Armament

A few days have gone by. As I plop down at my desk, the thought crosses my mind… I haven’t yet seen coffee since I first arrived here. Everyone seems to just get up in the morning and go about their day without any need for caffeine. The sheer stress and excitement of what’s happened so far and the resulting adrenaline has helped me somewhat, but I really, really need coffee. I decide to jot a little note down for this. Even if it’s something like those awful energy drink sodas, I need something, anything.

The second major file on my desk, as I compose it, is an official murder investigation into that Slime Lord, Uragas, for what I personally witnessed when we arrived here in the city. I had already sent Munin and a couple of his dark elf subordinates to scour the area and interview as many of the witnesses as possible, in secret, especially that young man who pulled me aside. As I see it, this investigation must remain off the books until we have an airtight case; and that being said, I’m not even sure the justice system in this city will prosecute it. I put my hand under my chin, a perfect impression of that statue, The Thinker.

First things first, recruitment. The big, all-caps sticky note right in the center of my desk. Conan has given word that his recruits are ready, and I’ve told the dwarves to build us a physical fitness course to put these guys through their paces. The total number ended up being more than 40, once the word got out that we were recruiting. It’s a start.

No word yet from Biru, my favorite Orc. Though, he might not tell me when his kin are ready, they’re probably just going to show up, on their own, all at once. I imagine physical fitness tests would be a waste of time for them. The challenge is going to be getting them to follow policy and procedure, rather than just ripping suspects in half with their bare hands. That’s certainly something I think I’ll outsource.

Munin’s tribe has seamlessly integrated into our little department. Whether motivated by pay, or by justice, they unanimously got the message and follow his lead without question. I wonder if he has any idea how rare that is, or how much I appreciate it. My only issue is that these guys are so stealthy, they just appear in front of my desk when they have an issue, and I don’t ever see them unless I catch them doing work. In fact, the very moment I announce “dismissed” during our daily roll call, all of them vanish into thin air instantaneously. It’s gotta be difficult for those guys to stand there in the open.

As my thoughts drift off, that awful high pitched ringing fills my head. It’s Hue.

“John, some engineers from the Royal College have arrived to speak with you. I’m sending them in.”

Before I can object, I hear a knock at my door. Swallowing my frustration, I let them enter.

In comes four very lanky, tall, nerdy-looking elves, dressed in the same scientists’ robes from my earlier visit where my hand was torn to shreds by their incompetence. Two of these elves are the same guys from back then, the other two are particularly older and more bitter-looking.

“My chief, we have perfected our prototype of the ‘Chief’s Special’, as you call it, and earnestly request your testing of it.”

My chief? Who said I was your chief? These people, man.

I begrudgingly led them out into the rear courtyard, where I’ve had a makeshift firing range set up. Before I even touched their new project weapon, I demanded in no uncertain terms that someone very experienced with healing magic be on-scene. One of the older elves assuages my fears, he’s an expert, supposedly.

Of most concern to me is not their reproduction of the revolver, but rather their ability to synthesize proper ammunition. If they can get bullets right, I won’t be limited to just the 17 rounds in my sidearm that I’ve brought with me, and I can arm non-mage officers to their hearts’ content.

I take their project Chief’s Special up in my hands. It’s shinier than the worn-out example I first saw in the armory, but it feels right. Gingerly, I take aim at the crude straw target downrange. As I squeeze the trigger, I realize these eggheads may have done something right, the trigger pull feels natural.

Pop!

The revolver fires off. Except, there’s no recoil, and barely any sound. I see a bullet tear a hole in the round, straw target, kicking up stray strands. There’s no gunpowder smell or smoke.

I glare at the head engineer.

“What did you people do?”

“Well, sir, we thought you would rather try our most promising example first. We were able to synthesize an alternative to your blasting powder.”

I didn’t ask for a magic firearm. If I wanted magic, I’d just use spells, or just use your god-forsaken College mages and retire for the second time. A few veins pop out on my forehead.

“Give me the one I asked for.”, I mutter, trying my best not to explode on these idiots.

They hurriedly show me an identical revolver. I quickly take aim with it and squeeze off a shot.

Suddenly remembering I didn’t have hearing protection, I’m blasted with the familiar percussive recoil I’d come to love from my days at the range. The acrid, sweet smell of gunpowder fills my nose. A great big smile fills my face.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

I quickly rattle off 4 more rounds, emptying the little J-frame piece. They’ve actually pulled it off. Thank God. All the rounds land squarely on target.

“Give me about 100 of those rounds”; with a wave of a staff, a pile of .38 caliber bullets flashes into existence on the shooting table in front of me.

The next 10 minutes are filled with me gleefully plinking away at our straw backstop. There’s no better stress relief than stacking rounds at 25 yards. The four elves watch on with a mixture of curiosity and anxiety.

It becomes clear to me; they can build firearms. But, speaking objectively, their “most promising example” had positive qualities in its own right. We can make use of both of these.

I hand my Glock over to one of them to scan with their tools, and do my best to sketch a rifle for them, thankfully, I remember the general statistics of our old AR-15s, even if I’m not the best artist. A standard mid-length barrel firing a projectile at about 2,700 feet per second, and a land diameter for the round of about 5.56 millimeters. Thankfully, they seemed to have figured out that .38 rounds needed to be .357 millimeters in diameter; I had forgotten to tell them. Maybe this fresh attempt at re-engineering it was what they needed to overcome this.

Having given these formerly useless scientists a lot to chew on, they take their leave, and I’m left with a big stack of about 500 rounds, and a freshly made Smith and Wesson revolver sitting in front of me. My opinion of the College eggheads has greatly improved.

With a dwarf carrying the great sack of ammunition behind me, I deposit it all in the armory. On my way back to my desk, I sense that awful inner-ear ringing again. Hue.

“John, a shipment from the tailor is arriving shortly. I’m having Maahnn collect it and stage it in the meeting room for your inspection.”

I peer through my window. The gate swings open, a carriage is quickly unloaded with the help of a few dwarves, and boxes upon boxes of goods are walked into the station. I hurried downstairs to take a look.

As each of these wooden boxes are pried apart, I’m met with the sight of pristine, brand new police uniforms, ordered by size. The rather plain, utilitarian double-pocketed shirts, the sturdy work pants, and even the boots I had ordered. A separate box has all the belts, tied together by size for the three general widths of our new applicants. The Orcish uniforms dominate the containers by sheer mass. A final box is full of smaller containers, each with badges and accessories.

As I unwrap one of the badges from its paper packaging, I see our departments’ new insignia. A dwarven style axe and shield, surrounded by the words “Laios Order of Police” in beautiful golden badging. I can’t help but laugh. These guys really can’t resist, can they? It doesn’t bother me anymore. It’s just fine.

I order the dwarves to stage the uniforms for our big meeting tomorrow. We’ll outfit the dark elves first, then put the human applicants through their paces, and at some point eventually the Orcs will show up, if everything goes to plan. I’m overcome with a wonderful sense of satisfaction, watching my boys busily get everything together.