Chapter 159: (Dorknyss) (1/2)
The city streets were quiet. Since the mantid diplomat had been dragged away cursing and raving things had been a little odd. Street lights would go out, advertisement street holo's would suddenly stop and just stare at a being walking by.
Most of the food dispensers didn't work or took your creds and called the LawSec on you for sexual harassment.
And many many beings reported seeing Terrans lurking about the back alleys, on fire, asking if random beings knew what time it was.
As the head security being of the Council City, it was Dratmo'o's job to ensure that everything went normally. Since the Mantid had left things were still being difficult. On top of the Terran holo, the food dispensers being investigated for planning a plot to overthrow the 'oppression of the drink dispensers', random time pieces ceasing to work, and other strange things, many beings had complained of hearing creepy unsettling music wafting out of storm drains and random pipes.
So far Dratmo'o hadn't discovered anything more spooky than a janitorial robot that appeared to malfunctioned and chased everyone around making mono-tone 'dun dun' noises that slowly got faster and faster until it tried to bite them. That had been fixed by just restarting it.
Still, he was required to stay late in his office, wishing he had something else to do besides read another report from some functionary who was bleating about this resource or that resource or how about nobody had polished their hind hoof or kissed their hoof. He opened the next message and sighed. It was a Third Most High who had attached video proof of a Second Most High having cookie crumbs on his rank sash, completely omitted the context that the Second Most High was apparently having a cookie and tea party with several young Neo-Sapient children in a photo opportunity.
Part of Dratmo'o wished his could load the Third Most High into a cannon and, to use Dreams phrase, fire him into the sun.
To be honest? City Security Most High Dratmo'o had liked the mantid diplomat. She had been disrespectful in an amusing way. It had taken a little while to figure out what he had liked about her, he'd even had to look through several lexicons to find out what was so special.
She had style, which was something that all of Dratmo'o's peers lacked. They were all identical except from some minor cosmetic fur colorings and what sashes they wore. To amuse himself he had sent a questionnaire to ten thousand of Second through Sixth Most Highs then compared the results.
99.98% match within statistically acceptable bell curve deviation ranges.
The only different two were a Sixth Most High with a 'secret' desire to watch Mechbash fights in the nude while he knitted blankets for the poor and a Third Most High who had once drunkenly confided to Dratmo'o that he liked to watch pornographic eVR's where he would select the opposite sex of his own to experience it after using a filter to remove all the color from the sim.
Two deviants. Out of ten thousand.
Curious, he had asked Dreams how many deviants were in Terran Descent Human society. She had simply asked ”Out of how many?” and when Dratmo'o had answered ten thousand Dreams had simply stated ”Eleven thousand. Somehow.”
That had given him a sensible chuckle. Which was the best kind of chuckle.
Dratmo'o finished reading the last communique, which was the MilSec Most High complaining that his men were being overworked sweeping the streets with LawSec and CorpSec to attempt to discover the source of the creepy music.
He finished dealing with his endless paperwork, logged out of his terminal, and left his office. When he got into the elevator and pressed the third level of the parking garage he sighed.
Dratmo'o wondered what everyone would do if he went to the roof and took his security hovercraft home, flew low over the wealth corporate class's estates blaring out ”I AM DRATMO'O, YOUR SOCIAL SUPERIOR IN EVERY WAY!” over the loudspeakers.
They would undoubtedly complain to the Military Security Council about it, smugly inflating their crests at the thought of Dratmo'o being punished.
The lights flickered several times in the elevator, making Dratmo'o sigh. He'd seen the maintenance beings practically pulling their hair out over the problems in the computer and electrical system. For a few days it wasn't an uncommon sight in the Unified Council buildings to find a Lanaktallan somehow dead from a maintenance mishap. Neo-Sapiens and Near-Civilized seemed to fine, but Lanaktallan had to watch out for everything from exploding lights to walls falling to electrical cords falling from the roof and strangling them.
Most maintenance crews moved about with CounSec escorts now.
The elevator door opened and Dratmo'o started moving toward his private limo. He didn't trust other beings to drive for him so he didn't have a driver waiting. Walking through the parking garage the lights started flickering again.
'blah bleh-blah' whispered from behind him.
He turned, whirling around, and saw the suggestion of a narrow pale face. A Terran face.
”Who's there?” Dratmo'o asked. His hand slipped into his satchel, finding the comfortable grip of the illegal needler pistol he kept on him at all times.
Nobeing answered and after a moment the lights flickered on, revealing emptiness.
I must be working too hard, Dratmo'o though to himself. He turned around, trotting toward his limo.
”blah bleh-blah,” was whispered from the darkness to the left.
Dratmo'o whipped out the pistol as he whirled to face the sound.
Nothing.
Wings, like the small scavenger birds that haunted underground parking areas, passed over him.
Looking around to make sure nobody had seen him pull the illegal weapon out, Dratmo'o kept trotting toward his car.
”blah bleh-blah,” again. He pulled out the pistol and fired twice at the pale blur he saw, teaching that sign about only parking in your own space a lesson it wouldn't forget.
Shaking, Dratmo'o put the pistol away and hurried to his car. He was punching in the code on the door handle when he saw it reflected in his tinted windows.
A pale face, a human face, with a wide cleft chin, high cheekbones, pointed ears, red eyes, and bloodless lips drawn back from fangs in his mouth.
He whirled around, jamming his thumb painfully when he tried to grab his pistol again.
Nothing.
Nothing but flickering lights, the sound of birds, and the parking garage, which Dratmo'o decided suddenly looked creepy.
He got in his vehicle quickly, starting it up and pulling out.
When he looked behind him with his rear eyes he saw it.
Standing in the darkened far end of the line of vehicles.
The Terran.
Black cape wrapped around itself, long black hair pulled back from the V of hair on the forehead, pale bluish skin, high cheekbones, pointed ears, and a stern expression.
Making noises of distress, Dratmo'o pressed on the accelerator and roared around the corner, up and out of the parking garage in the shriek of tires.
Back in the garage Tru'umlo'o yawned with his eyes closed as he turned the end of the line of cars. He hadn't had much sleep lately and barely noticed the thump. He bleerily blinked his eyes and missed the trembling hand trying to reach up onto the trunk that dropped back down when he hit the accellerator. Yawning again and rubbing his eyes he pulled up onto the street and drove away.
Several pedestrians wondered what Tru'umlo'o was dragging behind his car till he went around the corner and the object was flung off and into the decorative bushes in front of the Unified Council Monetary Fund Management Building. When several bystanders trotted over to the bushes to check they drew back with cries of alarm when blacked winged mammals burst out of the foliage and flew up into the night sky.
Dratmo'o drove quickly for almost three miles until the shaking stopped. Finally he slowed down. He couldn't have seen a Terran. They'd all left months ago. One wouldn't stay behind, LawSec or MilSec or CounSec would have found it by now.
He'd almost relaxed when he saw the Terran again. He stared at the tall dark figure, wrapped in the black cape with the high collar, as he drove by. The Terran was standing beneath the only working street light on the block.
Watching.
Menacingly.
Making distressed noises Dratmo'o looked straight ahead and took the next corner, taking two more before turning back onto the street he took back home.
He saw the Terran again! Standing in the doorway of a habitation complex! The cloak wrapped around it, its arms crossed, the bottom of the cloak whipping to one side as if it was being pulled by a strong wind.