So it was deep into summer, and I was still working on Mother May I, when I discovered my next investigation. I'd heard about the illicit black market trade in Selvadoradan artifacts. The Selvadoradan government had been trying to clamp down on it, but having little luck. So, for fact-gathering purposes, I booked a flight down there. It's a beautiful country.

While I was there, I quickly discovered the problem. As is usually the case, it was money. Corruption, to be precise. The government officially wanted to stop the trade in artifacts, but the individuals who worked for the government unofficially wanted to line their pockets with bribes. A few simoleons to the right guy could get you a permit to take anything you wanted out of the country "for historical research purposes." The permit always included the caveat that, once the research was finished, the artifact would be returned to Selvadorada for proper display in a local museum, but in practice, the research was never finished, and the artifact ended up adorning some rich person's game room.

I decided to test this. I bought one of these permits myself, then ventured into the jungle.

The journey alone was worth the expenditure. It's really quite an experience, exploring the ruins of a civilization that was wiped out by colonialists four hundred years ago. I even took a dip in the Royal Baths, which were supposed to be off-limits, but no one was there to enforce it.

And, after digging around, I was able to find some trinkets which I authenticated as genuine Omiscan artifacts.

The next step was to take them back home, and see what I could get for them on the underground market. But before I left, I had to meet some of the locals, too. I quickly took a liking to a young woman named Paula.

But eventually I had to fly back home. The flight was easy. Customs didn't notice the obvious Omiscan artifacts I was looting from the country, or if they did, my permit certifying me as an expert archaeologist representing some fake university I made up when filling out the form was enough to make them look the other way. Once I got back, I put out some feelers, and it didn't take long to discover that the man to know in the Omiscan artifact trade was an investor in Windenburg named Rock Hardin. Obviously, I assumed that was a fake name. No one is named Rock Hardin. But I jumped over the pond to meet with the man.

He was an interesting fellow to say the least. Nice guy, very friendly.

He insisted his name really was Rock Hardin. I tried several times to get him to give me his real name, but he stuck with his story.

But I almost forgot all about the Omiscans, because what really intrigued me about Mr. Hardin was his lifestyle. He was living in this mansion in Windenburg with four beautiful young women who seemed to do nothing but walk around his house in revealing clothes.

After meeting these girls, I knew I wanted to learn as much as I could about Mr. Hardin, about the black market Omiscan artifact trade, and about these lovely angels who kept him company.