Prologue

Shadowfox picked up another set of blocks. They were painted to look like broken bricks. Well, almost -- a flake had fallen off one side revealing brown wood. She held it so the camera wouldn't see the chip and waited for her co-star to face her. The wood would pack a wallop if George botched the catch.

The black-furred vixen was wearing a leather vest ripped by the claws of a monster in a scene they hadn't filmed yet. As she tossed the blocks, her left breast popped out. George double-taked and the wood bounced off his head with a hollow clonking sound.

Shadowfox's first instinct was to keep in character. She was playing Taanha the Whisper, a warrior of the forest, the female lead in Tetris: the Motion Picture. But no -- on top of that she was playing Ebony, the actress cast in the role. If Ebony had bounced a heavy piece of wood off someone's face, she would slip up. Shadowfox put her hands on her mouth in horror.

"God, George," she widened her eyes. "Are you okay?"

To his credit, George took a block of wood to the face like a champ. He obviously wanted to stay in character, but he was grateful to her for blowing the scene so he didn't have to.

"I'm fine," he said, taking a bloody hand away from his nose. A medic dashed out onto the set. Shadowfox wouldn't have thought that a glimpse of her boob would have such a devastating effect. She felt weirdly flattered.

"Cut, cut, lieber Gott," said the director. Shadowfox looked over at him, which was something Ebony would do. This had been the first incident of the first day of shooting. Karl Fischer shook his head and looked up at the sky. The sun was moving out of position, and that made a difference even if they were shooting day for night. He shrugged.

"Set up for Scene 22," he said. "Ebony, be back in forty-five vit' your costume."

"That's where I'm stalking George, right?" Scene 22 wasn't the next in the plan, but right away she saw what the director intended -- by doing Scene 22 next George could take a longer break.

"Ja," Fischer nodded. "Get some lunch, too."

It was only ten, but Shadowfox nodded. She gave George another apologetic look and he grinned at her. She readjusted her vest and got whistles from the grips. She grimaced at them, and took one of the boxed lunches in the direction of the wardrobe van.

Shadowfox ducked around the van and kept going. She was ahead of schedule, but Jasmine knew she had to be flexible.

With everyone else either shifting equipment or lying down with a nose bleed, there wasn't much chance anyone on the crew would be at the coffee house.

It was a chain place, and Jasmine was in a booth by the bathroom. The albino fox looked up at Shadow, her face showing no recognition. She was still in her cast -- or had it been on her other arm before?

Shadowfox pretended to look for a seat. There was nobody else she recognized, so she ordered a small mocha and a tall black coffee, and carried them over to Jasmine. There weren't many chimerae in Canada, and it wouldn't look too suspicious if two of them meeting by chance would strike up an acquaintance.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Shadowfox asked. She put her boxed lunch down, unopened. She didn't want to risk being asked to leave for bringing in outside food.

The albino fox looked back at her, light bouncing off her glasses. Like most albinos, Jasmine's eyesight was poor and her glasses provided augmented vision to compensate.

Jasmine's ears twitched, rising high and alert before shifting down to their usual position. It was too late. Shadowfox was still in costume, and it had sparked Jasmine's interest. Shadowfox considered her options, and kept them all open with a warm smile that could be read in different ways.

Jasmine was a reporter, working the chimera beat, and Shadowfox was an "anonymous source." Jazz had probably been sent because her bosses figured Shadowfox would be more open with another chimera.

"I'm waiting for a friend but he'll be a while," Jasmine finally answered.

Shadowfox smiled and sat down across from her. That was sign and counter-sign -- they had just confirmed that each considered it safe.

Shadowfox was an agent for the Inter Corporate Operative Network, and through Shadowfox, Jasmine was an information asset which Doctor Clayton of ICON used to issue controlled leaks. Perhaps Jasmine would be less likely to betray a lover, and Shadowfox might need to exploit that.

"You have something for me?" Jasmine passed over a half-eaten blueberry muffin. Shadowfox broke off a bit, tasted it, and licked her fingertip while keeping her eyes steadily on Jasmine's. The albino blinked and looked away. That hadn't been what was on her mind.

"It's an ongoing investigation," Shadowfox apologized. "You can't use it for the time being."

Jasmine nodded. "Of course not. I've never released anything without your say-so."

"That's why I'm sitting here." Shadowfox decided to add a little more. "Well, that too." She moved her shoulder so her breast moved closer to the rent in her top. Jasmine noticed. She stared at her coffee, hard, trying to convey the impression that she wasn't looking at Shadow's top.

Was Jasmine being reticent, afraid she was misreading signals? Or was it her business-first attitude? "So you're investigating the pelts?" Jasmine asked.

"Yes." Shadowfox nodded as though she had expected the question. Actually, she was a little taken aback. The Seattle police were still keeping the pelts quiet. Shadowfox wondered where Jasmine heard, how many other anonymous sources she had, and if they were feeding her contradicting information.

"This is the sort of story worth waiting for," Jasmine assured her. That was expected -- let the mark think that your co-operation was in your own best interest. She looked quizzical. "Didn't Foxforce find the pelts?"

"My team, yes," Shadowfox agreed cautiously. She had no idea how Jasmine had figured that out and wondered if she should ask.

Jasmine nodded and sipped her coffee. "That shootout smelled funny," she explained. "Smugglers aren't going to engage a small army over some drugs."

That was comforting, because Jasmine didn't know what had happened, or she didn't quite believe it. "It wasn't an army -- it was Silverfox," Shadow answered.

"Same thing." A smile flickered over Jasmine's face, and maybe a bit of disbelief. "So that shootout was Silverfox, on her own?"

Shadow decided to add a little truth to see what Jasmine already knew. "The reports were correct. It was Silverfox against seven smugglers." She put an impish smile on her face. "The police didn't lie about anything, but they did withhold details, such as what was being smuggled."

"And that was trophies made from dead chimerae." Jasmine looked thoughtful. "Funny, I figured that Foxforce knew about the pelts and claimed that Silver was alone so it wouldn't look like an ambush."

"We'd all have to share the same gun," Shadowfox laughed.

Jasmine grinned back. "Silver favors ten mil Hocpacem, doesn't she? A frangible case on a penetrator that doesn't touch the rifling."

Ah. Jasmine had figured that out.

"If you all used the same type of pistol," she continued, "with new barrel liners and ammo from the same manufacturer, forensics couldn't tell the bullets apart."

Foxforce had discussed the possibility, but they had never actually done it. Shadowfox looked surprised at the suggestion. "Huh. I never thought of that. You see, we're all kind of attached to our weapons."

Jasmine nodded. Shadowfox wondered if she believed her.

"I thought that was being hushed up because of the politics," Jasmine said. "But it doesn't really hold together, does it? Murdering chimerae for fun isn't some sort of legal gray area -- it's more like Blue Diamond. Nobody would defend it."

"Yes. And it's big. But the case is developing and if you don't sit on it the bad guys are going to get away." Shadowfox looked at her. "I know I said that before but there's stakes here."

Jasmine's ears twitched. "Got it. How big?

"International. Not just US / Canada international."

Pink eyes were locked on hers. Shadowfox knew Jasmine was thinking of a nonfiction book, a companion to her Blue Diamond Girls. "Fischer's German," she said.

The United States and ANZAC had crushed Japan in the Pacific War back in 1943. On the other side of the world, the European War had broken down into a stalemate, with the Commonwealth, Nazis and the Soviets in a three-pole Cold War which had dominated global politics for a century. The United States was a staunch Commonwealth ally.

"It's about an illegal trade in chimerae," Shadowfox explained. "Some of them go to slave brothels." Jasmine glanced away. They had first met when Jasmine interviewed Shadowfox for Blue Diamond Girls.

Jasmine nodded thoughtfully. "So there's a cartel? And Fischer's in it?"

"That's what we're trying to prove."

"And the Nazis are involved? But why?" It was a bit baffling.

Shadowfox looked helpless. "We don't know if this is part of a planned operation or if Fischer's running something on the side. Probably the latter."

"So Fischer's kidnapping chimerae for sale. Where is he getting them?"

"We think runaways, heading from the States into Canada."

Jasmine closed her eyes and winced. Yes, that was perfect. Runaways had a motive to fly under the radar. Who could prove that three fugitive chimera slaves ran north and only two made it? "Shadow," she said slowly, "how can we warn them?"

Shadowfox looked at her impassively. "I don't see how we can."

Jasmine frowned at looked at her. "What?"

"If they're targeting runaways, the only way to be safe is to not run away," Shadowfox answered.

Jasmine thought it through. "Crap, that's right. Any sort of warning is going to sound like--" she hesitated.

"Some of the people on the underground railroad are going to sell you to Blue Jade. Or a hunting preserve." Shadowfox shook her head. "It sounds like propaganda for the slave owners, doesn't it?"

"We can't tell people that," Jasmine said quickly. "...But if it's true--"

"You see the problem," Shadowfox nodded. "I've got to get back to the set. You staying in town?"

Jasmine looked reluctant. "I've been here too long already. I've let some other things slide. But if you'll have more stuff I can use now--"

"I wish I did." Shadowfox patted her hand, the one that wasn't in a cast. "Get on those other things. If something breaks loose, I'll get in touch with you." She left her hand on Jasmine's. "I'd like that, Jasmine," she said finally.

Nobody can blush through fur. Jasmine came close.

01 Shadowfox -- Null

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

This is the fourth volume in the Foxforce series, after Firefox,Technofox_, and_Silverfox_. It should be possible to follow this story without reading the predecessors, but I suggest reading them in sequence, as_ Shadowfox will contain spoilers. -- Nathan Cowan, 2013

Shadowfox woke slowly, reluctant to return to reality.

Her fur was fluffed to hold her body's heat. The gentle breeze moved it in waves across her legs. She was warm, but she knew it was cold. She was lying down on metal, curled in a fetal position. There was an alarm, a strident, annoying bell that made her ears flatten. Her eyes were closed.

An alarm clock?

She had to wake up to turn it off. It didn't sound like her alarm clock. That meant she was sleeping over somewhere. Where? Well, whoever she was with, he'd like it if she turned off the alarm and woke him more personally.

She opened her eyes. She was on a porch. No, a fire escape. It was night. There was probably a good reason for that. She was wearing clothes. Blouse, miniskirt, panties. No shoes.

Waking up dressed?

She couldn't remember doing that before. It was strange, stranger than waking up on a fire escape. She began to feel a vague sense of dread.

Shadowfox recognized the outfit as something Ebony would consider street wear. Ebony was her cover identity, an exotic dancer and model trying to break into the sort of show business where she wore a shirt. Ebony was making a terrible movie with Karl Fischer, the man she was investigating. Shooting started today.

What was that noise?

Not an alarm clock. Fire alarm.

Fire?

She triggered a boost. Her endocrine system released adrenaline, amphetamines. It was like throwing a switch; she snapped to full awareness with the force of a physical blow. She stumbled, swayed, but came to her feet. One deep breath and she was alert.

There were fire trucks in the parking lot below, lights flashing. Fire alarm, she was on a fire escape, next to an open window. Looking in, she recognized the hotel room she was sharing with Silverfox.

How did I get out here?

It was baffling.

The fire alarm went off, I jumped out the emergency exit, and took a nap?

She dropped that train of thought. She was sure there was an explanation, but she could worry about that later.

Silverfox wasn't in the hotel room. The gray fox girl was spending the night with McKinnon. No, wait -- the door to the hall was open. Good, Silver must have gotten out already.

Silver left me napping on the fire escape?

The door to the hall was open. Shadowfox closed her eyes and inhaled, cautiously at first, and then deeply. No smoke. That meant the fire was in a different part of the building. Or it was a false alarm.

Well, she didn't want to go back into a possibly-burning building. Shadowfox made her way down the fire escape; rusty metal rungs, cold on the pads of her feet, unpleasant and gritty. The one leading to the ground was swung up like a drawbridge, and for a moment she didn't think it would release; but it squealed and squeaked and dropped down. Flakes of rust dropped like a brown snowstorm.

Shadowfox looked around for a rally point, and saw a crowd of guests, in pajamas and robes and hastily-donned street wear. From this angle she could see the side of the hotel; police cars were clustered there, and an ambulance was zooming off. She guessed someone had a medical emergency and pulled the fire alarm.

Shadowfox was a private security operative working out of Boston, in Canada assisting the RCMP. The agreement required her to "offer aid to police officers in need." She hoped that meant "call an ambulance if you see an officer down" and not "blow your cover every time you see an officer who looks busy."

"Room?" someone asked her. He was a human, big, wearing a blazer in hotel colors. And, of course, the fire department had its rules. When an alarm went off, they had to prove everyone was out and there was no fire before they let people back in, even if they knew the alarm was pulled because of a medical emergency.

"Five-fifteen," she answered.

He tapped his tablet computer. "Everyone get out?"

"The room was empty when I left," she answered carefully. Looking around, she didn't see Silverfox. That made her uncomfortable. But she wasn't certain Silverfox was sleeping here tonight; she might be with McKinnon...

Shadowfox wouldn't just doze off on the fire escape. Something was wrong, but what? Shadowfox didn't want to pester Silverfox with an unexplained ghost story if she were with someone. Besides, Silverfox had nightmares, bad ones, and if she were sleeping comfortably Shadow didn't want to get her up. Shadow checked the computer inside her brain.

A chimera's brain was grown inside a lattice of sensors, a complex network of artificial neurons that interfaced with a small computer implanted in a socket on the top of her skull.

Shadowfox didn't have a network connection. The hotel's free wireless had locked down with the fire alarm, so it could be dedicated to emergency traffic. She patted under her arm; her smart phone wasn't there, and the hotspots in range weren't open. Crud. She set her intrusion software on the hotel's hotspot. It would get in, but it could take hours.

Shadowfox looked at the calendar in her head.

Is that day right?

She was almost sure it was Sunday. No, Monday -- it was after midnight. But the calendar said Tuesday morning. It was easy to lose track of the days of the week when your routine was disrupted, but she was sure the first day of shooting was Monday.

Feeling a dread she couldn't explain, she looked at her datebook. Her agenda showed this was the second day of shooting. It was even revised -- there was a scene rescheduled from the first.

Shadowfox scrolled back to Monday. Yes, there was her agenda and action items, tasks she couldn't remember doing marked as complete.

She had lost a day.

4094.

Routine 4094 was a chimera's reset button. It was a program inside a chimera's brain implant which would knock them unconscious and remove their memories since the last time they had gone to sleep.

Her team had escaped from a slave brothel nine months ago. Blue Diamond had used 4094 on them. They'd never know what they had lost.

Shadowfox fought to keep from hyperventilating. She didn't feel forgetful or impaired... which fit. The only reason they knew Blue Diamond had used 4094 on them was because a girl who had been there with them had told them.

They knew, or suspected, that Fischer had been involved in the black market slave trade. She should have seen this coming. But how had he used it?

Worry about that later.

Now her priority was getting in touch with the others. She wasn't wearing her headset. She didn't have a digital connection. She looked around.

Find a guy without a girl.

She saw him, medium height, jacket with the logo of a sports team from Newfoundland. He had a small phone in his hand. He was talking to "honey" and assuring her he was all right. When he put it away, she padded over to him.

"May I borrow your cell phone, please?" she opened her eyes slightly and smiled.

If you do this for me, I'll suck your big, strong cock.

Shadowfox didn't believe in telepathy, but she did believe in subconscious body language. She pushed her shoulders back and pretended not to notice his eyes go to her cleavage.

"...Sure," he said, handing her an old dumb phone with a scratched display. She smiled more widely and turned away, putting one arm under her breasts and arching her back to give him something to look at as she dialed Foxforce's general number, reversing the charges because she had the feeling he was counting pennies.

The general number would ring all four phones at once. It rang twice. She hoped Silverfox would pick up. Firefox and Technofox were in Seattle, presumably safe.

It was Firefox, her team leader. "Hello?" Firefox inquired politely. A neutral response. Caller ID would say Shadowfox was a sports fan from Newfoundland.

"Hi, it's Ebony," Shadowfox used her cover name to let Firefox know the line wasn't secure. "There was a fire alarm at the hotel, and I wanted you to know I'm all right. Funny thing, I was on the fire escape and I don't remember how I got there." She put a happy lilt in her voice to make it sound like silly girl talk. "Can you ping Argent and let her know I'm okay?" Argent was Silverfox.

"It looks like Argent's offline." Firefox's voice was casual.

Damn. Shadowfox's throat tightened, but she kept her eyes bright and the smile on her face.

"We'll ask around," Firefox promised. "We'll meet you in Vancouver for breakfast. In the meantime, see if you can find her."

"Right," Shadowfox replied, with a curt nod Firefox wouldn't see. "Talk to you then."

"Keep in touch if you can."

"I'll do my best. Bye for now!"

Shadowfox laughed and smiled as she hung up. I can't wait until I'm naked on my knees and you're coming on me, she thought as she handed the phone back. He smiled at her, uncertain about the signals she was sending. As long as he wouldn't hold her to it, it was fine.

At least I'm not overreacting. Small comfort. Shadowfox looked across the street, at a 24-hour coffeehouse that offered "Free Internet with Coffee." She didn't have cash, but she had a device in her left hand that mimicked an International Chimera Registry Chip, which could be set to identify her as a number of different identities, each with a valid credit card. As Ebony, she bought a small coffee, sat down in a booth, and connected.

The Christmas Tree showed that Silverfox was off the network. A search agent called FoxWatch was scouring police, emergency, and civilian channels for references that might be related to Silverfox. One message in her inbox had been flagged High Priority -- Must Read.

RCMP Sergeant Carl McKinnon was dead, killed in a shootout in the hotel parking lot, less than an hour ago. The police and ambulance she had seen there were probably taking him away.

Shadowfox was raising her coffee to her lips; she didn't betray emotion, but it stabbed at her. Oh, poor Silverfox.

Foxforce was working with McKinnon; Silverfox was sleeping with him. Shadow didn't think Silverfox was too serious about the relationship, but this would still hurt her.

Shadowfox didn't approve of him; he hadn't introduced the gray vixen to his friends -- probably didn't want them to know he was a fur fucker. Even so, she didn't wish this on him. Shadowfox shook her head. None of that mattered now.

Would Silverfox do something stupid over this?

Yes. Shadowfox drummed her fingers. That made sense. The scenario came to her mind. Shadowfox had somehow been hit with 4094. Silver put Shadowfox somewhere safe, and was chasing the killers.

Would she do that unarmed? Maybe. Or maybe she took McKinnon's gun.

She'd chase them. Where to?

Fischer had a boat, a catamaran named the Flying Saucer.

Why didn't Silverfox send an alert first?

That stumped Shadowfox. Maybe Silverfox was out of communications, the same way Shadow would be once she left the coffeehouse.

Shadowfox read on. Three suspects had escaped the scene in a grey Ford: a Caucasian male human, which described Flying Saucer's entire crew_._ A "large" male chimera tentatively identified as an Ursus. That might be Avalanche, a big Ursus 4 who worked for Fischer. And a gray female canid, possibly a NorBio Fidelus.

Yes, Silverfox might be confused for a Fidelus...

Shadowfox's hand shook. She put the coffee down, and exhaled slowly.

That can't be right.

Follow up message. Argent's ICR code, her mug shot, dangerous, assume armed... Shadowfox screwed her eyes shut.Damn!

Someone had found Argent in the hotel records, put one and one together and got 11. The police force of Vancouver now thought that Silverfox was a cop killer. And they'd be looking for her room mate...

Should I contact the police?

Normally, the answer would be _yes._She was supposed to be working with them. But if they thought Silverfox was a cop killer, there was a good chance Shadow would be locked up until they figured out what was going on. Which would take hours.

I could prove Silver's an ICON agent.

No. Shadowfox couldn't do anything with the police that Firefox wasn't doing remotely, and there was the risk they'd put her in jail and take her temporarily out of action.

What if the police are right? Would Silverfox shoot McKinnon?

McKinnon wasn't a lover as much as a cuddly distraction. A crime of passion required passion, and Silverfox wasn't that invested in McKinnon.

Routine 4094 would knock Silverfox unconscious and erase her last waking period. For all Shadowfox knew, Routine 4095 might trigger "I am the Lord thy God. Take this gun, and kill in My name."

That didn't seem plausible, but it was frightening.

So for the time being, police were hostiles, and Shadowfox would act accordingly.

Shadowfox knew Fischer had -- somehow -- figured out that Foxforce was investigating him, and he made his move; 4094 was proof of that.

I have to get out of here.

She finished her coffee in a single pull and went for the door. Cop to the left. Shadowfox turned right.

The policewoman was with a middle aged guy. Shadowfox didn't look directly at them, even though that would be a natural thing to do, so Shadowfox worked off her impression.

She was a uniformed police officer in her early twenties.

He was middle aged, with thick, unruly hair and an incongruously tidy beard and mustache. Do the police allow beards? He didn't look like a detective, but a lot of them didn't. He looked more like a university professor. Maybe they're not together...?

"See, Monica?" he said, his voice conversational. "I told you she'd look for a wireless connection."

It wasn't directed at Shadowfox, so she could plausibly pretend she hadn't heard. Without rushing, she took a hard right into the first alley.

"Hey!" Monica shouted. The police officer sped up.

"Hey!" wasn't "Halt! Police!" When she was out of sight, Shadowfox broke into a sprint, silent on padded feet. That wall looks good. She jumped, landed with her feet on a window ledge at head height. She grabbed the lower ledge of the window on the next floor up and smoothly pulled herself up. Three stories later, she was on the roof and on her side looking down when Officer Monica made it to the mouth of the alley. Monica pulled out a heavy Maglite and turned the alley into day.

The man came up beside her, slowly; he was breathing hard and moved like he wasn't used to running.

Monica kept her voice low. Shadowfox's ears twitched, faced her, Nature's adjustable parabolic microphones. She had other sensors as well, things most chimerae didn't: the Yagi antenna built into her lower jaw scanned for electromagnetic radiation. There were two people, but she was picking up three cell phones. Her implant logged the identifiers of the phones, and she put them in queue for a dossier check.

"Are you sure that was her?" Monica asked.

"I didn't get a good look," he admitted. "Maybe. We should go back and ask."

Shadowfox couldn't see them clearly. She somehow had the impression that Monica was looking low, and he was looking up, at the roof. Shadowfox looked away from them, so her eyes wouldn't shine back.

"Either way," Monica shook her head, "we lost her. There's another four hotspots on this block."

"...Okay, let's go."

Monica wasn't acting like a subordinate.

They left. Shadowfox lay quietly on the roof. Her contract specified that she was to "cooperate fully with local authorities." But as long as Monica didn't identify herself as a police officer and order her to come down, Shadowfox was in the clear.

Find Silverfox.

She patted herself down. The police didn't let them bring guns into Canada. She had a folding blade knife tucked into her under-arm phone holster. It was a relief when she felt its familiar shape under her arm. Her other tools... back in the hotel room, along with her phone. _Why am I dressed, but barefoot without any equipment?_Maybe she was taking a nap? _Do I go back to the hotel room for my stuff?_No, they'd have a cop waiting for her.

Fischer hit me with 4094. Silverfox is missing. What if Silverfox were captured? What would he do with her? He has a boat.

And the boat might move. The thought panicked her.

He might not take Silverfox there, but it was the only place she had to go. She ran to the far side of the roof. Cars were parked down one side of the street. She glanced up and down to make sure nobody happened to be looking in her direction, and dropped down to street level. A pedestrian did a double-take; hopefully he hadn't seen her come down the wall.

Shadowfox walked along the street, broadcasting electronic pass codes. One of the cars chirped and flashed its lights; there was a clunk as it unlocked itself. Without rushing, she opened the driver's side door and slid in, trying to look like it was her car. The seat was too far back but she didn't want any passers-by to notice anything strange, so she didn't adjust it. She pressed the accelerator and sped into traffic, cutting someone off.

Now that she was in a car, she didn't think stealth would gain her anything. She turned north, and the electric motor whined as she pushed the pedal down. Soon it was against the floor. The traffic light on the next block turned yellow.

I hope it's a long yellow.

The car continued to accelerate. The light barely flashed red as she went under. The car ahead of her was slow, and too far over to the left; she veered into the other lane to pass, and into an oncoming car. She thought she could pass, and when she was next to the car she was passing, she knew she had miscalculated.

She closed her mouth to keep from biting her tongue, and jerked to the right, expecting to hear the sickening crunch of a sideswipe and feel an airbag in her face. Incredibly, there was nothing. It was like expecting the staircase had one more step than it did -- she was anticipating the collision even as she made it into her own lane. She brought the steering wheel back to the center before she went onto the sidewalk; her tires squealed. What happened? She glanced in the rear view; the car she had passed was braking, receding into the night.

She ran a red light, veering around a pedestrian who stared at her blankly. The marina parking lot was right up ahead. There was a black Nissan in the parking lot, stopped, not parked; one door open. Shadowfox hit the brakes.

Black Nissan. They were in a grey Ford.

Either the witnesses screwed up, which was possible ... or the bad guys had switched cars.

Maybe they didn't go direct to the boat.

She felt a glimmer of hope.

Shadowfox opened the glove compartment. There was a jumble of maps, a box of Milk Duds melting all over them -- those had to date to last summer -- a flashlight, and a multi-tool, a cheap knockoff of a Leatherman. She opened her blouse and slipped the tool into her empty cell phone pocket. There wasn't room for the flashlight so she kept that in her left hand and bailed out of the car. She broke into a run, leaving the door open.

Flying Saucer was a catamaran about forty meters long, able to hit thirty knots. Nobody wanted to work in the spray of a thirty-knot wind, so her only open deck was aft and on top, where an air dam provided shelter. The bulkheads of the ship angled sharply upwards; Shadowfox wasn't sure if that was edge alignment or aerodynamics, but she looked like a high-speed catamaran ferry.

She was a former Kriegsmarine commando support vessel, designed to carry a pair of semi-submersible landing craft. Karl Fischer was using her to smuggle slaves and other things. And she was leaving port, moving slowly along a pier.

Shadowfox chased her, running faster than she believed she could.

I'm not going to make it. I'm about to run out of pier.

Shadowfox jumped. Her first bound landed her foot on top of a piling; she used that to kick off and into the air. She hit the starboard side of the ship with a loud thump, and immediately started sliding down. Her hands scrabbled for purchase; the flashlight skittered down the hull and into the water. Her feet went over the edge just as she wedged her left hand into an opening. For a moment, she swung from her left hand before she scrambled up, finding a thin foothold for her toes.

Did they hear that inside?

Maybe. Move. Towards the bow or stern?

The stern had a way in. She inched her way to the aft, carefully and slowly. She had a few hours till dawn, and she didn't want to rush and fall into the water.

What are they doing to Silverfox?

She had a few hours till dawn. Her brain implant was picking up a secure wireless hotspot. She set her intrusion software on it. It could take hours to break in, or minutes.

She didn't know how to read buoys, so she didn't realize the Flying Saucer was running too fast, breaking traffic laws, attracting official attention, just as she had done in the last few blocks.

She heard a high-pitched whine, and then a roar. A familiar stink washed over her and she froze, momentarily bewildered. Then, she recognized it from airports: the exhaust of a petroleum-fuelled turbine engine, the kind they used in jet aircraft or big ships instead of electric motors. It reminded her that this was a high-speed ocean-spanning vessel and the slipstream might easily peel her off if she didn't hurry.

The ship started accelerating, stabilizing at it made headway. The speed was also kicking up a salty, cold spray that started running down the sides of the vessel, like rain.

It was saturating her fur, blotting out the layer of warm air. It was cold first, then painful. She had to get moving, or her fingers would go numb and that would be it. She moved slowly, one foot or hand at a time, coming to a complete stop with each step as she crept her way along.

The Flying Saucer's hulls cut the ocean like knives, white in the moonlight and starlight. The ship slowly turned to starboard. North. She concentrated on moving, handhold to handhold.

How am I going to get up? Is that what I think it is?

It was a ladder, recessed into the hull. She grabbed a rung; it wasn't her imagination. She followed it up the side of the ship and over the wall onto the open top deck. She stayed there for a moment, on all fours, listening for the crew and hearing nothing.

Then she shook: long and hard. Water shot out of her fur and into the air, like a sprinkler. It was a reflex, almost impossible to suppress, and in this case, beneficial. She shivered. Her fur fluffed and began to warm the air it trapped. She moved over to a hatch in the bulkhead and squatted down next to it, so anyone opening that door wouldn't see her immediately, panting, trying to catch her breath.

Now that she was out of the wind and in no immediate danger of falling into the ocean, she had time to feel the cold. She shook violently, wrapped her arms around herself, and her teeth chattered. She tried to think, but she couldn't; for several minutes she was almost paralyzed, trembling. She knew she had to take a hot shower and get out of her wet clothes, but that didn't seem like an option.

Now that I'm here, what do I do?

What if Silverfox isn't here?

If Silverfox wasn't aboard, then Shadowfox had just stowed away on a private vessel. The captain would be within his rights to lock her up, and if she resisted and injured a member of the crew she could face charges of piracy. "Working on an RCMP contract" wasn't a license to kill. She was already out on a limb, legally. If she started taking out the crew, she was jumping off.

It's worth the risk.

Shadowfox tried to remember the layout of the ship. On top was the bridge; behind that was the semi-enclosed open-top deck she was on. The next deck down was mostly crew quarters.

Fifteen crew with accommodations for up to one platoon ... fifty men, sixty-five in all.

That was her original layout; she was a troop ship. She didn't believe Fischer had a platoon of commandos aboard, but it was a daunting worst case scenario.

The deck below the crew quarters was engineering and the gantries for the boats.

Where would they take Silverfox?

She had no idea where the brig was, or even if they had a brig. With 4094, they could keep Silverfox unconscious. Or they could tie her up. She could be anywhere. The bottom deck would have fewer people in it. She should start there.

Shadowfox looked thoughtfully at the cylinders on the back of the ship. Those were inflatable life boats, designed to release automatically when they submerged. There would be survival kits in them.

Maybe something I can use...

She moved to them, and looked carefully at the latches holding them closed. There had to be a way to open them -- but would it set off an alarm?

Shadowfox heard a hatch start to open. She looked over. The handle in the middle of the hatch started to turn. Immediately, Shadowfox crouched down, wrapped her tail around her, hoping to blend into the dark. The hatch opened. The only light it let out was subdued, a soft red glow from instrument panels, the gentle green of luminous paint or tritium.

There were two of them, human males. One had a flashlight. He flicked it on; there was a red mask on it.

Why don't they just turn on the floodlights?

Maybe they were trying to preserve night vision; maybe they weren't showing lights.

This was bad. Shadowfox could see in the dark, but they might see her eyes shine. She wasn't concealed; if she moved and if their eyes were dark-adapted, they'd spot her: black fur against a white hull, a shadow against the light. If she didn't move, then they'd pin her with their flashlight. She didn't have a choice. She saw where she could hide; it was just a few meters off.

She kept low. She was still shaking from the cold. She flowed across the deck, silent as --

"Hey, there! Don't move."

She froze. Too late_._ She was pinned in red light. She was shivering in the cold, so...

She turned wide eyes to the flashlight. I'm on the run from my owner. Wait, slavery was illegal in Canada. I'm on the run from my pimp. Don't give me away. Please don't hurt me, sir.

"Hey," one of them said, surprised. "That's the bitch that got away!"

They were looking for me_, not Silverfox?_ Yes, probably. Shadowfox had been getting close to Fischer. Silverfox was in the background.

Shadowfox tried to look stupid. "Got away? From who?"

She saw them as silhouettes. She tried to exaggerate her tremble. She shifted her shoulders back, made the fabric move over her breasts.

If I can get them thinking with their little heads...

"The rent-a-cop? You sure?" the other asked dubiously. They were coming closer to her.

"A cop?" she blinked. "Do I look like a cop?" She folded her arms over her chest, and looked away uncomfortably. She licked her lip, trying to seem nervous. "Look, I know I shouldn't be here, but--"

"Take the light." The flashlight was juggled from one hand to another, and he approached her. She considered a punch to the windpipe; but she didn't know if or how the other guy was armed. He came close. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from her chest. She gave a squeal of dismay and he swung his other hand around, open palm. She let the slap land on the side of her muzzle. His eyes were on her breasts.

"Shit, it is her. I better shoot," the other said.

Bloodthirsty bastard.

Shadowfox shifted slightly, keeping the first man between her and the guy with a flashlight. He probably wouldn't open fire through his buddy.

The first man had her wrist in his hand. She struggled, careful not to pull her hand free. He looked at her, considering.

In movies, if they wanted to show someone was rich, they put a chimera pleasure model in a tiny bikini in the background. Chimerae like her were a rich man's toy. Dogs loved a pat on the head. Chimerae girls craved men. That's what the advertisements all hinted.

"I don't know what you're--" she started to say. Please don't whip out your huge, throbbing cock...

"Wait a minute," he said. He grinned. "Why wait our turn with the other one?"

Silverfox. You son of a bitch! I will cut off every testicle on this ship. That was the wrong thought. Too honest. Her eyes narrowed and her lip lifted. He hesitated for just a moment.

"Don't hurt me," she pleaded. That was it, the perfect touch of helplessness his sort wanted. He lifted her skirt, put his hand in her panties.

"Get these off or I cut them," he said. "No tricks, cunt."

Does he have a knife? If he did, she was better off if he didn't have it to hand. She hesitated, waiting until he lifted his hand to hit her again. She didn't meet his eyes as she pushed her panties down, and then off one leg.

He smiled and pushed her down onto her back, on the cold metal of the deck. He lay down on top of her, his face next to hers. She looked away. She smelled tobacco and mouthwash on his breath. He pulled her blouse open. He squeezed her breast like a stress ball, pinched her nipple. He kissed her roughly, took her lip between his teeth. His weight ground the side of her face into the deck, the rough no-slip surface. He opened his pants.

She could feel his erection, hard and urgent, pressing into her thigh.

"God, you're something else," he said.

Shadowfox was a chimera, an artificial woman with a price tag in six figures. Advertisements made her clone-sisters a sort of sexual ideal, beautiful, sensual, easy to please, the ultimate partner for anyone who wanted a woman. And the advertisements didn't lie. Nerves fired and hormones flowed, exciting her.

"Hey, her pussy's wet," he said with a surprised. "The cunt's really into it." He pressed his mouth against her cheek, shifted up.

She felt this stranger assault her, grope her and push her into the deck. She tried to suppress her emotions, feelings that would distract her from the mission and the rescue. She didn't feel horror or disgust. She felt aroused. He took out his penis and guided its head between her legs.

"I don't want you to do this." Her voice was clear. Don' fling me in dat dere briar patch...

"Bill," he said, dick poised to enter her, "kick the bitch." He began to push.

Bill winced and looked away. He didn't move his foot. Kicking the girl his buddy was raping probably seemed ungentlemanly.

Shadowfox gritted her teeth. She gasped as he slipped inside of her. She shuddered as he pushed deeper. She felt his warmth and his weight and all was well because a human was using her for pleasure; she had him inside her, a human was in her and she embraced him, between her legs, and then her right arm, over his back. Over his back and under her arm. Her fingers around the knife.

"God, she's tight," he said. "These fur whores spend half their life with a cock in them and she's still tight. Feels good."

Yes. She let it show in her face, the ecstasy and satisfaction, not holding anything back. She licked her lip. Bill stared at her face as she took out her knife, snapped out the blade.

The knife was legal just about everywhere. The mechanism was Gerber, the blade from General Electric's turbine division, all assembled and tuned by an artist who spent a day on each knife. A knife will cut through armor that will bounce a bullet.

The advertisements didn't lie, but movies did. A slit throat isn't a silent kill. A knife deep in the kidney is a silent kill. They thrust into each other. His eyes widened in shock and surprise and every nerve fired, the pain so intense he couldn't make a noise. It wasn't an instant kill; it was a silent kill.

She rolled them over, fast, so Bill wouldn't notice. She shifted her knees and raised herself up into the classic woman-on-top porn pose. Her blouse gaped and she ran her hands on her breasts, palming the blade. 'No' means 'please.' That's just the sort of girl I am.

It was for Bill's benefit, of course. He was reluctant, so she had to show him she wasn't. His pants were down at his knees. Maybe he wasn't that reluctant. Shadowfox looked over at his erection, intent and fascinated. It was almost in her face. She looked up at him. He smiled, uncertainly.

She smiled back. Is that for me? She put up a friendly hand to guide him into her mouth, and pressed the base of his penis between her thumb and the razor edge of the knife.

It shrank instantly, as though it knew before he did. His mouth dropped open, and he fell; she had to move quickly to keep from accidentally castrating him. His bare butt hit the deck. She moved closer to him, frowned down at him and raised a finger to her lips.

"Any sound you make's gonna be really high-pitched," she warned him.

She came to her feet, pulling free. The deck was rocking, or maybe it was her imagination. She watched his hands, and the pain and fear in his eyes. His pants had dropped to his ankles.

He was wearing a Taser T3, the three-shot model in a holster, next to two green-door smart cartridges. Oh. He was going to shoot me with that.

Shadowfox glanced over to starboard. Lights on shore were visible.

"You didn't kick me, so I'm going to let you go over the side."

He looked at her, shocked, and then to the lights. "I can't make it," he whispered.

"You need to try," she told him softly. She squeezed gently.

She let him take a life jacket. He climbed over the edge and started down the ladder as she covered him with the Taser. She waited until he looked down to find his footing, and hit him in the face, sending him over backwards, off the ladder and into the ocean. He started to yell, but vanished underwater before he could get a scream going. He bobbed to the surface, and Shadowfox watched him move astern.

We've slowed down, she thought, and wondered why. The motors were more quiet. Was there some sort of automated crew-overboard alarm? No, now they were speeding up again...

Well, so far, so good. She could claim self-defense for the dead man, and he had left evidence inside her. If Bill made it to shore, she doubted he'd go to the cops. If he didn't make it and the body was recovered, there was nothing to prove she had forced him into the water. Win-win.

The dead man had a light stick, lighter, a pack of cigarettes, and a wallet. Thirty-two dollars, Canadian, and an expired Canadian Armed Forces photo ID. Some of Fischer's men were deserters. Why did he still carry that? He was wearing street clothes. With a crew this small and human with no uniform, she didn't have a chance at posing as a crew member. His clothes stank of blood, and they would never fit her anyway. Somehow, he had ended up on her panties. She looked at them and shuddered.

Send him over the side? No, the crew would still see the bloodstain. It wasn't like she could scour the deck. Besides, a judge in a bad mood might consider it tampering with the scene of a crime.

Okay, two down, what next? How many people in the bridge?

She moved closer to the forward bulkhead. She couldn't hear anything through the wall over the whine of the engines. There was no way in but the hatch. She flexed the light stick in one hand, keeping her eyes away. It was white, the light brilliant compared to the moon. She turned the handle. The hatch squeaked open a crack, and she tossed the light stick in before throwing the hatch all the way and stepping in, Taser ready.

She scanned the narrow bridge, left to right. There was a man at the controls, head turned to watch the light stick bounce across the deck. Shadowfox fired. The Taser popped, sounding like a toy. She stepped into the bridge, continuing her sweep as the Taser crackled softly. The light stick lit the room enough for her eyes: there was nobody else, so she turned back to face him in case he needed a second shot.

He was a big man, slumped across the controls and trying to hold himself up. He lost bowel control and slipped to the deck. Shadowfox stepped over to him and checked his pulse. Satisfied, she came to her feet. There was a light internal hatch that led to a staircase down. The handle of a fire axe wedged it shut.

She ejected the spent cartridge and inserted a new one before patting the helmsman down. There were cable ties in a bag on a shelf; she used some to bind his wrists and ankles and kept the rest. She looked at the controls and took a deep breath.

"...What the hell?" the helmsman asked, groggy. "Who the hell are you?" He did a double take. From where he was he could see under her skirt. It had to be a surreal moment.

"Private Security," Shadowfox replied. "ICON, Foxforce. My name is Shadowfox."

"Is that your ship on radar? Why the hell do you have your lights off?"

There's another ship? Shadowfox looked at the radar. She couldn't read it, so she decided to ignore him. Shadowfox had no idea how to operate a ship, but she was reasonably certain she could hit North America. She turned the wheel slightly to the right. The ship responded, going in a gentle arc.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, suddenly frightened. "You're going to run us aground."

"That would be the basic idea," she admitted.

"You'll kill us all!" he cried. "You'll send her to the bottom!"

"It won't be far away." Shadowfox looked suspiciously at the radar. Plowing into a continent at thirty knots was probably a bad idea. On the other hand, she didn't want Flying Saucer to be refloated easily. She looked around for something that looked like a throttle, just in case.

"Can you change the scale on the radar? That other ship's right on top of us." He hesitated. "I swear, this isn't a trick. I just want to make sure we don't hit the other ship."

He was sitting in his own filth, tied up, at Taser point, and he was worrying about his boat. She felt a reluctant respect. Shadowfox looked at the radar doubtfully. Running Flying Saucer aground was one thing. Colliding with another ship was very different. Innocents might be killed. She reached for the radar.

The loudest siren in the world blared out, and a searchlight filled the bridge with brilliant light. For an instant, she thought she had been tricked into setting off an alarm. The light was so bright she could barely make out its source, way off to port. She had a vague impression of something huge and gray. Who would voluntarily paint their ship gray? ...Oh. There was an irregular splotch by the bow which _might_be a number painted in white and outlined in black.

"Motor Vessel Flying Saucer," came a voice with an unmistakable Alabama accent. "This is USS Independence. Heave to and prepare to be boarded."

Shadowfox frowned, nonplussed.

"For God's sake," the helmsman bleated. "Heave to before they open fire!"

"How do I do that?" she asked casually.

"Oh, for the love of-- that thing on your left. Those are the throttles. Pull three of the handles back to zero, and set the fourth to ten percent. We need some headway. Then turn into the wind. Then we wait for a boarding party."

You seem to be taking this in stride...

"You mean wait while Fischer gets away?" Shadowfox asked.

His face froze.

She grabbed the radio. Warships had to be scanning almost the entire electromagnetic spectrum. "Shadowfox calling USS Independence, calling USS Independence, over_._"

"Independence here. Go ahead, Shadowfox." There was a question in his voice. Who the heck is Shadowfox? Code name, another vessel?

"Private Security. I am an ICON operative aboard the Flying Saucer," she explained."Listen. They're going to launch a narco sub and you have to stop it..."

She saw the helmsman smile.

She bolted for the hatch. "Hey!" he yelled. "Cut me loose! You can't just--" She slammed the hatch behind her. She had the horrible feeling Independence was too late. She ran aft, down the ladder, down two decks.

The bay was most of the volume of the ship, and from inside it looked huge. There were catwalks all around, hoists and gantries. A crane on the port side was still retracting into the ceiling.

The boats were gone.

She saw a single crewman. He looked up at her, nonchalant. He came casually to his feet, and put up his hands.

She came closer. She could smell Silverfox on him.

He read it in her face. He smiled.

She brought her knee up, hard. It was a perfect blow; he collapsed like a rag doll. Her foot was on his throat. His head made a hollow sound as she slammed it against the bulkhead.

---

"All right, that's enough."

Shadowfox froze. There were strong hands on her. And on the catwalk, curled into a ball and sobbing, was something with a bloody and bruised head and broken teeth. She was breathing hard.

The man holding her was a human, sunburned, solidly built. She looked at the uniform. Canadian Coast Guard; two of them. One had a hand-held Taser out. She forced a nod.

He relaxed slightly. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"No," she said. She shook her head. "I need to talk to the Pharmacist's Mate."

He looked at her clothes and looked at the man she had been pounding. His jaw twitched. "Right," he said. He was probably drawing the wrong conclusions, but right then and there she didn't care.

The Flying Saucer must have launched her boats when they spotted USS Independence. Independence caught_Flying Saucer,_ but since they were in Canadian waters they had to wait for the CCGS Gordon Reid to catch up and board her. While the niceties of national sovereignty played out, the bad guys had gotten away with Silverfox.

"Okay, thank you," said the Pharmacist's Mate. Gordon Reid had a crew of fourteen. Tyler was the closest thing they had to a doctor. He put the last swab into a plastic bag and sealed it. He looked at her quizzically. "So the dead man on top raped you?" he asked. This probably wasn't the first time Tyler had been in this situation. He seemed calm, almost unmoved.

"Yes. I killed him in self-defense," Shadowfox said. "I was in fear for my life." She bounced off the cot.

"...Huh."

She frowned and looked at him. "What? Do you think I'm lying?"

"No, no," he said quickly, with a firm shake of his head, and she knew he didn't believe her.

She looked away.

Right now, the only evidence that_Flying Saucer_ was involved in anything nefarious was her mad rush out of port, and in Tyler's rape kit.

Everything remotely incriminating must have been loaded on those boats, Shadowfox thought. They launched them when they slowed down. On those boats... or weighted down and tossed overboard. Shadowfox's chin trembled. Please, Silverfox, she thought with anguish. Please don't be dead.

"Oh, geeze, I'm sorry," he said apologetically.

If she had to play the traumatized victim, fine. She smiled, tentatively. I'm trying so hard to be brave... Please don't make me cry.

He cleared his throat. "The _Independence_has a couple of Seahawks -- helicopters -- and they're sending the injured to hospital. Do you want to go with them?"

It wasn't like she could contribute to a sub hunt. "Y-yes, that would probably be best," she said. "Uhm, could I borrow some clothes? Please?"

She didn't have time to send a status message to Firefox, she told herself. But riding in the helicopter she admitted, reluctantly, that she dreaded filing this report.

Shadowfox had taken an enormous risk by running off instead of working with the police, and she had nothing to show for it but a pair of blue jeans and a work shirt she'd have to return.

Fire and Tech might have made it to Vancouver by now.

Shadowfox had been hit with 4094 and she wasn't supposed to know about 4094. She couldn't say that she had inexplicable blank spots in her memory -- nobody would believe that. She couldn't make something up, because she had no idea what had happened on Monday. She hoped she'd be able to sit with Firefox and Technofox and try to come up with a story that would satisfy the police.

The only plan she could come up with -- and it was an awful plan -- was to pretend that she hadn't noticed the missing day. She could focus on what had happened since she woke up on the fire escape. I mean, everyone wakes up on the fire escape once in a while. Right?

"You can see the hospital from here," said the pilot, interrupting her train of thought. "We're going back to look for your narc subs, so I want to touch and go."

"Roger," Shadowfox replied, with a nod in case her mike didn't pick up her voice. She glanced back at the other passengers.

The helmsman had turned out to be the captain. The second prisoner was the crewman she had beaten. They weren't here because their lives were in danger: they were sent on a helicopter to counter claims the Navy or Coast Guard had delayed getting them medical attention. Based on Shadow's testimony, Vancouver's Finest would be checking them for signs of Silverfox.

In the United States, a chimera's legal status varied from state to state, but her model was legally human everywhere in Canada. Here she'd be testifying as a witness and she'd be cross-examined. She hoped it didn't come to that -- testimony took up a lot of time and from her point of view, it wasn't productive.

She swung out of the helicopter, waving at the pilot. He didn't notice. Stretcher bearers were popping out of a low building, followed by a uniformed police woman and a middle aged guy with a beard and thick hair. The same ones who chased her into an alley.

Oh, fantastic! she made herself think, brightening. These nice police officers will take care of everything!

He put out his hand, and shouted over the thrumming blades. "Operative Shadowfox? I'm Mark Dawson. I'm with the Mounties. This is Officer Talbot, Vancouver Police. Let's have a coffee and compare notes."

"Sounds good," Shadowfox shouted. The diner would probably have wireless.

She wondered who she should be with them. A little clueless? Professional and tough? Which would work best?

Shadowfox ordered a black coffee, no sugar, and an oatmeal muffin. Talbot had a mocha and Dawson tea and little lemon cookies.

Shadowfox had a wireless connection. She was trying to talk at the same time she was skimming messages. Fire and Tech were in town, at a police station. They would be dealing with red tape and trying to come up with a next step. Great. She told them where she was and begged for intervention.

There were two dossiers waiting for her: the file on Officer Monica Talbot, Vancouver Police, and Dr. Mark Dawson.

Doctor Mark Dawson? That couldn't be right. It had to be some other Mark Dawson, a Mark Dawson in the RCMP. That would mean Detective Mark Dawson happened to borrow the cell phone of Doctor Mark Dawson. That was unlikely. It was the same man.

According to the dossier, Doctor Mark Dawson was a neuroscientist. He had articles on PubMed -- a title jumped out at her: High-Order Chimerae and Adpositions. So he was a chimera specialist, like Doctor Walton. Her neck fur stirred.

Dawson frequently consulted with Canadian law enforcement and military on chimera-related issues. It was him. But she should pretend to believe he was a detective.

"When I realized Silverfox was missing," Shadowfox explained, "I knew Fischer was responsible, so I sent a message to my team and asked them to contact Sergeant McKinnon. He's our RCMP liaison."

Talbot let out a little gasp, and looked sideways at Dawson and suppressed it. She probably thought she was being very crafty.

"Sergeant McKinnon?" Dawson asked.

"Yes, that's right." Shadowfox nodded innocently. "I wanted to wait for orders, of course, but I didn't have a phone and I was afraid Fischer was taking Silverfox to Flying Saucer." She didn't add the obvious -- that Flying Saucer had made a break for it, proving her right to anyone but the courts. "I acquired transportation and made it onto Flying Saucer before it took off."

"Without a warrant?" Talbot asked her. Dawson grimaced.

Shadowfox forced herself not to lash out. "Officer," she said politely. "We're investigating Fischer in connection with large scale smuggling, espionage, and murder." She couldn't resist adding it: "Silverfox is legally human in Canada, and I was acting to prevent a kidnapping."

"Mmhm," Talbot muttered, unwilling to admit she had a silly reaction.

"I believe Sergeant McKinnon will support my decision," Shadowfox finished.

"Sergeant McKinnon is dead," Dawson told her.

Shadowfox looked surprised, and turned it slowly to sorrow. "Oh no," she shook her head. "What happened?"

"When did you last see him?" Talbot broke in.

Shadowfox wondered how Talbot saw Dawson. She didn't seem to be treating him as a superior. "We met in his office last Wednesday," Shadowfox said. "To discuss the investigation. Silverfox met him on a daily basis." To screw. Well, that counted.

"His report says that he drove you two back to your hotel shortly before he was killed," Talbot stated, suspiciously.

Crap. "I think that's a mistake," Shadowfox shook her head. 4094. "The Flying Saucer --"

"McKinnon first. Did you see anything?" Talbot asked.

Shadowfox supposed it was only natural for a cop to be most worried about a dead Mountie. "I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was killed, let alone McKinnon." Should she expand on that? "I saw the police and the ambulance. I thought someone had a heart attack and pulled the fire alarm." It felt odd to tell the truth.

"What's the first thing you remember today?" Dawson asked.

This was going to sound weird. "The fire alarm woke me up."

"And he didn't drive you -- " Talbot began.

"Shadowfox," Dawson interrupted, "what day is it?"

Shadowfox blinked, and immediately berated herself. It was unforgiveable. Her body was a tool of persuasion, showing what she wanted it to show, so the people she was confronting would believe what she wanted them to believe. She didn't allow her face to show anything real. But fortunately, it might be confused for surprise at an odd question.

"It's..." Shadowfox trailed off, as she pretended to check the date on her implant computer. "It's Tuesday? That can't be right--"

Dawson would only ask that if he knew about 4094.

"Oh, come on..." Talbot started, in disgust. "You're telling me you--"

Shadowfox wasn't as good with women, at least not straight women. She didn't have a lever with them. She wasn't sure what she should say.

"No, that's a known syndrome," Dawson interrupted.

"Is it?" Monica asked.

"Yes. The neurology of chimera brains is slightly different from human brains. Basically, chimerae transfer short term memory to long term memory while they're asleep. If ... something interrupts that process they can lose an entire day. I've seen it more than once."

"Huh." Monica looked unconvinced. Shadowfox wondered if he was telling the truth.

Dawson grimaced impatiently. Shadowfox got it -- this was what he did for a living and he didn't like being contradicted by amateurs. "Look, you know how humans sometimes can't remember the events leading up to an accident? Chimerae have the same thing, but the period lost can be longer." He ate a little lemon cookie and licked powdered sugar from his fingertip. "It's very bad luck, of course."

"What kind of thing might interrupt the process?" Shadowfox asked.

"Hard to say. Less-than-lethal weapons that cause unconsciousness have been known to trigger the effect. It's a bit like pulling the plug on a computer instead of shutting it down properly. Not that your brain's a machine, of course. Usually it'll work, but sometimes you lose information."

Wow, Shadowfox thought. What a great cover story. "So it's possible someone knocked me out with a Taser or something."

"Yes, exactly."

Monica didn't look convinced. It's possible her friend killed McKinnon and she's covering up. Shadowfox could read it in her face.

"Well, anyway," Dawson said, "when you're finished with your coffee we'll get you a room here."

"What?" Shadowfox frowned. "My partner's missing and you want me to stay in a hospital?"

"Just until they have a chance to look you over," he assured her. "I'd like to remind you that people have been killed and there will be an investigation. I'd rather not have to make it official."

---

"Motherfuckers. I'm so sick. Motherfuckers. I'm so sick. Motherfuckers. I'm so sick."

It was a woman's voice, low, almost subvocal. A human might be able to hear a low muttering; Shadowfox could make out every word. Her ear kept twitching to catch the sound, and Shadowfox had to force it to focus somewhere else.

Absurdly, Shadowfox was beginning to suspect there was nobody in the bed by the door, that if she got up and opened the curtain around it she'd see speakers and a music player on loop. It was a subtle torture courtesy the RCMP. The only thing keeping her from believing it was that the resident of the other bed had used a bedpan before Shadowfox had come here. It hadn't been emptied yet.

The fox had no idea what "I'm So Sick" was going through, aside from the fact she felt ill and wanted the motherfuckers to know it. For the first half hour, Shadowfox had felt pity for her. This was turning into irritation. "I'm So Sick" probably had nothing to do with Fischer, Silverfox, or anything.

There was a needle in Shadowfox's arm, attached to a bag of ... something, she guessed it was a saline solution. That seemed to be a hospital rule: shove water into their arm whether or not they're thirsty. Maybe it was so they could inject something in if she crashed. Shadowfox supposed that doctors got antsy after a while -- patients probably died for no apparent reason all the time, and there were so few chimerae in Canada that they probably weren't used to dealing with them.

There was a guard at the door, which was probably why Shadowfox had been put here: put your eggs in one basket, and then watch the basket. She didn't really think the RCMP was trying to make her crack.

She wondered if she should use the call button. At least they could flush "I'm So Sick's" bedpan.

Her ears twitched towards the door and her eyes turned pensive. She recognized those footsteps.

"Yes, officer," Firefox said politely. "Here's our ID."

Pause. "All right," he said reluctantly. "You can go in. Keep your voices down. There's another patient in the room."

Shadowfox whisked the curtain away, sent its rings hissing on the metal tube, so she could see the door as it opened. Firefox came in, walking quickly, right for Shadow's bed. Technofox's head and ears twitched in "I'm So Sick's" direction.

Firefox was a big woman, and digitigrade feet made her look bigger. Firefox had beaten Shadowfox in hand to hand more than once: if she got a good grip and turned into a wrestling match, it was all over. The little technician followed at Fire's heels, like a puppy.

Shadowfox desperately wanted to keep her cool. But she felt the tears welling up even as they walked in. "Fire, I--"

"Shh." Firefox reached down and half lifted Shadowfox into a strong embrace. Shadowfox closed her eyes, blinked her tears away, licked Fire's snout once. Firefox's grip relaxed. Shadow's hand closed around Technofox's. The little engineer smiled briefly.

Shadowfox was honest with three people. And one of them was missing.