Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn From: caz@owlnet.rice.edu (James Ulysses Cazamias) Subject: [Kron+] Bringing In The Sheaves Message-ID: Date: Sun, 1 Aug 1993 11:46:18 GMT The crow's beady eyes fix on the flash of color in the trees below. Its instincts tell it what to do. A moment later it perches on the branch and hungrily eyes the cluster of berries. They are not a type it has seen before, but its brain is not capable of making fine distinctions such as "new" and "old". It identifies the berries as food, and that is all. The crow crushes several of the berries in its beak and tosses them back. Then it takes flight again, seeking water to wash its meal down. Inside the crow's stomach, foreign microbes penetrate the crow's digestive tissues and enter the bloodstream. They drift through the bird's system, making a tiny alteration here, forming a new connection there. The bird flies on, oblivious to the changes going on inside its own body. The crow spots water: a flash of sun off the jet of one of Generica's famous fountains. It dives. Sharing its eyes, The Green observes all. - * - Twenty-four hours after its arrival in the City of Fountains, The Green is well-established. It has sent secondary taproots down through stone and soil, and now has reliable back-up sources of water in case the redwood-sized alpha root is menaced. It has adapted its chloro- phyll to the cloudy coastal climes and is creating simple sugars at a rate well ahead of consumption. There is more than abundant carbon dioxide in this place, no doubt because of the considerable industry and animal population nearby, and the oxygen outflow is good. The soil will require some conversion, but time will solve all such problems. This place will do. But there are still signs of danger. The Green, for all its sophistication, still does not fully understand these human creatures. It knows that they have been hesitant and uncertain. To its limited knowledge, this spells danger: humans are most dangerous when they do not comprehend what they are dealing with. The Green must make friends fast. But how? - * - Brynne "Red" Mac Liam sits uncomfortably in his office at Watch Headquarters. His leg maimed in the war with the Lizard Tribes, he is often confined to his desk when he wishes to be out and about, getting things done. This problem is exacerbated by the fact that he has recently lost a number of reliable officers, either through dismissal or their disappearance. And their replacements......well...... Lieutenant Hrusp, decides Mac Liam, is no Panarchus. "I have your paperwork, sir," states Hrusp crisply, and salutes. Mac Liam sighs inside and takes the packet of papers. They look to be in order. With Hrusp it is never otherwise. If Red ever found a typo in his weekly reports, he'd shake the man's hand. "Sir, we're getting some reports from the southeast quarter. There's news that the old colliseum there may have collapsed, but all the reports are a little bit hysterical-sounding. We're checking them out fully before we take any action." "How old are the reports?" "The first made its way to headquarters yesterday afternoon." Mac Liam starts. "And you don't know if it's true yet?!" Hrusp, a political appointee, looks slightly wounded. "Well, that part of town is poorly patrolled, sir. It's so poor the thieves leave them alone because there's nothing to steal. We couldn't just...." "Great Blazing Turds of Sheol," mutters Mac Liam. "A complex that size falls in, and we're sitting around with our thumbs up our butts. Who knows who could have moved in when the Gypsies rolled out? We could have a major crisis on our hands. Why didn't you tell me sooner, you pinhead??" "....I....sir, I've got our best patrol out there now, looking things over." Uh-oh. "What do you mean, exactly, 'Best patrol'?" "Well, sir, Sergeant Thunderhead...." "THUNDERHEAD?!!" "Sir! He's our best field man, hands down. Why, in arrests alone...." "Hrusp? Hrusp? Come closer. Closer. Yes. Good. Hrusp, I have no questions about Thunderhead's prowess with swords, or his ability to interrogate frightened shopkeepers, or his talent to lead watchmen in a raid on a smuggler's den. These things he is very good at. Now, I want you to bend in close here, because this next bit is so important I'm going to whisper it.....you see, the one thing Thunderhead is *not* so good at is thinking. Thinking. It's the thing you do with the mushy stuff in your skull -- remember? No? Anyway, Thunderhead couldn't think his way out of a paper bag. But you -- you, Hrusp, my lad..... "You couldn't help him out from the outside. "YOU MORON !!!!!!" Hrusp holds his ears and waits for the storm to pass. After a few minutes it does. He backs nervously out of the office, giving the appropriate salute. At the last minute he pauses. "Is there anything else I can do, sir?" Mac Liam speaks without raising his head from his desk. "Yes. Go out and find Kron. "And offer him your job." - * - "Oh, Gods, no......tell me it's a mistake. Tell me they didn't send you." "Shaddap, Kron, and crawl back under the rock you've been hiding under. And get out of my way -- I'm on official Watch business." "Neat! Mind if I tag along? I'm dying to see my star pupil in action." "Blow me. You almost cost me my commission, you bastard." "Anybody who can't pass an exam on legal procedure has no business upholding the law." "I know the law just fine. Will you move?" "Yeah, you're a regular barrister, Thunderhead. Like those brutality charges -- three cases, wasn't it? Funny how the victims never showed in court......dinner dates, perhaps....." "Yeah, well, I never snuffed nobody. Like some folks I could mention." "Mention them sometime when you're off duty." "Anytime, you geezer. Hey, didn't you have grey hair?" "Pure living, sonny. Where we going?" "Hyrexes Battleground. Some kind of disturbance. You're not coming." !!! "Well, that's fine with me. Pretty boring to look at anyway....." "Hey! What? You been there already? Hey! HEY!!!!" - * - They stand at the far side of the Dhakri Plaza, which once lay at the feet of the gates of Hyrexes' Battleground. Long lines once formed here, for the citizens of Generica to watch men and beasts perish in outlandish contests and bloodsports. Like the Battleground, those uncivilized days are gone. On the surface, that is. "Holy Humpin' Hippogryphs." "Amazing, isn't it?" "It's a forest." "Perceptive! I like that in a Watchman. It helps them find clues. I think I may have found one, once...." "It's a real, live, cock-in-the-eyesocket forest." "...and such a command of the spoken word! Here: try this: 'She walks in beauty like the fookin' night....'" "It's twitching!" "No, it's flinching. You've got it running scared, big guy." Thunderhead turns to look at Kron. "You know, you and your smart mouth are starting to piss me off. I might just have to bust your ass for fucking with an official investigation." Kron leans tiredly against a wall. "Thunderhead, you really should get a span of attention. They're handy. For instance, in this situation, a *real* watch officer would be forming a plan of action instead of letting some nebbish like me get his goat." "What do you want me to do, Supercop? Arrest a tree? Charge it with loitering?" "No, no....look. You have come across something totally new and different. It is not menacing anybody, but you can't just leave it there without figuring out what it is. Your options are: 1) Go up there and take a closer look; 2) organize a survey team; 3) alert your superiors and ask the Mage's Guild to take a peek......" "We'll burn it down." "......excuse me?" Thunderhead has the look of divinely-sent purpose etched on his face. "It's obviously black magic or something like that. We'll burn it down. Trees burn." He sorties his men and starts marching back towards headquarters. Kron hurries to catch up. "You *can't* just burn it down! You don't know anything about it!" "Yes I do. I know there's a huge, twitching forest where there shouldn't be a forest. I know it munched the Battleground, and it's only a matter of time before it starts munching on something else. I know it's weird, and magical, and it needs to be taken out." "But....but....." "Kron, you never did have any spine. You always could bitch and moan, but when it came to the big decisions, you'd waffle until somebody took some action. Somebody like me. Get out of my way." "Stop. You've got to listen to me." Thunderhead cocks his head and sneers up at Kron. "About one more second of this, Kron, and I'll have a fine excuse to pound you like a piece of veal. Are you gonna obstruct justice on me?" Kron knows the threat is idle: only this morning he tested his plant-grown limbs to their fullest extent, and found that he could easily put his fist through a solid wall. However, pulping Thunderhead will only make him a renegade, and he can't help the Green if he's been executed for assaulting a watchman. He steps out of the way. Thunderhead's patrol marches off down the street. Kron blinks at them. Kron looks around. The ever-present crowd of beggars and huddled masses peers out from a nearby alleyway; they begin to withdraw as Kron's eyes fall upon them. An idea forms in his head. He explains. - * - Thunderhead oversees preparations at southeast subsector HQ. Fifty men with heavy padded armor are forming up for inspection in the yard. They have casks of pitch, and flasks of oil, and lots of torches. Thunderhead is pleased. They'll give him a medal for this. - * - The little girl stares at Kron. She's drooling. "Whutcha got?" Munch. Munch. "Banana." Munch. Munch. "Kin I have some?" Munch. Munch. "Maybe....." Munch. Gulp. ".......pleeeeeeeze?" Munch. Munch. Speculative look. "Weeeeeeeell....okay. See up there in that forest?" - * - "Hut-two-three-four-hut-two-three-four-huhray-ut...TURN!" The formation turns with a high degree of precision. Thunderhead marches at the front. Crowds are starting to gather, watching the procession go past. Good. "Hut-two-three-four....." The canister at Thunderhead's waist sloshes comfortingly. Ah, the smell of paraffin in the morning...... - * - Say.....izzat a CANTALOUPE? - * - Slight holdup at the corner of Mizzenmast and Lamplighter Way; one of those accursed flea markets has sprung up again. Hell to move troops through. "Hut-two-three-four......HEY, MOVE IT, LADY!" Don't people know to get out of the way of the Watch? Got a city to save..... - * - "Blackberries!" "You sure?" "Sure I'm sure!" "Did he say blackberries?" "I heared it meself!" "Where'd you get those pears, hmm?" "Git some yerself!" "Say, look up there!" "Cranberries, or I'm a monkey's uncle!" "Naw, them's dogberries! Bitter, but they make a wine...." "Well, if SHE can get some, I figure I can too...." "Hey, what'd yuh see?" "Blackberries!" - * - "Hut-two-three-four....." NOW what?! "MOVE OUT OF THE WAY! COMING THROUGH! GET OUT OF THE......" Way??? - * - Kron's leaning against a wall again, munching on an apple. Thunderhead storms up, his face purple. "WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON HERE?" "mmmph.....'scuse me.....'s an apple. Good, too. Try a bite?" "What are all those people doing??!!" Kron gives him an innocent, wide-eyed look. "Jeepers, officer, I'd think it would be obvious. These good citizens are simply taking advantage of nature's bounty." "They're practically inside the forest!" "Nope: They're inside it, all right. And you'll have a hell of a time getting them out." Thunderhead takes a good long look. Hundreds of the poor and hungry are climbing around and in the trees of Kron Park, picking fruit and eating it. They sing songs, and carry loads of provender back home, using any containers that come to hand. No danger of the forest emptying, though: word of mouth is a powerful force in Generica, and every minute more people arrive to see what all the fuss is about. Thunderhead sits down heavily on the ground. An orange falls out of a speeding basket and rolls across the pavement, bumping into his legs. He picks it up, stares at it, sniffs it, and throws it irritably away. Kron smiles broadly at the Watch troops, who stand by uncertainly. He reaches down and pats Thunderhead on the back. "Gee, a torchlight procession. You shouldn't have." - * - Around two in the morning it starts to rain. An elderly man stirs at the first drops as they splatter on his face. He grumpily climbs to his feet, stepping on discarded fruit rinds, and prepares to climb down from the forest to seek shelter. He is surprised when, moments later, the water stops falling but the sound of the rain does not. Looking up, he sees that huge palm-like fronds have opened up over his head. The moon shows him clearly that, on both sides of the path, similar plants have grown up over every one of Kron Park's nocturnal inhabitants. "Oh. Hmm. Well." The rain patters down on the leafy canopy. "Ah. Well, er, thank you, ah, tree. Yes. Good." The mossy bed is soft and warm. "Hmm. Well. How peculiar." And with that he lies down and goes back to sleep. - * - ADMIN: Kron Park is now friendly, but cannot communicate well with humans. We're working on that, though. Feel free to stop by! -- HWRNMNBSOL