IOC - On the Sea

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IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

The next of my stories. Inspired by/ripping off N.C.I.S., IOC are the federal Investigation division for the Unified Security Council, keeping watch over Council bases and operations as well as interplanetary and interstellar threats. The Pandera team, headed by Human/Feline cross Feldar Jones, consists of Raitchian Adriette Beran, Mican Corp Davidstow and Wolven Agent Patcha Karl.

ONE

The sun beat down on the Mican as he moved towards the keel of the boat and he put his hand up to take his eyes out of the glare as the southern tip of the Northern landmass blipped out on the horizon. He adjusted his dungarees with his free hand and located his glasses in his chest pocket to put them on. The dynamics adjusted the light to a more bearable level and he looked around at the clear blue expanse surrounding him.

Of the four others on the trip, three of them were working, maintaining the nets and engines of the ‘Dizza Karaleous’ as she sailed the Sea of Cassana in search of new fishing grounds. “People will always want fish,” his mother had told him, from the time he was knee high to an insect. “And not just Felines. Learn how to fish and you’ll make friends with them easily!”
She hadn’t, of course, taken into account the amorous effect that smelling of Fish twenty six hours a day would have on them. He’d woken to his latest date licking him in her sleep several times. They’d not woken, of course. But the rough tongue of a Feline is hard to ignore, even to a well sculpted figure like him. He’d lived all his life around the boats of Sallarbour and Pitctonville, never really wanting to go on the shuttles he saw most days. They passed by too quickly, he figured. They must be full of people who have no time to waste enjoying the journey. Not for him.

The fourth member of the crew, the Raitchian Mikkel, poked his Fawn furred head up from the interior deck of the craft. “Still having no luck, boss.”
The Mican sighed. He couldn’t get Mikkel to call him Captain, even when he pretty much ordered him to. But the Raitchian was the electrical specialist and ones who wanted to work the ships were few and far between on the ocean. “It’s nothing wrong at our end,” the Raitchian shrugged. “At least, nothing that I can see. I don’t know what it is, we’re just not receiving any signals out here. The comm system is…” He threw his hands up in an exasperated fashion and Captain Grantley glanced behind himself quickly to make sure they’d not been boarded. He looked back when he saw no one. “If it wasn’t impossible,” Mikkel finished, “I’d say we were the only boat out here, boss.”
“And we had no notice from the Maritime command centres that communications were to go down,” he asked, having asked it two hours before.
“Absolutely none. I double checked. I even checked the last electronic mailshots and the antennae. It’s all fine. If there’s a problem, it’s not at this end.”
The Captain sighed. They needed information to know the exact locations of other ships in the area. This wasn’t done, going blank like this. “Is there any communication at all with the base stations?”
“None. Nothing to tell us why the satellite’s not working, sir.”
“Right,” the Mican replied. “Send out a general message to all ships in the area on the subwave. See if you can get any of them to respond. Maxim,” he called to one of the Canines, “put us on course for the local uplink, would you? I want to speak to someone in charge.”

The southern tip of the North continent of Pandera wasn’t one of the vastly populated areas of the landmass and Captain Grantley imagined that you could probably walk the grasslands close to the cliff edge for a week before you came to any serious habitation. Not that he had much intent on doing that, of course. The sullen, restrictive, movement of the land wasn’t really something he enjoyed when compared to the ebb and flow of the waves around him in the ocean. But it meant there were few official resources out here for them to use in cases of emergency. Their only help tended to be other fishing boats and they needed to know where they were! He was going to have words with somebody when he got to that station. Mikkel popped his head out again. “Got through to the Karrian and the Delever, boss,” he said. “They’re wondering what’s going on themselves but they’re further away from the control station than we are. The Delever’s making for port at Dasirran but…” He cut himself off as a burst to static from below threw him. “It, uh, looks like the system’s working again, chief.”
“Check it all, Mikkel and contact the area control ship,” Grantley ordered, his tone brooking no distension. “I want to talk with them when you get through!” He held on as a swell slapped the front of the boat. It pushed the craft back and up twenty feet before they slammed down on the other side, the engines keeping them going. “Everyone OK,” he asked. They checked in as Grantley looked up at the clear sky. Sea was flat so where had that come from? Rogue waves weren’t uncommon in the area but there was usually an epicentre. Possibly a small earthquake underwater? Without the seismic information relayed by the control ship they couldn’t tell.

An hour passed before the fishing vessel drew close to the control ship, moored in the middle of the sea, some one hundred nautical miles from the shore. Mikkel had tried contacting them but there was no response at first. Captain Grantley looked the ship over through his viewer. One escape ship was missing from the five stationed on the ship. That was something unusual. But nothing much worth alerting people about without checking on the ship first. It might just have broken free or something. He couldn’t see anyone on deck, which concerned him slightly as, even with a crew of seven, there was usually someone ‘getting a breath of fresh air’ or ‘clearing their head’ on the 100ft ship. The relay antenna stood almost twice the length in height. Here it was in ‘international waters’, being subject to the laws of neither continental bodies. Only the full colony government had any say out here. It barely mattered but they’d set it here in case it ever DID matter. It removed a level of government at least, he supposed, and that was for the better.
Mikkel called him down. “I’m getting a response from her now, boss,” he explained, keeping the headphones on. He silenced his microphone. “But I don’t think we can trust it, Captain.”
Grantley regarded the Raitchian. He’d called him ‘Captain’. Why was that ringing worry bells for him? “Why,” he asked.
Mikkel played back the discourse between himself and the Control ship. Grantley heard Mikkel request contact and the response. He heard Mikkel ask what had been the problem and the voice reply that it had been a small electrical fire and they didn’t need assistance. It had all been sorted now. “What’s wrong with that,” he asked, feeling the Raitchian was right but covering his bases.
“The fact that I made contact about five minutes ago and he never asked who we are?”

Grantley stepped back up to the deck, calling back down that he was going aboard and he needed Mikkel with him. The Raitchian wondered if one of the big, beefy, Canines wouldn’t be better but he supposed they might need to repair something electrical. Not that it had any signs of fire that he could see from here.

They pulled up next to the ship and made their way up the metal ladder to the deck of the stationary vessel. Apart from the birds and the waves, there was silence. No guards came to intercept them. There seemed to be no-one on board. Grantley readied his legal hand weapon and stepped towards the door. He almost opened it but Mikkel pushed him aside. “What..?”
“My paranoia’s going off, boss,” Mikkel said, pointing to the small pool of blood on the deck. “I think we need to call the authorities now?”
Grantley knelt and put his fingers to the blood. Cold but not claggy. “Shed in the last few hours,” he surmised. “Back to the Dizza, yeah,” he agreed. “Get the Delever to alert the authorities as soon as she can. We remain here for now.”
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Promising start so far! It really is good!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

The obligatory 'office' scene.

TWO

Feldar Jones was in early at base today, making up for staff down with a stomach bug from the meat in the cafeteria. He mused on how close they’d come to arresting the old manager for several offences in the Health & Safety book but had settled for handing the case over to the city Police and public health unit and they’d made raids on the distributor. Most of his main teams didn’t eat there due to not having enough hours in the day, but several backroom staff and three secondary agents were down, leaving the Agent in Charge – the Feline/Human cross sat at the desk – to do more of the background work than he was used to. Of course none of his main team saw that – or acknowledged it to him – as he tended to be in an hour earlier than them at least. An hour and a half earlier than Agent Karl since he’d banned her from using her scooter. She was still having trouble finding time to pass her driving test, even with Corp giving her lessons (and demanding hazard pay) so she was currently doing the Wolf stubborn thing and running the six miles into work each morning. Oh, he couldn’t fault her for not being in on time as she clocked in on or before time but he allowed her the half hour to warm down or shower and then change into her work suit, especially after that time it had rained.

The Feline looked up as a slight shadow passed onto his desk and blinked at Agent Harmony Whitestar. He knew who she was. He knew why she was there but, at this time in the morning, he wanted to get a little bit of fun in. “I don’t need breakfast yet, Sonia,” he said, referring to the tea lady who came around in the morning. That had also been his idea. They generally lost thirty minutes across the day to canteen or kitchen breaks. Having a specialised person coming around with tea, coffee and biscuits meant he could limit the amount of time the people were away from their desks.
“I...I’m not Sonia,” she stammered, “I’m, er, Agent Whitestar? I’m here for…”
“I know why you’re here,” Feldar interrupted. “Didn’t know your first name was ‘Er’, though, Agent Whitestar. I thought it was Harmony.”
“It is, sir, I’m just a bit…” She stopped herself as he put his chin on his hands and looked at her oh, so innocently. “You’re having a little fun with me?”
He relaxed and spread his hands. “It IS my prerogative,” he told her. “Now, I know you’re here to do the debrief on the Caldera captives case – alliteration accidental, by the way - but why are you here so early? The scheduling had you here tomorrow.”
She shrugged, a gesture Feldar wasn’t sure he appreciated. “I thought it cheaper to catch the late flight,” she explained. “I was planning to head back to Vallonia but…”
“Why did we divert you,” Feldar enquired, finishing her line for her as he leaned back. “We like to have full documentation on certain peoples in this region of space. To know as much about them as possible. Lappinean Intelligence Officer Balbury is most definitely one. Harriet Thurso falls into the same category. But we’ve found such discussions are best held in private, not over interstellar communication channels.” He checked his time-piece. “What are you going to do for twelve hours?”
“I thought it was in three hours, sir?”
“Nope.” Feldar shook his head as Adriette Beran walked into the main office behind them and sat down at her desk. He figured the senior Raitchian had spent another quiet night at home, not seeing Corp out of office hours despite them all knowing the pair appreciated each other’s company and quite often ‘accidentally’ turned up to the same club at the same time. Heck, the city’s fire chief had asked him about it last time they’d met. He looked back to Agent Whitestar. “You forgot the time difference, didn’t you,” he asked gently.
She nodded. “I did, sir, yes.” She looked chagrined.
“Oh, don’t worry so,” he said dismissively, “it happens. Turned up two days early first time I came to Pandera.” He gestured. “Get someone to show you to the guest rooms if you want. We’ve nothing important going on right now,” he mentioned, mentally kicking himself as he said it.

Getting the feeling she was being dismissed, Harmony turned… and saw Agent Beran. She stopped for a second as a whirlwind of thrill spiked through her soul. Beran was kind of her idol. A Raitchian who’d made it to senior rank in a federal force despite the race having the stigma of untrustworthiness slathered across it. Harmony knew Beran had gone through the ranks in the same way she was trying to, through the anti-corruption department of the Raitchian police and…
“Any particular reason you’re still in my office, Agent Whitestar,” Feldar asked. She eep’ed, excused herself and tried to slide around the walls so Adriette couldn’t see her. “Oh, for…” Feldar called out. “Agent Beran, come and meet Agent Whitestar before she melts!”

Beran hopped up the stairs to the office, not entirely sure why she was being called until she saw the Noveggan Raitchian trying to blend into the wall. She was getting used to this sort of reaction from younger Raitchian Agents. One of the downsides to being an inspiration, she supposed. She offered a hand and said ‘Hiya’.
“Um,” Harmony replied, shaking slightly as she took the hand. “H...hi. Um, you’re a total…”
“...female canine,” Adriette asked with a grin. “Don’t worry, Agent Whitestar, Inspirations only light the torches. What’s important is that people pick up those torches, eh?”
Feldar chose not to mention that she’d told every junior Raitchian agent that since she’d read it last year. It tended to work and he watched Agent Whitestar relax herself out of ‘plank’ territory as Corp Davidstow appeared. The Mican agent, still carrying a slight limp from incurred wounds, headed to his desk and slapped his padd down on it before ambling over. “Another you’ve inspired, Adriette?”
“Corp Davidstow, this is, Er, I don’t know your first name?”
“I’ve already done that joke,” Feldar commented, hoping no-one actually wanted to get into his office to see him right now.
“It’s Harmony,” Harmony said.
“I heard,” Corp replied. “The young agent who tangled with the fearsome Harriet Thurso. How was Calderon?”
“Not bad,” she admitted. “Why don’t we have an office there?”
“No budget,” Feldar explained. “No need. Only a small Council presence, the law enforcement there is fairly efficient and there’s certain other options there too.”
“Ah, the strange Mr Moon,” Harmony said, beginning to smile.
“If you got on with him, fine,” Corp warned. “If you don’t, don’t tell Agent Karl. SHE likes him.”
“Sector Commander Postlethwaite has a soft spot for him too.”
“Uh,” Harmony said uncertainly, “good job I like him, isn’t it?”
“Yup.” Feldar looked over as his main communications link started trilling and regretted what he’d said earlier again. “Take Agent Whitestar to the break room whilst I get this, would you?”
He headed back in to take the call he knew would start something.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

This work is really shaping up to be awesome! Great job!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

THREE

The shuttle stayed low, sliding across the northern continent at a speed that would would leave the cars they normally drove in the dust. Corp Davidstow rested his elbow on the window next to his seat and looked out at the landscape underneath them as Patcha Karl wondered if she could get another bottle of the soda water on expenses. Adriette Beran looked over the mission details again, making sure she was as acquainted as she could be with the upcoming investigation and Harmony Whitestar wondered what the heck she was doing here.

Personal mutterings.

I came to get debriefed so how did I get involved in all this? I happened to be present when Senior Agent Jones – weird name – took the phone call. He immediately called a meeting and dragged me in as he wasn’t going to be able to leave the office. We’d been there two minutes before Agent Karl snuck up behind me, sniffed me and said the Mouse better be O.K. I had no idea what she was talking about for a moment until I realised she probably meant Mr. Moon. I say he’s fine and wanted to be remembered to her. She says she’s going there for her next holiday. Anyway…

It seems part of the nautical control system has been attacked. Five dead, including four from the USC. The ship was controlling several of the satellites over the area of sea between the two continents. One life boat is missing but the positioning beacon has been scragged. We have a rough time for the attack as a fishing boat told the local law that the ship stopped transmitting for two hours six hours ago. A second vessel was involved, apparently contaminating the crime scene but, as we wouldn’t know there WAS a crime scene without them, we can forgive them that. With the distance being over a thousand miles, Agent Jones pulled out the budget and slapped it around the head to get us on a charter flight to Dassiran, where we’re going to ‘borrow’ a couple of Police vehicles and travel the three hundred miles to the nearest point where we can get a boat out to… you know, I get the feeling that I’m really here because Agent Jones didn’t want to make the trip? Agent Karl looks ready to eat someone just so she doesn’t have another Ham sandwich. I hope we land soon.

End Musings.

The shuttle landed softly at Dassiran and the group disembarked t a hot, green, enviroment which put the capital’s heatwave into the shade. The few commuters went across to the air conditioned main building but Beran and the others headed over to where there were three Sheriff’s department vehicles coming across the loose gravel. The Sheriff, a stocky Canine, levered himself out of his vehicle and leaned on the frame. “Gotta take it you’re IOC,” he said in an accent almost as salty as the air. “You got here quick.”
“Yes, well,” Adriette said, figuring she needed to get used to being squad leader sooner rather than later, “the sooner we start, the faster things get resolved. Your forensics ready to roll?”
“I’ve got ONE forensic Officer spare. He’s headed down to the boat point now. Educated but, ma’am, he’s the stringiest Celican you’ve ever seen. Gotta reckon he’s part Fennikin from the size ‘a him.”
“Enough yak,” Patcha growled, stalking over. “We’re in a hurry but I need food. Where’s good?” She got in the back of the car.
“Well, uh…” the Sheriff replied, looking from Agent to Agent in his uncertainty.
“Fish restaurants will do,” Corp remarked, getting a ‘Bleh!’ from Patcha. “It can be ‘to go’.” The old Soldier noted the fur markings that told of Canine Colonial forces. He’d been involved with them a few times in previous years and wondered how one came to be sheriff in nowheresville. He decided he wouldn’t ask, though. He might change to a light jacket, though. It was rather warm. Beran was in her normal dark suit and Karl was in her exercise shorts and a Tee-Shirt with shoes. He wasn’t sure if the multi-coloured, floral shirt was normal for Whitestar but he was willing to let it pass as, frankly, he wished he was wearing something similar right now. “Whitestar,” he said as he reached the car he was going to travel to the Police compound in, “you’re with me.”
Harmony realised that Davidstow was talking to her and trotted over to the car as Beran got in beside Agent Karl. She noted the older Raitchian seemed to have a calming effect on the Wolf and was quite happy not to be in that particular car for even the shortest trip. Corp, it seemed, could tell what she was thinking as she got in. “Yeah, Adriette’s kind of taken her mother’s place. Patcha’s useful but as subtle as a brick to the crotch at times. We’re better with her,” he added as the vehicles headed towards the town centre and the path beyond.

Five more hours passed before they arrived at the boat, the afternoon just beginning to come in and the tides rising. Adriette had driven the whole way with the windows open as Patcha had bought take out from the fish restaurant next to the Sheriff’s office and had kept half of it on the back seat to eat when she got to the end f the road. Karl started her reluctant consumption as Davidstow and Whitestar pulled up alongside. “You were speeding,” Davidstow chided Beran.
“She was eating fish,” Beran replied, indicating Karl, sitting in the back of the car with the remnants of a fin sticking out of her mouth.
“Well, at least she showered this morning,” Davidstow replied, waving to a slim Celican by the jetty. He noted the box the Celican was carrying.

Adriette Beran noted it as well but headed over to check that he was, legitimately, the forensics officer. He matched the picture the Sheriff had given them but there was still a need to be sure. “Beran,” she identified, bringing up her warrant card, “IOC. You?”
The Celican put the box down and took his own wallet out to show he was Officer Paterra, Forensics investigator, Dassiran Sheriff’s department. “Accordin’ to th’ keeper,” he said, gesturing to the small light house as though she might not have seen it, “the boat’ll be here in a half hour.”
Adriette yawned. It had been a long morning...
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

FOUR

The ‘Dizza Karaleous’ cut through the placid ridges and hints of surf in the water as she headed back from the jetty towards the control ship. Feldar Jones had requested the ship that had boarded the control ship should be the one to pick up the team and take them out there, thus minimizing contamination. Patcha had chosen to stay below deck and it wasn’t entirely unlike she wanted to stay close to the private facilities. Corp was busy helping with the Canines, Adriette was talking things over with the Captain and Harmony simply stood against the railings at the front of the boat, feeling the sun on her face.

“Wish I didn’t have to lose so much time doing this,” Captain Grantley growled to Adriette as he stood by the wheel. The computer was holding the correct course as it always could but he felt the need to be ready to intervene if ever needed. It was the pessimist in him. If you prepared for it, it didn’t happen. But, if you didn’t? It was inevitable. “We don’t catch a twentieth as much this way.”
“Had Decent Snapjack for lunch,” Adriette remarked conversationally. “Better than we normally get in Pandera City.” She could hear sounds from below. She tried not to grin.
The Captain moved his shoulders slightly, making his jacket ripple. “SnapJack’s always better the fresher you can get it. City needs the shuttle and that only runs a few times a day. So the stuff you get in ‘civilisation’ is probably twenty hours out and that’s if not frozen. Stuff you had today? Probably offloaded by the Delever when they docked at Desirran. It’d only have been out of the sea a couple of hours.”
Adriette put up her hands. “OK,” she chuckled, “you got me! Fresh is better!”
He chuckled in turn. “Ah, frozen’s better’n none too. Got a freezer compartment in the hold t’keep things cold as long as possible. Otherwise the first catch of the trip’d go off before we make the last catch. But we don’t use the deep freeze setting.”
“Well, I hope that’s not foreshadowing,” Adriette commented.
“Huh?”
“If there are bodies,” she warned, “we’ll need to put them somewhere to get them back to shore.”
“Right enough,” Grantley grumbled before lightening up slightly as Mikkel broke surface with two mugs of Coffee. “He’s been with me two years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him take the deck as often as I have in the last three hours.”
“Well,” Beran observed as she watched him head over to a conspicuously occupied part of the railings, “perhaps he’s seen something on the horizon that’s not been there before?”
The Captain grunted a chuckle. “Well, she’s better to look at than fish, I imagine,” he said as Mikkel reached Harmony and offered her one of the Coffee’s.. He watched the Agent nod at the Fawn coloured engineer and perhaps let her finger touch his hand as she took the thick mug. “He got any chance?”
“Unknown,” Adriette replied. “Only met her this morning. Tell you what, though. If he goes for the entwined tails today, he’ll be moving too fast.” She looked around. “Where’s that Forensics kid?”
“Down below, helping your land lover, I think.” The Captain looked at the display. “About half an hour to your ship, by the way.”
“Good,” Beran asserted as Corp helped pulling in the nets below. She watched the old soldier strain his musces. “As enjoyable as this all is,” she continued, “it does tell why we need our own shuttle.” She looked at the upset face the Captain was wearing. “Hey, I DID say this was enjoyable, didn’t I? It’s just that anything we might find here will be as time sensitive as fresh fish, y’know?”
Grantley grunted again. Suppose it’s good we’d not gotten to the main grounds yet then, eh? There’s not much in the cold store to shift.” He pointed ahead of them. Adriette looked and could make out a black smudge on the horizon. “There she is,” he said.
“You have better eyes than I do,” Adriette remarked, wondering if she could borrow his binoculars.
“Hah. Doubt that,” Grantley replied. “But they’re more used to the sea. And I was here yesterday. Here all night until the Delever relayed that you lot were to be picked up.” He looked a bit downcast. “Seemed only right, some’ow. Keepin’ vigil like that.”
Adriette had to agree and put a hand on his shoulder that he tolerated for a minute before shrugging it off. “Yeah. You kept the scene secure,” she remarked. “No-one raided the scene after.” He handed her the binoculars that she’d not asked for and she turned them on the destination. “Is one of the lifeboats missing?”
The Captain smirked as he looked over towards the Control ship. “Knew your eyes were sharp. Yeah. Been no sign of it either.”
“I’ll get on the comms when we get there – if we can – and ask for pilots to be notified there’s a person missing in a lifeboat. Get a search started.” She sighed and lowered the binoculars. “Even if it IS a full day late.”

Twenty minutes passed before the Canine deckhands tied the boat to the ship and Corp led the way up to the deck. The Captain, came next, despite Beran’s comments that she should go. Karl, Whitestar and Mikkel followed, the latter wondering if the head tapping he was getting from Whitestar’s tail was a little too random to be random. Forensics Officer Paterna took last spot, pulling up the equipment that Corp and the Captain hadn’t taken with them.
Patcha sniffed the air. “Don’t think there’s anyone alive on here but us,” she said, before glaring at Mikkel, “but YOU need a bath!”
The Raitchian looked offended by that. “I live on a boat full of fish for weeks on end! I’m not going to smell of perfume!”
“Shut it,” Beran remarked. “Corp, want to check the door for unpleasant things?”
“Bulkhead,” Grantley muttered.
“Sure,” Corp replied, heading over to where the blood had been spilled and starting work with his scanners. “Nothing that I can see,” he said eventually and pulled the door open to see what was inside...
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

And into the crime scene...

FIVE

The bulkhead door opened inward on a silent scene, a light flickered noiselessly in a glass and metal cage as they stepped carefully inside, keeping off the blood trail that smeared its way from the deck to the small galley inside. Adriette advised Grantley and Mikkel to stay on deck so they didn’t contaminate the scene inside. They’d call them in if needed. Patcha Karl took point, following her nose and instincts as much as her eyes. She looked into the eyes of the first victim, his chest exploded through his back by what she assumed was a double barrelled energy weapon. They were getting rarer but articles like the K&H .467 Energy Shotgun still sold well in the hidden markets. She opened one of his eyes to take a retinal scan. Agent Whitestar tried not to look as the dead eye rolled forward in its socket due to the action. She held the scanner to the eye and ran it. The scanner stored the information and she let him go back to ‘sleep’ as she looked around the rest of the room. She didn’t think they’d even come in here but the Forensics geekican could check that out later. She exited the room in a bare couple of steps.

“I’m in the comms room,” Davidstow said into his communicator. “The place has been shot up alright.” He looked at the number of glowing screens and communication devices that stood intact in the room and at the three Mican and Feline bodies that most definitely weren’t intact. “First impressions are the assailants used energy bolts set to moderate power. They punched through flesh but barely scorched the metals. I’d say they wanted things in here intact. I’d suggest the Forensics kid starts in here, Adriette,”
<”I’ll send him now. Why do you want him there first?>”
“Because they almost certainly did something to the systems. Faster the Forensics guy does his work, the faster that ShipRat can take a look. In absence of an expert I trust, I’ll make use of the expert I have.”
<”Agreed.”>
Corp reminded himself that she was supposed to be in charge. She’d been on the team longer than him. Heck, KARL had been on the team longer than him but the Wolf was much younger. Adriette Beran, his on again/off again interest, was definitely on top. He stayed carefully on the edge of the room, looking at where they’d been spilled from their seats. This had been done quickly, they’d been taken by surprise. But that didn’t make much sense considering the other room and the shooting outside. Unless it had happened the other way around. This being done first and the execution of the Canid following it. He knew not to assume but he could draw his own conclusions. He came back out into the hallway and came face to face with their loaned Forensics in his full gear, which he’d been carrying in his case. “Fast as you can, Doctor,” he said.
“I’m not a Doctor,” Paterra replied.
“Does ‘fast as you can, intern’ sound better?”
“Uh, no.”
“Then you’re a Doctor.” He clapped the youngster on the shoulder. “Whitestar, want to keep an eye on the expert here,”
The slightly worried looking Raitchian nodded as Corp checked in with Beran.

“I’m in the Galley with Karl,” Beran reported. “Looks like the guard got some shots off, judging from spatter effects all over the wall. We’ve logged samples of each, ready for upload.”
Karl looked around at her. “Why aren’t we uploading already,” she asked.
The Raitchian looked around at the signs of battle and drew breath over her teeth. She closed the commline. “This station stopped transmitting for over an hour,” she explained. “It works by relaying the satellite signals to the ships and back again. It’s protection against Ionic interference or something. Plus it means the fishing boats don’t need direct access to military satellites. Someone took that off for 90 minutes. It helped them get away but we dont know other things about it. One thing I want to rule out is them having some sort of surveillance system patched in.” She nodded up to the camera. “Can’t stop them knowing who we are but no need to tell them what we know.” She knelt and ran the scanner over Ensign Juyne. Unlike the others, he was identifiable by the badge on his chest pocket but they’d confirm that anyway.
“Took three shots to put this boy down,” Karl said appreciatively. “Two to the torso, one in the head.”
Beran shook her head. “Nope. Just two.” She moved the head just slightly so Karl could see the scorching of the floor underneath. “Think he really annoyed them. Any scents still here? Room’s been still until we got here.”
Patcha took a moment to smell the room again. “They didn’t stay for long,” she told Adriette, “there’s hints of Lavender and Kikkaweed, which means one of them is probably Castoran .”
“Not many other species like Kikkaweed,” Adriette agreed grimly. “Narrows it a little,” she said hopefully.
“I sniffed Otter on the sea, Boss,” Karl snipped humorously, “it’s hardly a big lead.”
“It’s a start,” Adriette replied, clapping her junior on the shoulder supportingly. “I always trust your nose.”
Karl sniffed again. “Hmm,” she said, “trust it now.” She led the way out of the room and down towards the bottom of the boat, passing through several bulkhead doors as she went, keeping low and hunched as she hunted the trail.
“What are you chasing, Karl,” Beran asked, doing her best to keep up.
“This,” the Wolf said from around a corner.
Beran rounded the corner to find… a mop and bucket. “What..?”
“No bloodstains in the hallways,” Karl explained. “We know the ensign hit at least one of them so it should have left a trail.”
“They cleaned up?”
Karl nodded. “Where they needed to. Could smell it up there when I figured to look for it. Led to here.”
Adriette looked at the door they were next to. “Disposal room,” she read. “Ah, nuts.” She pushed open the door. Even she could smell the acrid reek of blood in here. “Not much point in trying to cover this up,” she guessed as they stepped into the room. It was darkly lit save for a bright section in the far corner. She recognised it as like a Council ship’s teleport system but with some differences. For one thing it wasn’t able to receive, just send. For another, it wasn’t calibrated for life forms. The trails that would have led right to the lit section were just about visible here but Beran started work on the main controls with her own scanners and DNA capture equipment. “They left the Council dead for us to see,” she told Karl. “They didn’t care about them. But I think Juyne got one of them and they didn’t want us to find that body. In the sea might not work but use a disintegrator…” She tailed off as the pair heard a sound from a neighbouring compartment. Something being dropped, perhaps. “Go check it out,” Adriette ordered. Karl complied.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Wonderful job with all the chapters I have just managed to catch up on! I like how they all came out!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

Patcha has a soft side. She doesn't know how to show it.

SIX

The door to the stockroom refused to open but Patcha heard an ‘eep’ from inside so she knew there was someone in there and redoubled her efforts to push whatever was opposing her into the red lit room. The crate shifted slowly and she called out she was IOC before sliding into the room and taking cover amongst the shelves. She sniffed the air. Stale boxes, and the results of extreme fear almost his the scents of a female Mican and youth. She grimaced and put her gun away. Thing might be frightened out of it’s mind. The girl wasn’t going to hear her until she made her so Patcha pushed the crate back against the door, tried the lights (which didn’t work) and headed for the distant corner of the room silently. She hid behind the toilet tissue and Baked Beans, then slipped forward and up onto the first shelf before jumping across to the cleaning solutions. She knocked against some upholstery cleaner and grabbed it before it fell. She looked at it and threw it across the room to clatter against the wall. She imagined the knee jerk reaction from the girl and countered it, moving closer to the girl. The Wolven agent sniffed and reacquainted herself with her target’s location and moved to intercept.

She saw the girl. A young, early teenage, Mican hunkered in the corner, looking around her in fright and clutching something that looked oddly like a broomstick. Patcha ran, mentally, through how the others might handle this. It was kind of out of her area of expertise, trying to talk to a Mican who looked on the verge of a panic attack. It wasn’t going to help matters, her being a Wolf, that was for sure. She got a little closer as the teenager shuddered and looked around again. Patcha shifted uncomfortably and hung her legs over the edge of the shelf, around her hands. She tried to figure what Adriette would say, whilst ignoring what Adriette was actually saying in her ear. “Hey,” she said softly, being heard both in the room and over the comm. “Up here, sweetie.” The girl’s head flashed around, looking for the source of the sound before eventually locking on. The jaw trembled a bit more and she tried to back even further into the corner. Patcha put on her best smile and shifted her tone up an octave. It sounded weird to her but she’d been told her gruff tone made her sound grumpy. She believed it. She liked it. She understood it wouldn’t suit this situation though. “Are you OK? I’m Patcha,” she continued.

Adriette froze in the next room. “Is she… are you talking to a child, Patcha?”
<”What race,”> Corp asked.

In the room, Patcha stayed sat and started swinging her legs slightly as she thought of a way to communicate the answer. “You’re being brave for a Mican,” she said, “braver than I might have been. What’s your name?” The girl thought about answering.
<”She may be here legally,”> Corp said. <”Mican tradition dictates that, unless the work is secret or dangerous, Mican children can, at thirteen, be made to accompany their parents to work for a week. They use it to try and keep the family business and skills going. It’s not used often now but this is a Mican Colony facility and we have dead Micans here. Get her out if you can but don’t let her see anything.”>
Patcha put a hand out. “I’m coming down now, yeah? I won’t come any closer if you don’t want me to.” The Agent slipped down to ground level, deliberately making some noise as she did so, just enough that she wasn’t moving silently. She tried not to crouch but, rather, sit. “Have you been on your own here since yesterday?”
The girl trembled a nod.
“Well, you’re not alone now, are you,” Patcha said, wondering if she should have added a disarming chuckle to her tone. “I’m here with you. Can I come closer?”
The girl shook her head to say ‘no’.
“Can you tell me your name, sweetie?” She remembered Adriette often used that word when dealing with children. It seemed to work for her.
The lips moved in a tremulous fashion as she fought to get the words out. “M...Moll…”
<”Don’t guess, Patcha,”> Adriette counselled, <”Let her tell you. Compliment her on it when she says it.”>
“M…, Molly,” the girl finished.
“Nice name,” Patcha said, edging slightly closer. “Mine means, uh, Whitestar.”
<”Awww,”> Harmony said from upstairs, <”Sisters!”> Patcha fought not to scowl.
<”She’s lying, Harmony,”> Adriette announced. <”It means Hunter. Not sure how well that’d go over. Sitrep from you, by the way?”>
“I’m with the IOC,” Karl told Molly as she heard Whitestar tell Beran that the Part Fennekin Celican guy (Patcha’s opinion, not Harmony’s words) had finished his work with his high powered machines and they were ready to hit the security room. None of that mattered to Karl right now. “Can I show you my badge? I’ll, uh, move slowly.” Her hand edged towards her jacket and slowly went in as Molly cringed. She brought it back out slowly and showed the youth the picture. “It’s a horrible picture, I know.”
Molly managed the briefest flash of a smile. “Can’t… Can’t really… see it fr...from there,” she stammered, just about being able to see it in the dim light but trying to sound confident. “You… you’ll have to.. to come closer.”
Patcha took the permission to slowly come closer until she was nearly within touching distance of the youngster. She crouched down and held it out. Shakily, Molly reached for it and Patcha let her hold it as it gave her a chance to touch the girl. She knew some got sensations from touch, it changed how they saw things, apparently. All she could tell was how cold the girl was. “You’re freezing, Molly,” she said. “Would you like my jacket?”
Molly looked up at her with concerned eyes but quietly said ‘yes’ and Karl took her leathereen top off, leaving just her short sleeved shirt on as she helped Molly put the garment on, despite it being far too big for her. “You smell a bit like a Wolf now,” she said simply, tapping the side of a finger on the tip of Molly’s muzzle. “Do you want to get out of here,” she asked. Molly nodded. “I don’t know if your legs are working,” Patcha said, allowing a touch of humour in her tone as she looked at the crumpled limbs, “so I’ll need to carry you, OK?”
Molly looked at the Wolf, looked at the badge and looked at Patcha again before stammering “O.K.”
“Put your arms around my neck,” Patcha instructed as Molly put Patchas’ wallet back into the jacket she was borrowing. Patcha slid her arm under the cold, wet, base of Molly and put the other arm around her back as Molly did as instructed, putting her arms around Patcha’s head. The Wolf pulled the weight straight up, freeing it with a slight sucking sound from the floor and headed back over to the door. She used her lower body to push the crate out of the way and quickly opened the door. She looked at the face, so close to hers and felt the still speedily beating heart, again, so close to hers. The scent was strong but the fear of her was receding, at least. “I need you to close your eyes, Molly,” she said. “it’ll be a bit too bright for you out here. And some bad things. But you’re safe with me, yes?”
“I.. I think so,” Molly said, before closing her eyes.

Patcha headed out and made for the deck.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

She sure did go and show it now! She DOES care! Very great chapter as always!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

Patchamight be softening but she's still a Wolf....

SEVEN

“OK,” Paterra said, closing up his toolkit, “I’ve done what I can in here, may as well get Mikkel in.
“What,” Agent Whitestar started, “Uh, what have you done. I saw you running scanners and everything but…”
The Celican looked a little confused for a moment. “I was also picking up fur samples and fallen hairs – although why we call clumps fur and single strands hair is beyond me but it’s a technical thing – for analysis. The scanner can also detect the minute traces that get left on things you touch and can differentiate between them. It’ll tell us who pressed what.” He gestured to the technicians. “I took samples from them so we can winnow them out if needed. The scanner took a 3D map of everything it scanned too so I can upload it on my main computer back at the station nf run checks from there. Your Mr Davidstow wanted this done quickly so Mikkel can look the system over.”
“First name basis already,” Harmony asked, trying to be playful.
“I only know his one name,” Paterra replied, shrugging. “I’m hardly going to call him ‘that ShipRat’ am I?”
“Why not,” Harmony grumbled. “Agent Davidstow does.” She activated her comm again. “The Forensic sweep here’s done,” she said, “he’s moving over to the next room. Want me to go get Mikkel?”
<”Don’t bother,”> Karl rumbled through the speaker, <”I’ll tell him he’s wanted.”>

Molly almost opened her eyes as Karl talked but the Wolf tapped her nose with a free hand and she remembered to keep them shut. The Wolven agent emerged onto the deck and found she quite liked the feel of the sun on her face after the cold of the hold.
“Who’s this young shipmate,” Grantley asked, keeping his tone light for Molly’s sake.
“Her name’s Molly,” Patcha replied. “I’ll need somewhere to help her clean up and some clean clothes.”
Grantley raised his arms. “All we got are oilskins and they’d be too big…” he pointed. “I can set the washer/dryer to turbo and she can have these back in a half hour, perhaps?”
“Until then you have towels, Right?”
The Captain nodded. “You going to need a hand getting her down to my boat?”
“Nope. Ratboy, Agent Whitestar wants you in the communications room.” She made her way to the railing and stepped up.
“Se can’t be going to…” Mikkel asked Grantley as he got to the door.
“She’s a Wolf,” Grantley replied, “reckon she’s going to. You get on inside, Mikkel,” he added, clapping the Raitchian on the arm. “I’ll go set up the turbo dryer.” Before Mikkel went in, he waited and watched as Karl said something quietly to the girl in her arms and then jumped the thirty feet down to the other boat.

Mikkel looked in on the communications room as Harmony leaned against a wall. “Where do you want me, Harmony,” he asked.
She shifted from her position and gestured to the room. “You’re the expert, Doctor,” she said with a smirk.
“I don’t know why I told you that,” Mikkel grumbled, moving into the room and setting up at the central console. “If Captain Grantley found out…”
“He’ appreciate you more?”
“He’s trust me less,” Mikkel responded, looking up to meet her eye. “Think on it, I’m just about specialized enough that I’m of use to him but, if he finds out I’ve a Doctorate in Communications engineering and operation? He’d never believe I wasn’t up to something.”
Harmony watched him start typing away on the console. She didn’t know if he was lying about the Doctorate to impress her but she had half a mind to check it out when they got the communications back. As it was, she absently put a hand on the back of his chair. “So, why are you here,” she asked.
“Never been much of one for travel,” Mikkel replied, still working, “but I never wanted to be tied to an office either. This way I get fresh air – not recycled stuff – and I get cash for it too.”
Harmony found her other hand on the chair. “You’ve never wanted to travel?” She was almost entranced by how his hands moved quickly around the console.
“Until today I didn’t…” He paused as he worked. “There IS something here,” he stressed. “Something hidden in the back up channels. Might explain the relay signal that tried to tell us everything was all right.” He paused, looking up. “Someone wanted to make this place look operational for as long as possible.”
“But they knew it wouldn’t be hidden forever, surely? They knew it’d get spotted.”
“So maybe they only needed it for a time?” Mikkel looked up again. “We were hit with a freak wave on our first time here. Nothing major but the Ocean was millpond still.” He shrugged. “A maritime mystery,” he mused.

Feldar Jones walked the main office and pondered on how quiet it was with the main team not there. He had times to catch up on things and organize proceedings. He’d contacted Vallonia and advised them Agent Whitestar wouldn’t be back for a short while, then he’d checked on investigation statuses from several sub offices. There were still a few more to do but they were on planets where it was currently the middle of the night or the middle of the day, when they were all out doing things. They’d call in when they got the chance. So, just for now he had the place to himself, except for the couple of dozen other functionaries around the rest of the office. He pulled up his comm as it beeped and listened to the security guard on reception. He rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the warning, Berit,” he told the Lappinean, before tapping the comm off. He knew what was coming next as the lift opened. A Mican in military dress stepped out, the light reflecting off his dress bars as his face resembled thunder. “SAC Jones,” he shouted across the room. “Would you care to tell me what your people are doing on my ship?”
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I know that but at least she is showing that she does have the capability of caring! Nice job with showing that!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

EIGHT

Feldar walked across the floor to the Mican Officer and offered a hand in greeting. “Admiral Carlisle,” he said in greeting.
The Mican sullenly shook the offered hand very quickly before releasing the hand and returning to the subject. “Why are your people on the P.N.V. Kastorous?”
“I’ll tell you in my office, Admiral,” Jones said, gesturing towards his office whilst signing to an Agent for them to get two Salatan Spice Coffees sent over. He’d checked the bios on the Admiral yesterday and it was listed as his favourite. This visit was one he’d been expecting but he’d learned some of the tricks of the trade. Sometimes you arranged the meetings for information, sometimes you let them arrange themselves. He sat down behind his computer and shut off the tab telling him to arrange an interview with Admiral Carlisle later. “Can I ask how you knew we were there, sir?”
“I have people in that town. They noted your Agents arrival and asked where you were going.”
Feldar tapped his fingers on the desk. “Should have told you why too. But that’s why you came to me, I know. Fact is we got a message from fishing trawlers that something odd’s been going on out there.”
The Admiral sat up. “And you didn’t think to notify my office?”
“I was going to. I wanted my people to take a look first. As it’s a joint Colony and Security Council operation we have that right. As it is, I think something HAS gone on over there.”
“And you’re basing that assumption on what,” the Admiral demanded.
“The fact that, if there was nothing wrong, one of them would have used your control ship’s communications system to contact me.” He leaned forward as a Lappinean member of staff brought in the coffees, along with creamers, little stirrer sticks and mini packets of biscuits. Feldar idly wondered if he was after promotion or pre-emptively seeking forgiveness. “Thanks, Maltravis. Might I ask, Admiral, what exactly the Kastorous does?”
“I thought you’d know that,”
“Well, I do know the basics,” Feldar admitted, “but you know the specifics.”
“She’s an observation and relay command station,” Carlisle explained. “She relays information from the orbiting satellite to the ships on the ocean and ties into the planetary grid.”
“So, if she were to go down, there’d be a hole in the grid?”
“No,” the Admiral countered, “one of the other stations would stand in for her. As they did yesterday at 1800hrs when they had a small electrical fire. It was nothing serious.”
“1800hrs,” Feldar asked, before deliberately pausing by drinking coffee. “Interesting. When the skipper of the…” he checked the name on his notes, “...Delevver reported the incident to the Police at Dasirran, he reported the comms lines for all boats in the area had been down between 1630 and 1815.”
“What?”
Feldar sighed. “Furthermore, apparently the Captain of the vessel we’re currently borrowing was suspicious of the ‘electrical fire’ line and put boots on deck. They didn’t go in when they noticed blood on the deck.”
Now the Admiral was sitting forward in the chair. “And you still didn’t think to inform me?”
Feldar sat back and made himself slightly more comfortable. “If they were over-reacting, I’d figure you’d want it out of my budget, not yours.” He paused as his computer beeped. “I think they’re calling now,” he remarked, checking the listings. “Indeed so.” He pressed a few buttons and turned around as part of his wall became a vid screen.

Adriette’s face appeared on screen with another Raitchian Feldar didn’t know. Possibly someone from the Control ship or..? “Report, Agent Beran,” he said, “so Admiral Carlisle and I can hear and plan.”
After a half second, Adriette nodded her head. <”Right,”> she said, <”It’s pretty bad over here, sirs. I’m afraid the entire crew is dead. They were attacked sometime yesterday afternoon. Someone also put several eavesdropping devices and backdoors into the system but we think we’ve got them all out.”>
<”We,”> the other Raitchian smirked.
<”It looks like at least one of the intruders was killed, sirs,”> Adriette continued, trying to act as though no interruption had occurred, <”but they used the disintegration system to destroy that body. Or those bodies. We can’t tell. The local Forensics guy’s uploading all the information to his station computer now. The Sheriff should be able to send it on to you from there.”>
“I’ll sort that out. What’s your next move?”
“Are there NO survivors,” the Admiral cut in desperately.
<”No survivors among the crew I’m afraid,”> Adriette said in a guarded way that told Feldar that she was holding something back. We’ll stand by here to finish up until the Captain tells us he wants to leave. We’ll see if there’s more to find here. Beran out.”> She cut the line.

Feldar turned back to the slightly shaking Admiral. “This… this can’t be right,” he stammered. “No-one was told…”
Feldar frowned. “Told what, Admiral?”
The Admiral took some of his composure back. “I don’t know what you mean,”
“Tell your face, Admiral, it’s not as good as lying as you are.” Feldar’s tone held little civility now, just attitude. “Now, there are four Agents out there right now, in an unknown scene. I can’t help them directly so I’m gathering intel and you have it. Now. No one was told WHAT? Don’t make me talk to the colony president and get her to order you to tell me. I will if I have to.”
The Admiral swallowed the last of his coffee. “This goes no further than us…”
“If it involves my team, I WILL tell them. But no more than that.”
The Admiral nodded. “It’s… it’s a test,” he said. “Monta Weapontech, w...working with Raicarra Spaceways and Fawren Spaceways have a new ship they’re testing…”
Feldar worked to fill in the gaps. “I heard that Monta and Fawren were working together on a starlancer fighter that could operate underwater as well as in and out of the atmosphere but Raicarra..? Don’t they provide ships for the Raitchian navy?”
The Admiral nodded slowly. “Ships with reflector technology. Hard to detect by normal sensors.”
“Those three together… Admiral, are you telling me there’s a fighter in the ocean that we can’t detect?”
“It’s worse than that, Agent Jones,” he replied. “The Kastorous was one of the sites that know the full test plans. Where it would go in. Where it will come up. When it’s vulnerable to attack.” He sighed. “And it’s not a fighter. It’s a full size clipper starship.”
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Liking this more every passing day! Please keep up the good work!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

And the leader of IOC Celica pops his head in...

NINE

Corp looked at Beran like she’d just coughed up a flying bug. “You’re kidding?”
Adriette shrugged at her co-agent as they consulted in the ship’s galley. “Nope. According to an Admiral Carlisle they’ve actually made a full size clipper ship that can operate in space, sky and water. They’re doing long tests here and the thing went under yesterday. On schedule. And it’s operating in silent mode until it gets back up tomorrow at a location that’s known only to a few people.”
“One of them was here, I take it?”
Adriette nodded. “They had it on file. They had to know where to keep fishing boats clear of, didn’t they?”
“What does he want us to do?”
Adriette put her hands on the counter behind herself. “We need to keep gathering evidence here. Feldar’s going to get on to our Celica, Raitche and Mica teams to figure out where the leak came from. The Admiral’s going to send what he’s got on the destination location for us to head there… probably after he’s notified the colony naval forces, of course.”
Corp smirked slightly. “I noticed you didn’t trust him when you called home.”
Adriette grinned back. “Colonial officials always rub me the wrong way. Figure he put himself on Feldar or Feldar would have been in his office. So how’d he know we were here? We never told anyone what we were in town for., after all. And I didn’t lie.”
Corp nodded slightly. “I suppose you only told him all the crew was dead.”

Molly sniffed and sipped her Cocoa as she huddled in the swarm of towels in the Captain’s cabin. Patcha Karl stepped back in from picking up the girls’ clothes from the turbo drier and put the pile on the bed next to Molly. “Feeling any better,” Karl asked, trying to look loose and friendly.
Molly looked at her like she was slightly daft. “Not… not really,” she said shakily. She sniffed again. “Dad’s d...dead, isn’t he?”
Patcha crouched in front of the girl and looked her in the eye. “Can’t lie to you, sweetie,” she said quietly, “I’m afraid so. But I think you knew that, eh?”
Molly nodded quietly, all cried out for now. She looked at Patcha carefully, her lips quivering as she found the words. “It all went quiet,” she said carefully, “and he didn’t come for me.” Her voice quivered like her lip now. “I...I heard them in, um, in the other room?”
Patcha shifted so she was sat on the bed now. “If you want, can you tell me anything they said?”
Molly looked at the bundle of clothes Karl was now sat on. “I...I think?” She paused. “One, um, said they were… weren’t expecting security, I, uh, think?” She pulled her shirt free before Patcha shifted off. She sniffed again. “Th..they sounded angry at su...someone.”

In Pandera City, Feldar Jones looked up at his main screen as a powerfully built Celican dominated the screen from Celica. “SAC Golta,” Jones said pleasantly.
<”SAC Jones,”> Golta replied. Feldar was sure he heard someone say ‘weird name’ from offscreen but he let it pass. He’d actually met the well built Celican once but he knew him more through the films Golta had made when undercover for IOC and the Celican government before that. He’d never been the lead but he’d been the stunt double for quite a few film leads. He’d shown intelligence on numerous occasions and courage and dedication. His rising to command was no real surprise to anyone. <”So they ran out of people for the patch top role and gave it to you,”> Golta joked.
Feldar spread his hands. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. We might have something you can help us with going on here. Is the link secure?”
Golta shifted his position slightly. <”Agent Sana assures me it is,”> he said, <”What’s the target?”>
“We have a test ‘flight’ going on that’s been compromised. The team’s looking into events here but it may well be a leak from one of the three companies involved that set things off. Teams on Raitche and Mica are going to look into their end but the third company involved is Monta Weapontech.”
At the name, Golta rolled his eyes. <”Bloody Monta,”> he breathed. <”We’re already investigating them, Feldar. That automated ship that the Loper destroyed last year? Some of the equipment traces back to Monta. They’ve alleged theft but we’ve been looking. Nothing concrete but there may be a few we can ask. They’re always looking for the next war…”>
“Strange attitude for a weapons company,” Feldar replied sarcastically.
<”Feelings are that they only get money through innovations and those are driven by the need to up what you’re facing. They recently had a big order come in for the new Starlancer fighters. Co-incidence that it came in after the Loper faced that ship?”> He nodded. <”We’ll look into them. How’s the guys?”>
“Oh, none too bad. Beran’s taking to commanding the team like a Duck to treacle – it’s nearly water but not quite. Corp’s still a grump. Karl’s not attacking everything in sight. It’s all good.”

Captain Grantley stood on the deck of the command ship and surveyed the Ocean. It still seemed calm and tranquil, despite all that had gone on here. He watched as the sun started to sink into the Ocean at the tip of the horizon and wondered how much cash he was going to lose on this trip. Sure he understood the Council people had hired him so he’d not miss all the cash but there was nothing in his hold from this trip yet. Nothing to sell in the markets. And he certainly couldn’t sell what was about to go into his cooler. The Raitchians were helping the Celican move the bodies to the deck and the Mican – Corp or something – was liaising with his deckhands as he used the command ship’s winch mechanism to lower the bodies down to them. No shrouds. Nothing to protect them from the sights of others. The Forensics guy had insisted on it to lower the chances of contamination as he’d not been able to bring bodybags. Grantley had no trouble letting them do the work. He kept watch.

He raised the binoculars to his eyes and zoomed them in on something in the far distance. “Got something out there,” he warned. “Something’s coming.”
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I love the way that your writing creates the scene in my mind. Impressively done!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

Originally, I had writted a cameo for Agent Sana into that but I decided to hold her 'first appearance' back for effect...
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I'm sure whatever you are planning is going to be really great! Can't wait for the next chapter!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

TEN

Adriette Beran found it hard to relax aboard the fishing boat as it headed out towards the interloper. The ship – for it was definitely a ship, not a boat – was looming larger in her sights now as they closed in.
They’d left Mikkel back on the control ship with Corp and Whitestar to see if he could work out why the ship wasn’t appearing on the navigation computers aboard the boat and Beran ran through the options. It could be an enemy ship but she doubted it. There wasn’t much pirate activity on the seas here, there wasn’t much need for it. However, she knew the Colonial forces did keep a few boats stationed for emergencies. This was probably one of those. It was travelling slowly towards them and refusing all incoming calls. Again, that led to two possibilities.

Back on the Command ship, Corp sat at one of the communication stations and wished they’d replaced Agent Corran Garna after his death. The Collian Canine had understood computers in a way he never would or could. Kid had been an artist on the keyboard and he probably would have understood the words that Mikkel was saying. He, himself, had been on with SAC Jones, relaying the latest events with regards Beran and Jones had been about to say what his response would be but Corp had advised him not to do so on a still potentially compromised line. Mikkel had looked affronted at that, even after Corp told him it was nothing to do with him. Besides, Corp had a feeling he knew what Jones would be doing now. He’d speak to the Admiral or Postlethwaite to arrange a flyby and, possibly, get a starship to examine the satellite itself. So all they could do here was wait. And, of course, watch Mikkel.

Personal Musings of Harmony Whitestar.

I can see the pleasures of being here, I suppose, on the high seas. It’s far brighter here than in space. Odd when you think that light from the sun is largely unfiltered in space. I suppose there’s less for it to reflect off or something. I could think about sailing the ocean. Just me, a seaworthy Raitchian, a boat and a star to sail her by. Of course, I’d have to do the sailing as he say he can’t… uh, where was I? Right. Yeah. It’s interesting, being here. I’m watching a proper team do things for the first time in ages and I’m totally loving it. Mind you, meeting Agent Beran was already something, getting bunged onto her team for a mission was even more awesome. I kinda wish she’d taken me with her but I suppose she needed two of us here and Agent Karl was already down on the ship… boat. Do I mean boat? What’s the difference? Never mind. I’ve checked my weapon is powered up and Corp’s done the same with his. He has a knife rig hidden up his sleeves! That’s so cool! I want one but you have to be quite practiced to use it and not give you some serious hand damage so I might leave it. For now. I’m just up here, keeping watch over the ocean. I’ve got the Captain’s binoculars and am trying to keep my eye on the fishing boat as it approaches the smudge. I wonder what it is? Miki will find out. They ought to recruit him. And I need to watch. Which I am. Totally. My mind’s not drifting even slightly as I watch the tanline… Horizon!

Captain Grantley had an annoying feeling of déjà vu as he tried the commset again to hail the colonial navy vessel. “M.V. Dizza Karaleous to P.N.V. Sibi, respond please. We are approaching you from the starboard side. Please respond.”
“Anything,” Agent Karl said, suddenly appearing at his side and making him jump.
“Gah! Don’t DO that,” he complained. “You’ll give me a coronary!” He put the comm down for a moment. “She’s a usual sight on these waters,” he admitted, “a Fisheries Patrol Boat that patrols on a regular basis.”
“So this would be something someone could work out,” Karl asked, looking out to the vessel they were closing in on.
“Yes, but they’re travelling slower than normal. Normally we’d be a lot closer to her by now. As it is we’re still ten minutes off at least.”
“Maybe it’s damage that’s done it.”
The Captain nodded. “Possibly but we can’t…”
“No,” Karl snapped, a growl forming on her lip, “I mean it’s the damage that might have done it. There’s signs of violence on the side of the ship and there’s a broken mast.”
Grantley grabbed his back up binoculars and looked. “Your eyesight is exceptional,” he told her. “That’s the communications antennae on that mast. muffins and cookies it.” He put the binoculars down and looked around the wheelhouse of the vocal enhancer he had… somewhere as Karl stalked out to advise Beran of what she’d seen. He followed out a moment later, blowing dust and bits off the volume control box of the loud hailer. “Think this still works,” he said, handing the main part over.
Beran accepted the speaker and trigger unit. She blew on it a few times whilst Grantley adjusted the volume and tone. She held it close and started to say ‘This is’ but stopped when the machine put out enough distortion to make Karl hold her ears. Grantley adjusted the settings again and advised Adriette to keep a little more distance between her mouth and the amplifier than she did on a normal comm call. She nodded and tried again as Karl moved away.
“This is Agent Adriette Beran of the IOC to P.N.V. Sibi! We are coming alongside on the Dizzy Keraleous! We will shortly be aboard the assist you!”
“Not shooting at us would be nice,” Grantley grumbled.
“Not shooting at us woul…” Beran paused as she realised she was repeating the Captain. “We, uh, we come in peace!”
That Grantley grimaced at.

Karl led the way up onto the small military vessel as the door opened. A head poked out with a gun ready but holding off on firing. “I...Identify your...yourself,” it demanded.
Karl kept her eyes locked on the armed Mican but slowly moved a hand to her pocket. Then remembered she wasn’t wearing her jacket. She reached into her trouser pocket and pulled the now crumpled ident from there. “IOC Agent Patcha Karl,” she said, holding it out. “Put the gun down and identify yourself.”
“I...I’m C.P.O. Micheltroy,” he said. “I...I’m the ranking officer here now…”
“Tell my boss that,” Karl dared as Adriette pulled herself aboard.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Beautifully written as usually Welshy! I just love the creativity that you used in this.!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

Not that Patcha can intimidate people...

ELEVEN

Mikkel walked around the control room on the command ship and kept an eye on the work he’d done, taking pride in his accomplishments and idly considering a job in law enforcement IT – entirely without thinking of a certain agent standing some ten to fifteen foot to his left right now. She was watching the scanner and the point of light that picked out the fishing vessel he called home. Well, home for now. He’d his plans, of course. Most of them involved freedom and the sea but one or two with Kits. Usually the kits were Fawn coloured like himself but, over the last few weeks, Blackfur kits had begun to sneak into his imagination. He almost had it in him to ask her out right now but then there was the Mican in the room, looming like a shrouded Vulture despite being sat silently in the corner of the room. He just sat there and…

“Hello,” Harmony said as a blip appeared on her screen. “Got something here, sir,” she continued. “Moving towards us from the opposite direction to Adriette.”
“Oh, very succinct,” Corp grumbled, standing to walk over to her screen quickly, gently...ha… gently pushing Mikkel out of his way as he went. He peered over her shoulder as the dot drew closer. “Seems evident they’re coming here. You… Mickey?”
“Mikkel.”
“Right. Has anyone tried to contact us in the last few minutes?”
Mikkel shrugged. “No,” he said thinking that Corp had been right there, listening to the same nothing that he had.
Corp nodded. “Then we have to assume they’re not expecting a response?”
Mikkel considered for a moment before he realised that Corp had meant it as a question requiring an answer. He wondered how he’d become the expert. “When approaching a military vessel we do tend to announce ourselves,” he said helpfully.
“Someone could have told us that earlier,” Corp snipped. “We could have checked the communications log. If they’re not expecting anyone, why are they coming? Did you trip anything?”
“No, I..,” Mikkel rolled his eyes. “I had to cut off their link with the ship so you could get in contact with your command without being tapped.”
Corp huffed. “Now they’re coming to find out why their links’s not working. Probably.” He pointed to Mikkel. “Get below. Whitestar? Keep guard here.”
“Where are you going,” Harmony asked.
“To get onto the front foot,” Corp replied, stepping into the passageway.

The Mican had managed to compose himself in the last couple of minutes after Karl had assured him that she wasn’t going to hurt him and especially after Adriette had assured him that Karl wasn’t going to hurt him. “We… we got attacked six… six hours back,” he said. “Six individuals in a power boat. We thought they were drifting. They didn’t respond to hails and it looked dead.” He shook his head and Karl noted the thin trickle of blood from a minor wound. “Their first grenade killed the Captain and their second took out our comms array. We, uh, we fought back and drove them off but, uh, they damaged our engines…”
“Masta,” Grantly ordered, indicating one of his accompanying Canines, “go see what you can go with their engines. We’ll be on the bridge.”
The Canine headed into the boat, escorted by a crewman as Beran pulled out her small first aid kit and started to apply a pressure bandage plaster to the Leading Seaman’s headwound. “The, uh, Corpsman’s trying to keep the helmsman alive,” Mitcheltroy said, answering the unasked question. “Uh, we decided to head for, uh, the command ship?” He looked at them absently. “W..why are IOC here?”
“Because,” Karl said, before anyone else could break it more gently, “the people who attacked you today attacked the Command ship yesterday, Mitch. They’re all dead.”
Beran glared at Karl before talking. “Don’t worry about it for now, Mitcheltroy. You’re OK for now. Captain Grantley,” she said, “can you take the helm if needed?”
He nodded. “Systems aren’t all that different on this boat, as I recall. Might need to ‘donate’ some items if Masta can fix the engine.”
Beran stood and glanced at the pale Mican she’d been treating. “We need to get back to the command ship and notify base of this,” she said. “Further to what we know, they probably took this ship down so it couldn’t come to the rescue when they go after their main target…”
“Or this is a separate thing,” Grantley uttered.
Adriette threw her hands up. “I know! I’m just spitballing!” She noted Mitcheltroy drooping slightly and gave him a light slap. “Keep awake, fella. You’re the leading Seaman!”
“Right, right,” he said woosily.
“Let’s get to the bridge.”

Corp could hear them through the porthole now. Three of them. Three voices. They were coming aboard and he knew full well that they weren’t coming with peaceful intent. They talked about how they were going to sort out that signal quickly and get back to the main ship. One of them, a Canine by scent, was complaining that he always got these stinking jobs and how he was going to make someone suffer for this and the boss owed him money. Corp considered his options. No grenades to trap the door with. A gun and a recharge clip. Not, of course, that he was going to use those straight away. He had something more to use. He flicked his wrists, launching both knives that were hidden up his sleeves. With them fully extended, he gripped the left one and twisted it so the blade was at the bottom of his fist. He retracted the other one, took his gun in that hand and stood by the bulkhead door. It began to open next to him and he waited until it was halfway open before swinging his left arm in an arc that collided knife with chest at the end. He pulled it back out as the shocked Canid staggered backwards and turned to fire directly into the face of a Feline as the other fired back, clipping his shoulder and making him drop his weapon. Corp staggered back slightly and felt, rather than saw, a shot fizz outwards past his ear as Harmony arrived. It missed the assailant but made him take cover as Corp let the door swing back. “Aren’t we supposed to call out our authority before we start shooting people,” she asked earnestly.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

TWELVE

“That would have given away our… position,” Corp grunted, taking the time to grab his weapon off the floor as the door stayed ajar on the Canine’s leg. “Don’t let him get away,” he ordered as Harmony ran forward to open the door. She pulled it back and Corp dove through the gap, coming up firing and trying to ignore the searing pain in his arm as he took cover.
Harmony headed to a different outcropping of cover and rested against it. “IOC” she called, “surrender now and you won’t be harmed!”
“Like I believe that,” the unknown called back.
“What is it about two brutal killings that makes it so hard to trust us,” she grumbled as she saw Corp leave cover and head away from the combat. She fired on the Feline to stop him shooting Corp in the back. She assumed he was up to… something. Although she didn’t know what. “Do you mind not killing me,” she called, looking to diffuse or confuse the situation, “it’s my first day here!”
“Hah!” the Feline called back. “I promise you I’ll feel bad about it later!”
“You realise I can’t let you leave, right? My senior Officer here would recommend dismissal!”
“You’re very chatty,” the voice replied.
“Part of my charm,” she replied, firing to keep his head down as a small explosion sounded from the other side of the vessel.
“In case you’re wondering,” Corp shouted from nowhere, “I’ve just shot holes in all the lifeboats and your vessel! You’re going nowhere, even if you DO get by me!”
“Us,” Harmony grumbled.
“And I need answers! I’m not going to get it from your friends so you’re it!” Even when shouted, the next words were ominous. “If you want to be.”

Masta clomped his way onto the bridge, fisherman’s boots sounding harder on the steel deckplates than the military shoes being worn by those who regularly served aboard. He looked around, temporarily displaced by a bridge some three times the size of the fishing boat’s wheelhouse, and eventually alighted on Captain Grantley sitting nearly right in front of him at the helm station. “Uh, Skip,” he said politely, making three heads turn towards him. He didn’t exactly ignore Mitcheltroy and Beran but knew he’d been referring to HIS Captain and talked to him. “I can repair the damage. Most of it’s been caused by an explosive device damaging the hull and punching debris into parts of the engine. It hit the modulator feed and damaged that beyond repair but we’ve got the same one on the Karaleous so…”
“You want to strip her out of my boat and install her in here,” Grantley sighed. “Their need is greater. Get it done. Take Miss Wolf with you.” Now Patcha turned to glower at him. “Without that feed, my boat’s going nowhere. You want to get the girl over here?”
Patcha decided that she very much wanted to get the girl over here but thought it best to look to Beran for her assent. Adriette nodded and Patcha led the way back to the fishing vessel.
“Easy to see who’s her Alpha,” Grantley said to Beran as he ran systems checks.
“She’s pretty good at thinking for herself,” Adriette protested, moving over to the side of his chair after finishing the patchup job on a young Celican Vixen. “She just likes the chain of command is all.”
“Good discipline,” he returned, “wish I could get Mikkel to try that.”
“He’s too well educated for that,” Adriette chuckled.
“Don’t I know it,” Grantley replied.

Patcha knocked quickly on the door to the Captain’s cabin and opened it to find Molly sat huddled on the bed. She thought about how quickly she wanted to move the girl to the bigger, less turbulent, boat and almost called on her to move but… She sat next to her. “Want to tell me what’s up,” she asked.
The girl looked up at her shakily. “I… I should have helped,” she asserted. “My dad…”
“Would probably have wanted you to be safe,” Karl told her. “Dad’s usually do, I think. Well,” she shrugged, “most dads. Being Wolven, mine’s a bit different. With us, y’see, we’re given hints on how to fight fear from when we’re young. A couple of times I was left on my own in a forest to camp for a couple of days. Alone. In an area of wild animals that could kill me. Course, I know now that Dad was a couple hundred yards upwind at all times so I was safe. But I felt what you’re feeling. Next time you’ll be able to do more, Molly, trust me. “ She poked the youngster lightly in the chest. “You’ll discover depths of courage you never knew you had as your mind and body know how to better deal with the fear, Yeah?”
Molly wasn’t sure. She looked at Karl blankly before slowly nodding. “I should… should have done something.”
Patcha sighed. “Those cowards attacked unarmed people with guns and cruelty above anything they needed,” she tried, “and your father thought nothing of his own life and everything of yours, Molly. He protected you. Now I’m doing it. So, what skills do you have?”
“Huh? Um… I know some first aid from Scouts. Got the badge…”
Karl gave a wry grin. “And you want to fight against the cowards who did this?” She put hands on Molly’s hands. “They attacked this ship too. But the people here are armed. They fought them off but took injuries. They need all the first aiders.” She gave an honest smile now. “Up for it, Nurse Molly?”
This time the smile back was less forced. She was still scared but it seemed something to do would help.
“C’mon, Molly,” Karl said, slipping off the bed and taking one of Molly’s hands in hers to encourage her to move. She came quite easily.

As did the assailant on the command ship, although he was grumbling about the unfairness of it all as he stepped over the headless corpse of his friend. He wore handcuffs supplied by Harmony as she led him past Corp, who’d pulled the Canine into the side office to patch up the worst of the damage he’d done with the knife to see if the Canine could be saved. He doubted it but reminded himself that the thing that proved he was a good guy was the fact he was prepared to try. “Whitestar,” he said as she passed.
“Sir?”
“Holding his attention by talking to him?” His face showed no sign of humour. “Interesting tactic. Good work.”
Harmony glowed under the praise. “Thank you, sir!”
“Now go chain him to something solid!”
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Really am liking your writing more and more! Please keep it up!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

And now, reappearing from one of my oldest stories here...

Thirteen

The chill breeze of early winter blew across the vehicle park and buffeted the trees to the west as the IOC vehicle drew up as close to the main door as it could. The hover engines lowered it into one of the ‘guests’ parking slots and the statuesque Agent Golta got out from the drivers side and stretched, refusing the impulse to shiver as the temperature dropped close to zero for the third day in a row. Almost Spring weather for the Polars, he decided as he waited for his co-agent to arrive. She was coming in from home, as he had and, thus, was bringing her own car. Golta scritched the side of his muzzle as the little city nipper style vehicle ‘zimm’ed into the space next to his and stopped. He waited until she got out before smirking at her attire. Whereas he was wearing a shirt and light trousers with a thin jacket, Sana was wearing a thick, wool-lined coat with a hood designed for her ears, thick corduroy trousers from the ages 10-12 range, boots with steel toecaps and mittens. “Cold enough for you,” he asked the black hole in the hood where a face would normally be.
“I do deserts, not tundra,” Sana reminded him.
Golta laughed. “It’s hardly that bad,” he said, sweeping his arms around. “Bit nippy, that’s all.”
Sana looked around. “Where’s the others,” she asked.
“Doing the background work,” her senior assured her as the wind picked up.
Sana looked around at the place. The vast, metal and plastic facade of the potentially evil conglomerate. “We going in,” she asked, pointing to the door..
Golta looked up. “I suppose we should,” he allowed opening the door for his little, wool-laden, companion.

The Vixen at reception sniffed as they approached. If the barely dressed greeter had any visible surprise at the mass of clothes moving towards her, she didn’t show it visibly. “Welcome to Monta Weapontech,” she said politely, “how may I help you?”
The pair both showed their idents. “IOC agents Golta and Harbottle to speak to someone in high office.” Sana squeaked indignantly at the rare use of her surname.
Her mood cooled by the official nature of the visit, the receptionist sniffed again. “I can tell you’re you,” she said, “but I haven’t a clue about your colleague.”
“Hmm?” Golta mused, glancing at Sana and rolling his eyes. “Nacla of the North, please show your face.”
“Oh, right.” She took the laden hood off, showing her sandy features and bright, Fennekin, eyes and ears as the Receptionist loomed over the desk. “Good morning,” Sana said shinily, giving off a show of her sparkly teeth in a wide grin and a twitch of her long ears. The receptionist called for the director of personnel resources.

“What is all this about,” Matra Pultar asked as the trio sat in his office. They’d moved to the settees after Pultar had realised that Sana could only just see over the main table. “I know that IOC occasionally like to try and prove we’ve done something wrong but…”
Golta waited until the ManeFox paused as his cue to speak. “A situation involving Monta has developed on a planet called ‘Pandera’ in the colony area called the ‘briar patch’ that we need to investigate.” He could see the reaction of the corporate officer. Some recognition had just happened. “We know that Monta are working with Raicarra and Fawren to develop a ship for sale to the race navies that can operate in space, an atmosphere and underwater that’s being tested on Pandera right now.”
“I honestly couldn’t tell you about th…”
“IOC only know because we’re investigating the murders of the entire crew of the Kastorous, Mr Pultar,” Golta interrupted. “The local Admiral then had to tell us about the test. Someone leaked the details to mercenaries.”
Pultar had the gallantry to look affronted. “And you assume it was us?”
“No,” Sana advised, “other teams are looking into Raicarra and Fawren. We’re here so…”
“Then I withdraw my offended nature,” Pultar asserted, holding up his long arms in a sign of surrender, “but I get the feeling I’m going to need to get someone from legal over here?”
“Probably best,” Golta admitted. “Don’t tell them what it’s about though.”
“It’ll take them a short while to get here.”
“Tell them we have an E-Warrant,” Sana said. “Um, whilst we wait… Is there any chance of some refreshments?” She looked up at Golta. “What? I got the warrant instead of breakfast!”

A half hour past and Sana had something slow for breakfast before presenting the warrant to someone high in the legal department. “I have a copy stored,” she admitted.
“This,” the Feline said, “gives you access to the payroll and accounts of all project ‘Chameleon’ members as well as permission to search our computer systems. We’ll have to appeal this, of course.”
“As is your right,” Golta asserted, “but we’ll take those details now, whilst you appeal. As is OUR right, conferred by that warrant.”
“It’ll take a long time to get warrants for all those accounts.”
“Let us worry about that,” Sana replied, thinking of her computer programme that would have all the finance warrants applied for in about ten minutes flat. Sometimes it was fun, being the computer girl in an official department. It saved time and paperwork. “Offhand,” she added, “and completely off the record, is there anyone you think we should look at?”
The feline scowled at her. “I’m pretty sure no-one criminal works here!”
“No criminal ever works anywhere,” Sana replied lightly, “until the first conviction coes in.”
“No power is greater than the honest application of the rules,” the lawyer countered. “I can quote Kapple too, you know?” Irritated, the Feline left the office with a copy of the warrant as Sana sat in Pultar’s chair, raised it to it’s highest setting, and got to work on the computers to track down any e-nefarious types.
Commander Hawle. U.S.C. Loper. By the talented DDeer.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Welcome back then! Its nice to see a nod to the past!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

FOURTEEN

“Right then,” Corp said, moving into the storage room where Karl had found the girl earlier, “I’ve got one or two questions for you…” He stopped as he looked at the Feline and how Harmony had cuffed him to one of the shelving units. She’d cuffed both his arms to upright units, leaving him standing spread eagle and off the ground in a near crucified position atop a small box. He smiled slightly. “What the..?”
“She… figured this’d be safer,” the captive claimed. “This and the smell means I I’m more inclined to talk.
Corp had to admit he had a point. Something really pungent had lived in here recently and, well, passed on occasion. He felt the throb of his shoulder. “You shot me, attacked this ship and are complicit in the murder of several officers,” he stated. “Forgive me if I’m not compassionate.”
“Quite. Can you, uh, scratch my nose?”
“Nope,” Corp replied, drawing up a crate and starting the ‘record’ function on his comm. “It’s not likely to fall off. Name?”
“Uh, Feldar Ponn.”
“REAL name?”
“It is.”
Corp shrugged. “Doubt it. Feldar’s the kind of name a Human gives to a Feline. As I’m sure you know.”
The Feline chuckled. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, can you?”
Corp nodded. “I’m surrounded by corpses and have been for hours. Yes, I can blame you. Name.”
The unit shifted slightly as the trapped Feline tried to shift position in his discomfort. “Marius Timmal.”
Corp shrugged. “It’ll do. What’s happening here, Timmal?”
Timmal swallowed. He had a mind to answer that a Mican was interrogating a Feline in a potential torture scenario that probably went against IOC protocols but there was something about the tiny badge the Mican was wearing on his lapel that reminded him of Mican armed forces. He’d heard of them from the others and they’d said you don’t mess with them. The way he’d dispatched the two with him and, then, the boats, told him there was something true about that. “I’m told there’s something in the water that is worth buckets of credits to anyone who can afford it.”
“What is it,” Corp enquired, looking to find out what the captive knew. “And how many of you are there?”
“Well, it’s…” Timmal wrinkled his nose and fought to hold in a sneeze. “It’s a ship,” he said. “Supposed to be invisible when it wants to be. Couple… couple of places knew where it was supposed to ah... ah…” He pressed the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth, just behind his upper teeth, and managed to contain the sneeze internally, shaking his shoulder blades slightly. “We hit this one as it’s, ah, the control ship.”
“And the other ship because it would be the only one in range?”
Timmal nodded. Making a rattly shaking sound where metal met metal. “They did enough damage, I hear. This.. This one was just supposed to relay communications to us. From fishing vessels…”
“And from the target when it surfaced?”
Timmal tried to pull the cuffs closer and raise them slightly. “That’s me shrugging,” he confessed. “It’s compartmentalised. And there’s about twelve of us in the crew. Mostly soldiers or ex soldiers. But they needed an I.T. guy. I had debts to a brother of one of them and I’m not above getting dirty…”
“Don’t say it,” Corp urged. “I’m unlikely to believe you when you say you had no idea what they were going to do. You knew and you took part in it. And you WILL pay for that!”

Mikkel was feeling a bit out of his depth here. All of a sudden, HE was the vocal relay system between ships and shore and he was, basically, winging it since he’d done what Corp wanted. Sure, he knew what buttons to push and when to do it but there was added stress in, for example, needing to remember which ship was which and connecting them to whichever emergency service they needed and he hadn’t had to do it yet but he knew he was going to mess it up and… He swallowed hard as Harmony sat next to him and put a carton of drink next to him. “No… no Coffee,” he asked hesitantly.
“Not when sitting here,” Harmony said soothingly. “According the regs books anyhow.”
He sighed harshly. “I don’t think I can… ooh, Rakkaberry flavour… Do this, Harmony.” He gestured to the controls. “It’s not my… It’s not where I’m comfortable.”
“You seem to be doing fine,” Harmony replied. “They need to hear a cool, calm, voice that knows what it’s talking about and knows how to work any of this stuff. Any of that sound like me?”
He had to laugh, sending a few bubbles from the straw hole as he drank. “P’ssb’y not,” he confessed before releasing the straw. “Although I’m sure you could talk down the devil if you wanted.”
“I’m not the only one, hmm,” Harmony asked wryly, before turning her attention back to the screens. “How’s our other team getting on?”
“They’re repairing the P.N.V. Sibi and it’s on it’s way here, leaving the Dizzi where it is. They’ll be back soon.” He glanced at Harmony’s hand and realised that, in leaning across him to look at the screen, she might not have registered that it was across his shoulders. He decided he wasn’t going to tell her.

“So,” Corp asked his prisoner, “what are your people going to do when you don’t return to them?”
“They’ll come look for us,” Timmal asserted. “So you’d better treat me well.”
“Won’t be for a while,” Corp said, idly cleaning his claws with one of his knives. “Had them reconnect your lot to the system in a way that’ll make them THINK they’re in control but aren’t. You’re here for the long run, pal. Now,” he added ominously, choosing to point his knife tip at Timmal, “you’re going to tell me everything. Or I’m going to get rid of you the same way your side got rid of evidence before.”
Commander Hawle. U.S.C. Loper. By the talented DDeer.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

Really like how this chapter has come out! Great job!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

FIFTEEN

Captain Grantley brought the Militia sea cruiser in besides the control ship and had Masta grab at the rope ladder they’d left on the side of the ship. The Canine tied the lower ends to the railings so they could climb back aboard. He looked on the damage and decided they’d better go in armed. Molly looked up at the control ship with worried eyes. “You don’t need to come,” Patcha told her.
“Um, I’m not staying here if you aren’t,” she replied, taking courage from the Wolf.
“Well,” Patcha said casually, “I have to go and make sure my team are OK, don’t I? And you’re part of that team.”
“Stay put, Patcha,” Adriette told her agent. She stepped past with the megaphone machine she’d used earlier. “Beran to Control, is anyone there?” She coughed and tried again. “Anybody up there?”
After a moment, the response came from from Officer Paterra. “Yeah,” the slim Celican called, appearing on the bigger ship’s railings. “We’re all here! A new squad tried to attack but Agent Davidstow dealt with them!”
Beran figured that was probably why she could smell burning. She turned to Patcha. “You better stay here with Molly,” she said, thinking on the new messes Corp and Harmony – but mostly Corp – had probably made. She started up the ladder, leaving her junior agent and new charge to help repair the place.
Mitcheltroy joined her on an idea to grab medical supplies. He looked at the headless figure and examined the fur tattoo on the left arm. “Yeah,” he said bitterly, “this was one of the ones on the boat that assaulted us. FurTats are kinda rare out here.”
Adriette had to agree with that. But she needed to head in quickly. Corp was a good agent but they rarely let him do solo interrogations. She guessed where he would be carrying the operation out and headed downstairs to the supply room.

“What the he...” She opened the door to see a crucified Feline against the shelves and Corp playing with a blade that the Feline couldn’t take his eyes off.
“Agent Beran entering the room,” Corp stated for the recording device. “Whitestar tied him up like that.”
Beran gestured futilely at the situation. “This is ridiculous!”
“No arguments here,” Timmal chipped in.
Corp nodded back to the mercenary. “You keep out of this for now. I’ll release you from one of the cuffs after you tell me more about the firepower we’re facing.”
“I’m the I.T. guy? I only know the weapons I’ve seen. The handguns and the 20mm Quad power Harkalan Industries forward energy cannon. Oh, and the grenade launchers.” He half chuckled. “Raston’s fond of those.”
“Raston,” Corp replied, putting his head up. “Boxan type Canid? Face like a smashed Raspberry?”
“You heard of him,” Timmal said. It wasn’t really a question.
Corp glanced to Beran and she guessed that he did know of this individual. “That just means the price of this heist went UP,” Corp declared. He stepped forward with the blade but let it retract back up his sleeve before he got to Timmal. He unlocked one wrist cuff and the Feline almost fell to the floor. If he hadn’t still been cuffed to the other shelf he probably would have done. He moaned quite happily as he tried moving his arm and shoulders and even took the chance to step onto the floor. “Well, you just hang there.” He stepped out of the room with Adriette.

Adriette spoke first, keeping her voice low so Timmal couldn’t hear them. “You realise that’s tantamount to torture,” she demanded hostily.
“Wasn’t my doing. I told her to secure him whilst I did what I could to save the life of the one I stabbed in the chest. Whitestar made it so he couldn’t move. Exactly what I asked her to do. Secure him. Now, Raston,” he continued, changing the subject, “he’s trouble. I’d rate him a solid ‘B’ in the merc leagues with potential to head up to the lower ‘A’s if he survives long enough. He’s a lover of grenades and a decent tactician.” He stopped for a moment. “How’d things go with you?”
For now, Adriette chose to let the matter drop and told Corp about the interactions with the troops on the P.N.V. Sibi, and about how someone had been spraying grenades from a speedboat at them. She said that added to the fact that it was probably this Raston guy. She sighed. “Better go contact the boss back at base. Where’d you put the guy you stabbed?”
“In the morgue,” Corp replied in deadly earnest. “Seems I got the left anterior artery without aiming.”
“Yeah, well. We can send identification anyway. These guys don’t seem to like that. But we’ll have to move. Any way of knowing where this flippin’ clipper is supposed to be coming up yet?”
“Nope,” Corp replied.

Adriette took scans of Timmal despite his best attempts to stop her – which ceased immediately Corp started playing with his knives again – and headed up to the main communications room. She got through to Feldar on a line that Mikkel assured her was secure and briefed him on what had been going on. She uploaded the new scans and the conversations Corp had had with Timmel to boost their database. Feldar, for his part, assured Beran that the teams on other worlds were tracking down financial irregularities in company payrolls and should have some news soon. Also the request to speak to the colony president had been approved so he was going to get over to her office in the next hour to fill her in and get the official demand for the full schedule released to him. The Naval forces, apparently, were saying they’d handle it themselves and how dare IOC say they were corrupt and… Feldar just simply put his hands up and brought them back down onto his legs. He’d gotten fed up of the arguments so he was going to the one voice they couldn’t argue with and hope for better things there. So she ‘rang’ off and began doing the darker duty.

The bodies couldn’t be kept out on the deck like this. There was no way. So Mitcheltroy had organised someone to move them to the main freezer unit in the kitchen. First, of course, they had to take out the remaining foods that were in the freezer, which would now defrost. “At least,” Paterra had said, “Molly could have the Ice cream.”
Small mercies, Adriette mused. Tiny.

Timmal chuckled as Corp watched him carefully. “Something funny,” Corp grumped.
“Just putting together the bits I heard from you talking to the old Rat,” Timmal commented breezily. “Gives me something to trade for my freedom.”
“Doubt it,” Corp replied.
“Oh, it’s not bad,” Timmal declared. “You want to know where that Clipper is going to be ambushed, yeah?” he patted his chest. “I’m the I.T. guy. Who do you think set up their communications and swiped the plans in the first place?”
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

SIXTEEN

Feldar sat in the outer office of the Pandera Colony President and leafed through the magazines available to put off those who were waiting. There was nothing so boring as the state of Celican fashions or the latest concoctions knocked up by the great Lappinean chefs. One of them even used meat now, after coming out that there was some element of Mican DNA in her heritage that meant she could digest meat and not go into anaphylactic shock as a pure breed would. He made a note to bring a book next time. They didn’t mind the paper versions as there was nothing electronic to piggyback signals on or eavesdrop and Feldar had a couple of them at home for quiet days. Funny how he never seemed to have any quiet days. He’d been here half an hour. President Scarborough was busy, it seemed, setting policies, making laws and ordering sandwiches. The environment minister had gone in twenty minutes ago, probably to answer the accusations of knocking around with an opposition members wife that had been put on Gal-net’s local servers this morning. The aide appeared again and asked if he’d like some water or tea or something. Feldar gave the Mican a small smile and thanked her but turned down the offer. “He’ll probably invite me in as soon as it’s made,” he told her. She told him she doubted it but nodded back to him.

Twenty minutes later he was in and standing opposite the President across his table. “And what is it the local senior agent of IOC wants from me today?” The President slumped back into his chair and bade Feldar sit as well. “Honestly, the things I’ve had to sort today. I have to get a new Environment minister for one thing.”
“Over one affair,” Feldar asked. He had the ability to ask this sort of thing of a President for the simple reason that, as a Council Federal Officer, he had no say whatsoever in colony politics and, therefore, was one of the few who could be completely open with the President and vice versa. “Bit extreme, isn’t it? Isn’t the usual thing just to shuffle them sideways somewhere?”
“Hmmm,” Scarborough mused. “That affair they know about. There are three they don’t know about. One with the transport Minister.”
“Riiiiight,” Feldar drawled. “To lose one minister to scandal is bad but to lose two to the same scandal could be problematic. Anyway, I need to add to the problems.” he edged forward in the chair. “I’m having some trouble with an Admiral… Have you heard about the new starship that’s being tested here?”
“Yes,” Scarborough said, “Monta are leading the project and they’ve told the Mican Central Government they’ll get a fifteen percent discount if we host the trials.”
“Without telling us,” Feldar mused. “It doesn’t much matter. The situation has changed.”
“How so?”
“Someone, somewhere, has leaked the plans. My team are currently aboard the local command ship station. Someone hit them a day or so back. Wiped the crew out and took control of communications.” He paused for a few seconds. “They also attacked the local patrol boat, possibly so she wouldn’t be able to get to the ship in time. Admiral Carlisle is obstructing as he says the Militia can handle it but I have people in the danger zone and I need the information he won’t give me. Adan, we CANNOT risk unknowns getting a hold of that ship! The thing’s designed to operate in any atmosphere that isn’t a sun and it’s sensor reflective when it wants to be. They could hit anywhere.”
The President held up his hands. “Alright, Feldar, alright. I understand your point. Strangely, the military advisor gave me an update an hour or so back. Carlisle probably hoped to steal your thunder. He did mention some slight problems but nothing they couldn’t handle.”
“Seven dead officers, Militia and Council, suggests otherwise.” Feldar thought that Adan Scarborough could probably use the one piece of good news they had that Beran had admitted to having the last time she’d called. “There is one piece of good news though. We found a survivor on the control ship. A…” He checked his notepad. “A Molly Nairn. Thirteen and aboard as part of the ‘take your kit to work’ initiative. She’s as safe as we can make her but she’s still in the danger zone.”
“And I take it you want me to keep it to myself?”
“Why would you think that,” Feldar asked, actively curious.
The Mican politician leaned on the table and smirked at Feldar. “Because Commander Selkirk didn’t mention it to me earlier, Feldar. Now why didn’t you want him to know?” The president chuckled. “Come on… You can tell me…”
Feldar smirked. “Well, the leak could have come from this end,” he confessed. “My team leader was worried that, if they were the leak, they could get concerned at a witness.”
Scarborough tapped several buttons on his computer. “Hmm,” he mused, “one for social I think…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Anyhow, I’ll get those files and plans you were after. You’ll get access to the details or I’ll have his Admiral’s hat for a vase.” He looked over at Feldar. “Any chance you can remind Henry to pay a visit next time he’s here? He still owes me fifty from the night in Kella’s bar.”
“Ah, if he owes money you’ll probably never see him again, Adan. Carlisle going to give you much trouble for this? It’s kind of evident he doesn’t like IOC.”
“Well, have you met a Colonial Militia Commander who DOES? He probably thinks you’ll use this information to station a ship in low orbit, watching over the area of sea that’s causing all the problems.” Feldar had the dignity to look as though the idea had never occurred to him. “I used to plan strategy,” the President told him, not believing the strange Human face in the slightest. “It helps gird me against enemy action in the senate.” He shrugged. “Well, not really. Give Corp my regards. Cheer him up. Tell him he’d make a lousy politician.”
“Will do,” Feldar agreed, standing up. “Any idea how soon I can have those files?”
The door opened and the aide walked in with a file which she handed to Feldar. “That fast enough,” Adan said.
“It’ll do,” Feldar replied, deliberately trying not to sound impressed. “I’ll get to work on this now,” he added, already looking through the file. He stopped as he reached the door and heard the President cough. “Oh,” he said, feeling his ears would have stood on end if they were Feline. “Do I have permission to depart, Mr President?”
President Scarborough gave him a wink. “Like you need permission, Feldar? Never mind. You have work to do. Go away.”

So Feldar headed back to base.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I really do think that this chapter is very nice! Great work on writing this Welshy!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

SEVENTEEN

Corp came up to the bridge after putting the prisoner in the tiny brig and cuffing him to the bars.

The other Rat, Mikkel, had argued that he should stay back on the control vessel to act as communications but Adriette had advised him against that, saying that it wasn’t wise. The mercs could come calling at any time. One of the other control ships had agreed to do it’s best to cover the lost area although there could still be a hole or two. Mikkel had expressed his surprise that the militia hadn’t sent in a relief crew already but she’d replied that they probably wanted to know that any new crew wouldn’t all be killed before they sent anyone. Mikkel had swallowed, realised his cowardice wasn’t going to be a help here, and gone along with it, climbing down to the P.N.V. Sibi and jumping the last few feet so Harmony Whitestar had to catch him. Adriette had rolled his eyes at the theatricality of the jump and the fact that she was holding him perhaps a second too long. “he won’t crumple if you put him down, Whitestar.” she called from the ladder, “He’s a searat.”
Harmony put him down so Adriette could join them, carrying supplies, including several cartons of Ice Cream. “Get this portioned out,” she said, handing the cold containers over to Mikkel. “Might as well not waste it.”
Mikkel took hold and winced at the sudden drop in temperature on his hands. “Well,” he said, heading into the ship, “at least Agent Karl will appreciate the Blood Orange flavour.”
Harmony looked a little confused. “Why?”
“It’s Celican Ice cream, Harmony,” Adriette advised. Harmony thought about it and screwed her face up.

Patcha and Molly were currently in the closet that served as an infirmary on this ship, with Molly taking tuition on bandages from the ship’s corpsman now that he’d bandaged and patched up everyone who needed his services. Patcha was acting as the dummy, taking fabric around the ears and head as Beran arrived. “Not being satisfied with being the Wolfwoman,” she said in a deep, breathy, tone, “she became the mummy as well!”
Patcha scowled at her but Molly smiled. “I’m practising wraps,” she said.
“On her head?”
“She said it would be the part most likely to be hurt in a fight.”
Karl shrugged. “Said I usually go into them head first.”
Adriette tutted. “True enough,” she admitted. “But we need to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice so, if you’re going to be using bandages like that, show her how to apply a neck tourniquet?” Adriette lowered her tone. “Just in case.”
“But,” Molly said, “they said never to do tourniquets to the neck? It, um…”
Karl considered her gently. “...Kills the patient.” She sighed as Beran headed off. “Yeah, that’s what she’s getting at, sweetie. Gonna have to show you some self defence moves.” She held her hands up. “Nothing too dangerous, just things that’ll help until I get there and rip their throats out.” She looked at the paling Corpsman. “What? Oh, grow up. A few tricks, Molly, that’s all.” She nodded to the bandages. “First things first, forget the neck tourniquet. You’ve not the strength to pull it off. But you CAN trip them…”

Mitcheltroy seemed to have things more or less under control on the bridge as Beran entered, leaving Grantley on the helm and sending out various orders to the five or six crewmembers he had left. Masta was fixing up the engine and had just sent someone running up to say they should be able to test it in five minutes or so. He was anxious to get away from the control ship and headed for the rendezvous point that had been sent over to them from IOC in Pandera City. He wanted to have ‘words’ with these people. Generally words like ‘die’, ‘suffer’ and ‘kill’. If these IOC people and Fishermen could help him do that he was all for it. He knew that, most of the time, IOC just got in the way and interfered but they were armed, they were allies and, heh, they were all in the same boat. He just wished the Canine wouldn’t keep confusing him by calling Grantley ‘Captain’. Even though, of course, he kind of was…

Corp had a bowl of Tutti frutti Ice cream as he met Adriette with a bowl of her favourite, Toffee Pecan. He handed her the bowl as she noted his. “They still make that monstrosity of a flavour,” she queried.
“It’s not so bad,” Corp replied. “It’s less like enjoying yourself. Perfect for grumps. How’s the kid?”
Adriette leaned against the rear bulkhead and dipped her spoon into the light brown confection. “She’s coping with Patcha. She’s being taught self defence tactics. And… THAT topic hasn’t come up yet.”
Corp grumbled. “It’ll have to at some point. Karl’s not gonna like it.”
“She’ll manage.” Beran gave a short laugh. “She’ll probably try to foist her on me or something.” She took on some of the dessert as Corp finished off his.
“I’ll talk to her before that,” he said, trying to ignore the ‘brain freeze’. “Maybe set her on a better target.”
“Like you,” Beran said, tapping his muzzle top with her spoon.
Corp made a dismissive sound. “Like heck! I meant Jones! He’s stuck at base so he’s safe! Maybe threatening him like this is the way to get him back out in the field, where he belongs!”
“Hmm,” Adriette said, deliberately not agreeing with him as Mitcheltroy and Grantley tried out the engines. They cut into life with steady power. The agents heard the Chief Petty Officer call out for the lines to be cast off and directed Grantley to set the course for the rendezvous point and glanced at each other. “Go check the weapons are operational, Corp,” she directed, saying it loud enough for Mitcheltroy to hear. “Particularly the main forward gun.”
“On it, boss,” Corp said, giving her a wry smile as he headed off towards the deck.
Commander Hawle. U.S.C. Loper. By the talented DDeer.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

Enter Leading Seamouse Goldstein. A nod of the head to the classic Radio Sitcom 'The Navy Lark' which, amongst it's characters, had able/leading Seaman 'Taffy' Goldstein, A Welshman with hopes for home rule and getting rid of the English. iIt aired in the 1960's, which shows how forward thinking he was!

EIGHTEEN

Harmony stood out on deck and looked up to the antenna apparatus, shielding her eyes from the sun with a hand as she scanned for something tan against the white. After a moment she managed to locate it and stepped as close to the ladder as she could. She stepped onto the lowest rung and pulled herself up slightly so she could look up easier at the damaged area. She had no clue why that was easier when on the ladder but it was. “What are you doing up there,” she asked.
Mikkel pulled his head out of the casing he was looking into and removed his goggles. “Well,” he called, “as everyone else is busy, I figured I’d put things to use, Harmony, and see if I could fix up the communications system.” He smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck with a free hand. “Call it my cowardice but I’d like to try and get us talking to other ships y’know?” He took a step back onto the ledge he was standing on as the ship bounced through the moderate surf on it’s way to its destination. “You coming up,” he asked. “I could do with someone giving me a hand.” He looked around. “If the boss knew I was out here…” He shrugged. “He’d never believe it.”
The young Agent found herself climbing the ladder towards him. “I doubt I’m going to be much help,” she claimed, “I’m not an engineer.”
“I only did extension courses,” Mikkel advised her. “And I note that, despite not being able to help, you’re up here anyhow,” he giggled.
“Ooh, get you,” Harmony replied, bopping him on the shoulder playfully, “thinking you’re the gods gift to us ladies…”
“Really,” Mikkel asked, “which one?”
“Does it matter?”
“Well, yeah. I don’t want to be Kibla, god of refuse tips, do I?”
“You’re not Kibla,” Harmony assured him as he took some new cables from his work box and set about installing them. She handed him some of his tools when he asked for them, even if he did have to tell her which was what. She made to stand and look fore, over the sea like the rating on the foredeck but Mikkel advised her not to stand behind him like that as, if he backed up too quickly, she could be knocked over the railing. So she stood slightly to one side, waiting for his instructions. Perhaps he’d take his shirt off?

Corp was down at the weapons locker, escorted by the new ‘third in command’, Leading Seaman Goldstein, a Greyfur Mican female who had been given charge of the weapons locker keys. Corp took a AV-98 plasma rifle from the wall and ran his eye over it. “Looks in good condition,” he admitted, before taking it apart and examining the pieces. “Fully charged. Spring’s a bit rusty though.” He tutted. “Don’t want that malfunctioning through rust and stopping the power core ejecting when spent. Could take at least ten seconds to pull the thing manually.”
“Don’t tell me, tell the quartermasters,” Goldstein told him, speaking with a fascinating, sing song, accent that Corp couldn’t quite place, “It’s them as says what we get.” She turned away. “Right Drewgi, he is.”
“Right what?” Corp looked up at her as he put the weapon back together perfectly. “Seaman… Where IS that accent from?”
“Where I was brought up, bach,” she said slyly, giving him a half grin. “Place on Earth called ‘Swansea’.”
Corp picked up the next weapon. “How the heck does a Mican get brought up on Earth?”
She shrugged. “Dad was Council. They had a base there.”
“Oh,” Corp said, taking apart the hand weapon and blowing a little dust from the power compressor. “Well, I can write a report stating you need some replacements, if you like. But it might get you in trouble.”
She leaned against the wall. “Not me, bach, I’m just a leadin’ seaman. Plus we’ll be needin’ a new Commander anyhow so it can’t get ‘im in trouble neither.”
“Well, he’s dead.”
She pointed a finger. “’xactly.”
He finished his checks. “These are approved. Now,” he added, “how the heck do I check the big one?”
Goldstein shrugged. “Could always fire it.”
“Not a bad idea,” Corp said as she folded herself around to take the hand weapon Corp was offering her. She noted how he took the rifle and slung it over his shoulder. She locked up the cabinet. If stations was declared, she’d return to the locker and unlock it. Unless there was combat, she wasn’t trusting ordinary ratings with firearms.

Grantley looked down at the sensors and blinked. It looked as though they were getting readings back, just for a few seconds. Then they lost it again. That’s what the rating was doing on the prow, acting as their forward scanner. Any sign of any ship he was to call on the emergency radio comm unit. It only had a range of about five hundred meters but he was well within range. And there had been nothing. But now it was flashing. Logically, Grantley knew there was only one person who could possibly be trying to repair the communication systems. Didn’t that mean he was outside? The Captain wondered if he was trying to impress someone, risking sunburned fur? He wasn’t up for a raise after this trip, that was for sure. It was possible they’d get some compensation from the Military and medals from the president but, other than excellent PR, their hold was going to be empty and they were down an engine until it was replaced. He steered the ship past a swell and corrected course after it passed. The screen flickered into life again for a few seconds. On a hunch, Grantley advised Mitcheltroy to turn the communications system onto speaker. “I have the feeling my Communications lad is working on fixing it.”
“I wish he’d asked,” Mitcheltroy complained.
“He always surprises you,” Grantley responded.
“I can see that,” the acting Commander replied as Goldstein commed in, requesting permission to test fire the main cannon. Mitcheltroy hummed, then gave permission for a low power shot to be test fired. It’d give him a chance to check the firing systems up here as well. “Shut down at the first sign of overload,” he advised.
<”Will do, sir, Iechyd da.”> She cut the line.
“I never know half of what she says,” he admitted, shaking his head. He looked over as Grantley called for his attention. “What is it, Captain?”
“Sensors are back,” Grantley announced. “I’m picking up three vessels.” He pointed to two on the far edges of the screen. “These show up as a couple of boats I know. This one,” he added, tapping the third, “isn’t showing any identification.”
Mitcheltroy looked over his shoulder. “And it’s headed for the rendezvous.”
Grantley cut the forward speed in half. Mitcheltroy looked at him. “I gave no orders…”
Grantley made no movement. “They think this ship is crippled. That we can’t go to full speed. If we give away that we can, they may head for us.”
Mitcheltroy nodded. He had to recognise the possibility. “Well,” he admitted, “at your discretion but we HAVE to be at the rendezvous point on time, clear?”
This time, Grantley nodded.

((Drewgi = Skunk))
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

This chapter is just incredibly good! I am enjoying reading all the new additions you put up!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

Meanwhile, on Celica...

NINETEEN

Agent Golta’s car turned onto the unsurfaced road ten miles out of Pandera city as Sana did her usual complaining. “It’s humiliating is what it is,” she complained to the bigger Celican.
“Your car wouldn’t have gotten up here in these conditions,” he said, talking of the white stuff clogging the roads today.
The major roads had been gritted but most of the local, minor roads were still bare and open to the elements on a planet that had refused weather control as something they didn’t need as they had the perfect bodies for their environments. Sana, being a Desert variety, wasn’t exactly feeling that way in temperate winter, and that was probably adding to her mood today. “I HATE the booster seat,” she complained, crossing her arms and trying to look stern.
“It’s law, Sana,” Golta intoned darkly. “You know the locals would pull us over if you weren’t in it. You HAVE to be able to see out the front window!”
“Stupid regulations,” she grumbled, checking the satnav. “His house is about a quarter mile further up. He’s probably dead, you know?”
She was complaining about a Doctor on Monta Weapontech’s development taskforce who had received something of an unofficial ‘raise’ in his bank balance a few days ago and not reported in for work today. His home was listed as a single level cabin up in the woods and Sana had to blink as the computer on her wrist beeped to inform them they had arrived. The complex was far larger than the shack she’d been expecting and had room for three vehicles in it’s garage and, possibly, a shuttle on the lawn. “I think his finances are suspect,” she admitted.
“Or he’s mated with money,” Golta advised. “We can’t say for sure yet.” He stepped out of his side and walked quickly around to Sana’s so he could open the door before the Fennekin agent had managed to release herself from the restraints and reached for the door handle.
“Swine,” she cursed humorously as she jumped down. “Didn’t need the help,” she told him as she plumped up her coat and sniffed the air. “Kinda clear and clean,” she told Golta.
“That’s a bit odd,” he replied. “For Celica, I mean. “No smells of hunting.”
“You’d hate the desert,” Sana announced, beginning to tramp towards the house. Golta caught her up effortlessly and took the lead.

He stopped by the door and noted it was open. The door had been broken in and he had to consider that Sana might be right in her assumption of no-living. “Right,” he whispered, getting his weapon ready, “the usual,”
“You go high,” Sana replied, “I stay low and wish the others were here instead of me?”
“About right,” Golta murmured as Sana picked her gun out of her pocket.

The house was empty but full of faint scent traces. “Something Lappinean,” Golta remarked in the kitchen. He opened the freezer to check. “And it’s not stuff he’s stored.”
“Think I’m getting a canine in here,” Sana said, making sure she termed it so Golta would remember she was one of the few Celicans on the planet with a ‘fail’ grade in hunting. She was in the main living room, looking up at the vidscreen. The lights on the side of the unit took her attention. “Hello,” she said, “what are you indicating?” She decided to look for the remote.
“What’s got your attention,” Golta asked, heading in.
“Vid’s in ‘sleep’ mode,” Sana said, holding up the remote that she’d found between the sofa cushions. “Remote’s kinda old tech,” she said, “wonder why he didn’t go for vocal control?”
“Probably best to…” Golta stopped as he saw Sana about to press the power button. “Stop!”
She froze, her finger an inch or so above the button. “What, boss?”
“Being careful,” he said slowly, “let’s take that right out of the room before pressing it, yeah?”
Her ears drooped as she put two and two together. She joined her boss in backing out of the room into the passageway that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. Then she pressed the ‘on’ switch and…

...nothing happened. She opened an eye and her ears pricked back up. She glanced at the remote, wondering if it out of batteries. She glanced at the screen. It was on and it looked like files were showing on it. “Give it a minute to be sure,” Golta advised. Sana waited. Nothing happened so she cautiously ventured back into the room. She looked up at the screen as Golta joined her. “What’s on it,” he asked.
“Travel plans, it looks like,” she responded. She clicked on a link. “Looks like he’s going to Pandera.”
“That seems rather convenient,” Golta mused. “Almost too coincidental. I can’t say I’d believe it…” He looked at the lights that had told Sana the thing was on. “It’s still flashing,” he advised.
“Yeah, the camera’s on,” Sana said absently, “so someone’s probably looking at us and… still flashing, you say?” She edged away from the set again. When she started running, Golta joined her and they were by the front door when the vidsystem overloaded, blasting glass and circuits all over the living room with a bang. “You think it’s him,” she asked, trying to shake her ears free of the noise.
“Getting that impression,” Golta replied, before taking Sana down to the ground. A shot from the tree opposite skimmed across his back as Sana squeaked. She speed crawled to the cover of Golta’s vehicle as the senior agent returned fire, rolling side to side to avoid being pinned down. Sana took up the firing duties as Golta darted for the tree. She generally couldn’t hit a barn at this distance but, as long as she aimed high into the tree, she wasn’t likely to hit him on the ground.

Golta found himself under the tree, feeling the burn of near hits. He leapt for the lowest branches and swung himself up into them. He skirted around the trunk of the tree and climbed upwards, ignoring the twigs and branches that slapped at his face and arms until he found himself behind the Canine gunman. He put his claws under the target’s neck. “Want to die today,” he growled. A shot passed by overhead as the Canine dropped the gun. “Is she more dangerous to you or me?” He commed Sana. “Stop shooting, Sana, it’s under control.” As she responded, the Canine tried to take Golta’s feet out from under him to make him fall. Golta gripped the Canine’s throat tightly, his claws dripping blood as his weight pulled downwards. The Celican worked on keeping himself on the same level as the Dog. He could feel himself going and worked on grasping the branch to haul himself upwards, releasing the canine. He held onto the branch as the wounded opponent pulled himself upright and tried crushing Golta’s fingers to loose him from the branch. Golta grabbed the offending ankle and pulled the canine off the branch. He held him, dangling thirty feet above ground and implored him to grab one of the lower branches.
“It’s out of reach,” the Canine coughed.
“I’ll… swing you to it,” Golta offered, straining to hold himself up with one hand. He could feel his finger claws giving way. Still he strained, putting momentum into a slight swinging motion to get the Canine onto the nearest branch. He let go and the Canine dropped to a branch below and gripped at it desperately. He failed, although he managed to put himself the right way up and he fell through the lesser branches to the floor.

Golta climbed down as Sana walked over. “Called an ambulance, boss.” She glanced at the canine with the broken legs. “Not that he’s going anywhere.”
Commander Hawle. U.S.C. Loper. By the talented DDeer.
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

This chapter has come out breathtaking! I always look forward to more!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

TWENTY

Feldar Jones looked down at the report Celica IOC had sent in. The Canine, after getting treatment, had confirmed what Corp had called in a short time back. They were up against the Canine called ‘Raston’. His CV was quite something, detailing attacks on several worlds that he was suspected of being involved with and hits he was believed to have been a part of thanks to information that Jones absolutely hadn’t contacted a PI on Caldera to confirm. It seemed he was quite a bruiser and Feldar had sent the information that he was here to the local Police so they could investigate how he seemed to have gotten hold of his signature weapon on the colony. He imagined the chief sending out her teams to ‘ask’ the local suppliers questions. As it was, he was still waiting for the USC frigate Saldana to reply to his request for support. The Raitch team had reported in with nothing and the Mican squad was, last he heard, in a firefight with a sabotage squad they’d uncovered at Fawren Spaceways that could, in no way, be tracked back to one of their competitors. Apparently Mican Police were also in on the fight, according to the Lappinean House manager on Mica. They expected a positive outcome. Now he just had to…
“Tea, sir,” a voice asked, interrupting his train of thought.
He looked at the old Feline with the urn that had appeared in his doorway. “Is it ten O’clock already, Sonia,” he asked, referring to the tea lady’s usual arrival time.
“Naw,” she said, flapping her towel at him. “Hardly had anything to do this morning, sir and figured it’d be the same tomorrow. Meantime there’s you, sat here at all hours… Thought I might as well do the late evening and night time today. Stop some daft sod I know from bein’ lonely.”
“Biscuit Blend please, Sonia. And I’m hardly alone. I have security and the other personnel in personnel. There’s a couple of agents work nights…”
“And none of them are in this office,” Sonia proclaimed. Feldar supposed the Silver Tabby had a point with that.
“You sitting or pushing that thing around,” he asked as she placed his tea on the desk. She sat.

Corp was as ready as he felt he could be. The guns were ready, THIS gun was ready. The spray was in his face as the main cannon turret moved in it’s housing, tracking the target drone as it moved about, five hundred feet ahead of them. Goldstein had calibrated the weapon quite well. It had hit the drone with several low powered shots during target practice and he was bringing the drone back in for landing now the power had been turned off. The Leading Seaman would send a message to Mitcheltroy to power it up fully. She was quite a good NCO but he did wish she wouldn’t call him ‘Cariad’ quite so often. He also wished he knew what it meant. He suspected she was fibbing when she said it just meant ‘friend’. He looked out, over the prow, as the ship cut through the waves. He hadn’t quite felt like this for years. Up against a straightforward enemy now. No investigations to be done, just readying for the attack. The Searat Mikkel had gone and managed to get communications back on but that had only told them what they already knew. It was only them and the Mercenaries in the area. Well, and the invisible Clipper star submarine. He figured it was a valuable weapon but some idiot had been involved in the planning. That was how it had been leaked. On days like that, he could understand people like this, out on the ocean where they were hard to reassign and could operate largely on their own recognisance.
“Thinking about holidays,” Adriette said, sliding up behind him with Coffee.
“Heard you coming,” he fibbed, turning to accept one of the drinks. “Just thinking I could see the attraction of all this,” he said, turning back to look out at the sea. “Just your muscles and the boat versus the world.”
Adriette shrugged politely. “Yeah, Grantley does look buff,” she admitted, “for a Mican, y’know?”
Corp sipped his Coffee as he watched the sun hang in the west. “I’m not going to have to hurt him, am I,” he asked, semi seriously.
“I think he’s more hitched to the sea,” Adriette replied, standing next to Corp and letting her tail twist around his. “Finally we get to see the sunset together,” she stated, slipping her sunglasses on.
“Over-rated,” he replied, doing likewise. “Any chance of a sandwich?”

“Figures they’d arrange to come back up at sunset,” Mikkel told Harmony as they sat in the ships kitchen, helping himself to a steak sandwich that, apparently, had been being kept for the Captain. “Less likely people’ll see them that way. Thing might be invisible to sensors and black against the night in space but, in an atmosphere? Black stands out.” He took a large bite of his sandwich, none of which he’d offered to Harmony. But it had been a week since his last sight of steak so he hoped he’d be forgiven.
“You’re wasted on a Fishing boat,” Harmony remarked, looking at the copious catrons and containers he’d opened to use in the construction of his feast, “a Cordon bleuch restaurant would love to have you.” She set about making herself a meal out of the meats and cheeses that were left, just about remembering to leave the grains for the Micans. “Are you ready to duck and cover as soon as the shooting begins,” she asked.
“Heck, give me warning and I’ll do it BEFORE the shooting starts,” he replied after swallowing. “I’m a smart guy, I’m great with communications but I’m no hero.”
“That’s a shame,” Harmony said, before starting to devour her own sandwich, “I was thinking our tech boys could do with a guy like you.”
“What, up in the city?” Mikkel blew a raspberry.
“Well, more on Vallonia,” Harmony sighed. “Comms are always breaking down there.”
“Oh,” Mikkel remarked playfully, “you just want me there for my brain?”
“Only when we would be on duty. There’s no ocean like this one but there’s several lakes big enough to be called inland seas…”
He waved a hand and brought his feet down off the counter tops. “I’d never get used to calling someone else ‘boss’. I’m bad enough with ol’ Grantley.”
“I’ve heard you call him boss several times,” Harmony said, slightly confused.
Mikkel grinned wide enough to show off his gleaming incisors and the rest of his teeth. “Yeah, but he wants me to call him Captain!” Harmony had to laugh at that. “Although,” Mikkel continued, “you’re the most compelling argument for it I’ve had in years.”
Harmony smoothed her outfit down. “You mean I have the most compelling argument for it?”
Mikkel shook his head. “I know what I mean.”

On the bridge, Mitcheltroy called Beran on the ship comm. “The other ship is changing course,” he advised. “She’s coming towards us.

((Cariad = a Welsh term of 'intense affection'.))
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

This is truly a work of art that you are writing! I really do love seeing what you come up with next! ^_^
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

Annnnd, here we go...

TWENTY-ONE

There was a small room aboard the ship that acted as the brig and Beran stepped into it now, closing the door behind her and looking directly at the Feline manacled to a railing that ran across the back of the room from a simple bed to a simple chair. Timmal got up off the chair he’d been sitting on and did a mock salute with his free hand. “Agent Beran,” he said with exaggerated politeness, “how lovely to see you again.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.” Beran looked at him civilly. “Now, I’m told you were willing to give us information for your freedom?”
Timmal mused, putting his hand under his chin. “About the plans and such?” He nodded. “I was told that Agent Davidstow would consider it.” He gasped theatrically. “Has he come to a decision?”
Adriette ignored the goading attempt and sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s off the table now,” she advised. “We came by the information from another source.”
“They’re probably lying, you know,”
“They might be. You probably are. But there’s a different complexion to the information we still need that might JUST help you out.”
He sat back down again. A complexion of expressions crossed over his face as he considered her comment that eventually came out in a single line. “What SORT of help?”
“Well,” Adriette admitted, putting her hands padded side up, “we could do with knowing the numbers we’re up against. The type of boat they’re on. That sort of thing?”
Timmal scoffed. “And why should I help you,” he asked. “What’s in it for me?”
“Well, they’re headed right for us,” Adriette replied. “They probably mean to finish the job on the ship this time, not merely cripple her, and they’ll probably do some severe damage to the people aboard too. One of which is you.”
“I… am aware.” Timmal thought on the subject. “Have people here been in contact with their bases? It… it would explain how he knows the thing’s steaming to intercept, after all.”
Beran mulled that for a moment. Jones had, after all, been informed and he might have…
“No, wait,” Timmal cut in. “Has the comm system here been repaired?” He noted her slight shift of muzzle. “So it has. That’ll be it, then. They’re still using the control ship’s output, like every other vessel on the briny around here. Soon as your comms were repaired, the boat popped back up on their readouts, telling them you were here. Raston’s no fool. He’d calculate your position meant you had the engines back up and running.”
“Right, right. What sort of ship does he have? Speedboat? Converted trawler?”
Timmal clicked his tongue. “Ah, it’s more the latter,” he said with a glint in his eye, “although he’s done one or two natty things. Like mount a WV-15 auto cannon onto the prow.” Beran looked at Timmal with concern. “I know,” he continued, “I know. How did he get one of those? He didn’t. It was here, waiting for him.”
“And only a senior officer in the Militia could have arranged that,” Beran allowed.
Timmal shrugged. “There’s always someone who wants a new shuttle. Or a used one.”
“Good of you to provide the information free of charge,” Beran goaded.
“Think nothing of it,” Timmal breezed. “The information’s largely to get the attention anyway.” He allowed a half smile to creep across his muzzle, allowing just a glint of teeth that were slightly yellowing to the sight. “More to even the odds than anything. Of course,” he added, “it’s the OTHER thing that’s the real deal. The sort of thing that can really go for a commutation of sentence.”
“And what would that be?” Beran shifted forward on her perch.
“If they’re seeing you on the scope and you’re seeing them? Communication lines are open.” He gave a throaty chuckle. “And I’m the I.T. guy, aren’t I?”

The ship appeared on the horizon to the starboard side as Mitcheltroy turned towards it. The sensors had spotted it first, Karl had spotted it second and Corp third. He blamed the sunglasses as the sun continued to dip towards the horizon. He knew it would never quite go dark here at this time of year but the older Mican was hoping that enough of it would be in the opposition’s eyes to affect their abilities. If what the cat had told them was correct they knew the numbers aboard the mercenary's vessel but their own number was unknown. Probably. A WV Auto cannon was problematic, though. It had a range greater than theirs and could potentially punch a hole in a starship’s armour at close range. F course, they often said that but no-one had ever put a surface ship so close to a starship to test it before this cockamamie lunacy of a ship. He ducked on impulse as a bolt of energy screamed overhead. It missed the mast by roughly fifty feet and streamed into the distance. He turned to look at Karl. She was back by the door, looking daggers at the distant spot as Corp felt the ship accelerate as Mitcheltroy must have ordered full ahead both. They had to cut the distance down as fast as possible now…

Timmal huffed and did his best to work on the laptop Beran had provided with one hand. “I’m never going to get into the navigation system in less than a half hour,” he complained as he typed. He’d located his own presence on the local net through the uplink and patched to his computer to get into theirs. It wasn’t a great way of hacking but, for now, he’d take it. “I can probably get into the targetting computer and wipe that,” he offered as the shot sailed over.
Beran, who absolutely had NOT just cringed, didn’t pull herself back up to her full height as she obviously didn’t need to. “You should do that,” she told him. “Quite quickly.” She gripped on as the ship pushed forward. “They’re trying to get in close so your friends can’t use the big gun,” she told him. “But he’s not going to make it unless…”
“...I manage to foul up the targetting computer,” Timmal finished, looking up. “Just did it. He’ll go manual in a moment but it should help. Oh, and he’s gonna know I did it so I think we can call them my FORMER friends?”
“Not yet,” Adriette told him.

Mitcheltroy and Grantley watched from the bridge as their ship closed on the assailant. The Chief Petty Officer eyed the distance monitors as it counted down. The next shot skewed wide for some reason he didn’t quite understand. But he wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass and commanded the Canine engineer Grantley had provided to coax everything they could out of the engines, even authorising the use of the former Commanding Officer’s Rum as a fuel source to boost the engines. Grantley had heard of such a manoeuvre but had never expected to be in a situation to need it. “We’re in range,” someone said behind him.
“Then, by all means,” Mitcheltroy said tightly, “open fire.”
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Amazee Dayzee »

I do love the work you put into this! Lovely section!
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Re: IOC - On the Sea

Post by Welsh Halfwit »

And what secret is Harmony keeping?

TWENTY-TWO

Personal musings.

Agent Beran wants me close to her. I’m not sure if I’m encouraged by that or if she’s thinking I’m failing somehow. It’s not brilliant and she says that part of it is because of what she read in my biography on the way here. Which means she knows of the thing I don’t talk about. The thing which, not more than a century ago, would have resulted in me not being an Agent. At least, not one that’s allowed out in the field. I suppose I understand where she’s coming from, considering this guy likes to use… Wow. They just fired the main gun. It’s not the biggest of things but you forget how much noise these things can make when you’re near them. A kind of ‘Foom’ concussion sound as the barrel pulls back for several seconds, then moves forward again. I’m not sure but I think we missed. We’re cutting down the distance between us and the other ship and Patcha Karl’s stopped hurling on regular occasions. She looks ready to murder someone and I wonder if that’s why she’s hanging around the attached launches? She’d been going around them with the one who’d been helping Agent Davidstow with the guns. I don’t know what she’s planning but I’m sort of sure there’d be blood. She likes blood.

I hope Mikkel gets through this without a lot of damage. He’s worthy of not being here. Grantley too. And Matcha. And the other guy. Lots of good people depending on me to not screw it up completely. Wow, there goes the tip of our antennae. Well, one of them anyhow. We’re getting quite close now. I need to start getting my mind on things.

End musings.

Patcha Karl wasn’t happy. Adriette wanted her out of sight for the initial assault and, quite frankly, she wanted to murder the people who’d made Molly an orphan. She’d never had a chance to get her own back but now she had a chance to even the odds. Of course, she’d try to take as many as possible alive but battle was battle and that resulted in blood. It was galling to be out of the initial attack but she agreed this was possibly the most effective way to catch them out. And she could swim. She sat in the launch on the blind side of the Militia boat and held her stomach as Leading Seaman Goldstein disengaged the launch from the ship and it dropped to the ocean with her and two other able seamen aboard. The Mouse said something Karl’s translation engrams couldn’t understand and the little boat began to separate from its mother. They checked their weapons as she checked her claws.

“Incoming,” Grantley called, noting that the next shot from the opposing vessel was not going to miss. The bolt crashed through the screen in front of him and tore into the room above his head as he hid as close to the deck as he could.
The roof gave way, showering metals and plastics don onto the people below as Mitcheltroy shouted into the ship comm. “Target that sodding gun,” he yelled, “before they sink us!”

Corp, ready on deck with a plasma rifle, wanted to call in but Mitcheltroy’s tone told him the bridge was annoyed more than damaged. Adriette was ready for her part and so was he. He’d had to move aside quickly, off the stanchion as that main bolt had smashed through it and he’d landed heavily on the port side of the ship. He’d put himself against cover and estimated if they were within firing range as the Militia ships’ gun thummed again.

Feldar watched Admiral Carlisle storm across the bullpen towards his office and groaned. Just what he needed. “Good eveni…” he started, but Carlisle’s face said he wasn’t in any sort of mood for niceties.
“There are many things I have to do, SAC Jones, but very few I get to do in person! What the hell did you think you were doing, going to the President over my head when we were co-operating with you?”
“Co-operating, Admiral,” Jones replied coolly, not entirely trying to calm the situation.
“Of course, Jones!” The Admiral spat. “I released those files to you hours ago! Then I find out you went to the President and got them to over-ride my authority and get the files I’D ALREADY SENT YOU?” The Admiral was shouting now, angrily holding the table which was visibly shaking. “What were you THINKING, if not to publicly humiliate me?”
Feldar looked up. “Admiral,” he said, “I…”
“I don’t want to hear it!”
“I waited until 1630, Admiral,” Feldar replied, getting his message through. “Then I went for the meeting with the President. We had received no such files from your department.”
“That is a lie,” Carlisle stormed, “I ordered the files sent at half past eleven this morning!”
Feldar tilted his head. “You ordered them sent. Who did you order?” He typed a few commands into the computer. “This logs every entry logged to the building. Apart from yourself, there hasn’t been a single courier or militia member here today.”
“I ordered my adjutant to send it! So why..?”
Now Feldar cut in. “We can check the video feed to confirm,” he offered, “but I think it’s possible we’ve found their insider, don’t you?” He gestured to Sonia, who’d been hovering outside the office. “Tea or Coffee, Admiral?”
Corp fired. It wasn’t going to do much damage from here but precise shots should keep people’s heads down. The ships’ gun had struck their main weapon and jammed it in place so it couldn’t aim at them without turning the entire ship. But, if he was getting in range, so was… He could see Raston now, on the prow of the ship, holding his large bore weapon alotf and taking aim… and firing. The grenade spiralled clear of the barrel and hig into the air on a precise arc that would bring the projectile down onto the foredeck. Without the main cannon there was no way for Raston to take out the mystery clipper ship so this was all about escape now. No quarter asked. Get in closer and he’d switch to stun grenades due to not wanting holes in his own ship but, at this range…

The explosive charge blasted into the deck, fracturing and bending the metal around it. Shards of metal cut through glass and an able seaman as another grenade started its arc. This time, Corp took aim and fired to see if he could intercept. His bolt clipped the incoming projectile and he shifted position as it blew in mid air. The mercenaries started firing towards his position.
Commander Hawle. U.S.C. Loper. By the talented DDeer.
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