering, transparent, ghostlike figure, much like the one you saw at the scene of Cardinal Walsh's brush with death, father. The car then burst into flames. Forensic scientists examining the car determined that the flames and damage to the vehicle were consistent with a grenade, of a type our intelligence services specify are Aelosian Navy issue." says Broillard. "Finally, the clincher. The police found a fingerprint belonging to the subject on the outside windowpane of prosecutor Guillame Richemont while they were securing his office after the attempt on his life. Guess who the two murdered officials had been speaking to immediately before getting into their car only to be shot, to crash into a wall, and have their bodies left as charred husks by a grenade? Richemont."

"So... when were you zhinking of letting us know about all of this?" demands Girraud. "We 'ad no idea you 'ad linked the murder of those two MCD officials to an Aelosian!"

"And until I read your report, Inspector, I had no idea that one of your uniformed officers found the subject's fingerprints on Richemont's window pane." replies Broillard. "Cooperation could've been better all-around, no doubt. Now, it is impossible to determine exactly when that fingerprint was left there, only that we know it must have been left there after the window was last cleaned, a fortnight ago. But given we know that an Aelosian killed those men, and we found a fingerprint of an Aelosian assassin on the window pane of the office of the last man to whom the victims spoke before they were murdered... I would say I'm pretty damn certain that our subject is their murderer. Given that piece of information, I know she isn't giving me the full story."

"And I tell you gentlemen, she led us right into a trap in zose catacombs. My partner nearly drowned from ze poison he inhaled. One of my finest officers was shot to death. She lied to us about who she was, and lured us down there into that trap. Make no mistake, even if she isn't behind zese assassinations..." Girraud pauses as Broillard snorts incredulously. "Make no mistake, she's involved somehow. We need to get ze full truth."

"And here at MCD, we will get the full truth." says Broillard, standing. "I am going to resume my interrogation. Will you gentlemen join me?"

Girraud glances to the Excalbians.

Steward rubs his chin. This one is a lot smarter that the Inspector. "Very well, Monsieur Broillard. As you suggest, we'll defer our indignation for another time and another place. Yes, I would like to join your interrogation. But, perhaps I may make a suggestion. The 'good cop, bad cop' game may be old routine, but it is old because it has stood the test of time and is surprisingly effective. Perhaps, before you resume your 'vigorous questioning,' I could offer myself as friendlier alternative. Of course, you'd be welcome to monitor my questioning." Steward glances over at Father Ekembi, who is crossing himself. "Unfortunately, Father Ekembi won't be joining us. He is a priest after all. I've just barely been able to keep him from making a formal complaint to Cardinal Walsh as it is."

Ekembi steps forward and speaks in a cold, clear voice made almost more menacing with its slight West African accent. "Be grateful I am not your confessor, Monsieur." Then, looking at Steward, "And be grateful you are a protestant, Agent Steward," he pats touches Steward on the back. "Good day." Ekembi turns and strides out.

Broillard nods to Father Ekembi as he leaves.

"I agree with you, Agent Steward, although I think you'll find she won't fall for it." says Broillard as he leads Steward and Girraud to the underground complex beneath the office block. "She's been left dangling in the interrogation room, with what will look to you gentlemen like a blanket wrapped around her midsection. It is in fact, a neural stimulator, which can simulate a good deal of pain without causing any damage. You'll go in first, alone. The first thing you can do is pull the stimulator off her. Just... make sure you're wearing gloves, and you should be fine. That should go a long way to tricking her. You won't be able to let her down, but you might make some exertations as if you're really trying anyway."

The three men enter a dark room filled with computer screens and control consoles. A microphone is built into the console, current switched off. An MCD official is sitting there.

"I'm the interrogation supervisor, Thierry Froissart." he says. "I'm the voice you'll hear when you're in the room with the subject, although you'll barely recognise me thanks to the audiofilters."

"We're going to try... good cop, bad cop, Thierry." says Broillard. "Agent Steward here will be the good cop."

Froissart nods. He flicks a switch, and one of the black walls suddenly becomes transparent. It is a window at a high angle into the stark white interrogation room below, into which there are no visible entries. Suspended in mid-air in the shape of an X the middle of the room by taught chains is a naked elven woman, her head slumped forward as if unconscious, with a strange looking blanket wrapped around her midsection.

"The subject can't even see the window at all, let alone see us through it, Agent Steward." says Froissart. "There is a door, which I'll open and shut for you automatically from my control console. If there is anything you want done during your interrogation, just say so. We'll be watching from here, and I can implement virtually any request you've got. If you like, I can even argue with you if you are really going to play good cop, so long as I don't come off sounding too human..."

"She's extremely strong-willed, but she's been hanging there alone for about two hours now, unable to move, unable to speak." says Broillard. "She should be putty in our hands now. Pull the ball gag out of her mouth after you pull off the blanket. Feign concern. She'll tell you everything we want to know, I'm almost positive."

"The subject is unconscious. If she doesn't come to after you pull the blanket and gag off her, ask me to wake her, and I'll make sure you have her full attention." says Froissart.

"Good luck, Steward. Go get 'er!" says Girraud, indicating the passageway to the entrance to the interrogation room.

Before leaving the control room, Steward turns towards Froissart. “Monsieur Froissart, until I say something to the contrary, I’d like you to keep quiet over the intercom and leave everything in the room shutdown – except the lights, of course. I want to try to create the illusion that suspect and I are alone. I’ll try to make up some story to convince her of that.” Then, with a flip of his hand from his brow, Steward steps out of the room.

Steward cautiously enters the interrogation room. “Oh, dear lord,” he says with shocked sincerity. With a glance towards hidden windows of the control room and a muttered curse, he walks towards the female elf, making as much noise as he can as he walks. He gently touches the crown of her head. He feels a slight movement of her head and takes a chance that she is already awake.

“I’m going to try to get you out of this,” he whispers. Then, pulling his hands into the sleeves of his heavy cloth jacket, he grasps the corners of the neural stimulator and pulls it off. He tosses it to the ground awkwardly, yelping as he feels pain through the fabric of the jacket. Steward then reaches behind the female’s head and releases the gag. Finally, he removes his jacket and drapes it around the elf, covering her as best he can.

“I’m not sure I can do anything about the restraints,” he says pulling on the chains, “they wouldn’t give me any keys or even the controls to that damnable blanket.” After considerable effort to find a way to release the chains, Steward is winded and rests his hands on his knees. He looks straight into the female’s face.

“Captain Vorpalis,” Steward says softly, “I’m Major Kirk Steward, Excalbian Imperial Army. I’m very sorry about this. If I had been with Inspector Girraud when you found the assassin, perhaps I could have prevented this. I have managed to persuade,” icy sarcasm drips from the word, “the Pantocratorians to let me talk with you for moment. They’ve all gone to recover from their exertions,” more sarcasm comes through, “but I don’t know how much longer they’ll be gone.”

Steward pauses, sincerity in his eyes, and leans closer to Vorpalis. “I want to help you, Captain, but I need your help to do that. Can you explain to me what happened? I know that the drow assassin was behind the attempt on Cardinal Walsh’s life. But what about the prosecutor? The two Ministry of Cultural Development officials? What connection did the drow have the murder of Cardinal Duras? If you can explain it all to me, maybe I can find a way to get you out of this and back to Aelosia.”

Vorpalis looked at the stranger "Forgive me if I'm being rude, but...Can I know why are doing this?, nobody do nothing without a reason. What do you want from me?", said the woman in a whisper.

"And if I was you, I won't remove those restraints, if you do, I will do anything to escape, and I really mean anything, including killing a lot of people", said the woman, a little red flame inside her eyes. "However, thank you for what you have done, I suppose you deserve a little explanation about what happened".

"That drow stole the venom from our labs. The Black Lotus Extract that was used in the assassination of Duras. I don't know if she did it with her own hands, but I could suppose it. I was tracking her since three years ago, until I found her here in Pantocratoria. Bastianel and his father Kyrosal never had nothing to do with any of the murders. They were sent as a effort of my goverment to establish friendly relationships with Pantocratoria. Ironic, Don't you think?, the kid blew everything off falling in love with that human Princess, and now he's the worst of the Aelosian human haters. I suppose he will turn into a terrorist soon", the woman was talking fast, very fast, and in a very low voice, her eyes closed.

"I tried to help the prosecutor, but I arrived late. My best friend, and my boss too, said that I should protect him. Regarding the attempt to kill your cardinal, I don't know nothing, but I suppose on the Modus Operandi that the drow was responsible too", she continued, trying to regain her breath.

"That's all I can say to you. In the catacombs I tried to help those stupid oficers, but they didn't understand. The proofs?, I gave my mask to one of them, my lungs are still burned by the toxic gas for trying to save that asshole, the one that is now torturing me. Ironic too, don't you think?, and I saved the another one when the maniac fired her rifle, throwing a knife to the assasin's arm. My knife should be embedded in the corpse of the assassin, but I don't believe they understand. And about the what?, Ministry of Cultural development officers?, the only people I killed in this country were two minions and torturers who were abusing an innocent woman".

"What? I never laid a 'and on zat bitch!" shouts Girraud angrily in the control room as they watch the conversation, with the microphone off.

"He's been very clever." observes Froissart. "He's pretending to believe her cover story, and she's talking freely. 90% of it is lies, of course, but there's some very valuable information in here, wouldn't you gentlemen say?"

"Yes, absolutely." says Broillard. "Calm yourself Inspector, and listen. She just admitted that Cardinal Duras was killed with Aelosian poison, which she claims was stolen. Now, the part about it being stolen is probably part of her cover story unless she and the other one were operating on their own, but there is no reason to say it was Aelosian."

"You're right, Broillard!" realises Girraud. "All ze labs could say was zat it was elven. Zere is no reason for 'er to admit it is Aelosienne unless it is true, and she zhinks we can tell zat for ourselves. So we know ze poison used to kill Cardinal Duras was Aelosian."

"She blames that murder on her accomplice, says she has nothing to do with it." observes Froissart.

"But she admits she killed two MCD officials! Our evidence alone wouldn't have stood up in court, although it was very compelling circumstantial evidence, certainly. We've a confession now. We've got her on those two murders!" says Broillard.

"Let's book 'er!" Girraud says and grins, pulling out his handcuffs.

"Inspector, put those away!" protests Broillard. "We're hunting for big fish here! Those two officials are nothing. We're going to expose the whole conspiracy! Now, why don't you call the Crown Prosecutor about the MCD officials, and we'll let Steward juice her some more."

"Good idea." Girraud says, leaving the control room and walking back up into the office complex to call the Office of the Crown Prosecutor.

"Thank God we got rid of him." says Froissart, with a sigh of relief.

"He's an idiot. A total idiot." says Broillard. "So, are you going to wait for Steward's signal, or should we take control back as soon as it looks like his interrogation is slowing down?"

"No no... he knows what he's doing, this Excalbian. Let's wait for his signal." says Froissart.

"I'm surprised at the relative ineffectiveness of the neural stimulator..." says Broillard, nodding in response to Froissart.

"She is surprisingly resilient. I would suggest that the subject has received significant mental discipline training. She still feels the intense pain, no doubt, but she knows what she's feeling isn't real, and she's disciplined enough to withstand it." observes Froissart.

"Perhaps we should resort to traditional measures?" asks Broillard casually, covering up his enthusiasm for his suggest course of action.

"So difficult to get the rack in these new interrogation rooms..." says Froissart, wincing. "Besides, we're not animals. It wouldn't be civilised to stretch her out over the rack, rip her joints out of socket, stretch her body like a rubberband. We're better than that."

"She's not." says Broillard, almost sulking. "I still think we should consider it as a last resort."

"We're not that far gone yet." insists Froissart. "If the neural stimulator continues to prove to be ineffective, we'll see how she handles sensory deprivation."

Broillard smiles sadistically.

"We'll drain every last drop of that damned elven arrogance out of her." Broillard says with some satisfaction.

Froissart arches an eyebrow.

"We will get what we need for the investigation, François." he replies softly.

Steward looks sympathetically at Vorpalis. He moves his hand as if to touch her head and then slowly pulls it back. “As I said, I am a Major Kirk Steward of the Excalbian Imperial Army. Imperial Intelligence has sent me to investigate the attempted assassination of Cardinal Walsh. As for why I’m trying to help you, I’ll tell you the truth. First of all, I think you have information that will help me get to the bottom of this plot and discover who it is that is trying to kill leading cardinals of the Roman Catholic church and why. I also think that you are telling the truth about pursuing the drow assassin for three years. That means we should be on the same side and if you can tell me everything I need to know to sort this out, maybe I can convince the Pantocratorians of that. And, secondly, I personally despise torture. I think it is both inhuman and inefficient. Simply put, I can’t stand to see this being done to you and I want to stop it.”

“So,” Steward continues in warm, soothing voice, “can you help me help you? Please tell me, when did the drow steal the Black Lotus Extract? Could your government confirm that? Why were you tracking her? Did you know she was behind the murder of Cardinal Duras or did you learn that only after you discovered she was here in Pantocratoria?”

Steward looks deeply into Vorpalis’ eyes. “Do you have any idea, Captain, of who is behind the drow? I don’t think you believe she was acting alone. Who was she taking orders from?”

"Of course my goverment could answer everything about the poison. As a matter of fact, they have already done that. What's happening to you people?. The Aelosian goverment sent an expert toxicologist to this country, to analyze the venom that was used in the Duras murder. I read the report he gave to the Pantocratorian authorities. He said that the poison was called Black Lotus extract, and that it was the same venom produced by Aelosia, and that maybe it was the same poison that was stolen from the Aelosian labs, although he couldn't be sure because other elven nations produce and use that chemical". Vorpalis was talking fast, her voice turning into just a muttering, sometimes elven words were used between phrases, without any particular meaning.

She rose her voice "Drow mercenaries. They came from two countries. The fiefdom of Aelos or the Empire of Bajon. I know that this drow was a convicted serial killer in Aelosia, and I can get you the file on her, by the Aelosian justice. She escaped from jail after 50 years of imprisoment. Her name was Daedalis, Daedalis Phaelos, the cousin of one of the most influential noble in our nation. She killed a lot of subjects until she was captured, 53 years ago. After her escape during the last coup, she was trained and sponsored by the deposed ruler of Aelosia, the exiled Prince Ma´El the ArchTraitor, to serve as one of his Sicariot, a bunch of assassins and mercenaries that comprises most of the army of Aelos, the colony that Ma'El has reclaimed as his own Kingdom. Do you know why he was deposed?, because he sent all Noldorin and humans in Aelosia to forced labor camps in the mines of mithril. He's a xenophobe and a racist, he hates all sentient beings apart from the Sindarin and his beloved Drows, he was a deluded tyrant until the coup deposed him for the greatest good. The Prince Ma´El of Aelos, there you have your true criminal. Hear me, and you will succeed in preventing more murders, accuse, burn me, imprison me, do whatever you want, and more Cardinals and catholics will die from the terrorist attacks of the Dark Elves", she finally rested her head in her own shoulder, muttering several last words in elvish before falling sleep again.

"Irrelevant drivel." says Broillard, rolling his eyes.

"Absolutely." says Froissart. "I read the Ministry of Justice's toxicology reports. Aelosia was one of the countries which volunteered their experts. All their report could say for sure was that it was a type of elven poison used by several elven nations. I don't kno.... erm... François, are you listening?"

Broillard is bent over the fax machine, ripping page after page out of it as soon as they come through. He looks up at Froissart and grins.

"You remember that explosion in the Varangian barracks a couple of days ago?" asks Broillard.

"Yes, of course..." says Froissart. "...so what?"

"The Defence Force CID has just finished their report on the incident, and faxed it through." says Broillard. "Eye witness reports, there was a woman dressed as a Japanese courtier. The front desk thought she was in the production of The Mikado. The security cameras got photos. DFCID's photo ID specialists matched her facial structure to our subject here!"

"A positive ID?" asks Froissart.

"Absolutely. They pulled her details down out of the database. Her measurements, skeletal structure, everything, a perfect physical match for the bomber." says Broillard, reading off the bottom of the fax.

"We're going to be able to stack so many charges against her that she'll tell us anything we want without any neural stimulators!" says Froissart, satisfaction evident in his voice.

Seeing that Vorpalis has drifted back into unconsciousness, Steward turns towards the control room windows and signals that he is finished. Leaving his jacket behind, Steward leaves the interrogation room.

Steward enters the control room with a self-satisfied grin. “Messieurs, I think that went very well, don’t you?” Steward glances around and sees that Inspector Girraud is missing. “Ah, I see the good inspector has been sent on a fool’s errand. All the better for us to speak frankly.” Steward glances around again. “You gentlemen wouldn’t have anything to drink would you? I’m positively parched.”

Steward pulls up a chair and takes a seat. “I think its time for us to compare notes about what we know, what we believe and what we want to accomplish. Do we want to see a rouge and somewhat clumsy agent hung out to dry or do we want to use her to get the real mastermind behind these assassinations? What do you say?”

"Absolutely, we want the mastermind." says Broillard.

"I agree." concurs Froissart. "So let us, as you said, compare notes. We have a positive photographic ID of the subject here as the bomber who killed three and wounded eight Varangian Guard in an attack a few days ago, sent to us by the Defence Force CID."

"We had a good circumstantial case against her for the murder of the two MCD officials," says Broillard. "And then you got a confession out of her effortlessly! Very good!"

"Since we know she was that assassin, we know she had the same stealth technology as the drow who attacked Prosecutor Richemont, and who was killed in the catacombs by Girraud and Vern." says Froissart.

"...which means she might have been the same would-be assassin who attacked Cardinal Walsh." says Broillard. "It could've been either of them. Seems suspicious that they should both have the same issue of gear if they weren't working together."

"And Inspector Girraud remains insistent that she led he and his into a trap in the catacombs." says Froissart. "He isn't a stupid man, that Girraud. He's definitely an instinct man, more than anything else, as I understand from his file. He knew that the subject wasn't who she appeared to be, and he caught her out just as the drow's attack began. It is perhaps natural that he holds the subject accountable for the attack, afterall, she did deceive them and lead them down there. We don't know her motivations, maybe she really was trying to apprehend the drow, or maybe Girraud's right. If it wasn't for him, we wouldn't even have her to question, he's not an idiot."

"No, he's an idiot." says Broillard, dismissively. "But I do agree that we can't just take her at her word about whatever her role was in all of that nonsense in the catacombs. What do you think, monsieur?"

Broillard turns to Steward.

“Well,” Steward sits back and stuffs his hands into his pockets, “first of all, based on what you’ve told me and what she said, I think it is pretty clear that she did kill your two MCD officials and the Varangian Guard. The intriguing question is why. But, we can come back to that.”

Taking a hand out of his right pocket, Steward picks up a can of cola and takes a drink. “The real crux of the matter seems to me to be the question of what really happened in the catacombs and the relationship between Vorpalis and the drow.” Steward leans forward.

“As you say, Inspector Girraud is not an idiot. But, with all due respect, having worked on this case with him and having read about him, he does seem to have his limits. One of them is that, like many of our colleagues in this business, he is a straightforward man who forms strong opinions and sticks to them.” Steward turns to Froissart. “As you observed, Monsieur, it is only natural that the Inspector, having discovered that Vorpalis was not what she appeared to be, would associate her with the attack. However, let’s review the facts. The drow took the search party by surprise. She deployed a gas that could have killed Girraud, his partner and the uniformed officer with them. It was the elf who disabled the drow with her weapon and who surrendered her own gas mask to save one of your men.”

Steward leans back into the chair. “Now, her sloppiness in killing your two agents and the Varangian make it clear that she is not a particularly skilled operative, but certainly – if she were working with the drow – she should have been able to carry out an ambush under the circumstances. If she were in league with the drow, she and her accomplice would have had your men by surprise and should have been able to dispatch them and flee before back-up arrived.”

“Also, as you observed Monsieur Broillard, she readily confessed her involvement in capital crimes to me. Under the circumstances, I think that lends at least some credibility to other parts of her story. And, some parts of her story, such as her military rank and position, and the drow’s prior criminal record, can be verrified by contacting her government.”

Steward takes another drink of his cola. “So, I guess my working hypothesis at this point is that Vorpalis was trying to track down the drow and either apprehend or kill her. Either for her own purposes or on Aelosian orders, although I suspect the latter. I can’t figure out how the murder of the two MCD officials and the Varangian fit into this; maybe they don't. But I do believe her statement that someone is behind the assassinations and, for some reason, they are targeting Catholic leaders. I fear that Cardinal Walsh and other leading cardinals may still be in danger. And I think Vorpalis could be useful in leading us to the mastermind.”

Steward looks levelly and emotionlessly at the two men. “So, gentleman, where do we go from here?”

Froissart joins Steward in a can of ice cold Comnenus Cola (For a thirst which could slay a Bulgar), as the men think.

"We can't be sure, of course, that her government isn't involved." adds Broillard. "They've taken some pretty strong anti-human views at the moment, perhaps they see the Catholic Church as a human insitution to be targetted, for some reason. In anycase, if they are involved, and we don't know whether they are or not, we cannot rely on information from the Aelosian government."

"She may have killed the MCD officials because they were part of the investigation... but then again, at that stage, the investigators thought Bastianel Dephil was the assassin. Interesting that the attack on Cardinal Walsh came after that attack on the MCD officials too." Froissart ponders.

"That's it!" says Broillard. "The initial theory of the Duras case was that Bastianel Dephil was the assassin. Perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn't. Either way, his supporters tried to interfere in the investigation, to try to get him off the hook. They hired Vorpalis, who killed the MCD officials, but I'll warrant the real target was the witness they had just brought to the Office of the Crown Prosecutor. The witness wasn't arranged to be transferred to the Crown Prosecutor's custody until she had arrived with the MCD officials. Vorpalis would've expected her to be in the car once more when it left the building. She was trying to kill the witness who alledgedly heard Dephil's confession!"

"Go on." says Froissart.

"Well, when she realised she didn't get the witness, and that the wheels of justice continued to turn, either Captain Vorpalis or her employers realised that they weren't going to be able to stop it. She couldn't get into the Office of the Crown Prosecutor's building to take out the witness. So she tries to kill Cardinal Walsh to make it look like a series of attacks against prominent Catholic figures!" says Broillard.

"Hmmm... you know, there haven't been any further attempts made since we let Bastianel Dephil go... maybe it was a rouse to get the police to look for a new suspect!" speculates Froissart.

"Exactly!" says Broillard, really excited now. "Now, the drow, she may or may not be working for the same people. Whatever the case, she's ALSO trying to stop the investigation. She doesn't concede that it would be impossible to stop it at this point, and so she makes an attempt on Guillame Richemont, the prosecutor for the case. That attempt fails..."

"...but shortly after, the police release Bastianel Dephil." says Froissart.

"And no subsequent attacks are made. The drow goes underground. Whether or not they're working together, Vorpalis disguises herself as a nun from Iesus Christi, here to help the police find the drow. Why... why..." Broillard pauses.

"And where does the bombing of the Varangian Barracks fall into this?" asks Froissart.

“Hmm.” Steward stretches his legs out and crosses his ankles. He takes another sip of his cola. “Comnenus Cola, hmmm. Not bad.” Steward sits the drink down and rubs his chin. “Well, Messieurs, you raise some important points. I think you are right and that at least part of Vorpalis’ plan or mission was to end your investigation of Bastianel. That does explain the attack on the two MCD agents.”

“However, it was your own government that determined that the DNA found at the scene of Cardinal Duras’ death was not that of Bastianel, but a close family member, possibly his father. That raises some serious questions about the alleged confession that your witness’ overheard. Why would your witness have lied? And if she did, then Bastianel and his supporters should have known that. So, why kill the MCD agents? Unless they were so suspicious of humans that they didn’t think he could get a fair trial. Hmm. Still some questions there. Something doesn’t add up.”

“As for the Aelosian government, as I recall – being an investigator not a diplomat – Aelosia was actually in the midst of an attempt to repair its relations with human nations at the time of the assassination attempt and the arrest of Bastianel. It also seems that some of their strongest recent anti-human policies followed the arrest. So, I think the Aelosian government’s role in this is still somewhat uncertain. Certainly, they were up to something, but whether they are behind the death of Cardinal Duras and the attempt on Cardinal Walsh’s life, I don’t know.”

“It just doesn’t make sense for them to be behind it. And, as you observed, there have been no further assassinations since Cardinal Duras. So, perhaps the attempt on Cardinal Walsh was a red herring. If so, then,” Steward leaned forward and rubbed his hands together, “that means the real target was Cardinal Duras. Then, why would Aelosia have wanted Cardinal Duras dead? That doesn’t add up.”

“I think we need to get some more answers from Vorpalis. And I don’t think you’ll get them through torture.”

A sheet of paper comes out of the fax machine, and Froissart snatches it out of the tray. His eyes flick over it.

"I think you're right, Agent Steward." he says, sounding dejected. "The United Nations has just passed an absurd resolution prohibiting this kind of interrogation...."

"Maybe we don't need it." says Broillard, pondering to himself. "She doesn't know that the United Nations has just passed laws against our... tactics... perhaps the threat of them alone will be enough. We could send you back in there, Major, since you've established yourself as sympathetic. You could tell her that we are about to resume our questioning, and that this will be the last time you'll be allowed to speak to her. Get her to fill in all the blanks in our investigation. She mustn't think you're holding anything back. Make sure you let her know we won't buy her lies, so she had better be totally forthright about everything, or we'll have to resume our interrogation. You have to act desperate, to give her the sense of urgency that if she doesn't spill the proverbial beans, then what she's already experienced is only a prelude to the real thing."

Froissart nods.

"I think that'd work. She's extremely susceptible to a sympathetic face right now." he agrees.

"What do you say? Will you do it?" asks Broillard.

Steward leans forward and puts his feet flat on the floor. “I think you gentleman have hit on a good plan.” He stands, picks up his can of Comnenus Cola and drains it. “I’ll head back in now and see what I can do.”

Steward nods to Froissart and steps through the door out of the control room.

Returning to the interrogation room, Steward pauses and takes a look around. No sign that Vorpalis has regained consciousness. She lays still, suspended by her restraints with Stewards own jacket draped over her.

Suddenly, Steward darts for Vorpalis. His gait is less hurried than a run, but just as quick. While his footsteps are quite, the motion itself seems to stir the elven woman. Steward gently grasps Vorpalis’ shoulders and gives them a slight shake. “Captain,” he whispers hoarsely in her ear, “Captain Vorpalis! We need to talk. There isn’t much time. That cretin from the MCD wouldn’t believe what I told him. He thinks you’re still holding back information. He told me what he has in mind for you. This may our last chance. Not only to save you, but stop the dark elves from bringing about a war with humanity. I was able to put him off for a few more minutes, but I need your help.”

"I already told you everything I know, and if I told you that, was that you could defend yourself from the terrorist. If they want to kill me, then let them do that. I don't care. I'm trained to expect death, I'm a secret agent, I just wanted to be killed in action and not like this, like a chained pig", she said, then just enter inconsciusness again.

In a street near the Royal Palace of Pantocratoria...

A huge flower of black fire opened a huge gash in front of the Cultural ministry building as the black napalm bomb exploded, sending a wave of oveheated energy over the street. The Drow agent just smiled, this was his revenge on those who killed his beloved, then he dissapeared into the darkness.

Steward watched the Aelosian officer slip back into unconsciousness. He was pondering his next move, when he heard an explosion. He looked around, saw no immediate threat, and then looked towards the obscured control booth. “What was that?”

"A terrorist attack. The building's defences have been activated. If the subject believes these terrorists are going to free her, she is sorely mistaken. Agent Steward, you have five minutes to complete your examination before the Ministry of Cultural Development resumes its vigorous interrogation." replies Froissart through the microphone which disguises his voice and makes him sound almost robotic.

The Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, already locked down tight with the visit of the Excalbian Imperial Family, swarms with Varangians armed with M-16As, as squads climb into the battlements of the outer walls of the palace grounds, pulling on thermal googles as they do so. The MCD Terrorism Response Unit pours out of the building wearing thermal googles and brandishing high-powered rifles. Amongst their number are several fire control teams, who set to work putting out the fire as the hunt begins for the terrorist who detonated the napalm bomb.

Steward turns back to the unconscious female elf. He gently, but urgently shakes her shoulder. "Captain! Captain! There's just been another attack! We need your help!"

* * *

Meanwhile, out in the street, Father Ekembi had been waiting patiently for Agent Steward to complete his work. Of course, Ekembi had been wearing the Excalbian thermal glasses. He hadn't seen the drow before the blast, but as the black napalm bomb had exploded, he had looked over and caught a glimpse of something. Something that looked suspiciously like the "something" that had attacked Cardinal Walsh.

While those around him broke into panic, Ekembi quietly followed the faint image in his glasses. Ekembi's hand slipped into his pocket as he walked.

* * *

Back in the interrogation room, Steward heard a beep coming from the signal device in his pocket. He picked it up and looked at its display. Father Ekembi was signaling him. He read the message and turned to the control booth. "Froissart, we need to talk!" Steward headed for the control room.

OOC: This drow is not using the stealth invisibility camouflage...

IC:

"You handle it, it's your problem now. I can't do nothing here, tied. And please don't release, because I'll be forced to kill you", said Vorpalis raising her head again. "Of course you suspect that my accomplices are doing this. Probably to free me. I just hope that the drows kill you all".

A Varangian on the battlements of a high tower spots something in his thermal goggles. He pulls them off and looks again with his naked eyes. He speaks into his radio.

"Captain, dark skinned male, slight build, retreating into the alley, half a block away from MCD HQ. Subject doesn't appear to be using invisibility device." he says.

"Roger that watch tower. The alley's dark. Advance units, keep thermal googles on, proceed into Phocas Alley. Shoot to kill. Take no chances, we've got two Emperors just a few blocks away. NOW MOVE!" the captain's voice booms across the radio.

The advance units of Varangian Guard slip into the alley, following the drow, their thermal googles making up for the darkness.

Steward turns back to the unconscious female elf. He gently, but urgently shakes her shoulder. "Captain! Captain! There's just been another attack! We need your help!"

* * *

Meanwhile, out in the street, Father Ekembi had been waiting patiently for Agent Steward to complete his work. Of course, Ekembi had been wearing the Excalbian thermal glasses. He hadn't seen the drow before the blast, but as the black napalm bomb had exploded, he had looked over and caught a glimpse of something. Something that looked suspiciously like the "something" that had attacked Cardinal Walsh.

While those around him broke into panic, Ekembi quietly followed the faint image in his glasses. Ekembi's hand slipped into his pocket as he walked.

* * *

Back in the interrogation room, Steward heard a beep coming from the signal device in his pocket. He picked it up and looked at its display. Father Ekembi was signaling him. He read the message and turned to the control booth. "Froissart, we need to talk!" Steward headed for the control room.

As Steward enters, Froissart pushes the microphone away, looking angry. Broillard rubs his temples.

"You gave me a name!" says Froissart, shaking his head. "She's not supposed to know that I'm an actual human being... just a dispassionate voice..."

"We didn't tell him our procedures." says Broillard.

The door to the room opens, and Inspector Girraud and prosecutor Guillame Richemont enter. Froissart flicks a switch, and the window over looking Vorpalis turns black, obscuring the view of the beleagured elf.

"You've got a new suspect?" asks Richemont, sitting down.

"Yes, yes we do." replies Broillard.

"Monsieur Richemont, zis is Agent Steward, d'Excalbie. 'E is 'ere to assist us in our investigation, although 'is specific interest is the attempt on Cardinal Walsh's life, bien sur." says Girraud.

Richemont nods, and extends his hand to Agent Steward.

"Guillame Richemont, from the Office of the Crown Prosecutor." he says. "Wait a moment... pardon me monsieur, but weren't you in the car a few days ago with the two inspectors along with a priest after I escaped that assassin at my apartment block?"

The Drow just stood in the middle of the alley, smiling and holding his hands over his head as he saw the Varangian guards approaching. He was dressed with black leather clothes and multiple perforations and ritual scarring adorned his face. "I'm surrounded, and unarmed. Please spare my life, humans, I haven't do anything to you", he whispered, smiling to the first guard.

Father Ekembi quietly followed the Varangians into the alley behind the drow. As the drow turned and smiled at the guards, the priest sensed trouble. He reached under his coat and removed a weapon about the size of an automatic pistol. I hope the Pantocratorians don't resent my intrusion, but I know that elf is up to something.

In a single fluid motion Ekembi pushes to the front of the Varangians and levels the strange weapon, which ends not in an open barrel but in a flat metal plate. I hope this Excalbian thing works as promised. Ekembi pulls the trigger and the emitter plate releases a torrent of microwave energy. Anyone standing at the end of the alley - where the drow stood - would feel a painful burning sensation all over his skin. Within seconds, they would feel as if their skin was burning off. But, no actual physical harm was being done. A human would be in shock and unconscious in seconds. I hope it has a similar affect on elves.

(OOC: This is a hand-held version of a previously used Excalbian military weapon. It is non-lethal and produces no permanent physical damage, but it is incredible painful and is intended to quickly pacify enemies without resorting to deadly force. The hand-held version carries enough charge for one full burst, which should incapacitate anyone within an arc about five meters wide and ten meters downrange from the weapon.)

The drow covered his ears with his hands, screaming, stepping forward two steps before falling to the floor unsconscious.

A Varangian grabs Father Ekembi by the wrist, pulling the weapon out of his hand. Two more Varangians rush forward and handcuff the unconscious Drow, as another starts barking into his radio.

The Varangian who took the weapon inspects it for a moment, and then hands it back to Father Ekembi, apologising for grabbing it. An army truck pulls into the alley, and the soldiers pull the elf into the back of the truck with them before pulling away, leaving Father Ekembi alone. From the back of the truck, one of the soldiers shouts to the priest.

"We'll take him to the military prison on the outskirts of New Rome, if you're interested, father." the soldier tells the priest as the truck pulls out of view.

"I killed you already, I'm talking with dead men walking, take me to your prison, but in two years this city will be a wasteland. Breathe my breath, stupid monkey. You're nothing but a mammal", said the Drow as the Varangian handcuffed him. "I'll die killing thousands, hundreds of thousands!, and then you'll kill our enemies for us", the Drow bursted into a maniacal laughter, as a madman.

Father Ekembi replaces his weapon in the holster under his jacket. With his left hand, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a signal device.

***

Steward takes Richemont’s hand. “Yes, Monsieur, I was with the two police inspectors the night you escaped your assassin…” Before he can continue, Steward feels a slight buzzing from his signal device. He takes it out of his pocket and looks at its tiny screen. “Excuse me, Messieurs, but Father Ekembi and the Varangian guard seem to have just captured a second drow – the one who tossed the bomb just now. The Varangians are taking him to the military prison. I would like to collect Father Ekembi and go see this second assassin. Perhaps we can all go together?”

Richemont looks at Froissart, and then back at Steward.

"Technically I should be processing your suspect in there... but getting more information first couldn't hurt." says Richemont. Girraud nods in agreement.

"I'll call a car." says Broillard, who picks up one of the phones in the room and starts a quiet conversation in French with the person on the other side.

Froissart presses another button on his panel and talks into his microphone.

"Confine the prisoner in interrogation room 23C to a cell." he orders, before switching the microphone off again and turning back to the others. "Good luck gentlemen!"

Broillard opens the door and leads Steward, Richemont and Girraud down to a car. The party picks up Ekembi and heads towards the military base.

"I killed you already, I'm talking with dead men walking, take me to your prison, but in two years this city will be a wasteland. Breathe my breath, stupid monkey. You're nothing but a mammal", said the Drow as the Varangian handcuffed him. "I'll die killing thousands, hundreds of thousands!, and then you'll kill our enemies for us", the Drow bursted into a maniacal laughter, as a madman.

OOC: Oh great. My main RP character's in the city, and this happens.
Hope Pantocratorian medical tech is up to this...

The Varangians throw the drow hard into the far wall of the cell, and slam the heavy steel door shut. The cell has no windows, and no light enters it other than through the small six inch by six inch barred panel near the top of the four inch thick door. The only other light source is the red glow from an LED on the security camera, which follows the drow's movement about the cell.

The drow had been thoroughly searched. His clothing had been removed, and he had been issued with a plain prison fatigue of the coarsest material. He had been handcuffed, anklecuffed, and a chain had been run linking his wrists to his ankles, through a chain belt locked around his midsection.

After thirty minutes or so, some conversation can be heard outside the cell in French, clearly distinguishable from the occassional mutterings in Swedish by the Varangians standing just outside the cell.

Guillame Richemont peers through the small opening on the door, squinting to see in the darkness.

"Il n'a rien dit?" Richemont asks as he turns away and Girraud peers into the cell in his place.

"Non, Monsieur Richemont. Nous n'avons pas démandé." replies a Varangian in poor French.

"Un aûtre noir." observes Girraud. "Je vais téléphoner le Bureau d'Examineur Médicale, pour démander de première noire. Peût-être ils sont de la méme famille."

Girraud pulls out his mobile phone and wonders out of the hall.

"Well, Father, Agent Steward, Monsieur Broillard, I will have the prisoner moved to an interrogation room, and we can begin. The guards said something about a threat made, a terrorist attack of some sort against the city." says Richemont to the others.

Four guards open the drow's cell door. One knocks the drow back to the cell floor before two of the others grab him and carry him out of the cell into a secure interrogation room, into which follow Richemont, Broillard, Steward and Ekembi.

"Prepare for the dusk of your petty civilization. I'll die killing and earn a place with my ancestors in the afterlife while you die as the filthy pigs you are", shouted the drow to the guards as they carried him away. All he was carrying the moment of his capture was a twisted knife, his normal clothes and a shattered jamming device and a destroyed detonator of a strange sort.

"I don't like to make threats, monsieur." says Richemont in a calm and steady voice as he sits at a chair across the table from the drow in the interrogation room. "But you were apprehended by the military within the old quarter of New Rome, while the Emperor was present in the Imperial Court. While the Emperor is present in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, martial law is in effect, co-existing along with regular, civilian jurisdiction. That means that all the military has to do is assert its jurisdiction in this case, and you won't have a judge, a jury, a trial, or anything. Forget dying killing and earning a place with your ancestors, you'll die by a firing squad in a quiet, dark place, where nobody will see or care."

Richemont pauses to let it sink in.

"For the time being, the military hasn't asserted its jurisdiction, and you are looking at the civilian authority." he continues. "You have until we leave this room to tell us everything we want to know, or I'll ask the Field Chief Judge's Office to assert military jurisdiction over your case. For the time-being you're entitled to a legal representative. If you desire one, say so now, and I'll make the call, they'll be here in a minute, and they'll tell you everything I just told you is absolutely true."

The whole time, Richemont's tone stays soft, almost matter-of-factly.

"You don't see the point, don't you?. I don't care, my job is done, and now you can do whatever you want with me. My job is done, and you're dead too, arrogant human, and you'll die screaming for mercy, meanwhile my soul will watch you for all eternity. I don't want a lawyer, a trial or a jury, kill me if you want to, take me to your firing squad", as the drow spoke his stinky breath filled the room, an odor like rotten eggs. He raised his hands full of chains to show Richemont the sores forming around his black fingers, green pustules filled with a brown ichor. "Breathe my breath and die, the wrath of Khaine will fall upon you and fester in your bodies!", he said before falling into another attack of maniac laughter.

Broillard furrows his brow.

"Mon Dieu...." murmurs Richemont. Girraud enters the room.

"I 'ave spoken to ze medical examiner. She is going to examine zis one to see if 'e is related to ze one I shot.... qu'est-ce que c'est?" Girraud stops speaking as he sees the pale expressions on everyone's face.

"Forget testing to see if they're related, we need to know what he's got." says Broillard. "That bomb, it must have been some kind of bioweapon!"

"And whatever it was, it is affecting him first and foremost..." observes Richemont.

"But of course, he was closest to the blast!" says Broillard. "Except for... oh dear Lord, I'm going to call headquarters! The MCD bomb squad was on the scene straight away!"

Richemont and Girraud grabs their mobile phones. Girraud summons the medical examiner, warning her to bring medical quarantine equipment, and Richemont calls the New Rome City Council to warn them of a possible medical emergency.

Broillard leaves the interrogation room and starts barking orders to the soldiers outside. Within two minutes the whole military prison complex is filled with the sound of alarm klaxons as it is placed under medical quarantine.

***

At the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, the Pantocratorian Defence Legions Chemical and Biological Attack Response Unit secures and quarantines the palace building, and huge helicopters are brought in from outlying airbases to the palace's landing bays, in case the court needs to be evacuated.

((Yeah, it's a bioweapon, but your biochemical staff will see that the bomb was just an explosive, the carrier of the deadly plague is the subject, the drow. The plague is a fungus implanted in the subject lungs, and is air transmitted, so maybe just those who have spoken with him are infected. It devours the lungs of those infected in a few days, turning them into an amorphous blob of fungi. The fungi is inmune to antobiotics, penniciline and the like)).

The Chemical and Biological Attack Response Unit finds no further trace of contamination in the old quarter of New Rome. It remains deployed in force, and the city is locked down extremely tightly in anticipation of the next day's wedding, but for the time being, no evacuation begins.

***

Back at the military prison, all personnel are confined to base as the medical examiner and her assistants enter the examination room in full bio-hazard suits. Richemont, Broillard, Steward, Girraud and Ekembi look on nervously from behind a glass window as the hazmat team takes samples, runs xrays, and examines the sedated drow.

Half an hour later, an early analysis is complete.

"Messieurs," starts the examiner, still in her sealed suit. "At this point in time, it is impossible to say what it is exactly the subject has contracted. The symptoms on the other hand, we can describe. He has some sort of fungus growing in his lungs, consuming his own tissue. Before long, he'll suffocate. Judging by the rate of growth, I would say from the time he was infected until the time the infection reaches a fatal level will be a total of three, perhaps four days. It seems to me that the virus would take a similar amount of time to kill a human."

"It is transmitted through the air. Now this is very important... anyone who has been in the same breathing space as this drow must be put under emergency medical isolation, and that includes you gentlemen." she warns. "My team and I are going to stay at this base to work on some sort of antidote. We'll work with the city's labs remotely. Nobody can leave this base!"

Agent Steward gave the examiner a half-smile. “Well, I don’t think any of us can argue with your restrictions, Doctor. If I might suggest, however, you may wish to contact my Embassy. Not only does Excalbia have some leading researchers in countering bioweapons, being neighbors with the Upper Virginians and all, but I’m sure our researchers would be happy to put some of our advanced DAIN artificial intelligences at your disposal. They should be able to really help you on the number crunching and data analysis.” Stewards paused and looked around. “Meanwhile, does anyone have a pack of cards or something to pass the time?”

"Thankyou, Agent Steward, I'll contact them." she says. "Good afternoon gentlemen, if you start noticing any symptoms, make sure you notify one of my nurses."

The medical examiner leaves.

Richemont winces, and sits back down at the table.

"You know what I'm worried about..." he says. "With all his apocryphal rantings... I can't help but feel that he isn't the only carrier of this thing. Maybe he's already infected others."

"You're right." says Girraud. "I know zat ze bio response team says zat ze city is secure right now... but I cannot 'elp but zink zat ze government and ze court should relocate to New Constantinople, at least..."

"I'm sure they're on stand-by out there, inspector." says Broillard. He rubs his chin. "I wonder if Vorpalis knows anything about this?"

He looks up at Steward.

"It's worth a shot. I'll call Froissart." he says, and pulls out his mobile phone.

***

Once again the dispassionate, robot-like voice wakes Vorpalis from her exhausted slumber.

"The subject will now disclose all information she has on the subject of bioweapons. She will in particular describe all Aelosian bioweapons, and all bioweapons she knows to be employed by drow terrorist organisations." the voice says.

Inside the control room, Froissart awaits Vorpalis' reply nervously.

"First, Why should I?, Why should I help you?. Second, Aelosia don't have or use any bioweapons, the Aelosian WMDs are based in physics, not in biology. About the terrorists, well, that could be anything. They have used bio and chemical weapons in several domestic attacks, but I'm not the specialist", although her voice was still defiant, in her tone a note of worry and concern could be noted.

(As a matter of fact, that's not a bioweapon....exactly. It's an ancient plague, and just a handful of nations, elven or vampire, would remember the ancient disease. It has only one cure, and it's very difficult to find...and it's not chemical, it's a natural medicine)

"Why? The subject does not appear to have a choice." Froissart replies from behind the voice disguising microphone, rolling his eyes at Vorpalis' obstinance. "The subject will now identify the specific biological and chemical weapons employed by the terrorist elf factions which have perpetrated the domestic attacks on Aelosia. If the subject lacks specialist knowledge, then the common names of the specific agents employed will be sufficient."

He types as he speaks, typing a communiqué to the Aelosian embassy, requesting information on all domestic drow terrorist attacks which employed biological and chemical weapons. His finger hovers over the send button, as a fax comes through to his control room. He reaches over and grabs the paper. It is the medical examiner's report. He adds a further request that Aelosia's toxicologists, who have previously been of assistance to the investigation, provide any information they have on all biological agents which could cause the symptoms described in the report, and scans in the fax before sending the electronic communiqué to the embassy.

"The subject will make her replies more timely!" he snips into the microphone.

"What are you going to do if I refuse?. Kill me?, please do me that favor. But even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't. I don't know nothing about chemical or biological warfare, please call the embassy, if they refuse, I coud convince them to send an expert. You need an expert on that thing, that could be dangerous. I know they used those things, but I don't know any names", said Vorpalis, in a desperate voice.

Message to the Pantocratorian authorities:

"You request our cooperation, we'll comply. We'll send an expert on anti biochemical terrorism and a staff of our medical specialists in biohazards. We can't send you the information because it's classified, but our staff sent the message to establish a quarantine in the area until they arrived. As far as we know, you're dealing with a lethal bioweapon that could kill thousands, even millions of people in a relative short time. You should declare a state of emergency now. Aelosia is entering crimson alert and martial law as we speak, because we fear another attack like that inside our borders. The exact bioweapon used hasn´t been identified, but our staff needs to examine the test subjects to extract the correct information"

Kakel Paelisi, Aelosian Ambassador to Pantocratoria

Froissart forwards on the communications from the Aelosian embassy to all of the relevant authorities.

"The subject had better pray to her pagan gods that her embassy is more cooperative than she." he quips into the microphone, hoping to keep Vorpalis uncertain about what her immediate fate would be. He would definitely miss the "rigourous interrogations" now outlawed by the United Nations.

***

Half an hour later, New Rome was put on high alert. The huge air transports were fueling and preparing for take-off in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, and the Chemical and Biological Attack Response Unit is securing the city. All private flights to and from the city have been stopped, and many large passenger liners have been diverted to New Constantinople. Two F/A-18 Super Hornets patrol the city's airspace to make sure nobody gets any bright ideas about landing an aircraft there anyway. Huge roadblocks stop New Rome's inhabitants from fleeing the quarantine to spread possible infection to the rest of the Empire, and the Imperial Infantry Legion of New Rome is patrolling the surrounding countryside, stopping anything from getting in or out of the city.

A black, large shuttle decorated with elven runes appeared over the sky of Pantocratoria, issuing a message to the local authorities. "This is military vessel RSX-971 from the Craftworld of Aelosia, carrying technicians and experts in biochemical warfare. Our presence was requested by the Pantocratorian law department, we're asking permission to enter your airspace".

"This is New Rome Air Traffic Control. RSX-971 you are cleared for landing at landing bay 26. Upon landing please stand-by for inspection by the Chemical and Biological Attack Response Unit. After that inspection, you will be transferred to the New Rome Crisis Command Centre by the New Rome Defence Detachment of the Imperial Cataphracti Legion." comes the reply. "Repeat, you are cleared for landing at landing bay 26."

The shuttle landed in the indicated place, its alien form towering over the rest of the normal air vehicles. With a whistle the powerful engines shutted down and the hatches opened. Just an elf came out, dressed in a strange full body armor looking like the exosqueleton of an insect. "We expect your inspectors, they can come inside", were his only words before he returned inside the vessel. Just silence followed after he dissapeared from view.

A sergeant in totally enclosed biohazard combat gear nods, and signals to six of his men who are similarly dressed. The team follows the elf up the ramp, and into the shuttle, thoroughly visually searching it, and scanning it with a number of devices designed to detect chemical and biological weapons.

OOC: I presume it is all clear? If so:

IC: The team leaves the shuttle in silence. The circle of troops parts to allow two M1-A2 tanks flanking an armoured personnel carrier to drive onto the landing pad. A person in biohazard gear (of the conventional, non-combat variety) disembarks from the APC, and hussles to the shuttle.

"I am Lieutenant Marie Rénois," says the figure, a female voice emerging from the tiny voice box speaker beneath the neck. "Welcome to New Rome. We have APCs ready to take your teams to the Crisis Command Centre. Please follow me."

First an elf dressed in a dark military uniform came down the platform, quickly followed by ten soldiers dressed in the strange green exosqueleton armor, carrying several big metal boxes. After them came a medical staff, three men and two women, dressed in white robes.

The uniformed man approached the Pantocratorian staff, raising his hand "Coronel Culiern of the Aelosian Navy, Chief of the Aelosian Cleansing Regiment. We'll follow your instructions, but we have our own vehicle".

With a humming sound a huge hatch in the belly of the shuttle opened and a floating vehicle, similar to a hovercraft appeared, moving slowly and softly towards the Pantocratorian APC. "Most of our equipment is installed in the vehicle", it's the explanation of the uniformed man. The soldiers quickly moved to the vehicle, putting the metal boxes inside.

http://www.forgeworld.co.uk/acatalog/scatterlwsstore.jpg
The Aelosian Grav APC. (All the weaponry have been removed).

OOC: Back!

IC:

Rénois nods to Colonel Culiern, and turns and signals to the APCs. The tank commander sitting in the turret of the M1-A2 speaks into his hand radio, and nods to Rénois. He then lowers himself back inside and closes the hatch.

"Very well, sir. I've orders to accompany you in person, so I'd like to ride in your vehicle with you. Could you direct your driver to follow our APC? The two tanks will flank both our APCs en route to the Crisis Command Centre." says Lieutenant Rénois.

"As you wish, Sire, you're the owner of the House, we're just to help", said the elf nodding, the driver quickly placing the Aelosian Gravehicle behind the Pantocratorian APC and between the pair of tanks.

Marie Rénois follows the elf onto the grav-vehicle, and the tanks rumble to a start as the entourage begins its journey to the Crisis Command Centre. The usually busy streets of outer New Rome are empty, with the exception of soldiers of the city's Imperial Infantry Legion and of the Chemical and Biological Attack Response Unit, who are searching and patrolling every square inch of the capital. The roar of jet engines can be heard overhead as the F/A-18s patrolling the city's airspace swoop low every so often before returning to a higher altitude.

Inside the Aelosian transport, Lieutenant Rénois turns to the elven colonel.

"Sir, is it safe for me to take this off?" she asks, indicating the biohazard hood covering her head.

"Yes, the inside of this vehicle is protected against biohazards", said the elven officer removing his own helmet to remark his words. "Congratulations for your impressive actions in securing the city and establishing a quarantine. It seems like the Pantocratorian are very disciplined people. I hope this situation could be solved with low casualties. I have bad news and good news for you, Mademoiselle, Which ones do you want to hear first?", continued the elf visibly worried.

Rénois pulls off the biohazard hood, and switches off the voicebox.

"If it's all the same sir, I'd like the bad news first." she replies.

"There's no cure for the bio agent those terrorist used here. And even as the disease usually kills humans slower than elves, anyway the kill ratio of those infected is very high. Most of the infected people is going to die, without anything that anyone could do. I'm so sorry about this, I have no words to explain...", the elf stopped for a moment, visibly affected by something in his mind. "And the good one is that we have a vaccine, that can prevent the contagion. That's all. The chief of our scientific team stilll needs to examine some of the infected to be entirely sure, but we're almost certain that you're suffering the effects of the Dol-Dur, the Shadow Plague"

The already fair-skinned Rénois turns deathly pale.

"No cure..." she murmurs. "Colonel, we haven't the faintest idea how many people are infected... if they're infected at all. Our intelligence resources are focussed on finding out who is behind this attack, and how they intend to deploy the bioagent, but as of yet, well, I suppose I wouldn't have high enough clearance to know whether they've found anything out or not, but I've heard nothing, sir. It may be too late for the vaccine to protect people from this attack!"

The tanks escorting the gravtransport come to a halt, and Rénois' hand radio comes to life.

"We've arrived at the Crisis Command Centre." says the lieutenant, putting the radio back on her belt, before pulling the biohazard hood back on. After fumbling with the seal, she indicates to the exit of the transport.

"After you, Colonel." she says.

Outside, a troop of soldiers in biohazard combat gear secure a perimeter around the Aelosian transport, and usher its occupants towards a large airlock at the entrance of a small-looking concrete bunker.

"The Command Centre continues underground." explains Lt Rénois.

"Impressive. You built these thing out of nowhere?", said the elf as he and his team placed their helmets and their pressurized armors back on.

The group of elven soldiers, medics and scientist followed the lieutenant carrying several boxes made of the strange Wraithbone, the organic polymer used in most of the Aelosian vehicles and devices.

Rénois looks confused through the clear face panel on her hood as she leads the elves into the Crisis Command Centre.

"I'm sorry Colonel, I'm not sure I quite understand what you mean, sir." she replies as the airlock door closes behind the group. The air is sucked out of the airlock and new, filtered air is pumped in in its place.

"STAND BY FOR DECONTAMINATION" says an automated system. A few seconds later, a chemical is sprayed from all directions at the delegation, and is then followed by water.

"PLEASE REMOVE BIOHAZARD GEAR BEFORE ENTERING" says the automated system.

Rénois pulls her hood off again and hangs it on a peg, and then sets to work struggling with the number of zippers and buttons to remove the rest of her gear. She wears combat fatigues underneath.

She waits for the Aelosians to indicate that they're ready before opening the inner airlock door.

The elves looked each other for a moment, then their commander asked Rénois in a musical, cautious tone. "Is it required to leave our armors...sorry, our suits, here?", he said. "If it required we'll do it, yet..."

"Sir," Rénois answers. "This is the Crisis Command Centre of New Rome. You're safe here. It would be awkward to wear those suits in the close confines down below. Besides, they're dripping wet now."

The lieutenant smiles and attaches her ID card to her front chest pocket.

"It's just that we...Well, it doesn't matter, I suppose", said the elven officer starting to remove the pressurized plates of the armor pressing a button on the controller of his wrist.

The rest of the team followed his example, removing their complex suits, soon standing there in just a very tight full body underwear made of some kind of latex. The commander looked emotionless, but several of the members of the team blushed, specially the women, trying to cover their slim bodies with their hands, not very successfully.

Rénois winces when she sees the embarrassed team members.

"Sir," she says to the colonel. "I'll get the quartermaster to arrange some more... erm... modest... clothing, sir."

She starts speaking in French to the quartermaster on her radio as the airlock door opens, revealing an industrial elevator large enough to transport fifty personnel at a time.

"Please follow me." Rénois says, stepping into the large elevator. She starts typing an authorisation code into the key panel inside. "We'll stop at level 2 to see the quartermaster before heading down to the control room."

After the team gets in, the elevator doors close, and the lift starts descending rapidly. It takes two minutes at high speed to reach level 2.

"After the airlock complex, the rest of the Crisis Command Centre is deep enough underground to withstand direct nuclear attack." explains Lieutenant Rénois as the door opens again, revealing a busy lobby with even busier, narrow hallways leading off in a number of directions. People scurry back and forth, both in and out of uniform (some are obviously military, some are obviously civilians).

"Please follow me." she says again as she leads the elves through the narrow hallway to the quartermaster's office. Group members have to turn sideways so that they can get past other personnel on their way through - confines are indeed tight, just as advertised. The elves get strange looks from a lot of staff members, and some of the women get a lot of attention indeed.

The quartermaster issues each Aelosian with loose fitting shirts and trousers. If they were accompanied with jackets and all the appropriate insignia and decorations, they would be army dress uniforms, but as it is they are just white trousers and shirts.

After the Aelosians get dressed, Rénois leads them back to the lift, and the group then proceeds deeper still into the complex. The elevator doors open again, revealing not a lobby this time, but a big metal door guarded by two armed soldiers in combat fatigues. The soldiers salute Rénois, who salutes back, before handing her ID to one of the soldiers for inspection.

"Lieutenant Marie Rénois, H4-C3-T2-P8-Z5-Q3, aide de Colonel Franc, le Centre pour le Commandement en Crise, avec la délégation aelosienne." she says to the soldier.

"Le Colonel vous attend, madamoiselle. Vous pouvez entrer dans la salle de contrôle." the soldier replies. The huge metal door opens.

Behind the door is a large control room. On the far wall is a huge projected map of New Rome, with various markings representing various military formations. Rows and rows of computers are busily attended by intelligence analysts, army officers, and city workers. At a conference table in the middle of the chamber, three army officers and the mayor of the city are involved in heated discussion. They stand when they see Rénois and the Aelosians approach, exchanging salutes.

"Colonel," says Rénois, addressing one of the Pantocratorian officers, an overweight man in his mid forties. "This is Colonel Culiern of the Aelosian Navy, Chief of the Aelosian Clensing Regiment."

She turns to the elf.

"Colonel Culiern, this is Colonel Franc of the Imperial Infantry Legion of New Rome, commander of the Crisis Command Centre." she says.

After exchanging salutes with the elf, Franc invites them to sit at the table with a gesture.

"So Colonel," says Franc. "I believe that my government has exchanged some intelligence with yours. Perhaps you are able to, how to say, shed a little light on the situation?"

The mayor and the Pantocratorians look intently at the elves as they await the Colonel's reply.

"Your goverment sent a message about a biological attack made by elves against New Rome. Both of our goverments suspect that there is a connection with Aelosia. A deep shame fills my heart to acknowledge this, but frankly looks like there's a lot of truth on that statement", said the Coronel, turning his head for a moment.

"We suspect that you were attacked with a biological agent developed in the Dark Eldar nation of Raem, known as the Dol-Dur, name that can be translated to "Shadow Plague. Spreaded by air and close contact and with a very high killing ratio", he continued. "Although we're not entirely sure about this, all the clues leads us to think that"

"We do have a cadavre, cause of death being exposure to this agent." says Franc. "Perhaps you have a sample of this agent which our scientists could examine to confirm that it is the same thing? Or perhaps a detailed examination of a cadavre which died as a result of exposure to this Dol-Dur?"

The Mayor speaks up.

"If you have seen this Shadow Plague before, have you developed a cure?" he asks.

"We don't have a sample of that agent. It's too dangerous to keep such thing at hand, for reasons that I'll explain right now. There's no cure for the illness, except for the quiet rest far from this world that you call death. We haven't developed a consistent cure without killing the patient. We only have a vaccine, very effective, dveloped by our scientist five years ago, after a Shadow Plague attack in a colony of our Empire that destroyed almost the entire population", said the elf shaking his head. "I suggest to treat that corpse with care, because this plague is transmited even more by corpses than by the still living affected. We could examine the corpse and decide if we're entirely sure of our assumptions".

double!

Triple!

(What the hell is happening to the forums?)

Colonel Franc looks at the pile of files on his desk. Rénois blinks and quickly starts fumbling through them, before handing one to the Colonel, so he doesn't have to bend and go through the trouble of looking through the pile himself. Franc looks over the file, and then hands it to Colonel Culiern.

"The medical examiner's report." he says. "It is extremely thorough."

Franc clicks his fingers expectantly, and Rénois pours a glass of water and hands it to him.

"Can I offer you and your people something to drink, Colonel?" Franc asks. "That examination by the way was conducted at a military prison on the outskirts of the city, which is currently in full bio-hazard lock-down, along with everybody who came into contact with the subject of that report. Our teams believe that there is no residual contamination in the city itself from where the subject was apprehended."

"No, thanks", said the Colonel waving his hand as he checked the report. He didn't like how the human Colonel treated his underlings, but after all, that wasn't his problem.

"Looks exactly the same thing", said the Colonel as he gave the report to his medical staff's chief to further examination. "Maybe we would need a sample taken from an infected person to finally be sure of it, but the symptoms are the same of the Shadow Plague. And about that military prison, Sire. If you want an advise, raze it to the ground. Burn it with napalm and level it and everything inside. If the plague haven't invaded the city yet, you could stop it right now"

"The problem with that, Colonel," says the mayor, "is that the terrorist whose corpse is currently in secure storage at that facility is believed to have set off some sort of device in New Rome. Destroying the military prison may not eliminate the only possible of infection."

"Not to mention the fact that the military prison is a significant assest to the Imperial Defence Legions. Not to mention the inconvenience to His Imperial Majesty's Government which would arise as a result of us destroying a fully-staffed military installation so close to the Imperial capital." says Franc. "Think of the press. And of course, the difficulty in recruiting new staff for a replacement facility after we blew the first one up."

"What kind of device?. The fungus dies fast if exposed too time to the natural conditions. It only lives for long inside the affected and in the corpses. The spores can travel some distance before dying, but without a warm environment they are almost useless. That's why the terrorist uses living people to spread the disease, or sometimes even corpses", said the elven colonel.

"About your prison, that's your problem, Sire, not mine. I used the vaccine already, as my people did before coming here. It's your people who is going to die by that disease, not mine. After all, structures can be rebuild, assets can be recovered, but people lives are priceless. That was an advise, take it or leave it. The first time we were struck with that disease we destroyed an entire town to prevent further contagions, including its inhabitants", said Culiern as suddenly a shadow covered his face, a dark guilt showing over his features, a forgotten shame.

A phone rings, and Rénois answers it.

"I understand the device caused some sort of explosion. Luckily, the idiot tried to attack the Ministry of Cultural Development, which is so well defended it has bioresponse teams of its own. And to think, people were dubious when Princess Irene allocated the Ministry a budget for armed defence and terrorist response squads!" snorts Franc.

Rénois hangs up the phone and darts over to nearby fax machine.

"The scene was very quickly secured and contained by the Ministry's own people." Franc concludes. "It is likely that the only people who will be infected will be the soldiers who apprehended the terrorist and the men at the military prison."

Rénois rushes over to the table, fax paper in hand.

"Du palais, monsieur. Il dit que les excalbiens..." she begins, before being interrupted by the Colonel, who snatches the page out of her hands.

"Je peux lire, lieutenant!" he snaps, before pouring over the page.

"The Excalbians have been providing us with assistance too, Colonel." Franc explains. "This says that their scientists believe they've developed a cure of sorts. If administered in the early stages of infection, it stops the fungus from doing further damage to the lungs. But obviously, it does not repair the lungs, so for those with more advanced cases, they are in trouble."

"How long did you say that this Dol-Dur takes to irreparably damage a human lung, Colonel Culiern?" asks the mayor.

"Rénois, get the lab to work on synthesising this drug as soon as we get its details from our hook-up with the Excalbians." snaps the Colonel.

"Yes sir!" the lieutenant says with a noticeable smile. Maybe they'd be able to save the military prison after all.

"And get me clearance from the general staff to bomb the prison." he adds.

Rénois' expression grows sullen.

"Yes, sir." she says more quietly, before rushing off to carry out her instructions.

"Maybe we could arrange to exchange your vaccine for this... imperfect cure?" Franc offers. "I so very much appreciate how helpful you have been in averting this crisis."

"Let's not count our peacocks before they hatch..." says the mayor. "This isn't over yet, Colonel."

"Cure?. In what are you basing the cure?. No living organism is resistant to the fungus, as it feeds in lung tissue. And to manipulate it genetically is very dangerous. It makes the fungus to mutate and adopt more dangerous forms, and more aggressive ways of contagion. I wish you luck, and we don't need nothing in exchange for the vaccine. We had part on this, as that agent came from aelosian territory, to help you now is our duty", said the Colonel very fast, as in a hurry. "You don't need to thanks us, anyway. We will have the vaccine ready for you in a few hours, as long as you have a place for us to work. By the way, the Shadow Plague eats an entire human lung in a week, more or so, depending on the subject".

"Well if this Excalbian drug has any chance of working, we had better apply it quickly. It has been two full days since we believe some of our people were infected. Presuming a constant rate of consumption, that means that the fungus should have destroyed about 20% of the lungs of the first people in the military prison who were infected." ponders Franc. "We have to test this thing on real subjects anyway, and if it has a chance of saving those people, I think it should be tested on them first. After all, if it doesn't work, we can always still bomb the place."

OOC: Excalbia posted about this drug in the Wedding thread.

(Slight flashback…)

Dr. Phil Howard, Minister of Technology, shock his head. “You can’t be serious! We haven’t done nearly enough testing on the tissue sample! Our computer modeling is incomplete! The DAINs are wondrous, modern miracles, and we’ve already done years, maybe a decade’s worth of research using their brains and intuition, but there are limits to what they can do. What we’ve come up with is solid, but at least 30% conjecture at this point! In good conscience, I can’t agree to using it to treat real victims, it might…”

“Kill them, Doctor?” Everyone shot out of their seats as the Imperial Chancellor entered the room. Lady Christina Freedman was striking in her beauty and fierce in her politics. Everyone in Excalbia, wisely, treated her with more than the usual amount of respect.

“We, we didn’t know you were coming, My Lady,” Dr. Howard said fumbling with his hands.

“I heard you were at an impasse of sorts. It is my job to resolve, isn’t it, Doctor?”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“So,” the Chancellor began, motioning everyone into their seats, “as I understand it, we might have a treatment for the bioweapon used against New Rome, but you don’t feel sufficiently confident to use it without further testing. Correct?”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“And, Minister Cummings,” she turned to the Minister of State, “I understand from your reports that Aelosians are offering the Pantocratorians a vaccine and are advising them to destroy the military base where they are holding those already infected in order to prevent further spreading of the disease. Correct?”

“Yes, Chancellor,” Cummings said fingering the cigar that Dr. Howard wouldn’t let him light.

“How long do the victims have before their lungs are too damaged to survive, Doctor?”

“A day or two, maybe.”

“So, if our treatment is 30 % conjecture, we’re giving the victims a 30% risk of death as opposed to a 100% risk of death? That’s an easy decision, Doctor.”

“Begging your pardon, My Lady, it isn’t quite that simple. And the risk of death isn’t my greatest concern. If we’ve missed something important in the DNA, this treatment might actually mutate the fungus, making it more deadly and more resistant to treatment…”

“Hmm. I see.” The Chancellor turned to Minister of Defense. “Lord John, what measures are in place to contain the fungus if the treatment fails?”

Lord John Thorne turned feebly towards Admiral Lord Yornis Halton, who sat beside him. “Admiral?”

“The Pantocratorians are preparing to destroy the military base where all the known victims are being treated. I suppose, if Dr. Howard’s fears were realized, it might take something more to completely sterilize the area…”

“Are you talking nukes, Admiral?”

“Possibly. Although a daisy-cutter bomb with some fuel-air bombs might do the job as well without the fall-out, as it were.”

“Are the Pantocratorians really prepared to do that?”

“I think so.” Lord John interrupted the Admiral. “I know I would in their place, Lady Christina.”

“So, Dr. Howard, is that a sufficient fail-safe?”

The minister swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Alright, get the Pantocratorians detailed instructions on the treatment immediately. And put our top experts aboard some of our SR-71s and get them to Pantocratoria, now.”

“Yes, My Lady.” Dr. Howard picked up an intercom. “Alex, send the data now. And tell Drs. Emesis and Abolins to get ready immediately for…”

“No,” the Chancellor interjected, “tell them to go to the air base now. And, Admiral, call the airbase and tell them to have two SR-71s on the tarmac and ready for takeoff.”

“Yes, My Lady!” Both minister exclaimed at the same time and went for their phones.

OOC: It occurs to me that Lady Freedman, Lord Halton et al would know that Pantocratoria has signed the anti-nuclear treaty, and therefore has no nuclear weapons.

On the books at least.

Rénois rushes back to the table at which the Aelosians and the commanders of the Crisis Command Centre sit.

"Colonel," she says, addressing Colonel Franc, with a trembling voice. "The Excalbians have transmitted all their data about their treatment. They warn that the treatment is 30% conjecture, and that it might even cause unforseen mutation in the fungus which could make it even more dangerous."

Franc looks a little crest-fallen.

"Hmmm... not exactly a sure thing at all then." he concludes.

"No sir." Rénois says.

"Then we had better make sure our back-up plan is certain to succeed." Franc says. "In addition to the two F/A-18s on patrol waiting for the order, and the two in a constant state of readiness on the airfield, I want two B-52s from New Constantinople scrambled with a deep penetration payload."

"Yes, sir." says Rénois, fairly unenthusiastically.

"And get me a line to the commanding officer at the installation." Franc finishes. He waits for a few seconds. "Well, dammit, move it lieutenant!"

"Sir!" says Rénois, before rushing back to the various operators. As she starts issuing the Colonel's commands, an NCO rushes over from a desk with a red phone, and whispers something to the lieutenant, who promptly returns to Franc.

"Colonel," she says. "Communication from the Justinian Palace. The Emperor wants to be updated on our status. He's waiting on the satellite link."

Franc nods, straightens out his uniform a little, and pulls the mess of papers in front of him into a neat pile.

"Put His Majesty on." he says.

Rénois heads back over to the centre operators. After a few button pushes, a video screen descends facing the conference table at which Franc, the mayor, and the Aelosians are sitting. The coat of arms appears on the screen.

http://members.optusnet.com.au/~a_marrington/ns/achievement.gif

It then flashes away, revealing Emperor Andreus, dressed in a military dress uniform with a purple robe of state on top.

"Your Majesty," say the Pantocratorians at the table, before bowing to the screen.

The Emperor's eyes scan the faces of each person seated at the conference table, including the elves, before he speaks.

"Colonel, you've been negligent. I've not received an update on your situation since the Imperial Court relocated to the Justinian Palace yesterday evening." the Emperor says flatly as Franc swallows hard.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, so very sorry. I've been so very..." Franc starts.

"No excuse will be adequate nor was one requested." the Emperor interrupts. "In any case, you will now make up for your earlier lapses. What is the present situation?"

"Your Majesty, the Excalbians have developed a..." Franc starts, but is interrupted again.

"Yes, yes, I know. Unlike my own people, the Excalbians have been most informative. The Excalbian ambassador updated me last night on the progress our scientists have made." the Emperor says, getting increasingly impatient.

"I apologise, Your Majesty." Franc says. "If I may continue, the Aelosians have provided us with a vaccine. They believe they've encountered this bioagent before. They call it the Shadow Plague, Majesty."

The Emperor looks fairly disinterested in Franc as the Colonel continues.

"So we believe we will be able to protect the uninfected population from this bioagent." Franc says. "Unfortunately, the entire military prison complex to which the vile perpetrator of the attack which displaced Your Majesty and the Imperial Court was taken is likely to be infected by this agent. It is my present intention, Your Majesty, to administer the Excalbian drug to the infected personnel, and if that fails, to destroy the installation to prevent the spread of the bioagent."

"Yes, yes," says the Emperor. "Well, whatever you do decide to do, Colonel, make sure it doesn't disrupt the festivities for my daughter's wedding. I'll not have the destruction of that facility spoil Her Highness' wedding day, is that clear?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." says the Colonel.

"Good." the Emperor says. "Keep me informed, although I shan't be available to receive further updates until after the reception ends this evening."

The Pantocratorians bow again, and the Emperor disappears, leaving the coat of arms on the screen as it is pulled back into the ceiling.

"So, Colonel," Franc says, breathing a sigh of relief as he addresses Colonel Culiern. "What are your thoughts on my proposed course of action?"

"Are you asking my personal opinion, Colonel?", said Culiern shaking his head. "I don't have the authority, the desire or the power to be able to critic your decisions or your plans of action. Although as a man and as a military commander I think that you're being as wise and inteligent as the best ones, Colonel. I think you have all the thing covered. With you permission I have a vaccine to prepare", said the elf bowing his head a little in front of the human officer.

When he was preparing to leave, he turned to say another thing "Sire, May I ask you a favor?".

"Please sir," Franc says. "After your assistance it is the very least I can do. Name your favour!"

"A good friend of mine suspects that an acquietance of her is involved in this affair. She wants to know if he's between the infected. Can you find out that information?, if I give you the name, of course", said the elven officer staring to Franc directly in the eyes.

"Between the infected?" asks Franc, a little confused. "Erm, I'm not sure I know what you mean, but I will try to be of whatever assistance I may nonetheless. Tell me the name, Colonel."

"Between, the affected, I meant. The name is Monsieur Richemont, he was a Prosecutor of the Crown, I think. My friend just want to know if he's ok", said the elf, equally confused as the language barrier was taking its toll.

"I'll look into it, Colonel." he says. He calls over a clerk with a personnel list.

"Is there a Richemont in the military prison?" Franc asks.

The clerk spends a few moments searching through his list.

"Yes, Colonel." the clerk replies. "Guillame Richemont, from the Office of the Crown Prosecutor. He was interrogating a suspect... the terrorist."

Franc turns to Culiern.

"This Guillame Richemont, I take it this is the man you were asking about? If so, he is in the prison, and was one of the people who interrogated the terrorist before he died." says Franc.

"Oh, then I hope the cure from the Excalbians could help so many valuable people affected. Although some renegades from our race could be the involved in this coward and regrettable attack against your people, most of us are deeply saddened for what happened", said the elf, leaving the room to begin to produce the vaccine.

Two matte-black SR-71s streak across Pantocratorian airspace. “Raven Flight, Raven One and Raven Two, to Pantocratorian Air-Traffic Control. Requesting landing instructions…”

(OOC: Assuming that they would be expected and permitted entry, I’ll jump ahead…)

After both planes had landed and taxied to hangar at the far end of the military airfield, a field decontamination station is quickly set up. The canopy on the planes open and crewmen in biohazard suits put ladders in place. The pilots quickly scurry down the ladders, keeping their helmets and a portable air supply in place.

The passenger in the first plane, a tall, lanky figure rises uneasily from cockpit. The figure stumbles as it tries to mount the ladder and the pilot and ground crew quickly help ease the person down to the tarmac. Meanwhile, the passenger in the other plane, a round, plump figure seems steadier, but is stiff and awkward trying to get out of the plane.

One both passengers are on the ground, all four Excalbians step into the plastic structure and remove their flight suits. They are decontaminated – in case they picked anything from the air after deplaning. (OOC: I’m guessing that word wouldn’t have reached the airfield yet that the fungus can only be passed by close contact with an infected body.) They quickly change into biohazard suits and exit the decon station.

The plump figure, a man, nods to the person who appears to be in charge. “I’m Dr. Janis Emesis, Chief of Genetic Research at the Pantocratorian Ministry of Science and Technology’s Center for Disease Control.” He gestures to the tall woman beside him. “This is Dr. Karen Abolins, my colleague from the Ministry of Defense. We’re here to assist in administering the treatment for this bioagent that was released here…”

"Yes sir, Dr Emesis. Colonel Franc of the Crisis Command Centre is expecting you. Please, follow me." comes the reply. The scientists are shown to cars, and taken to the Crisis Command Centre.

***

Colonel Franc is still sitting at the huge conference table deep in the Crisis Command Centre when the Excalbians arrive. A young Pantocratorian lieutenant named Marie Rénois leads the Excalbians through the busy control room

"Ah, Dr Emesis, Dr Abolins, please, please, sit down." he says. "I want to talk to you about this treatment of yours. Please, sit down. Now, this treatment, tell me, because I'm just about to authorise the administration of it to the personnel in the military prison, is it safe? I need to know all the risks, and I want to hear it from your mouthes, in plain language."

The rotund man looked cautiously at the tall woman, who nodded encouragement. “Well,” Dr. Emesis began, “as you’ve seen by now, the treatment consists of two parts. The first introduces a virus that has been genetically modified to attack only the DNA of the fungus. It will introduce a strand of DNA into the nuclei of the fungus cells that will effectively turn off its own immune system. This part should be completely safe and effective. The virus is harmless to plants to animals and has been used by us in other gene therapies. And, even if the treatment fails, there is no risk of making the situation worse.”

“Alone, this would impair the fungus,” Emesis continued, “but would not kill it quickly enough to do any good. So, we’ve developed a second stage, using the same virus to introduce a completely new strand of DNA.”

“Essentially,” Dr. Abolins interrupted excitedly, “this new DNA hijacks the fungus’ own nuclei and forces the infected fungus cells to produce an amino acid that is toxic to itself. This will kill the fungus.”

“And,” Emesis resumed, “this is where the danger comes in. Since we could not completely sequence the fungus’ DNA and could not produce a series of live trials, there is some chance, perhaps as high as 30%, that other genes will shut off our inserted segment and prevent the treatment from working. There is also a smaller chance, perhaps as high as 15%, that the inserted segment will produce a mutation that could have a perverse effect. Umm, that is it could make the fungus worse…”

"And," Dr. Abolins interrupted again, this time with a stern look on her face, "that is why you'll need to be prepared to destroy the base and everyone in it - including us - if anything goes wrong."

"I don't really want to risk more lives than I have to." says Franc. "Surely, you needn't go in yourselves? We can synthesise this treatment outside of the facility and bring it in in bio-hazard gear. There are doctors on staff there already, not to mention the medical examiner team we brought in to investigate the death of the carrier. They can administer it. You don't need to put your own lives on the line."

Dr. Emesis casts an uneasy look at the slightly younger woman. "I don't disagree with you, Colonel, but I believe Dr. Abolins feels differently..."

The woman looks sharply at the round little man, then turns to COL Franc. "Yes, Colonel, for myself, I feel the need to be there. First, to make sure that everything is done properly. No one has administered these treatment before and Dr. Emesis and I are the only ones 100% familiar with it. Having us," she shoots Emesis a look, "or at least one of us there will help insure that can be done is done. Second, I strongly believe in sharing the fate I would inflict on others. Perhaps it is my military training - I was a Captain in the Army before going into medicine. So, while Dr. Emesis is free to stay behind, I would like to go."

Emesis fidgets then says, "I think I should stay behind so that at least one of us can carry on the work if this attempt fails."

"In that case," Abolins says rising, "let's get started."

Franc rises with the doctors.

"Very well. I should give you one last warning though, Doctor Abolins. If there is any mutation in the disease, I will be bombing that facility along with anybody still inside it. We've just got this thing situation in-hand, I don't want to lose my grip. New Rome is a big city, and one military installation and its personnel is a small price to pay to keep the citizens of New Rome safe." Franc cautions. "Now, if you're still sure about this, then I'll take you over to our medical team, and then get you deployed to the prison."

"Thank you, Colonel," Dr. Abolins says with a nod.

A helicopter touches down on the helitower at the military prison, carrying a lone passenger in bio-hazard gear and some crates of medical supplies. The passenger is Dr Abolins. The helicopter pilots set the copter down gently, and then disembark to help Dr Abolins with her crates. There isn't another soul on the landing pad. After helping her disembark, one of the pilots shakes her hand and wishes her luck, before both return to the chopper, which lifts off shortly after, leaving Dr Abolins alone with her crates.

When the helicopter is well clear of the complex, a lift door opens, out of which step half-a-dozen troops, a lieutenant, and Guillame Richemont. The troops immediately start hauling the boxes into the elevator, as Richemont speaks to Abolins.

"Dr Abolins, I'm Guillame Richemont from the Crown Prosecutor's Office. I came here to interview the original carrier. My English is the best out of all the Pantocratorians here, so they asked me to come up here with them to speak to you." Richemont explains, a dry smile coming across his face as he adds. "Fortunately, I didn't have to climb the stairs. I'm a little short of breath these days. Please, come with me. We've a lab setup already. We all really appreciate you being here. We've been getting nervous about the bombers circling overhead every quarter of an hour..."