... we came in?

	In the city of Rhye, things progressed much as they had for the
last twenty years.  Various townspeople milled about aimlessly, wandering
the decrepit streets in a general funk. After two decades of oppression
by the forces of the Hellwyrm, life for most people involved avoiding the
soldiers, steering clear of the mindless ones, and just trying to survive.
	Which meant, naturally, that the townsfolk took no notice of the
odd happenings nearby.
	Inside a small side street, a place that had been abandoned for
years, even before the Master's arrival, something strange began to
happen. A wind began to blow, picking trash up off the street and
swirling it around. Lightning flashed silently as the wind increased
speed. The walls twisted, the fabric of reality bending around a small
circular opening in the center of the storm. Blue light poured out of the
opening, shining brighter as the hole widened.
	Finally, with a loud *SNAP*, the storm ended, leaving a man in a
green coat laying on the cobblestone street.
	The man raised his head, shaking the garbage out of his shaggy
brown hair, and looked around.
	"*Dude,*" he said, "what. A. RIDE!"

// "Main Title 4th Season" Christopher Franke, _Babylon 5_ //

VRDET- The Marraketh Connection

Fear and Loathing in Marraketh
Act One
or
"Lies, deceit, and treachery; but it's all in good fun!"
By Sean M. Breen

"There're more ways to futter a cat than just stuffing its head in a sea
boot."
		--Sturgeon's Other Law

SOMEWHERE IN RHYE, MARRAKETH
TIME ELAPSED FROM ABDUCTION: >6:30:00

	Mal sat up on the cobblestones, shaking the dust out of his
clothes. "Damn," he grumbled to himself, "that ride was a bit on the
rough side. Have to check the gravitational compensators when I get
back." He looked around the alley, then took a quick look at the
neighboring street. "Hm, early Renaissance architecture, fairly drab,
buncha unhappy people milling about. Has to be Marraketh."
	Having made his quick judgment, Mal stood up, and pondered.  The
green lab coat and black denim arrangement would be just a touch out of
place in these surroundings. So, a quick change of wardrobe was required.
Mal concentrated, and as he did so, his clothes shifted, changing from his
usual attire to a greyish-brown tunic, buckskin pants, and simple grey
cloak.
	Mal looked down at himself and grinned. "Perfect. Ready for a
night on the town, me bucko."
	And he stepped out into the street.

//"Civilization" Basil Poledouris, _Conan the Barbarian_//

	The once and future capital of Marraketh had obviously seen better
days. As Mal walked through the streets, he noted signs of long-ago
damage that had never been truly repaired.
	*Damn, somebody had a serious knock-down fight here,* he thought
as he passed the ruins of what had been a truly impressive building. He
turned his attention away from the scenery (and rather drab scenery at
that), and began scrutinizing the people. For the most part, they were
all clothed in the same ragged fashions. Every now and then, Mal wandered
into a group of adults dressed in purple and green motley, playing like a
bunch of young children in the street. He noted that the less colorful
passersby made every effort to avoid coming close to them. *Spoungin. Of
course.  Amazing that the rest of these people aren't worse off, though.*
	Mal paused in the road, and moved off to one side. He
concentrated, trying to glean thoughts out of the babble.
	<*qwjkeh wekjrh wejh plbe!*>
	<*wiuhobgfb roiu erhjre plbe dbdjdfkyr? HJTHUHYG!*>
	<*jsdjh fdiuew behjbdyj you thief! Don't try and stiff me!*>
	<*Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts...*>
	Mal smiled a small smile. "Oh, good," he murmured, "that's much
better than trying to fake knowing the language."
	Mal was so pleased with his newfound language ability that he
almost missed the platoon of soldiers bearing down on him at doubletime
march. He jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding being run down by the
sheer mass of high-speed armor and sword. Unfortunately, Mal wasn't
quite fast enough to avoid being struck on the shoulder by the rear guard.
	"Out of the way, peon!" the soldier growled as he marched past.
	Mal growled in return, deciding that this was as good a time as
any to see if he had the language down right. "Come back here and make
me, you pansy-assed rodent," he taunted.
	The entire platoon stiffened, turned, and charged towards Mal as
one unit.
	"Ah heh, ah heh, oops."
	Mal dashed off in the opposite direction, reflecting that
insulting the local constabulary is *not* the best way to check your
language skills.

A SHORT WHILE LATER...

	Mal stepped out of his hiding place, watching the platoon's backs
recede. It had been a rather... uncomfortable day, ducking in and out of
various alleyways and cubbyholes. Still, it wasn't for nothing. At least
he had a more thorough knowledge of the city's layout now. And, he did
establish that he knew the language.
	Still, enough fun and games. Time to get to work.
	Mal strolled down one of the wide avenues leading to the castle in
the center of the city. From his vantage point, he could see the castle,
a big pile of heavy masonry looming over the rooftops, the center tower
painted sloppily in purple and green, and banners of the same neon hues
drifting lazily in the afternoon breeze.
	As he got closer, he started to notice the heavy wall blocking the
courtyard off from the street. The wall looked like it was built to
withstand the Wrath of God. Two stories of sheer stone wall, with armored
guardsmen standing vigil along the top.  At the base, he saw that there
was only one gate, a heavy iron portcullis, also guarded.
	Mal swore softly to himself. *Dammit, that much armor on the
walls means our boy is paranoid about something. Probably knows that he's
taken a Jihaddi, and he's expecting a full frontal assault. In any case,
I know _I_ can't go in there. Too much brick and guards to take care of.
I try, and Kat's dead before I get into the inner sanctum.*
	*Which means I'm going to have to take a more subtle approach.
But what, exactly, would work on these people?*
	The screech of the portcullis opening and closing drew Mal out of
his reverie. To his surprise, he noticed a man in uniform hurrying out
past the gate and down the street.
	*I suppose stealing a uniform and smuggling myself in as a guard
would work, ne?*
	Mal swiftly followed the man down the street. He and his quarry
ducked down a number of twisty little side-streets until they came to a
small, run down building. Mal's target looked nervously to both sides,
then opened the door.

***

	The Grey Horse, twenty years ago, was considered the finest
drinking establishment in the whole of Marraketh by the most prestigious
alcoholics in the Kingdom. Now, with the Master and his Lord Protector
Harldcast running the roost, the Grey Horse had fallen into disrepair and
disuse. Which made it a perfect place to hide a resistance movement.
	Remmick entered the Grey Horse, threw off his outer cloak, and sat
down at the nearest table.  "We're in trouble," he announced without
preamble.
	The collected members of the Marraketh Remote Frontier Guard
didn't bother to look up from their ales.
	"So what else is new," came a grumbling from the rear of the
tavern.  "We've been in trouble for the last twenty years, Remmick.  How
could we be in even *more* trouble now?"
	"Sid has managed to capture Tyrene's daughter, that's how,"
Remmick responded gloomily.
	The bar erupted in outrage and confusion.
	"What!?"
	"That's impossible, how did--?"
	"By the Old Man Across the Sea...!"
	"Wait, wait!  Let Remmick finish!"
	Remmick sighed. "I don't know the particulars, but Sid managed to
find out where she had been sent, and placed his son in as a spy, right
under our compatriots' noses! A few hours ago, the Master's forces lured
her into a trap. Now Sid has her, and we are all doomed."
	"Remmick, you can't possibly mean that! We can still fight!"
	"Are you mad? The one member of our race who *doesn't* follow the
codes, and she's in the hands of the enemy? If she's turned --"  Remmick
broke off as the door opened, revealing a stranger standing in the
doorway. The man glanced across the room, then let his eyes rest upon
Remmick.
	"What's your name, friend?" Asked the stranger.
	Remmick answered warily, "Remmick."
	The stranger strode into the tavern and sat down facing Remmick.
"Remmick. A good name. I approve. I will drink with you, in that case."
	"I didn't catch your name, friend."
	"That's probably because I didn't give it."  The stranger smiled
slightly. "What's the house special?"
	"Ale, but not a very good one, I'm afraid."
	"No matter, drunk worse ales in worse places than this." The
stranger grabbed a mug of ale off the bar counter and drained it in one
gulp. He winced, "I stand corrected. This is pretty nasty stuff. Make
it yourselves, do you?"
	"Er, something like that. I haven't seen you in Rhye before,
stranger."
	"Of course not, I'm... from out of town."
	"Ah." Remmick saw it now: the stranger was a spy, no doubt, 
sent with orders to infiltrate and betray the MRFG. Spies and traitors 
had come into the Grey Horse in the past. Usually, they didn't leave.
	"So," continued the stranger, "what's with the big purple and
green banners on the castle? Looks like a festival today."
	"You... could say that. The Master and the Lord Protector have
managed to capture an important resistance leader."
        "Resistance, eh? I see."
        "Say, stranger, you never did say where you came from, did you?"
        "Didn't I? Ah, my mistake. My apologies. I came here from
Chi-Lin, over the mountains."
	At the admission of guilt, Remmick leaped up and drew his sword.
Almost as if choreographed, everybody else in the room did same, and
carefully aimed their weapons at the stranger's head. The stranger, for 
his part, seemed totally unruffled by this sudden display of weaponry. 
"Is there a problem, gentlemen?"
	"You're damned right there's a problem!" snarled Remmick.
"Nobody's come over the mountains from Chi-Lin in centuries! Only a spy
for Harldcast would be so foolish! DIE!"
	The stranger took hold of the tip of Remmick's sword, staring deep
into the resistance leader's eyes. "Now, let's not be too hasty here," he
said. "What if I told you that I was the leader of an army sent here to
do away with both Harldcast and the Master?" 
	Remmick moved his sword a hair closer to the stranger's neck. "I 
would say that a spy would try and gain our confidence in any possible."
	"Logical," replied the stranger. "And if I told you my army was
less than six days' ride from here? Or how about that when they arrive,
you can feel free to begin scaling the walls, rousing the rabble, and
whatever else you may have planned to win your battle?"
	Remmick was flabbergasted. No spy would boast of such forces,
especially not with death so close at hand. "I... wouldn't know,
exactly," he stammered.
	"I would, however. Listen to me: My forces will arrive within 
the week. Harldcast knows this; that's why the entire army's watching 
the roads into the city. When my soldiers reach the gates, there's 
going to be a huge battle, and while they're distracted fighting my 
forces..." The stranger trailed off.
	Remmick picked up on the closing thought. "...They will be easy
prey for an assault within the city!"
	"Remmick, my lad, I think you're catching on!" The stranger
smiled broadly at Remmick. "Now, if you're mostly satisfied, could you
please put away your pigstickers and we'll get to business?"
	Remmick sheathed his sword, and with a nod ordered the rest of his
forces to do same.

A FEW MINUTES OF DRINKING AND CELEBRATING LATER...

	Mal sat at the table, with Remmick and his closest associates
gathered around a crude map of Rhye.
	"The key to leaving Rhye mostly unprotected is to feed Sid's
paranoia," Mal lectured. "The more frightened of the Jihaddi he is, the
less worried he'll be about the underground rising up inside his defense
perimeter. So, we have to scare Sid to within an inch of his life of the
Jihaddi, the monster killing machines that never stop." *As opposed to
the random gang of screwballs I know we sent here, but I sure as hell
won't say THAT.*
	"But, to do that, you have to get into the castle and actually 
talk to Sid." Remmick protested. "I can pose as a guard, but you're an
outlander..."
	"Remmick, me lad, a wise man on Earth once said that there's more
than one way to solve a problem. If I can't pose as a native and be
accepted..."
	Mal pulled a wooden object out from under his cloak, laid it on
the table, and twirled it absently as he continued. "...then I'll just
pose as an outlander that Sid will accept."

***

	Mal stared at the huge castle gates. The soldiers in front
continued to hold vigil, even though the gates themselves would probably
hold up against any assault.
	He looked down at the wooden mask in his hands. *Well,* he
thought, *here goes nothing. Hope those Drama 103 classes I took serve me
well here.* Mal attached the mask to his face, and concentrated
furiously. Around him, his clothes began to shimmer and change...

***
	
	The guards at the castle's door stood patiently, watching the
dispirited citizens of Rhye walk past. Even though nobody had actually
tried to attack the castle since the Master's takeover, the guards were
still stationed out front, to protect the castle and the Master's chosen
ones.
	Thus, after endless days of boring duty, the two guards on duty
were startled to see a creature glide up to the front door and nod its
head by way of greeting.
	The thing was tall, covered from head to toe in smoke-grey robes.
It's face was covered by a mask of carved wood. The eyes seemed to
shimmer and glow in the afternoon light, and when they looked at the
soldiers, they seem to look *through* them as well, as if they were
deigning to notice something totally unworthy of their attention.
	The apparition intoned, "I am Kal'El, of the Seventh Circle of
Lyra.  I have business with your master. Take me to him."

TO BE CONTINUED? YOU BET YOUR ASS TO BE CONTINUED!

Isn't this where...

//"After, in the dark" Kanno Yoko, _Macross Plus_ soundtrack//