Friday, June 21, 2013

Losing Cool

"You want to survey the lake of fire?" Jorge asked me.  His usual slow, fluid wording now made it sound like my idea was ridiculous.  Maybe it was.

"Halkkor and I had a violent disagreement," I summarized, breathing heavily, "which ended with him falling into the pit of lava.  I want to see if he survived because if he didn't survive then we are approximately twelve-point-six times more fucked than we were before!"  I slammed my fist on his desk like he wasn't paying enough attention to me.

Okay, so I might be panicking.  The adrenaline from my bizarre little battle with Halkkor was wearing off and now I was worried that he'd come back from the dead like a bad slasher movie villain and skin me alive or something.

Jorge did not seem to appreciate my leaning forward over his desk and bellowing in his face.  He moved backward, palms up defensively.  Thinly, he said, "Sir, this is the Department of Transportation in Hell.  Do you think we have a fleet of helicopters and a pile of sonar equipment just laying around?"

I exhaled sharply through flared nostrils.  "So that's a no, is it?"

"I can help you find another solution, but I can't work miracles.  You hired me for my leadership skills and business sense, not for my reconnaissance expertise, no?" he reminded me.

"You're right," I muttered.  "I should have taken this to Gavsot."  I paced briefly, trying to think and feeling nothing but murkiness in my brain.  "Your men are still watching Halkkor's army, right?" I asked.

"They are," he replied.

"And they're staying put?" I asked.

He nodded.  "One of my men gives me a personal report every thirty minutes.  He has a standing order to report to me immediately in the case of a sudden or urgent development.  There has been no movement."

I nodded, still pacing.  "Okay," I said.  "Good work."  And I teleported away.

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