Chapter One - The Combat Negotiator
#2 of The Combat Negotiator
Chapter one: The Combat Negotiator
(Okay...I wrote this after reading Squirrel's 'Luminous' series, because I wanted to portray a darker, predator-focused side of the same universe. If you're looking for any of the same characters, you won't find them...only the background plot of furries co-existing on a galaxy-wide scale, with some advanced technology. This is a short pilot chapter, so I'd appreciate some feedback. Thanks again to Squirrel.)
A flash. Then another, and another, like a blinking bulb. Rumbles from the explosions swept past the wolf, swirling dust from the grainy road beneath him.
Bare-pawed, dressed only in simple black shorts, the wolf advanced slowly, his gun raised. Grey-black fur slid over muscle as he crept steadily, highlighted by the flicker-flash of the bombs.
"I got one! I got one right he-" The gun muzzle twitched, the pawtip squeezed in a fraction of a second, and the body of a coyote slumped against the wall ahead, leaving a dark smear. The wolf continued his predatory stalk, ignoring the last breaths of the dying fur. More figures appeared, alerted by the shout and the gunfire. Crack. Crack. Crack-crack-crack...and again, the path ahead was still. Not a feature had changed on the wolf's face, his impassive glare still combat-focused beyond any mercy. He padded softly to the still-moving body of a groaning hyena, aimed at the head...
"Sir! S-sir? Uh, Lance? Sorry, I don't know your rank..."
Lance sighed, his storm-blue eyes glancing at the squirrel, who stood just inside the simulation room doorway. From here, it looked as if the door had appeared from nowhere, hanging against gravity.
"End simulation." He said softly into the air, and once again the room became just a metal box, devoid of feature.
"It's Lance....I don't have a rank." He sighed, turning to the abject-looking squirrel. "What is it?"
"The, uh, commander wants to see you at the Ops centre. Combat-ready." He added, eying the wolves' shorts. "Says it's classified, but you'd know what it was about...?"
"Yeah, I know." Lance growled, pacing quickly out of the simulation room. The squirrel had to scurry behind him to keep up. 'It's the only damn reason I'm here.' He finished, turning into his quarters. He wanted a shower, at least - the dust and war-smoke might have been simulated, but he still felt dirty. Instead he pulled on the black combat fatigues that most furs had never seen him without, and added a tight-fitting phase-proof vest. When he walked out of his quarters, the squirrel was still there.
"Need anything else?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
"Uh...could I...have a copy of that program?" The squirrel said wretchedly, not meeting his eyes as they walked. "I mean, I've never seen actual combat, they leave it all to the preds like you...I just want to have some experience."
Lance stopped at the hallway junction he'd come to, and stared, not unkindly, at the smaller fur beside him. Out of all the prey species, squirrels normally made the best soldiers - they didn't suffer from the urge to run and hide when it came to a fight, not as much as, say, mice. But to hear of one talking about WANTING to do something like that...well, it was unusual.
"...You should be glad you haven't been in any firefights, trust me." he said eventually. "Still...if I come back from this alive, I'll find you. Sterrin, isn't it?"
The squirrel nodded mutely, amazed that the wolf even knew his name. Most combat predators, especially high-ranking ones like Lance (if he even had a rank...Sterrin hadn't found out what his job actually was) treated a rookie corporal like him with barely-concealed contempt.
"Y-yeah. Sterrin." He replied, when he realised he hadn't talked for several seconds.
The wolf nodded. "Good. And now I have to go...I finally have my job to do." With that, he stalked down the hallway, exchanging a nod with a passing cougar before disappearing round a corner.
( five hundred and eighty seven minutes later...)
THIS corridor...was dark. Only one filament lamp swung weakly overhead, blinking on and off with every distant thud. Slowly, every pawstep raising a cloud of dust, the wolf moved forward. Sniffing. Testing the air. The gun muzzle he had training in front of him almost looked as if it was doing the same thing.
There was something...moving. He could make it out, but...it had no smell. Nothing. Only the faintest ripple in the air to betray it. He slid a paw along the beautifully compact weapon of death he held in his paws and tapped the stud on one side. Once. Twice. Automatic fire. His trigger-paw tensed...
Flash!
Seven pairs of headset-lights came on instantaneously, bathing the small space with a bright and brittle light. Seven furs, dressed head to pawtip in black combat gear, stared back at him impassively through thermal goggles. There was silence for a second as they studied this new presence, then the largest of the group stood forward and...saluted.
"Sir."
Lance stared for a moment, then recovered. "You'd be...C group?"
Another "Sir.", just as enigmatic as the first.
"Good. Report."
Another of the group came forward, paw dancing over a small keyboard molded onto the arm. The flexi-screen above it glowed green for a second.
"Ready to go, sir. Groups A through E in position." That voice...female! Lance knew that voice better than he should...knew what it sounded like tired, what it sounded like in the grip of pure pleasure, knew how to make it purr. Now he took more notice, the matt-black combat fatigues looked...slim, and rounded on her, more than the others. Her tail flicked out, and he almost sighed as he remembered that thick fur running up the inside of his legs...
"Bailey?"
The wolfess looked up, shocked. She even looked back at the others, as if expecting them to be laughing at her.
"No names, dammit." She almost spat. This wasn't the Bailey he knew. This was the combat-hardened, trained killer that took her over when she was doing her job. No weakness. No mercy. She had been trained that way. "Like I said, all teams ready and standing by."
"Okay." Lance moved past them, to a wooden door set deeply into a recess at the end of the corridor. "And you know he's in there?"
"We have conformation." Came the reply, with a slight growl that suggested she still didn't approve of his disregard for military protocol.
"Right...set up around the door, but not in front of it. And give me room to duck back." he said, absently adjusting his protective vest - it always felt heavier when it was likely he'd be using it. They did so, with cold precision. "And tell command that the FD is engaging."
"FD?" Said Bailey, hesitating on the keyboard. "I thought you were a combat negotiator?"
"Field Diplomat. My official title." He said with a grin. Time to do his job. He set his stub-rifle against the wall, then pulled out a scanner. Put his back to the wall, and leaned round. Scanning...done. No traps, no hidden bombs. Just a room full of lions, all armed with phase rifles and pistols. This should be interesting.
"Don't fire back, whatever they do." He cautioned the team. He knew exactly what they'd do, given the chance, and he didn't want a bloodbath already. Then he edged closer to the door, reached out a paw, and...knocked.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
In answer to this friendly opening of negotiation, most of the door disintegrated under furious fire as the lions opened up. The wall on the other side of the corridor turned black with phase fire, riddled with the occasional solid-ammo shot. Apparently they didn't just have phase weapons in there.
Lance grinned again from behind the safety of the wall. The end of his tail was smoking slightly, leaving a trail like a prayer-stick in the air. But he was alive. More than alive...he loved this feeling. Lived for it. Balancing on the knife-edge of negotiating with the most dangerous furs in the galaxy. One slip, and you're dead.
"Set up a field. Full block." He whispered to the tactical fur next to him, who nodded and pulled out a strip of jet-black rubber. It was triangular along its edges, and one point glowed with a dull blue light. Once it was laid across the door entrance, the blue light flashed into brightness, spreading invisibly to fill the space . He now had a shield to work with, protecting him from further attacks.
"I want to speak to Slater." He shouted through the door, stepping out into full view. Another firestorm greeted him, the shots deflecting harmlessly from the shield. This was followed by a synapse-grenade, which bounced off the shield and exploded in the doorway with a light that looked almost beautiful...if you didn't know what it did. A thud as the lion who'd thrown it collapsed to the floor, brain dead.
More shots came. Lance waited calmly until they died away.
"I want to speak to Slater." He repeated. Slater was the 'pride' leader of this splinter-political group, who wanted full hunting rights on all prey species again. As much as some furs agreed with them, it was against the law now, and a small civil war had developed on the savannah plains of this world as the lions declared allegiance to one side or the other.
"But what if 'Slater' doesn't want to speak to you?" Came a rumbling voice, as a lion stepped into view. He was huge, even for his species. He was bigger than some bears were. There was little doubt as to how he'd risen to leader status, and another deep rumble of anger was echoed in his eyes as he looked at this impudent wolf, barely half his size. Lance was tall, for a wolf...but the lion was a monster. A luxurious mane only increased his threatening size.
"So, they sent you...the prey's answer to fighting. Pathetic. See how your council is polluted by their thinking...don't fight. Live in fear. And so out of that, comes you. Don't you feel ashamed? The prey's faithful puppy? I should kill you now...you're just like...this, for example."
He held up a fur, by the ears. It was a male hare, frantic with abject fear and pain. Powerful legs kicked helplessly in the air as he struggled to escape.
"Taking hostages changes the rules. You know that." Said Lance, an indeterminable look in his eyes.
"And what are you going to do about it?" The lion moved forward until they were inches apart, almost muzzle-to-muzzle, separated only by the shield. He had to duck to fit through the door. "Cowering, as you are, behind a shield?"
"This." Lance replied evenly, then turned to Bailey. "C Group, one dash four, code beta. Green light. E group, commence on signal."
There was silence for a few second as she relayed the order, then several things happened at once. The fox who'd received the order (C group), from an opposite building, fired an overpowered titanium slug with great accuracy directly into the chest of one of the lions in the room, through the concrete wall. At the same time a two-fur wolf team (E group) in the room directly above detonated a small charge in the floor, dropping a synapse-bomb into the room below. The room erupted into chaos as lions began shooting at walls, ceilings and each other in the ensuing confusion.
This went on for some time.
When, once again, the sounds of firing died away, Lance spoke into the smoke-filling room, directly into eyes of pure fury. Slater hadn't taken his eyes from the wolf.
"My job today is to make you order a ceasefire." Said Lance, in a steady voice. "If you kill that hostage, we will kill another lion. Consider the first one a warning. Also, we'll set off the synapse bomb, which has only been set to stun. You'll wake up in a cell for the rest of your life. Order the ceasefire. We don't need you to stop hunting prey...yet. That will come later. Just stop the war, and you walk away a free fur."
There was silence from the lion, punctuated only by ragged breathing. Finally, he squinted at Lance, and snorted through his nose.
"I thought you were a diplomat."
"Yeah...I prefer 'combat negotiator'. It means I don't have to be...nice."
* * * * *