"Ladies and Gentleman, this is your Captain speaking. We will be flying over the city of London in just about 10 minutes, and will begin making our decent at this time. Please return to your seats, and fasten your seat belts. On behalf of our crew, we thank you for flying Union Jack Airways."
As the Captain's voice was finishing the speech, a leggy blonde was making her way down the isle, collecting food trays and such. She smiled and winked as she went by Harry Lang's seat, a hint of red in her eyes. Harry smiled back and peeked his head down the isle as she walked away. "Yes sir," he said. "They certainly have some well-built help on this flight." The young woman sitting next to Harry, his partner Cricket to be exact, was not impressed. She lifted her hand, turning his face to hers. "Yeah, well anything she can do," she began, "I can better." And with that, she drew him in for a long sensual kiss. As that kiss deepend, and then lingered, Harry felt a genuine warmth all through his body. He wonderd if she could really feel it too. The more time they spent together, the harder it got for Harry to remind himself the 'girl' he was kissing wasn't human. He half expected one day to wake up with Cricket saying "Just kidding!", and the whole 'robot' thing had been just an act.
It had been some months since the whole 'Golden Nightingale' affair. Harry Lang, a tall, rather stocky fellow in his late thirties, had relocated to New Chicago from Original New York with his partner, a robot named Cricket. They shared a rather large apartment on the top floor, and from that apartment they ran the New Hope Detective Agency (the name had been her idea). Now Cricket was no ordianary robot. She wasn't a slave, or a servant, and she wasn't anyone's sex toy. As far as Harry and everyone else around them were concerned, they were busniess partners, as well as husband and wife. In her demure just under five foot frame, young Cricket looked like a girl on the budding verge of full womanhood. Her long blond hair was useally done up in braided pig-tails, sometimes like today, wrapped and fastined in a halo around her head. She was dressed in a simple white blouse, grey dress slacks, and wearing her favorite cherry red beret. It was a far cry from the pink "Daddy's Girl" outfit she always had to wear. She was sure she went into shock the day Harry told her to dip into their funds and go shopping for a trip to London....alone....on her own......and get whatever
she though would look good.
They had gotten a video message from one Dr. Nigel Benwolf, the director of the British Museum in London, England. One of the museum's key staff members, one Geoffery Sackler, was found dead in the museum's storeroom. His throat had been sliced from ear to ear. A search by both the museum staff and Scotland Yard had turned up nothing. No murder weapon, no fingerprints, no evidance that anyone but Sackler was in the storeroom that night. And his was not the only mysterious death. The head of the Ancient Egypt department, Ronald Spencer, had been found crushed to death by the weight of a mummy's case that had somehow toppled over with no explanation. Again, no fingerprints, no evidance that anyone but the victim was in the room when the death occoured. It was chacked up to being 'a most unfortunate accident'. Then there was the matter of the Warlord. It seems that in the past few days, anyone who came near the China Gallery was suddenly greeted by what could only be described as a Chinese Warlord in full dress, raising his sword to behead whichever poor innocent soul happend to be standing in his way, and just as the blade was about to strike flesh, the Warlord simply vanished, gone without a trace. To keep the patrons coming, and save the museum from certain bankrupcy, Dr. Benwolf closed off the China Gallery for "rennovations" However, a planned major exhibit for that gallery was now two months away, and action had to be taken. So, where Scotland Yard had failed, perhaps the famous Harry Lang could succeed.
Night had long since fallen when the plane arrived over London. Harry pointed the city lights out to Cricket. "There she is, honey. London." Harry exclaimed. It was a beautiful pattern of bright lights wrapped in a light fog. High above everything else, the figure of what looked like a large clock tower could be made out. Cricket just beamed. "Second star to the right, and straight on till morning."
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Next: The adventure begins.
The Vanishing Warlord - Part 1
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