IOC PANDERA -HOLD UP

[Welsh Halfwit]

18

Bluejay kept pulling back the netting on the window so he could see the house just across the driveway as he spoke, in a low voice, to Feldar. He explained how he’d run the trace without any of the protections that would have taken hours to set up. He’d not covered his location or bounced the call off another commtower because why would he need to? Even if the signal was traced back to him – as he’d reminded Feldar for the third time it could easily be – it wasn’t as though he was anywhere near it, was he? Except, of course, he WAS right near to the supercriminal, wasn’t he? He tried to think back on his spy training but he’d only been in the opening month of that. They’d started with basic hand to hand but that wasn’t going to help against a killer, was it? And he didn’t have a weapon to hand… Oh, Agent Jones was talking to him.

<“Sheffield,”> Feldar said sharply, <“calm yourself. Is there any sign of life from your next door?”>

He swallowed and looked again. “Can’t see anything,” he said. “But they might just have the lights off. I need to get out of here. What if this homeowner’s in on it? It is his son…” He listened as Feldar told him not to say things like that aloud. He moved to the door as Feldar told him to sniff if the old Feline was still upstairs. He sniffed and, on impulse, sniffed again. The scent of the guy was all over the house, of course, but seemed to be stronger from up the stairs.

<“Right,”> Feldar told him as a door shut on the comm, <“Keep quiet, grab a weapon and check the external doors. If you...”>

“There aren’t any weapons…”

<“You’re in a house, Bluejay. Houses have kitchens. Find a weapon and check the doors. If there’s no alarms, sneak out. Back door first. Don’t wake the people upstairs. We’re coming. We’re ten out.”>

Sheffield rolled his eyes. “I so hope you mean seconds,” he ventured, moving with exaggerated care and slowness towards where he hoped the kitchen was. Why hadn’t he looked around when he’d been brought in? Anyone could be in here. The guy they were after might be in here? He was just the techie… He picked up the computer. If he ran into someone before he got a fork or whatever he could hit them with it. He was sure he could swing it hard enough to make their muzzle bleed at least. He hit the space bar to prevent it from going into standby mode.


The kitchen was kind of a mottled brown with vegetables and nuts hanging from the ceiling over work surfaces and cupboards. Bluejay quietly opened one of the drawers, hoping to find cutlery but finding towels instead. He moved past the sink and the replication machine to the oven and beyond. Where were the knives, he wondered. Where were the others? Where were… ooh, a knife block. And the security lock wasn’t engaged. He drew a bread knife out and marvelled at the blade. One of the lights came on and he almost cut himself with the blade before getting it under control and pointing it towards the other, the old male who’d brought him here.

The old feline looked at him with a touch of disdain. “I’m just down here for a glass of water,” he told Bluejay, who tracked him around the room as he went to the replication machine. “Are we supposed to be in danger,” he asked

“W-what makes you say that,” he replied.

The Feline chose not to use the replication machine and simply poured some from the tap into a glass. “I was a Detective,” he explained. “You were fine when I went upstairs,” he continued calmly, “now I come down and you’re halfway to a panic attack and holding a weapon on me.” He put the glass down. “You think you’re in danger.” He shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right. After all, I’m a threat to you. Even with the knife and your age, the odds are still on my side.” He moved to the one cupboard and Bluejay stammered out a stop command. “Why,” he asked. “I’m just getting some water.” He stayed still, though. He watched Bluejay’s eyes flick to the glass and back to him. “Yeah,” he said pleasantly. “Good catch.” He opened the door to show the firearm in the crisper that he made no attempt to take. The door closed. “Now, what’s the flap?”

“The… the trace I had to… to run,” Bluejay stammered, his hand holding the computer shaking almost as much as the knife. Almost as much as his knees. “It...it came back,” he continued.

“I’d guessed something like that,” the Detective admitted, before his ears flicked forward, his whiskers came to attention and his tone lost all mirth. “Where did it come back to, ‘Jay?”

Bluejay swallowed hard. Should he admit this?


“If anything happens to that boy,” Adriette growled as Mikkel drove the response car back the way they’d come at speed, “I’ll never forgive myself!”

Mikkel glanced at the tracking point on the satnav system that showed exactly where Bluejay was, thanks to the tracking tag on his anklet. “Why blame yourself,” he asked, taking a sharp left. “No-one could see this coming. You acted to stop him being drawn into a firefight. I’d have done the same. Everyone would. Well,” he added with an attempt at humour, “Patcha wouldn’t. She’d have thrown him into a ditch.”

“Levity not appreciated, Mikkel,” Adriette warned. Behind them, they could still see the van being driven by Corp and Patcha. They were going to check the neighbours when they got there. Adriette didn’t trust her own judgement before knowing if Bluejay was all right.


“You realise I’m going to go check on my son now, don’t you,” the Feline told Bluejay, who’d chosen truth over the half trained lies they’d tried to install in him. “You stay here and wait for your people.”

“No….no, you’re n...not…”

“Why would you want to think that,” he asked, edging back towards the fridge.

“Because you’re not getting that gun,” Bluejay said, trying to put some steel in his tone and stop the stammering.

Now the Feline looked at him curiously. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know if you’re going to shoot me or not,” Bluejay shouted.

“Keep your voice down,” the Feline hissed, opening the fridge and grasping the weapon, which he conspicuously didn’t point at the juddering Mican. “Now, you stay here. I’m going next door.” And he left to head out the front door, only to be greeted by a doorbell.

“That’ll be your people,” he grumbled as they heard movement upstairs. ‘Jay moved fast in his alarm and grasped the Feline’s arm. The eldster threw him off. “Get off,” he stated.

“Th...they’re coming to rescue me,” Bluejay told him. “Wh...why would they ring the bell?”

[Harry Johnathan]

The kitchen was kind of a mottled brown with vegetables and nuts hanging from the ceiling over work surfaces and cupboards. Bluejay quietly opened one of the drawers, hoping to find cutlery but finding towels instead. He moved past the sink and the replication machine to the oven and beyond. Where were the knives, he wondered.

I see they went to the Buffalo Bill School of Home Decor.

[Welsh Halfwit]

I liked writing the old Feline. He's totally in control and not even slightly fazed by Bluejay holding a knife on him...

[Harry Johnathan]

I liked writing the old Feline. He's totally in control and not even slightly fazed by Bluejay holding a knife on him...

While reading, I imagined him with a tired monotone, robotic of of voice, like a teacher explaining for the 50th time that you can't go to the bathroom during class. It made everything extremely creepy.

[Amazee Dayzee]

Bluejay needs to toughen up just a bit more. In real life blue jays are very aggressive and go for anything that comes into their territory or even near them. He is giving his species a bad rap.

[Harry Johnathan]

Bluejay needs to toughen up just a bit more. In real life blue jays are very aggressive and go for anything that comes into their territory or even near them. He is giving his species a bad rap.

...I think he's a Mican.

[Welsh Halfwit]

Bluejay needs to toughen up just a bit more. In real life blue jays are very aggressive and go for anything that comes into their territory or even near them. He is giving his species a bad rap.

...I think he's a Mican.

Yup. He just has a section of headfur dyed blue.

[Amazee Dayzee]

I knew he wasn't actually a blue jay but forgot what he actually was. I was joking when I said that before. It was a BAD joke and now I feel bad.

[Welsh Halfwit]

Noogies Amazee

[Welsh Halfwit]

19


The doorbell rang again. The old Feline glanced from it to the scared Mican teenager on his left arm and up to the sounds of his wife getting up upstairs. “It’s all right, Mira,” he called, “I’ll deal with this!”

“Who is it,” the voice said from upstairs. “At this time of night?”

“It’s just… A messenger. Like I had to pick up this evening?” He looked down at Bluejay. “He’ll have heard all of that,” he said in a low tone. The doorbell went for the third time. “I can’t keep him on the step.” He shook his arm free of Bluejay’s hand and gestured for him to hide behind the door. He opened the porch door. He could see the figure more clearly now, through the frosted glass. The faint light of the driveway cast the image of a Canine. Not his son or his boyfriend. So, he thought, this ‘other’ that the boy was on about. “Yes,” he said, through the closed door. “What is it?”

“Mr Persol,” the figure replied, the sound distorted, “I need to speak with you about your son, Rugal. I’m Deputy Farrow from the station.”

Persol considered that for a second. There was a Canine called Farrow but, as best he recalled, Farrow was a female. Of course, that wasn’t what his son usually called her. They didn’t get along. “Badge number,” he said simply. Edging back from the door towards the inner door.

“17542,” the voice replied.

Persol stepped back inside. The sheriff’s department didn’t have five digit numbers. “Ah, heck,” he said.


A hand pulled Persol out of the way as a hotfired rivet bit and twisted its way through the door and down the hallway where he’d just been standing. A second bolt went through the lock. “What’s going on,” the voice called from upstairs, clearly alarmed.

Persol twisted his head to see the stairs. “Stay up there,” he roared, firing his own pistol at the door as it opened. The figure that had been standing there a scant number of seconds ago had vanished from the frame as it had opened. He had cover to one side and fired back, a bolt from the modified firearm cracking into the wall next to the old Cat’s head.

“I want the person who tracked me,” he said. “Give me him and I’ll let your wife live.”

Bluejay looked frightened, his gaze flickering about until the old gent put a hand on his shoulder. “Swore to protect and serve, kid. Retiring doesn’t erase the obligation.” A cry from upstairs as a window shattered. “STAY DOWN, LOVE,” he yelled, firing again.

The figure outside chuckled. “Such a good person,” he called, “allowing his love to be endangered for someone they barely even know. Your son would have been so proud of you.”

Persol steeled himself. His experienced mind knew the Canine was goading him so he broke cover and would be exposed. His emotional mind, however, wanted an answer to what he’d done to his son. A bolt cut through the wall into his shoulder as the figure switched sides.

Bluejay pushed him through into the hallway as he worked out Raklan could shoot through the window now. As bolts stitched the room, the pair landed in a heap by the stairs. Persol aimed towards the door but didn’t hit anything. There was nothing there to be hit. There was some familiar growling the Mican could make out. He looked at his protector. “I think back up’s here,” he said. “And it’s Patcha Karl.”


Adriette looked on as their car pulled up. “How the HECK did she get here first,” she demanded, watching the Wolven agent attack Raklan. His gun lay to one side and had, in fact, been the first thing she’d attacked when she’d pounced on him, rendering his entire arm useless.

“I’m not sure,” Mikkel told her. “But she seems annoyed.” He watched as Patcha backhanded the Canine across the face before sweeping his feet out from under him and watching him drop hard to the ground before putting a boot where it didn’t belong. “Ooch,” Mikkel winced. “Want Popcorn?”

“No,” Adriette said, getting out, “I think I need to stop her.” Adriette ran over, kicking the weapon away and stood on his hand as he tried to bring a knife into play.

The bloodtoothed Wolven looked up at her as she told the prisoner who she was and that he was, in point of fact, their prisoner. The growl died in the Wolven’s throat as she got the cuffs out and, reluctantly, applied them to him. “You better be OK in there, Squeaky,” Patcha snapped, loud enough for Bluejay to hear as the van pulled up.

“Yeah, Patcha,” he replied. “Mr Persol’s been great! Um… you might want to stop him, though,” he added as the elder Feline swept past the scene. “He’s looking for his son next door?”

“Yeah, and..?” Patcha’s ears flicked forward as she worked out where she’d been supposed to go. “Oh, yeah.” She caught up with him. “You can’t go in,” she snapped.

“It’s my SON!”

She grabbed his arm and turned him around. “That’s why you can’t go in,” she snapped. “You’ll contaminate the scene. There’s also no proof that he’s in there,” she continued, knowing the one identified at the heist attempt was the boyfriend, not the son. “And, if he is,” she added with a low growl, “you won’t want to see it. You protected Squeaks,” she intoned. “I won’t lie to you about what’s in there but you do NOT come in!”


Adriette handed the prisoner to Vasta and Feldar when they arrived and they stowed him in the back of a police vehicle as Adriette made her way over to Corp. “How did Patcha get here first,” she asked simply.

“She jumped out of the van and ran,” Corp explained.

“But… it’s six miles!”

“Three when going cross country,” the old soldier added, making to catch up with the Wolf as Adriette took the old Police Feline gently in hand and back to his house for tea and a statement, despite his protestations about being ‘handled’.


It was quiet when they opened the door. Patcha sniffed the air. “No fresh blood,” she advised Corp. It wasn’t necessarily good news but it was better than the worst. There were signs that people had been here, of course. Signs of Canine and Feline. Scents of both. “Vehicle out front,” she mentioned. “Wonder why he didn’t run?” She looked into a quiet living room.

“Possibly didn’t think about it,” Corp replied, checking the kitchen before trying the study. “Or he knew things were up. Computer in here,” he added, looking at a camera image that was showing a road surface close up. A pop-up bode the title ‘trace alert!’ and the position the trace had come from. “Sometimes they just want to take as many down with them as they can. Thought you didn’t like Bluejay?”

“I’m NOT calling him that,” Patcha retorted, taking the weight of the figure that fell onto her shoulder when she opened the cupboard door. It was still breathing, despite the muzzle and the tight tied extremities. “And I don’t,” she added, putting the figure over her shoulder. “But he wears the badge. Anyone who harms THAT,” she added, “I hurt. Found him, by the way.”

[Amazee Dayzee]

You have to admit that was a bit unexpected honestly so I am trying to follow it all. But it was a really great chapter!

[Harry Johnathan]

The Old Guy is awesome, lol. And yay, Bluejay's okay!

....

(Also, Patcha is completely insane.)

[Welsh Halfwit]

I'm considering keeping the old guy, perhaps as a trainer if I revisit. (And, yes, she IS intense.)

[Amazee Dayzee]

If you decide against revisiting, don't kill him off. He should be kept alive due to his sheer awesomeness.

[Welsh Halfwit]

20


The Canine sniffed, partially to check his nose was still working and partially because he was sure it was still bleeding, despite the nasal plugs that had been stuffed up there for most of the last three hours. He checked to see if he was still cuffed to the table and he discovered that he was. And the table was bolted to the floor. How long had they left him in here? The door opened onto a darkened corridor and a Raitchian came in. “Before we get into it,” she announced, “a reminder that all you say will be recorded and your accounts have been frozen, as have the accounts of anyone associated with those accounts.”

“My known accounts,” he responded with a tinge of flippancy.

“Agreed. Your picture has gone out to all known planetary and country banking organisations with instructions to freeze as the others have. We’ll be examining every single one of them to find out who’re valid and who’re you.” She sat opposite him. “A Canine who is, officially, dead.”

“I can’t speak to troubles in your surveillance and computer systems. Now, where’s my public defender?”

Adriette mused, sitting back in the chair. “We have to declare you alive first,” she said at length. “The dead don’t have a legal right to representation, after all”

“You’re very funny,” Raklan stated, clearly lying.

“And you’re not,” Adriette retorted, telling the truth. “Your actions have left the streets littered with corpses. You’ve destroyed lives and families. We want to know why.”

“And I want my rights respected.” He leaned forward. “Leaves us at a bit of an impasse, doesn’t it, Agent?”

“Not really,” Adriette moved to match the Canine’s pose. “We can have you shipped to any site we like as you don’t exist. You can be interrogated by any agent who can go to any lengths to get the information they need…”

He chuckled and winced. “You’re going to set the telepath on me, are you? You think I can’t handle a telepath?”

“She’d be watching,” Adriette admitted. “Agent Karl would be interrogating.”

“Ah,” Raklan said simply. “I suppose I could advise you of things on a hypothetical basis. I can, at least, fill in the gaps before I leave. This contagion on Cana,” he stated languidly, “has them all running around, looking for a cure. Monta, Alcena Biotech, Creelmedico…” He waved his chained hand as his other was still in a sling. “all of the big boys are working on it. Now, imagine if a b rank player like Yalstrom steals a march, these companies might just do something rash.”

Adriette leaned forward slightly. “Like pay a mercenary to steal it?”

Raklan pointed a finger. “You said it, not me.”

“What about the weapons?”

“Oh,” he said dismissively, “it’s always trouble to bring those in, I’d imagine. Customs officers needing paying and so on. Far better to source on location. “

“Especially if you can adapt things that aren’t firearms into firearms.”

“No harm in confirming that as I can’t exactly deny having one. On the hypothetical, munitions would be available from any army base. Someone with local knowledge could easily find someone willing to take a bung to assist. I hear they’re very underpaid. Of course some mercenaries…” he waved his hand again. “cruel, professional, types might think not to leave loose ends lying around for others like you to find…”

Adriette had to agree that was true. The morgue was full of proof of that. “Such as Uraik,” she queried.

“I wouldn’t know,” he breezed. “This is all hypothetical, right?”

“So you say,” she replied. “After all, you’d want a lawyer if this was going on the record.”

He stretched back as best he could on the chair. “And you’d need legal proof for any of this to matter. Your search for my comm last night was illegal. You have a weapon, I admit. But I could have bought that anywhere. That boy was attacking me, you see? Self defence. I can argue that all day. I did get a bit… over zealous. Plus,” he continued, “I hear the person you’d be looking for does look like me, yes. But he’s someone called…” He pretended to think hard for the answer. “Marius Rakkin? Well, I’m Kareth Moklan, not this superspy dead Canine. And, I think you’ll have trouble proving one is the other.”

Adriette smirked. “I might,” she admitted, tapping a button on her comm, “but she won’t.”


Vasta stepped into the room with a pair of patrol Officers and Raklan looked at Beran in confusion. Adriette merely grinned back as Vasta read Moklan his rights whilst arresting him for the premeditated murder of Ensign Uraik. He’d come to Pandera as Kareth Moklan, including his bio-print. The self same print that had been found on the wall in the clerks house. This meant Vasta had no need to prove he was anyone else.


“He’ll make a deal,” Adriette told the office as she slumped back into her chair.

“They always do when the chips finally fall,” Corp told her. “We’re working on freezing his accounts. I’ve detailed IOC Raitche to do the forensic deep dive.”

“I’m, er, told they have more experience with fraud,” a voice said from the doorway.

“You’ve had your first near death experience,” Adriette called, without turning around. “You’re allowed ONE stereotypical comment, ‘Jay. That was it. What do you want?”

The boy moved further into the room. “Just to, um, say thanks for coming to rescue me?”

“’Jay,” Adriette replied, putting her hands on the desk and looking to the ceiling, “it was me who put you in danger in the first place.”

“You, um, weren’t to know,” he said, drawing closer.

“It was me who got there first,” Patcha chipped in, before looking up at the boy’s face. “But I ain’t a hugger. Hug Beran instead.”

She commanded. He obeyed.


Mikkel would have said something but he wasn’t there. He was flat out on the sofa at home with Snowdrop asleep on top of him. He’d rather bite his arm off than move her.

END

[Amazee Dayzee]

That was truly a lovely story as usual Welshy! Hopefully the next one will involve more Hawle again because I like that.

(Also I really do wish I could get you to roleplay as him...)

[Welsh Halfwit]

The next one, starting in the New year, features an experiment that could change everything. Of course, things can't go straight. Not when the Loper's involved...

A small section from where they find a mould ravaged old spaceship where it can't possibly be.


<“No mould in here,”> Brunton pointed out. <“Seems to prove they need oxygen or some other gas to spread.”>

“Possibly,” Hawle admitted. “Either way, we keep the suits on. Best case scenario is that it’s inert and no threat. Worst case scenario it’s toxic in a way we don’t yet understand.”

<“Erring towards caution. Good.”>

“USUAL scenario,” Hawle continued, “it’s sentient and tries to kill us.”

[Harry Johnathan]

That ending was adorable, lol.

[Amazee Dayzee]

I am much more interested in Hawle and the next story.

Now excuse me while I think of ways to torment him and then tell you.

[Harry Johnathan]

“USUAL scenario,” Hawle continued, “it’s sentient and tries to kill us.”

"Where we're going, you won't need eyes to see."
- V'Ger, Star Trek (1979).


Wait wrong quote-

[Amazee Dayzee]

The fact that Hawle said that so calmly means it happened WAY too often. No wonder why he sees what Elena likes to do with him as no big deal.

[Welsh Halfwit]

New tale.

viewtopic.php?t=5664

[Amazee Dayzee]

Something I am infinitely more interested in because said tale involves more Hawle in it.