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avevale_intelligencer"Thrice-bedamned?" Zander totted up on his fingers. "I think your reckoning's a little off."
"I know all about you," Snood boasted. In person he was a lot less impressive than on screen; make-up had covered a multitude of sins. "Your friend Adhemar was most forthcoming." He lounged at ease behind a desk in an office whose decor bordered on the megalomaniacal. A life-size portrait of himself hung above the mantelpiece. (Zander had noted that though nobody burned fossil fuel these days, and few were inclined to waste wood in this way except for religious purposes, humans still liked to put fireplaces, and hence mantelpieces, in their rooms. Some even had holographic fires in them, but it was never the same.)
"Yes, he never could keep his mouth shut," Zander said, "or his nostrils for that matter. Terrible liar, too, of course, you can't believe a word he says."
"So says the Nyrond."
"Well, I should know, then, shouldn't I?" Zander snapped. "Look, Snood, you're out of your depth and you know it. Give me the coup file and I'll see what I can do about resolving this mess."
"It is too late," Snood gloated. "Already I have reached out to other star systems. Tomorrow, I shall control the sector."
"You don't even control all this planet yet."
"It will not matter. Half the population is enough to kill the other half."
Zander debated telling him about the humans-only counter-agent, and decided against it. Snood was precariously balanced on the brink of that esoteric condition technically known as "stark staring bonkers," and if tipped over it might be unable to divulge the whereabouts of the file. Let that be a pleasant surprise for him later.
"Well," he said, "you've won, then. You might as well give me the coup file. Wouldn't want it found on your body, would we?"
"Body?" Snood laughed. "There will be no-one left to find my body, no-one to read the file. Humanity is already dying!"
"There's us," Zander pointed out.
"You will starve for lack of victims, like any other carrion eater," Snood spat. "Now, what shall I do with you?"
He eased open his desk drawer, and ran his fingers caressingly across the cold metal object therein.
"Oh, I don't know," Zander said carelessly. "You could always lock me up somewhere, that's what you pathetic little tyrants usually do."
"I am sure you would contrive to escape," Snood said morosely. "And I know I cannot kill you."
"Why does everyone seem so proud of that? 'I know I can't kill you.' Well, bully for you! Top of the class!" in an instant Zander was gripping Snood's collar across the desk, while with his other hand he forced the drawer shut on the man's hand. "You're going to tell me where the coup file is, you're going to let me walk out of here unharmed and unmolested, you insignificant little do not speak insect, or I am going to show you just a little snippet of what I have gone through in the last few days and you will not like it one bit. The pain in your fingers is only the beginning. We can't take sentient life...but we can do just about anything else we please, and while torture's a bit downmarket for us, it would give me very great pleasure. The file. Now."
Wordlessly whimpering, Snood unlocked another drawer in the desk and drew out a black folder covered with angry-looking red stickers. Zander took it and released his collar.
"You do not want to detain me, do you?" he said, in the same low, dangerous tone. "Good. I'm so glad we had this little chat. I do have a feeling we'll see each other again, though. And this time...the scales will be on the other table." And while Snood was grappling with that one, Seir Gimbalthrust rearranged his hair and apparel and strolled casually out of the office and through the labyrinth of Poppo Headquarters to the exit.
"Odious little man," he said to himself. "And as for you," he added, to the file in his hand, "I have a strong feeling you're not going to make it back to the library."
Had the file been a dog in a flying helmet, it might have sniggered.
"I know all about you," Snood boasted. In person he was a lot less impressive than on screen; make-up had covered a multitude of sins. "Your friend Adhemar was most forthcoming." He lounged at ease behind a desk in an office whose decor bordered on the megalomaniacal. A life-size portrait of himself hung above the mantelpiece. (Zander had noted that though nobody burned fossil fuel these days, and few were inclined to waste wood in this way except for religious purposes, humans still liked to put fireplaces, and hence mantelpieces, in their rooms. Some even had holographic fires in them, but it was never the same.)
"Yes, he never could keep his mouth shut," Zander said, "or his nostrils for that matter. Terrible liar, too, of course, you can't believe a word he says."
"So says the Nyrond."
"Well, I should know, then, shouldn't I?" Zander snapped. "Look, Snood, you're out of your depth and you know it. Give me the coup file and I'll see what I can do about resolving this mess."
"It is too late," Snood gloated. "Already I have reached out to other star systems. Tomorrow, I shall control the sector."
"You don't even control all this planet yet."
"It will not matter. Half the population is enough to kill the other half."
Zander debated telling him about the humans-only counter-agent, and decided against it. Snood was precariously balanced on the brink of that esoteric condition technically known as "stark staring bonkers," and if tipped over it might be unable to divulge the whereabouts of the file. Let that be a pleasant surprise for him later.
"Well," he said, "you've won, then. You might as well give me the coup file. Wouldn't want it found on your body, would we?"
"Body?" Snood laughed. "There will be no-one left to find my body, no-one to read the file. Humanity is already dying!"
"There's us," Zander pointed out.
"You will starve for lack of victims, like any other carrion eater," Snood spat. "Now, what shall I do with you?"
He eased open his desk drawer, and ran his fingers caressingly across the cold metal object therein.
"Oh, I don't know," Zander said carelessly. "You could always lock me up somewhere, that's what you pathetic little tyrants usually do."
"I am sure you would contrive to escape," Snood said morosely. "And I know I cannot kill you."
"Why does everyone seem so proud of that? 'I know I can't kill you.' Well, bully for you! Top of the class!" in an instant Zander was gripping Snood's collar across the desk, while with his other hand he forced the drawer shut on the man's hand. "You're going to tell me where the coup file is, you're going to let me walk out of here unharmed and unmolested, you insignificant little do not speak insect, or I am going to show you just a little snippet of what I have gone through in the last few days and you will not like it one bit. The pain in your fingers is only the beginning. We can't take sentient life...but we can do just about anything else we please, and while torture's a bit downmarket for us, it would give me very great pleasure. The file. Now."
Wordlessly whimpering, Snood unlocked another drawer in the desk and drew out a black folder covered with angry-looking red stickers. Zander took it and released his collar.
"You do not want to detain me, do you?" he said, in the same low, dangerous tone. "Good. I'm so glad we had this little chat. I do have a feeling we'll see each other again, though. And this time...the scales will be on the other table." And while Snood was grappling with that one, Seir Gimbalthrust rearranged his hair and apparel and strolled casually out of the office and through the labyrinth of Poppo Headquarters to the exit.
"Odious little man," he said to himself. "And as for you," he added, to the file in his hand, "I have a strong feeling you're not going to make it back to the library."
Had the file been a dog in a flying helmet, it might have sniggered.
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no subject
Date: 2012-08-03 02:24 pm (UTC)A plethora (such a lovely word: says a lot, but doesn't feel the need to be too specific) of small ships (as opposed to smallships) had dived into planetary orbit and were indulging or engaging or whatever in aerobatic manoevres drawing major attention. Semi-coherent transmissions (a number of which, it must be admitted (reader: please bear in mind that Galen Nyrond was involved) almost implied frenetic interest in Poppo) belaboured the airwaves and (possibly by chance: who knows ?) interfered with the afternoon advertising break on commercial television which was devoted to the virtues of Poppo and of the Glorious Benefactor who had brought the game to Ridding-Goat, Pervilious Snood (although one or two carried a very similar broadcast accidentally referring to him as "Perfidious Snook").
And, in their wake, eight Vigil ships slipped into docks at the planetary space port -- or docked in slips -- and stern-faced men in black uniforms made directly for Snood's office, home, weekend retreat, and (supposedly) love-nest (this last, being based on the erstatz memoirs now being attributed to Snood, was at the same time, both a fiction, and a well-known gentlemen's club and bath-house), there to sequester such persons, documents and artefacts as seemed relevant to enquiries into a number of forged memoirs presently (apparently) being hawked to a number of publishers under a numbert of titles.
As we say, no-one paid a shred of attention to Zander's departure, and even less to a file of papers being dropped into the planetary sun some two hours later.
no subject
Date: 2012-08-03 02:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-03 02:25 pm (UTC)Whistle
Small balloon
Minimal glass of trop