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Silverfox: Argent Bitch

This work was inspired by art copyright Dynotaku. The Foxforce Four are his creation and intellectual property.

This is the totally unexpected third volume in the _Foxforce_ series, after _Firefox_ and _Technofox_. It should be possible to follow this story without reading the predecessors, but I suggest reading _Firefox_ first, and then _Technofox,_ as _Silverfox_ will contain spoilers. Also, the first two stories help establish the characters. -- Nathan Cowan, 2008

Dynotaku, thanks for the icon!

Silverfox 01

The moon was in the east, behind her as she looked out over the rippled water of Puget Sound. Silverfox was crouched down, on her knees and left knuckles, behind a mass of bushes which were just starting to bloom. She was too close to the bushes for them to obstruct her vision. The combat armor suit she wore under her long coat supposedly broke up and distorted the heat her body radiated, making it hard to pick out her form; Silverfox wasn't sure if she trusted it. Hopefully the bad guys were not using infrared. She waited, still and patient as any other predator, careful not to exert herself and heat up more than absolutely necessary. Jansen had found the armor she wore under her long overcoat amusing. Desk cops usually did.

Jansen sighed loudly and lit another cigarette. The sound of his lighter made Silverfox's ears twitch backwards for a moment, her movement compromising her position. She frowned.

"At night, you can see a lighter for miles," she said softly. It would also flare in infrared. The flash would draw the attention of anyone seeing it.

He chuckled. "Sure, darling. We're not playing Cowboys and Indians."

She suspected Jansen was not exactly the finest of Seattle's Finest. "That's my point."

"See anything?" he asked in a normal conversational tone. She gritted her teeth. It was the third time he had asked.

"Just that van," she replied softly. "Are you sure that we're the only law here?"

He laughed, loudly. "Since when did you become law?"

"Since your boss hired us," Silverfox said.

Some silly-assed judge in Washington State had decided that police couldn't use night vision equipment -- something about a "reasonable expectation of privacy." However, it was hardly the cops' fault if the North American Biotechnology Mark 10-F "Reynard" -- the Dix-Vix -- could see in the dark like cats. It was two weeks of scut work for Foxforce, but Silverfox's cut would pay her mortgage this month.

Jansen laughed. "Bullshit. Your bosses are just drumming up some business."

The Inter Corporate Operative Network had told the Washington State Police that they believed a load of endangered animal pelts was coming into Puget Sound. Then the Seattle Police turned around and hired some ICON chimerae who could see in the dark to beef up the shore patrol.

Okay, that did sound a little suspicious. Silverfox had thought there was something to that, until she found out that David Torrance had been the original source. Two months ago, in Atlanta, Silverfox's team, Foxforce, had worked briefly with the out-of-shape chat room jockey. ICON called him a "Virtual Investigator." David wasn't omniscient, but Silverfox knew he was honest. And if ICON was bullshitting the police, he'd at least tell Shadowfox.

"Fine," Silverfox said. "Go take a nap, then. Somewhere away from me." The moment she said it she knew he'd misread it. Not as "You're making noise that will attract attention to both of us" but "I can't stand being around you." She considered correcting the impression. Ah, to hell with it.

The suspicious van was about thirty meters off, downhill, closer to the water, facing the Sound. It was parked near a place that sold and rented fishing gear and small boats; now closed. There was a dock jutting ten meters or so out. There was someone standing at the end of the dock, staring out with a pair of binoculars. That and the van made Silverfox about 40% convinced the landing would take place here.

The light aircraft and old DC-3s that used to carry contraband across US borders had been virtually replaced by flush-deck cargo boats. Air defenses were actually very good, now that the Federal courts were letting them take the gloves off. The flush-desk boats were too low in the water to be picked up on radar, and used electric motors too quiet to pick up on passive sonar.

Active sonar would spot them, but there were whales in these waters and the US Navy was supposed to avoid bothering them. Coastal defenses in this part of the world were pretty weak. The nearest naval base was over the border on Vancouver Island. Ever since the European War had ground to its inconclusive cease-fire in 1948, the Royal Canadian Navy -- third biggest in the world -- had been focused on German U-Boats in the Atlantic. Ever since Japan lost the Pacific War in 1944, that ocean was pretty much a US Navy pond. And they defended Seattle by positioning nuclear attack boats in enemy harbors.

"The van's just flashed its headlights," Silverfox whispered. That meant there had to be someone in the van, unless the guy with binoculars was using a remote.

"Where?" Jensen said, scrambling up behind her. He peered out, resting a hand on her shoulder to support his weight. Silverfox was speechless. She had met birdwatchers who were better stalkers. She actually considered sending him behind the rise so he couldn't see what was going on -- or, more properly, so he wouldn't give away her position. The problem was that technically, he was in charge.

"Long, short, long, short." Silverfox muttered. "C" in Morse. It was April second. She looked at the time display from her brain implant. No, it was after midnight -- 0100 hours, April third, flash on the hour... was the recognition code that simple? Maybe... it probably wasn't too sophisticated. There was a Yagi antenna built into her mandible; it wasn't picking up any radio, which meant they were either complete idiots or very good.

"I didn't see anything," he complained.

"They stopped," Silverfox said, thinking but not saying "...You idiot." She jerked her shoulder to get his hand off her. "Damnit, could you settle down? You're waking up the Hitler Youth camps in the Urals."

"You work for me, fur job," he said warningly.

Silverfox was about to respond when she saw something more important. "There's the boat," she said. "Coming into the dock from the right."

"You sure?" He shuffled about, peering helplessly into the night. It wasn't his fault that he didn't have a reflective layer in his eyes, but why didn't he seem to realize it?

She sighed. "I suppose it could be Jesus Christ walking across Puget Sound, but it's probably a guy standing on the back of a flush deck boat." That was about the only way a flush deck could see to navigate. The lookout had a cane or something and tapped out a code to signal the helmsman.

Silverfox counted: one was the guy on the shore with binoculars, two the one on the back of the boat. Three was the driver of the van, four the helmsman of the boat. Two to one already, at best. No, she really didn't want a piece of this. Good thing she was just there to watch. Bad thing that Jansen couldn't shut up.

"I can't see a damn thing," he said, his voice tense.

Silverfox gasped with asperity. "No shit. Why do you think they hired us?"

"Rented," he said.

"Shut up." Ignoring him, Silverfox tapped her earphone. "Silverfox. Fish in the water. There's a van by the dock, looks like this year's Ford Intrepid --"

"I make the call for reinforcements," Jansen said. "This is Officer Jansen. Cancel that."

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Silverfox said, starting to lose it. She returned to Technofox. "The van is blue or black, can't see the plates." It was one thing to have problems taking advice from a fur job, Silverfox thought, but Jansen wasn't even following his own boss' briefing.

"Roger, Silverfox," Technofox's voice came, calmly. "Is someone behind you? I'm not getting his signal." That had to be a lie. "The cutter's on its way. Ground units are on alert. Do you want Foxforce with you?"

The plan was to let the contraband land, and the flush deck return to sea. Then a Coast Guard cutter would pounce on the boat, while the police followed the van to delivery. Silverfox and Jansen were supposed to avoid contact with the smugglers. In fact, at this point they could disengage. There was no need for Foxforce to reinforce them. Maybe Technofox wasn't sure Silverfox could handle Jansen.

"Negative," Silverfox said. "We're good here." She'd show her.

"Damnit," Jansen said. "Who are you to --"

"Will you sit down and be quiet?" Silverfox snapped, furious. "That way you could just be useless instead of a pain in my ass."

"Fucking bitch," he said petulantly.

"Like I haven't heard that one," she snorted.

"Screw this," he said. He didn't kick her, not exactly -- it was more like he kicked at some dirt near her. "We don't need all this fucking drama. Who's going to put up a fight over some fucking furs?" Apparently, he now agreed that there was a boat in the water.

Silverfox realized she had overestimated Jansen, incredible though that seemed. Jansen wasn't merely an bigot, she realized, he was an idiot. The pelts weren't important to these people -- but the money they'd bring in was. Smuggling was smuggling, and if there was enough to be made it didn't matter if the product was heroin or wolf pelts.

She shifted her gaze back down to the landing. The lookouts were tying off. The one on the boat stood with a line and flicked it with his wrist, making the other end wrap around the cleat on the dock. He knew his way around boats. The one from shore was a bit more awkward.

It was turning into a miniature version of the container ships unloading to the south, but with an armed overwatch. The boat was tied to the end of a ten-meter pier. The crew seemed to be in a bit of a hurry to get out -- she understood when four of them stood side by side and peed into the water. So they had probably been in the boat for a few hours, which made sense if they were from Canada.

Two targets (she mentally tagged them as #1 and #2) were unloading the boat, pulling out a trunk. They set it on end on the dock. Another man (#3) from the boat zipped his fly and started walking up the dock to the shore. He wore a long duster and his hands were in his pockets. #3 took up a position with his back to the rental shop, while #1 and #2 unloaded a total of four trunks, each a bit over two meters long. One more guy came out of the boat, with a hand cart. #4 -- Silverfox thought he had been the boat lookout before, but she wasn't sure -- #4 held the cart while #5 tilted one of the trunks and helped #4 get it on the hand cart. #1, #4, and #5 started coming down the dock, the three of them walking together, #4 pushing the cart. #6 turned around. He wore a long coat that he opened up -- he had a carbine, with a pistol grip, looked like a relative of the M-16.

She looked at the trunks, standing on end. Four trunks of that size would probably be a full load for the van. Four trunks unloaded, six people visible, unknown number in the van (at least one), only two carrying cargo. The other four were there for a reason, and she didn't think they were trying for a glimpse of Mount Rainier.

Crap. The cluster of three was responding to something. #4, the guy with a trunk, had night vision goggles down on his face, glowing green, because he was looking up in their direction. She froze. Jansen, the idiot, was standing up in clear sight. #5 was looking up towards them; she wasn't sure if he could see Jansen or not. #5 hesitated, and started walking up the slope. He carried a shotgun under one arm. #1 stayed behind, watching after him. #4 turned around and kept pushing his trunk, a little more urgently.

"They heard you. They spotted you. They're armed. They're coming up," Silverfox whispered, "pull out."

"What?" Jansen asked. Well, she didn't want to be anywhere near him.

She started to pick her way back and around the back of the rise. She opened her dark coat. Under it, she wore black armor. It was easy to bang knees and elbows in a room to room fight, so she wore padding and braces on her joints. And a Velcroed sign, SECURITY. The word was subdued, dark grey on black. POLICE would carry more mojo, but that was illegal. She shrugged out of the coat, leaving it on the ground.

"Where are you going?" Jansen asked. He wasn't following, and she had no intention of talking loud enough for him to hear.

Silverfox went off at an angle before circling back, breaking contact and re-acquiring it from the flank. She scanned the situation.

#3 near the store was against the wall, in the shadows. He had a submachine gun in one hand; posing with it like he was in an action movie in his mind. #5 with the shotgun was moving up the slope, where she used to be and Jansen still was. And #1 was just standing there. Then he drew a pistol, which was sort of a relief. At least it wasn't an automatic rifle with night scope. #4 kept heading to the van. What the hell? If a fight were going to break out, the guy with the night vision gear should spot for the others.

Submachine Gun Guy lowered his weapon and aimed it at the top of the hill, in the general direction of Jansen. Silverfox stole a glance at the Carbine Guy at the boat. He wasn't aiming it. Good. They probably didn't have night vision all around or a good combat net. Still, three hostiles -- Pistol, Shotgun, and Submachine Gun -- were focused on Jansen. She drew her pistols, matched Glock 20 10mm autoloaders, and hoped Jansen would have the sense to play civilian, or get out --

"FREEZE!" Jansen yelled. "POLICE!"

Jansen had a flashlight. Or it was a tactical light on his sidearm. It stabbed about until it lit Shotgun Guy. Submachine Gun Guy adjusted his aim. Pistol Guy froze. Nobody yelled anything. That meant they had a plan for this.

Oh, shit. Silverfox used her implant to send a canned alert: "Converge on Silverfox." She backed that up with a vocal message: "Engaging multiple, five or more."

"On Silverfox, go," she heard Technofox say.

Four armed targets. Carbine Guy didn't seem to be alerted. Pistol Guy wasn't making a hostile move. Jansen had spotted Shotgun Guy. Jansen's light framed him. That meant Submachine Gun Guy was hers. She aimed her pistols, and as her fingers squeezed the triggers she closed her eyes to preserve her night vision, fired two rounds from each to his chest, and immediately opened her eyes again an instant after the report.

Hocpacem rounds had a frangible case with a tungsten dart for a core. The core would usually penetrate anything short of a ceramic insert; the pellets would barely penetrate flesh, but they dumped energy fast. A few hits with Hocpacem would take down pretty much anyone.

Submachine Gun Guy probably had armor, maybe ceramic on the chest, but at worst the impacts would stagger him and ruin his shot. As he tottered, she aimed, closed her eyes, and put one bullet from each gun into his head. After his head jerked back, she identified the sound of cracking brick: the four darts had gone through his chest and smacked the wall behind him, so the two head shots were overkill. Oh well -- overkill beat the alternative. His hand clenched in the submachine gun; a burst spat out at random. She looked away quickly to avoid being dazzled.

The shotgun roared, in the direction of Jansen, not an aimed shot; a reflex. Before Submachine Gun Guy hit the ground, she turned to her left. Pistol Guy looked bewildered. Shotgun Guy spun in her direction. He said something, an inarticulate grunt. He didn't drop his weapon, which meant she was clear to engage. She fired three rounds from her left hand, two center of mass, third to the head, before he could acquire her. She started moving slowly to her left, to make it harder for them to focus on her muzzle flashes.

Instead of aiming at her, Pistol Guy started to sprint towards cover. Maybe he didn't know she could see him. She fired twice from her right hand, center of mass to the chest. He staggered, and his gun flipped out of his hand. She considered following that up with a third to his head, but he went down and she decided it was probably unnecessary.

The guys with the trunks hadn't been talking, or even making words; they had been gabbling out monkey sounds laced with obscenities. Humans had trouble keeping calm in these situations; the wave of body chemicals that Silverfox rode like a surfer engulfed them and sent them tumbling. They were panicked, she was soaring; they were in an explosion of frenzied activity, she was enhanced. Deer and wolf.

They settled down an moved with a purpose. The guy from shore ran for cover, moving for the boat; the one with night vision was heading to his dead buddy with the SMG. Silverfox hesitated. He might be rendering aid, he might be going for the weapon; she considered shooting for his legs.

But there was a crack from the boat. Carbine Guy was opening up, maybe trying to cover his buddies as they ran for the boat. He was shooting to Silver's right, far to her right -- he couldn't tell her from his buddies. But he might get lucky, or figure out that she was between the two flashes. She scrambled to her left, knelt, rested her right wrist on her left forearm, aimed and half-pulled the trigger.

After a programmed delay, the tiny video camera slung under the barrel of the pistol streamed data to her implant. She zoomed the image. In low light, the image quality was pretty bad, but she could see him well enough. She closed her eyes, and her point of view jumped slightly, vision from her eyes replaced by the narrow-field gun camera. She saw him, digital zoom, aliased as hell but she could place the crosshairs. He was down low, on his knees, but not taking cover. the number 58.7m appeared under the crosshairs.

She sent six rounds quickly downrange, center of mass, too far for anything fancy, and rolled to her right for a new firing position. When she set the gun to check her aim, he was flying upwards, arms and legs spread, and without crying out went backwards, over the boat, and into the water behind it with a terrific splash. She opened her eyes and released the trigger, and the tunnel vision of the gun camera went away.

The two bearers had dropped their containers and were running for the boat. #2 was halfway down the dock, almost back to the boat, panic making him run faster than anything at a track meet. She placed four rounds carefully from her left hand pistol, aiming low. She heard him shriek and he went flying with his knee shot away. His scream was cut off when he hit the dock and bounced into the water. She heard the splash and wondered how deep it was. Flush deck boats drew a lot of water. And were there sharks this far north? She'd worry about that later. The other guy stopped short, seeing that he was cut off.

The van's headlights came on, and it jerked into motion. Yes, by now she was in the parking lot. She could jump but the driver might turn. The lights were dazzling; she tried not to look directly at them, hoped it was a left-hand drive and aimed both hands, started firing, intentionally placing them in a wide pattern instead of grouping her shots. She could hear the windshield cave over the pistol fire.

The Hocpacem rounds would fragment going through the window, and hopefully fill the driver's compartment with a spray of shrapnel from her bullets and safety glass. Four shots from each gun. She was about to jump to one side when the van suddenly slewed violently to her right and slowed down as the driver's foot came off the accelerator. Either he was out of it or had thrown himself along the seat; it was all good. It had been about twenty seconds since her first shot.

That left one confirmed contact, Night Vision Guy. Incredibly, instead of looking for someone to surrender to or running for the boat, he was fumbling for his pistol.

What. The. Hell. Didn't he even realize all his buddies had been cut down? Silverfox covered him. He had his gun out, panicked, his hand shaking, when his goggled eyes fell on Silverfox while aiming somewhere else, beginner's mistake. He froze. Silverfox adjusted the position of her hands, right aiming for his forehead, left to his chest. Their glowing eyes touched one another.

"I know what you're thinking," Silverfox said. "Did she fire thirty shots, or twenty nine? Do you --"

He threw up his hands before she could ask if he "felt lucky, punk."

"I give," he assured her.

"Your friends. How many?" she said.

"I came on the boat. Four others with me." he replied, shaking. He was too scared, she thought, to lie. "We were supposed to meet two," he added. Five on the boat, two on shore, all had been accounted for.

Jansen came down in a mini-avalanche of stone and loose dirt. "What the fuck?" he asked, pleading and bewildered as a child. "What did you do?"

He couldn't figure it out? "Saved your ass," Silverfox said. She pointed to her prisoner, who was on his knees with his hands behind his head. "He's yours. I'm busy."

She dropped her right magazine. She kept two magazines in braces in the small of her back; she slapped the butt of the gun over one brace, and a spring drove the magazine into the pistol. Now that she had a full load in one gun, she dropped her left magazine, ejected the remaining round, holstered the pistol, took a loaded magazine from her web gear, and snapped it in. She'd need a hand free anyway.

She took a chemical light stick and flexed it into life with her left hand. She didn't like holding a light source at night; she felt conspicuous. She opened the van's passenger side door. The smell of blood came out, lots of it. One guy up front, head near her. She tossed the light stick into the rear compartment; it bounced and skittered before coming to a stop, casting a white glow. No movement, and even with the extra light of the stick, she didn't see anyone there.

She looked back at the front. She could hear blood literally running off the passenger's seat and puddling on the rug. His face was torn up from the fragments and the core of one of her bullets had drilled a hole through his mandible, but the worst injury was a gash in the throat. The blood was pulsing, not flowing, so his heart was still beating and he might make it if she applied first aid right away. But she still had to secure the boat, and she barely trusted Jansen to keep the prisoner. But the driver probably knew where he was making the delivery ... he had high value knowledge. She applied her field dressing. It wouldn't be enough, but she didn't have time.

Silverfox sighed. She walked over to Jansen. The prisoner was handcuffed, and he didn't resist as Silverfox dragged him partway to his feet. He looked at her in stunned disbelief as she swung her pistol down onto his head. She let him drop, roughly, and the way he bounced satisfied her that he was unconscious.

"What the --" Jansen began to say.

"Driver," she interrupted, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "You can still save him."

Turning her back on Jansen, she went up the slope to check on Pistol Guy. She was disappointed to see that he was dead -- no armor, and one of her shots had hit his heart. Shotgun Guy was also dead; but since she had gone for a headshot that was less of a surprise. She looked down the dock dubiously.

She started down the dock. She didn't want to do this; she felt hideously exposed. The boat was almost underwater, and it certainly didn't come equipped with vertical-launch grenade launchers, so she doubted she would face fire from there. Still, she'd be vulnerable to a sniper in the hills. They had aimed at a cop, and if there were a sniper he would have opened fire by now. She was betting the opposition were idiots, and she hated doing that.

Still, the boat had to be secured quickly. It was there, so she doubted there was anyone aboard. She paused to look down at a pale face barely holding on to the edge. "C'mon," she said amiably, kneeling and offering a hand.

"Fuck you," he gasped.

"Suit yourself," she replied, turning toward the boat. "I've got things to do."

"Hey," he said, surprised. She kept walking. The boat was about ten meters long, barely breaking the surface, water lapping over a closed hatch. Dim red lights inside, so their eyes would adjust. Right beyond, still clutching his carbine, a body floated face down. She hesitated, reached down into the icy water, pulled him out and flipped him onto the dock. No armor. M4 carbine, on a strap. Who the hell waved guns at cops without wearing armor? There was a thick smell of amateurism about the whole thing. She looked at the carbine again -- she was wrong; it was a C8, the version used by Canadians and Brit SAS.

She opened the hatch wide and dropped in lightly, both guns drawn. She landed in a kneeling position, and quickly looked over her shoulder. She was alone. The only movement was the hull, and, incongruously, a little yellow bird in a cage, hanging from the ceiling.

Cargo space amidships, four trunks on their ends. She guessed there was enough room for twelve trunks in all. Was this the second stop of three? Five seats up front. Aft, a battery of micro capacitor packs, the sort they used in cars. The boat had a crude, unfinished look to it: no paint, no padding, cold as hell. Oxygen tanks tied to the hull, with bungee cords. There was something hanging from the ceiling; at first she thought it was a periscope, then she saw it was a retractable snorkel.

A cot. She knelt and sniffed at the pillow; she smelled two men, at least. Under the cot was a box with fifteen plastic bags, five of trash; ten with packed sandwiches, cold chicken, and some thermoses of coffee standing next to them. So, they had figured on three meals for each of them. One day, give or take.

What came in had to go out; there was a chemical toilet; unused. Probably just for emergencies. Had they taken piss breaks along the way? Probably.

She looked at the instrumentation: whiskey compass, depth-finding sonar from a fishing catalog, GPS you could buy from a camping supply shop. She paused, and downloaded the preset waypoints into her cell phone. She glanced back at the canary. Was that their air quality instrumentation? Talk about low tech...

"Silverfox," she said, finally, into the mike. "I'm on the boat. So far so good. I'd appreciate a hand but don't break your neck getting here. No hostile contacts, but I'm not secure."

"We'll be careful," Firefox said dryly.

"Shadowfox on the scene," Shadowfox said. "I see Jansen."

"Be careful approaching him," Silverfox said. "He's jittery."

"Thanks. I've linked up," she said.

Good, Silverfox thought. Jansen was worthless, and Silverfox wanted someone backing her.

"Silver, any probables?" Technofox asked.

"No probables, no contacts," Silverfox replied. She shied away from saying Clear. 'Clear' would mean she was confident nobody else was there, and she couldn't shake the feeling she had missed something. "Assume the area's still hot. So far, seven hostiles, four down hard, three down. Maybe five and two if I don't get to the guy in the water."

"Do that," Firefox said, probably upset at the body count. Then immediately, "Correction. You make the call, but I want that guy if you can get to him safely."

"Roger that," Silverfox said formally.

"What happened? Why did you engage them?" Firefox asked, her voice irritated.

"No choice, Fire," Silverfox said apologetically. "Can it wait for a face-to-face?" It didn't seem a good idea to say a Seattle cop had screwed up everything over a signal that could be intercepted and decrypted. Never say anything over the line you wouldn't want to hear sitting in the witness stand.

"Roger," Firefox replied, with just a touch of exasperation in her voice. Silverfox didn't blame her. Silverfox had probably kept Jansen from getting kacked, but the operation had been completely blown in the process. Silverfox didn't say it, but at this point she wasn't even sure they could bring charges against the guys on shore. Pistol Guy hadn't fired, and Van Guy could claim he wasn't trying to run her down. Worse, they hadn't actually accepted the cargo, so they might not even get smuggling charges to stick. If Jansen had just stayed low...

"Silverfox here. I am leaving the boat."

That was for Shadow's benefit -- Silverfox didn't want Jansen to open up on her.

Silverfox went up the ladder and pushed the hatch open. A wave came up and splashed in; she looked away to spare her eyes. She hoisted herself out, made sure the ropes to the dock were secure, and started walking non-chalantly back to shore.

"I see you," Shadowfox assured her.

"Likewise," Silverfox replied.

"Help," a voice croaked from the water.

Silverfox feigned surprise. "You talking to me?" she asked.

"Please," he gasped. He was shivering, his bravado gone, dashed against the fear that he might actually be left there. He could easily die in the next few minutes in the water, and he suddenly realized that might save the trouble of a trial.

She faked an indulgent sigh, and put her hand down and pulled him out. A wind kicked up, making him shake uncontrollably. His leg wasn't bleeding as badly as she thought it would be; the cold and water might have helped. "Can you hop?" she asked. There was no way she was going to carry him, not alone.

His teeth were chattering too hard for him to talk. She rolled him face down and handcuffed him there, then used a plastic tie to hold his good leg to one of the cleats. It would have to do. Then she tied off the leg, put her finger in the blood and put a T on his forehead to alert the medics.

"Tech, relay this to the police. We have seven suspects," Silverfox said into the mike on her jaw. "Two with gunshot wounds, one with an impact injury to the head, four more down with gunshot wounds." She couldn't actually say they were dead because she wasn't a coroner, but the police would fill in the blanks. "An ambulance or three would be nice."

Shadowfox was tending to the van driver, while Jansen stood by her and vomited out an incomprehensible string of disconnected words in which the phrase "crazy goddamned bitch" appeared as a chorus. Shadowfox nodded and made sympathetic exclamations as Jansen babbled himself dry.

Shadowfox was a little smaller than Silverfox, black-furred, and Silver had always been envious of her elegant beauty; Shadowfox made Silverfox think of a high-end model in _Penthouse_. In fact, Shadowfox posed as a nude model / stripper under the name Ebony; it was a useful cover, and the "Ebony" cover identity actually ran a profit, which most cover identities didn't. Shadow had a way with people. The black vixen gave Silverfox a warning glance. Silverfox nodded and did not approach Jansen.

"Firefox on the scene." Silverfox heard a motorcycle come softly to a stop, in the blind spot near Jansen's car. That would be Firefox, avoiding a direct approach and choosing the same one Silverfox had.

"Careful," Silverfox said. "There's another van load in the boat."

"So there might be another van?" Technofox asked.

"Maybe." Silverfox couldn't see one, but after the gunplay she wouldn't have hung around either.

Firefox came around the base of the hill, carrying her scoped M1A rifle at port arms. Her armor had a slight bulge for her breasts, and it took an impressive rack to make that expedient practical. She was a big girl, busty, if Shadowfox looked like a model from _Penthouse,_ then Firefox was more the corn-fed Midwestern _Playboy_ type. Silverfox had a mental image of Firefox zooming through the streets of Seattle on a motorcycle, rifle on her back ... she couldn't help but grin.

"You said seven?" Firefox asked. "I see five."

"Two more on the dock," Silverfox explained. "One alive when I left him."

"Oh, I see them now," Firefox nodded. Sirens were getting nearer. Firefox pulled off her phone plug. "Do we need to set up a story?" she asked quietly.

Silverfox shook her head firmly.

"Ah, good," Firefox said with a relieved nod. That couldn't always be said. Firefox looked at her quizzically for a moment, as though doubting her judgment.

A police helicopter showed up, searchlight stabbing about. "No contacts," Firefox said. "But there may be another van around. Keep your eyes open."

Then the police cars started showing up, and the emergency vehicles. A grey delivery truck pulled up; on the side was painted "Center Street Laundries -- Let Us Clean Up Your Mess!" That would be Technofox in a sensor van. Silverfox looked through the bulletproof glass. The little vixen was sitting in the driver's seat; she stopped the van and went through a hatch to the back, where she presumably fired up a battery of tactical sensors typically deployed on battlefields. Silverfox continued her list. Shadowfox? _Penthouse._ Firefox? _Playboy._ Technofox? _Barely Legal._ Silverfox? _Guns and Ammo._ If they had a centerfold, which she decided to write to them about.

Inspector Nishinobu came out of one of the police cruisers. He had a prematurely gray beard and a raincoat, and from his expression he had earned more than a few grey hairs in the last few minutes. Working lights were being set up around the injured, making the area look like a partly-illuminated Civil War battlefield. His imagination probably filled in the darkness, turning every bush into a corpse.

"What happened?" he asked nobody in particular.

"Sir," Silverfox said formally. "Officer Jansen and I were on that ridge. The suspects' van arrived first, and then the boat. Suspects carrying weapons began moving toward us. I moved off the hill and around in this direction to flank them. Jansen identified himself as a police officer. The suspects pointed their weapons at Jansen in a threatening manner, and I engaged them."

"You engaged them," Nishinobu said.

"Yes, sir."

He looked back over the scene. "With a minigun?" he asked. Firefox gritted her teeth. ICON had a good reputation in minimum-force situations, and she was probably imagining it being whittled away on her watch.

Two cops in armor and helmets peeked over the shoulder of the medic confirming Shotgun Guy was dead. One of them looked at Silverfox and shook his head in amazement. Silverfox felt a warm glow of accomplishment and fought to keep from smiling.

Nishinobu was probably being sarcastic, but Silverfox decided to take his question at face value. "No sir. Pistols."

"You engaged seven apparently armed suspects with pistols," he said, as though having trouble grasping it.

"Yes, sir."

"Seven?" he repeated.

She cocked an eyebrow. "They were here, sir."

"How did they see you?" he asked her accusingly.

"Sir, in my opinion Officer Jansen did not follow proper silence drill," she said firmly. She pointed to the ridge. "One of them had night vision goggles, and Jansen was standing against the sky. He also lit a cigarette or two."

Nishinobu looked up. "And you're sure they were going to fire?" he asked.

"Sir," Silverfox repeated. "Officer Jansen identified himself as a police officer and they aimed their weapons in his direction."

Nishinobu considered for a moment. A sergeant with white hair and more stripes on his arm than a tiger coughed. He was standing close to Firefox. "Inspector Nishinobu," he said, "so far we've found a 9mm Colt pistol, 12-gauge shotgun, Sten submachine gun, and a 5.56 assault carbine. All were fired except the pistol."

"That's swell," Nishinobu said dourly. Well, he probably had the press to worry about. Silverfox suspected this probably would make the papers.

"Jansen identified himself as a police officer and they tried to shoot their way out. Like a couple of dead cops on their records wasn't a big deal," Firefox said.

"Yes," Silverfox agreed. "Yes, exactly like that."

"Why did Jansen try to arrest them?" Nishinobu asked.

To show the out-of-town synthetic rent-a-cop how big his balls were, Silverfox thought. "I don't understand how he reconciled that decision with our orders, sir," Silverfox said politely. You never cut down someone's man in front of either of them. That triggered tribal reflexes.

There was a moment of stillness, as Nishinobu considered the implications. He nodded, and Silverfox got the sense he was resigned to it.

Firefox cocked an interrogating eyebrow at the sergeant. "My asset suggests the suspects spotted Jansen," she said.

Firefox was a beautiful woman and people did tend to say more to her than they should, or at least the heterosexual males did. "Well," he said, hesitating, "this won't be the first time Jansen's made the papers." Nishinobu gave him a baleful glance, but it wasn't like ICON wouldn't find out.

Technofox left the van. Nishinobu was about to open up the trunk that had been landed, and the little vixen stood next to him. She held a camera. Firefox and Silverfox went over as well, and were joined by Shadowfox.

Nishinobu glanced at them with a wry smile. Silverfox felt better; four corpses was never a good situation but it seemed The Nish didn't blame her for it. "Want to see what the fuss was over?" he asked.

"If you don't mind," Firefox said.

"Well, why not," Nishinobu said. He hesitated, and looked at Silverfox. "There's going to be a hearing, but they fired on you, and that's going to be in the report."

Silverfox nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Nishinobu opened the trunk. It was packed with pelts, mostly grey. On top, incongruously, there was a folded tiger pelt, orange and black and white colors looking unnaturally saturated in the bright light.

"The hell?" Nishinobu asked, bemused. "Smuggling tiger pelts from Canada?"

He unfolded it. It was from a small tiger -- it had to be a juvenile. Claws and head removed. Silverfox frowned. It didn't look like the tiger pelts she had seen before.

Technofox gasped. "Inspector," she said. "...That's not a tiger pelt."

"You're saying it's artificial?" he asked.

Silverfox realized what was wrong. The legs were too long, proportional to the body. Not legs; legs and arms. She felt her hackles rise.

"No," Technofox said softly. "It's not artificial."

Nishinobu slowly understood. Instead of folding it up, he tossed it back into the trunk, and took a few steps back in revulsion.

They were in adjoining hotel rooms, each with twin queen beds, which they had made a suite by opening a connecting door. It was two thirty in the morning. They had cracked open the minibar and had split the vodka, even though it was ridiculously overpriced. No sugary mixers; they'd be busy the next day and needed to sleep.

"Just curious," Shadowfox asked. She was sitting on the edge of one of the beds. "Why didn't you let the smugglers kill Jansen? No big loss from what I saw." She sipped vodka straight from a paper cup, the edge crimped to form a spout.

"I know, I know," Silverfox said, tired. She sipped from the straw in the her plastic glass. Vodka on the rocks, straight; she was coming down off the fight and felt the buzz.

"You can't just stand by and let a man be murdered like that," Technofox said, frowning. She was at the writing desk, at her laptop. She had barely taken a mouthful; she didn't like to drink and compute.

Shadowfox shrugged.

"More to the point, he was a police officer," Firefox said. "Cop and an operative go out, cop dies -- not good in the long run." She was the first to take a refill, and it barely seemed to affect her.

"I suppose," Shadowfox admitted. She grinned. "I might have done the same as Silverfox, if I had a chance to pull it off alive."

Silverfox smiled at the compliment. "So what have we got?" she asked. "A chimera pelt mixed in with a shipment of wolf pelts?"

"We don't have anything," Technofox said. "Our contract's fulfilled. Once the paperwork's finished."

"I want these guys," Firefox said. She started pacing, looking moody. Maybe the vodka was affecting her more than it looked; she was getting broody and angry.

Technofox nodded, without hesitating. Shadowfox looked dubious. Silverfox shrugged.

"I'm good with that," Silverfox said lazily.

"You mean on our own?" Shadowfox asked.

Firefox paused. "As a last resort," she said.

"We can't afford to hire us," Silverfox objected. "I mean, damn, our time's valuable."

"And the obvious place to start is Canada," Shadowfox said. "That could be tricky."

"That's cool," Silverfox said. "I bought a Canadian language chip the other day. Real cheap, too."

Firefox smiled briefly. "I was going to say," Firefox said, "I'd like to, but I don't see how we can. Even if we decided to take a vacation and do this on our own time, we'd effectively be making an armed incursion into a foreign country."

"That's only, what, two and a half provinces each? We're tough," Silverfox said. Still, the point remained: operations in the United States with ICON support were dicey enough, operating in a foreign country without ICON would be almost impossible.

"Armed?" Shadowfox asked briefly.

Firefox snorted. "Yes, armed. To me, a chimera pelt says bring a gun. In fact, it says bring every gun you own, and borrow some from a friend."

"Wait," Silverfox said. "What exactly does our present contract cover?"

Technofox shifted uncomfortably. "That's the problem," she said. "We're not investigating the smuggling ring. The contract's explicit. Foxforce is here to reinforce the Seattle Police and assist with shore patrol."

"Crap," Silverfox said.

"Exactly," Firefox said. "We've fulfilled out contract, but that won't put these guys in jail. ICON doesn't fight crime as a public service; ICON fulfills security contracts. We've got a crime but no client."

"We might, if we can identify the tiger," Technofox said.

"A tiger chimera with friends enough to hire us," Shadowfox said. She didn't need to point out how unlikely that was.

"I'm going to push ICON to let us poke around," Firefox said. "If they say no, then all I've got is, let's keep our eyes open, be aware that something nasty's happening in Canada, and without faking anything, look for opportunities to push investigations in that direction." She put her vodka mug down. She had emptied it again.

"Do you want to tell ICON to renegotiate the contract?" Shadowfox asked.

"I'd like to," Firefox said. She rubbed her jaw. "We don't want to seem too eager, though..."

Silverfox shrugged. "Look, let's get real here. As long as we don't go into debt, I want to help nail these guys. Drug running I don't give two shits about. Chimera pelts are different. So don't say no on my account." A smile flicked over Firefox's face as the others nodded agreement.

"I hate to say it," Technofox said, "but I don't see the Seattle police giving us a ringing endorsement. They can blame us for the shootout. And they probably --"

On cue, the four of them looked at the door to the hotel corridor. They all heard the footfall, a familiar one.

Shadowfox sighed, closed her eyes, and walked to the door. Opening it, she raised her tail and her eyes widened and became bright. David Torrance was out there, about to knock. He looked faintly perturbed, but he was getting used to this particular chimera trick.

"Hi, David," Shadowfox said, with a swish of her tail. She was wearing a short robe and no panties, and Silverfox watched the muscles in her butt move. God, she was something else.

"Hi, Shadow," he said. "Sorry if --"

She took his arm and pulled him in. "Don't be silly. Come in. We were just wondering when you'd drop by."

Technofox leveled her eyes at Shadowfox for a moment before looking at David. "How's your case going?" she asked.

David rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, to tell you the truth, it's set back, if not blown," he admitted. "Not blaming anyone," he said, looking at Silverfox. "But I was after the salesman for the merchandise being delivered last night. No delivery, no merchandise. No merchandise, no sale, no sale, no case."

"Did you expect chimera pelts?" Firefox asked bluntly.

"No," he replied. "Believe me, I would have warned you."

Firefox hesitated a moment, then smiled and nodded, as though apologizing for implying otherwise.

Technofox was about to say something. "I'm so sorry," Shadowfox said, staring deeply into his eyes with brown eyes that glowed with sympathy. Tech frowned and looked away.

David shrugged. "I heard a rumor you saved a cop's life?"

"Yeah," Silverfox said. "We all make mistakes."

"Don't say things like that," Shadowfox said, frowning at her while holding David's arm. David sat on the easy chair, and Shadow wedged herself next to him, sort of halfway on his lap and half not on the chair. She melted against him, and he put his arm around her waist. He looked at her; she smiled and kissed him, lightly, briefly, her eyes holding the promise of more. Silverfox felt her spirits sink. She had counted on sleeping with Shadowfox that night.

"Have you heard anything about these mooks yet?" Silverfox asked.

He looked around at her, blinked as though he couldn't remember what she was talking about. "Strictly speaking," he said, "and no offense, but I thought you were just supplementing the coastal patrols?"

"You're right," Firefox said. "Officially, it's nothing to do with us. But Silverfox was shot at, and we're all a little curious."

"Uhm," he said, obviously a bit uncomfortable. ICON was pretty strict about confidentiality, and they didn't like agents to gossip with one another.

"Please?" Shadowfox asked, and touched her tongue lightly to his hand.

His reluctance vanished. "Well, remember that I'm working the supplier side, not the shipping side, so I'm not getting all the details either."

"Understood," Firefox said easily.

He scratched his nose. "The thing that really jumped out at me was that of the five in the boat, four were Canadian deserters."

"Canadian army?" Silverfox asked, surprised.

"Three Army, one Navy," David corrected.

"Huh. I didn't expect that," Silverfox said. "They didn't strike me as trained infantry. One had a Canadian Army carbine but I figured he had bought the thing on the black market."

"So they didn't feel like trained troops?" Firefox asked Silverfox.

"Yeah..." Silverfox considered. "I'm not expecting Canadian Army deserters to be Princess Pats or SAS or anything, but I wouldn't expect them to outright suck, either."

"So you expected better?" Firefox asked, thoughtfully.

"From the Canadian Army? Sure. Even from a deserter with just basic training," Silverfox said firmly. "They screwed up all over the place. They've got just three elements, and lousy cohesion between them. Night landing, one set of night vision goggles, and they give it to a guy pushing a trunk. Lousy tactics and the wrong equipment. That's not 'make do with what we've got', that's 'we're idiots, and we suck.'" She smiled, rather proud of her way of phrasing it.

"Or maybe they didn't have flash suppressors?" Technofox suggested. Firing guns with night vision equipment was a bad idea, unless the muzzle was shrouded to keep the flash from blinding the shooter.

"Still makes them stupid," Silverfox said. "Either equip for a night environment, or leave the toys on the boat."

"And they're probably guilty of capital crimes on top of that," Technofox said. She shook her head. "A cop identifies himself, and they point guns at him. Sure, they were seven on two and a good chance of fighting their way out of trouble, but there's no way they knew that."

"They didn't," Silverfox said. "I caught them flatfooted. They had no idea where I was until I opened up." Firefox raised her ears warningly and glanced at David. Technically, Silverfox was supposed to identify herself as private security and order them to surrender. Only the immediate threat to Jansen was keeping her out of jail.

David didn't seem concerned. "None of them tried to give up?" David asked.

"Except the one I pulled out of the water," Silverfox said. "Maybe a nice warm cell looks better when you're bleeding out into the Pacific Ocean."

"It would to me," David agreed. "I'm surprised they didn't give, even while Silverfox was rolling them up."

Maybe they didn't have time, Silverfox thought.

"Were they split into groups?" Shadowfox asked. "It was dark. Maybe they didn't know how bad off they were."

"Maybe," Silverfox said. "You get high casualties in that situation... you know what smells like army to me? Their instincts were to fight their way out. Maybe they were trying a rear-guard action."

"It seems to me that seven on one isn't exactly a minimum force situation," David said, delicately.

Silverfox grinned. David was a pretty cool guy.

"So I'd guess -- just guessing here -- that maybe you tore into them without giving them time to find you and shoot back. That makes sense, but it's not giving them time to surrender, either."

"Could be," Silverfox admitted. "Heck, the guy with the shotgun opened fire when his buddy did. A soldier might do that, even if he doesn't have a target." Recon by fire worked.

"Contagious fire? Maybe," Technofox said. "But Jansen identified himself and gave them a chance. They decided to engage him instead."

Silverfox nodded. The little vixen was right.

A maritime map of Vancouver Island was on the TV, with numbered waypoints. The first was south of Victoria's Inner Harbor, and the last was almost twenty kilometers north and east of that, in Haro Strait. Technofox pointed to it. "Here's what I don't get," she said. "It's off the screen, landfall in Seattle was marked by a waypoint. But landfall back on Vancouver Island wasn't."

"What's a waypoint?" David asked. "I've never used a GPS," he said apologetically.

"A waypoint is where heading changes as you follow a course," Technofox said.

"If you ask where the library is," Shadowfox translated, "and I say 'straight down this road, and hang left at the gas station,' the gas station is a waypoint."

"Ah." David nodded.

"Thanks," Technofox said. She moved a cursor around Waypoint #01 on the TV screen. "This is the first waypoint. We don't know where they started from, but it could be anywhere along the shore where you can draw a straight line to the first waypoint. Probably somewhere along here, to the west, because otherwise you'd be going southwest, hit this waypoint, and then have to turn southeast to reach Seattle."

"Which is stupid, unless you're trying to fool someone who gets his hands on your GPS," Silverfox reminded her.

"Yes," Technofox agreed thoughtfully. "Let's leave that aside for now. You then scoot down to Seattle, follow the GPS to the landing ..."

"You also get a recognition signal from shore," Silverfox reminded them. "Flashing van headlights. Morse code Charlie. Today is the third."

Technofox nodded, drawing the obvious inference. "Better. Then you turn back, painstakingly follow this meticulously plotted course back ... and you wind up sitting in the middle of Haro Strait, right between San Juan Island and Beaver Lake." She scratched her head. "Why isn't the landfall marked?"

"How long is the trip?" Silverfox asked. "Time, I mean."

Technofox blinked. "A boat like that might pull, oh ... ten knots. I'd guess ten hours, one way." She held out a hand and waggled it back and forth. "Give or take. I don't know what the currents are like."

Silverfox nodded. "I had guessed one or two pee breaks along the way," she said, satisfied.

"By the time you got back up there, it's daylight," Firefox said. "They probably know the landing by sight. Or," she said thoughtfully, "if I were doing it, I'd memorize the position of the landing, and I wouldn't program it into the GPS until I was safely underway."

"You're smart, though," Silverfox reminded her. "These guys aren't."

"Either way," Technofox said, "they launched from somewhere within sight of Victoria, and they landed somewhere within sight of Haro Strait."

"Two bases," David frowned. He was holding Shadowfox's hand, and brought it to his lips. She smiled shyly. "That's funny. Why have two bases?"

"Maybe not," Firefox said. "Not if the base is somewhere within sight of both waypoints." She immediately shot herself down. "But it doesn't look like that's possible... see, they're around a point. I don't see how they could overlap..."

"Well, I think it's getting too late to talk about this," Shadowfox said brightly. She held David's hand, and considered. "Uhm, Silver?" she asked, her voice a little shaky and embarrassed.

"I don't mind," Silverfox replied. "I'll use the spare bed in here. Just let me grab my toothbrush."

Technofox's ears flattened momentarily and flipped back up. David and Shadowfox followed her into the other bedroom, but not out. Shadowfox looked after Silverfox as she left the room and wished them a good night, exactly as though she was shy in front of her, as though the two vixens had been using both beds. Silverfox smiled to herself. If David were a chimera, he'd realize that Silverfox and Shadowfox had been sleeping in the same bed within a few minutes.

She closed the door behind her. "Can we all fit in one bed?" Silverfox asked Technofox and Firefox brightly.

"Are we going to try?" Technofox asked, cross.

"Tech," Firefox said, slightly exasperated.

"What's the problem?" Silverfox asked with a frown.

Technofox rolled her eyes in that exasperating "if you don't know I'm not going to tell you" way she sometimes adopted when her feelings got all hurty.

"Geeze," Silverfox snorted. "Say the word and I'll hang out with a friend."

"What friend?" Firefox asked.

Silverfox posed. "I haven't met him yet," she said, raising an eyebrow.

Firefox rubbed her sinuses.

Technofox pursed her lips. "I'm sorry," Technofox sighed. "Silver, it's not you. It's just that..." she gestured helplessly while Silverfox took off her shoes and socks.

"Tech, just tell her you're not in the mood," Firefox said. She took off her shirt, folded it and put it into a drawer.

"But I am," Technofox muttered to herself. She looked over at Firefox, who was taking her bra off. Firefox taking her bra off generally did lighten the atmosphere. The little vixen stared, and looked away when Firefox turned back towards them, as though Firefox didn't like Technofox to stare at her. "Your shirt's off," Technofox said. "Of course I'm in the mood."

Silverfox smiled; Technofox had started expressing that sort of thing more recently; Silverfox thought it was because she and Firefox had sort of hooked up. Silverfox looked at Firefox frankly, and not just at her face. Silverfox liked looking at Firefox naked. Firefox looked back and couldn't resist a smile.

Remember the first time we made love, Fire? Silverfox found herself thinking. She was glad for Firefox and Technofox, but she couldn't quite suppress the melancholy which came with knowing a lover preferred to spend her time with someone else.

Remember that lesbian porn video I downloaded for ideas? Remember how awkward we were with one another, remember learning how hard to bite, the first taste and feel of a woman against the tip of your tongue, how exciting it was to feel a kiss between your legs?

Oh, they had both learned, of course, and found other lovers; Firefox had gone to other women and men; but for Silverfox there had only been other women. Sometimes she wondered why they had each made different choices. Maybe Firefox had been so overwhelming an experience that she turned to other women to recapture it as closely as possible.

No, "choice" was the wrong word. Looking back, she couldn't think of a moment where she had "made that decision." Women had always attracted her; Silverfox couldn't look at another woman without imagining, however briefly, having sex with them. Sometimes, the thought was humorous, or off-putting, or nice enough to pursue: but whenever she had forced herself to think of it with a guy something inside her had recoiled away from the image. It had been repugnant.

It was odd that she had liked to imagine women wearing a strap-on when a real penis seemed as attractive as something extruding itself through a crack between two rocks in an aquarium. She could remember feeling that indifference and discomfort, but she couldn't imagine it any more. Now when she saw a dick or thought of one, she wanted to feel it go off.

Technofox grabbed Firefox, who pretended to squeal as Technofox pulled her down on the bed. Somehow, Technofox ended up on top, and was gently stroking the side of Firefox's face. Firefox's smile turned serious for a moment, and her lips parted slightly. Technofox lowered herself onto Firefox; their mouths clung. Technofox sat up, and looking down at Firefox stroked her breasts. Firefox gasped as a blunt claw found her nipple. The tip of Technofox's tongue flicked onto her lip.

"Mind if I play with myself while I watch?" Silverfox asked amiably.

Firefox suppressed a grin; Technofox didn't suppress hers. "You goof," Technofox said playfully, tossing her shirt at Silverfox. Silverfox caught it, and tossed it onto the other bed. She stripped, throwing her clothes into a pile with Silverfox's shirt, hanging her weapon harness carefully on the head of the bed. She gritted her teeth, annoyed: she had lost a magazine at the crime scene and she didn't think she had any spares.

Oh well. She climbed on behind Technofox, kneeling to keep her weight off Firefox's legs. Technofox turned her head, startled, but Silverfox pressed her head over the smaller fox's shoulders and used her snout to make her look back at Firefox. Firefox raised her hands to Technofox's breasts, stroking them as Silverfox's weight pushed Technofox against Firefox's hands. Silverfox put a hand between Technofox's legs; the little fox was already wet.

Technofox had four hands on her: Firefox caressed her breasts while Silverfox worked her between her legs and stroked her belly. Silverfox bit her shoulder lightly. She wasn't able to see her face, but Silverfox could gauge Tech's reaction by the way her little body moved, the way she breathed, the cries she choked back.

Technofox was close to the edge, she knew; moving her hips back away from Silver's fingers to prolong it. Silverfox kept the pressure up, quickened the movement of her finger, and bit harder, making it more intense instead of slackening off. Silverfox was rewarded almost immediately; Technofox gasped and fell forward, embracing Firefox tightly as she climaxed, squeezing Firefox in the afterglow.

"Thanks for the show," Silverfox said. "I'd pay to see you do that again."

A shy smile flicked over Technofox's face. Silverfox always liked making her feel happy. Technofox didn't always respond well to teasing. Firefox hugged Technofox, and turned to kiss Silverfox.

"I owe you one," Technofox said.

"Nah," Silverfox replied. "I think we're even." She put her arm over the two of them.

"Thanks," Technofox said. "Sorry, but I'm really tired."

Silverfox kissed her lightly, and looked at Firefox.

"Tech sandwich," she suggested.

"Good idea," Firefox agreed.

Technofox emitted a muffled squeak as the two bigger foxes converged on her.

Silverfox woke last. Firefox was gone, Technofox was dressed and reading a newspaper. The headline was "MASSACRE ON THE COAST!"

"Hey," Silverfox said, surprised. "Where did that happen?"

Technofox lowered the paper and stared at Silverfox inscrutably for several seconds before wordlessly raising it up again. Silverfox shrugged. Sometimes Tech got into funny moods.

Firefox came to the door; she opened it and stepped in: the smell of the coffee she was carrying wafted gently across. "The reporters are jumping on anyone who looks remotely like a Vix-Dix," she complained. "I practically had to pistol-whip my way past them."

"So what else is new?" Silverfox asked. "That's the price of being impossibly hot."

Firefox sighed and rolled her eyes. "Get dressed," she said. Instead, Silverfox took a cup from her. She tossed away the plastic top and breathed deeply. She could feel the caffeine vapors flooding her sinuses. The infrared pit sensor in her nose told her it was still too hot to drink, but it was still possible to have fun with coffee.

"I suppose a relaxing breakfast in the restaurant is out of the question?" Technofox asked.

"Afraid so," Firefox said. "Looks like we'll have to spring for room service."

"Or we could send David for takeout," Silverfox said.

"I'll ask after you get dressed," Firefox said.

"We should all get naked," Silverfox suggested. "Then he'd pay for breakfast."

"Silverfox," Firefox said flatly.

Silverfox snorted and pulled on a long T-Shirt. "You're still worried about staying professional with him? If you listen, you can hear his balls slapping against Shadow."

Technofox threw her paper onto the bed and stormed into the bathroom. Silverfox lifted her eyebrows at Firefox.

"She likes him, you know," Firefox said in low tones.

Silverfox snorted. "There's a relationship with potential."

"Chimera / Human relationships can work out," Firefox said flatly. "You're seeing Jerry, right?"

"I'm not talking about the dating - outside - your - species thing," Silverfox said quietly. "I'm talking about a boy looking for a nice bit of serial monogamy. And you're the girl's girlfriend."

Firefox stiffened. At that moment, Shadowfox slipped through the door. She was wearing a towel, clutched modestly to keep it from opening up. When the door closed, Shadow relaxed her grip and allowed it to gap. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Does David know we fuck?" Silverfox asked casually, in low tones.

Shadowfox blinked. "Uhm, what?"

"Sorry, I should be more clear. Does David know that you have sex with the three of us and Andrew?"

"And half of the Mafia," Technofox called out from the bathroom.

Shadowfox glared at the bathroom door. "That's professional," she said.

"And so is David," the bathroom door said.

"Yes. So?" Shadowfox asked, frowning.

"David knows what you do for the job," Silverfox said. "Does he know what you do for fun?"

"Uh, no," Shadowfox answered, obviously puzzled. "He thinks we're exclusive," she said, her expression wondering why Silverfox was bringing this up. "Professional stuff aside, of course. It's like the towel. He's seen me naked on stage, but for him I'm a little body shy."

"So that's what he likes?" Silverfox asked.

"...Of course," Shadowfox said, bewildered. "I'm being the girl he wants."

Silverfox turned to Firefox, satisfied. "There you go. See my point?"

Technofox opened the bathroom door and leaned out. "No."

"David wants a faithful lover he can take home to mother," Silverfox told her. "Not a woman in love with another woman."

Technofox froze.

Shadowfox nodded. "That's right," she agreed. "He understands my work but we don't talk about it. He wouldn't be okay with my sleeping with you guys, so I don't let him know about that. But why are we talking about what David wants in a relationship? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Shadow," Firefox asked before Silver could answer the question, "You have something to bring up?"

"Huh? Oh, right," Shadowfox said, trying to remember. "David and I are getting room service together, so you guys can have breakfast without us."

Technofox closed the bathroom door.

"What's with Technofox?" Shadowfox asked, exasperated.

"By Washington State law, chimerae models which meet certain thresholds are legally human," Nishinobu said. "So we're keeping the ... remains in the morgue."

"I knew I liked the Northwest," Silverfox said.

Nishinobu grinned briefly.

"How long till all the pelts are tested?" Firefox asked.

"At least a month," Nishinobu said.

"That long?" Silverfox complained.

Technofox nodded. "There's two hundred pelts. This will swamp every certified forensics lab between here and the Smithsonian."

"That's right," Nishinobu said. He looked at Silverfox squarely. "I assure you that this is being treated as a human murder case by the Washington State Police, with co-operation from the FBI and the RCMP." He turned and Silverfox rolled her eyes, which got her an elbow jab from Shadowfox.

He pressed the buzzer next to a bulky, environmentally sealed door. A light flashed green and the door shivered as bolts slid to the unlocked position. He turned a handle and cool, dry air flowed out past the jamb. "I'm told that we may not be able to identify the individual," he said, stepping through.

"The tanning process destroys most DNA," Technofox said. "Which means we can't identify individual chimerae from these pelts. That's tricky anyway, because most chimerae have clone-siblings. However, mitochondrial DNA can be extracted from a tanned hide. Since chimerae are cloned using human ova, it should be possible to trace the chimera to a specific ova batch. From there it's a process of elimination."

"Made more complicated because with a chimera, vanished doesn't usually mean dead." Firefox said. "It means run away." All of the foxes had runaway friends; Firefox was speaking for Nishinobu's benefit.

Nishinobu smiled. "Exactly. Investigating this is not a job for a human cop."

The room was chrome and white, the smell of formaldehyde so heavy in the air that the air itself was probably preserved. There were three examination tables; the tiger pelt was laid out on the largest, two jaguar pelts were on a second, arranged as though the examiners were trying to match the patterns, and on the third were the bones of a human leg, laid out in an anatomical pattern. They were very clean. Silverfox recognized the drawers: they were not only refrigerated, but maintained a pure nitrogen atmosphere. Similar technology had figured in Atlanta.

"So the chimerae don't get a drawer?" Silverfox asked, getting a second elbow jab from Shadowfox.

Nishinobu glared at her and pointed. "We're sort of cramped for space. We've got only six drawers and some guests from the north." He pointed over at the leg bones. "We had to move him to a table. It's not about species. It's a question of which remains need preservation more."

Silverfox was dubious, but silent.

"Do you want to see your work?" he asked icily.

"Yeah, thanks," Silverfox said brightly. "Especially the guy with the assault carbine. Did I hit him six for six?" she asked.

"...We found three holes." Nishinobu said slowly.

"He was a tough target," Silverfox said apologetically. "How was my grouping?"

"Not too good. Left leg, right arm, and head."

"Crud," Silverfox said, crestfallen.

"You'll have to excuse Silverfox," Shadowfox said. "She didn't get much sleep last night because she was very upset and remorseful over --"

"I'm sure she was," Nishinobu said dryly. "Mention that in the interviews."

"We'll see to that," Firefox said.

"Speaking of which," Nishinobu said, "for the moment, we're not releasing the fact chimerae pelts were found. The DNA tests haven't confirmed it yet."

Firefox looked at him sharply. "So you're telling me that all the reporters think an ICON operative killed four people who were smuggling illegal pelts? They don't know it's a murder investigation?"

"The press release," Nishinobu said firmly, "states that a police officer and ICON operative were in a gun battle in which four criminals were killed, with weapons fired on both sides. Believe me, we're making it damned clear that they opened fire."

Firefox set her jaw and nodded reluctantly.

"Does this mean I don't get to check my grouping?" Silverfox asked, disappointed.

"It costs around a hundred bucks every time they break the seal on one of those drawers," Technofox said. "Nitrogen atmosphere."

"Really?" Silverfox asked, surprised.

Firefox leaned down close to the two jaguar pelts. "Do they think these pieces might be from the same ... individual?" Firefox asked.

"We suspect it," Nishinobu said. He knelt down next to her. Silverfox noticed he moved to put Firefox's rack in view. Well, she didn't blame him. "The problem is that a jaguar pelt doesn't have a continuous pattern. With a tiger you can match up stripes, but with spots you're never sure. Frankly, at the moment we're not even certain those are from chimerae." He looked up. "We've found four different pelts which seem to ... match a bipedal body type. Tiger, a lion, and two canids. That's not conclusive, and it doesn't rule out that there might be more. These might be from a chimera, or it might be from a jaguar, or they might be from two individuals."

"It does beg the question of how a jaguar pelt got to Canada," Firefox said. "Or rather, why it was smuggled from Mexico and then back. Just be careful the pelts don't touch and cross-contaminate."

He sighed. "Yeah, that's a problem. But the thing is they were all packed up in trunks, so we're finding wolf fur in with the tiger's pelt. The samples we've sent off are scrapings from inside the dermal layer. Unfortunately, that means we had to pull a visible strip away. from the other side of the pelt." He gestured as though flipping the pelt over. "I don't like doing that, especially not when this might be a foreign citizen."

"I think we're talking about a closed-coffin ceremony anyway," Firefox joked.

Nishinobu's professional reserve flickered just slightly. "I'd recommend that."

Technofox was staring at the human leg, and frowning. "I'm not an expert," she said, "but this looks like a badly set break."

Nishinobu looked over briefly. "Good eye," he said. "Yes, those were found by a hiker last week. We think they belonged to a Native American who broke his leg in the forest. He tried to set it himself, but it got infected and he died."

Technofox looked up. "Does that happen often?" she asked.

"This happened three hundred years ago."

"Oh," Technofox looked down and shook her head. "Awful way to go, still."

"So," Firefox said, "I assume we're still on the case? Otherwise you wouldn't be showing this to us."

"I think you have a right to this," Nishinobu replied.

"I appreciate that."

Nishinobu looked over at her. "If the tiger was a high-order chimera, this is a transnational incident with a joint investigation carried out by the FBI and RCMP," he said. "However, there's obviously a component involving the non-human community, possibly chimerae who are moving about illegally."

"Why would they do that?" Silverfox stage whispered.

"I want ICON and your team involved in this investigation. But there's budgets, and questions of who will pay."

"Thank you for recommending us, sir," Firefox said, keeping relief out of her voice.

"Under one condition," he added. He jerked a thumb at Silverfox. "We talk to a judge in half an hour, and then there's a press conference. Your gun bunny needs to look convincingly upset about the dead Canadians in my city."

"Well, naturally," Silverfox said softly, "taking someone's life is always the hardest decision that a private security operative can ever make." She swallowed. "But Officer Jansen was under fire."

Electronic flashes popped. Given how good cameras were nowadays in low light, it was extraordinary that people still used electronic flashes. Silverfox looked away as though shy of the attention: actually, Technofox in the audience was pulling faces at her and Silverfox was afraid she'd start laughing. The judge nodded sympathetically.

According to the medical testimony, the prisoner running down the dock had only been hit twice. Silverfox pursed her lips: she had fired four rounds at him. It wasn't clear how many shots had hit the driver of the van. That didn't bother her, since she had been using a pistol for area fire. Still, her hit ratio was higher than anyone else in the team.

"You did well," Firefox said, thumping Silverfox affectionately on the shoulder. It was deliberately ambiguous. Someone listening might think she was being congratulated for not crying on the stand.

"Yes," Shadowfox agreed. She glanced around and continued, in low tones. "Still, I think you spread it just a little too thick. No offense."

"None taken. That's like me giving you pointers on the range," Silverfox said. Shadowfox grinned.

"Ms. Silverfox?" a man asked. Silverfox looked over. He was a bit taller than she was, with hair that was too long, a goatee and a badge that said PRESS.

"Yes?" Silverfox asked, thinking, _Yeah, I'd do him._

"I'm with Seattle NewsNet," he explained. "I was wondering if you'd be available for an interview after the press conference."

Technofox looked up, blinked, and at Firefox. Firefox shrugged. "Well, certainly," Silverfox said. "And your name is...?"

"Devon. Clark Devon."

"Fine, Mister Devon," Silverfox beamed, nodding energetically. "Could we do it over lunch?"

"Uhm, certainly, Ms. Silverfox."

"Just Silverfox, thank you."

"Thanks -- please call me Clark."

"Oh, I will," she assured him. It was barely eleven hundred hours. The timing, she thought, might be a little tricky -- she'd need to keep him talking for the rest of the day and through dinner, probably.

He smiled and went off. "Tech," Silverfox said, "when is our flight back to Boston? Tomorrow at sixteen hundred?"

"Tomorrow at sixteen hundred," Technofox affirmed. "Rally time in the hotel is thirteen hundred. NewsNet -- isn't Victoria's father involved with them?"

"Wow," Silverfox said. "That means I had sex with Clark's boss' daughter? And I'm pretty sure I've got evidence of that on my hard drive..."

"I wouldn't bring that up," Shadowfox said gently. "It can be intimidating."

"I might be busy tonight," Silverfox said.

"Getting lucky?" Technofox asked.

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," Silverfox told her.

After lunch, she had asked Clark to show her around the city. The view from the Space Needle would have been nice if the slight drizzle didn't blot out the view to the horizon, but to her that hardly justified the enormous array of Space - Needle - Themed paraphernalia offered for sale at the base of the tower.

In fact, so vast was the human lust for Space Needles on hats, shot glasses, shirts, ceramics, playing cards, postcards, and salmon that they could not be contained in a single store, and had spilled into a number of shops all about the tower. It would be possible to live one's life using only artifacts which were associated in some way with the Space Needle, from brushing one's teeth with a Space Needle toothbrush in the morning, to eating meals of Space Needle-shaped pasta with Space Needle flatware from Space Needle dishes, to drying one's self off with a Space Needle bath towel before donning pajamas emblazoned with little Space Needles, matching those on the pillow case.

She saw a postcard with a hole in the middle of a what looked like a pattern of tight concentric circles embossed into the surface; she was assured that this postcard was a duplicate of one sold on that wonderful day when the Space Needle had first been erected, and had a song encoded somehow into the ridges. She wondered if the hardware needed to read the data existed anywhere on North America outside of a museum.

But she did send Technofox an email about the Science Fiction Hall of Fame, which had props they had used in some films she had seen. They didn't allow pictures, unfortunately, and Silverfox hoped Tech could find the time to swing by.

After that, they went to a burger joint nearby. The burgers were upscale and really quite tasty.

"If you don't mind my asking," Clark said, "were you trained for combat?"

Silverfox considered and stirred her drink wordlessly. Why, no, she imagined herself saying. I'm a secretary. Anyone grabbing a pistol for the first time is totally capable of taking out six armed opponents. Shit -- she had a gun sight wired into her brain.

She was quiet because she was dumbfounded. How could someone be that clueless? And she was a little offended. She spent a lot of time on the range and in simulations; she worked hard at her skills and was proud of them. She had friends who didn't know field of fire from recon by fire; but at least they respected her craft. She doubted that she and Clark would ever really connect on any conversational level. She couldn't help but feel a little bit disappointed. He did, however, have a nice butt, and she realized that it might be possible to salvage something out of the time she had already invested.

"Yes," she said, trying to keep a straight face. "Most law enforcement and security personnel get through their careers without ever drawing their weapons off the range, but I suppose my number was up."

He looked upset. "And you didn't volunteer for that?"

She sighed to herself. "I'm self-owning, which means I can change my job if I want to."

"But not originally," he said.

"Who is? Human minors have fewer rights than prisoners."

"Children aren't property."

"There's that. I was grown and trained to the law-enforcement specification," she said.

"Don't you think that's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm an artifact. We're created for a purpose," Silverfox said. "Otherwise, why would anyone bother?" She shrugged. "I'm a product, in the same way you're a chimpanzee."

Honesty, she decided, was probably a mistake. She needed to stop conversing with him, and instead, play him like a dating simulation. She should review possible responses and pick the option which was most likely to get her an invitation home.

He seemed baffled for a moment, as though he had never considered why artificials even existed in the first place. He drummed his fingers nervously, uncomfortably, and seemed to be trying to think of a way to change the subject. "Well, I don't know," he admitted. "I mean, I'm not arguing that you -- artificial intelligences -- shouldn't exist, but it seems to me that most of your problems come from people -- humans, I mean, not all people, -- treating you like you're products." He laughed. "And it's been a bad year for chimerae, hasn't it? I mean, Doctor Walton being assassinated in Atlanta, and they pin the killing on a chimera --"

Silverfox wanted to take a red-hot poker and ream the next human who expressed sympathy over Walton's death. Grudgingly, she had to admit that Lilith's life hadn't been a total waste -- although she didn't understand why Lilith had attacked Shadowfox after killing Walton.

Ah well -- she didn't spend a lot of time fretting over such things. Technofox and Firefox would point their fingers, and she'd pull the trigger. Which, she realized, was exactly the wrong thing to say if she wanted to get into bed with this guy.

"They outlawed indenture contracts in Washington State..." Silverfox said with a nod.

"On the other hand, there's that," Clark said with a laugh and a smile. Silverfox didn't answer. Technofox had been furious about that.

Indenture contracts were still one of the best ways out of slavery. Their friend Morgan had been purchased from the Federal government and now was working as an indenture in Illinois: in a few years he'd be self-owning. Without indenture contracts to guarantee a return, it made more economic sense to keep slaves in slave states. The ban on indentures in Washington State was a classic example of well-meaning people screwing things up.

But Silverfox didn't say that. Shadowfox was sleeping with David, and Firefox and Technofox would rather be alone, and Silverfox knew that if she didn't sleep with someone real, she would dream someone in bed with her...

And Silverfox was afraid of who might show up.