Re: IOC PANDERA -HOLD UP
Posted: Wed Dec 20, 2023 11:15 am
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?”
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?”