*** Meanwhile, out on the west coast...
Remember the little "Goldilocks", the little blonde toy that Monnie keeps for a playmate? This is what starts to happen to her. It also starts out with sadness, but hey, ya get the bad with the good, right?
This one had to be long, just like the last one, I'm afraid. But things are beginning to move along as this picks up speed. If you've followed this, thanks, and I hope it's liked. 0_o
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Book of the Forsaken Part 9
Bronn Qums sat in the 'office' that he'd been ordered to appear in -- at the appointed hour and on the appointed day. He had no idea whatsoever why he'd been summoned here, either.
At first, he'd thought that it was about his caseload and he thought that he'd be asked to summarize where he was in each case, so he'd prepared for that, bringing everything that could possibly be required in that event -- and it had been a ton of work to do that, too.
But that wasn't the purpose for this meeting at all. This was more like an interview for some unknown (to him at this point) purpose.
He flicked his long dark hair out of his eyes and sat back in the chair with his arms and ankles crossed, fuming a little at the waste of his time. Then he thought that the posture would be noticed and some inane and stupid body language rule might be applied, which likely told that his posture was indicative of some sort of psychoanalytical signpost which could be interpreted by one of the countless twerps who were employed for just that sort of nonsense - to waste more funding on nothing but the employment of those very same twerps.
He dropped his hands to his lap.
He was there alone. He was the sole living occupant of the room, and he spoke to someone somewhere else, likely right down the hall, he thought. It pissed him off to no end. He was an investigative agent, charged with keeping the peace and running down criminals -- of which there was no shortage in the larger Merren cities. And why was that?
He snorted as silently as he could. Because people like him were kept off the streets and out of their jobs , sitting in offices and answering drivel spewed at them by little boxes disguised as idols of the faith.
Everything was about the faith, he thought, and almost nothing of what really went on had the slightest thing to do with that faith.
He was young and early in his career, certainly, he thought. But he was damn good at it all the same.
"We have a new assignment for you, "the little box whirred from its place on the desk in front of him, "Your caseload is to be transferred to others. It is noted that you brought everything along and that is an indicator that you are thorough, young Qums. You are instructed to leave it in a neat pile on this desk at the end of this meeting for redistribution."
Bronn bit down on his tongue right then, deciding that a silent nod would have to do in the place of the protest which he really wanted to throw up. Many of his cases were nearly at completion, and now some stupid and half-dead snerk was going to finish them and no doubt line his nest with the rewards as the clock ticked down to his or her retirement. Half of the ones that he shared office space with hadn't been outside and on the job in decades.
"You have been chosen for several reasons," he heard the tinny voice drone, "You are very successful and accomplished in bringing results forward in a timely manner. You are young and energetic, being driven no doubt by your youthful enthusiasm and idealism. You are a shining example of what the Merren educational system and policing institutions are able to produce, given the right students at intake time. You-"
"With respect," he said," I am able to produce the results which I do because I am a product of those systems. And as such, I was able to determine fairly early on -- right after I hit the streets and watched as my training mentor was killed in front of me while following the same procedures that I was taught. My surmisal afterward was that what I'd been taught was useless to me and so I formed my own methods, deciding to stay within the law while throwing the rest away."
He waited for the blast, but none came after the long moment of silence.
"We were about to commend you on your ability to reason and deduce patterns in criminal investigations which we interpret as your startling tendencies toward unconventional logic and thought processes, but no matter."
Bronn looked down as he smirked.
It didn't matter, he thought. You could call them on their ability to make fertilizer and they didn't miss a beat. They just made more to cover your arguments.
"In any event," the box rattled, "there is one overriding reason why you were selected -- you have no dependents and no traceable family connections. That is necessary now because for the purpose of this assignment, you are going off-world."
His jaw dropped right then.
"Off-world?" he asked incredulously, and the idol sounded a little smug in its reply.
"Yes. You are needed to find the cause of a set of troubling circumstances and expenses. This will take you far from your usual sort of investigations. We have reason to believe that there has been and continues to be criminal activity on a far-flung and unimportant world. But those activities threaten that world and it is believed that there is an attempt being made to shape that world so that we might be convinced to return there to extract resources.
It was decided some time ago that our efforts there be curtailed, since the world is inhabited. Efforts of this nature there would contravene The Balance. As well, this world has suffered for some time from the importation of Red demons from many places, so that the natural inhabitants there would be decimated eventually. This is a blatant disregard of The Laws of The Balance and cannot be tolerated.
We had a ranger there for a time, but he is lost to us and it is believed that he no longer lives, since we cannot establish thought communications with him.
Most troubling of all are the expenses brought forward by a certain minister in our own government though they are well-buried to be sure. Our investigations have revealed that we are forced to pay exorbitant invoices sent by the Xer military for the lease of a sophisticated and unidentifiable war craft, weapons, and the wages of its crew, though thank The Balance that it is only one pilot. The cost for that pilot's service is high, nonetheless. The minister pays the invoices, but makes up the loss by skimming from other accounts.